#inexplicably everyone around them be like “how have you not strangled each other yet” at varying stages of their relationships

[prettyflyshyguy]

Trend from over on Bsky that I felt compelled to share with you all here: your characters and the dynamics that inspired theirs.

If it isn't insanely obvious the more you learn about Roy and O'Byrne, it started heavily inspired by The X Files (Mulder and Scully), got worse when I watched Angel (Kate Lockley and Angel) and got even worse when I watched Supernatural (The Winchesters).

"I can't work in these conditions" and yet, they do. And they do it damn well. And they can't do it without each other in a lot of ways.

[maddiefriendlovesbilly]

Back by literally zero request:

Once More, This Time With Feeling: Pt. 2

Rating: PG13 for violence and graphic descriptions, SFW

Ship: Ghost/Spooker

Warnings: Graphic Descriptions of intense panic attacks and dissociation, derealization, depersonalization, implied traumatic events, similarities to alters switching (Jimmy and Gregory, not intentional but is still there due to the nature of the scene), Graphic Descriptions of violence, Major Character Death (temporary) and probably more (please tell me if there is anything else that needs to be tagged!)

Summary: Ghost learns that watching someone die in front of you is a very quick way to find out how much you actually care about them - even if you're not quite ready to admit it just yet. (Contains lots of fluff with a decent amount of angst mixed in! Could be considered hurt/comfort)

Wordcount: 2634

Nothing can be compared to the sound of an axe splitting a head clean open. Ghost can’t move. He can’t think. This can’t be happening. He’s gonna wake up now...Now...Now.

But nothing happens.

He glances down, numbly, at Spooker’s lifeless body on the ground. Blood spills from the crevice in his skull. Ghost’s stomach lurches, so he looks back up at the doorway, wondering if he’s next. It barely registers that there is no enemy. Just an axe swinging gently back and forth on a rope attached to the ceiling. A trap. It was a trap all along, and they fell for it. Distantly, he wonders if brains can be repaired once they’re split open like that. He thinks, Probably not.

Ghost feels like his world is sinking, crashing, burning. Why isn’t he getting up? Billy’s powers should still hold up here - they’re well within range of the Acachalla house, so why?

He realizes he’s been staring vacantly at Spooker for the past who knows how long, and when he looks up Katrina is standing in front of him, staring at him from behind her mane. She gurgles, sounding somehow both sympathetic and smug despite saying no actual words, and Ghost wavers between collapsing to the ground and sobbing, and strangling her on the spot. Something twitches inside of him, vile and immoral, waiting for its moment to strike. He considers indulging it just this once; doesn’t get the chance to decide whether he really will because Katrina pounces, claws digging into his ribcage like she’s searching for something - and in his last moments of consciousness, he watches something pulse in her hand, once, before all goes dark.

Even in death, it seems he’s not allowed to rest.

As soon as his eyes close, they blink open. He can’t see anything, but he feels a doorknob under his hand and feels his mouth finishing the words, “--what about the others?”

Behind him, Spooker’s voice replies, without a hint of caution or worry, “No luck over he-Woah!”

The door hits the wall and Ghost’s eyes widen with fear. He hears himself stutter out, “H-Hey, you good?”

He mouths the words as Spooker says them, glad at least that the room is too dark for Spooker to see it. “Yeah...yeah, I’m alright, just caught me off guard. Let’s go.” He pivots, lunging blindly for where Spooker’s voice came from, tackling him. Something sharp nicks his cheek, and he feels a slight breeze pass overhead. They hit the ground hard, but Ghost decides he prefers that over the alternative.

“Ghost! Wh-What was that for?”

He fumbles for his emergency batteries and reloads his flashlight as fast as he can, knowing Katrina could appear any second. He shines his light towards the doorway, where the axe takes a final swing inwards, before disappearing behind the door for good.

“Holy crap Ghost, how...how did you know that was there?”

“Instincts or something, I guess…” He pants, out of breath.

His mind buzzes and whirs, and he can hardly think through it, but he can’t just lay on top of Spooker forever, so he forces himself to stand, peeking around the corner cautiously.

Katrina is nowhere in sight. His chest aches with how coiled his muscles are - ready to spring at any moment.

Spooker dusts himself off and peeks over Ghost’s shoulder, searching the room and finding the exact same thing Ghost did — nothing. Ghost just barely restrains himself from putting a protective arm between Spooker and the empty room.

Cautiously, he steps inside, Spooker close behind. The only sound is that of their boots clicking against the tile floor. Despite everything, he finds time to thank any gods watching that Spooker has been too distracted by the new surroundings to baby him about the second cut across his cheek. It’s only a matter of time though, he knows.

Glancing around cautiously, Ghost takes in the decrepit machinery dominating the room’s layout. Most of it has decayed beyond recognition. In the far right corner sits a row of industrial shelves containing what at first looks to be scrap metal and wires, but as they approach them, turns out to be an assortment of batteries and other miscellaneous electronics.

“Score!!” Spooker shouts, and by some miracle Ghost quells his roaring panic into a tense, “Spooker, be careful, we don’t know if the entity is nearby.”

Spooker appears duly contrite, so he lets it go this once, if only because he doesn’t fully grasp the peril they are in. Hell, even Ghost’s not sure what the bigger picture is. If that entity is truly Katrina, then what are her motives? And if it isn’t, did the others see someone else?

Spooker is currently loading some new batteries into his flashlight, so Ghost feigns at inspecting some old flip phones on one of the shelves near Spooker and asks hesitantly, “That girl earlier, you saw her too right?”

“The one with the sharp claws and hair all in her eyes? Yeah, why?”

“Hm. Interesting,” is all he can say.

So if it’s something pretending to be her to toy with him, why did everyone see Katrina, instead of their own illusions? Is it just another layer to the deception? Why bother?

What is the point?

“Is that Nokia particularly thought-provoking, or are you gonna tell me what you’re thinking about?” Spooker had apparently appeared over his shoulder sometime while he was lost in thought, and Ghost jerks around, slamming into the shelf of Nokias, now behind him.

A loud CLANG resonates throughout the room, reverberating off the surrounding machinery in ways that seem almost staged -- it’s hauntingly ethereal.

Spooker’s hands fly out to steady him immediately, a look of concern clearly written on his face. For some reason, despite all logic, the first thing he notices is how close they are to each other. The second is the pain in his back. He hisses.

Spooker’s hands flit about nervously, from Ghost’s shoulder to his face before he curls his fists at his sides, nails digging into his palms. “I didn’t mean to scare you like that -- okay maybe a little but-” Ghost’s mouth twitches upwards in amusement involuntarily. “-I didn’t think you’d startle that badly! Really! I’m so so sorry-”

Ghost realizes that Spooker could probably apologize all day if allowed to, so he cuts in, “I’m fine Spooker.” it’s mostly the truth, he’ll probably bruise like hell tomorrow morning, but other than that he’s okay. He’s been through much worse on a mission, so he tries to seem sincere when he smiles slightly and says, “Seriously, it’s nothing to worry about, I’m alright.”

Spooker seems placated for all of two seconds before he suddenly squints at Ghost with heavy suspicion. “Are you saying that because you’re actually fine, or because your pain-rating scale only has the options of ‘not bleeding out or missing limbs, so doing fine,’ and ‘currently bleeding out or missing limbs, might need assistance if the situation is truly dire?’”

Ghost glances away, he’s not exactly wrong - not that he’ll admit that. “It’s actually fine, just a small bruise.”

“Uh huh.” He doesn’t sound convinced. “Turn around, let me see it.”

“Wha-Why? I told you it’s fine!” He is not whining right now, that would be childish. He’s just...objecting loudly. Yes.

“Yeah, and I totally believe you. Turn around.”

Ghost eyes the space under Spooker’s arm, calculating possible escapes. “We have much more important things to do than play doctor Spooker. Like finding a way out of here perhaps? You can swaddle me in bubble wrap when we get out of here for all I care, but right now I’d like to keep moving forward.”

Spooker seems to debate this for a few moments before blinking a few times and replying, “Fine, but if you start struggling to keep up I’m not going to be so nice.” He moves back, letting Ghost slide past him and out from between the shelves. Ghost has to push aside the very strong feeling that he’s had that conversation before.

Ghost ignores the inexplicable heat in his cheeks and starts scanning the room for an exit. For some reason it feels like the temperature has risen quite a bit since they entered, maybe the next room will be cooler. It could be some sort of elaborate trap to slowly boil them to death without them noticing. Who really knows with ghosts.

The walls around the machines are solid grey concrete, smooth and uniform. Ghost searches for some sort of inconsistency, a flaw somewhere, and eventually he finds a small notch in the otherwise perfect walls, and moves to investigate.

As he starts to approach it the sound of something metal hitting the floor ricochets from behind the shelves. “S-Sorry! My...My bad....”

“You alright?”

“Fine! Fine! Everything is fine!” Spookers voice is an octave too high to be deemed truly fine, but Ghost chalks it up to being startled by the loud noise. He looks back at the notch in the wall. Suddenly, he realizes that engraved just above the notch is a long string of symbols he’s never seen before. He wonders how he didn’t notice the intricate carvings until now.

“ᚱᛖᛋᛏ ᛁᚾ ᛏᚺᛖ ᚨᚱᛗᛋ ᛟᚠ ᚹᚺᛖᚱᛖ ᛃᛟᚢᚱ ᛋᛟᚢᛚ ᛁᛋ ᚱᛟᛟᛏᛖᛞ. ᛒᚱᛖᚨᛏᚺᛖ ᛁᚾ ᛏᚺᛖ ᚨᚢᚱᚨ ᛏᚺᚨᛏ ᛃᛟᚢ ᛋᚺᚨᚱᛖ. ᛟᚾᚲᛖ ᛏᚺᛖᛋᛖ ᚲᛟᚾᛞᛁᛏᛁᛟᚾᛋ ᚺᚨᚹᛖ ᛒᛖᛖᚾ ᛗᛖᛏ, ᛏᚺᛖ ᛈᚨᛏᚺ ᚹᛁᛚᛚ ᛟᛈᛖᚾ.”

Squinting at it, he decides to call Spooker over. Spooker scampers up, yet again hovering just over his left shoulder. Ghost is starting to think he just likes being there. For some reason this doesn’t bother him. He doesn’t know why.

Spooker looks at the symbols for a few seconds like they’re familiar, before finally he exclaims, “Oh! I know what those are - Those are Nordic Runes - specifically Elder Futhark!”

“You just...knew that?”

“I’ve always been into occult stuff, y’know? Apparently people still use these for divination today! But it’s also a language - like right here...” He points at one that looks like a fancy M over Ghost’s shoulder, and he’s beaming so brightly that Ghost is pretty sure he’s found the reason it’s so hot in this room - the warmth in his smile as he talks could rival the sun. Spooker keeps talking, explaining what different runes mean and their individual names, and Ghost realizes he’s been staring at Spooker’s face instead of paying attention, so he looks back at the runes and hopes he hadn’t noticed. Spooker doesn’t mention it if he does, just keeps talking about runes and their meanings, and it settles a part of Ghost he hadn’t even realized was jittery until now.

Something in the notched section of wall clicks twice, and not a second later does the wall slide open in one smooth motion. Behind it lies a rather dull looking corridor, with plain, dark walls, and a sharp turn about twenty feet ahead. They both jump slightly at the sudden change, but just as quickly steel themselves and enter, unwilling to test how long it would remain open. “Do you know what opened it?”

Spooker’s eyes flick side to side like he’s debating with himself. “Well, the clue was really vague...So I’m not really sure..” He scratches his chin. He’s pretty sure Spooker is hiding something, but asking what the clue was when he probably said it earlier is practically announcing that he wasn’t actually paying attention, so instead he just replies, “Huh, weird. Well as long as we’re making progress it can’t be a bad thing. Let’s go.”

Spooker, for one reason or another, stays silent.

Oh. It seems he forgot where he was.

As they round the corner they are met with the one and only Katrina - or whatever it is that’s pretending to be her - standing about thirty feet down the hallway. Ghost could swear she’s smiling under her mop of hair. He wants to run, or scream, or just, at the very least, move, preferably somewhere where the blood red eyes piercing through her veil of hair can’t follow him. But he can’t. He’s stuck to the spot, like he’s been sautered to the floor. He feels a presence behind him - and it can’t be her because he’s staring right at her; so it must be Spooker hovering just over his left shoulder, just like always, and if he wasn’t frozen in place he might have cried with relief. He manages to drag a shaking hand backwards until it meets Spooker’s, intertwining their fingers with a bruising grip. Katrina observes this, before nodding her head in what looks like approval. She turns on her heel and shambles back the way she presumably came.

“Wh-” His voice cracks, forcing him to pause and gather himself. “What was that. Why did she-I don’t, I don’t understand. Why-Why would…I don’t understand-” The jittery fragment grows restless, feeding off of his panic. He doesn’t understand what it is, he doesn’t understand what just happened, he doesn’t understand anything at all.

The fragment is growing agitated now. He doesn’t know why or how or what it is. It’s hungry. It’s so hungry. How did he end up on the ground? When did he start laughing? There’s someone talking somewhere. They feel familiar, safe. Who were they again? He’s still holding their hand. A face has come into view, or maybe they lifted his head. He feels like he’s watching through a window. The face - so so familiar, yet completely unrecognizable - wipes tears from his cheeks. Is he crying? They look worried; it looks wrong on their face. Wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong--

It’s all wrong.

This isn’t happening. It can’t be. It’s not real.

Spooker - that’s his name - looks at him with a frantic, desperate, fearful look in his eyes. He’s still laughing, he realizes.

“I saw you die,” falls from his mouth, unbidden. He doesn’t know why. “The axe. It killed you.” He giggles hysterically, but it’s choked off by more tears.

“I know,” Spooker says in a soothing voice, like he’s talking to a caged animal, “I know, I’m sorry.” They’re still holding hands, even after all of this. He looks down to see that his nails have dug deep enough into Spooker’s hand to draw blood. He starts to pull away, but Spooker catches his wrist. “Hey, it’s okay. I’ll be fine. You can hold on for as long as you need, okay?”

“Okay. Okay.” Everything is still so foggy, but the red haze is gone. “What’s wrong with me?”

“Nothing. Nothing is wrong with you okay?”

“But, normal....normal people don’t.” He swallows thickly. “Don’t do this.”

“No, no they don’t,” Spooker agrees.

“So why am I?”

“We’re gonna figure it out, okay? We’ll figure it out together.”

“Okay.” He feels very small. Vulnerable. Scared. He finds himself longing for a mansion he’s never seen before; tall and green and empty, so empty. Home.

He suddenly feels exhausted. “I-I can’t,” he blinks rapidly, trying to stem the drooping of his eyelids.

“It’s okay, you can rest. I’ll still be here when you wake up.”

“Alright…”

The next time his eyes close, he drifts off into a dreamless sleep.

[sonderrow-moved]

IC            IS            VOICE            BODY            MEMORY            PLOTTING

★ I.D

FULL NAME: Jael Roy Singerman BIRTH: March 19th, 39 y.o. SEX & GENDER: Male SPECIE: Human..? ETHNICITY: Caucasian (?) LANGUAGE: English and French OCCUPATION: Counter terrorist defender RELIGION: Atheist SEXUALITY: Heteroflexible ★ ANATOMY 

HAIR:  Very short, tangled mix of charcoal and black with a front bang EYES: Chocolate brown FACE: A jagged jaw with large, half crazed looking eyes, Jael’s previously, one might say, stereotypically beauteous features are now wasted by dark, deep scars and wrinkles COMPLEXION: Warm olive SCAR: Multiple deep scars run over Jael’s body. Although numerous, they do not cover the majority of it, only at key points from what seems like slashes and gun wounds TATTOOS: One… HEIGHT: 195 cm BUILD: Lean rectangle shaped, toned by regular training VOICE: Rough and warm ★ PERSONA LIKES: Camaraderie, sex, beer DISLIKES: Weak-willed people, party poopers, social politics MBTI: ESFP “The Entertainer” ALIGNMENT: Chaotic Neutral POLITICAL STANCE: Middle Liberal EDUCATION LEVEL: Military college DRUGS: ??? PHOBIAS: ??? DISORDER: None diagnosed ★ “ARGO FUCK YOURSELF.” Jael was born on a dairy farm in the middle of Canada, on a road right between the city and the countryside, surrounded by six other siblings and two hardboiled parents. Being the kid in the middle, Jael never especially put much thought in his position compared to his brother and sister. Actually, he never put much thought into anything, and just went on with life as it went, following what everyone told him was normal. An average kid, Jael was popular with his peers as he had the look of, well, the average “not bad looking at all” north american kid, had an early growth spurt and was doing pretty well at sports. Quickly, however, Jael found himself hanging out with friends who didn’t think too much like himself, falling in group into every fad as they grew up. At home, no dark tale of abuse with his family, no real life-scarring drama. Just the technical, material support and teachings of parents. With nearly no warmth nor bonding, which only made Jael bond with his gang full of mischief. Drugs, smoking, sex, they all shared everything, with depending degrees. And the boy’s lifestyle was soon far from what his family expected it to be. He still finished his chores at the farm, but his increasingly sloppy ways, too eager to finish to go elsewhere, brought some judging comments. Still, family is family, and Jael would say he was plenty content with it. While he wasted his time away during his secondary school years, Jael was barely able to graduate; his part-time work in a fast food chain was, to him, even bigger of a highlight than the time he’d spend in class. In the end, Jael only needed the simple suggestion of his father to enroll in the military. And although one could tell this would be the opposite of how he currently lived, his simple mind were satisfied of the pros, and so easily the sheep decided to step into this path. ★ “HISTORY STARTS OUT AS FARCE AND ENDS UP AS TRAGEDY.” At first given dubious looks by his entourage, Jael actually didn’t have much difficulty letting go of his bad consumption, as he found that those time killers were only replaced by others. In the beginning hard on his body, training became like second nature, waking up so tired and lazy, but immediately finding an inexplicable relief in releasing tension out of his system, and be able to go farther and farther, a newly degree of competitiveness rising into Jael. Was it this to be alive? Colour sparked in his previously apathetic eyes, energy ran through his frame. Even in his harshest moments he’d have something, someone, although emotionally clumsy, to have his back. Thing is, he’d never realise he was alive. Because he was only living through it. And soon enough, Jael felt like he just blinked as everything went so fast. He was given whatever medals, standing on whatever private stage and, at some point, he was instated in special ops. Surrounded by people who spoke big words, wore big suits and had big names. He listened and memorised the field, followed orders, took a deep breath and banked his paycheck. As he closes his eyes now, it starts to fade. Where which event had been. Which people were there. Jael looks at his friends, who remember exactly everything despite the years. Sometimes he does, sometimes he doesn’t. Then, one mission felt dubious. Everyone could feel it in their spine. “higher ups asked for this” sounds like such a cliche, but when it is told to you by someone you trust, someone you spent years and years with, someone who saved your life more than you can count, when it is also your job, your friends need you and you’ve only known this since forever. There was nowhere else to go, no space to fight against what those small guys in their small suits told. And it went wrong, so wrong. It’d leave him disfigured forever. ★ “THIS IS THE BEST BAD IDEA WE HAVE SIR…” You’re being shown people going under, switching identities, running away like only something from another world, until you realise it is happening to you too. At first, you think you can survive for your comrades, until things turn out for the better. Then, one by one, gone. All gone. Hunted down? No. MUCH WORST. Gone in a way buried at the back of the mind, hidden in the dark; the thought of it enough to make him sob, shiver. And there was only one left; the most idiotic of them. The one who probably didn’t deserve to survive. Jael wasn’t the brightest bulb, and before he knew it he was in jail, under his fake name, waiting for his face, under his hair, beard and scars, to be recognised. But it never did. And he never understood how he managed to survive. Just going with the flow, fucking with every crack in the system he could see, because that is only what he did. And he did like he always did; he adapted to his environment. Build partnerships, found a group to hang around with. What changed? There were no rules anymore. It didn’t exist; the lingering familiarity of earlier years stroke his scalp. Only now he was much bigger, stronger… As his cellmate, Jael met a man, a man who was the exact type he despised. The same type of man who put him in this situation, and destroyed everything his heart held and could hold dear. The reason for the disappearance of his brothers in arm, the unknown state of his family; men who used others they deemed expandable to do their dirty work. A man seeing himself so high above the others, acting as he didn’t understand his situation at all. The white collar didn’t have to brag, it always showed in his eyes; how he saw those around him as ants and tools to be used. Jael would be unable to take it anymore at some point, and maybe, for the first time in his life, his eyes showed a another kind of spark. Was it rage? Passion? Anger? He didn’t know, he could only hear the pounding in his chest, grabbing this guy by his obnoxiously silky hair and bashing his head against the table, wasting away precious powder. Unlike what he felt in the past, this one never seemed to satiate. He had done nothing wrong; yet life decided to betray him. Jael was never much of a man of vengeance, although he believed in justice. However, in this moment, he could only cry out what he had lost and take it out on the person he suddenly decided to hold responsible. A smaller body than his could do nothing against his training, and the laugh and cheer of his mates only made the blood in his veins boil stronger. The hatred shoved up his guts at every striking snarks, and his victim’s razor sharp look while being held down, not wavering, only encouraged him further to relieve his needs of violence. Dump all dopamine in that motherfucker’s ass as a sign of dominance. Nevertheless, at some point, never did Jael knew this kind of release would happen more than once, with less eyes and noise. In bathed breath and confusion. In the midst of nothing being right, any progress being reset over and over in some pool of nonsense, there was only this. The sweet, sweet (or was it, really? No. It wasn’t, but he believed so.) sensation of biting and nailing against his body, hands wrapped against another’s throat like relieving some good memories of mission fatalities. Have his usual focus on the present enhanced by a thousand, and his desires suppressing any part of this pawn he didn’t want to look at, only the ones he could take a single drop of pleasure from; those white collar, soft and pale hands, those silky long hair, sultry shaped eyes and thoroughly moisturised skin. And, although he somehow dismissed it as a game, Jael felt a sense of satisfying ownership take over him while his shivs would run over the other, being his territory just like everything in this cell. It’d become some sort of a habit, yet not so often as to not arise suspicions; if anything others believed they were mostly at each others’ throats, with the guards not against that bastard being roughed up.. and they were right, because this wasn’t some cute lovemaking; a good half of it was attempted murder. Another crowd was even worst; they believed them to be rivals, friends in disguise. A crazed, vicious schedule settled in while Jael’s head slowly, but surely, forgot. Forgot everything. Outside this place. Like at the farm, where all day would be the same, and he’d stop counting the day and feel the seasons. His body had always been a tool to a mean, and his character darkened in pure survival and simple, basic needs. His mind cracked atop his personal dummy, violence taping as to not let it break. What shook him ever so slightly, was how his cellmate changed. Jael frowned while observing. It was so subtle, yet gradual. Even his dumb mind could pick up if the person he saw extensively everyday was shifting. The speech would switch, and they’d end up exchanging nearly amusing banter while he strangled the man until he passed out, spurting jokes while blood smeared alongside his arms and thighs. Jael’d never tell whatever he thought of his dear cellmate. It grew into something. Something he felt like had no word, no description. And before long he dared do something he didn’t do for real in so long; share. Share not facts which would only raise some points with inmates, but simple yet meaningful ones that reached the edges of his heart. Like generic childhood memories, hobbies, “i met a guy like that once”… There was nothing good about that relationship. Nothing he could ever share because no normal person could understand. It felt as close as it could be with a comrade… but in a twisted, perverse, way. Still, it was the one thing that seemed, at the very least, real. Where Jael could find an identity, and not only be driven by pure instinct, not acting like a simple sheep. The thing was, not once did he ever wonder what his cellmate was thinking, feeling. From the two of them, he was the most selfish now. Just acting impulsively, with no second thought on the consequences of his actions. He was never able to evolve more from there, because finally karma stroke. Whatever had been done in the shadows, it was performed nearly, he could say, admirably. Everything well put in place, inmates stealthily moving towards the exit as other stayed. The sense of eariness drowning in the air while he was sweeping the floor. Crashed furniture and thrown buckets of water, only had the time to fight off one person that a shiv was already piercing through Jael’s flesh, pain stunning his body long enough for another to go through his stomach. He was swept off his feet, back hitting the wet and soapy concrete floor, stained by his own blood. That is when John Smith was officially dead.

[kylermalloy]

Set in the boyking!Klaus AU

He is losing Elijah.

Mikael watches his sons lounge under a tree side by side. They hold hands. Niklaus plays with Elijah’s fingers, running his hand over them one by one.

After some time, Niklaus guides the same hand to rest on his thigh, where he continues to stroke Elijah’s fingers.

It’s the expression on Elijah’s face—slightly unfocused, enraptured, breathless. Ecstatic.

From a simple touch.

That is what convinces him.

He needs to tear Elijah from Niklaus. The devil child has sunk his claws into Mikael’s second son, and he must do something about it.

Esther is perplexed when he informs her of his plans. A hunting trip? Now? We have enough meat for another moon.

Finn and Elijah, he hedges. They’re growing up. They need more experience.

Esther shrugs.

.

Elijah responds with quiet acceptance, as he usually does. That is, until he is informed that Niklaus will not be coming along.

He bites his lip, winding one arm around Niklaus, who clings to him like a lifeline.

How many days? he asks.

As many as it takes, Mikael says. His gaze is on Niklaus, whose lip has begun to quiver. His bright blue eyes widen, filling with tears that begin to flow and do not stop.

Elijah places a consoling hand on Niklaus’s golden hair, his own expression despondent.

As long as it takes to shake that blight from your mind, Mikael adds silently.

Elijah reluctantly prepares to depart, gathering weapons and provisions and a fur pelt for the cold nights. All the while Niklaus trails after him, tears spilling down his cheeks as he pleads with Elijah to stay.

Mikael waits impatiently with Finn by the large oak while Elijah kneels before Niklaus, thumbing the tears from his cheeks and speaking quietly to him. Brushing the hair from his face. Gripping his arms assuredly. Enveloping him in an embrace, kissing his forehead.

Niklaus places one hand on Elijah’s face, thumb stroking his cheek. Elijah spasms. His eyes close.

In the brief moment that Elijah is not looking, Niklaus turns his head and looks directly at Mikael. Through his tears, there is a fury in his face that no boy of eleven years should carry.

The hair on the back of Mikael’s neck prickles, as though sensing a predator—or an attacker.

Then the moment is over. Elijah stands, slinging his bow over his shoulder. He walks away from Niklaus, toward Mikael and Finn, who straightens from his crouch and remarks, Finally.

No one else has seen. As always, Mikael is left alone in his knowledge.

Elijah’s face pinches with emotion as he nears Mikael. Niklaus watches him go, face shining with tears. Standing alone, shoulders slumped and face smudged, he looks almost as helpless as he should.

Almost.

As they leave the village, Niklaus follows them to the edge. He clings to a tree at the border, staring after them tearfully.

Elijah glances back until Niklaus falls from sight.

Mikael breathes a little easier.

.

Esther watches her sons say their goodbyes. Both are pained by the separation, but Niklaus appears inconsolable. Tears spill from his big blue eyes like they haven’t since he was an infant.

She follows him to the edge of the village, ready to console him as Elijah, Finn, and Mikael disappear into the trees.

But as soon as they are gone, something changes.

When Niklaus turns around, his face is calm and composed. He passes a hand over his cheeks, wiping away the tears—which have stopped flowing almost alarmingly fast.

His brow is smooth, his eyes clear. His lips press into a thin line.

Niklaus? Are you all right?

He meets her eyes coolly. I will be, Mother.

.

Mikael takes them far.

Finn and Elijah follow unquestioningly, deeper and deeper into unknown woods. They do not stop—not for the deer Finn sees in the distance, not for the burrow of rabbits that could be trapped.

Elijah continues to look back from time to time. Looking, searching for the cursed child he left behind.

Mikael watches him closely, waiting for the spell to break. How far must he travel? How many days must they spend apart, before Elijah is whole again?

.

Niklaus seems adrift without Elijah.

Esther watches him wander the village aimlessly. His fingers flutter empty at his side. He sighs often, long loud breaths meant to catch others’ attention, for them to ask him his troubles.

Esther did wonder if Mikael’s impromptu trip was another of his attempts to separate Elijah from Niklaus.

Although her secret is safe from Mikael, her husband still harbors an intense grudge against Niklaus.

Her sweet, golden boy. Her secret joy.

He becomes petulant and cross without his brother to temper him.

Rebekah tries to console him. She follows him all day, placing a hand on his shoulder, speaking softly to him. More than once he pushes her away, but she will not be deterred.

—That is, until she comes home in tears, cradling her arm, after Niklaus pushed her down a knoll.

You ought to know better, Esther chides him as she binds Rebekah’s wrist. You’re a strong, growing boy. You must know to stop before you hurt someone. Especially your sister.

He shrugs.

.

They make camp after walking all day. Elijah eats little. While Finn sleeps soundly, Elijah tosses and turns on his pallet.

Sleep evades Mikael. The woods are peaceful tonight, but he cannot shake Niklaus’s expression from his mind.

Niklaus haunts him day and night.

He enters the camp, having followed them undetected since they left home. He kneels over Elijah’s sleeping form, inhales his hair.

You can’t save him from me, he hisses in Mikael’s ear. Mikael is paralyzed, unable to reach for his weapons.

He’s mine. He will always be mine.

Mikael wakes with a strangled gasp.

.

The family next door wonders where their dog has gone.

Rebekah stays inside, playing with Henrik. She moves her injured wrist gingerly.

Niklaus returns from the woods, announcing he has found a beehive full of honey.

His hair, hands, and sleeves are inexplicably damp. He must have fallen in the stream, Esther reasons. Wouldn’t be the first time.

She recruits him and Kol to collect the honey.

The bees have all gone from the hive when they arrive, leaving a bounty of honey for them. She reminds her sons not to sample too much as they harvest it. Niklaus in particular savors the taste, licking golden drops off his fingers.

We must save some for Lijah, he declares. When he returns.

Of course, Esther reassures him. There will be plenty for him, and Finn. And Father.

Niklaus smiles his bright, honey-sweet smile. Not Father. Father can’t enjoy sweet things. He’s too bitter.

.

The snares prove plentiful. Finn and Elijah return from their scouting with four squirrels and a rabbit.

They lunch on two of the squirrels. Finn finishes Elijah’s portion when he declares he is not hungry.

Elijah is quiet for most of the day. He reaches out to empty air often, reaching on instinct for someone who is not there. He stares into the distance when Finn mentions home, or their family. (He knows better than to mention Niklaus by name, though.)

If it is not distance from Niklaus that will break the spell, then it must take time. Mikael vows to keep Elijah away for as long as it takes.

.

Niklaus has always been Esther’s special child. She has watched him carefully, gifted him an enchanted necklace to temper the bloodlust he would inherit from his father.

He hums with an energy different to his siblings. Different to Freya and Kol, her children gifted with magic. Different to Ansel and his brethren, whose blood runs a curse through their veins.

Perhaps the mix of magic and the curse created something new in him. (Something Mikael must never know about.)

Ever since Mikael has taken Finn and Elijah away, that difference has become more pronounced.

The hum in his blood is louder, a thrumming in Esther’s ears. When she catches him sitting still, he nearly vibrates with restless energy.

Niklaus, are you all right?

His head tilts to one side, golden hair falling in his eyes. I will be.

.

Four days in. Elijah seems tired. He has continued to eat little—a few bites of meat or dried fruit each day. Despite his fatigue, he still tosses and turns in the night, unable to sleep peacefully.

They fell a deer. Finn suggests they bring it home, but stops when he sees Mikael’s expression. He has no intent of returning home until he’s satisfied that Elijah is free.

.

Ayana complains of her birds going missing. She and Esther combine their magic to perform a spell to locate them—to no avail. It’s as if they’ve disappeared from the face of the earth.

Niklaus volunteers to wash his own things in the stream. She lets him, grateful for the help.

.

They are running low on supplies. Finn observes—rightfully—that the game will spoil if not dried soon.

Mikael sends him back to the village with their kills. He stays with Elijah, who has begun to skip meals altogether.

.

Niklaus runs to greet Finn excitedly, before realizing Elijah is not with him. Esther places a comforting hand on his shoulder. He’ll be back soon. In a day or two. You’ll see.

Later that day, Rebekah comes to tell her Henrik is crying at home and won’t stop.

What happened? she asks.

Rebekah shrugs. I left him with Nik. When I came back, he was in floods.

Henrik is a master of words by now. He speaks all day long, for the most part using words everyone can understand.

But none of Esther’s coaxing convinces him to tell her what upset him so badly.

.

Father, I don’t feel well. Elijah is pale. He hunches over on his pallet, after yet another sleepless night.

You should eat something, Finn scoffs. It’s been two days.

Elijah wrinkles his nose. He chews on a piece of dried meat, tossing it into the leaves unfinished after half a day.

He doesn’t sleep again that night.

Nor does Mikael. Niklaus glides into their camp again, eyes and skin shining like the wood alves from the old world.

He lays one hand on Elijah’s forehead. You thought he could escape me? You thought he would want to? His voice envelops Mikael, whispering in both his ears like an enchantment.

He loves me. He only fears you.

.

Niklaus is sprawled on his back, looking up at the sky.

It’s nearly suppertime, Esther calls to him. There’s deer or rabbit. Niklaus, she repeats when he does not answer. What do you want?

He doesn’t move. I want my brother back.

.

He’s burning up, Father, Finn announces. Would it not be best to bring him home, so Mother can care for him?

Mikael seethes. Fight through it, Elijah. You are strong.

He hopes.

.

Esther offers the little ones honey on their bread, as a treat.

Niklaus shakes his head, turning his sweet radiant smile on her. Not for me, Mother. I’m saving mine.

.

Nine days in the forest. Elijah has burned with a fever for nearly half of them. His voice scratches in his throat. He can barely stand.

Mikael swore to keep him away until Niklaus’s hold over him was broken.

It isn’t magic, Niklaus sneers. He grows more impatient.

There is no spell to break. I will have him because he wants me, Mikael.

Mikael shudders.

.

After ten days, Mikael finally relents. Esther does not need to lose another child. He and Finn hoist Elijah between them and carry him home.

.

Upon the hunting party’s return, Niklaus will not be torn from Elijah’s side. He holds his hand while Esther and Ayana treat him with herbs (and a few whispered spells). He holds Elijah’s head on his lap until he wakes.

When Elijah’s eyes open, he comes back to life. Color seems to return to his cheeks, the heaviness leaving his limbs. He reaches up to cradle his brother’s face while Niklaus holds him close, exclaiming softly but excitedly.

Niklaus feeds Elijah supper that evening, letting him lick drops of honey from his fingers after a meal of bread and fruit.

Esther catches him dozing upright late in the evening, Elijah’s head still on his lap.

Niklaus. She shakes him gently to wake him. Are you all right, my love?

His eyes are bleary, exhausted. There is a tangle of honey stuck in his hair. But he smiles, his blue eyes shining with contentment. Yes, Mother.

.

Mikael gnashes his teeth when he sees how readily the two boys snap back together. Elijah, so wearied by whatever fever overtook him in the forest, recovers quickly in the arms of his hungry-eyed brother.

Niklaus breathes Elijah in, holding him close as if to make up for all the lost days.

He made no trouble, Esther reassures him. Although he missed his brother.

.

Mikael is awakened in the night by harsh breathing close to his ear. He reaches instinctively for his knife, but it is not beside his pillow.

He opens his eyes to see Niklaus’s slender figure. Looming over him, staring at him with those cold, pale eyes.

Don’t you ever, he snarls, take him away from me again.

Mikael closes his eyes again and waits, through his pounding heart, for Niklaus to disappear. (He drank too much at the homecoming meal.)

When he wakes in the morning, his knife is still nowhere to be found.

[deathboundinautumn]

The LoL AU

The sprawling and constantly expanding world of Runeterra is home to many remarkable figures.  Why not add one more?

Character Stats:

Name: Shinjiro Aragaki Age: 25 Birthplace: Tevasa, Ionia Status: Wanted by the Kinkou Order and the Navori Brotherhood Condition: Tormented by the Azakana dubbed ‘Castor’

Background (This is by far the most in-depth AU I’ve ever written so you can pretty much get by with the stats above if you don’t want to read the whole thing):

A native of the First Lands, Shinjiro Aragaki was born at the footholds of the mountain in a small town called Tevasa.  Shortly after his birth the small village was struck by tragedy.  Inexplicably, villagers would just up and leave their homes randomly throughout the day and never return.  Search parties were sent but were quickly stopped when party members would also go missing.  Several children were orphaned in the process, including Shinji.  

Though it was never said, many of the villagers that remained often blamed the recent newborns for the disappearance of the villagers.  It was believed that some lives were to be returned to the land as new ones began, to maintain balance.  Regardless of the teachings, these children were looked down upon and only cared for in the most basic of ways, ensuring that none went hungry and all had a home.

Despite receiving little support from the adults in his village, Shinjiro found solace in his fellow orphans who were largely given free reign over what they did once their daily chores were completed.  Though he never knew his parents, Shinji never felt without family.  For as long as he could remember he’d been best friends with two other orphans Asheru and Mi’rai-Ey, together the three formed their own family growing closer than most blood siblings in the village. 

Everyone lost something during the Noxian Invasion and Shinji is no exception.  When invaders came to Tevasa Shinji, Asheru and Mi’rai-Ey took up arms alongside the rest of the villagers to defend their home.  Amidst the chaos the trio became separated.  Asheru, always too eager to get in the thick of the fight, rushed towards the invaders leaving Mi’rai-Ey and Shinji.  Though the villagers fought valiantly it was clear from the beginning that they’d be no match for the Noxian invaders.  They were a rural farming town, armed with only the most rudimentary farming tools against an enemy brandishing superior steel and tactics.  

Many lives were lost that day, none more significant to Shinjiro than Mi’rai-Ey who died in his arms after an arrow struck her in the heart.  

“Take care of him.  He’s always been a cry baby,” she chokes while a shaky hand reaches for his own. His tight grip around her hand gives her just enough of a second wind to refocus her gaze as she whispers to him “It’s not your fault,” before succumbing to her wounds.

Having lost his sister and fearing the worst for his brother Shinji welcomed death openly.  But death never came.  The battle should have ended with the razing of Tevasa, its inhabitants either killed or enslaved, but it didn’t.

Miraculously, the Noxian Invaders were halted by a single figure emerging from the nearby forest who’s powerful magic completely outclassed the invaders most well-trained soldiers.  Shinjiro looked on, a mix of both awe and horror painting his visage as this wild feral woman with nine long white tails ripped the life essence from Noxian soldiers, seemingly growing more and more powerful with each felled enemy till the remaining troops fled.  Tevasa would later attribute their victory to the powerful ancient Ionian fox spirit the Gatekeeper and would erect a shrine.

In the aftermath Shinjiro was overjoyed to see that Asheru had survived the battle but elation quickly turned to grief as he broke the news that Mi’rai-Ey, their sister, had been killed in the battle.  Together they mourned and remembered their fallen kin and tried their best to move forward.  Overtime it quickly became apparent that, without her, their family was falling apart.  Shinjiro feeling responsible for not being able to protect her and  Asheru growing more and more bitter as news of the war came in.  Asheru never blamed Shinji for Mi’rai-Ey’s death but as time passed the boy could no longer sit in their village while invaders ransacked their home.

“I’m going to get stronger,” he says, “strong enough to protect the people I care about.”  

Shortly after Mi’rai-Ey’s death Asheru left Tevasa to join the growing Navori brotherhood leaving Shinji alone.

Shinji spent most of his time tending to Mi’rai-Ey’s garden; their last moments burned in his mind.  It was his fault.  He could have done something, anything.  It should’ve been him...

A year or so passes and the guilt is too much to bear.  Too long has he spent sleeping in the same hut he once shared with his family, their things remain largely untouched save for the occasional dusting.  Privately he entrusts Mi’rai-Ey’s garden to one of the elders before leaving Tevasa in the late evening.  

With the loss of his family and now his self-imposed exile, Shinjiro spends his life as a vagrant.  Shinjiro keeps mostly to himself, rarely traveling with others unless absolutely necessary.  Despite traveling alone and largely camping outside of settlements, the teen can’t help but hear words of affirmation whispered on the wind that passes through the trees.

‘it’s your fault’ ‘you deserve to be alone’ ‘you could have saved her’

Every waking moment is plagued by these thoughts until it becomes so regular it barely bothers him at all.  The only time he can seem to quiet his mind is in sleep and eventually that respite is soon taken as nightmares poison his dreams.  Though every nightmare is different the malformed, twisted humanoid creatures in them remain the same until one nightmare he is no longer tortured by three but one: A pale rider impaled on his own sword riding a one legged horse that hunts him relentlessly.

 The vagrant would wake in the middle of the night in a cold sweat gasping for air and clawing at his chest.  After a while the waking and dreaming world often blur together, making him question which was which.

After two years of wandering and torment both in the waking world and dreaming Shinjiro is ambushed by a group of bandits.  Despite fighting valiantly, incapacitating three of the eight, their numbers are overwhelming and they beat the vagrant within an inch of his life.  As the would-be killing blow comes down the teen collapses to the ground writhing in agony.  Its as if thousands of needles are piercing his brain all at once.  A familiar haunting whinny cuts through the blood pounding in his ears and the apparition of the pale rider can be seen through swimming vision.

He looks on in horror as the horseman charges forward impaling one bandit on the horses’ head-spike while the rider cleaves through another two.  Smoldering eyes burning crimson with hatred turn to the remaining two bandits that have started to flee in terror. With a sharp tug on the reigns, the horse leaps high into the air and as it begins its descent Shinji can’t bear to watch any longer.  Though his eyes are shut tight the weakening cries of agony and sickening crunch he hears over and over are more than enough to paint a clear picture in his mind.

 Eyes are forced open when he feels two large hands tightly wrapped around his neck lifting him into the air.  The pale rider’s.

“You’ll die when We say so”

Shinji wakes with a scream in the middle of the night next to the dying embers of a campfire nowhere near where the supposed mugging took place.  Was it all a dream?  He could have sworn it was real.  It all felt so real.  Yet where there should be cuts and bruises from the mugging he finds nothing.  As time passes, Shinji goes without another incident as severe and just assumes it was a one-off.

At the age of twenty, Shinjiro encountered a Kinkou Acolyte, Selune, who immediately recognizes that something isn’t right inside the vagabond.  Shinjiro’s Essence is being strangled and poisoned by a large amount of dark spiritual energy unlike anything she’s ever seen before.  Upon hearing this and desperate for some respite, Shinji discloses what he’s been experiencing since leaving Tevasa four years ago and the two decide to travel together to learn more about why this dark spirit energy hangs so heavily around him.

After a few weeks of observation Selune gathers that Shinji’s spirit is occasionally being pulled into the spirit realm while he’s sleeping and the things he’s been experiencing in his “dreams” are what’s ripping apart his soul.  She informs him that if this continues his soul will diminish until there’s nothing left, killing him.

As weeks turn to months the two grow close despite Shinjiro’s best efforts to remain acquaintances and after three months of travel he warily (and never to her face) considers her a friend.  During this time, Selune formulates a plan to sever the dark spirit energy from Shinjiro’s soul via a ritual involving her Spirit Blade and after a few days of preparation the day long ritual begins.  

Neither of them are prepared for what would happened. 

The first few hours go well, Shinji feeling a great deal of weight being lifted from his heart.  However, six hours into the ritual Shinjiro begins to break out in a cold sweat.  The blood in his veins like fire,  heart racing as breaths get shorter and shorter before the pain becomes so excruciating that he cries out in agony.

As he writhes on the ground in the sealing circle the outline of the pale rider that’s plagued his nightmares begins to manifest.  Selune looks on in shock that quickly turns to terror as realization dawns on her that what’s tethered to Shinjiro’s soul isn’t just dark spiritual energy from the spirit realm, its a full on demon and it’s powerful.

In an attempt to sever its connection to Shinjiro, Selune takes her spirit blade and plunges it deep into Shinji’s chest.  This only further enrages the demon and it is only then that she realizes just how powerful the demon really is.  It’s had five years to fester deep within is his soul and was now, finally, powerful enough to interact regularly with the physical realm.

Shinji chokes out a desperate cry for her to leave him as pain wracks his body leaving him incapacitated.   The last thing he sees before consciousness fails him is the demon pulling the sword from its own chest and charging at his new companion.

“Foolish boy.  You couldn’t save her either.”  

The low gravelly voice cuts through the unnatural silence rousing him from unconsciousness.  The demon looms over him, picking him up by his head and throwing him towards Selune’s lifeless body.  

“It’s your fault.  It’s ALWAYS your fault.  You made US.  Anytime somebody tries to take you from Us we will ALWAYS be there to stop it.  Your life is OURS,” the demon taunts before disappearing.

After a few hours recuperating from the ordeal, Shinji begins the difficult task of laying Selune to rest.  

He never should have involved her. She was dead because of him   

As he goes through her belongings he discovers her journal.  It’s contents contain the bulk of her research from the past few months of their travels.  From the journal he learns that he’s been playing host to numerous tiny demons, or Azakana, ever since the Noxian Invasion.  These demons have been feeding off his negative emotions for the past five years and the longer they’ve gone unchecked the stronger they’ve become.

Suddenly the nightmares and invasive thoughts he’s been hearing ever since the invasion make sense.   The whispers reinforcing his own guilt for not protecting Mi’rai-Ey, his unyielding sorrow at the loss of his friendship with Asheru and his own fulminating self-hatred.  Those feelings attracted separate Azakana and as time went on and how normal those feelings started to feel caused the three demons to become one; A conglomerate of his worst feelings made manifest and much more powerful together than any single one of them could have been alone.

As he continues to read her journal he learns that not much is known about exorcising these demons as they only started appearing after the Noxian Invasion.  She is able to assume however that, like all demons, an Azakana cannot be harmed by conventional means and only powerful magic or spirit weapons like her Spirit Blade are able to harm/ kill the demons.

Strangely enough after being fully recognized as real by Shinjiro, the demon begins to communicate more directly and when asked for a name it responds: Castor.  As the two talk Shinji learns that Castor emerges when Shinjiro is threatened  to ‘protect Their kill’ and even encourages Shinji to take Selune’s Spirit Blade to summon Castor on command.  When asked why Castor would encourage taking a weapon that could kill the Azakana, Castor responds 

“You’d never kill Us because We know this is the fate you deserve.” 

A few weeks after the death of Selune wanted posters issued by the Kinkou begin popping up in the territory searching for Shinji for the murder of a Kinkou Acolyte.  This gains the attention of the Navori Brotherhood who’ve been at odds with the Kinkou since the Noxian Invasion.  With eyes all over the countryside its only a few short months before he encounters his old friend, someone he hasn’t seen in years, Asheru.

Overjoyed at reuniting with his friend, the two spend their first night back together, drinking and reminiscing about their shared past but those feelings don’t last.  

“Join us.  We could use someone like you.  Someone with experience.  It’s not everyday someone kills a member of the Kinkou.”

Shinjiro walls up almost immediately, stating that Asheru has no idea what he’s talking about and that it’s much more complicated.  As their conversation turns to argument a deep sadness wells within his heart.  Asheru, his brother, was not the same boy who left Tevasa all those years ago.  

War had hardened his heart and Asheru’s quest for power had blinded him to the reality of what it was the Navori Brotherhood was really doing.  But Shinjiro witnessed it anytime he passed through towns, sometimes first hand.  The way members of the brotherhood would act more as thugs than protectors;�� Collecting weekly taxes from those already struggling to get by for their ‘protection;’  The random beatings and ransacking of homes for ‘the cause;’  How they’d ‘borrow’ daughters and wives to ‘relieve stress.’  

He never would have believed it, but seeing Asheru now...was he like that too?  Realizing that Shinji would never join the Brotherhood, Asheru leaves Shinji with a few parting words that confirm Shinji’s worst fears 

“For the sake of our past I’m letting you walk away.  Can’t say the other members will do the same but if you stand in our way then I’ll see to it myself to hunt you down and kill you.  If you’re not with us then you’re against us.”

It’s been four years since he last saw Asheru.  Now twenty-four, the vagabond is wanted dead by the Navori Brotherhood, the Kinkou Order and Castor.  As time passes it grows harder and harder to resist Castor’s influence and it’s only a matter of time before he’s captured and executed by the Kinkou/Navori or he succumbs to Castor’s influence. 

[pippafitzamobi]

just me

It’s that time of the term when I’m ready to do everything except real work. Here’s the result. All 2158 words of it.

Also can be found on ao3.

-----------------

The brisk of fresh air fills my lungs as I take a deep breath and close my eyes leaning against the huge tree. The surface of the trunk scratches my bare arms, and I welcome the sensation. The ache to feel anything except this overwhelming numbness I’m experiencing is taking over me again.

The past few days have been a whirlwind of inexplicable joy and painful revelations. The more I find out about myself the more I realize that there is to lose. 

It's no longer just about me, my sanity, my freedom. 

It's no longer just about Aaron, his wounds, his obligations. 

Somewhere along the way we've made friends, grew attachments. 

Something that was once an unfathomable concept for me: a poor, crazy girl destined for nothing but solitude. I am no longer alone. Now, I know the truth or at least a scrap of it. There is still so much to uncover, I can feel it, something escapes me and I’m too afraid to look closer.

We're all connected by the invisible thread of pain and now it's wrapping around our necks trying to strangle us into submission. 

I can't let that happen. 

I won’t let that happen.

Everyone is counting on me, on us, to end all of this once and for all. 

“Chiquitita tell me what’s wrong” a cracked, out-of-tune voice comes from the other side of the tree.

Kenji.

I've been a bad friend lately. So consumed with myself that I did not even once stop and thought about anyone else. I should do better. Kenji deserves better. The best of me, the best of anything really. He has been there for me and with me through it all. And I left him on his own when he was falling apart. 

“You really shouldn’t be out of bed yet.”

He ignores me, gazing somewhere deep into the darkness ahead of him. "So, what are we sulking about today, princess?"

My left shoulder rest against the tree as I turn to get a better look at him.

He looks tired, worn. An echo of a lively soul he once was.

What I wouldn't give to put my hands on Nazeera right now – if it wouldn’t be for a fact that my best friend is in love with her.

"I'm sorry."

The wind carries my words through the silence that settles between us as Kenji nods his head in understanding.

I love that about us. There’s no second-guessing, no questioning looks or doubts.

He gets it. Of course, he does. I don't know if there is any other person in the world who understands me as he does. 

What Aaron and I have exists on a different level of us. It’s more raw, rugged, soaked with everything we are and what we’ve done.

My connection with Kenji is not something that can be easily explained with words - it needs to be felt. And the fact that I don’t need to explain it to him is the best testimony to that.  What we have goes beyond anything familiar, beyond anything romantic. With each other, we can just be. And to people like us, that’s everything.

Especially since lately I’m not sure who I’m supposed to be anymore.

“Look J.” He slings a look down at me from the corner of his eye. ”I’m not angry with you. I could never be angry with for trying to rest and be happy,” he stops to release a loaded sigh, “but yeah..."

A broken laugh escapes him and something breaks a little inside me.

“It’s completely ridiculous when I think about it. I survived two decades of some serious shit without you and...,” he falls quiet for a moment. “I guess I should get used to not having you around.”

At that, I push away from the tree and stand in front of him frowning in confusion.

“What are you talking about?”

His lips tug in a small, pitiful smile and I suddenly struggle with an urge to punch him in the face.

“Come on, Jello, don’t be dense. We both know that when all of this is over you will go off to live somewhere far with the pretty boy and have a herd of his tiny megalomaniacal replicants.”

For a second I’m speechless. The sheer force of anger and shock that comes over me almost knocks me back. 

“I'm not leaving you.” It’s all I manage to say.

“Oh, that's so sweet. You are so sweet.”

I hate him.

“Tell me: are we going to live in the same neighbourhood? Or maybe even better! The same house. Do you think Prince Discharming would mind if we got a bunk bed, for you and me?  He can sleep underneath it, I suppose.”

My hands start to shake. “Kenji…”

“I don't want you to hold yourself back for my benefit. If anyone on this godforsaken world deserves a happy ending it's you. Even if it's with Warner.”

“Stop it. Just stop-p,” my voice cracks, my body shakes, my heart has abandoned me. “Stop saying things, I don’t want your stupid words.”

I shove his hand away as he tries to grab me and get closer to him, so close that I feel his warm breath on my face as I crane my neck to be able to look him in the eye.

I can’t believe him. That he would dare to think something like that. After everything, he thinks I could just get up and leave? Leave him, of all people?

“You listen to me now, you're not getting rid of me so easily. War or no war, we stick together, you understand? You and I have a long future in ahead of us and I expect you to be there.”

Something inside of him is brewing and breaking and mending all at once and I can see the change starting in his eyes, his face softening, his knees bending as he falls on the ground exhausted.

We’ve all been through so much, too much perhaps, that at times I wonder whether surviving it all is within our reach. I start to believe some of us were designed to cruise from one heartbreak to another until there will be nothing of us left, but a road wasted good intentions.

After a while, I join sitting beside him on the greenest grass I’ve ever seen, waiting for one us to speak.

“So, now that we got that out of our system, do you mind telling me what’s up with your sudden need for breathing exercises?”

How can I form into words what I myself don’t understand?

“Hey,” he says softly, nudging me with his shoulder.

 “I just feel I haven’t processed everything as well as I thought I have. And the chances that I will get time to do that are substantially small.”

“What’s there to process?”

I raise my eyebrow at him meaningfully, and he smirks in response.

“No, seriously. The only new thing is that you have a sister and are apparently from Australia–”

“New Zeeland, actually”

“...everything else is pretty much the same.”

“Is that so?”

He starts ticking off on his fingers, “Parents? Still shitty. Your taste in men? Still questionable. Superpowers? Unfairly high. The rest is only made of insignificant detail that will make you feel shitty the more you think about it. So...you know, don’t think.”

With a sigh I toss my face up to the sky, “Easier said than done.”

Stretching his long legs out in front of him, he crosses them at the ankles, while folding his arms across his chest, and leans back against the tree. “People put too much value into thinking. Thinking hasn’t changed anything in the world. Sure, sometimes it’s a good thing to do, but most of the time if you want to have something you have to get it done.”

He stops me before I get to say anything.

“And what we want right now is Adam and James back, Anderson dead, and your sister not pulling a plug on all of this,” Kenji points around them at the reminder of what her sister is exactly capable of.

“You make it all sound so simple. But I don’t even know who is supposed to pull it all off.”

“What do you mean ‘who’?” he frowns. “We are. You, me and the rest of them.”

“Yes, but...me as who? Juliette or Ella?”

His mouth opens in silent realization.

“Oh, Jesus, is it what it’s all about? Your name?”

“No, it’s not just that. It’s...what it mean..ugh…”.The frustration sweeps through me cresting in my chest. “I can’t explain it logically.” 

“Maybe because it lacks any logic, hm?” he squints his left eye at me as to emphasise his point.

Suddenly, my head starts to feel heavy so I let it rest on my knees. Communicating your problems is difficult when you don’t know what the problem is, or even if there is one. But I keep feeling this pressure in my skull and weight in my heart, so I need to try, try to speak about something I don’t even dare to think about.

“It’s like this,” I close my eyes and let words flow. “I was born as Ella, that’s who I am to Aaron and to my sister, and to many others who knew me since I was a child. But then I became Juliette, not by my own volition, but that’s who I’ve been for over a decade of my life. And it’s Juliette who discovered the true potential of her powers, it’s Juliette who rebelled, it’s her who fell in love and it’s her who made all of those wonderful friends. But Juliette is a creation of horrible design, but then again so is Ella. “

I open my eyes at last. They feel gritty. My throat is so dry I can't swallow the wad that despair lodged inside of it.  

“There are times I’m not sure which I am, and which I’m supposed to be.”

It is dark, but I can still see him, looking at me like he’s seeing me for the first time, noticing something he hasn't before. His expression gentle, understanding, and surprisingly sharp, almost determined.

Kenji knows. 

“Your name is just that. A name. Bunch of letters put together that don’t mean a thing. And don’t say a single thing about you.” He leans in closer, pulling me in with his eyes. “What do they mean? Did everything you went through as Juliette became erased when you found out your birth name?”, he shakes his head, “No.”

“Did your family stop exist when you were living as Juliette?”, he shakes it again, “No.”

His hand finds her in the dark. “You’re badass, you know that, don’t you? You survived hell and you keep coming back because you want to help people. It doesn't matter whose daughter you are and who is your sister, not even who are you dating right now. You can’t figure out which name to use? Use both, use neither. Choose a new one. For the first time in your life, you’re free to make a choice for yourself. Do you know how powerful that is, J? To be free? To be you? Because you've got to be you. No one else can.”

He knows he knows he knows

Me

With tears in my eyes I reach for him and he tugs me closer. I don’t need any powers to feel him, the certainty that there will always be at least one person who will understand me.

“Ella!”

Kenji groans against me and glares over his shoulder at approaching Aaron.

“I swear he has some sort of radar when it comes to you. Are you sure he didn’t implant any microchip into your skull? Actually never mind. I’m gonna check myself.”

He continues to work his fingers on my head until I elbow him, laughing. 

“Kenji!”

We're standing up, smiling at each other as if we have no other worries in the world, and at this moment I’ve never been more grateful that amidst all the tragedy in our lives we’ve found our ways to each other.

“Thank you,” I say, hoping it conveys all the gratitude and love I feel for him.

He messes up my hair, the way an older sibling might do a younger, to break the tension, but mostly because he knows I hate it when he does that. 

Throwing his arm over my much smaller frame, he starts walking towards the camp. “So, how about that plan? How much are we going to make Anderson suffer? I vote extremely much, the Spider-Man 3 level of pain.”

I may not know everything about my past yet, and my future might be even more uncertain than ever, but what I do know, is that this, this is the best side of love. And there’s no chance I’m losing that.

[fuzed-hostage]

RainbowSix l Siege

Doc and Montagne have been planning a date night for weeks and just can’t catch a break! After numerous attempts, they settle on cuddling but get carried away.

Rated: E [ Some Doc alone time, They finally get to ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) !! , definitely nsfw ] Parings: Montagne/Doc, Bandit/Jäger [ Mention ]

     It felt like every time there was a break in the madness that was Rainbow, something would suddenly, inexplicably, unfortunately happen right as Gustave was about to send a text to Gilles. He’d be seated in his office, reclining in the not-so-comfortable chair with nothing to do but kill time. Whatever appointments had been made that day were over and done with, it’s nearing sundown, and he’s waiting for the clock to strike ten so his shift could end.

     Fingers would tap the same message each time [>>Want to go out for dinner in an hour?<<] and then BOOM the door would burst open. If not that, he’d get a phone call, or the computer screen alerted him of an incoming message. Mozzie ate shit riding his bike with Mute on the back, Fuze and Jäger had a mishap in the workshop, Bandit tased Tachanka ( it did nothing to him ) and Kapkan stapled the German to the wall in retaliation, etc.

     On Montagne’s end, it was no different outside of the subject matters regarding whatever emergencies he was called to handle. Given his easy going nature, ability to break up fights, and calmly knock some sense into people’s heads, it was no wonder he got picked before anyone else. Lion started another fight with the SAS, Maestro and Valkyrie are bickering about who’s camera gadget is cooler, Ela called Echo a lazy fuck and now she’s being tormented by Yokai; the list goes on.

     Whenever they did get to meet up, it was on the clock and quite often during a stupid incident they both had to handle. In the case of Mozzie and Mute, the Brit didn’t lean into a turn like he should have and their crash nearly took off Thermite’s shins. Poor Mute took the brunt of the impact, whereas the Aussie had jumped back up on his feet to curse at a pissed off FBI agent threatening to torch his ride. It almost came to blows until the GIGN tag-team showed up.

     Knowing Mozzie, he bailed off of the bike prematurely out of habit and left his buddy to become one with the earth. That’ll teach them both to either never ride together again or to slow down a little and work out the details more. Well... maybe. Since when has the pint sized daredevil ever slowed down before in his entire life? Survey says: Never.

~~~~~~~~&~~~~~~~~~~

     Planning in advanced wasn’t very helpful either, what with how unpredictable the two love birds’ schedules were. Montagne would have a day off while Doc was knee deep in overtime. They also were’t ever deployed together and that just made the medic mad. He could remain professional throughout an operation while Gilles was there! Up until the larger man was hurt and then he’d probably lose his mind that is. 

     Back then he was a lot more level headed when it was just the GIGN operating within France. With Rainbow, there were ten times more shit to factor in on top of the obvious risks that the job explicitly entailed. More CTU’s, more men and women, a lot more ground to cover, an expansive array of new surprises. Tension sometimes ran high within the mixed teams, not everybody knew how to leave their baggage back at base, and it all felt like a glorified armed daycare.

     Which part of a mission would he rather be in? Right up in the action, stressed out about Gilles, and potentially becoming a liability by slipping into tunnel vision quicker or clawing at his hair, glued to the radio, and picking at his lip until it bled? He’d hurt less people back at base but the anxiety was significantly magnified and his colleagues were beginning to notice.

     Out on the field is where he believed he could make the most difference in life and death situations but Rainbow needed him back home terribly as well. Training accidents that could become permanent damage was mended by his expert hands, sickness ( be it from terrorist chemicals or natural means ) was eased by his knowledge. Montagne, as much as he wanted his love by his side, preferred that the good doctor wasn’t assigned to his squad if it was more productive.

     It used to not be that way though. One or the other would insist on coming along during the time they were dancing around each other not knowing how to interpret the signals being given. Rumors spread like wildfire about how obvious their love was and that someone should shove them in a closet so they could work out the sexual tension. There were even attempts to get them alone at a bar after arriving with a group so that liquid courage would spill the beans in the form of Je t’aime Gustave and Je t’aime aussi Gilles but to no avail.

     Montagne could hold his liquor and wine brought forth all of Doc’s pent up exhaustion, leading to an early bed time. Having the medic drink something else was like pulling teeth as his response was always “I’d like to remain in control of my mind and body, merci.” while the taller Frenchman chuckled. Sometimes, however, he’d try a sip of whatever Gilles had accepted. It was fifty-fifty on whether or not he’d like it but zero chance of him ordering it again. Doc was a hard nut to crack but it all paid off in the end.

~~~~~~~~&~~~~~~~~~~ 

     “I am getting really tired of all this madness. It’s like we’re cursed!” Gustave ranted, throwing his hands up and knocking a stapler off of his desk. He looked down at the damn thing like it had offended him by toppling over when it should have just remained put. “It is rather perplexing. Has there been a full moon recently?” Came Gilles’ calm voice as he picked up the stapler to place it back where it belonged. All his lover did was roll his chocolate brown eyes and sigh. Everyday felt like it had a full moon attached to it, bringing forth the age old curse emergency services workers dreaded. Tack that along with the Q-word and you’d have a recipe for disaster.

     “I heard there was a nice Japanese place in town. Why don’t we-” Sadly, the shield operator was cut off by the ding of his phone. He looked down at the pocket it was contained in with a sigh that starkly contrasted the fury building up inside of Gustave’s red face. With the shake of his head, Montagne placed a quick kiss to his lovers lips and departed, not knowing that his partner was secretly daydreaming about strangling whomever pried them apart.

     This trivial text happened to be IQ snitching about Caveira’s apparent stalking of Glaz. The sniper was well known for spotting the shit that nobody thought twice about. Shifts in daily routines, objects moved out of their usual place, mood swings, and, of course, his uncanny ability to pick up on when he’s being followed. So far he’s caught Taina six times and she’s pissed about it, refusing to give up even though she knows it’s childish. This will take hours of conversation, some translation, and bringing Timur in to resolve the conflict.

     Meanwhile, Doc has treated a nasty gash Seamus acquired while teaching Aria how to cook traditional Scottish dishes. They both share a love for food and wanted to surprise their fellows with what they’ve learned from one another. Good friends, those two. She’s even given Sledge some dating advice when he accidentally let slip that there’s another guy he’s interested in. While it was nice to hear that this injury was just an accident and not some rage fueled wound, Gustave wished it never happened. For one, he doesn’t like seeing his colleagues hurt and two, he needs this alone time with Gilles.

~~~~~~~~&~~~~~~~~~~

     It’s been nearly a month since he’s shared a bed with Montagne and everyone’s starting to notice how grumpy Gustave is getting. Hell, he can’t even sit with the guy in a friendly setting let alone a romantic one! Quick kisses and light touches ( such as the brushing of their hands together or a shoulder squeeze ) are all he gets and that’s unacceptable. Gilles is on a mission this time in Russia with Buck, Fuze, Jackal, and Gridlock. He’d also planned a coming over the night he got deployed for takeout and a makeout sesh that’s obviously not going to happen now.

     The upset on Gustave’s face at how badly the universe is treating them is almost palpable upon the doctor’s tensed up form. He’s had six cups of strong coffee, going on seven, and it’s barely even ten o’clock. Breakfast is quiet in the cafeteria at Hereford Base until he hears Bandit announcing his arrival. “Man, you look like you really need to get laid, Gus.” For a guy that doesn’t shrink away from Kapkan’s frightening gaze, the look Doc gives him makes the hair upon the back of Dominic’s neck stand straight up.

     He mumbles some sort of excuse to get away, steps back quickly, and departs while everyone tries to avoid eye contact when Gustave glowers at them all from his table. The rest of his day is spent talking only when it is necessary and retreating to his room immediately upon its conclusion. The staff posted for night watch better figure out how to operate without him unless the patient is literally going to die if he’s not there. He’s got faith in them only because he wants one uninterrupted night to shave off some neglect.

    Rook and Twitch went out with Blitz and IQ for an evening of casual drinking so he’s got the GIGN quarters all to himself. It’d be nice if his lover was here, but a dildo with similar length and girth will do. Gustave is wearing one of Gilles’ shirts that had been worn for half a day and wasn’t quite dirty yet. It smelled of his cologne and was a size too big to fit him, but that didn’t matter. He’s taken up residence in his lover’s room, they often do this when one was away, it was comforting and arousing all the same depending on what the intention was for this consensual invasion.

     Even though he didn’t need to keep the noise level down for a while, Gustave had already decided on forcing himself to be as quiet as he could. Preparation was done a bit quickly, fingers pushing in and scissoring right away with a groan of need tumbling from his lips. He’s touch starved to all hell and knows he’ll regret that come morning when the ache kicks in. Squatting with his feet planted flush with the floor ( thank the slav squad for helping his balance with that ) one hand holds the dildo steady while he sinks down onto it.

     It hurts going in and Doc doesn’t feel inclined to wait for proper adjustment until his cheeks meet the floorboards. “Fuck... Why did Six have to choose you again?” Montagne was an amazing operator, highly skilled, very sexy.. Get on with it Gustave. He can already see that perfectly sculpted body as if it were beneath him, holding a strong grip on both hips. It takes him longer than usual to come; soft thumping against the floor combined with muffled moans and uttered encouragements slurring into curses until a choked sound signals the end.

     He’ll sit there for a moment, still anchored onto the dildo with a shameful mess in front of him, and sighs when he finally catches his breath. It’s not the same but it is satisfying. After he cleans up and tucks himself into Montagne’s bed, the rest of his team has returned and gone their separate ways to conduct nightly rituals to get ready for sleep. He’ll greet them in the morning with a smile and a tired yawn.

~~~~~~~~&~~~~~~~~~~

     It’ll be a week before Gilles returns and during that time frame, Doc decided to ask Dominic ( of all people ) for advice. The German already knew he was dating his colleague, it was obvious as fuck, but felt inclined to help a friend in need. He kinda owed it to Gus after the crude comment in the cafeteria a few days ago. Out of all the wild things Bandit suggested, a vibrator worked the best as it was simple / discrete and pleasuring himself in the shower made cleanup so much easier. It all came down to timing those sessions right so that he wouldn’t have to be so worried about the noise.

     He spaces out masturbating with getting additional work done in preparation to have a clean slate in the foreseeable future. Bandit offers to give him a quickie here and there, but he refuses. Discussing it with his partner must come first even though they’ve talked a little bit about it before. Someone they trust would be a better alternative than trying to go at it alone. Montagne trusts Dom while Doc thinks he’s rather annoying but trusts him as well. If he didn’t, he’d not of spoken up about his sexual frustrations.

     Brunsmeier can and will take secrets like those to his grave along with other personal shit. They’ve often spent nights sitting together on the roof of the base venting about past trauma, talking about hardships, and laughing when one of them remembers something stupid that’s funny now that it was over. Bandit’s a good man, you just need to see through the jokes and rough exterior. If he’s pranking you more than others, he likes you.

     Inquiring a second time felt too awkward, so Gustave decided to wait out the last handful of days. He’ll be the first one up to the helicopter so that absolutely nothing can get in the way of their date night inquiry. Since they obviously couldn’t go anywhere, having a glass of wine or whatever Gilles felt like drinking in their quarters was a decent alternative. He’s ordered takeout and goddamn it this private time is going to happen!

     The deployed squad shuffles off the helicopter one by one, taking their gear with them. Thankfully nobody looks seriously injured so there goes that speed bump. Montagne is the last to have his boots touch the ground, he’d been talking with Jäger and thanking him for a smooth flight. He didn’t have to but it was a nice thing to do. Now, about that date... “Gilles. You and me, tonight, my room. I’ve got food and great wine.” Doc received a quick nod for confirmation and they carry on with renewed energy to finish the day. He can’t help but catch a sly grin and a thumbs up from Bandit when he passes by in search of his engineer.

     Dominic will probably ask questions come morning and, for once, Doc won’t mind. The man did help him without judgement or ridicule. He also kind of wondered how much experience Bandit’s had with how in depth he went with his explanations sometimes and the terminology. It was both embarrassing and intriguing to listen to if you ignored the gestures the German made with his hands. Gustave’s selection of the vibrator earlier was the absolute most vanilla shit apparently.

~~~~~~~~&~~~~~~~~~~ 

     Night falls and Gustave passes on custody of Rainbow’s health to the poor souls taking his place for the graveyard shift. He’s definitely not going to answer any calls now. Critical emergencies will have to wait too because getting untangled and yanking on boxers or pants won’t hide an erection. That would be the worst case scenario: Doc rushing to the medical wing with a bouncing hard on re-trapped within one or two layers of clothing trying to concentrate on saving a life when he knows everyone can see the obvious bulge will be a night he’ll never live down.

     It makes him shudder just thinking about it or is that Gilles behind him unintentionally breathing against his neck? They’re on his bed, naked save for their underwear, with a glass of red wine in their hands. The cheap takeout has been consumed a while ago and did a fair job at filling their bellies. Gustave has made himself comfortable, basking in the feeling of skin on skin contact and the gentle rise and fall of his lover’s chest. If their evening remained this way, he wouldn’t be all that upset. He is content listening to what happened during the mission through his love’s point of view. It went off without a hitch, Rainbow had caught the White Mask’s with their pants down.

     Speaking of that, Gustave decides he’s going to wiggle a bit and pretend he’s adjusting so his back won’t hurt and the weight distribution doesn’t make any limbs go numb. He gets a heavy sigh in return, a kiss to his neck, and that makes his cheeks flush a light pink hue. “I was so lonely while you were gone.” He mock pouts, tilting his head up to watch Montagne chuckle. Tending to all of the base’s boo boos and ouchies doesn’t count for having company and he knows that.

     “Were you now? I’m sorry to hear that.” It’s sincere, yes, but the underlying mischief in Gilles’ voice doesn’t go unnoticed. His wine glass has been set down and Gustave’s  is taken so that it too won’t get in the way. The hitch in the medic’s breath tells him all he needs to know the moment fingers dip beneath the thin layer of cloth that dares to say it’s held some kind of modesty. “Let me make up for it, oui?” He doesn’t even need to hear an actual verbal confirmation with how eager the younger man is by getting up and demanding for them to switch positions.

      It isn’t always this quick. Most nights they take their time, indulge in tantalizing touches, teasing one another for what felt like hours, making it all last as long as they can. Tonight won’t be that tame, Gilles won’t deny either of them what they’ve both wanted and could not have. Months, it’s been literal months since the were able to make love and not settle for a quick blow job or hasty wanking in Doc’s private office. They better use what time they have before it’s gone, claimed by a persistent curse neither know how to dispel.

     Montagne is on his feet and pulling his lover flush against his body, kissing him deeply each time he feels his lover’s lips part for more. Oxygen becomes a luxury for a short while, something they need but cannot have without separation. It’s not fair, really, but breathing is obviously necessary and the show must go on. He hopes Twitch has decided to take up space in the workshop next to the usual one or two operators that sometimes call it home. Rook slept like a rock and nothing short of a smoke alarm or gun fire will wake him up.

     A quick squeeze to Gustave’s ass makes him frown in disappointment when nothing else follows it up. It doesn’t last long, however, once he realizes it’s a silent demand for him to lie down on the bed while Gilles finds a bottle of lube in one of the dresser drawers. So he does as he’s asked, lounging not-so-patiently with a fist curled around his cock, pumping it slowly simply for the stimulation it provides. He really wasn’t kidding when he said he was lonely. If absence makes the heart grow fonder, it makes the dick get hungrier. Bandit said that and Gustave laughed so hard he started to wheeze.

     The pad of Gilles’ thumb pressed against his lover’s puckered hole as he descended upon him. Careful ministrations intended to loosen it up so that a finger can breach the taut muscle. A curious thought crosses the mountain’s mind when it gives more readily than it should, accepting the initial digit without much protest. He’s beginning to think his lover’s impatience must have escalated while being left alone for so long. “You spoke with Dominic didn’t you?” He chuckled, receiving an honest nod that quickly turned into a spine arching moan as a second finger was pushed in.

     “I’ll have to thank him later.” That could mean a number of things considering how close they’ve let the German get into their relationship. Marius didn’t seem to mind seeing as how there have been no objections yet. The pilot was well aware that his partner has been giving the two Frenchmen advice but that’s the fullest extent of their interactions. Now’s not the time to get lost in thought though, Gustave’s legs are being hiked up and over the larger man’s shoulders. While he’s not all that flexible, it isn’t uncomfortable yet. They’ll start to ache halfway through and burn the next day, a cost he’s willing to pay in full.

     “Come on, mon amour. Haven’t I waited long enough?” Doc whined, pouting when an eyebrow was raised in response. How needy, but who’s he to deny such a wonderful man what he wants? A pillow is tugged over and shoved beneath Gustave’s lower back to give it cushion and raise his hips more. It’s the little things like this Gus loves, how conscious of his lover’s comfort Gilles is. Again there isn’t nearly enough preparation ( and that worries Montagne ) but Gustave insists on progressing right this instant.

     “This may hurt a little...” The older man warns, receiving no indication that his partner cares. He’s a doctor, he understands, and frankly has had enough of the delay. Gilles slicks up his cock with a healthy amount of lube, guiding it to where it needs to go before pushing in slowly. A bitten hiss is forced through Doc’s teeth, his primary focus now shifting to relax himself around the steadily growing girth burying itself deep within him. It’s a mixture of pain, an uncomfortable stretch, and rising pleasure at feeling the familiar warmth.

     At hilt deep, he’s given time to adjust that Montagne will not allow to be skipped. They aren’t as young as they wish they were, too much carelessness will ruin the experience. And so they wait, exploratory hands detailed the muscles of Gustave’s chest and stroking his sides while he gets lost in the gentle touches. Gilles knows exactly how to make his treasured love feel like a king, whether he’s nestled atop his lap or pinned beneath him. On queue, which this time is a squeeze to the taller man’s thigh, Touré slides back.

     His first series of thrusts are slow and careful, drawing out a pleased hum from Gustave’s throat. They have a well practiced rhythm, it starts at a crawl and picks up to a steady beat both can last their longest on. By no means is it ride or die, in fact, someone like Bandit might find it boring. The position Doc is in allows Gilles to drive in deep at the expense of a now growing ache in his legs. They bounce atop the taller man’s shoulders, his cock left unattended on his stomach. He won’t touch it, not yet, it’s too soon.

     Adjusting his angle draws out a moan from the doctor, one somewhat louder than he intended it to be. Using a little more force produces the same results and Gilles knows he’s found just the right spot to drive Gustave wild. The sound of skin hitting skin, husky breaths, and Doc’s voice is a filthy symphony in an otherwise quiet part of the base all the while he’s being encouraged to let go and praised for how good he feels, looks, and sounds.

     “Pleasure yourself, mon Ange, let me hear your enjoyment.” Gilles says so sweetly, letting go of his lover’s hip to guide a hand to the neglected shaft spilling precum on glistening sweat soaked skin. Fingers curl around it and pump in time with the heavy thrusts pounding his consciousness into oblivion. “There you go, that’s it.” Now Gustave’s mouth is hanging open, eyes glossed over and fixated on the older man’s beautiful hues.

     The burn in his knees is only getting worse but Doc doesn’t feel it anymore. Warmth is pooling in his gut and he can’t string together coherent sentences, repeating Montagne’s name instead along with a few expletives coming out in mixed French-English jumbles. He’s always been the noisier of the two no matter how hard he tried to keep it down. At some point he loses that restraint and drowns out the growls and grunts from his faithful shield. It’s when he becomes silent that Gilles knows he’s reaching his climax.

     With teeth gritted and red flushing his cheeks, Touré chases his own orgasm in the form of less coordinated and more forceful thrusts that have Gustave’s eyes rolling into the back of his head. He hears his name shouted into the heavens and can feel the contractions of Doc’s body as he cums, painting his chest with each spurt. Riding upon that high, Gilles keeps going until he buries himself deep, presses their chests together, and groans into his lover’s ear.

     Having nothing to hold them up, Doc’s legs drop as far as the broad body in between them will allow. They both need a minute to relearn how to breathe correctly and see straight. “God I needed that..” Gustave pants, earning a breathless chuckle from his partner who has raised himself back up on shaking arms. He pulls out with the same care as he had initially going in, giving them both a good look at the mess that had been made.

     Rather than attempt standing, Montagne rolls over onto his back and smiles when he feels Doc turn to snuggle against his side. They’ll worry about showering and changing the bed sheets tomorrow. Neither of them have the strength to bother this time.

     “Je t’aime, mon Ange.” Gilles hums. “Je t’aime aussi, mon Trésor.” Gustave yawns, placing a kiss on his lover’s cheek.

[stillthewordgirl]

LOT/CC fic: (I Don’t Believe In) Destiny, ch. 3 of 11

Leonard Snart is back, finally pulled from the timestream where he's spent the last four years. But he wasn't alone, and the repercussions of that will echo through the Legends, the Time Bureau, and beyond.

And maybe, just maybe, they'll bring everything around full circle.

---

Posting a little early!

You can also read here at AO3 or here at FF.net.

Chapter title: For So Many Different Directions

Ava ends her latest call to the Waverider, lowering her head into her hands with a sigh. Over the past few years, she’d thought her relationship with the Legends had been getting better, even with her breakup with Sara, but it seems they’re nearly back to square one now. All because none of them seem to be able to get past the, well, past.

She understands their dislike of Druce, somewhat. But for a group of misfits who’ve always been about gathering people who need a second chance, the depth of the hatred seems a bit inexplicable.

She wonders wistfully again why Director Hunter hadn’t told the bureau, told her, about the tools the Time Masters had had at their disposal. He’d gone to so much trouble making the bureau a body that was responsible and careful. Hadn’t he trusted them after all?

Her thoughts are interrupted by a noise at the door, and Ava lifts her head, carefully composing her features as the guard bring Druce in, stationing themselves by the door as the man himself approaches her.

“Master Druce,” she says formally, clasping her hands. “How are you?

The man inclines his head to her. He’s a little worse for wear—holding one arm stiffly, and with the dark color of a bruise on one side of his face. She’d known that, but they haven’t yet had a chance to do an in-depth examination of what had happened earlier, when the alarms had alerted everyone to someone breaking out of Druce’s quarters. Someone who, as it turned out, hadn’t been Druce.

“Well enough,” the man says stiffly. “Given that I was attacked in my own quarters by a murderer and time criminal.”

Ava nods. She’s been looking at the security camera videos from the hallways and comparing them to Time Bureau records, and she’s pretty sure what’s coming. Still, she wants Druce to tell her, wants his full take on the matter.

“You said a portal, like one created by a time courier, opened in your quarters,” she says, “and this intruder emerged, attacked you, and ran.” She pauses. “That’s all the information we exchanged in the middle of the chaos. Now, tell me more. You recognized this person, didn’t you?”

Druce scowls—not, she thinks, at her. “It was the one who blew up the Oculus itself,” he says, cold anger in his voice. “The man named Snart, who looked in my eyes and taunted me as he destroyed it all. All my ships. All my men.” His eyes narrow. “He must have been trapped in the timestream, like me.”

Ava thinks of Sara’s careful questions about the timestream around the Vanishing Point. Had she been thinking of this Snart, who’d caused the explosion?

She’s met Leo Snart of Earth X, who’d struck her as a good man and a responsible one, but this version seems altogether different. A crook and a killer, she knows from the records. Not a good person. But then why had Sara asked about him? Had she wanted to warn Ava?

And why had she fled the bureau with him? Something isn’t adding up. Ava bites her lip despite herself. Sara might be in danger, and she can’t figure out why the Legends aren’t even concerned. It’s like they’re too fixated on stymying her to just listen.

“We’ll find him,” she tells Druce. And Sara.

The former Time Master nods, once, regally. Ava isn’t particularly pleased at his growing tendency to behave as though he’s the one in charge here, but she ignores it, choosing to simply dismiss him by looking downward and reaching for some paperwork.

The guards step forward and Druce turns with them, heading for the door. But right before he steps out, he turns back toward her and clears his throat.

“This man,” he says when Ava glances up, “Snart. He is, after all, a thief. And he…stole something. From the Vanishing Point. It is important that we regain it.”

Ava frowns at him, puzzled. “What?”

But Druce is gone now, with his escort back to his rooms, and Ava can’t help feeling like she’s the one who has, after all, been dismissed.

---

Leonard had stretched out on the mattress and fallen asleep near-instantly, a measure of how exhausted he’d been. Sara, rather tired herself, watches him a few minutes, trying to wrap her brain around the fact that he’s back, really truly back, then lies down herself with a sigh. She expects a bit of insomnia, considering all the thoughts rattling around in her brain, but she also falls asleep, quickly and thoroughly.

She’s not sure how long it’s been when she wakes again, to utter darkness and a noise of strangled terror coming from the man on the other side of the mattress.

Sara shakes her head roughly, hearing another cry, then hesitates only a moment before shifting over a little, reaching out gently to touch Leonard’s hunched shoulder.

“Len,” she whispers. “Leonard. It’s OK.”

He thrashes a little more, and Sara tightens her grip carefully. “Leonard,” she says, raising her voice just a little. “You’re not…not there.” She shifts even closer, wanting him to feel her physical presence. “You’re here, I’m here, you’re safe.”

Leonard rolls over abruptly, staring at her in the dark with eyes that just barely reflect a little of the light reflecting in from the small lamp she’d left on in the other room. “Sara,” he says.

“Yes.” Sara moves closer, studying him. “I’m here.”

“This is real.”

The dumbfounded shock in his voice hurts. “It is.” Sara moves her hand back, running it down his arm, then lifting her fingers to touch his jaw. “You’re back, you’re out of the timestream, and you’re free. It’s OK, Len. It’s real.”

He stares another moment. And then he reaches out slowly, carefully moves his hand behind her neck, and pulling her toward him just a little, bows his head…and then kisses her, finally stealing the kiss she’d challenged him to so long ago.

Sara closes her eyes, savoring the tentative touch of lips. She parts her lips a little, inviting more, and feels his own intake of breath before…

And then he’s not just kissing her, he’s devouring her, and Sara’s there for it, devouring him in return, their bodies pressed together, their mouths tasting and their hands wandering. Sara, after a moment, reaches down and grabs the hem of Leonard’s borrowed shirt, tugging it up enough to splay her hands out flat on his back. He, for his part, works his hands under her own top, blunt nails scraping against her skin, pressing her closer, and she hums in pleasure, biting his lip gently and moving one hand downward to the small of his back.

And then Leonard suddenly jerks his head back with a gasp, making Sara blink and catch her breath, staring at him.

He looks dazed. “I’m sorry,” he mutters, looking down at Sara. “I’m sorry. I just…there was so much nothing, and…I didn’t know what…what was real…for so long…”

The broken mutter from her once-confident crook breaks her heart. Sara reaches up to touch his jaw again, looking into foggy blue eyes, and tries to decide what to say.

“Leonard,” she says gently. “It’s OK. I…” She takes a deep breath. “I think maybe we could both use this. The physical comfort. And as for the future…well. We can talk about that later. But for now…Len, I want you and you want me too.” She runs a thumb along his jaw. “Let’s comfort each other, OK? I can think of no better way to prove that…that this is real, and you’re home.”

Leonard regards her, and then the corner of his mouth ticks up. “I dreamed—or hallucinated, I guess—a lot,” he says quietly, eyes on hers in the dark. “When I was in the timestream. Some after. But, Sara, I don’t think it was ever anything quite so pragmatic.”

Sara smirks back at him, loving the way he drawls her name in a way that echoes deep down in her bones…and other more sensitive areas. “Assassin,” she whispers at him. “Definitely pragmatic.”

Leonard’s lips twitch in return. “Captain,” he whispers in return, a use of her title that’s even sexier than the way he says her name, and then he ducks his head to kiss her again.

Sara meets him halfway. She moves her hands back to the hem of his shirt, yanking it up. He helps her maneuver it over his head, then throws it somewhere in the room as Sara runs her hands down his sides.

There are scars. She lets her fingers linger on them just a little, enough to show that she simply considers them part of him, then allows her hands to wander farther as she moves her mouth down a little to his neck, enjoying the noise he makes, quietly determined give him something distinctly real to take him through the night.

---

Leonard had meant what he’d said about hallucinating a lot, in the timestream. It’d been either a whole lot of nothing or a kaleidoscope of images and sounds with no initial rhyme or reason.

Gradually, though, over a timeframe that he can’t even begin to guess at, distinct trends had begun to emerge, taking over his wavering consciousness for periods of time, submersing him in dreams. Bits and pieces of his past, or a hoped-for future—the things he didn’t do, that’d kept him up at night.

These dreams had focused on good things, sometimes wonderful ones, a bit of a surprise to a man with plenty of darkness in his life—but the coming out of them, that was always rough. And Leonard wasn’t the sort to trade a pleasant dream for knowing what was truly going on around him.

He has a foggy suspicion that something had been directing those dreams or hallucinations. Something not without its own motives. But he’d gotten the impression that they were, at least in his case, meant to help, to cushion the fragile human mind at sea in the timestream from all that alternative cacophony or nothingness. It—the Time Force, for lack of a better term—had seemed almost perplexed the times when he’d resisted.

Many of those dreams had been about Sara.

And none of them had been as good as the reality.

Oh, the Time Force could give him a fantasy, but it couldn’t even come close to the way Sara laughed when he drew his fingertips up her sides—or when she unexpectedly wrapped one of those small, strong hands around him, and he threw back his head, startled, and banged it into the wall, leading to much swearing.

It couldn’t come close to how she breathlessly whispered his name as he touched her, or the noise she made as she slid down onto him, hands splayed on his chest, or the way their names, each uttered by the other, melded as the world came apart around them.

Or the way he felt afterward, holding her as her breathing evened out in sleep.

Not even close.

---

The Waverider picks them up the next morning, not so far away from the safehouse, a quick stop with the hatch already open so Sara and Leonard can duck on board and the ship can get into the timestream quickly—just in case.

Leonard stumbles, just a little, as the Waverider takes off again, still a little unsteady from his weeks in captivity—and the fact and he and Sara had decided to “comfort” each other again that morning probably didn’t help. (Though he has absolutely no regrets about it.) But before he can fall, a big hand reaches out and closes around his bicep, holding him steady.

Mick stares at him. He looks different in a way Leonard can’t quite place, but it’s not in a bad way. Leonard tries to give him a smirk in return, but Mick doesn’t return it.

“It’s him,” he says to Sara in what’s not quite a question.

The captain, who seems to have no problems at all with her balance, flicks a knowing smile Leonard’s way and then looks at Mick. “Yes—as close as I can tell without the medbay and Gideon’s expertise,” she tells him, bracing herself as the ship jumps into the timestream. She looks at Leonard again. “That should be your first stop. Get a clean bill of health...and confirmation.”

Then Sara sighs. “I need to go contact...the Time Bureau,” she tells Mick, running a hand through her hair in a way that betrays more uneasiness about that than Leonard would have thought. “Team meeting on the bridge after that’s done and you’re done in the medbay. Tell Gideon.”

“Gotcha, Boss,” Mick rumbles, getting a head tilt from Leonard, though he can’t help but smile a little at the words. Sara gives Leonard another of those little smiles, then turns and heads down the corridor toward the bridge. Leonard watches her go, then glances back at Mick, uncertain what to say.

Has he been forgiven for his actions, at the Vanishing Point and before? Nearly four years...it’s a long time. Mick looks like he’s settled in here, and Sara is “Boss” now, and...

And his oldest friend steps forward then, wrapping his arms around the very startled Leonard in a bear hug, lifting him right off his feet and squeezing in a way that could be threat as well as affection. (And very probably is.)

Leonard wheezes a little, and Mick lets go before he loses his breath, setting him back down on his feet and nodding in satisfaction at the look on his—former?—partner’s face.

Leonard blinks at him.

“What,” he manages.

“It’s good to have you back,” Mick says simply. “Just don’t go telling Haircut or Pretty that I do hugs.” He turns toward the medbay and Leonard falls in next to him, bemused.

“Pretty?” he inquires.

“Ha. You’ll see.”

The ship seems much the same, though the others on it must be keeping their distance, for whatever reason—whether it’s letting the returned team member acclimate without too much chaos or making sure he is who he says he is first. The medbay seems a little newer, a little shinier, and Leonard glances around, trying to match memory to reality.

“The kid made some updates, before he left,” Mick says a little gruffly, waving him toward one of the chairs. “Blondie told you?”

“About Jax...and the professor? Yeah...”

But a familiar voice interrupts them as Leonard settles into one of the medbay chairs, a voice that makes him smile again. (He seems to be doing a lot of that. More than usual, anyway.)

“Hello, Mr. Snart,” Gideon’s familiar voice says smoothly. “It’s very good to see you again.”

Leonard starts to respond, but Mick does first. “You sure?” he asks, his voice nearly a bark.

The AI’s voice gets a touch prim. “His right hand is of my make, Mr. Rory. I am sure.” She starts scanning Leonard as the two men stare at each other, the returnee wondering what Sara hasn’t told him yet.

“You’re a bit malnourished and dehydrated,” Gideon announces only a few minutes later, oblivious to (or more likely, ignoring) the tension, “and there are some barely healed injuries, the worst of which is the rather nasty bone bruise on your upper left humerus. And, of course, the still-raw wounds on your wrists.”

She pauses. “I’m going to ignore other...recent...bruises. And scratches. And odd muscle strains.”

Leonard frowns, but Mick huffs out a laugh, studying him and reading Gideon’s prim comment correctly.

“So it didn’t take you and Blondie long to make up for lost time,” is all he says.

Leonard lifts an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

Mick snorts, and Leonard thinks then, a little belatedly, of how he and Sara both seemed intent on leaving their mark on each other the night before—and that he’s wearing a T-shirt and not his usual layers. Still, he brazens through it, eyeing Mick and thinking about his friend’s need for confirmation that he’s himself...and Sara’s mention of other times and Earths.

“I figure you got a lot to tell me,” he says simply. “So, ‘fess up. Before I have to go meet the rest of this crew.”

Mick studies him, but his dubious expression is interrupted by Gideon’s voice again.

“I want to give Mr. Snart some nutrients and hydration intravenously,” she tells them, “as well as antibiotics. Forty minutes or so should be sufficient. So, Mr. Rory, you might as well start talking.” A pause. “Mr. Snart is, after all, correct. There’s a lot to tell.”

Mick makes a noise that’s part sigh, part grumble. But he nods and then pulls up a chair.

“OK,” he says, taking a seat, “so, after you...after the Oculus blew up, we went after Savage...”

[flashbackharry]

Holding On: Part One.

Requested!-“ Hello, I adore your writing. I was wondering if you could write a prompt about y/n being in an abusive relationship and harry helping her get out of it. thank you!”

TW: Abuse, Domestic Violence, Alcoholsim and swearing.

Domestic Violence helpline: 1-800-700-7233

***

All you did was ask how his night was. You didn't mean anything rude by it, but he saw it as something different entirely. You weren't sure what was happening until your head was being smashed against the bathroom mirror. You  felt blood bloom from your scalp, your eyes scanned the floor and you came in contact with sharp pieces of glass. You felt the blood drip down from your head and onto your face. You felt your eye lids start to close and you couldn't fight the unconsciousness sweeping over your entire body.

"C'mon get up. Get up! You're fine." You heard your fiancé say but you couldn't focus on his words. You tried zeroing In on the pain you felt in your head instead. You felt rough hands pick you up from the ground and drag your body up against the bathroom wall. You made eye contact with those lifeless eyes you knew all too well. You felt a cold paper towel on your head as he very quickly cleaned up your cut. You didn't look him in the eyes, instead you choked back tears. You couldn't show him you were afraid let alone cry in front of him, so you learned to keep your emotions in check. You cried whenever he wasn't home or sometimes when he was sleeping you would go to the bathroom and turn the shower on to drown out your sobs. When he was done he threw the paper towel in the trash and practically spat at you, "Clean this mess up." He said, and walked away, leaving you a bloody mess on the floor.

You contemplated staying there and crying but you couldn't, you had to get up and fight, if not for anyone else, then for yourself. You dragged your aching limbs off the floor and stood up. You had to catch yourself before you almost fell over from how dizzy you were. You stripped your clothes off one by one and faced yourself in the mirror. You almost cried purely from looking at your reflection alone. You were naked but there were bruises all over your body, some were old, but some were new and bright red, as recent as the night before. The top part of your hair was covered in blood, what was once brown now almost black from the blood. You pulled your eyes from your own body and slowly stepped into the shower, turning the knob so the water was scalding hot. You washed your hair, the hot water got into your cut and it made you wince. You looked down and the tub ran pink as you washed the remnants of tonight off. 

Once you were done and you wrapped your shivering body in a towel you walked out of the bathroom. Your bed room of course, was empty. It was rare Kevin ever came home at night. You pulled out underwear from your dresser and a oversized long sleeve shirt that stopped at your knees and climbed into bed.  Your head throbbed dully and muscles ached, but nonetheless you tried to fall asleep. Your mind wondered to all the brand new excuses you would make for him now. Why did you even ask him? You knew when he came home drunk that it never ended well. You should have locked yourself in your bedroom until he fell asleep on the couch but it was too late. All you wanted was for him to talk to you.

You weren't stupid, you didn't fall for guys who enjoyed beating you to a pulp. Kevin was not the same guy you met a year ago. He was charismatic and funny and he certainly never laid his hands on you. But then one day he got the call from the hospital that his mum had died from liver failure. Yeah, it was ironic, the same thing that killed his mother was the same thing he turned to for comfort. He no longer turned to you for help, he no longer told you things, instead he pushed you away. Then the distance slowly morphed into anger. The first time he raised his hands to hit you he was drunk. He immediately regretted it, you watched his face turn from anger to instant remorse.  You let him hug you as he said over and over again that it wouldn't happen again and you believed him. Like the fool you were you believed him. You held onto the hope that one day he would change and become the man you fell in love with. You could leave him but you were scared. Scared he would find you and your family, scared you couldn't be the person he needed you to be for him. Scared you let him down. So you stayed. You always stayed.

You didn't cry as you laid there in bed, you didn't have the energy to cry at the moment. But you couldn't deny the inexplicable emptiness you felt in your heart and in your bones. With Kevin you felt lonely but without him you were alone.

You woke up the next day in the after noon, you glanced at your clock and saw it was 4pm. Christ, your exhaustion mixed with your piercing headache caused you to sleep incredibly late. You reached for your phone on your nightside table and checked all the text messages you missed.  The other side of your bed was empty and you weren't surprised.

"Hey Y/n, reminder my party is tonight at 6pm, I really hope you can make it." 

It was a text message from your best friend Evie. You hadn't  seen her in nearly 4 months, considering your current situation. Kevin rarely let you out but you haven't seen him since last night so you threw caution to the wind and decided to go. You got ready but it wasn't easy finding something that looked good and covered all your bruises. You had a bruise on your neck from the time Kevin wrapped his arms around them and strangled you until you promised to never ignore him again. That was over a month ago but it was now black and purple and it looked so bad tears sprang into your eyes. You shook your head and willed yourself to stop.  you decided to wear a brown turtle neck and some black pants with white stripes. You let your hair down to cover any additional bruises and threw on a tweed coat. You didn't bother with makeup, if Kevin saw you wearing it he would flip so you gave up trying a long time ago.  You walked down the stairs and prayed Kevin wasn't home yet, you made it all the way down the stairs but you didn't find him on the couch so you checked the kitchen and he wasn't there either. You let out a breath you didn't realize you were holding in and walked out the door.

***

You arrived at Evie's house and there were a lot more people than you were expecting. You walked in and someone took your coat and bag and offered you a drink, you politely shook your head no. You knew what alcohol did to your loved ones so you vowed to never drink for as long as you were breathing.  You spotted Evie amongst the crowd and made your way over to her. Its been awhile since you were among this many people and your heart started to beat uncontrollably. What if they saw your bruises?  what if Kevin told people? Most of these people were your friends at one point, surely they would notice a difference in your demeanor?

Once Evie saw you, she excused her self from the crowd that was around her, and met you half way. She wrapped her arms around you and hugged you tightly.

"I am so glad to see you Y/n, I've missed you so much" She said, letting you go to get a good look at you.

"My God have you gotten skinnier" She said patting your stomach. You mustered up an uncomfortable smile. You hadn't realized you lost weight but It wasn't a surprising concept. You spent all your free time sleeping, the sight of food made you sick at this point. Evie's comment about your weight hadn't helped either, you felt even more self conscious. Without makeup, the bags under your eyes were  immensely noticeable. Your cheek bones were also more defined and you were pale as ever. You debated going home right now, you wanted to disappear so badly.

'Where's Kevin?" Evie asked and the sound of his name sent chills down your spine.  You looked around as if he was here and when you realized what Evie asked you, you looked back at her and told him he couldn't make it.

"Oh that's too bad, I don't want you to be alone tonight, its mostly couples here." She said gesturing towards the crowd. You looked and she was right.

"Well, almost everyone, Harrys over there, I forced him to help me set up and all." She said pointing at him, he was leaned against the wall, his eyes never leaving yours. You felt chills down your back again for an entirely different reason. 

"I know you guys have history and all but I'm sure you guys can still be around each other, right?" You didn't answer her right away, you were too busy staring back at him. He looked... good. Like he gets an adequate amount of sleep and doesn't live his life in fear. He was wearing jeans and a black button up with the top buttons left undone, exposing his chest and tattoos.  Harry and you were lovers during a time before you met Kevin. In fact you started dating Kevin to help you get over Harry. Looking at Harry now you weren't sure if those feelings ever left in the first place. 

"Of course not." you said looking back at Evie and she nodded. She told you the food was on platters being held by waiters and to help yourself.

"We're gonna catch up very soon, okay love?" She said, squeezing your arm and you nodded. With that she left back to the group of people awaiting her. You stayed standing in the middle of the crowd before you walked over to Harry who was standing against the wall, drink in hand. His eyes trailed over your body, taking you in. You leaned your back against the wall too. looking straight at the party. Everyone dancing and laughing and drinking. Having the time of their lives, not a care in the world. It made you green with envy. How people could carry on with their lives and be completely oblivious to what others are going through. To no fault of their own of course.

"How are you?" Harry spoke, still not looking at you.

"Good, and you?" You said slowly. You felt Harry push off the wall and he was in front of you in seconds. His face inches away from your face. You felt his breath on your skin as he intensely gazed into your eyes. You couldn't put into words how he made you feel so you settled for not saying anything at all.

"You look like you haven't eaten or slept in months, no ones bloody fucking seen you since you started dating that prick and I know you, I know you're not happy, I can practically hear your heart beating out of your chest." His breath was shaky and his nose flared from how angry he was and you couldn't help but feel the same way Kevin does when hes angry at you. Small. You pushed Harry away and started to walk outside, you felt Harry follow you and suddenly you were in the crisp November air.  You started to walk, you didn't know where you were going, but you just wanted to get away, from everything. You heard Harry call out from behind you.

"Do you remember what you promised me when we broke up?" He yelled. You did remember but that was all back then, before all this crap happened to you.

"Huh Y/n!" He said. 

"Let me jog your memory then, you said we would always have each other, that nothing would change between us. What happened to that Y/n? You start dating someone new and forget about your best friend? I needed you so badly lately but I had no fucking way to reach you!" Harry exclaimed and now anger was pulsing through your veins, he had no fucking idea, no one did. You turned around quick and walked over to him, angry as ever.

"You do not get to fucking say that!" You screamed, tears streaming down your face.

"You have no idea the hell I've been through, you do not get to say that." You barely choked out the last bit, overly consumed by all the tears you've been keeping in lately. Harry put an arm on you and you winced, pulling back.

"Y/n, please fucking talk to me, I'm right here." He said, hands digging into his pockets. You stayed quiet as you gathered your thoughts, looking at the leaves on the ground.

"I have a friend, who found a guy whom she thought would help her get over her ex lover, but instead of just having a one night stand with this guy, she fell for him. Months passed and their relationship was absolute bliss, she was happy and just beginning to get over her ex, but then this new guy starting acting different. He was cold and distance and used alcohol to cope with everything. The first time her fiancé hit her she was told it was the last time, then he did it again and again, until this friend realized she was trapped. She couldn't leave the house and all she did was sleep to keep her mind off things. She stopped eating and reaching out to people. She was depressed and most of all, she was tired. Of everything, everyone. Of life."

Harry looked at you, his eyes were watery and he slowly walked over to you.

"And how's this friend doing now?" He said, inches away from your face.

"She's holding on" you said softly.

"You're not going back there." Harry said sternly.  

Absolute horror came over you. You stepped back and looked at harry with an exasperated expression.  

"Harry, I cant do that, no. He already doesn't know I'm here, imagine what he'll do if he finds out I've left, no. No."

"No, do you fucking hear yourself? He's beating the crap out of you, not letting you leave the house and you want to stay? You're coming home with me, I don't care."Harry said.

"Harry please, You don't understand." You said, begging through tears. You grabbed his hands as if to pull him back and he let you. You put your hands on his cheeks and forced him to look at you.

"I am fine, if I get home now he wont find out, please harry, please try and understand." You said pleading. Harrys head snapped up at you, his eyes unreadable.

"You're fine until the next time. I'm sorry but I'd be fucking insane to let you go back to that piece of shit. You're coming home with me. I don't care if I have to fucking drag you there myself." Harry finished, pulling away  from your grasp and taking your hand as he half dragged you back to the house. You couldn't convince him out here but maybe you could in front of everyone else. 

The walk back was quick, Harry walking so fast with his hand wrapped tightly around yours. You saw Evie waiting out side looking frantic, her phone pressed against her ear.

"There you guys are, I've been calling you guys for nearly an hour. You're fiancé Kevin is here Y/n, he's waiting for you inside "She said turning towards you. 

Your heart dropped to your stomach, you let go of Harrys hand, taking a slow step back.

***

Part Two is coming very soon. All feed back is welcome. Reminder I am taking requests as well. xx

[jjkfire]

Navy; pt. 1

Reader x Jungkook // childhoodfriend!AU, idol!AU // 17k words

Summary: He’s your best friend, practically your other half and the two of you have always promised to be there for each other no matter what. The both of you have dreams of professionally making music together one day and to you it’s almost like reality, a given really, and with each day, the dream starts to feel like it’s within reach. But, one day, with one sentence, Jungkook destroys it all.

Genre: Fluff, Angst

A/N: hey this is me trying to dig myself outta my writer’s block! please know that this is just my imagination running wild and i’m pretty sure big hit didn’t take their phones away from them and there are like other inaccuracies but !!! just humour me hahah. also it seems like the keep reading feature doesn’t work on mobile? im so sorry for clogging up your dash ): and the formatting is all weird on mobile lol idk what’s happening!! it’s best if you just read this on desktop or mobile browser

Part 2

Busanbeats.

At aged 11, both you and Jungkook think that it’s the single most coolest name on Earth for the little home-made studio that you have in your bedroom. 10 years later, you’ll realize the name is as basic as basic comes but it would be a name that holds too many memories, memories both you and him will treasure for the rest of your lives.

Truth be told your so-called studio isn’t even one… it’s just your computer hooked up to some speakers that your neighbour had thrown out some odd years ago. On top of that, the midi keyboard you have is not top of the line either. It’s just some mediocre brand but you had gotten it for a steal at a garage sale and as long as all the keys worked, you didn’t really care.

To think that making horrendously simplistic music on second hand equipment is what will change both yours and Jungkook’s life forever is almost unfathomable and yet, that is all that it is. It would push both of you apart and bring the two of you together again, almost as if finding that midi keyboard buried deep under a pile of broken electronics in a stranger’s yard had been fate at work that day.

It all started on a summer day, in the seaside town of Busan that both you and Jungkook call home. The two of you were grinning with excitement at the thought of becoming teenagers soon. Looking back now, you wonder why you were so excited to become one because if given the chance, you’d choose to be 5 forever because being 5 meant the hardest decision would be picking which crayon to use next. Being 5, the closest thing to heartbreak is the feeling you get when the ice-cream you just bought falls onto the ground. In any case, 11-year-old you did not know about the heartbreak that was to come in only two short years. 11-year-old you only knew that you were more than excited to show your best friend Jungkook what you had set up in your room just that Friday night.

 “Won’t you just tell me what it is that you’re so excited about already?” Jungkook groans, truthfully a little irked by your over-enthusiasm today.

“You’ll see,” You grin as you lead him up the stairs to your bedroom, basically running up the steps.

Jungkook is no stranger to your bedroom. In fact, it’s almost like his second home. Every day after school, he stops by your house for lunch and ends up doing homework with you until both his parents return from work. Your parents love him as if he’s another one of their children and his parents love you as if you’re one of their own. Both your families would have dinners together pretty often and in that way, it always felt like Jungkook would be a permanent fixture in your life. Ah, but life, it never really plays out the same way as it does in your head, does it?

Jungkook ambles behind you boredly, chalking up your excitement to perhaps new bed sheets or curtains… You oddly get excited over small things like that, he sighs. So, really, he isn’t expecting much from you, but it’s when you open your bedroom door to show him the new layout of your room, your table now tucked in a different corner with wires all over the place, that he tilts his head in confusion.

“Ta-da!” You gesture with your hands outstretched towards your study table. “We can finally make music like we’ve always wanted!”

It’s a dream the two of you often speak about in the middle of music club, as you play the piano and he sings. You’ve been learning how to play the piano since you were at the ripe age of 5 and you’re no grand master, you’re just… mediocre at best but you know enough to play a popular song on the piano if you were given music sheets. In fact, that’s how the two of you met at the beginning of primary school. You had been playing a rather new pop song on the piano in the music room after school had ended and Jungkook who had been hanging around the back of the room shyly, began belting out the notes after you had coaxed him into doing so. After many weeks of just you and him loitering in the music room after school, a friendship blossomed, one that had started out awkward and quiet but then developed into one where the both of you become comfortable, in fact too comfortable you think because Jungkook and his jokes, which really are just insults, makes you feel like strangling him.

Jungkook approaches your new setup carefully, fingers grazing the worn out speakers before they prod at the keyboard.

“Do you even know how to work any of this?”

“Uhh... not really,” You admit. “But I’m sure we'll figure it out somehow! It can’t be too hard…”

Except it isn’t as simple as you think… of course it isn’t. You had highly underestimated just how hard it is to make music at all, let alone good music. Turns out just pressing a few keys and recording Jungkook’s voice on top of it won’t actually give you a song that sounded remotely like anything that’s playing on the radio... but you were determined and disciplined so a few weeks or so at the library, reading up on books on basic music production gave you just enough to figure out how to finally make a song… at least a mediocre one and with the creation of that song comes the birth of Busanbeats.

It becomes some sort of routine, the both of you coming home from school, working on homework and then moving on to make some music. In the span of 2 years, both you and him make countless tracks together, and they’re not amazing as per se and nobody but the two of you ever hears them but it brings the pair of you inexplicable joy. The studio is like a new world, a secret world for just you and him. As the two of you grow from eleven to twelve and finally to thirteen, both you and he grow as artists. For starters, though Jungkook has always sounded like an angel to you, his singing has only become better and you often wonder just how good he’ll become one day when he finally starts taking those vocal lessons he’s been talking about taking recently. He doesn’t know how to tell you but he’s never really thought much of his voice but it’s because of you, because of how you continually encourage him, how you continually spur him on to create music that he sees a future in the music industry for himself. In fact, making music together hadn’t been something he thought of at all until you brought it up but he’s more than happy now about the fact that the two of you are doing this because it’s through you that he finally learns where his passion lies.

Musically, between you and Jungkook, you’ve done the most growing because in the span of just 2 years, technology has moved at such a fast pace and the internet has become a wealth of information for you and with that, your music production skills have now moved beyond layering vocals on top of the instrumental piano piece. Suddenly, the songs you make now have bass, drums, cow bells, traditional percussion instruments and anything you wanted to sample on them, and Jungkook always voices out that all of this would be nothing if it wasn’t for you and you simply blush, waving away his compliments. He thinks you’re some sort of magician, having learnt so much in just the span of a few months but that’s mostly because he’s a technological Neanderthal. The boy never got onto the growing social media bandwagon, for he doesn’t even have an email, nor an account for chatting. The only way to reach him is on his little phone that he only uses to call less than a handful of people. In fact, you would have to call him every once in a while to clear his inbox when you wanted to send him a text because yes, that’s the type of phone he has! He never saw reason really to get fancy new gadgets or try out this new and growing thing that people call social media. It’s all a waste of time he believes, and in his mind he thought he didn’t need it because all his friends are just at maximum, a 20 minute walk away, really. So, you let him live in his little technologically handicapped world because he was right, he didn’t really need it as per se if he was going to be right here in this small area within Busan.  

Now, the tracks both you and he make are actually decent enough for either of you to show your friends and family but… neither of you do because this music thing, it’s mainly just for you and him. At least for now, it’s just a hobby and you rather liked keeping it a secret because it’s almost like your safe haven. One day, you would always tell Jungkook. One day, when we graduate from college and make enough money to put aside some time to pursue this hobby as a career, we’ll let everyone hear our music then. It’s a sentiment you thought he shared because he never seemed to voice an opinion that said otherwise, the boy always nodding in agreement with you.

It’s not like you didn’t wish you could drop everything and just make music for the rest of your life, you definitely did but you’ve been told over and over again that the arts... there’s no future for kids who go down that path. Of course, it didn’t help that your parents aren’t too fond of your newfound passion for making music and they often remind you that it’s nothing but a hobby, that you are destined for far greater things. Destined for college and a job at a big company, destined for happiness... as if music wouldn’t be able to give you that. Essentially, your parents are living out their dreams through you and you don’t blame them because all they want is for you to have the life they couldn’t. You are their only child and so you carry the future of the family on your back. No matter how much you love music, you know it’s a risk you’re not willing to take, at least not just yet, but you will, someday, one day and you would do that with your best friend by your side.

By now, you’ve been friends with Jungkook for 6 years and your friendship has grown leaps and bounds from when the two of you met in the music room at the age of 7. The two of you are so close that everyone regards the both of you as a package and they aren’t wrong, you and him are absolutely inseparable. It’s as if the two of you are conjoined twins… except you know, you aren’t attached in any single way. It’s almost scary to everyone else how either of you know what the other is thinking, like as if there is some telepathic connection the two of you have. Everyone’s just holding their breath, waiting for the day where the both of you proclaim your love for each other because there’s no way the two of you wouldn’t eventually become a couple, you and him already looked like one. It’s a thought you often laugh at because Jungkook doesn’t see you that way and you don’t see him that way either. It’s the thing where you just know someone too well that you can’t possibly see them as a significant other. Granted, Jungkook gets everyone all excited because whenever these rumours surface, he plays along, making everyone think that the two of you are finally dating because he loves seeing you flustered, vehemently denying it as your classmates and friends choose not to believe you, instead throwing out references to instances where you and him act like a couple. 

We’re just best friends! You would scream. I don’t know, but best friends don’t take naps on the same bed! That’s what boyfriends and girlfriends do! They would reply, and you would gasp before turning to Jungkook with your fists clenched. Jungkook would often laugh, running away before you can catch him, and he’d hear you scream why did you tell them that!? You’re only making things worse for us! Often he’d let you catch up, let you throw a few playful punches before he apologizes but his heart isn’t really in it when he says sorry because you’re wrong. He’s only making things worse for you, not himself, because unlike you, he rather likes the prospect of you and him being a couple. Of course, he’s tried telling you that a fair few times, albeit rather cryptically, but you’re horrible at picking up hints and he’s horrible at dishing them out. A match made in heaven, that’s what the both of you are.

You always sulk and give Jungkook the silent treatment the day after he instigates those couple rumours, but usually it barely lasts an hour and before he knows it, both you and him would be laying down on your bed, talking, because as always he convinces you to take a break from doing some homework, which then often leads to both of you taking naps. He’s a horrible influence, really, but you can’t deny that you do love a mid-afternoon nap and Jungkook can’t deny that he loves the feeling of falling asleep next to you.

It’s through these little conversations that you and he have before your daily naps that the two of you have come to learn so much about each other. He knows every inch, every nook and cranny of your incredibly complicated self like he knows the back of his hand. Your dreams, hopes and fears, your darkest secrets, your insecurities, he knows them all and you would say it’s the same for you, that you know him just as well as he did you. With a 6-year friendship, especially the kind you both you and him have, surely there would be no secrets between the two of you and on your part, there aren’t any. You could only assume the same could be said for Jungkook. Ah, but only fools assume…

Though you always find yourself screaming, he’s just my friend! You know deep down he isn’t just a friend. Of course, you’re not trying to distinguish between romantic and platonic. It’s just that Jungkook is so important to you that you can’t simply place him in the friend box where so many other people reside. He’s more than that. He’s your confidant, your rock, your inspiration and every time you envision your future, Jungkook is a permanent fixture because you cannot imagine life without him. Whether you're 30 or 80, whether you're married or still single at 70, you would imagine Jungkook would still be there then, would still be your best friend no matter the year, no matter the season because he’s always going to be there as you would be for him. It’s a promise the two of you have made to each other numerous times over and never once have you doubted it. Perhaps that had to do with being a naïve 13-year-old. You just never thought things could turn out differently than how you imagined them to be and for now, you imagine that life is simple, that you just had to do as you’re told and in no time, both you and Jungkook would be taking the music industry by storm.

It's funny, but your friendship with Jungkook is basically a series of never-ending promises and maybe that’s why you think it will go on forever. Of course the core promise of the friendship is that you would be there for each other, always, but it also has tons of overly-ambitious ones like how one day the two of you are going to travel the world together, or that the two of you would one day move to Seoul and live in the most expensive apartment there is, but really the both of you are just dreamers, big ones. 

The only promise you think will actually happen for the foreseeable future is the one where you and he will eventually make music together, professionally and it’s a promise you look forward to every day. You often tell him you know the years ahead will be hard, but it would all be worth it when the two of you can finally do what you love for a living.

“You’re sure it’ll happen?” He questions, almost sighing as if he doesn’t believe you.

“It will! It definitely will,” You smile.

“But what will we be? What would our concept as musicians be?”

“I don’t know,” You huff. “But we’ll be famous, that’s for sure,” You laugh, hoping that maybe if you put it out there, that the universe would grant you that wish.

“Alright then,” He grins, before scooting closer to you, his hands hovering over the keyboard as if he’s thinking hard. Hesitantly, he plays a few keys, just 5 single keys. He plays it over a few more times before he records the 5-key tune, smiling as he saved the file.

“That’s going to be our first hit,” He smiles. “You’re gonna have to make good on your promise and make us famous.”

“I will, I seriously will,” You assert, renaming the file as No.1 Hit. “But you’ll have to sing on it.”

“Of course I will,” He snorts. “It won’t be a hit if I’m not on it,” He smirks, cocking his eyebrows and you groan, shaking your head at him before you shove him away.

So, make a hit song together, that would make it promise #762. Of course, both you and Jungkook knew half the promises you make to each other are really just the two of you saying things for the heck of it. You don’t expect these things to actually happen, though you hope they will, you know that most of them are highly improbable situations. Truth be told, as long as you and Jungkook are still friends when the two of you are old and wrinkly, you would still be happy. It’s something you consider a given, something you don’t even question, but that all comes crumbling down with just one single sentence and it hits you hard, like a ton of bricks. It’s on that day that you realize that you’re a fool. A fool for assuming, a fool for never doubting, a fool for believing that everyone else sees life the same way you do.

“Y/N, I… I’m leaving,” Jungkook mumbles, biting on his bottom lip. You look at him questioningly, confused as to what he meant by that. “I’m moving to Seoul,” He huffs, gulping as he looks at you.

“W-what?”

“I leave tomorrow.”

“Jungkook, stop. This isn’t funny,” You grumble, shoving him.

“I’m not joking,” He murmurs, pausing for a while. “It’d be really nice i-if you could come to the train station to send me off.”

“W-What… I don’t understand…”

“I uhh, I auditioned for a show, a talent show and I didn’t get in but a few agencies they approached me—”

“You what?”

“Don’t… don’t get mad, please, Y/N…”

“When did this happen? Why did you… not tell me?”

“It was a few weeks ago… I didn’t tell you because I know you wouldn’t have wanted me to go.”

“I mean it’s just… I thought we had a plan. I thought we were going to wait until after we graduate from college and get a job, and we would—” Your voice wobbles and you can feel tears beginning to build up.

“Y/N, tell me honestly… Do you really think we will do half the things we say we are going to?”

“No… but I’m pretty sure of this one! Jungkook this… this has always been our dream. This is the only thing I-I think of doing once I make enough money for my parents.”

“Y/N, both you and I know you’re only lying to yourself. You say it’ll be just until you’ve made enough but when will that be? When you’re what? 40?” He sighs. “This is my chance to make it right now. This is a solid chance. This isn’t just us joking about what might be. This is something real. This isn’t just dreams and promises that will never be fulfilled.”

“I get it,” You scoff. “So, this is all a joke to you isn’t it? Everything we’ve ever made here—” You gesture around your bedroom. “— is a goddamn joke to you isn’t it?”

“Come on, you know that’s not what I mean. You’re just putting words into my mouth,” He grumbles. “You’re being so unreasonable right now.” 

“Unreasonable,” You snort. “I’m being unreasonable? You’re the one that just dropped a bomb like that as if it’s nothing and you think I’m being unreasonable?”

“You’re making all of this so much more of a bigger deal than it really is,” He grumbles, rising from his spot on your bed, pacing around your room.

“How isn’t this a big fucking deal, Jungkook? We’re… we’re best friends! How can you just go ahead and do something like this without telling me?”

“Because I know you would react exactly like how you’re reacting now!”

“You don’t fucking know that!”

“I do, Y/N! Tell me that if I told you I was going to audition for a show that you wouldn’t stop me.”

You stay silent because it’s true. He knows it and you know it too. It’s just you couldn’t see why he would want to when the two of you already have a plan, one that’s been in place for years now.

“Exactly,” He huffs, noting your silence. “I know you too well.”

“Maybe,” You sigh. “Maybe you do, and I guess I’ve been wrong this entire time because I thought I knew you too, but it looks like I don’t know you at all.”

“Oh, come on, don’t say that,” He groans, shutting his eyes as he cards his hand through his hair in frustration.

“We promised each other that we’d be there for each other always, Jungkook. We promised each other that there would never be secrets between us. We promised each other that we’d make music together one day.”

“Well, I’m sorry Y/N but this is… this is just me doing what’s best for me.”

“So, none of the promises we made to each other mattered to you then?”

“Of course, they matter to me, but don’t you understand? Some of the things we say we’ll do, just won’t end up happening.”

“How can you just decide that it will never happen? How can you just… give up on it without even trying to make it work?” You mumble and at this point, there’s no use in holding back your tears because your heart has been ripped out of your chest and stomped on by your one and only best friend. “How can you just… give up on us like that?”

“Us,” He huffs. “You keep saying there’s an us but really in this equation there’s only you. What you’re asking is for me to wait until you’ve graduated and gone to work but what am I supposed to do in the meantime?”

“The same, obviously!”

“Y/N, I’m not you! I don’t have life planned out like you do… I don’t even fucking know what subjects I would take. I don’t even know if I can get into college!”

“We’ll figure it out!”

“You’re always so stubborn,” He sighs. “Why can’t you just be happy for me?”

“I am.”

“You aren’t,” He shakes his head, his fingers silently playing with the hem of his shirt.

“Well I’m trying to be, okay?” You defend. “But I mean this… if this isn’t betrayal, I don’t know what is.”

“It’s always… it’s always about you, isn’t it? Maybe I just want to be selfish for once. Can’t I do that?”

“Why are you asking me that when you’ve already decided on it?”

“This isn’t meant to be like this,” He mumbles. “This isn’t supposed to be as if I’m abandoning you.”

“But you are!”

“No, I’m still here, we’ll still be us. We’re best friends and—”

“I don’t know how you can say that when you’ve destroyed everything that our friendship stands on,” You sob, tears rolling down your cheeks. “Just go,” You sigh.

“Y/N—” 

“Leave, you asshole!” You shout, shoving him in the chest towards your door and you can feel Jungkook resist you, standing his ground because he just wants you to look at him. He moves to reach for your hand because he can’t stand this. He hates seeing you like this and he hates that he’s the reason for your tears, but you pull back easily, hand reaching for your bedroom door. “You’ve already decided this friendship is nothing but empty promises anyway so just go, please.”

You don’t even give him a chance to say anything in return, the slam of your door enough to tell him that there’s nothing more he can say. He holds back his tears the entire walk home but the moment he reaches his bedroom, he sinks down onto the floor, and lets his tears soak through his bedroom carpet.

[21:50] Jungkook: My train leaves at 9.30 am tomorrow… Please don’t let our friendship end over something like this. I hope you’ll be there.

You see the text light up your screen minutes before you choose to retire to bed and you scoff at it. You can’t believe he had the audacity to ask you to come. You had made up your mind long before the text that you wouldn’t show up but… it’s Jungkook and even if he had just obliterated your heart, smashed it into smithereens, you find yourself setting up an alarm for 8 am tomorrow.

Jungkook, you sigh.

The bunny teeth and doe-eyed boy. To you, he could do no wrong. It’s like even if you wanted to be mad at him, you couldn’t be. Everything he had said during the screaming match you had with him had made sense, but you couldn’t help but feel betrayed. You couldn’t help but think he was leaving you behind and perhaps that’s what hurt you the most. Maybe, just maybe, you’re afraid. You’re afraid that he’d go to Seoul and he’d forget all about you while you’d be stuck here, still hoping and wishing for his return, like an idiot. Perhaps, he’s right, that the two of you would still be an ‘us’, no matter the distance. Maybe you just had to believe him, maybe in a few more years, the dream would still come true. Maybe in another 10 years or so, you’d find yourself in a studio with him, making music together as you had promised each other.

Saying goodbye is never easy and saying goodbye to your best friend is almost impossible.

“Please, don’t cry,” He mumbles but it’s too late, he could already feel your tears soaking through his shirt. You hate how you look right now. You hate that you’re crying in public, on display for everyone to see but this boy has been there for you for every single second of your life after you had met him that one fateful day and standing here in this train station, with everyone whizzing by, you can’t help but feel like it’s the end of an era, that even if he promises nothing will change, you feel like everything is about to be turned upside down.

“I don’t think they’ll let me use my phone, but I’ll get an e-mail account as soon as I get there and we can talk to each other that way. Nothing’s going to change, I promise,” He smiles, wiping away your tears with his thumb.

You barely say anything because you don’t trust yourself to. He wants you to be happy for him and so you try your best, plastering on a fake smile and holding back the rest of your tears. As the second-hand ticks closer to his boarding time, you can feel yourself grow anxious at the thought of your best friend, your soulmate, leaving you. You can’t help but feel like you’re being ridiculous, that you’re making it seem like you would be nothing without him and you know it’s not true, that you’re a person of your own and you can stand even if he isn’t by your side but it’s the fact that he’s leaving so suddenly that makes you feel like you’re drowning, like you’re trying your best to hold onto something to stay afloat.

Before you know it, the announcement for his train rings around the station and you start to feel like your throat is closing in on you, your chest tightening as you watch him reach for his large suitcase. Jungkook offers you a shy smile and you can see tears start to well up as his parents hug him goodbye for the final time.

He pads over towards you, a heavy sigh leaving his lips as he tips your chin upwards, so he can see you one last time.

“Don’t get too famous while I’m away yeah?” He mumbles jokingly and it makes you laugh despite the fact that you’re seconds away from bawling. “We’ll see each other soon, I’m sure.”

“Okay,” Is your only reply, it’s the only thing you trust yourself to say because even with that single word your voice is already shaking.

“We’ll always be… us,” He smiles. “You got that? We’ll always be Busanbeats,” He laughs.

“Don’t forget that while you’re there,” You mumble. “Don’t forget me.”

“Never,” He smiles.

The last thing you remember seeing from that day is watching him disappear down the escalator, wearing a navy-blue cap that you had got him for his birthday last year. He turns back one last time to flash you a smile, waving goodbye to you and his family and then he’s off, disappearing into the sea of people. The last thing you remember feeling from that day, is a low dull ache right where your heart is, and you remember wondering if that pain would ever go away.

That following Monday in school is nothing but a shit storm as word gets out that Jungkook had left for Seoul over the weekend. Your classmates ask you question after question and it only wears you out because truth is you only know just as much as they do. You didn’t know anything past the fact that he had left because a few agencies had been interested in him. You didn’t know who he picked, you didn’t know where he was going, you didn’t know if he was going solo, or if he’ll be in a duo or group. You only know that it feels weird without him here, that it feels oddly empty now that you have to walk home alone, do homework alone and take naps alone. You had not realized just how much space he took up in your life and now that he was gone, you just felt so… alone.

In the next few days and weeks, you slowly but surely begin getting back into the groove of things, finding a new routine for yourself with your other friends that you have grown much closer to now. You hadn’t heard from Jungkook but from what his mother tells you, he’s been really busy trying to settle in and so you give him the benefit of the doubt, holding on to the fact that his mother had told you that he said hi and that despite how embarrassing it is to tell his mother this, that he wanted her to tell you that he misses you so much. You sigh at that, wishing that you could just pick up your phone and call him but apparently his personal cellphone has been kept by the company in order to make sure he would concentrate on his training. Truthfully, you almost feel bad for him and sometimes when you take a break from your homework to lay on your bed, you find your mind drifting off to him and often you find yourself hoping that he’s doing fine, that he’s happy in Seoul, out there chasing his dreams.

It had been perhaps 3 months since his departure and you had pretty much given up hope on personally hearing from Jungkook yourself but you come home from school one day to find your mother telling you Jungkook’s new email account and you had zipped up the stairs straight to your computer to send him an email. Kookster97 is his chosen username and you smile at that, thinking about how he would probably come to regret that username given a few more years. You had spent close to 20 minutes curating the perfect email to send to him and you sat there staring at your computer screen, refreshing it every few minutes or so only to find no reply. You decide to retire to bed but you wake up that morning to find no reply either and you find yourself not thinking too much about it because perhaps like his mother says, he’s busy. You let another day pass, and another, and another and then you let a whole week pass, and still no reply. You send him another email because maybe it just didn’t go through but a few days later, you still get no reply. You want to ask his mother if perhaps she could ask Jungkook why he hasn’t been replying like he said he would but you find it a little embarrassing to ask her that so, you simply ask her if his email is indeed Kookster97 and she nods her head, telling you that it is what he had told her. So, all you do is continue to send him emails, hoping one day he would reply but he never does. In his absence, you find your will to make music diminish. You had not touched your keyboard since the day he left and when you boot up your computer to perhaps work on some music, you find the file titled No.1 Hit in your recent section and when you play it, it’s like you’re taken back to day one where all you could do is mope and frown at the thought of your best friend being so far away now. You bury the file within a file and hide it among 100 other ones, hoping you will never return to it because when you hear that 5-key melody, all you feel is pain.

Weeks turn to months and it’s maybe 9 months since he left that you realize when his mother talks about Jungkook, she doesn’t tell you the usual message of him saying that he misses you, anymore. Tell him I miss him, you remember saying meekly, and she said, of course, I will! But the next time the Jeons came over for dinner and she talked about how Jungkook was getting along in the dance workshop in the US that his company had sent him to, she again, had no personal message from Jungkook to deliver to you, simply a blanket yeah, he says he misses everyone. His mother goes on and on about the new boy group that Jungkook is slated to be a part of and she talks about the other members, the current concept of it being a rap/hip hop type group and though you know you should be happy for him, that all of his effort is coming to fruition, you can’t help but feel annoyed, almost angry whenever you hear about him. It’s with each passing day that you grow bitter and each time the Jeons come around for dinner, you find an excuse to leave the house, citing a group project, or a sleepover you had to attend because you didn’t want to hear about how great Jungkook’s life in Seoul or wherever in the world he is, anymore. Just hearing his name made your blood boil because you just couldn’t understand how he had the time to tell his mother all of this but didn’t have the time to leave his mother just perhaps a word of greeting for you or how he couldn’t just reply to any one of the dozens of emails you had sent. Soon, you end up resenting him so much that you push him out of your mind completely, not even choosing to devote any one of your thoughts towards someone who seemed to want to have nothing to do with you.

Skip to year 2013, it had been far too long since you’ve given the boy you had once called your best friend a thought. You’ve managed to separate everything from him and now whenever you make music, you don’t think of him. Whenever you see his parents, you tune them out when they talk about him. All the pictures of both you and him that you had taped all around your room, are no longer there. As far as you were concerned, Jungkook was just a memory to you, someone who had once been a part of your life and you were happy with that decision for you had no qualms about not thinking of him. In fact, it had happened rather naturally instead of it being a decision you had made hastily over anger or bitterness. It was more of a decision of if he could move on without you then you could do the same. You laugh when you think about it because you make it seem like you and him are a couple and the two of you had gone through a break-up. Dramatic, is the only word you can think of on the off chance that you think of him and think of the day when he had told you he was leaving. You were 13 then, young and stupid, and when you think of the whole conversation, you guess it must’ve sounded so stupid if anyone had heard the two of you arguing. You can’t really remember why you were so angry or hurt back then and that’s really because you’ve chosen to block out all things Jungkook.

You had been doing so good, excelling in school, making memories with your friends, sneaking out late at night just to hang out with them and not a single thought of Jungkook had crept up on you in years but then that one day in June, you hear your mother shouting for you from the living room, asking you to come down quick to see what was on TV. You walk down the stairs rather lazily, sighing by the time you got to the living room only to let out a bored what? Your mother points to the TV and your eyes almost pop out of your sockets when you see him, see your ex best friend on national TV, performing his heart out. You’re speechless because that’s him, you’re sure of it but he looks so different in his stage costume and since when could he dance that well? He sounds different, the song he’s singing is much more different from the songs you made with him in your bedroom because first of all it’s professionally produced and secondly you don’t remember him ever rapping on any of the tracks you and he had made but regardless, he still sounded good. There are screams when the song ends and the screen fades to black before they show the members individually, their name and pictures side by side and when you see Jungkook’s picture flash on the screen, you can’t exactly pinpoint the emotion you’re feeling. It’s somewhere between happiness, pride and jealousy all mixed into one. By the time the second song ends, the screams are even louder, and you watch as the closing sequence shows all 7 boys with their chests heaving, sweat dripping down their faces, all of them secretly enjoying the fact that their debut stage is over despite the fact that they’re still in character, snarling at the screen.

It’s almost surreal seeing him on there. It’s crazy to think that in just 3 years, he had already achieved what you said you would with him once you had graduated from college and gone to work. It’s with that thought that you finally understand what he had meant all those years ago, that this was his shot at achieving his dreams and so far, it looks like he’s only getting closer to doing that. You’re happy for him of course you are, how can you not be… but then why is it that you have this bitter taste in your mouth? Why is it that you find yourself frowning when you think of him?

In the weeks, months and years to come, you actively try to keep any news of him and his group away from your social media but it’s hard when all your classmates ever talk about is him and his group. BTS, is what they call themselves, that much you’ve learned and year after year, they continue to release new music and though you try not to listen to it, you can’t help but listen to a short snippet whenever it’s on your timeline before you force yourself to exit out of it, turning away from your social media for the day. You claim you don’t know the slightest thing about them, but your timeline had been a ruckus when they won new artist of the year in 2013 and the subsequent year when they had performed at an award show, your timeline had just about erupted. Aside from all of that, time seems to pass by faster and faster no matter how much you beg it to slow down and though you’re sure for Jungkook it’s like there aren’t enough hours in the day for him with all the practices, recordings and shows, the same could be said for you too because before you knew it, you were sitting for the college entrance exam and then you blink your eye and you’re standing on stage, finally graduating from high school.

When you graduated from high school, you thought you would have a good few months to breathe but a few weeks later, you find yourself in Seoul, ready to embark on a new journey, finally entering college like your parents have always dreamed. Of course arriving on campus, everything felt like a dream because it was your first time in the capital city and it was your first time living in the dorms and everything seemed like a new experience. Seeing so many new faces and so many people your age, all in one place was exhilarating but as soon as classes started, and work started piling up, the excitement of being a college student disappears and is instead replaced with the reality of what it really is and that is being stressed, depressed and occasionally well dressed. The entire first semester is a whirlwind and somehow you survive finals week and make it to summer break but then just as you’re beginning to enjoy it, you’re swept up again as the second semester rolls around and you’re back to the daily grind. Your seniors tell you to stop and enjoy each day because before you know it, you’ll be graduating. Good, you thought. You just wanted to graduate and leave, anyway.

At college, avoiding BTS seems to become a tad bit harder and you’re always slightly irked whenever you hear girls talk about the group or Jungkook in particular because it finally hits you how big they’re staring to become. Granted, they’re not exactly world-wide superstars for the time being but hearing complete strangers fawn over someone who had spent afternoons in your room, picking his nose, will never not be strange to you. You see BTS from time to time on the TV in your dining halls and somehow you find yourself smiling because for one performance you see them in various costumes, Jungkook himself dressed as a police officer and to you, it’s hilarious because you never thought there’d be a day you’d see him in anything but his usual jeans and t-shirt but yet, here he is, in a police officer uniform of all things. He’s happy, or at least you think he is because he has on that smile when he’s performing and just seeing him dance and sing, it just seems right, like he’s exactly where he belongs. You can’t help but think what could have been if Jungkook hadn’t gone to Seoul way back when and at this point, it’s not really something you want to think of anymore because one day, you see him and the rest of BTS looking rather stunned after their first win but soon they’re all smiles and though you haven’t really been following the group, their expression told you all that you needed to know. From then, it was win after win after win and you’re happy for Jungkook, you really are and yet just like the time you had first saw him debut, there’s this bitterness that seems to linger.

As expected the second semester damn near knocks you out with all the work and midterms you have to sit for and this time you find yourself barely being able to crawl your way through finals week and finally, when all of that is done and dusted, you let out a heavy sigh, glad that you can at least rest during the winter break. It’s your first time spending the holiday season alone and most of your friends have gone home for the break, but you’ve decided to stay because you part-time job pays you double when you work during this season and you know you need the money. Sometimes there are slow days at your workplace and you find yourself just mindlessly watching the music program that plays on the TV. There are occasions where you see the familiar doe-eyed boy on TV with the rest of his group and by this point, you’ve given up trying to avoid the group as it is simply impossible. You hear their music being played on the streets, you see the buskers performing to their songs and you see their posters hanging outside music stores. They’re just everywhere and you suppose that’s a good thing.

You watch the TV curiously as confetti pops on the stage and BTS is yet again announced as the winner for the night and despite all that has happened, the smile on Jungkook’s face still makes you feel all warm inside. He looks so familiar and yet he seems someone so entirely different. It has been 5 years since you had last saw him at the station and of course he’s changed because so have you. With each passing day, BTS grows in popularity and you feel yourself being slowly roped in. You feel yourself growing curious as to just what made them so special. That night, out of sheer boredom or rather curiosity, you find yourself looking up their latest album, already having doubts in your mind when you hit play but when the intro comes on and you hear the husky voice of one of the group’s rappers, you find yourself slightly intrigued.

The song plays and as the lyrics talks about being doubted, about proving the naysayers wrong, about moving forward despite it all, you feel your doubts about the group slowly melting away because he had put into words your struggles and in that one song alone, you had found hope. As you slowly make your way down the track list, you feel guilt begin to creep up on you. You listen to the album for days on end, their lyrics speaking to your soul, their melodies igniting a fire within you and you regret it so much, regret thinking of Jungkook as a sell-out, as someone who had gone with whatever they told him to do just to be famous because you were wrong, so very wrong and you should’ve known better, should’ve known that Jungkook would have been the type to go for something less than conventional because he saw potential, because he saw a chance for him to become the musician he has always wanted to be.

From this mini album to the one prior, you feel youth itself being captured in the songs, from teenage angst, to the carefree attitude that came with being young, the mini albums had it all. He’s grown from the young thirteen-year-old who sang about the trivial things in life to someone who helped write and produce songs that talked about pain, love, joy and an amalgamation of emotions you never thought he was capable of. You’re sucked into some sort of hole and before you know it you’re on YouTube watching videos of him and the boys, living out their idol life. You see the struggle behind what you thought was easy success, you see the 6 other boys as big brothers, slowly shaping him into the man that he is today. You laugh to yourself thinking about the years you wasted mindlessly hating the boy and by extension the other 6 members over a few unanswered emails, over a decision he had made at 13 that has quite possibly changed his life for the better. Jungkook is out there inching closer to his dreams, living the best possible life he could and who were you to be mad at him for doing that? If anything, you were sad that you couldn’t be a part of that but really, that didn’t matter because as far as you know, he’s happy and that’s all you could ever wish for. So, maybe over the course of a few weeks you learn more and more about the group, about how they produce their own music, how they write their own lyrics, how their music resonates with you and mirrors so much of what you feel and suddenly, you find that you don’t hate them so much anymore.

Like a fool, you decide to spend little of what you have on their newest mini album. It’s to support your childhood friend, you reason. One who hasn’t so much as made an effort to contact you but he is, or rather was your best friend and though you haven’t spoken to him in 5 years, you see that he’s very much the same dork you know but just a lot more famous now. Truthfully, he’s still the boy that holds your heart, though you deny it very much and so you send in your order for the album within a heartbeat. It wasn’t much, in fact it's nothing compared to the many other fans who buy dozens of them, but this is all you can afford, and you hope your one album sale helps them in some way.

It is after the discovery of your new-found love for BTS that you finally return to producing music, dragging out the keyboard that you have long forgotten in the closet of your dorm room. You find peace in finally making music again, feeling as if you’re home again because after all, music is your love and you have neglected it for far too long. In the loneliness of the winter months, you make track after track, uploading a handful of them under a pseudonym that you’ve picked.

Navy, had been the name you had gone for because it’s a gender ambiguous name and in an industry that’s so cutthroat, you didn’t really need anything else working against you. To be fair, you expect nothing out of posting your songs online because there are no lyrics to them, only beats but it felt refreshing, pushing out original creative content and you just needed to have a place you could display them all for you to maybe one day come back and see how much you’ve grown.

The second year of college, took everything out of you and by the end of the winter semester, your will to go on was only hanging by a thread. You had been pushed into pursuing a career you know you weren’t made for, but you needed to do this, needed to succeed for your parents’ sake. When winter break finally comes around, you’re hit by yet another pang of loneliness and you turn to your trusty laptop and midi keyboard to forget about it all. The music you had posted online had gained some traction and you don’t like to brag but you have been paid a fair few times by a few large companies for some of your music and you watched as they become the base beats or samples for some of the largest hits of the summer. Of course, it hadn’t been an overnight success, it was a slow and long climb but all it took was one big break, and suddenly, you watched emails start to pour into your inbox. It’s rather interesting because there’s some sort of satisfaction with getting to see your pseudonym printed on the song credits section in the albums. Seeing it printed alongside some of the biggest names in the industry tells you that this will all be worth it, that once you’ve done your job as a filial child, you could go on and make music and it wouldn’t feel like you’re chasing an empty dream.

You produce most of your tracks during the break and usually, it doesn’t take you too long to get into the groove of making a new track or at least a catchy beat but this time, no matter what you did, everything you created either sounded horrible or too basic. With BTS’ songs playing in the background, you dig around your old files to see if you could salvage any of your abandoned WIPs but nothing seems to work. You decide to procrastinate, rearranging all your folders, sifting through old songs just for the heck of it. You play a few songs that you had made back when you were thirteen and you cringe at how they sounded so badly produced, Jungkook’s voice truly the only saving grace for a few of those tracks. It’s fine, you laugh. At least now, you could see how much you’ve grown as an artist. It’s hours after sifting through old files that you finally stumble across one that says No.1 Hit. You grin at the file fondly, remembering how Jungkook had played a simple piano melody and you had promised him that you would one day make it into a hit. You open the file, hitting play and it’s like a wave of nostalgia hits you as you hear those 5 simple keys being played. Mindlessly, you use the 5 key melody and choose to build a song around it, and you’re glad because it’s a lot better than you remember it to be, the 5 key melody Jungkook had played a relatively easy one but it wasn’t just 5 keys played in ascension, it was melodically unique enough to sound anything like a generic run of the mill ballad and for the first time in days, you manage to make progress on a track.

You work on the song tirelessly, it’s the only thing you do for days now that you have this new-found drive to make some music and so, you finish the song just a day away from Christmas and you tell yourself it’s a gift from you, to yourself. The finished product is a reminder that you still had it in you, that despite the fact that the semester had absolutely destroyed you, you could always return to music and make something you were proud of. You’ve come so far, you smile and perhaps you’re not as successful as Jungkook, not even close, but you were making a name for yourself and you allow yourself to take that as a small form of victory. You find it so funny that back then when the two of you were just sat in your room, talking about what ifs and what your future would be like, you would have never imagined this. You would never imagine Jungkook becoming an idol and you would never imagine yourself creating hit songs in a small dorm room. You play the song over and over again, and you’re taken back to 6 years ago in your bed room where he had first played the simple piano melody and you find yourself imagining Jungkook’s voice on the track, his soft crooning warming up your heart in the middle of your bedroom but ah, it’s a dream that never will be. He’ll never hear the song anyway, you scoff. You play the song another handful of times before you decide to head to the convenience store that’s just a block away, hoping that some alcohol might help dull the loneliness and pain you seem to be feeling.

It’s when you take a swig out of your now half empty bottle of soju that you play your song another time and at this point you wonder if it’s considered vain to play something you made over and over again, almost as if you were just staring at a picture of yourself for hours on end. After taking a short break from hearing your song for yet another time, the cheap convenience store soju gives you the brilliant idea of creating a faux email for the day just for the heck of it. You can hear your brain telling yourself that it’s the worst idea on earth but really with the amount of soju you’ve drank, you can barely discern right from wrong anymore. Your fingers type hastily on your keyboard and you think hard before laughing as you type in a new username. Busanbeats, you type out. It’s the silly little name you and Jungkook had given your so-called ‘studio’ when the two of you were 11. 

Congratulations! You have just made a new account. Hello, Busanbeats. 

You snicker at the new email sitting in your inbox. Busanbeats, god, how long has it been since you last saw that name? You’re surprised you even remember it.

You click on the compose button, a small window opening up for the new mail you’re about to send. Your cursor blinks in the recipient section of the e-mail and you mumble to yourself trying to remember just what his username is. Kook… Kookster? Kooksterz? Was there a Z or was it an S instead? Kooksterz97, you mumble to yourself… and you sigh typing it in before you pressed enter. You wonder if he still uses this email. Perhaps he’s abandoned it, probably having created a new username, a more professional one instead. Doesn’t matter, you shrug. Whether he really got the email or not didn’t matter to you. You just needed to put it out there somehow, that you on your own had created a song off of a simple piano track that had been played some 6 odd years ago, and this email was just that, a small trick to tell yourself that yeah, you did it, shared it with someone you actually personally know… or rather knew.

Merry Christmas, is the title of your email. You had decided on it as you watched the minute hand tick closer to midnight. You stare long and hard at the empty email, trying to think of what would be an appropriate message to send an ex-best friend. You’re not so sure he remembers you, let alone Busanbeats. For all you know, you’ve got his username wrong, you laugh or maybe like all those years ago, he wouldn’t even read the email. The cursor blinks in the empty box and without thinking, your hand sweeps across the keyboard, typing out what you’ve actually been wanting to say for 6 years now.  

I miss you. I hope you’re happy wherever you are.

10 words, that’s all there is to your email.

You attach the sound file after glancing at your message again, quickly smashing the send button before you sign out and slam your laptop shut. You turn off the lights, crawl to bed and tuck yourself in just so the soju won’t give you anymore grand ideas. Merry Christmas, you whisper to yourself as you glance at the clock on the wall that showed that it’s now just a little past 12 in the morning. As you drift off to sleep, you wonder where Jungkook is because you remember that summer you had heard BTS was on yet another world tour. You let out a short snort, remembering how the two of you had once promised each other that one day, the both of you would travel the world together. You wonder if those faraway countries are anything like he’s imagined them to be. Truthfully, you’re a tad bit jealous because there he is slowly ticking off dozens of items on the checklist of things you had once promised each other while you on the other hand... you’re just here, trapped in a life that you’ve realized too belatedly that you’re not meant for. You can’t help but think that Jungkook has everything. He has the career, the 6 members that are family to him and an army of fans that love him and his group wholeheartedly, while you’re here, just… feeling alone, alone and alone.

Jungkook is exhausted, his limbs are screaming at him as he lays in his bed, finally able to rest after a tiring day of practice for yet another award show. He looks at his phone to see a new email, one sent to the spare email account from his childhood that he uses to sign up for games. He opens up the app to see the new message staring back at him and he damn near drops his phone.

Busanbeats.

The username makes his heart drop and soar at the same time and he doesn’t know what to do. The title of the email says Merry Christmas and he’s so afraid of opening it because what if it isn’t you? What if it’s someone sending incriminating photos of him to blackmail him with? Not that he’s done anything incriminating as of late, but the email is so out of the blue that he doesn’t really know what it could be. What if it’s some fan who’s done way too much research and has found out about his past, found out about you? Not that he’s embarrassed of either but it’s his little secret, one he wants to hold onto forever because his mind often returns to memories of you and him in your bedroom making silly tracks. Those memories make him smile, make him long to travel back in time just to hear you laugh with him again.

He misses you so much, by god does he miss you. He thinks about you all the time, too much in fact. He’s always so close, so close to dropping you a message on any one of your social media accounts, all of which he’s following under guise of a fake account. He wonders why you let strangers follow you but hey he’s not complaining because this way he feels as though he gets to see you go through life, almost as if he was right there beside you. He realizes just how creepy that may sound but honestly, it’s one of the little joys in his life, watching the little stories you post or the pictures you post, accompanied with captions about the day or just a funny one-liner. Though the two of you are apart, he feels like the two of you are growing up together because as odd as it seems, you’re still irrevocably you. Of course, you’ve changed in some way but there are still things about you that hasn’t changed, like how you constantly groan about homework or how you would light up whenever you see a dog on the street, which is evident from the stories you would always post and truthfully, no matter how many times he sees them, he never gets tired of it. Whenever you talk about that new song you like or that new movie you watched in any one of your posts, he tries to nonchalantly fit it in somehow into either one of the behind the scenes videos his company puts up of him and the boys or in one of his rare tweets, hoping on the off chance that you’d see it and connect the dots. Though, he finds that to be an idea that’s a little too far-fetched because from what his mother had told him, you didn’t really care about him anymore. Of course, she had put it in a much lighter, softer way but he knew that’s what she meant.

Jungkook lets out a sigh, once again staring at his screen. His phone is literally trembling in his hand, his thumb hovering above the email and he shuts his eyes, letting out a deep breath before he taps onto the message, finally opening the email up. Slowly, he peels his eyes open and he sees that the message has 10 words to it and all it takes is those 10 words for tears to start forming at the corners of his eyes.

I miss you. I hope you’re happy wherever you are.

There’s a muffled sob that leaves his lips and he quickly wipes away the tears that are beginning to roll down his cheeks. He can’t be sure that it’s you but if it is, he wants you to know that he misses you too. How much? He’ll never be able to put into words, but he misses you so much his heart aches whenever he thinks about you. I hope you’re happy wherever you are, is what your message says and of course he’s happy where he is now. His body may feel like it’s breaking apart with the amount of work he’s put in as of late but he’s happy because he’s able to do what he loves as a job but as cliché as it sounds, he’d be happier if he was able to share it all with you because after all, you are his best friend and he’s never thought otherwise even if the two of you haven’t spoken in years.

Jungkook sighs, just staring at the email until he notices there’s an attachment at the bottom of it, an mp3 file that simply says, untitled, and his heart stops beating for a second because is it you? Will he finally get to hear you say his name after 6 long years? Are you laughing in it? Are you screaming at him in it? It doesn’t matter… as long as he could just hear you say his name again, he’d be happy.

He hits play and there’s a few beats of silence before he hears a tune play. It’s a song, and it seems vaguely familiar, yet not until he hears the 5 keys, the same ones he had played all those years ago and he knows, it’s that song. It takes everything for him to not break down and cry and he plays the song over and over again until he finds that it’s way past his bedtime. That night, or rather morning, he spends a good half an hour or so typing out paragraph after paragraph. By the time he finally gains the courage to send you the email, it’s well past 3 in the morning. When he finally tucks himself into bed, he goes to sleep with the sweetest smile on his lips, his mind drifting off to thoughts of you.

In the following days, Jungkook and his phone are inseparable as he constantly refreshes his email again and again. The other members notice the youngest being rather odd, always muttering by himself, nervously gnawing on his lips as if he’s anxious about something. Must be the stress, they think because the last few days of the year are always the most stressful as they would have back to back performances at all the year-end award shows and if that wasn’t enough, they’re thinking about the nominations they have, heart fluttering at the thought of perhaps snagging a few awards of their own.

Jungkook sends the email again to the Busanbeats account far too many times but at this point he’s gone far past desperate and all he wants to do is to talk to you. His fingers hover over your various social media accounts and all he has to do is send it to you there, to any one of those pages but with your picture staring back at him, it suddenly feels too real, and he’s afraid that the Busanbeats email isn’t from you. He knows he’s being ridiculous because it can’t possibly be from anyone else but you but maybe what he fears the most is being left on read, or even worse, getting a reply from you where you just tell him how much you hate him. He spends days mulling over what to do before he decides he would just continue to care for you from afar, his fragile ego stopping him from doing what he wants to do the most, which is to reach out to you. Instead, he spends many of his days hunched over his table, writing down line after line of lyrics, his bin slowly being filled up with crumpled paper as he finds that he can’t seem to find the right words to fit the song.

As 2016 bleeds into 2017, Jungkook and the boys gear up for the upcoming world tour that they have, one that’s slated to be the longest tour they’ve ever been on. They practice day in, day out trying to iron all of the kinks out in their dance routines, making sure the spacing is perfect, that the band is ready and that the back-up dancers are prepared. There’s so much going on that Jungkook feels he barely has time to stop and breathe. In fact, the only solace he finds in all the crazy days he’s had is when he returns home and gets to watch your story for the day. Usually it’s nothing much, just what you ate or perhaps a few pictures of the streets of Seoul or maybe a dog that you had met at the park. It’s the mundane little things that you do that oddly brings him peace. He’s often imagined what it would be like to run into you on one of his off days. He wonders if you’ll even recognize him, wonders if you even know he exists anymore. Though he isn’t left wondering for long because when he opens up your story for the day after a particularly exhausting day at work, he’s met with a small snippet of you bobbing your head along to BTS’ latest song, an embarrassed laugh accompanying your dance before the video fades to a picture of the drink you had got at a café. Jungkook replays the short video so many times that he thinks he might be slightly deranged. It’s the tiny caption that’s on your video that gets him. It’s a few lines of text saying, this is the 4th time I heard this song today. There’s no escaping BTS huh? (ps guys, don’t lie… how many of you have dropped the I went to school with Jungkook line just to impress someone?). Jungkook can’t wipe off the smile on his face because his name… you had typed his name… You know of his group and you know their songs and you still thought of him… maybe not in the way he wanted you to but at least you did. It’s lame and childish, he knows but he can never think straight when it comes to you and anything you say or do that’s remotely cute sends his heart bouncing off at a speed he’s not comfortable with. Yet again, because of you, he goes to bed that night with the stupidest smile on his lips.

In the midst of your winter break, around early February, you get a rare call from your mother saying that a letter had arrived at the house, one that was addressed to you and that she had forwarded it to your current address. Confused, you decide to check your mailbox that day to find a dozen or so pamphlets and spam mail before finally, you find a letter with nothing but your name and home address printed on it. You open up the envelope to find two things. A ticket and a short letter. You furrow your brows in confusion, smoothing out the folded piece of paper to read its contents.

Hey Y/N, it’s been a long time. How have you been? Good, I hope. Anyway, the boys and I are having a concert in Seoul soon. I hope to see you there.

Best,

Jungkook.

You stare at the letter in utter confusion because, Jungkook? Is this really Jungkook? Is this a joke? It has to be… Perhaps one of your friends from primary school had decided to play a prank on you. You fish out the ticket to see the holographic sticker on it, indicating that the ticket is indeed real and it’s one that puts you in the VIP section along with special guests and family members.

It’s odd to think that Jungkook would send you this… It has been 7 years since you last saw him and it has been 7 long years of silence. Why now? You question. You read the letter a few times over before you let out a short snort. It’s Jungkook for sure, you can tell as much from his handwriting but his letter sounds so prim and proper, so robotic... nothing at all like the Jungkook you know but then again you realize you haven’t seen him in a long time and by now, he’s practically a stranger to you. If you really thought about it, you hadn’t really known him back then either because if he kept that audition 7 years ago a secret from you, who knows what else he’s hidden from you. You tuck the ticket and letter back into the envelope, placing it on your desk, looking at it from time to time, wondering if you should really go.

Technically, going to a BTS concert is an opportunity of a lifetime. Their tickets sell out in a matter of minutes and as far as you know, scalpers were selling them double, triple the price and even then, there are still people who are willing to pay that price. Though you’re not really ready to admit it, you rather like the band. You love the sincerity in their lyrics, the variety in their songs, the insane dance routines, the complexity of their accompanying story about youth and of course, the fact that all 7 of them look like they’ve been carved by Adonis himself, only helped sell their case more. It’s their music that spurs you to create more, to challenge yourself to become a better artist and if you asked yourself if you really wanted to go, the answer would be without a doubt, yes. Yet, you find yourself hesitating, debating between going and just staying home but soon enough, the day comes and hours before the concert you tell yourself fuck it before you grab your phone and head out the door.

When you get to the venue, it’s like a madhouse. You see the queue snaking around the stadium, tents set up for merchandise sale along the pavement and people everywhere with banners, posters, fans, whatever you could think of, they had it. The LED screens light up with footage of the boys, their names and pictures being displayed. Seeing Jungkook on the big screen, seeing the excitement first hand, honestly, it scares you a little. You stand in the queue alone, not knowing yourself where to go or what to do. There’s an obvious air of anticipation around the outside of the stadium, thousands of fans eager to finally see the boys kick off their live tour. As you get closer to the front of the queue, your heart starts to palpitate for no reason whatsoever. When the beep of the handheld machine used to scan the tickets grow louder, you wipe your hands at your pants, unsure as to why you’re feeling so nervous. It’s a split-second decision. With only a few more people until it’s your turn, you decide to jump the barricade and head on home. You can see people staring at you quizzically but the pressure of finally seeing your ex-best friend after 7 long years just makes you feel anxious and at this point in time, you think, it’s something you can’t deal with just yet.

You’re an idiot, a certified idiot because you return home to watch the concert through crappy handheld live streams when you could’ve been there watching it with your very own eyes but no, you’re a coward and you’re stubborn so you’re here dealing with the consequences of your personality. BTS are all smiles that night and it warms your heart knowing how much this concert means to them, how much their fans mean to them and when it’s all over and done with, you return to your own bed, feeling rather blue, as if you had actually attended that concert that night and you were feeling the full effects of post-concert blues.

Jungkook and the boys retreat back stage after they finally say goodbye to their fans and the curtains come down, signifying the end of the show. They bow diligently towards each other, and the staff, thanking each and everyone for their hard work tonight. Jungkook sinks down onto the couch, wiping away his sweat as he drinks a cool bottle of water. Everyone’s in a relatively good mood, congratulating each other for putting on a good performance and the boy pipes in on the conversation every once in a while, reminiscing the notable moments of the second day, somehow quite glad that they were able to close out the Seoul show with a bang. As the conversation continues, he slides off to the far corner of the room, searching for a particular staff member and when he finally finds who he’s looking for, he feels his heart beating rapidly in his chest.

“Did… did she come?” He asks, his voice barely a whisper.

The staff member looks at him rather quizzically before a moment of realization hits him when Jungkook gestures towards a ticket.

“Oh! Uhh, I’m sorry but nobody showed up,” He frowns.

“Ah, right… that’s okay, thanks,” He smiles weakly before bowing at him.

To be fair Jungkook didn’t expect you to show up but he sure hoped that you would. The ticket had got to you, that he made sure of because his mother had informed him that yes, your mother had sent it to you. He wonders if you were busy, if you perhaps had something better to do with your weekend. He tries not to think about it but he can’t deny that he’s a little hurt. In any case, he isn’t given much time to dwell on his feelings because the week following the Seoul show is as chaotic as ever. The whole company in an absolute ruckus as everyone ties up the loose ends before the boys head over to Chile for their first international show of the year.

The next few months are complete chaos as they go from city to city, from Chile to Brazil over the course of just a few weeks. As if performing overseas itself isn’t already a dream to him, then comes the notification of their nomination at the BBMAs and an invite to attend the award show. Subsequently winning the award and seeing all the international stars that he’s only ever had the pleasure of seeing through a screen, stand right in front of him and talk to him, it’s almost like he’s in heaven but of course, he doesn’t have much time to savour that feeling because the next day, he finds himself on another plane, on to another place. They hit a myriad of cities in America before heading back to Asia to perform in a slew of different countries, the boys entirely excited to put on show after show no matter how tiring it is. All 7 of them simply get into the routine of putting on shows and enjoying little of what is their down time, exploring a few cities here and there. Just as they think they can finally relax, then comes the announcement of their performance at the AMAs and the boys find themselves back in America again. It’s an exciting experience, one that Jungkook thinks he’ll never forget but when he finally returns home, months later and performs the last two shows to close out the tour, he breathes a sigh of relief, glad that the year has been nothing but good to him.

All the while as he flew from country to country, he never once missed any of your posts, the little pictures and clips of Seoul has him yearning to return but then he sees the sold-out stadiums each night and he remembers why exactly he’s out there traveling the world. He had returned to Seoul with a light heart and a bag full of postcards that he adds to his ever-growing collection. He thinks his year can’t get any better but mid-December as everything settles, the shock of winning a few more awards finally starting to ebb away, the boys get news that they finally got a slot with the ever elusive up and coming producer who went by the pseudonym of Navy. Everyone’s on the edge of their seat, counting down the days they finally get to meet the mysterious Navy. There’s been huge debate amongst the boys and resident producers at the company on who Navy actually is and though they’ve scoured the internet for clues, the theories online only make things seem murkier, a hundred and one theories floating around as to who exactly Navy is.

Navy.

Jungkook furrows his eyebrows whenever he hears the name. He’s visited their online profile a fair few times, reading the small blog posts they link whenever they answer a few questions from fans. Jungkook can’t explain it but this Navy seems so familiar and honestly, he thinks he’s a little crazy but whoever Navy is… seems to be a lot like you. From your favourite food, to your favourite colour and even down right to your favourite Disney movie. Jungkook knew all of those, still did even though it’s been 7 years. Oddly, all those details seemed to match with you. Aside from that, the songs they produce obviously does not sound like anything both you and him used to make but one day when a fan asks what one of their old songs sounds like, Jungkook thinks it’s definitely you because when hears the clip, he notes that it sounds like one of the clips you had played for him some years ago and he can’t seem to shake the feeling that somehow, Navy is his childhood friend, his best friend. As he listens to each song Navy is accredited to, he seems more convinced it's you because he notices a trend, notices you using similar instruments, the unconventional ones you’ve always loved using. Be it the odd strings here and there or the uncommon percussion instruments from various traditional instruments, the songs sound so you, albeit it’s a new and improved you. Of course, Jungkook didn’t want to tell anyone… afraid he would sound like a madman. So, all he does is wait, wait for the day Navy would walk through the front doors of the building.

2017 zooms by you before you can even blink. Your last year in college was perhaps the worst out of all your 3 years here but as you look at yourself in the mirror, standing in your graduation robe with your graduation cap in hand, you can’t help but smile at the thought that you’ve finally made it. On a chilly winter day, in the middle of the hall, you along with hundreds of others throw your caps up to the ceiling, celebrating the fact that now, all of you could finally go out and venture into the real world. The day is filled with many smiles and despite the amount of stress you had been through, the amount of sleepless nights you had begrudgingly suffered through and the numerous mental breakdowns you’ve cried your way through, you think it’s all worth it when you see your parents grin at you, telling you the 4 words you’ve always wanted to hear, that being, I’m proud of you.

Though your parents have always wished that you would go on to get that classic office job, you’ve pretty much shown yourself that you love music enough to be able to make it into a career. You know they haven’t always thought so, not even when the money you sent home seemed to be far too much for a college student to be making but it’s after a lot of coaxing from your part that they finally relent. Of course, the little luxuries you bought them helped push them over to your side. At least you have a degree to fall back on… in case things don’t work out, they murmur, and you snort, thanking them for their confidence. You understand though, they only want the best for you and to them the best was doing what was conventional. But you, you’ve always been rather the opposite of conventional and though your parents have always known that, perhaps they didn’t want to admit that until now. When they leave to return back to Busan, you can’t help but cry. They’re mostly tears of joy though because you feel like you’ve done what they’ve always expected of you and now that’s another burden finally rolling off your shoulders.

When you move out of the dorms and into the new apartment you’ve rented, it feels like the start of something new, the start of a new chapter and maybe you’re only this excited because you finally get to pursue your passion as a career. You huff, checking your schedule for the next few days when you see a big red Big Hit Entertainment taking up the Wednesday of your week. It’s rather ridiculous for you to think that you’re finally going to be able to work with the band that you love so much. Truth is, when you saw the email sitting in your inbox a few months ago, you had screamed and then subsequently archived the email away, feeling rather unworthy of being able to work with them, almost feeling like you’re not good enough. But as the end of the semester approached and graduation was just around the corner, you thought to yourself, what the heck, that you had nothing to lose from saying yes so, you email Big Hit back 3 months, yes three, after they had sent you that email. You had said something along the lines of if they’re still interested then you would love to work with BTS. Their response had come back almost immediately and by the end of the exchange, you found yourself booked to meet BTS and a few of their staff, the week after your graduation.

The Wednesday you have been waiting for comes soon enough and it’s just after midday when you stride into Big Hit’s headquarters. You approach the desk meekly, citing the appointment you had and with a smile, one of the staff leads you up to the meeting room. The room looks exactly like one of those big board rooms you see on TV and you can see a dozen or so people sitting around the table. As you take a glance, noting the 7 boys seated at the end of the table and the main producers at the company sitting off to their side, your palms begin to sweat, your bag almost slipping out of your grip. You can see Jungkook swiveling his chair around, excitedly chatting with the boys and you swear you could hear the sound of your heartbeat in your ears, the prospect of seeing him after so many years suddenly hitting you full force. You hesitate at the door, taking a step back, bumping into the side of the staff that had led you up here.

“I’m sorry,” You mumble. “I just need a few seconds to just—” You let out a large nervous sigh and she gives you a polite smile, nodding her head in understanding.

Through the small glass panel on the door, you can see all the producers you’ve only dreamed of working with, you see the band you’ve only dreamed of meeting. You want to work with BTS, of course you do. Their music inspired you to begin again and to work with them would be an absolute honour. But Jungkook… what if you meet him and he’s nothing like you remembered him to be, not the same boy who till this day still holds a major part of your heart. What if he looks at you and he hates what you’ve become? You don’t understand why you’re putting so much importance on what he thinks when he was the one who had abandoned you in the first place. His opinion shouldn’t matter, you thought and if anything, you’ll be able to get through it, you sigh. It’s with another deep breath that you finally turn to the lady, giving her a small nod and she smiles, reaching over to push the door open for you.

When the door swings open and you take a few hesitant steps forward, the room falls into pin-drop silence. You gulp, looking around the room, trying hard to avoid any eye-contact, your eyes darting around before you purse your lips and begin,

“Hello… I’m uhh… Navy.”

That sounded horrible, lame, you groan. It was nothing like the persona you had wanted to project.

There’s excited murmuring before everyone greets you and you’re shown to your seat. You gladly take your place, noting that your knees were about to give in from how nervous you are. This is your first time corresponding with artists and producers in person. Most of the time, your work is mostly done through numerous emails and calls and you’ve never actually had the experience of being in a board room like this.

Introductions begin, and they sweep around the room, from the producers, to those in charge of vocal arrangements, to anyone you could think of that was part of the music making process until finally, it reaches the 7 boys. They all greet you excitedly, stating their names one by one and you nod your head intently at each greeting, flashing them a smile, each time. It finally reaches the boy at the end of the table, the one you’ve avoided looking at since you stepped into the room and when your eyes meet his, you hear him clear his throat before he licks at his lips nervously.

“I-I’m Jungkook, the main vocalist of the band,” He stammers and despite your nervousness, you almost let out a light laugh. 7 years on and he was still the same shy boy you had met in the music room almost 13 years ago.

Everyone peers back at you, waiting for a proper introduction and you straighten your back, before you start.

“Like I said earlier, I’m Navy but uh… my real name is Y/N,” You smile, rubbing your hands together as you gaze around the room, your eyes meeting Jungkook’s for a second too long. “It’s nice to meet all of you.”

It’s a dream. It’s a dream. It’s a dream. That’s all Jungkook can think this is. He almost wants to scream for everyone to leave because all he wants is just a moment with you. Just one. It breaks his heart how nonchalant you look, your eyes sweeping over him as if he’s just like everyone else in the room. He knows that you know him, that you remember him but nothing you say or do shows that you even care that this is the first time you’re meeting him in years. In his mind, he’s thought of this situation over and over again. He’s thought about meeting you on the street here in Seoul, meeting you perhaps back in Busan over the holiday season, even someday meeting you right here in the company. Never once has he imagined you like this, so cold, so uncaring towards him. Of course, he’d want the reunion to be happy but he knows that’s unlikely and he’d rather see you sad or furious, or just see some type of emotion, any emotion because at least then it would mean that you care but this, seeing you so detached from him makes his heart ache in more ways than one.

The meeting edges more towards the serious side and you have to stop yourself from almost letting out a laugh when both Namjoon and Yoongi pipe up to tell you that they too take part in the music production side of things. You almost want to blurt out that you know that, that you also know all of their names by heart, maybe even knew their birthdates, but you guess it isn’t really the time nor place for that. Instead, you play track after track, noting the responses from the room, the small comments from the producers and the boys and you won’t lie, maybe you’re blushing a little because everyone seems to be enjoying the short snippets you’ve played for them.

“I can really see this track being one of the main songs on the next album,” One of the producers say as everyone in the room nods in agreement. You can do nothing but smile stupidly, because all of this feels like a dream to you and at this very moment you’re on another plane of existence, one where you’re feeling inexplicable joy.

It’s just about the end of your repertoire and you’ve played all the tracks that you think would suit BTS. There’s one more track sitting at the end of the list you have compiled and you hesitate, wondering if you should play it. You look up quickly to note Jungkook sulking in the corner and even if he’s said nothing the whole time, which honestly hurts you a little, you wonder if you could coax him out of his shell with this one track. You wonder if he remembers it and though you know you had tried sending it to him while drunk that one time, you’re quite sure he didn’t get it or maybe he did… and he actually hates it, you’ll never know because you had tried signing into that Busanbeats email account the day after but you couldn’t seem to figure out the password that drunk you had set the night before. But, you’re rather proud of the track. It’s in a style you’ve never tried before but still, it sounded great and you knew that this song fits BTS perfectly, especially since it was their music that night that had got you started on working on the track and the fact that Jungkook had in some way helped in the creation of this song, you think it’d be a rather fitting addition to their upcoming album. You shrug to yourself and decide on playing it for them because the worst that could happen was that they could say no, right?

“Oh, uhh… this next track,” You start, interrupting the conversation that was happening between a few of the people sat across you. “I… I actually made it while I was in a slump and it was your music—” You gestured towards the boys, your eyes stopping at Jungkook for a short while before you turn away. “—that helped me out of it. It was your music that sparked my muse.”

Everyone is waiting intently, listening in for that first beat. The music starts playing and it’s too familiar, Jungkook thinks and after just two seconds, when the first piano note sounds, Jungkook already knows the song. He’s stunned for a moment, his mind reeling as he watches you glance around the room nervously. He turns to see everyone else smiling, clearly enjoying the song and he shouldn’t say anything, he should just keep quiet like he has been doing the entire meeting but he’s speaking before he can stop himself.

“No. We wont be using this song.”

“Jungkook!” You hear Taehyung scold, the other boys soon following along.

“W-Wh— I think it’s perfect for the group,” You defend. “It’s a soft ballad with space for the rappers—"

“No.”

“Jungkook, what’s wrong with y—” Yoongi grumbles, obviously frustrated with the younger boy’s sudden outburst before he’s interrupted by Jungkook himself.

“I made that melody and I say, we can’t use this song.”

“Dude, what are you on about?” Hoseok questions.

“Jungkook, I-I thought you’d be happy,” You mumble. “Honestly, I thought you’d like it… with 7 of you on there it’ll—”

“It’s our song,” He murmurs. “You can’t give away our song.”

There’s an eerie silence to the room and you can feel the awkward tension in the air, the confused faces staring back at the both of you making you squirm in your seat.

“Okay… So, that’s a no to this song then,” you smile awkwardly. “That’s umm… all I have for today really so…” You clasp your hands together uncomfortably, slowly rising from your seat, unsure exactly how these meetings ended.

Thankfully, one of the staffs calls you to the side to talk about scheduling, asking for any more of your free days and a few of the other producers join in on the conversation. Oddly, it makes you feel a bit better after what had just happened and you’re glad that everyone is simply brushing the situation aside, instead talking about how they’d like you to help them develop some of the tracks they have in the works and perhaps how they could work with some of your tracks too.

When all the scheduling is over and done with, a few of the boys come over to apologize on behalf of Jungkook and you wave your hand at them, telling them that it was fine and you know everyone wants to ask the same question, wants to ask you what he had meant exactly when he said that he had made the melody but from the clenched fists and intense stares that Jungkook sent you during the altercation, they think it’s best to hold their tongue. With a last few goodbyes, you finally move to exit the room and you thank the fact that Jungkook has long since disappeared. You don’t really know what to do or say if he had been there and everyone would be watching the both of you, waiting for some sort of explanation for the weird tension between the two of you.

You step out into the hallway, insisting that you could find your own way out and you don’t tell them this but it’s really because you don’t want anyone to ask you any Jungkook related questions during the awkward silence in the elevator ride down to the ground floor. You’re humming to yourself as you wait for the elevator, smiling because despite it all, you deserve a pat on the back today for handling a big meeting on your own so well given the weird circumstance you were put in as well. When you hear the elevator ding, you let out a large sigh of relief, glad you could retire to your home soon and take a big fat nap.

Your feet wobble in the high heels that you had put on today and you click lightly on the button that says the ground floor. There’s the sound of hurried footsteps just as the door closes and without thinking, you click rapidly on the open button, glancing up only to fully regret your decision when you’re met face to face with your ex best friend. You panic, and you’re not sure why you do it but you try to push him out of the elevator, slamming on the close button but Jungkook must’ve anticipated your move because he fights his way back into the elevator and you let out a groan of defeat when you see the door finally close behind him.

Jungkook’s chest is heaving with exhaustion from the tiny scuffle and you’ve retreated to the corner, simply staring at your feet because you’re not sure where else to look.

“Y-Y/N, how’ve you been?” Is his sad attempt at trying to salvage the situation.

“Um, alright, I guess…” Is your reply and you’re not entirely sure what this is... this weird polite conversation you’re having. Is he genuinely trying to make small talk with you right now? Regardless, you assume you would have to keep the conversation going because what were you going to do? Stay silent as the elevator goes down another 15 floors? “And how about you? Great, probably,” You laugh, very awkwardly and good god this conversation is so painful that you almost wish you could just dissipate into thin air.

“Well, I’m better now that you’re here. A whole lot better,” He smiles and you let out an ugly snort before you shake your head at him and laugh, because really? Of all things to say, he chose to say that?

His heart flips in his chest at the sound of your laughter, because as cliché and gross as it sounds, it’s his favourite sound on this entire earth.

“Hmm, I see you’re even more of a charmer now too, huh?”

There’s 1000 things he wants to say, had thought up multiple words, sentences to say to you when he was in the bathroom just minutes ago, practicing his lines in the mirror but right here, right now, his mind is drawing a blank.

“Oh, by the way, I’m sorry about the song…” You mumble, noting now that perhaps you should’ve asked for his permission first before playing it because he was right, he did make that base melody and so that meant this is just as much his song as it is yours. “I guess you don’t like it but I—”

“No, no!” Jungkook shakes his head vehemently and the expression he gives you is almost like he’s horrified. “I love it. I love the song. I’ve been listening to it ever since you sent it to me.”

Sent it to him? Oh… Oh… So he did get the email after all?

“Oh right, that,” You laugh. “Then what gives?”

His heart breaks when he hears you say that because how could you not see how special the song is? How could you be so ready to give it away?

“It’s just ours,” He mumbles. “Yours and mine and maybe I’m just… selfish like that,” He murmurs, shifting his weight from one feet to the other and you let out a quiet scoff, noting how much the last part of his sentence had sounded just like what he had said all those years ago.

“I guess not everything about you has changed then,” You smile as the elevator dings, prompting the both of you to walk out.

Jungkook doesn’t say anything as he continues to follow you, walking by your side until you reach the exit. His mind is nothing but a big mess now and he can’t seem to be able to string a sentence together because seeing you right in front of him, it’s like his body is still in shock. He didn’t know what to say first, didn’t know whether it was appropriate to just tell you how much he misses you, that he’s so happy for you because you’ve finally graduated and he knows how much of a struggle college was for you, that he loves all the songs you’ve managed to produce over the past years... but he didn’t want you to think he’s a stalker. It’s been 7 long years and it almost feels like this is him making a new first impression but before he can get any one of those things out, he hears you saying a quiet, well, bye, I guess... and he calls for your name when he finally registers your sentence but by then, you’ve disappeared into the taxi and he’s left standing at the front entrance of his workplace looking like a complete fool.

With his head hanging low, Jungkook retreats back up to the meeting room where everyone is still lounging around in and the moment he steps in, he could feel everyone staring at him.

“Honestly Jungkook, what was with your attitude the entire meeting and what’s with the whole song thing?” Namjoon asks.

“We just… we know each other,” He mumbles. “I grew up with her. She’s my… was my…” He can’t even complete the sentence now, not after all that has happened today.

“Oh, she’s her,” Jimin shakes his head, almost laughing. Jungkook didn’t talk much about his life back in Busan, but when he did, he would almost always talk about you. The details about what happened between you and him remain blurry to him and to the rest of the boys but all that they know is that you and him were once best friends who made music together and he had left abruptly to come up to Seoul and join the company.

“Wow, you’re friends with one of the upcoming and most talked about producer in the industry and you didn’t tell us?” Jin jokes, trying to turn the situation around, noting the deep frown Jungkook is wearing.

“Well I didn’t know for sure until today…” He sighs. “And then she played the song too… the song with the melody that I… the one we promised each other we would…” He lets out another series of sighs and everyone in the room is only more confused because Jungkook isn’t really clearing up anything with all his incomplete sentences. “Let’s just go for practice, please,” He grumbles, leaving the meeting room with his shoulders drooping down, his hands buried deep in his pockets as he mumbles to himself. So much for a first impression, he mumbles to himself.

Meeting Jungkook again isn’t what you had expected it to be. You had always imagined telling him just how much him leaving you had hurt you, that the fact that he had slowly forgotten you had hurt you even more but when you saw him standing in front of you, all quiet, looking at you as if he was waiting for you to say something, you found yourself tongue-tied. You guess it’s for the best, that you should leave all of that behind because it’s stupid to hold a grudge for so long and if he could move past everything that has happen, then you can too. You can be the bigger person and let everything slide. All you want is for the both of you to have a professional relationship at most, hopefully never having a repeat of what had happened in the meeting room just a few minutes ago. You’ll be heading back to Big Hit in just two days to explore more ideas for the upcoming album and you hope that then, you and Jungkook can finally clear the air.

Part 2

A/N: I swear this was meant to be a oneshot but as always, i got carried away lol so there will be a part 2!!!!!!! anyway thank you for reading! and as always, feedback is welcome (:

[aticklishtem]

Cat’s Out of the Bag

((Request for @mylittlemystery from this post + “Are you scared?”~  I hope you like it!! <3 ))

“Boys, boys! Get back here right – I said stay! Heel! Play dead…?”

Djimmi wished he could say it was an uncommon occurrence to be roused from his lamp by a flurry of rowdy barks, indignant yowls, frantic pleas and plastic palm trees crashing to the floor – and maybe once it had been. But, it was safe to say, those days had all been long before his life had had the – occasionally mixed – blessing of having Beppi in it.

He materialised in a puff of smoke to be met with a predictably chaotic picture: a bunch of Beppi’s balloon dogs all yapping and growling; his own sarcophagus cats, arched up, hissing and spitting back at them, and in the middle of it all, almost literally tying himself into knots trying to keep them from colliding, while several hot pups nipped at his heels and another tugged fiercely at his collar in an attempt to get at the kitten that had somehow gotten its claws stuck into the other side, his colourful chum.

“Djimbo! Hiya!” Beppi exclaimed, flashing him a slightly more frazzled smile than usual. “Fancy seeing you here!”

“In my own tent, yes, fancy that,” Djimmi answered dryly, wry amusement turning to concern as his cat dangled precariously from Beppi’s collar. Sensing an imminent fall, he hastily floated over to retrieve the little one, cradling it carefully in his arms while planting himself as a more effective wall between the dogs and the rest of the litter.

Beppi let out a sheepish chuckle, just about twisting himself back into shape as most of the dogs retreated behind his legs. “Sorry about that – didn’t mean to disturb your little catnap. We were just out for walkies when several somebodies…” he shot a glare towards the dogs, who paid him no heed, “decided to start playing chase instead. Say sorry, boys!” He got nothing but a lone, contrary growl in response, which Djimmi couldn’t help but smile at – he knew just how unruly sentient show props could be, after all. “Ignore them, they’re full of hot air. They’re just being grouchy ‘cause I haven’t fed them yet.”

He lifted his hat, somehow revealing a long string of balloon sausages – Djimmi was no slouch when it came to magic, but Beppi’s unique brand of absurdity mystified even him at times – and lobbed them over towards the tent flap, successfully diverting the dogs’ attention as they bounced eagerly over each other to get at the rubbery feast.

“Dogs will be dogs, I suppose.” Reassured that his pets had come to no harm, Djimmi yawned and stretched out in the space, bending and flexing his muscles with a satisfying pop – it was cosy in his lamp, but took its toll if he slacked off for too long. “It’s more traditional to rub the lamp, but that’s...certainly one way to wake me up.” The customers would be coming in soon wanting their fortunes told, so he arranged himself gracefully across the plush pile of cushions scattered across the sand; as he did so, a few of the more skittish cats that had been hiding from the dogs behind his chest of ancient artifacts scampered over, soothed by his presence.

“Oooh, do I get three wishes?” Beppi made himself equally at home, sinking into the cushions next to Djimmi while a few curious cats padded over to inspect the newcomer.

“If you were several thousand years earlier, maybe. But I’ll tell you your future for three coins.”

Beppi poked his tongue out playfully in retaliation. “Don’t need your hokey magic. Maybe I’ll just start my own act...Beppi the Brilliant! Has a ring to it, don’tcha think?” As Djimmi chuckled and rolled his eyes fondly, he leaned over to peer intently into the crystal ball on the table – it didn’t actually show anything until Djimmi channeled his own magic into it, but Beppi was nothing if not committed to his act, wiggling his fingers dramatically above it, “I predict...lots of laughter! After a bit of a ruff start.”

“Ruff!” one of the dogs barked, its ears perking up.

“That’s right, you tell ‘em, buddy.” One of the kittens that had made its way into his lap mewed softly, diverting Beppi’s attention as his eyes widened in tender concern. “Oh, hey, little guy! Don’t be scared – they’re good boys really. They just play a little ruff.”

Djimmi kept a watchful eye as they got acquainted; his little ones could be fussy, and he rarely saw them take to anyone easily. And when they did, he had to admit he never imagined it would be Beppi, who only seemed to have two settings: loud and louder. Yet here he was, lifting them up as soft and gentle as anything to babble nonsense baby talk, giggling delightedly when paws batted at his colourful buttons and occasionally meowing himself as though they were having an in-depth conversation. Like so many things he did, it was both bizarre and inexplicably adorable, and Djimmi felt something warm and fuzzy stirring somewhere deep in his own old soul.

His fleeting moment of tranquility was soon disturbed as a few balloon dogs, having finished their snack and apparently disgruntled at their owner having the nerve to pay attention to anything else, floated back over, prompting a couple of cats to scramble back into the safety of Djimmi’s arms. While Beppi was busy reassuring them that he had plenty of pets to go around for everyone, a soft, metallic tail brushed across Djimmi’s bare stomach and he jumped, inadvertently dislodging a few cushions and drawing Beppi’s gaze back to him in the process.

“Down, boy.” Beppi patted his most persistent companion as he glanced up into Djimmi’s eyes, expression somewhere between amused and and suspicious, with just a hint of concern. “Djimbo, you’re not scared of old Frankie, are you? He couldn’t do a pop of damage – look.” He booped the pooch on the nose and it growled playfully, nipping at his finger. “See? Not sharp at all.”

Djimmi smiled, grateful that his natural hue should hide any resulting reddening of his cheeks. “No, of course I’m not scared of you…!” His voice rose to a strangled yelp as he reached over to pet the pup; the cat was settling in by pawing at his lap, its fur rubbing relentlessly at the exposed skin there. He clenched his teeth, struggling to hold back the laughter threatening to bubble up while maintaining a facade of normalcy – if Beppi caught on, he knew, the cats would be the least of his problems.

His friend cocked a bright blue eyebrow, evidently not buying it. “You sure? ‘Cause you’re acting kinda kooky, and this is me saying – ohhh.” Too late, much too late – realisation dawned and his golden eyes lit up like he’d just hit the jackpot at a slot machine. “I see what you’re scared of now. It’s the monster, isn’t it?”

“Beppi…” Djimmi adopted his best warning tone, despite the slightest of nervous flutters in his stomach as he folded his arms protectively over it – he recognised that scheming smile all too well, and it meant whatever zany idea had popped into his head, Djimmi wasn’t going to like it. “Don’t be ridiculous – alright, more ridiculous. There’s no monster here.”

“Djimbo, I am utterly, completely, eleventy-hundred-per-cent sincere here,” Beppi insisted, fluttering his eyelashes and almost managing to look halfway innocent, despite the malicious mischief glittering underneath. “Tickle monsters are no laughing matter. In fact, I think I just saw one riiiight…” his fingers, which had been slowly walking their way across Djimmi’s back, dug into his side, “there!”

The laughter he’d been repressing immediately burst free as nimble fingers scrabbled their way up his sides; they tumbled sideways, Djimmi ending up on his back sprawled across the cushions with Beppi straddling him, bearing down on him with a maniacal grin that in no way resembled the face of mercy.

“Oh no, looks like they’re multiplying!” he mock-gasped, confirming this fact when Djimmi attempted to push him off without doing any lasting damage by wriggling his fingers under his biceps and into the hollows of his armpits, any protests or threats dissolving into a stream of uncharacteristic, embarrassingly high-pitched giggles. “Whatever will we do?! Who will come and save our poor, helpless hero?”

He barely heard the familiar soft tinkle of paws over his own laughter as several cat sarcophagi padded over to investigate the kerfuffle; to Djimmi‘s frustration, they chose to “help” by licking his neck with tiny, soft tongues, while a few others nuzzled at his waist, apparently trying to burrow inside his vest.

“Lihihhihittle ones!” he managed to gasp out, reduced to simply clenching and unclenching his fists uselessly – he didn’t dare squirm too much for fear of sending their fragile bodies flying across the room, but his fate was now truly sealed, with Beppi having switched to lightly tapping out a tune along his ribs, just enough to keep him laughing. “Gehehehet ohohohoff!”

In perhaps the cruellest twist of fate that day, he only succeeded in drawing a bundle of balloon dogs bouncing over to his other side instead – and Beppi was right, their blunt, rubbery teeth didn’t hurt at all when they started nibbling at Djimmi’s waist and hips as though he was another giant sausage: it was so much worse.

“Would ya look at that – we got a full house!” Their ringleader clapped his hands together in glee, briefly distracted by the gathering menagerie, but soon redoubled his efforts as his fingers dancing lower to trace the outline of Djimmi’s abs, slowly at first and then picking up the pace.

“Y’know, Djimbo, you really shouldn’t taunt the tickle monster like that – leaving this cute lil’ tum-tum all exposed!” He spoke with the same teasing coo he’d addressed the cats with moments ago – almost as if Djimmi was an equally tiny, helpless creature, and it somehow intensified every nuzzle of fur, nip of teeth and swirl of gloved finger against his skin to the point where he could hardly think of anything else. Djimmi might’ve even suspected some form of malevolent magic, had he not known that it was all Beppi. “Next thing you’ll be leaving weapons around willy-nilly…”

Djimmi’s eyes, previously screwed shut from the potent combination of mirth and embarrassment, flew open in horror as he realised what Beppi was reaching for.

“Beheheheppi – don’t you even think about –“

“Now don’t tell me you’re scared of this fluffy fella too.” Beppi plucked the feather from his turban and wielded it like a seasoned swordsman, fluttering under his vest, across his chest, over every bit of skin he could reach with the lightest yet simultaneously most unbearable touch, as though painting a mural of giggles that turned to louder snorts and guffaws while evading Djimmi’s attempts to grab it back.

“Gihihive that bahahahack!”

“Aw, don’t be such a party pooper – the fun’s only just gotten started!” Beppi reprimanded him by twirling the tip of the feather across his broad shoulders – blessedly, a less sensitive area, but he scrunched up his neck instinctively anyway. “Hey, are you blushing? Kinda hard to tell – we should probably keep going, just to be sure. Whaddaya think, fellas?” Djimmi felt, rather than heard, a few responding mews as if his traitorous pets were agreeing, the sly devils. “‘Cause I think the tickle monster’s getting hungry. And I heard...that ticklish little genies are his faaavourite snack!”

Before Djimmi had any hope of finding the necessary coherency to point out the absurdity of Beppi calling him ‘little’ – though with the ludicrous nom nom nom noises he was growling against his trembling belly, practically one with his pack, he probably wouldn’t have heard anyway – he inhaled deeply and blew the noisiest, longest raspberry he could muster, which, given the proportions he could inflate his head and lungs to, felt to Djimmi like an eternity.

The ticklish sensations vibrated ceaselessly through every inch of his being, finally undoing the last of Djimmi’s self-control; his deep, booming, unrestrained laughter reverberated through the room, shaking the walls of his tent as he pounded a fist desperately against the floor. Startled by the outburst, the cats and dogs scattered, leaving only a trail of tingles lingering on his oversensitive skin.

Whether out of mercy or satisfaction with his grand finale, Beppi hopped off of him too and let Djimmi float upright, gathering his breath and what remained of his dignity before flashing him an unrepentant grin.

“Alright, alright, good hustle, guys,” he told the cats and dogs that had clustered around his feet, petting one with each hand – at least they seemed to have reconciled, somewhere in the process of uniting to torment Djimmi instead. “I think the tickle monster’s had his fill – for today, anyway…”

That smug satisfaction wavered as soon as Djimmi narrowed his eyes, picking up that damned feather and affixing it back to his turban; before Beppi could make a dash for it, he swiftly sealed the tent entrance with a flick of one hand while effortlessly scooping up an armful of squirming clown with the other.

“Funny you should mention, about these tickle monsters,” he hummed, cradling Beppi on his back just as he would a misbehaving kitten – he even curled up like one, drawing his knees up to his chest as if that was going to protect him from the powerful, wiggling fingers advancing ever closer, “because I heard there’s only one way to truly defeat them...”

“Djimbo – wait, wait! Just listen – we can cut a deal, I’ll do anything you want, just don’t – dohohohohon’t…!”

It also wasn’t an uncommon occurrence for his tent to shake with hysterical squeals and shrieks and snorts, the kind that doubtless made passers-by wonder what in the world was going on in there – but, fortunately, it was one Djimmi wouldn’t have traded for the world.

[ruluxe]

Kill Your Darlings

Fandom: Voltron Legendary Defender Pairing: Shiro / Keith Words: 3000 Summary: Keith returns to the place he first met Shiro ten years earlier in order to put his painful past to rest and move on. Despite the good memories this home holds on to, the malevolence residing there isn’t ready to say goodbye. Warnings: Graphic Description of Corpses, Minor Blood and Gore, Minor Character Death, Alternate Universe - Horror, Psychological Horror, Alternate Universe - Creatures & Monsters Notes: Submission for @darkvoltronzine  ‘s horror zine, Eternal Eclipse.             Read on Ao3

The car dips and bounces unsteadily over deep fissures in the weathered pavement he pulls into the long, winding driveway. As it slows to a stop, Keith leans over the dash to get a better look at the house and frowns. It’s strange that it looks much larger now than it had when he was a boy. His heart sinks a bit when he realizes that it’s still structurally sound and standing after all these years. Part of him was hoping it wouldn’t be.

It's not to say the home hasn't seen better days, though. What was once a bright white paint is now a sickly grey, bubbling and peeling away. The rest of the walls are covered in thick, overgrown vines. Tall, square windows are boarded up with deteriorating wood planks or otherwise broken. The manicured lawn, once a lush green, now a yellowed, overgrown mess. Weeds sprout out of cracks in the stairs and piles of dead leaves make the air smell of earthy rot. To his left is the now-dying willow tree that he and Shiro would sprawl under, seeking refuge in its shade from the sticky summer heat. Beside it is the lake, now a dark and murky black.

There’s a pang in his chest.He realizes he’s been gripping the steering wheel so hard his knuckles have turned white.

I should never have come back here.

"You have to return to your past, Keith,” his therapist tells him. “You must say goodbye and put this guilt to rest.”

“Easier said than done,” he mutters as he climbs out of the car and shuts the door behind him. He can remember arguing that this wasn't going to help with the nightmares; that coming back here was going to help with the pain. His therapist insisted otherwise.

“Enter the building, walk through the halls. Feel the warm embrace of the all the good memories you had there.”

Keith stands for a moment at the foot of the stairs leading into Saint Anne’s Institute for Boys and closes his eyes. He can feel his features pulling pensive as he tries to gather images from his past.

Remember the good.

Keith lets himself travel backwards in time. He’s behind the house, surrounded by thick forestry. At a crackling campfire, the boys are roasting treats on twigs they’ve found. He can smell the sugar, can almost taste it on his tongue. It's sometime in the early spring, the last of the snow has melted, and it's warm enough to sit outside. Keith hasn't been here that long, but he's made a few friends, one boy, in particular, has been really kind to him. Patience yields focus, he tells him as Keith burns his fifth marshmallow. Shiro sits beside him, his face illuminated by the soft orange glow of the fire. Keith makes a face at the statement, wisdom as profound as this seems odd being taught under the circumstances, but he is grateful for it anyway. Shiro laughs and Keith holds onto this moment a second longer, replaying the way the ends of his mouth curve into a smile, watching as the other boy’s eyes crinkle in the corners. Reveling in the flare of heat that spreads through his veins as Shiro’s hand clasps over his. It's inexplicable but here in this boy, he's found hope. Keith finally feels safe. He finally feels like he's home.

The next memory clicks in like he's watching a slide show. The scenery has changed and it's summer, six months after Keith's arrival. The sky is bright blue and cloudless. Sunlight sparkles off the lake. The large willow tree beside the house is thriving; it's branches like curtains, behind which he and Shiro would often hide from the overbearing sun. The other boys are rowdy, wrestling or playing some kind of sport, either way, they're as loud and boisterous as ever. Keith doesn't mind the noise; it all begins to meld with the low drone of the cicadas chirping. His head slips onto Shiro's shoulder as he's lulled into a lazy slumber.

Suddenly the sun falls behind the peaked roof and the front yard is cast in shadow. The wind picks up, and the old tired swing screeches as it sways on rusted hinges. Autumn leaves skitter across the driveway and barren trees stretch across the yard, their decaying branches reaching out like bony, gnarled claws grasping for eternal youth.

There's a tightness around his hand where there shouldn't be and when Keith looks, it's Shiro, only his face is bloated a sickly greyish purple. His eyes are waxed over in thick, milky yellow cataracts and his jaw is unnaturally unhinged like it's caught on a soundless scream. Keith tries to wrench his hand free but the grip on his hand tightens as it begins to pull him down towards its mouth. It's saying something Keith can't hear and the smell of decay is overwhelming.

“Get off!” he cries desperately as he begins prying the slimy fingers away from his hand. The thing’s mouth opens wider, making a sound now; a keening, stuttering whine as its mouth gets larger and larger. Keith is inches from Shiro's face. It's jaw drops to the ground, plopping into a putrid puddle and several large roaches scatter out from the gaping black hole.

Keith makes a strangled sound and opens his eyes, shaking his head as if the violent motion will rid him of the image faster.

It doesn't.

His chest heaves as he tries to catch his breath, his mind spins as he attempts to grasp onto the present. He feels like he's going to be sick, in fact, it takes everything in him not to expel the contents of his stomach over the broken cement stairs. Once he's gained some semblance of composure, Keith whirls around and surveys the grounds. There's nothing or no one here.

He looks to his car and thinks about running. This isn't a good idea, no matter how much his therapist thinks it is. Anxiety gnaws at his gut until it feels raw, his chest tight, his clothes damp with sweat. He wants to leave so badly, but Keith isn't sure how much longer he can live like this.

Shiro never gave up on me, he thinks. It gives him a sliver of courage, enough that he clenches his fists in determination and hikes up the stairs to the heavy double doors.

They've been left ajar as if everyone left in a hurry without a second look back. After all, no one could have prepared themselves for that grisly day.

Keith gingerly pushes one of the doors open.

Inside it's dark, but with time, Keith's eyes adjust with the aid of little light that filters through openings in the wood boarded on the windows. The foyer is still furnished with the original decor except time has ripped and stained the upholstery. It smells of mould and mildew. The staircase leading to the second floor looks unsafe, but Keith walks up anyway, carefully planting a foot on each step, sliding his hand up the dust-crusted wooden rail. He experiences a wave of nostalgia as the stairs groan under his weight, remembering the times he and Shiro would sneak downstairs for a late night snack. They would avoid each weak point expertly, taking pride in stealth that rivalled covert ops agents, even though they failed at containing their giggling. A smile pulls at Keith's lips but it's only for a moment as a rat scurries across the floor, startling him. His heart leaps into his throat.

Aside from that, the halls are quiet.  All the doors are closed, shutting in the secrets each room holds within their walls. Flushed cheeks and fingers entwined. A whispered confession under a single bed’s shared covers. His first kiss on a window seat bathed in moonlight.

The unnoticed disappearances.

It was common, they said, for the wayward teenage boys that ended up here too often run away. Most of them were orphaned or discarded; kids that wouldn’t be missed if one or two of them happened to vanish without a trace.

Shiro was different. He wouldn’t leave me. They were each other’s future.

Keith rests his head against the door and he’s flooded with memories. There’s commotion outside, but he’s told to stay inside along with the other children. In his gut, he can feel there is definitely something wrong, something they’re not telling him. It’s been hours, and no one says a word, but the feeling of dread begins to weigh too heavily and Keith needs to know for himself. He manages to climb out a window and down a trellis on the side of the house. First, he sees the blurring blue and red; the bright yellow tape. Cars are parked everywhere and their tire treads have left vulgar scars along the pristine lawn. Keith’s stomach is tied in knots, his heart begins to pound. He has a sinking feeling in his stomach as he races over to the crowd that surrounds the willow tree.

“Stay back, kid. You don’t  wanna see this.”

He looks anyway.

Several masses wrapped neatly in crisp white stretch across the rocky shores as they dredge the lake beside the house. It takes a minute for it to dawn on Keith that these are bodies.

The breeze carries an odour of noxious rot; it clings to the insides of his nostrils until he can almost taste it in the back of his throat. He looks then — a corner flaps, and he sees a boy with a missing arm. His silvery eyes are open, flatly staring at infinite nothingness, yet staring right at him. Then they blink.

Keith vomits. Again and again and when he thinks he’s finished he throws up again, heaving until he has nothing left in his stomach to expel. His hair is matted to his head, his stomach aches raw, his cheeks are tacked with damp salty grit. He wipes the bile and spittle from his mouth on the back of a gloved hand, only to slam it angrily against the door as he lets out a cry of anguish.

“I hate you!” he screams, hitting the door again. “You weren’t supposed to leave me! I hate you, I hate you!” But he doesn’t. Not really. He hates himself for not seeing the pattern sooner. He hates himself for not doing more.

He hates himself because he’s still here.

Heaving a broken sigh, Keith presses his palm softly against the door. “I never stopped looking for you,” he says, deluding himself into believing that Shiro is on the other side of it. “But I —” and he has to stop to choke back a sob, to brush away the tears brimming in the wells of his eyes. “But I,” he sniffles, “finally found you.” He laughs bitterly. “It was just too late.”

A scraping sound comes from inside the room and Keith jumps back, jerking his hand from the door.

“Too late,” a voice mimics, disembodied and distorted but no doubt coming from the other side of the door.

Keith’s breath comes out in shallow huffs, his heart races. He stares at the door wide-eyed in disbelief, unable to make a sound. He’s unsure if he wants to. But he does, after a moment, because he can’t stop himself from hoping, even if it’s the most absurd belief he’s had in awhile.

“S-Shiro?” He waits. There is only silence.

He lifts a hesitant hand to the door and tries the knob only to be met with resistance. Without conscious thought, he begins hitting the door with his fist until the edge of his hand aches. “Shiro? If that’s you, answer me, please! ”

There’s movement in his peripheral. Keith whirls around to find that nothing is there. The corridor seems to stretch on for miles, but he knows that he’s only a few feet from the stairs. He turns attention back to the door and waits for a few minutes. Nothing more happens to make him believe he isn’t alone. Being in this place and having such intense emotional reactions to the memories must be messing with me, Keith thinks. The sooner I say goodbye, the faster I can get out of here.

Keith stares at the door in silence, chewing on his bottom lip. He can’t seem to bring himself to say anything; somewhere in his mind he still thinks if he stays quiet enough, maybe he’ll hear that voice again. Maybe he’ll hear Shiro.

He doesn’t.

Finally, with a resigned sigh, Keith turns from the door to leave and freezes. Something moves in the shadows.

His heart stalls to a stuttering stop and his stomach drops. Keith can’t make out a shape but he can make out a large mass in the hallway on the other side of the staircase. It absorbs all the light surrounding it as if it were some sort of black hole, only shaped like a man. He opens his mouth to speak but can offer no sound to form around words. The atmosphere is suddenly so dense with malice that Keith can’t seem to even breathe.

A long, groaning creak comes from behind him; the sound of a door opening enticingly slow as if it were beckoning him to take a peek inside. Keith won’t take his eyes off the thing in front of him.

Without warning, his legs begin to move towards the stairs. They’re so close — if he could just get to them before —

His knees begin to buckle as gravity pulls him from below. Keith doesn’t dare take another step. The hollowed sound the soles of his shoes make against the wanned wood floors is as unwelcome as his presence. He can already feel it.

The hair on the back of his neck bristles; someone’s whispering — their breath like ice. He opens his mouth to speak once more and shuts it when the edges of naked fingertips press in around his shoulder, one by one.

Terror crawls down his spine as lips ghost his skin, leaving behind a trail of something wet and slippery, thick like vile sludge. He can feel stagnant water trickling down his neck, stalling in the wells of his collarbones. The fetid stench makes his stomach lurch and bile crawl up his throat.

The thing in the shadows begins to fold in on itself, its form shifting with a disgusting pop and sickening tear until it's lying flat on the floor. Spindly protrusions begin to form; one, two, three, four, more. Too many limbs for just a man. The spuming thing behind him tells him that it’s not. They begin to jut out and snap in half, the visceral crack of each one ripping through the silent space. The thing raises itself on the spindles and teeters forward, almost as if this is its first step. It jerks into another, and another, only stopping to sway for a fraction of a second before spasmodically twitching its way towards Keith at a speed too quick; too impossible.

He cries out as he attempts to lift his feet cemented to the floor to no avail. Keith is in full panic now, his chest getting tighter and tighter each time he tries to draw breath. He has to move fast if he’s going to escape before the thing on the other side of the staircase catches up but the thing behind him won’t allow him to. Keith’s body twists in agony as it tries to drag him backwards. He reaches out and grasps at air, desperately struggling to be free of its grip. His arm locks and his shoulder is torn out of his socket. Keith howls as white-hot heat sparks under his skin, igniting a fire in his synapses, momentarily blinding him.

Hollowed clacks against the wood approach with rapid succession, forcing Keith to bite through the searing pain. He opens his eyes but it’s too late, the creature is right in front of him, riding on its hind limbs.

“I want to go home,” Keith chants as if somehow these magic words and a few clicks of his heels will take him back to the sanctity of his own.

It begins to take the form of a featureless man with the exception of a wide, stretched grin. An acrid smelling darkness consumes Keith, leaving him utterly immobile. His skin is slick with sludge and sweat, his hair falls flat in damp ringlets. The entity behind him no longer tries to pull him away. Instead he feels it’s ghastly embrace, feels the cold skeletal hands slither underneath his t-shirt and slide across his stomach. He’s trapped between the two of them now and he can already feel his heart begin slow into a rhythmic stop as he allows himself to surrender. The creature’s grin widens until it breaks through the confines of its makeshift face, opening until the entire head becomes a gaping mouth lined with thin, razored teeth. Keith closes his eyes and exhales, bracing himself for what he knows is coming next.

He jolts as the thing’s pointed limbs pierce his flesh, sinking in through muscle and wedging between his ribs. He can hear his last breath being snatched away in a sharp gasp and heat from the creature’s breath as its mouth fits over his head and the creature’s teeth pierce his throat.

The last thing Keith hears is Shiro’s voice as he croons, “You’re already home.”

[sapphicalexaandra]

Oceans Between You and Me

Pairing: Jace/Alec

Rating: T

Summary: Post S2 Finale. Jace's death has brought unclear consequences, and the parabatai bond might be affected...

Notes: Let's just say canon is hurting me right now and i had to put down what/why exactly through angsty angst. This can be read as either romantic or platonic...just PARABATAI, basically.

We hide our emotions 

under    the    surface

and  tryin' to pretend

And just as it had started, the pain stopped, abruptly, definitively.

Jace blinked, once, twice, finding himself kneeling on the ground, barely able to recollect the previous moments when he had collapsed onto it, clutched into the arms of a consuming, white-hot agony.

As he fought the constriction in his throat that made breathing freely impossible, his heart pumped wildly into his chest, threatening to burst out. His thoughts were a jumble of pure, unadulterated panic.

He knew it, he had known it, it was only right…you don’t bring people back from the dead without consequences. You just don’t.

Was he about to die again? Was this only a small grace granted by the Angel to have him make his peace and say goodbye to the people he loved? Or would he live, after all...forever slave to the anguish of his body, longing to be returned to the land of the dead?

Neither option was appealing. Either way, he was doomed; he had been doomed since the moment Valentine had plunged a knife into his heart. His life as he knew it was over, no matter how much he wished it wasn't. Valentine was dead and the war was won…yet, he didn't seem destined to ever truly enjoy it.

A bitter anger took ahold of Jace. He was furious with everything in the world that had made his life so…unfair, even if that made him whiny and pathetic. That feeling was too much of a strangling plant coiling around his heart, stabbing its thorns into it, for him to simply ignore it. His eyes were burning...but he couldn’t let the tears escape. He wouldn’t let it get to that. He got up instead, taking in his surroundings as if he were seeing them for the first time.

It was a blessing he had done that, because a moment later Clary got out of the Hunter’s Moon and came up to him, a smile in place. Before she could notice anything was wrong with him, Jace rubbed at his face and turned around, smiling back at her.

“There you are! I couldn’t find you anymore,” Clary called out to him.

Jace cleared his throat. “Yeah, I was just…I needed a breath of fresh air. So many people in there.” He hoped he only sounded tired, like he would have any right to be.

Clary regarded him. “Everything okay?”

Jace looked at her face, so unguarded, open, loving, the face of the one who had saved him…and he took her hand. “Yeah, everything’s alright.”

Clary’s smile only brightened.

They got back to the Institute together, hand in hand, and Jace was almost able to forget. When they reached the door to her room, it was only right that he followed her inside.

“Are you sure?” Jace had to ask her.

“Never been surer,” Clary said, firm, intense.

And he kissed her.

If those were really his last moments, they weren’t bad ones to have; love was still a strange concept to him, but he thought they managed just fine.

Later, he laid in bed with Clary hugging his chest, while he stared at the ceiling of her bedroom unable to fall asleep.

How long do I have?

Shadowhunters were raised to expect death at any moment, and to embrace it. He more than anyone had been willing to lay down his life for their cause. But like this? A betrayal, a defeat, a divine intervention by someone else’s request? It wasn’t honorable, it didn’t have a purpose or benefitted anyone. It just sucked. That’s why that question couldn’t help but be his only – persistent, gripping – thought.

Until it came again.

He opened his mouth, gasping for breath, as that same rush of something inexplicable started forming at the center of his being. He got out of bed without waking Clary only by miracle, he put on some clothes as his limbs were all about to spasm, and he could only manage to reach the bathroom before collapsing on the floor for a second time that night.

He couldn’t explain, not even to himself, what it was that gripped his body like that. It was a pain he had never experienced, that alien, hissing something that burned under his skin overwhelming his consciousness, until he ended up looking from the outside at the contorted figure on the ground that was supposed to be himself, but that didn’t feel like it.

The cold bathroom tiles beneath him were the only other thing that he could feel, as he twisted on the floor in a silent scream for he couldn’t tell how long. Clary never woke, never found him like that; he hoped she never would.

Because, if he called her and had her comfort him out of his panicked state, she would realize that what she had done to help him hurt him like this, and she’d most likely blame herself, her well-deserved happiness getting tainted as a result. She loved him, and he loved her, they had just made love for the first time...so, even if she was the only one who knew about his death, thus the only one he could confide in - if he didn’t spare her that kind of pain just to wail about his poor, unfair struggles, what kind of selfish person would he be? He couldn’t do that to her.

Besides, deep down, he knew who he really wanted – needed.

Why hadn’t he told Alec that he had died? His parabatai had felt his soul die, he had seen the rune disappear…so why had he denied, twisting Alec’s perception of the happenings of their bond?

It was just that...when Alec had arrived at the lake and Jace had looked at his shocked, confused, stricken face, he hadn’t been able to bear bringing up his death to him. If he knew the truth, Alec would waste the rest of their celebrations worrying about him, watching over him, researching other similar cases that would help his...no, he couldn’t have done that to him, either. Plus, in all honesty, in that moment Jace had wanted to forget himself that he had died and pretend nothing had happened or changed and that everything was just as it had always been. He had hugged his parabatai then, burying himself into him, reveling in the comfort that his unwavering, immutable love always provided, all the while hoping beyond hope that their connection had truly come out of it all unbroken, unfazed. Unlike me. If he lost the solidness and certainty that was Alec…he would be lost.

But that was also the reason why, right then, there was no other person that he wanted near him, as his future became more and more unsteady in the form of an incomprehensible phenomenon. Alec would say Everything will be alright, we’ll figure this out as he looked him firmly in the eyes, and Jace would believe him. Alec would hold him, and Jace would breath more easily.

When the pain subsided again, Jace spent the following moments trying to slow down his breathing, collecting himself as best as he could. Then, he retrieved his phone from the pocket of his pants.

He clicked on the contact Alec. He stared at it. He stared at it some more.

He hadn’t seen Alec at the party anymore, at some point. He hadn’t seen Magnus either. They had probably gone home together. 

And, suddenly, Jace realized that he couldn’t tell what Alec was feeling. He could sense his presence, pulsing and throbbing at the other end of their bond…but he couldn’t tell anything beyond his own apprehension. It was probably taking up all the space in their connection, and Alec’s time with his probably-boyfriend-again was getting spoiled. What would he say, if he interrupted them? Please, Alec, stop what you’re doing and come here and hug me, cause I lied and actually died, and I might be dying again, and I need you now more than ever?

Alec would rush there in a second if he said that…and Jace couldn’t have that, no matter his own need for him. The word Alec on the screen seemed to be staring disapprovingly at him.

Ignoring the knot in his stomach, Jace turned off the phone with a swipe of his thumb, and went back into Clary's room, laying down on the bed. He let her circle her arms around him again, and resumed his staring at the ceiling.

It         feels        like

there's           oceans

between you and me

Alec had dozed off, but he suddenly woke up to a sense of nausea pooling up in his stomach, the latter twisted in a way that he couldn’t explain on the beer he had drank earlier. It felt more like a state of anxiousness, as if something bad was happening…or about to happen. Despite the comfort of the bed, Alec had to remove Magnus’s arm from around him and get up.

His eyes still stuffy, he put on a pair of sweats and a t-shirt, picked up his phone, and entered the living room to get to the balcony.

Once out, the chilly air helped him clear his head just enough that so he'd be able to examine the sensation better.

Dread. Every breath he inhaled, every breath he exhaled, he felt a dread that brought him to close his eyes...but that was a mistake, because the ghost of the blinding agony he had endured that day rushed back into him.

It’s – Jace, he had said, the word strangled out of him, since in that moment the name had been the last thing he would’ve wanted to associate with that kind of pain. Yet, it hadn’t been Jace…somehow.  

He didn’t know what exactly had happened at the lake, since Clary and Jace hadn’t said much about it, but Alec had sworn to himself that he’d gauge something more from them, once everything had truly settled. For now, however, they had all chosen to take a break…so he had resigned himself to only have Clary’s, I killed Valentine, nothing else weird happened, as an explanation. The party had been nice, after all; a hard-earned celebration that had everyone drink around and be merry with each other. And everything had turned out for the best, apparently, with Valentine dead and everyone safe.

That was why he had felt it was time that he put an end to his strain with Magnus; Alec had never wanted to hurt him, and he was glad he had taken him back, despite the mess he had made. Balancing command of an Institute and a boyfriend was harder than he had thought, and he would have to be more thoughtful in the future...because, no matter the good intentions he'd had to save the Downworld, he knew he had probably deserved the cold shoulder from Magnus. Sometimes good intentions are simply not enough, if they're not met with the right actions...he understood that now. After all this, at least, he hoped he and Magnus had learned a lesson and they'd come out of it stronger, able to face other eventual conflicts without imploding.

For now, though, spending the night together had been enough.

Still, it’d take more than parties and kisses to truly take in the fact that the war was over, and that they could, in theory, relax. It didn't help that every time he thought of the blank, suspended moments in time that he had lived thinking Jace had died, the need to collapse on the ground and never get up again came back to him all over again. Those moments had truly felt like walking the Earth untethered...and his insides were already quavering uncomfortably at the reminder.

Alec hadn't been able to believe his luck – he still quite couldn’t – when it had turned out his parabatai was alive. The solidness, the warmth of Jace when he had hugged him had felt as real as the bow he gripped in his hand until his knuckles became white, so he couldn’t have imagined any of it. Jace was alive, and he hadn’t disappeared even after they had - eventually, reluctantly - broken apart. Yet, something weird had happened, he couldn’t skirt around the issue. The pain he had felt, the parabatai rune disappearing…it couldn’t be nothing, even if Jace claimed he didn’t know what could’ve caused it. They would have to investigate it, whether Jace wanted to or not; their bond might depend on it.

And Jace must sense that something was wrong, that something had gone down beyond their comprehension, because that constricting sensation in his stomach could only come from him. It came from Alec as well, without a doubt, but he was pretty sure that that nauseating feeling in particular wasn’t his. And the fact that he was only pretty sure about it…didn’t help quench his fear about the strangeness surrounding the parabatai bond.

Suddenly, an irrational thought filling his entire being, bile rose in his throat, and Alec had to raise his shirt��but the rune was still there, sharp and bright as ever before. Alec’s heart was in his throat nonetheless. Even when he placed a tentative finger on it, and he sighed at its warmth, the dread from his own side only doubled ten-fold.    

Because the truth of the matter was...he hadn’t felt it return, he was certain about that. Jace was indeed there at the other end of their connection, he could tell that now, but he felt afar, faint, as when he had literally been in another dimension. The rune was clear and the same as it always was, but his parabatai…wasn’t.

Alec had to make sure everything was alright: if only he could hear Jace's unmistakable voice and turn out to be wrong about his fears...

Taking his phone from the pocket of his sweats, he went to Jace’s contact. Alec stared at the name on the screen, his thumb hovering over it, as another thought suddenly occurred to him.  

Jace’s smile and demeanor at the party had looked fake and forced, Alec had noticed it with painful clarity…but Clary had been at his side through all of it. They had rekindled their connection, Alec knew that, he had seen it, and he could also tell how much Jace cared about her. He could be happy with her, she would ease his fears and discomfort better than Alec ever could. The two were probably together in that very moment.

What would a nosy and stressfully worried parabatai do for Jace right then? Hey, I just wanted to check in if you were doing alright. At 4 a.m. Interrupting you and your girlfriend…

Right.

Alec blinked once, twice, the light of the screen burning his eyes…then he swallowed down his idiocy, and turned off the phone. He went back inside.

“Everything alright?” Magnus asked him groggily, as he laid down in bed facing away from his boyfriend.

Magnus went to place an arm around him again, and Alec nodded. “Yeah, I just went to the bathroom.”

He didn’t really sleep.

I                want                you  And   nothing  comes  close  To  the way that I need you  I  wish  I  can  feel your skin  And         I          want       you  From      somewhere   within