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mdelpin · 4 years ago

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The Red Dragon (Chapter 31)

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Chapter 31

Soulmates have existed for as long as any dragon can remember, it’s one of the first things they teach us as whelps, and many dragons seem to have one. However, there is little recorded information on how they came to be or what the effects of soul bonds are on mated pairs.

“Tell me about it,” Atlas grumbled. For all the scrolls he’d pored over, there was little useful information. He continued reading, hoping that this journal he’d found, written by a dragon named Alienòr, whose scrolls he vaguely remembered reading, would end up being useful.

Not having a soulmate of my own, I became increasingly interested in this topic, curious to understand if there was something I was missing. After spending several centuries observing as many mated pairs as I could find, I have come to the following conclusions on this topic.

Although I came no closer to determining how this bond comes about, I determined that there are several stages involved in reaching a successful mating:

I call the first stage awareness - Many mated dragons described sudden knowledge that their soul mate had come into existence. They did not know who it was or where they might be, but they were full of certainty that they had entered the world.

The second stage is pull - Years after they achieve awareness, the dragons will inevitably meet; they will experience a sort of pulling sensation that will guide them to their mate. One fire dragon I talked to described a pull so strong it drove him to fly one thousand miles to a place he was unfamiliar with, only to find his mate living in a cave there.

The next stage is recognition - Mates will immediately recognize each other once they are in each other’s presence, regardless of age or gender. It is more common for this to happen after the onset of puberty, but I also witnessed it in younger dragons. The relationship remains platonic until both dragons have reached sexual maturity.

Atlas stopped his reading to think about how that applied to what he knew of Natsu and Igneel’s situations. Why had they ended up near this tiny village? Had it been arbitrary, or was Igneel drawn here? He couldn’t be sure. Igneel had been acting strangely at the time, but they’d both been under a lot of stress.

Natsu, however, had described a scent that guided him to fly to where Gray was. Atlas remembered Igneel’s insistence that Natsu did not need to go off searching for Gray as he would make his way to Natsu on his own. That sounded like the pull Alienòr had described.

He also knew that both Natsu and Igneel had immediately recognized Gray and Porlyusica as their soulmates. So far, their experiences matched up to what the journal described.

Once mates have recognized each other, a sort of courting process begins, which seems to vary both in time and method from race to race, although the overall goal to impress the other remains the same.

Fire dragons, for example, use involved flying acrobatics to impress their mate. I have added an extensive list of some feats I witnessed in my notes.

The dragons offer tokens to each other when they are ready to mate. The mating act itself seems to be what causes the souls to rejoin.

Although soul bonds are not sentient, they behave in a way that suggests specific aims.

The bonds seek to have mates coexist in each incarnation for as long as possible. This phenomenon is most noticeable when the mates are from different races. As an example, I observed a mated pair comprising an Earth dragon and a Sky dragon. The Sky dragon was the elder of the two by about two hundred years.

I have known Earth dragons to live upwards of fifteen hundred years, whereas a Sky dragon’s lifespan is around six hundred years. However, this Sky dragon lived to the unlikely age of close to a thousand years, while the Earth dragon died at eight hundred.

I have listed additional examples in my investigation notes, but this pattern was consistent across mixed-race soulmates.

“Where the hell are these notes he keeps talking about?” Atlas muttered to himself. He couldn’t recall having ever come across them, and it sounded like they had information he might find useful. Looking down at the mess of scrolls and books that took up almost every inch of his room, he sighed, knowing finding them was unlikely.

With natural death, mated dragons with longer life expectancies died earlier than was usual, while dragons with shorter life expectancies saw their lives extended.

When a mate’s death is precipitated by anything other than natural causes, there is a powerful urge for the surviving mate to take their own life. This urge can be surpassed, but it is rare to see the dragon reach full maturity. It is my opinion that there is some outside force working away at their life force so the cycle can begin anew.

Side effects/ Abilities of the soul bond

Although there doesn’t seem to be one unified experience, there are certain phenomena that are oft-repeated:

Mates have limited telepathy with each other; however, they cannot intrude on each other’s thoughts. This ability can improve with practice.

Heightened senses let them detect each other’s location.

Lying or acting in any way that will upset their mate will cause acute anxiety and inner conflict.

Mates cannot consciously hurt each other.

Have an open mental connection often described as a continuous background hum, allowing them to recognize any significant shift in emotions or pain levels

Based on these observations, I have devised spells that will grant me the ability to examine souls. I hope that reviewing what differences might exist between the souls of dragons with soulmates and those without will give me new insight. I’m also quite curious to learn if there is any way to study the soul bonds directly.

Atlas turned to the next page excitedly, wanting to read any results or conclusions Alienòr might have reached, but to his dismay, there was nothing but empty pages.

“Damn it!”

He slammed the journal on his worktable in frustration. Atlas knew he recognized the dragon’s name, but he couldn’t remember which of his scrolls he might have read. With no other alternative left, he began sorting through the mess, trying to locate Alienòr’s work.

0-0

Gray had informed Atlas and Igneel of his decision as soon as he’d returned from his trip with Lyon. Igneel had acted pleased while Atlas had disappeared to his room in a foul temper, claiming he needed to work on the spell. He only came out to eat and to spend time with Igneel.

Gray had left them to their preparations while he focused on training, applying himself with the same dedication he’d had when learning Ice Make magic from Ur all those years ago. He practiced his astral projection for hours at a time until he felt comfortable leaving his room and exploring the cave. Sometimes Igneel joined him, and they’d chat about Natsu, which only bolstered his determination to work hard. During those moments, Gray could tell that Igneel seemed sad about something, but he followed Lyon’s advice and didn’t let it worry him.

“I think you’ve got the hang of this now, how about we try something new?” Igneel asked, appearing in Gray’s room just as he was getting ready to move around.

“Sure, what did you have in mind?”

“I thought you could try to use your magic.”

“I can use my magic like this?”

“Of course. Your magic is a part of you, you might as well get used to wielding it.”

“Does that mean I’ve always had ice magic?” Gray puzzled. Until he’d met Ur, he’d had no sign that he had any magical power.

“Yes, it might just have taken a while to manifest while your dragon soul learned to adapt to being in a human body.”

Gray supposed that made as much sense as anything else.

“Will it be different from what I already know?”

“Why don’t you try it and see?” Igneel encouraged, watching him with great interest.

Gray thought it best to cast a spell he used often, since he was nervous about invoking his magic while in astral form.

Ice-Make: Cold Excalibur

An ice sword materialized in front of him, just as it always did, but this time it clattered uselessly to the floor when he attempted to close his fingers around it. It was only then he remembered he no longer had fingers to speak of. He’d also forgotten to account for his now larger size, so the sword looked more like a toy than a weapon.

Igneel chuckled at his horrified expression. “You might have to change how you think about it, though. Creation magic is powerful. You’ll just have to devise ways to use it that will suit your dragon body. Until then, your talons, fangs, wings, tail, and even the horns on your head are all powerful weapons you can use to great effect. As a dragon you’ll also gain a breath weapon and improved control over your element.”

Gray hadn’t even considered he might have to use his magic differently once he switched bodies, but he’d figure something out. That was the thing he’d always loved about his magic. It would never fail him as long as he could think his way through a problem.

He couldn’t contain his excitement at the thought that in a few short weeks he’d be with Natsu again. And this time he’d be the one to surprise him with a grand gesture, just like he’d always wanted. They’d be able to have the life they’d always dreamed of.

He was still nervous about how that was going to play out, though. He knew next to nothing about being a dragon.

“What’s the matter? You look worried. Are you afraid you won’t be able to do it?”

“No, it’s not that. It’s just, I don’t know the first thing about being a dragon and-”

“You’ll be fine,” Igneel assured him, “Believe it or not, a lot of it will just come to you by instinct. I have to say, I’m a little curious though. It’s obvious you’re some sort of ice dragon, but you don’t look like any I’ve ever seen.”

“I don’t?” Gray frowned, not understanding what Igneel meant until he remembered the last dragon that had attacked Talos. It had been an ice dragon, and it’d been white and smaller than Natsu.

“No. All the ice dragons I’ve encountered have had white, light blue or silver scales, and they were on the smaller side. They looked nothing like you.” Igneel said, pointing at Gray’s navy blue fur and larger size.

Gray was a little disappointed, Natsu had found ice dragons pretty, and he’d been looking forward to his reaction when he realized his mate had turned into one. Then again, he had a feeling that would be the last thing on Natsu’s mind when he saw him

“So how do I use my breath weapon?”

“Can you feel your magic inside you?”

Gray nodded, it didn’t feel any different than usual.

“If you’re used to creating things with your ice, you probably let out your magic in even spurts. Am I right?”

“Yeah, I don’t really need to use a lot at once unless I’m molding something large,” Gray agreed.

“Breath weapons are very effective, but they take a bit of time to charge up. That’s why you need to learn how to use other parts of your body to fight while that happens. Now, I want you to collect as much magic as you feel comfortable with, and then I want you to let it out all at once through your mouth. You can’t hurt anything here, so aim wherever you want.”

“Okay.” Gray closed his eyes to settle his nerves and began calling on his magic, letting it collect until he didn’t feel like he could hold it in anymore. It felt like a tremendous amount, even though it was only a fraction of what was available to him. He released it all at once, feeling as it traveled through his lungs, up his long neck and out through his mouth.

Considering what he’d seen of Natsu’s breath attack, even in his human form, he’d expected to see a large cone of ice spewing out from his mouth. However, no ice had come out at all, even though he’d felt something. It took him a moment to notice a sort of fog surrounding him.

“Well, that was pretty pitiful,” Atlas snorted from behind him, “What’s the matter, forget how to make ice?”

Gray startled at Atlas’ voice and instantly felt something shift in his magic. He didn’t quite understand it, but he noticed the mist had gotten thicker.

“What the hell?” Atlas sounded puzzled, and he stared at Gray, eyes narrowing as his brow furrowed.

“Is there a reason you're gracing us with your presence?”

“Look at his side,” Atlas urged Igneel, who only shrugged.

“I don’t see anything.”

“It’s not doing it on that side too?”

“Doing what? What are you talking ab-,” Igneel moved to stand beside Atlas, peering through the mist to get a look at Gray’s side.

“What is that?”

“No idea, I’ve seen nothing like that before. Did that mist get thicker when it started?”

“Could be. Are those markings?” Igneel muttered, “Do you think they mean anything?”

“Maybe? Maybe some kind of mutation,” Atlas suggested, “or he could be some special type of ice dragon? Might explain why he looks different.”

“I don’t understand, why didn’t any ice come out? My ice make worked just fine,” Gray interrupted the two brothers before they got involved in one of their discussions.

He didn’t get why they were so worked up about the inky tendrils that had appeared on his forearm and shoulder. Frankly, he was more concerned with his magic not working the way he’d expected.

He didn’t really get why they were so worked up about the inky tendrils that had appeared on his forearm and shoulder. Frankly, he was more concerned with his magic not working the way he’d expected.

“I don’t know,” Igneel admi, d, “but it’s the first time you tried to use your breath weapon, it could be you just need practice.”

“I guess,” Gray said, feeling disappointed. It had felt like he’d done everything right.

“Don’t beat yourself up,” Atlas said, “the astral realm doesn’t work the same way as what you’re used to. Things here work off two things: intent and instinct. You followed your instinct, but since you don’t know what to expect, it would make it difficult to visualize the outcome well enough to materialize it here. I’m sure that will change after-”

“So what did you come here to tell us?” Igneel changed the subject abruptly.

“I’m taking off for a while. I found something I think might be helpful, but it’s incomplete. Maybe the rest of it is still in Desierto.”

“It’s a waste of time, we have everything we need here,” Igneel argued.

“No. We don’t,” Atlas growled, “I’ll be back in a week. You should do some research on those markings while I’m gone, it could be something. Odds are if we haven’t come across something like that, he hasn’t either.”

The hellfire dragon disappeared from their view before Igneel could protest further, and although he still looked upset, he also seemed pensive.

“Why don’t you try one more time before we call it a day?”

Gray nodded and began collecting his magic once more.

0-0

Atlas hadn’t returned to Desierto since they’d moved to the mountains near Talos some twenty-five years earlier, but he’d lived there for almost four hundred years. He still knew just about every nook and cranny of the vast cave system they’d called home. He’d first explored it as a whelp along with Igneel, Deliora and several of the other dragons they’d grown up with.

It was also the place where he’d first discovered his love of magic, something his parents had quickly recognized and done their best to encourage, despite him being a hellfire dragon and unlikely to progress very far. It had taken him decades to see any development, but once he had he’d never looked back, learning more and more until it seemed like there was no problem he couldn’t solve with magic.

Atlas had told Igneel he’d only be gone a week, and it had taken him two days of swift flying to get here. That left him with about two days to search and one day to rest before embarking on the flight home.

Atlas knew Igneel had probably been right in saying this was a fool’s errand, but if he could somehow keep his brother from having to give up his life to do this for Natsu, it would be worth it.

Familiar scents greeted him as he stood inside the main entrance, filling him with a profound sadness. A lot of those dragons had passed away during the war, and would hopefully be reborn soon. But some hadn’t been as lucky. For those, the only remaining trace of their existence lived inside Acnologia.

It grieved Atlas to think of how many soulmate pairs the renegade had destroyed with that soul reaping spell of his. He wished they’d realized how dangerous Acnologia was earlier. They might have had a chance then, before he’d collected so many types of magic and become so unpredictable. It would have saved them a lot of heartache. Sadly, there was no magic that could turn back time, and it was something he had very little of at the moment.

Where should he look first? The old library seemed the most likely place to start, but he’d supervised its relocation himself, so it was unlikely anything of import would still be there. Alienòr was a name he’d vaguely recognized, so he’d likely died before Atlas had been born, as he’d apprenticed under all the red dragons that had studied magic.

Atlas found his way to the old library, which as expected was empty. While debating which areas of the lair had the highest chance of gaining him results, he felt a pull and groaned, recognizing it as Natsu wanting to communicate.

What now?

He headed to his old quarters, casting a barrier spell at the entrance on the off chance there was someone else inhabiting the cave. Natsu waited for him at their usual meeting place.

The souls that visited the astral plane could shape it into whatever guise they wanted. For Igneel, that often meant a volcanic region, but for Natsu it was their mountain. He sat atop it now, staring up at the stars as he often did when he was home.

“Everything okay?”

Natsu sighed, “Yeah. We’re almost done sending the dragon slayers home. Most of them had their magic removed.”

“I see. Does that include Wendy and the others?”

“No, they all kept theirs. I had to remove Irene’s magic, though.”

Atlas couldn’t help but notice the sad expression on his nephew’s face. “Something’s bothering you. Out with it.”

“I didn’t have time to tell you last time, she began to dragonify.”

Atlas grunted his displeasure at the news. Irene was a friend. She’d fought hard for them from the very beginning, having come from Dragnof where dragons and humans had once lived in harmony.

“How bad?”

“Her face, I’m not sure where else. I removed her magic to keep it from progressing, but she-”

“Let me guess, she doesn’t want Anna or Erza to see her like that?”

“Yeah.”

“Stubborn as always, but don’t worry about it. Tell her I can help her, but only if she comes home.”

“Thanks, I was hoping you could do something.” Natsu looked relieved, but Atlas couldn’t help but notice that the underlying sadness remained.

“It’s the least we can do for her,” Atlas smiled, remembering some of Irene’s feats. “Erza’s the one that used to beat you up when you were a kid, right?”

Natsu nodded, his eyes soon returning to the night sky. “How’s Gray doing?”

“About how you’d expect, he mopes around without you and complains about the heat.”

Natsu chuckled, but soon turned quiet again. His tail twitched behind him, giving away his agitation.

“Seriously, kid, what’s eating you?”

“Sting and Rogue are coming home.”

“And you don’t want them to?” Atlas wondered out loud.

“I don’t know. Talos is their home, even more than it’s mine. It’s just—I’m worried,” Natsu said, “You know what? Nevermind, it’s stupid.”

“I don’t follow. Is it because you’re still angry?” Atlas pressed.

“No, I mean I am, but that’s not really it.”

“Then, why don’t you tell me what it is you’re worried about?”

“It’s just—things between me and Gray are hard enough now. He goes off to work every day, and I do my King thing. Neither one of us fits into the other’s world. Not as things are. And I know he says he’s happy, but he’s my mate. I can feel his sadness.”

Natsu teared up. “How’s he going to feel when he’s confronted with Sting and Rogue? When he sees them having what we once had, but never can again. Is it going to destroy what we do have? Is he going to resent me?”

“Why not go somewhere else then?”

“I can’t take Gray away from his brother and his friends, that wouldn’t be fair. And where would we go, anyway? I can’t take him to Drak Aast, not after I agreed to remove all humans from the island.”

“Ugh, this whole thing sucks!” Natsu roared out his frustration. “This is exactly why I wanted to set him free.”

“You know that wouldn't have changed anything. From what Igneel tells me, Gray would be a lot more miserable without you, and I think he’s right. Think of how far that boy came to be with you. I think you should have more faith in him.”

“Yeah, you’re right. I guess I’m just scared. Now that he’s been living with us—I don’t want to go back to the way it was before.”

“Things will work out somehow, I’m sure of it.” Atlas nuzzled his nephew’s cheek, wanting to offer him some comfort from his gloomy thoughts.

“Thanks. I should go, there are still a lot of things I need to do before I go.”

“Sure. When will you be home?” Atlas asked, trying to appear uninterested in the response.

“One week’s time. At least it was a brief trip, huh?”

“Yeah, we can talk more when you get home.”

Natsu grunted his agreement, “Bye, Atlas.”

And just like that he was gone, and the mountain along with him. Atlas’ soul returned to his body, and he was once again in his old bedroom. He paced the large room, cursing this newest problem.

Atlas wanted to tell Natsu the truth. He thought Igneel’s plan was unnecessarily cruel, but he supposed it would be even crueller to make Natsu choose between his father and his fondest wish.

Natsu was coming home in one week. If Atlas didn’t return right away, they might not have enough time to perform the spell before Natsu arrived with the dragon slayers.

But he hadn’t even searched yet.

Natsu doesn’t need me anymore, but he needs Gray. This current arrangement they have, you know it’s hurting them both.

Igneel’s words haunted him. Damn it, why did he always have to be right? It pissed him off.

And how the hell could his brother expect him to let go of him so easily? The only time they’d been apart since they’d hatched was when Igneel had lived in Talos with Porlyusica, and even then they’d seen each other regularly.

Igneel was more than his brother, he was his best friend. Atlas had never needed anyone else. He’d come to Desierto in search of a miracle, desperate to find anything that would keep him from having to let go, but…

Igneel had long ago made his peace with his sacrifice. Atlas was being selfish, and no matter how much Igneel’s decision hurt him, it wasn't his choice to make. And Natsu had unwittingly confirmed why it was so important.

After everything Natsu had done for them, didn’t he deserve to live the life they’d always promised him? Especially when Gray was willing to trade everything he was on the off chance they could manage it.

Atlas could spend days here, but he knew he was unlikely to find anything that would help. They had moved everything of importance twenty-five years ago. Even if he found those notes, they might not help him at all. And then he’d have missed his last days with Igneel for nothing.

He’d always bet on magic to solve all his problems, and maybe with enough time it could. But he knew he had to follow his heart this time, or he’d regret it for the rest of his life.

He would head home in the morning, but first he needed to rest.

0-0

Gray raced down the mountain path, making his way towards the lake where he knew he’d find Lyon and Erza. They went there every day to watch the sunset before heading home to get dinner started.

Natsu and Happy would be home in four days, but for once that wasn’t the reason he was so excited. Atlas had told them the dragon slayers would come with them. All of them.

He wasn’t sure how he felt about Sting and Rogue’s return, but he also knew it wouldn’t be an issue. By the time they arrived, he’d more than likely be a dragon. If that were the case, it would be a lot easier to forgive them for what had happened.

Gray ran past the field and through town, waving at the people that greeted him along the way. He didn’t stop until he saw Lyon and Erza standing by the shore. It took him several minutes to catch his breath and by that point his friends had already noticed him and were watching him with concern.

“Is something wrong?” Erza asked, and he wanted to laugh because it was just the opposite but held it in to avoid choking and really worrying her. Instead, he raised his hand at her and gestured for her to wait.

“They dragon slayers are coming home,” Gray finally managed to get out in between pants. He peered at Erza with a big smile and added, “All of them. Natsu got in touch with Atlas and told him, they’ll be here in four days.”

“My mother?” Erza breathed, tears welling in her eyes. “She’s coming home?”

Gray could only grin at her as she tackled him so hard they both fell on the ground.

Lyon helped them up, laughing at Erza’s embarrassed expression as he wrapped her up in a hug. “That’s amazing! She’s finally coming home, I’m so happy for you.”

Gray couldn’t resist teasing his brother, “You’re going to get to meet your mother-in-law, I sure hope she likes you.”

Lyon glared at him, but Erza was quick to shut Gray down, “Nonsense! Of course she’ll love him. How could she not?”

Gray could think of a few reasons, but he kept them all to himself because Erza turned to smile at him then and she looked so radiant it took his breath away, the setting sun no match for her beauty.

“Why am I standing here? I have to tell Anna!” Erza glanced over at Lyon, “Do you want to come?”

“I’ll stay with Gray, there’s something I want to talk to him about, and I imagine Anna would rather hear the news in private. Take your time, I know the two of you will have a lot to talk about.”

Erza waved at them and then ran in the orphanages’ direction.

“It’s nice to see her so happy,” Lyon commented, as he watched her retreating figure. “She’s waited for that for so long.”

“Yeah, she certainly has.”

“So, what does this mean for you? You’d said you needed to do your thing before Natsu returned.”

“I’m handing in my resignation tomorrow morning, so I guess I’ll say my goodbyes then. We’re planning on doing the spell the day before Natsu arrives to give me some time to get used to—uh, everything I guess. Not sure what will happen after he gets back.”

“Have you thought about what you’re going to tell people?”

Gray hadn’t given it any thought. “Why would anyone care?”

“Because you’ve been a guard for a very long time?”

Gray shrugged, “I dunno, I guess I’ll say my husband and I are moving away somewhere.”

“As crazy as it sounds, I’m so proud of you. I’m sorry I gave you a hard time on that trip. I just—”

“I know. You were trying to look out for me, I’m glad I stuck it out though.”

Lyon squeezed his shoulder, “I am too. I know it wasn't easy, but now that you’re about to get what you’ve always wanted, I couldn’t be happier.”

He suddenly laughed, “You know, I never thanked you for nagging me to move here. And I’m glad everyone is coming home, it hasn’t been the same without them.”

Gray smirked, “Maybe you can take down Wendy someday... but I doubt it.”

“You promised you’d never bring that up again,” Lyon whined, much to Gray’s delight.

“They’re going to be different,” Gray warned, thinking of the things Natsu had told him.

“I know, but we can still be here for them.”

“You’ve grown up a lot.”

“I had an outstanding teacher,” Lyon remarked, playfully punching Gray’s shoulder.

“Have you told Erza about the spell?”

“No, I didn’t

know what to say, and I kind of thought you’d like to tell her.” Lyon snapped his fingers, “Don’t forget you promised me a ride!”

“Sure, sure. You’ll probably crap your pants,” Gray snorted, but Lyon’s words served as a pleasant reminder that his brother loved him no matter what.

“Hey, do you remember that time we iced Sting’s locker?” Lyon giggled.

“His face!” Gray roared, laughing at the memory. “And then Natsu refused to help him melt it, so Rogue had to phase into it and get everything out for him so he wouldn’t be late for his shift.”

They sat down to watch the sunset together, laughing as they looked back on the good memories they had made during their earlier years in Talos.

0-0

“Do you have a minute?”

Gray looked up from the sketch he was working on before going to bed to find Igneel standing at the room’s entrance.

“Yes, of course,” Gray put his pencil down and gestured for Igneel to come inside, curious what his father-in-law wanted to talk to him about.

Igneel ambled in, “I just wanted to let you know Natsu got in touch with us a few minutes ago. They’ve just left.”

Gray tensed up at the news. It thrilled him that Natsu was coming home sooner than expected, but it also reminded him how little time they had left.

Igneel glanced around the room, his eyes coming to rest on the piece of paper Gray had been working on, “I didn’t know you drew. Is that Natsu?”

“Yeah, it is.” Gray scratched the back of his neck, feeling self-conscious. He’d only ever let Natsu and Lyon see his drawings. “It’s not something I do often, just when I’m anxious, I guess. Keeps me from getting inside my head too much.”

Igneel nodded in understanding, “I suppose that would be magic for me. Speaking of which, I’m sorry to say we’ve yet to find any information on those markings of yours, but we’ll keep looking.”

“I still don’t get why you guys are so excited about that.”

“Well, it’s because it has the potential to be a weapon against Acnologia. We don’t understand much about how his magic works, but he has one spell that allows him to reap a portion of a dragon’s soul. When successful, he links the soul to his magic and gains a certain resistance or immunity to that magic.”

“That happened to you, didn’t it?”

“Yes, along with many other dragons. It’s why he’s so hard to kill, he’s made it so our magic is useless against him. But if we could find something he’s never encountered before,” Igneel shrugged, “who knows?”

“I doubt that mist would do much of anything against him,” Gray muttered.

Igneel chuckled at him. “Don’t sell yourself short, we don’t know what it can do yet. I’m sure Atlas will figure it out once you can wield it. It will be an excellent distraction for him.”

Gray stopped to wonder what it would be a distraction from, but the sheer panic at having to fight Acnologia someday soon replaced it.

“I’m going to fight that thing?”

“It’s possible. Does that scare you?”

“Well yeah, he held his own against all of you, and you knew what you were doing.”

“There’s something I told Natsu a long time ago. It’s likely the most important thing I ever taught him, and I’m going to share it with you as well.” Igneel disclosed.

“Regardless of who you’re fighting, the critical thing in any battle is to keep a level head. You have plenty of weapons at your disposal, but your mind is the most important one. If you let yourself panic, then you’ve already lost. I think as a creation mage, this is especially relevant to you.”

Gray nodded, understanding the truth in those words. He only hoped he’d remember them when the time came. He was aware of how terrifying Acnologia was. Then again, the next time they met things would be different. He’d no longer be a human, and Natsu would be right by his side. Not to mention, Gray had a score to settle with him, for hurting Natsu the way he had, and for taking away the life they’d just begun.

He did, however, want to change the subject to something more pleasant, especially with Natsu on the way home and the possibility of danger never far from his mind.

“Do you think you could teach me how to fly once I’ve changed? I’d like to surprise Natsu and I’m not sure I could survive Atlas teaching me anything else,” Gray implored, recalling how miserable he’d been when the hellfire dragon had taught him how to astral project.

“You don’t think you being a dragon will be enough of a surprise?” Igneel joked, but his laughter sounded hollow, and Gray couldn’t help but notice Igneel had averted his eyes.

“Igneel?”

The fire dragon stared at the ground, remaining silent long enough to make Gray feel uneasy.

“I haven’t been entirely truthful with you,” Igneel admitted, looking up at Gray at last.

“What do you mean?” It amazed Gray how calm he sounded, because inside he was anything but. He’d known from the beginning that Igneel was keeping something from him, and as much as he wanted to know what it was, he’d also been dreading it.

“I’m afraid I won’t be here after you’ve changed.”

“Won't be here?” Gray repeated, “I don’t understand.”

“What we’re trying to do, frankly, it’s never been attempted before. I’m not sure anyone but Atlas could manage it, and it would never work if you didn’t possess a dragon soul.”

“How to explain it?” Igneel’s talons tapped the cave floor as he thought.

“Energy can’t be created, it can only transform from one form to another. And it will take a lot of energy to create the body that matches your soul. To accomplish this, Atlas will have to deconstruct both our bodies and transform the released energy into your new body.” Igneel explained, gauging Gray’s reaction before continuing.

“However, despite having a dragon soul, your current lifespan is still that of a human. So the second part of the puzzle was, how can we prolong that to closer match Natsu’s? There’s only one solution. I will merge my remaining life force with yours. From what Atlas discovered in his research, your soul bond should take care of the rest.”

“Are you saying in order for me to become a dragon, you have to... die?” Gray balked at the thought.

“Gray—”

“No!” Gray stood up from his chair, moving to bridge the distance between them. “How can you talk about this like it’s nothing? Do you have any idea what your death would do to Natsu? Because I do. I’ve lived it.”

It scared him to think of how Natsu had acted after that nightmare, and back then he hadn't even known for a fact if Igneel was dead.

“Gray—”

“How can you ask this of me? I’ve already put him through so much, I can’t be the one responsible for taking you away. Can’t you see that? And how the hell is Atlas—”

“GRAY!” Igneel roared, cutting off the rest of his protests.

“I understand how you feel, but I assure you I didn’t decide this lightly. And I do know what it will do to him. But I also know that Natsu is strong. Losing me will make him sad, but it won’t destroy him. Losing you, however, is a different matter.”

“But your soul,” Gray objected, trying to think of anything that might change the dragon’s mind. “Natsu told me if you died before Acnologia you wouldn’t be able to—”

“I appreciate your concern,” Igneel frowned, “but any doubts I may have had were gone the moment I realized your magic might be what we need to defeat that abomination.”

“But we know nothing about it!”

“It’s still the only lead we have. I’ve had a wonderful life, Gray. Full of love and magic. It’s all I ever wished for. So please, don’t change your mind now. I know it’s asking a lot, but let me do this for the two of you. I want to.”

This was insanity. There was no way he could be a part of this. Natsu would never forgive him. Not in a million years. Gray felt the room closing in around him as everything fell apart.

“I can’t—,” He didn’t know what it was he couldn’t do, breathe, go through with the spell, understand what was happening? It felt like all of them at once.

“Just think about it, okay?” Igneel pleaded.

“I have to go.”

Gray turned around and ran out of the cave, not at all sure what he was running away from but needing to breathe some fresh air, heat wave be damned. He headed down to the lake again, knowing it would be cooler near the water. Maybe he’d go for a swim. He needed to think, and it was late enough he didn’t expect to see anyone.

He stripped before wading into the water, letting himself float while looking up at the night sky. The stars shone brilliantly, reminding him of all the nights he’d spent at the top of the mountain with Fukou.

What was he supposed to do?

According to Lyon, he wasn’t responsible for the choices of others, but surely there had to be a limit to that. Going through with their plan meant Igneel would die.

But Igneel said it was something he wanted, and Atlas wasn’t trying to stop him anymore.

If he went through with it, would Natsu hate him for taking his father away?

If he didn’t would he regret it when he died and Natsu had to continue living alone because of the promise he made?

Back and forth Gray went, getting no closer to an answer he could live with. If only he could talk to Natsu to get a feel for what he’d want him to do. That was what he hated the most out of all this. This decision affected both their lives, yet he needed to make it on his own.

Why couldn’t they just wait until Natsu returned?

“Gray?”

He forced himself back to the present, glancing at the shore and finding Juvia peering at him with a concerned expression. How long had she been calling for him?

He didn’t feel like talking to anyone at the moment, but he also didn’t want to be rude.

“Yeah, it’s me,” he said, standing up in the water and walking towards the shore. “No need to make that face, I just felt like cooling down.”

“Oh,” She didn’t look very convinced, but she didn’t call him on it and she perked up when she saw he was walking over.

“Juvia is glad to run into Gray. Juvia was afraid she wouldn’t get to say goodbye when she missed the meeting.” She sat down on the sand, delicately arranging her skirt around her.

“Well, Natsu won’t be back for another two days. I’m not sure when we’re leaving,” Gray said, grabbing his clothes and putting them on before sitting next to her.

If at all.

“Juvia also heard congratulations are in order.”

“Congratulations?”

“Gray married Natsu,” She blushed prettily.

“Oh that,” Gray had forgotten he’d announced it at the meeting, “uhm thanks.”

“Lyon said Gray had been in love with Natsu since he was very young. And when Natsu went off to fight in the war, Gray wore his scarf and waited for him to return for so very long, never giving his heart to anyone else.”

“Gray is so very romantic!” Juvia cooed.

“He didn’t say this in front of anyone else, did he?” Gray groaned at the thought.

“No,” Juvia giggled, “Only Juvia. Lyon is proud of Gray. Juvia thinks he’s a bit of a romantic too.”

“He’s something, alright,” Gray laughed along with her. “How about you? How’s the mysterious boyfriend?”

“Juvia is on her way to see Logan. He lives on the other side of the lake,” Juvia smiled, her eyes shining as she looked across the water.

“I’m glad you found someone who makes you happy.”

“Juvia is too, it’s much nicer when the other person likes you too.”

“Juvia... I’m sorry—”

“No, no!” Juvia raised her hands in protest. “Juvia didn’t mean it like that!”

“Juvia had no one to teach her how to use her magic. So Juvia made it rain all the time, and it drove people away. Juvia was always lonely. Then Gray defended Juvia, and Juvia wanted to believe it was because Gray loved her.”

“So Juvia forced her feelings on Gray and drove him away too. Anna helped Juvia understand that was not what love was. Then Juvia met Logan, and he was very interested in Juvia and Juvia’s friends.”

“Oh, have the others met him?”

Gray couldn’t recall hearing anything about it, but that wasn’t all that unusual. He didn’t precisely socialize with anyone outside of Lyon and Erza, and his problems had distracted him from everything else.

“No, Logan doesn’t enjoy crossing the lake, but he cares about Juvia. Logan asks about Juvia’s day and about her friends. And now, Juvia is happy. She would do anything to be with Logan.”

Gray blinked at her, knowing those words sounded familiar. It didn’t take him long to remember why. He didn’t need to guess Natsu’s answer, because he’d already given it to him when they had been trying to find their way back to each other.

If there were any way to change what I am, I’d do it in a second. I’d do anything to be with you…

There might not be a way to change what Natsu was, but Atlas and Igneel had given Gray the opportunity to do just that, and he’d come so close to throwing it away. While he still didn’t feel right about Igneel’s sacrifice, he would accept it. After all, hadn’t his own parents given up their lives for him?

“Thank you!” Gray wrapped Juvia up in a quick hug, flustering her even as she looked confused by his outburst. “I have to go!”

He scrambled to his feet and ran back home to tell Igneel what he’d decided.

Juvia watched him leave in stunned silence. Gray had been the first man Juvia had ever loved, even if he’d never returned her feelings. And he’d also been the first person to show her any kindness. She would always remember him fondly.

She waited until she couldn’t see him anymore and then turned to the water and waded in. Once the water reached her neck, she switched to her water body and swam across the lake, her mind filled with her upcoming rendezvous.

It didn't take her long to reach their meeting spot. Juvia dispelled her water body, her clothes already dry by the time she reached her lover.

“You’re late,” Logan snapped.

“Logan waited for Juvia!” Juvia ignored his rebuke. She walked up to her boyfriend and grabbed his one hand in both of hers and smiled up at him. “Juvia is sorry for being late. Juvia ran into one of her friends on the way.”

“It’s alright,” Logan drew in a long breath before returning her smile. “I was just worried about you.”

“What should we do tonight? Shall we go to Logan’s house? Juvia can make some food if Logan is hungry.”

“It’s such a pretty night, why don’t we go for a walk?” Logan offered, leading Juvia towards the forest once she agreed.

The blue tattoos that ran down Logan’s arm gleamed in the moonlight, contrasting with the dark skin that Juvia had always considered exotic. She stared at them briefly, once again wondering what they meant. She’d asked him one time, but he’d changed the subject.

Gray had referred to Logan as mysterious, and Juvia had to admit he wasn’t wrong. She knew little about him, even after months of seeing each other. Whenever she asked him questions about his past, Logan somehow turned the conversation back to her.

“So which of your friends did you run into?”

“Oh, it was Gray,” Juvia replied, her attention on a flower that only bloomed at night.

“Wasn’t he the ice mage that was injured during the dragon attack?” Logan’s tone was casual, but his hand squeezed Juvia’s tighter than usual.

Juvia frowned. She’d been about to complain when he relaxed his grip, flashing her an apologetic smile.

“Sorry darling, you know how just the thought of dragons gets me all worked up.”

“It’s alright,” Juvia assured him, “It’s not something Juvia likes to talk about either, but yes, that was Gray.”

“And how is dear Gray doing these days?” Logan let go of her hand, picking the flower Juvia had been admiring and placing it in her hair.

“Wonderful!” Juvia blushed at his attention, her hand moving up to her hair to touch the flower. “Gray’s husband is coming home at last, and they’ll be moving away soon.”

“Who is his husband again?”

“Juvia has never met Natsu, he’s one of the dragon slayers that left to fight in the war.”

“Natsu,” Logan’s voice dripped with a venom Juvia had never heard him use before, “I sure hope he gets the welcome he deserves.”

“Logan?”

A/N: One chapter to go! I'm so excited and I do plan on continuing through to the end. Next chapter will feature some guest writing from my husband so expect a nice fight scene as well as a beautiful art from @khaoticvex! As the song that makes me think of the next chapter goes... It's been a long time comin'

#gratsu #fairy tail #update #gray x natsu #fairy tail big bang 2018

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imagine-loki · 4 years ago

Text

Soulbonds and Fairy Dust

TITLE: Soulbonds and Fairy Dust (rewrite) CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: 25/?

AUTHOR: nekoamamori ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine one of the fae has been helping the Avengers, jumping in to help them on missions and vanishing before Shield can bring her in. Loki joins the team and convinces her to come talk to the team and consider joining before Shield takes more drastic measures. RATING: M NOTES/WARNINGS: This is a rewrite of the original work of the same name. Also on AO3 here

Sigyn vanished her book as they got closer to the gate. She could sense the fae better than any of the others and she was on alert for danger. “Will we be facing any resistance, darling?” Loki asked when she noted Sig’s concerned expression as she focused on their surroundings.

“Yes, but not how you mean,” she told Loki, her eyes unfocused as she focused instead on what she was feeling. “You’re going to argue, but I have to deal with this one. She would kill you all on sight otherwise,” she told Loki firmly. Her tone left no room for negotiating.

“Darling? What are you talking about?”

The group was close enough by then that they could see the gate and the lone figure standing in front of it. A fae child, or so she appeared. “She’s who I’m talking about,” Sig replied, pointing to the girl.

“And she is?” Loki asked impatiently. Sig wasn’t being particularly clear or helpful and Loki wasn’t fond of unknown danger.

Sig rolled her eyes and huffed just as impatiently. “She’s the realm I’m sealing away,” she told Loki too patiently. “I did mention that she’s sentient. That is her. To name her is to give her power,” she reminded her that there was power in the name of things. Especially when said in front of one of the fae.

Loki nodded her understanding once Sig had spelled it out for her. “Are you sure I cannot help?” she asked. She didn’t want to leave Sig in danger, though she accepted that Sig knew the fae better than she did.

Sig considered that, considered her options. “You can come. They cannot. The soulbond should protect you, but there are two conditions,” she told Loki firmly. There could be no deviating from her conditions and she would leave Loki behind if Loki couldn’t agree to her terms.

Loki nodded while the others looked like they wanted to protest. They were supposed to protect her, not let her go into danger alone. “What do you require of me?”

“Don’t speak to her unless she asks you a direct question. If she does. Do not lie,” she told Loki firmly. Loki was the goddess of lies and sometimes her default was to lie or fib. She couldn’t do either in front of Underhill. Sig hesitated before she added. “I won’t stop you from coming with me, but the other condition is that you cannot go before her with any kind of illusions. Any. She’ll see through them and take it as an insult. I can face her alone and I won’t ask that of you,” she added the last gently. She wouldn’t ask Loki to strip her last illusion.

She couldn’t do that to her.

Loki shifted back to his male form. “No illusions. I may be the god of lies, but I know how to tell the truth, Sigyn,” he told her firmly.

It broke her heart what she had to do to get her point across. He hadn’t understood.

“No, Loki. No illusions, not even this one,” she told him gently. She knew what it would cost him to strip the last illusion. “I told you that I won’t ask it of you. You can guard from here with the others. I won’t ask you to strip the last illusion in front of them,” she indicated the others, reminded Loki that they were there. They would see, if he went through with this. They would see his true form.

Loki sighed heavily once he understood what she meant. “Is this the only way I can come with you?” he finally asked. “I do not wish for you to face her alone,”

Sig nodded firmly. “It’s the only way. She takes great insult at any who come before her under illusion. And she is the one who enforces the rule that the fae cannot lie,” she explained. Then she added. “She likes me, I’ll be perfectly safe. You don’t have to come the rest of the way.” Sig wouldn’t ask him to strip his last illusion in front of the others. She knew how he felt about the Asgardians seeing what he actually was.

He sighed again and hesitated, but dropped the last illusion, appearing in his Jotun form with his beautiful sapphire skin and scarlet eyes. He looked sheepish and afraid to be seen like that, but Sig just gave him a warm smile. He was her Loki no matter his form. “We do this together. We’re soul bound. You don’t have to do anything on her own anymore,” he told her firmly, determined to see this through with her.

There were gasps of shock from the morons. Sif and Thor were more polite about their curiosity. They’d all been told Loki was a Jotun, but none of them had seen his true form until now. Sig stood on her toes to kiss his cheek and he blushed purple. “Thank you,” she told him, though the words were hard for her to say. She saw his nerves and anxiety at the reaction of the morons, but he was more shocked by her kissing his cheek. She concentrated a moment and her own illusions faded. There were more gasps from the morons as they saw the scars all over her body from duels in the seelie court. She hadn’t told anyone about them.

Loki would grill she about them later. For now, Sig took his hand and the pair walked down to where Underhill was waiting for them. Sig dropped Loki’s hand a few steps in front of the girl and took another step forward alone, leaving herself as the focus of conversation in order to protect Loki. Sig dropped to one knee to be on the girl’s level while Underhill looked over Sig and Loki with ancient eyes that didn’t fit the form she wore. “Hello Tilly,” Sig greeted her gently.

“Siggy!!” she replied happily and Sig prayed to any god who would listen that Loki wouldn’t pick up that particular nickname. Underhill looked at Loki. “Who’s he?” she demanded suspiciously. She didn’t like strangers.

“He’s my soulmate,” Sig replied carefully, answering her question without naming Loki. She also carefully spoke the truth to Underhill. It was a very delicate balance. “and my other best friend, besides you of course.” Loki wisely remained silent while Sig spoke with the child-shaped realm. He was immensely curious, but he wouldn’t put Sig or himself in danger.

Underhill nodded, accepting the answer. “The Seelie Queen said you’re trying to seal me away. She knows better than to lie to me,” she accused Sigyn sounding hurt and angry.

Sig smiled kindly. She could deal with Underhill if the person-shaped realm continued being reasonable. “Seal away my friend? Not at all. The queen must be confused. I’m only closing a few gates that are in inconvenient places. You don’t want more sad children like I was, right? The Gray Lords like taking children like me, and these gates are too close to places with lots of children. I want them safe,” Sig explained to her. She was careful to tell her the absolute truth, just twisted in her favor. The fae were good at such truths and Sig was no exception. Loki was quite proud of her for it.

Underhill thought about that for a terrifyingly long time. “Stealing children is bad,” she finally agreed and Sig nearly breathed a sigh of relief. “You’ll come visit me again?” she asked softly.

Shit.

Sig had to agree. There were no other options. She also had to be careful about it. “I will in the future. When it is safe,” she replied, making the promise since she had no other choice.

Underhill hugged her. “Then you can close the doors,” she looked at Loki and Sig could see that she was looking not at him, but into his very soul. She was a realm of magic and could do such things. “I like him,” she finally said and Sig breathed another sigh of relief. It wouldn’t be good if Underhill didn’t like Loki, or decided he needed to die. Neither of them couldn’t take on an entire realm and hope to win. “He can take care of you for me,” she added before she bounced back through the doorway to her realm.

Sig sighed heavily in relief. Loki brought back his Asgardian illusion once she was gone. “Are you alright, darling?” he asked, knowing how difficult that conversation had been for her.

She nodded and stood again. It was emotionally draining to keep up that conversation with Underhill, to be so careful not to offend her. “One must tread carefully around her. It’s a good thing she likes me and was being reasonable today,” she told Loki.

He nodded and Sig got to work on closing the doorway. Loki stayed at her side, wary of Underhill and not trusting that she would keep her word. That doorway was even harder to close than the others. Underhill said she could close it, but she wasn’t making it easy on her. Sig managed, but the color seemed to drain from her when the doorway was closed. Her hair had lost its vibrancy, her eyes dulled. She swayed, fighting to keep her feet under her. Loki’s arms were around her in an instant, holding her on her feet. She held onto him, exhausted, letting her head rest on his chest for a moment. “Tilly didn’t have to make it so hard…” she grumbled softly.

“She said she could close the doorway. Why did she make it so hard?”

“Because she can? Because that’s how the fae are and she rules all of them? Because she still doesn’t like that I’m closing them?” she whined too exhausted for existential questioning. She couldn’t answer why a realm did whatever the fuck it wanted, even pretending to look like a child.

Loki sighed. “Come on, darling. Let’s get back to the palace,”

“No!” she protested, looking up at him horrified. “There’s still two more gates, we can’t go back yet!!” she continued protesting, distressed by the suggestion that she was failing and needed to go back home.

“Darling, you can barely stand on her own,” he told her gently.

“I’ll sleep it off and we can close the last two tomorrow,” she insisted. She didn’t want to fail Mama Frigga and she didn’t want the Asgardian children in danger.

“One gate at a time, darling. Two nearly has you passing out,” Loki insisted, horrified by her condition and terrified for her.

“There’s only two left. I’ll be fine,” she tried to reassure him. “Then we can go back to the palace,”

“Are you sure that’s wise?”

“I want this done,” she told him softly and stood on her own again. “Once it’s done then we can go home to a hot bath and comfortable beds,” she added wistfully.

Loki sighed, but gave in, knowing it was no use arguing against duty. “Alright. But let’s head to an inn so you can eat and rest.” It was the best he was going to.

#Loki #Submitted fic #submission #Soulbonds and Fairy Dust #rewrite #chapter 25 #nekoamamori

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chaoswillfallrpg · 4 years ago

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LAUREL LINWOOD is TWENTY-EIGHT YEARS OLD and an ESCORT at FAIR FARIBAULT’S in KNOCKTURN ALLEY and a BARMAID at THE FOUNTAIN OF FAIR FORTUNE in HORIZONT ALLEY. She looks remarkably like SAMARA WEAVING and considers herself aligned with THE ORDER OF THE PHOENIX. She is currently TAKEN.

→ OVERVIEW:

tw: death

The coolest girl in any room, Laurel Linwood is a living legend. A beautiful blonde who doesn’t take life too seriously, Laurel’s motto in life is to have fun and look good doing it. Born in Barnet, Laurel was raised by her mother CHRISSIE LINWOOD and grandmother AILEEN, in a weird and wonderful boarding house. The middle of the Linwood sisters, Laurel was the tear away child never without a comment, sassy joke or a cheeky grin on her face. Outcasts in their local community due to their bohemian lifestyle, Chrissie was a former actress who had never quite made into anything most people had seen and made her living running a business without a man. The odd comments and stares their family received didn’t bother the Linwood women. Laurel loved Linwood Lodge and wouldn’t have changed her upbringing for all the money or normality in the world. Their house had a carousel of people who came and went as they pleased. Circus performers who did tricks in the garden, magicians who pulled flags from their arms, aspiring rockstars who wrote them songs and strum their guitars all called Linwood Lodge home for a time. The girls were encouraged to keep away from the guests as not to bother them, but Laurel never paid much attention to things that prevented her from having fun. Most guests were always happy to tell the girls how they had washed up at the boarding house and Laurel can recall very few who stayed in their rooms. It was the strange environment of Linwood Lodge that had attracted Laurel’s father to stay the first time he met her mother, whisking her away to a life as an actress amongst a circle of select viewership.

Laurel’s mother never used his name and her grandmother simply referred to him as ‘that man’ or ‘the mistake’ which left a lot to the imagination and allowed Laurel and MAREN to fill in the gaps. Their made-up narratives about their father were amusing but her curiosity in him didn’t really spark until strange things began happening to her. When Laurel was around seven her mother was called into her primary school with complaints. Children who bullied her would be pelted by floating chalkboard rubbers or their lunchboxes would empty themselves into the bin like magic. Teachers accused her of picking up strange tricks from the characters they hosted at the boarding house, which her mother seemed happy to agree to even though they both knew that wasn’t what was happening. Her mother didn’t seem shocked when her teachers told her what had happened, taking Laurel home and giving her a lecture on exercising control. Confused her mind began to wander, wondering if she was a strange creature like the ones she’d read about in books and watched on tv and if somewhere amongst all of this her father lied at the centre. When Laurel neared her eleventh birthday, Adairia sat her down and revealed to her the true nature of her gifts. The Linwood girls were witches, whose magic had reappeared in their bloodline with their birth. The revelation cast doubt on her theories about her special dad but otherwise filled her with excitement. Over the next few weeks Laurel waited patiently for her letter from Hogwarts, intercepting it in the garden when it arrived away from the prying eyes of her younger sister.

Sorted into Gryffindor, Laurel quickly made a name for herself as a large personality, dressed in fitted denim and a stack of records under her arm. Whilst people in her year like PATRICIA RAKEPICK became famous for pulling pranks, Laurel was known for her parties. A Beater for the Quidditch team with her best friend TRYSTAN WARRINGTON, Laurel loved cranking the music up loud on her record player after a Gryffindor win and seeing how many people she could cram into the common room without PROFESSOR MINERVA MCGONAGALL finding out and having a set of kittens. It was at one of these social soirées she got to know someone who would become a firm fixture in her life. NATAN DIGGORY was from a famous wizarding family and a chaser for the Hufflepuff team Laurel believed was incredibly full of himself. Natan’s belief he was the coolest guy in school began harmless teasing between the pair and set the foundations for a very close relationship the two would come to share. Equally as confident as Laurel, the pair spent their days laughing in the corridor and cracking jokes on the field with Trystan, forming an unreliable trio that was instantly recognisable to anyone in their year. Laurel loved her boys more than anything. Natan was her soulmate, her partner in crime and resident ball of fun, whilst Trystan always had her back and was ready to fight the good fight with anyone who got in their way. The trio were unapologetically themselves and whilst that made them friends in the form of ARTHUR WEASLEY and JENNIFER VANE who loved their carefree attitude, it also made them enemies.

ANYA ROOKWOOD, quickly became Laurel’s nemesis. A prim princess with a chip on her shoulder because she was a Half-Blood, Laurel assumed the reason Anya hated her so much because she wore her Muggle-Born colours on her sleeve with pride. When Maren joined Hogwarts a few years later it became clear she was heading for a similar route through school both Laurel and Adaria had. A beautiful singer and a kind soul, Maren quickly attracted bullying from a number of Pure-Blood students including VIOLET BULSTRODE and twins VICTOR and ELENAOR YAXLEY. Although the students were three years her junior, Laurel had no problem hexing them, berating them and receiving a number of detentions because of it with her fellow social justice bestie CONSTANCE SONG. Their work at Hogwarts defending the downtrodden sparked a dream in Laurel to become an auror, quickly enrolling in the progs,me after after graduation before being forced to pull out as disaster struck their family. Chrissie was dying. She had kept it to herself, calling her girls to her bedside in her last few weeks of life before she passed away. Laurel in particular was annoyed with her mother. Not only had she kept her illness to herself, Chrissie and their grandma had kept a mountain of debts they couldn’t pay to themselves leaving Laurel and Adairia lost on how to fix the problem. Whilst Laurel stayed at home to care for their grandmother and run Linwood Lodge, Adaria took off to find work that might help cover the debt, sending money whenever she could before returning fully a year later richer than Laurel could have imagined.

Laurel was stunned. At first she was suspicious of her sister until Adaria admitted to escorting in the city, a reasonable explanation in Laurel’s eyes for how she had made that much money. Selling up Linwood Lodge, the sister’s paid off their mother’s debt and put a downpayment on The Fountain of Fair Fortune pub in Horizont Alley. Laurel still had her own dreams but The Fair Fortune was her fun. When Maren left school The Fountain of Fair Fortune became a true family business and with a little refurbishing, Maren’s talent for singing and Laurel’s for organising specialist nights the pub and boarding house became one of the busiest spots in town to get away and have fun. It quickly became apparent to Laurel that although it was a popular spot for fun, it also proved great for secret meetings. Around the time MARY MACDONALD began working at The Fair Fortune that Laurel noticed something was up. During her shift she would notice the sorcerer take the occasional shady break with Maren, huddled in a corner with SIRIUS BLACK, JAMES POTTER and MARLENE MCKINNON as they all spoke too loudly and took turns looking at Laurel and Adaira before shushing one another. A month in, Laurel grew tired of the secrecy and cornered Maren and Mary demanding answers. With all the rising deaths and disappearances happening in the city Laurel wasn’t surprised there was something going on behind the scenes to try and stop it, but what she was met with she couldn’t have conceived in her wildest dreams.

An underground group run by their old headmaster ALBUS DUMBLEDORE was so wild it could be true and after chatting about it with Adairia, the two demanded Mary and Maren take them to ALASTOR MOODY. Offering up the room above their pub as the headquarters the sisters joined the ranks of The Order. Though other members of the group have more training than she does, Laurel is always the first to stick her hand up and offer to undergo dangerous tasks in the hopes it will provide the team with information. Recently, Laurel has found her working as an escort for Fair Faribaults escort agency attempting to gain information from the people working there and the owners GEORGINE FARIBAULT and her sister’s friend RICHARD ELLINGTON to find out if the evil underground group is making a play to seduce the creature community. As a ¼ veela on her mother’s side, thanks to information she recently learned from her older sister, Laurel is the perfect candidate to pull in clients has been working covertly to become their top earner in the hopes of joining their inner circle. Though he was just a job at first, Natan’s brother AMOS DIGGORY has become somewhat of a regular for her. Although Amos started out as just a job for Laurel the more she gets to know him the fonder she grows of him. Only her sisters know how long she has harboured feelings for Amos’ younger brother Natan but after his engagement to GIVA PATIL was announced Amos has been the perfect secret distraction and perhaps an antidote for her heartbreak.

ADDITIONAL INFORMATION:

Blood Status → Half-Blood Muggle-Born/¼ Veela

Pronouns → She/Her

Identification → Cis Female

Sexuality → Up to Roleplayer

Relationship Status → Single

Previous Education → Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry (Gryffindor)

Societies → Sorcerers for Equality

Family → Adaria Linwood (sister), Maren Linwood (sister), Victor Yaxley (unknown half-brother/adversary), Eleanor Yaxley (unknown half-sister/adversary), Corban Yaxley (unknown uncle)

Connections → Constance Song (best friend/colleague), Natan Diggory (best friend/object of affection), Trystan Warrington (best friend), Arthur Weasley (close friend), Florence Jones (close friend), Jennifer Vane (close friend), Mafalda Hopkirk (close friend), Daisy Hookum (close friend), Claudette Delacour (close friend), Laurent Dane (close friend/colleague), Olivia Hailsham (close friend/colleague), Patricia Rakepick (friend), Mary MacDonald (friend/colleague), Amos Diggory (client/potential love interest), Georgine Faribault (boss/target), Richard Ellington (boss/target), Giva Patil (rival), Anya Rookwood (adversary), Violet Bulstrode (adversary)

Future Information → N/A

LAUREL LINWOOD IS A LEVEL 7 WITCH/VEELA.

#samara weaving fc #marauders rpg #marauders rp #Harry Potter rp #Laurel Linwood #order member #witch #veela #fair faribault's #taken #taken order member #taken female #taken veela #taken witch

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justsomewritingsandshit · 5 years ago

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The Struggles of a Male Veela - (Part 6 - What A Revelation!)

Louis Weasley x Soulmate!OC

Length: 3926 words

Warnings: soulmate!au, altered ages of next gen, female OC, Hunter Parrish as Louis, mostly about Selene, jEaLoUsY

Part 6 of this series | Masterlist | Part 5

Three weeks after her awkward date with Mari Singh, Selene felt the first sign.

The young woman was mid-conversation with her friends, whilst they all sat at the Slytherin breakfast table. Well, it was less of a conversation and much more like an unnecessarily heated debate. Today’s (debate) topic was the correct pronunciation of the word ‘gala’. Ben Boot, a well-travelled young man, had informed his three closest companions that he’d recently discovered that many Americans pronounced the word as ‘gay-la’, rather than ‘gah-la’. Which was entirely wrong in Selene’s opinion.

Emery took a dramatic breath before she bravely announced that she too pronounced the word as ‘gay-la’. “It sounds right that way!” At her friends sneers, she defended herself, “Well it does to me!”

“Disgusting.”

“Absolutely.”

Emmaline pressed her fist over her eyes, looking away from her sister, “You think you know someone!”

Their friendly razzing of Emery went on for a bit. Eventually though, it faded out as the students needed to finish their breakfasts before they went on to their morning classes.

Glancing across the Great Hall, Emmaline commented, “It looks like lover-boy’s fan-club is getting bigger, huh?” She sent a rather sneaky glance towards Selene, who was chewing on her toast, as she spoke.

“Huh? What club?”

Ben mimed to Selene that she had crumbs clinging to the side of her lip, “Oh, you know! Your boy-toy’s little fans. Oh, no, no, on your left side.”

Successfully ridding herself of the clinging crumbs, Selene’s eyebrows drew into a furrow, “What are you lot on about?”

Emery sniggered, “You’re little Gryffindor, Sel.”

“Huh? You mean Louis?”

“Oh,” Emmaline teased, “So she does know who we’re talking about!”

Selene was a little stunned by their teasing remarks. A part of her understood why her friends must have assumed there to be a romance forming between the two. After all, Selene was not the type of person to immediately latch onto a new friend, especially in the way she had with Louis. Did she become casual acquaintances with people? Yes. Did Selene seek them out, then spend hours talking and laughing with those new acquaintances? No. Like most people, the young girl could be considered a creature of habit. Not seeing much need to branch out, Selene tended to stick with her tried-and-tested friend group. To add a new person into the role of friend meant something to her, growth. But, to her overly hopeful friends all of whom wanted only the absolute best for their friend; this friendship looked more like a potentially blossoming relationship.

And that was the wrong assumption…

“Okay,” She took a sip of her water, before she turned to look at them, “First of all; Louis and I are friends. He is not my ‘lover-boy’.” She ignored Ben’s ‘but you want him to be’. “Second of all, yes I’ve heard about his fan club. They’re… uh, they are…” Selene struggled to find a kind but straight-forward word for ‘a little bit scary, but mainly weird’.

“Creepy? Yes.” Emery answered, blasé. “Like, I would be the first among us to admit that Weasley is super fit.” An uncomfortable ripple raced through Selene’s gut. Briefly, the girl wondered if her monthlies (as her mothers’ called it) were making an appearance earlier than usual this month. “However, I agree that this whole club thing is very weird.”

Ben nodded, “Yeah! I mean, Louis is cute. And yes! I think we all would let him slap our arse, should he so choose to!” Emmaline and Emery both nodded at his words, and Emery even lifted her glass of pumpkin juice in toast. “But, lovey, dearie, sweet love-child-of-mine, just put the school out of its misery, and claim that Adonis as your own!”

Inwardly, her stomach rolled again at his first statement, stopping suddenly once speaking had trailed to a finish. Outwardly, however, Selene cheekily rolled her eyes as if she was amused by Ben’s exasperation on the subject. “Whatever.” She dismissed it all nonchalantly, before standing up from the bench. “Let’s get going, I want to stop by the hospital wing before class. My stomach’s not feeling right today.”

“Why didn’t you say so earlier?” Emmaline swiftly rushed her friend out of the Great Hall, the Slytherin girl’s worry-wort nature taking the reins.

There is an old muggle saying, once could be a coincidence but twice suggests a pattern.

The uncomfortable turn of her stomach – the one that had made Selene previously think that she wanted to be sick, or that she had cramps early that month – appeared again. And the sensation appeared as suddenly as it had before…

And, with the holidays approaching, it felt like everyone was getting progressively more excited for the end of term. The entire castle had begun its descent into excitement for the upcoming holidays.

Like in muggle shopping villages and districts, Hogwarts began the festivities almost as soon as the calendar switched from November to December. The corridors were decked out with red and green coloured wreaths and garlands. The house elves worked diligently, silently completing their work in a single night.

Tiny first years had started to gather together with older students. A portion of them prepared gifts and played games for Hanukkah. The students who celebrated Solstice and Yule were already marching across the school’s lawns for items they wanted to use in their altars – this particular group was an interesting mix of muggle-born ideologies of wicca and witches, as well as the magical version of wizardry. Those who celebrated Christmas were doing their best to stock up on papers for wrapping, they were ordering rolls of it by owl ready for their last few Hogsmeade trips before the 25th. Even the professors were getting into the spirit – Professor Longbottom had his singing tulips (which were a rare find of his from a trek across the Scandies in his late twenties) hum seasonal songs whilst he taught.

And as the term wound down, most of the students were gearing up to take the train back down to London. There were a few who were eager to be left (relatively) alone in the quiet castle. Selene happened to be undecided on the subject, tossing up whether she should stay or to go home and celebrate Yule with her busy mothers’.

The Slytherin was mulling it over when she was heading back to the common room. She only had one class left for term, but the textbook she needed was in her dorm. For a moment, she thought about sneakily using the accio charm, but knew it was banned for a good reason – flying objects can be hazardous when not charmed to fly above people after all. She weighed the pros and cons; she’d have more things to do in the castle, more people to talk to, her parents would probably have to work on Yule… Eventually, she decided to stay at Hogwarts for the holiday. When she got to her dorm, she would owl her mothers to let them know.

She turned the corner that lead to the grand staircase, thinking about asking if Ben was going to hang around the castle too this year. Selene had seen that the girls had already packed their trunk to leave, so she didn’t feel a particular need to ask them the same.

Unfortunately, Selene’s next turn into the adjacent corridor had led her to be the sole witness as an older girl (from the year above) slid her claws over the forearm of a familiar-looking blonde boy.

That stomach turn happened again.

Selene swiftly turned around, deciding to walk to the common room the long way. Also, she had suddenly decided to return to her home for the holidays.

Yule celebrations came and went early in her home.

Selene’s mothers were very apologetic when they told Selene that they’d have to work on the day of Yule. Still, the three of them had held a smaller, more intimate celebration a few days before.

The earlier celebration left the young girl to aimlessly wander around her own home on the actual day of Yule. She was bored out of her mind. It was approaching the late morning and Selene had already cracked onto her holiday homework – all part-the-way-done, apart from a Runes essay, which required a lengthy reading of a textbook that she had left behind whilst franticly packing.

The Slytherin had decided she should finally owl the school, to see if they could let her off on the Runes essay, or at the least send over her the textbook. She had made her way up to family attic, where her great-great-grandparents had set up a make-shift aviary for their business owls years ago. Apparently, back then they had run a small mail-order potions business. It was a Morgenstern family rumour that they sold an illegal werewolf suppressant potion, before wolfsbane had even been invented.

Selene’s owl hooted softly to the girl, making its presence known. It sat on rigidly on its perch, a pile of letters and small boxes on a tall table to its immediate left. Selene pet the owl carefully, slipping the bird two treats. Then, she arranged some more water and feed for it before she gathered up all her mail.

“Thank you, Soot!”

The first few letters were Christmas cards from her various muggleborn friends, some including cute non-moving photographs of their families. One had a Father Christmas who was drawn to be surfing on a beach, from her friend whose family spent the holidays in Australia. Another was a sexy version of the red-clad man, the words asking if she’d been ‘naughty’ that year – that one was from Naomi Gardner, who had written in thanks for setting her up with Mari.

Ben had done what he usually did and had written her a lengthy letter. He opened it with a greeting, as well as some well wishes to Selene and her mothers. Then Ben informed her that he had decided to stay at Hogwarts that year (which was usual for Ben, as he kind of hated his extended family, who had a tradition of gathering together this time of year), and that he loved the gift that she’d left for him under the Slytherin common room tree. At that point in the letter, the boy demanded that Selene open the gift he had included. It was a gorgeous goblin-made quilt set in her favourite shade of mauve.

Ben went on in his letter to detail the latest gossip going around the castle, ‘It turns out that wench in the year above, you know the one! The absolute wench Julie McNamara, that swish! She was seen trying to flirt with your mother-missing boy before term ended! I cannot believe the gall of the wench! Everybody knows that he only has eyes for you, I swear!’

Last year, Ben had been gifted with a spelled pen. It automatically censored his cursing. It had been a joke-gift from Emery but ended up being his favourite writing utensil to date. As such, Selene had fitted it with a never-ending ink-well, and Emmaline had spelled it to be impossible to lose.

He went on; ‘Apparently, he had to have his family step in! The wench just wouldn’t take ‘no’ for an answer. I’m telling you Selene; everyone said that it was absolutely disgusting! She had to be formally warned away by the professors too. In this day and age!’

Selene felt an unclear anger suddenly rush through her body.

She could easily see how Julie McNamara would make Louis uncomfortable. He was such a lovely guy, but he got awkward when anyone even jokingly flirted with him. In fact, the first time she ever jokingly winked at him, his face went fuchsia for three-and-a-half minutes. Poor Louis! Selene could picture in her mind how her Louis would try to uneasily shift away from her, but…

Her hand released Ben’s letter. It fluttered to the carpeted floor silently.

Oh.

“Oh,” Selene breathed, tears springing to her eyes for no reason. Her thoughts were now cleared like the sky after a storm, “I like him.” That explained so, so much. So much. “Bollocks.”

The week following her realisation, Selene was working on autopilot. She went about her days like nothing was out of the ordinary. Dinner with her mothers, doing her school reading, finishing up the assessments she’d started before… Selene did it all, without a single complaint.

That worried her mothers.

“Sweetheart?”

“Hmm?” Selene looked up from her plate to see her mother, Dorothea, looking at her in concern. “Sorry, did you ask me something?”

The woman shook her head, dark curls bouncing as she did. “No, sweetheart. We just, you know –”

“The point your mother is trying to get to,” Her other mother, Appoline, sent her wife a cheeky glance before her expression melted into a concerned one. “Are you feeling alright, Selene?” At her daughter’s furrowed brows, she went on, “Your mother and I have noticed that you seem to be a little spacey, dear.” Her tanned skin pulled taut around her pursed lips, “Are you having a disagreement with the girls?” Appoline was referring to Emmaline and Emery, as well as Ben.

“No, I…” Selene wasn’t even sure what to say. Her teenaged brain told her to lie to their faces. Letting her parents know too much about her school life, her social life, might lead to a lecture Selene did not want to sit through… Although, “I just realised that I, uh, fancy one of my friends. A lot.” The Slytherin had been stewing in the idea all week and was now desperate to at least speak the words out loud. “I, um, I didn’t realise until, like, last week.” She paused, pushing her vegetables around on her plate, avoiding their surprised eyes. “So… yeah. That’s it really.”

There was a moment of awkward, confused silence.

Clearing her throat, Dorothea spoke to her daughter sincerely. “Is this something you want to discuss with us further, sweetheart?”

Selene mulled over how to answer. Did she want to talk about this? Maybe. Until now, she didn’t realise how pent up she had begun to feel. Did Selene want to open up to her married parents about this, though? Two lesbians (well, one of her mothers is bisexual), who had been monogamously together for longer than ten years? Not really.

The teen smiled awkwardly at her parents, “Actually, I think I want to talk to the girls about it. I might send them an owl, or-” Selene stopped herself, to think on it for a moment longer, “This is probably something I want to say to them in person, though.”

“Okay.” Appoline nodded in understanding, before she tactfully changed their dinner conversation, “So, I was listening to this Korean band yesterday.”

She brought it up with her friends when they were all corralled in the safety of the common room. Selene waited until it was late, as there would be less people around to hear them discuss something so personal. Slipping it into the already flowing conversation, “I realised I fancy Louis.”

All speaking stopped. Ben, who had been using his personal copy of ‘Hogwarts; A History – Volume 24’ to prove a point, loudly snapped it shut. Emery had paused mid-chew, and there was a gummy serpent still hanging from the corner of her parted lips. Emmaline, who was sat next to Selene, stared at her friend in complete shock.

Selene shuffled nervously in her seat, “Aren’t you going to say anything?”

“Girl, what do you mean–?”

“’Just realised’?” Emery finished her sisters thought, the gummy falling into her lap.

Selene sighed, the sound tinged with embarrassment, “Well… When you lads were making fun of me, saying that ‘of course I liked him’.” The three nodded, knowing the instances she was talking of, “I, uh,” She let out a breath chuckle, “Well, I didn’t know. I thought I only liked Louis as a mate, you know; a friend.” Her head tilted, “I mean, I’ve always been attracted to him,” Her head tilted the other way, “I just did not know that I, uh, you know… fancied him. Like proper fancy, you know?”

Ben’s mouth was agape.

“No. I don’t know.” Emmaline disagreed. “How did you not know?” To Selene’s friends, it was so clear – her feelings had been so transparent to them, so see-through. “You were undressing him with your eyes, for Merlin’s sake!”

“I was not!” Selene argued indignantly.

“Oh, you were too!” Ben argued back. “The two of you are always looking at each other, starry eyed. Frankly, it’s a little sickening. And not in a good way!” He flung his book behind him, leaning closer to Selene. “We told you, as well!”

Emery nodded, “We did!” She viciously bit the head of her now-retrieved gummy serpent, “And,” She paused to quickly chew, “You basically go on study-dates, nearly every bloody day.” Emmaline nodded in agreement with her sister. “Babes, when you said you were going out with Mari, on Halloween, we were so confused!”

Ben sighed, “Ah, that’s right! Ugh, we were convinced that you had been courting Weasley before that.”

Selene scoffed, “Courting him? I barely know him!”

In wizarding society, courting was serious. It was like a person screaming their personal commitment to another in a court of law. There was no way to go even one day without another wizard finding out about the commitment. Firstly, because every child was taught about the process in their first year of education at whatever school they attend. Secondly, every couple entering into courtship had to be witnessed by three other witches or wizards, as a testament to how serious the process is (and also because three is a deeply important number to magic-users). Young witches and wizards could date to their hearts content, but courting meant a true declaration of intent – the intent being marriage or a binding, of course. There had been times where dating had led into courting. And they were also rarely broken, due to the gravity of the whole process.

There would have been no way for Louis to be in a courtship with Selene – her heart ached in joy, at the thought of being in anything with the blonde Gryffindor – without any other person knowing.

Emmaline scoffed back, mocking Selene, “’Barely know him’?” She smacked Selene’s shoulder, “You spend everyday in each other’s presence, you should know everything about each other by now!”

“Well, not everything!”

Emery butt in, “You definitely know enough!”

“What are his sister’s names again?”, Ben challenged her.

“Victoire and Dominique,” Selene answered automatically, before rolling her eyes, “That’s a basic thing to know about another person!”

Emmaline nodded, “Alright then, what are his cousins’ called?” Selene looked away from her, not wanting to see the smug look on her face, “You know them, don’t you?”

“Wow!”

“It’s not private information!” Selene argued with them, “We do go to school with half of them!”

Ben gave her a disbelieving look, “I bet you couldn’t name the collective five cousins that we,” He pointed to himself, then the twins, “Have had at this school.”

“Daisy, Marcus, Kipper, Damien,” Selene struggled with the last one, “I, I want to say Humphrey…”

“Oh, honey…”

One moment she was completely oblivious to these feelings she had, and was living her life perfectly normally, the next moment she’s almost paralyzed – with what she wasn’t completely comfortable in calling fear… but it was an emotion closely related.

Also, there were questions clogging her thoughts now… Should she tell Louis of her feelings for him? Should she leave it be? Most importantly, how is she to act around Louis now?

Her mind shouted many ways not to act – and the dozens of reasons why she shouldn’t act in those ways. But how could she maintain their previous easy camaraderie? That camaraderie, and their ability to instinctively know what the other is thinking, was so comforting before. A small pit of dread pooled in her stomach, at the thought of losing that friendship with Louis.

When this dilemma was brought up to the girls (which again, included Ben), they told her to act as she had before – mainly because they knew she liked him even then, so there shouldn’t be too much acting involved for her.

“So, how were the holidays for you?” Louis had joined Selene at their study table, as usual. He quickly slung his bag off his shoulder, before plopping down onto the wooden chair. “Anything exciting happen?” The Gryffindor leaned over the table to whisper conspiratorially, “Any fights?”

Selene’s pulse spiked at his proximity, but she quickly composed herself to the best of her resting-bitch-faced ability. Once she was normal again, she realised that the question made no sense to her, “Like a physical fight?”

Louis choked trying to hold in his raucous laughter at her question. Although, he was not as successful as he might have had hoped for. Even though the blonde covered his mouth, hushed chortles managed to escape. Louis’s eyes even watered. After a moment, he forced himself to take deep breaths, to compose himself. “Sorry. I forgot you’re an only child.” Selene’s confused look did not fade, “You know, there’s just a certain level of craziness that having siblings brings. Plus, the high tension of the holidays... With my family, there’s more than enough sparks flung about to start a fire.” Louis paused as he remembered, “In fact, two years ago; there was an actual fire.”

Selene’s eyes widened, “No!”

“Yes.” Louis leaned forward again, excitement and humour plain on his sweet face as he remembered the absurdity of the situation, “So the twins-”

Purposely, the Slytherin guessed one name wrong, “Rosie and Fred, right?”

Louis beamed, oblivious to her purposeful mix-up. He was just overjoyed that his mate was putting in effort in remembering his extensive family members. “Roxanne and Fred,” The blonde softly corrected. “Well, they decide one afternoon, that my grandpa Weasley’s Christmas tree was not festive enough.”

The dark-haired girl tilted her head, “Is that your grandfather who is obsessed with muggles?”

“Yes!” Louis did not think he could be grinning more – surely, his face might split in half if he even tried. “So, every year he brings out this ancient fake Christmas tree – it was a gift from my Aunt Hermione’s parents, probably about twenty years ago.” He paused, to duck his head when the librarian glared their way, with her penetrating, evil eyes. Louis waited until she turned back around before he went on, “The twins knew that most trees had lights on them, but grandpa Weasley didn’t… They managed to convince him that he should use candles.”

Selene’s eyes sprung into wide-eyed shock, “They didn’t!” At Louis confirming nod she pressed, “At least he charmed them, right?” The blonde’s face turned mischievous. “No! He forgot?” Her gasps had been quiet enough, but they always had an audience when they were together.

Two first year Hufflepuffs (who had twenty-four textbooks piled between their arms) got to watch firsthand as Selene dissolved into a fit of laughter. It began with a loud snort, which left Selene trying to cover her face. To no avail it seemed, as her giggles were audible all the way from where the first years were lollygagging. One of the Hufflepuffs decided that they way Louis was gazing at her – his eye lit up at her enjoyment, not daring to look away for even one moment – had to be what true love was.

TAGGED:

@iamwarrenspeace, @itsnolongerteen, @stilesloverdaily, @immortalmurphy, @fandomsandotherstuff, @mcheung0314, @aw-hawkeye, @glimmering-darling-dolly, @thenodmonster, @realgreglestrade, @seninjakitey, @theshortegg, @gqlqxies, @footballiskillingme, @romance-geek

#louis weasley #LouisWeasley #louis weasley imagine #louis weasley x oc #louisweasleyimagine #next generation #nextgen!#next generation harry potter #next gen harry potter #harry potter series #harry potter imagine #the struggles of a male veela #the struggles of a male veela series #Harry Potter

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knamjooned · 5 years ago

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Magicae Foresta (3)

pairing: (forest)dragon!namjoon x (unpracticed)witch!reader

genre: magic/supernatural au, shifter au, fluff, angst, smut, soulmate au

chapter words: 2,029

chapter warnings: indirect mention of death

chapter rating: G

STORY SUMMARY: The magical world your grandmother told you about had always been real to you. Once she passed away, you find yourself honoring her memory by searching for the one magical creature she could never find.

CHAPTER SUMMARY: The leaders of the seven Shifter clans have a meeting, you find the Moongrove wolfpack led by Seokjin and Tulok, and Namjoon experiences odd feelings.

THREE

Namjoon entered the clearing after traveling for over two hours in the air. He had offered Jimin a ride in his sack, but the shifter had quickly turned him down, opting to use the unicorn’s magical powers to get them to the meeting area. Along with Jimin, Jungkook and Seokjin were brought by Taehyung. Hoseok had flown here on his own.

As soon as everyone had arrived, they shifted into human form, put on human clothes, and placed themselves around the small area. The seven leaders of the shifter clans looked at one another carefully. Yoongi sat on a tree branch, lounging lazily against the trunk, dark eyes watching as the others settled. Taehyung stood out among the trees with his blue hair and and a frilly blouse as he flicked his hands in the air and created a flower throne. Hoseok sat near him, and Taehyung happily made him another simple chair covered in flowers.

Jimin and Jungkook sat together surrounded colorful flora that didn’t grow in their woods, unused to be apart of the circle of leaders. Seokjin settled next to Namjoon, who had made simple chairs out of wood for them to sit on. When everyone was where they wanted to be in a circle, Yoongi gracefully made his way down the tree and completed the ring.

“It’s been a while,” Yoongi stated, sitting on the ground with crossed legs. “I heard the news of the Magic Mother’s journey to the Great One. Her guardianship of the woodlands has led all forest dwellers to thrive, to be happy.”

“I felt the magic threads dim for a long moment,” Taehyung murmured, unusually somber. He sighed and shook his head. “Miss Silvia was the purest of all.”

“Her successor has been found,” Seokjin stated.

“I’ve met her. Her name is ______, Miss Silvia’s granddaughter,” Hoseok interjected.

“A curious mind, a kind heart, and magical soul,” Jimin added.

“She has no experience with magic,” Jungkook recalled thoughtfully. He turned his gaze to Hoseok.

“No magic? How is she to be the guardian of the woodlands?” Yoongi asked, frowning.

“Namjoon,” Hoseok answered. Every pair of eyes turned to the dragon, who had been sitting calmly until his name was mentioned. Namjoon sat up straight, brows furrowed in confusion.

“Me? What does the Magic Mother’s successor have to do with me?”

“Does she want to take his magic?” Jungkook asked worriedly. Taehyung snorted from his throne, causing all eyes to turn from Namjoon to him.

“Of course not. She wants him to teach her.”

“How do you know?”

“Namjoon, how do you think? I felt it,” Taehyung explained, shrugging. Everyone thought quietly over the information that had just been passed around for a long moment.

“You were near her, what else did you feel?” Seokjin asked.

“Well, it was brief. She noticed me as soon as I stumbled upon her. I was in my natural form,” he added. “As soon as she realized there was a unicorn near, I left.”

“You’re avoiding the question, Tae,” Yoongi said in a low, almost threatening voice. As much as he considered these men to be his brothers, his mate was more important to him. If there was any darkness in this woman, then she could be dangerous to all.

“I can’t say much, because of the vision I had, along with the traits I gathered from her.” Taehyung gazed at each of the men as they stared at him, waiting. Hoseok began to tap his foot impatiently as Taehyung stretched the moment. Finally, Taehyung smirked. “Like I said, the Great One has decided I am not to share my visions. But, I will share the other information.”

Even the new members of this circle took Taehyung’s visions and commune with the Great one to heart. As a unicorn, most likely the last just like the forest dragon, he was to be respected. Unlike Namjoon, Taehyung enjoyed the attention it granted him much more than the dragon did.

“Tae, just tell us, don’t be over-dramatic,” Jimin murmured, a soft smile on his lips, holding back a laugh. Taehyung winked at him and grinned.

“Okay, okay. Appreciation, cleverness, duty, focus, honor, respect, trust… all good things. I did see a few things that could be considered negative.”

“That isn’t good,” Jungkook murmured to Jimin, who nodded and bit his lip.

“It could be worse,” Taehyung pointed out. “I saw regret, compulsion, pride….”

“What about magical abilities?” Namjoon interjected, which surprised the others. He wasn’t one to speak up unless it was important. Taehyung raised an eyebrow, a twinkle in his eyes. Namjoon narrowed his eyes at his friend, but didn’t ask anything more.

“Ah, what you think the granddaughter of the Magic Mother would have. Plant growth, water manipulation, animal communication, weather manipulation. Pretty much what Namjoon would know about.”

“And?” Namjoon asked softly.

“And there are things you will discover once you begin teaching her.” Taehyung turned his eyes from Namjoon, waving away the conversation. “Now, Yoongi, is there any news you and Sarah would like to share?”

“Sometimes I hate your abilities,” Yoongi mumbled, holding back a grin. “We are expecting. Our cubs should be arriving in a few days.”

Seokjin and Tulok are caring and intelligent alphas. Tulok is from another forest, and them finding each other was a miracle in itself. Maybe they will tell me the story of what brought them together, but it’s not my place to ask. I appreciate the Moongrove Pack allowing an old lady to attend the union celebration between two young members.

You saw the creatures slinking through the trees as you made your way over the worn path. Flashes of gray, black, and white appeared between the tree trunks. You stopped and stood still, listening to the sounds of the forest. The rustling of the leaves caught your ear, your eyes slowly moving toward the sound. A large gray wolf came confidently out of the shadows, head held high as they stared at you with a curious gaze. You turned slowly to fully face the wolf, wondering if this was part of the pack your grandmother had mentioned in her journal.

“I’m _____. I am looking for the Moongrove Pack.”

The wolf stared for a moment longer, then nodded. It walked toward you, causing you to hold your breath, not sure what this meant. Walking past you, the wolf looked over their shoulder and gestured with their large head to follow them. They slid into the trees and you followed, breathing much easier knowing it seemed friendly enough.

The wolf moved slowly than they usually would, you assumed, because it kept looking over it’s shoulder and stopping for a moment for you to catch up. You wondered if it was bothered by stopping often, but nothing was hinted at as you continued to follow. You walked half an hour, climbing up and over fallen tree trunks and moss covered rocks. You noticed you were going uphill, the slope gradual. The wolf stopped for a moment as you jumped off a particularly large trunk that was lying on the barely there path, then stepped into a small clearing.

You followed and your mouth opened in awe. Unlike Hoseok’s clearing with just flowers and trees, this one contained a small group of tent-like structures surrounding a community fire. Ten adults milled about around the fire or moving around the area doing different things, along four wolves of varying sizes. Six children played in an open area behind the structures with four wolf cubs, kicking a soccer ball around.

While you were taking this all in, the wolf had disappeared. When you realized it, you suddenly felt out of place. This tiny community was going about your business, and you were just walking in here without anything to offer. You felt a strong presence coming near you, and you turned toward the nearest tent to see a tall, broad-shouldered man walking toward you. Another man was accompanying him, walking in step on his side.

“______. Welcome to the heart of the Moongrove Pack territory. I’m Seokjin.” He kept his eyes on your as he bowed his head politely. He gestured to the man at his side. “This is Tulok, my mate. He was the wolf who led you to us.”

“Ah,” you answered, bowing your own head toward them. Of course it was one of the alpha’s of the pack, no one else would lead you here so quickly. The wolves must trust you, which was an exciting thing, considering how long it took usually. “Thank you for allowing me to come. My grandmother wrote about you and your pack in her journals.”

“Miss Silvia was of pure heart, and I can feel her blood in you,” Tulok said quietly. Seokjin took his hand and nodded toward you. By that time, the members of the community had noticed and started to walk toward you, wolves and humans alike.

“Are all of you shifters?”

“Yes,” Seokjin answered with a smile. “Come, let us introduce you to our large family.”

As soon as he returned to his home, Namjoon knew someone had been investigating around his barrier. Frowning, he walked the perimeter, picking up on the scent of the intruder. He also felt the uncultivated power left in their wake. It took a moment to recognize it, as he hadn’t been in direct contact, but it was very similar to the Magic Mother. When the knowledge you had been here while he was gone hit him, Namjoon’s heart beat quickly.

His mind filled with the need to find you, to talk to you, to just be near you. Overwhelmed, Namjoon gasped and stumbled to the porch, sitting on the step hard. He took deep breaths, confused by his reaction. He felt restless, the idea of bringing you here, keeping you here, overtaking any other thought.

“What’s happening?” he murmured to himself, closing his eyes as he focused his breathing. He purposefully cleared his mind, making himself concentrate on the sounds of the forest surrounding him. He heard the birds chirping, speaking to one another, and the leaves rustling as a deer wandered by unseen. After three full minutes of meditation, Namjoon seemed to get his emotions under control. “Taehyung would know,” he told himself.

Immediately, he shed his clothes, put them in the ever present sack, and shifted into his huge dragon form. He lifted off and headed toward one of the densest areas, where creatures like Taehyung would likely be. When he arrived, Taehyung was in a small area in human form, sitting on a throne of flowers and sparkles at a table with a few fairies and a leprechaun, which Namjoon had only seen one other time. Taehyung and the other creatures didn’t flinch, sipping their tea casually as Namjoon appeared, shifted, and dressed quickly.

“I feel like I just saw you moments ago,” Taehyung teased, putting down the delicate teacup. He turned to his guests. “I enjoyed tea time with you, my friends, but it seems my magical abilities are needed. Another time?” The fairies and leprechaun agreed and disappeared quickly into the thick trees. Taehyung turned to Namjoon in his chair and crossed his legs at the knee, patiently waiting.

“Something happened to me, and I’m not sure what it is. I was hoping you’d have some kind of information.”

“Dizzy, overwhelmed, thoughts of _____?” Taehyung propped an elbow on the arm of the throne and placed his chin in his palm. He smirked. Namjoon frowned, then narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

“What do you know?” he asked slowly. He disliked not knowing what was happening to him. It had helped him survive this long without too much trouble, knowing what was happening and what could happen. Taehyung must have sensed the dragon’s patience quickly wearing thin, a rare but frightening thing, as he sat up and turned his smirk into seriousness.

“What you felt,” he stated slowly. He stopped and took a deep breath, looking away in hesitation for a moment. Taehyung turned his gaze back to Namjoon, who crossed his arms and raised his eyebrows. “What you felt was the link connecting to your mate.”

#hyunglinenetwork #bangtanhq #btswriterscollective #btsguild #namjoon x reader #m: namjoon #t: fic #fic: namjoon #fic: magicae foresta

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qobiin · 5 years ago

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weekly fic rec hoard

here's what i've been enjoying reading (and re-reading) this past week for different fandoms across the board! this week features: atla, bnha, good omens, harry potter, marvel, naruto and stranger things ♡ means: all-time fave, (m) means: 18+ themes

avatar: the last airbender

♡ first rule of earth kingdom fight club... series by ohmygodwhy zuko, his stubborn inability to die, and finding himself thru getting his ass kicked

The Most Ragged Edges by twinfinite In hindsight, Zuko really should have seen this conversation coming. He can almost hear Li and Lo chanting wickedly about the magic of Ember Island, about waves smoothing away rough edges…

♡ ribs by ohmygodwhy The first thing Zuko tells him during their first lesson after the whole Sun Warrior ruins ordeal, is “Fire comes from the breath.” a lesson in learning, and re-learning.

♡ see your son rising at last by aloneintherain When Zuko dashes into the sitting room, it is with the same wide-eyed panic that he ran from Azula’s smoking hands when he was a child. Iroh bites down on a smile. Zuko looks the same, even now, a decade later with a scar blossomed over one side of his face, green and brown robes replacing the solitary reds of his childhood. His hair is puffed up around his face. He looks like a very frightened, very windswept turtle-dove. Zuko dives behind Iroh just as Aang breezes to a stop in the doorway. Five times Zuko hid behind Iroh, plus one time Zuko stood proudly in front of him.

♡ the beginning of a new and brighter birth by aloneintherain “I’m so proud of you, my nephew.” Uncle cups Zuko’s face in his lined hand. The gesture is so tender, his palm so warm, that Zuko has to take a fortifying breath against the sudden swell of emotion in his chest. “I want to be a good leader, Uncle,” Zuko says. “I want to look after my people.” “You will,” Uncle says. “You are, nephew.” In a new era of peace, Zuko works to be a very different Fire Lord than his forefathers.

boku no hero academia

the stars are floating and we are flying by lunalou Aizawa starts walking towards the exit, obviously expecting Shouto to follow him, but Shouto's feet are frozen in place. His eyes flicker from the distorted reflection of himself in the ice to where All Might is giving him a long look, eyes kinder than anything Todoroki has ever been deserving of, and he feels sick. “Todoroki-kun,” Midoriya says gently, squeezing his arm in what Shouto presumes is meant to be a reassuring gesture. “It’s going to be okay.” He doesn’t think Midoriya is in any place to tell him what okay is, all things considered, but he chooses to keep quiet on the matter.

♡ I’ll share this with you, so leave it behind by yabakuboi For the sake of the story, All Might is never in need of a successor, and, when Izuku saves Katsuki from the sludge monster, encourages young Midoriya down a different path. Thus, Katsuki and Izuku part ways after junior high, as Katsuki enters U.A. and the Midoriyas move overseas. It’s later that Katsuki realizes that there’s something missing, that he drove that something away. Years after, Katsuki finds him in the last place he looks, in the cereal aisle at the local grocery store of their childhood neighborhood.

Loose lips Sail ships by Yousayhun Bakugou is at war with his own fucking mouth and everyone else just seems to be having the time of their lives.

♡ flare guns go off in my head saying not to call you this late by youreanovelidea Midoriya beams at him and Tokoyami is suddenly hit with the urge to look away. “So bright,” he mutters under his breath, low enough that Midoriya can’t hear him. (or, Midoriya is a problem child who just really loves his friends)

(m) The Devil Blues by iknewaman The 78th precinct's police captain, Toshinori Yagi, has volunteerd his squad to help implement the mayor's wish of increasing the successful cooperation between the city police and active Pro-Heroes. Each detective is to be assigned a Pro-Hero who will shadow them for two weeks, and the operation has been dubbed the 'Station Cooperation Operation'. Although it is not well-received by those involved, Izuku Midoriya, current detective at the 78th precinct and loyal follower of captain Toshinori's ideals, believes that the operation will be a success. If his captain says it will succeed, there isn't a doubt in Izuku's mind that it will. That is until he meets his assigned Pro-Hero.

♡ someone is wrong on the internet by rhenna It’s been a long day. By all rights, Izuku should be falling into bed, half dead. But instead of sleeping, he’s hunched over his laptop at 2 in the morning writing a dissertation about why exactly Ground Zero’s pecs are the best pecs to ever pec, and how dare anyone insinuate that he should lose some of that muscle because don’t you even understand what kind of physique a quirk like that requires? Amateurs. (Izuku has two jobs in this world: pro-hero and anonymous president of the Ground Zero fan club. What could possibly go wrong?)

good omens

♡ Divine Intervention (aka God ships it) by TheLadyZepher There’s a battle strategy devised by humans many millennia ago that's designed to overcome an adversary who is particularly well entrenched. Some walls are too tall and thick for a frontal assault, and must instead be bested through sheer dogged stubbornness. Crowley and Aziraphale didn’t know it, but they were about to be put under siege. Fed up with an angel and a demon who are still avoiding any talk of Feelings, God starts to interfere. When it comes to the ineffable plan, sometimes things need a bit of a push.

♡ Slow by write_away It started like this: A boy with the ability to warp reality met an angel and a demon and he made assumptions. You might say it started like this: An angel and a demon found a marriage contract hung on the wall of the angel's bookshop. They didn't question it. It also could have started like this: Once upon a time, the angel told the demon he went too fast. The demon took it to heart. Aziraphale and Crowley find themselves somehow married. Crowley fears going too fast. Aziraphale forges ahead. Neither know how to ask questions of each other.

♡ Eziraphael’s Gifts: A History of Queer Faith and Longing, by Natasha Marie Johnson (Beacon Press, 2019). by actualbat "If Eziraphael has come to be known--in today's language--as the 'guardian angel of sad queers,' then it makes sense for him to have shown up more regularly in the past once that became a recognizable historical category." Natasha is really glad that she's given this talk enough times to be able to do it on autopilot, because those two funny-looking men in the back just made the most absurdly astonished faces. (Or: Not all historians ignore gay subtext, and not all immortal celestial beings have their shit together. Also, voodoo.)

harry potter

♡ Apple Slices and Cocoa by FeathersMcStrange Harry Potter is an abused kid with not an adult in the world on his side when Molly Weasley meets him. She decides right then and there that if nobody else is going to try and take care of this boy, then dammit, she's going to.

hello goodbye (’twas nice to know you) by tamerofdarkstars Draco Malfoy thinks he might know whose thoughts are scrawling themselves on his skin, but that's crazy. Impossible, even. It has to be a mistake. - Self-indulgent soulmate AU where the thoughts of your soulmate inscribe themselves on your skin in a shifting magic tattoo

♡ (m) Men Who Love Dragons Too Much by fencer_x, IDoodleForNoodles ‘Kill Albus Dumbledore’ is less a challenging task and more a suicide mission, so when Draco Malfoy is presented with the option to either dispatch his Headmaster or suffer an excruciating and most ignominious death of his own, along with his parents, he reaches deep into his black little Slytherin heart and manages to scrape together enough courage to go with option C instead: Spend Sixth Year secretly studying Animagecraft in the hopes he’ll turn into something sufficiently imposing even the Dark Lord himself won’t be able to keep Draco under his thumb. But just his luck, his Animagus form turns out to be a dragon, and a rather randy juvenile at that, intent on finding its mate: one Harry James Potter.

marvel

♡ Hard to Love by Gruoch If someone had told May that Iron Man himself would one day occasionally show up uninvited to her quiet little apartment and intrude into her quiet little life, she would have laughed them out of the room. But then her life seems chock-full of unpleasant surprises these days. Or, Tony Stark wants a bigger piece of the pie. May Parker learns to accept help. Peter just wants to keep the peace.

♡ Mr. Parker Declined to Comment by apisdn The events leading up to the embarrassing moments during the Doomed Field trip, and how Peter Parker accidentally ended up in charge of things. All the while the political machine moves on, the Avengers do not kiss and make up, and the future draws ever closer.

Another No-Good Field Trip by Muimor Peter Parker is not having a good day. AKA, Where Peter's decathlon team take a field trip to the Avengers Compound, Vision's a menace, and Peter really doesn't want to go.

naruto

(m) Resonance by flailinginlove After being hit by a missing-nin's jutsu, Kakashi's chakra is never the same again.

♡ (m) What Otter Nonsense by DarkAuroran “Is that an otter?” Iruka asks as large, sable eyes blink at him and a little whiskered nose twitches curiously. “That’s an otter. Why do you have an otter?” “I can’t tell you,” Kakashi says with a great amount of dignity for a man cradling a baby otter in armoured gloves. “Classified Jounin mission business.”

♡ Learning Curve by ishiryoku This is the life she chose: the path of the shinobi. It's either roll with the punches or be left behind by her team—and Sakura's not about to let them go off on their own.

♡ Roots and Wings by ideaoforder When Naruto is kidnapped from his orphanage at age three, Kakashi is so done with this shit. He gets Naruto back, tells the Hokage where to go (politely, because he isn't suicidal), and raises the boy himself. Or, you know, tries and is proud when there aren't too many explosions. Then everybody starts to copy him and it's a whole thing.

stranger things

In Which Starcourt Is a Pun by asexual-fandom-queen (writeordietrying) “Welcome to Scoops Ahoy. Do you know what you want?” Nancy and Jonathan visit the Starcourt Mall and corner Steve at his place of work with their feelings, but in an awkward, this-is-still-the-1980s-so-we-can't-be-too-direct kind of way.

♡ my father comes and he goes by mjolnirbreaker So, for Max, he doesn’t punch Billy Fucking Hargrove. He just sits there in sweltering heat and listens to the C’s being announced, and when parents cheer for their kids he tries not to think about how his parents are currently in Colorado.

♡ it’s a risk, it’s a gamble by nondz (pinkjook) “I think we should pretend to date,” Robin says. "What?" Steve answers.

one of those new wave boys by glorious_spoon It probably should feel more awkward than it does. (Or: Steve and Robin go on a road-trip, drink, listen to music, and look after each other. And yeah, maybe there's some cuddling involved too.)

wanna rec me something? head over to my ask or submission boxes! message me even, i don't really mind (:

and to all my fellow authors who may feel a little down about not getting onto rec lists, this is for you:

#fic rec hoard #bookshelf #fic recs #atla #bnha #good omens #hp #marvel #naruto #stranger things #the gaang #bakudeku #ineffable husbands #drarry #irondad #kakairu #stoncy #mostly gen stuff honestly

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faejilly · 6 years ago

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i cannot touch because they are too near

If Magnus is going to love Alexander (which of course he is) then he's going to have to understand his parabatai and their bond, at least a little bit better than he does now. But he’s not entirely sure how or where to start...

(AO3)

***

Becoming parabatai takes practice. Training before the ceremony itself, physical and mental, meditation and sparring, how to move together, think together, read each other's cues even before you can feel them.

How to live together, because if you can't even handle being classmates, roommates, compatriots, partners, you'll never survive being soulmates.

You have to prove you're practically soulmates on your own before they'll let you take the rune and make it real.

Or that's the theory.

Sometimes they get it right.

Sometimes they don't.

***

Alec stops mid-word, mid-gesture, hands pausing in the air for a moment before they fall to his sides and he's staring down at his left foot, which he lifts and rolls in a tight circle.

"Step wrong?" Magnus asks as he stops too, though he's relatively sure that's not what happened. Alec would probably just ignore it if he'd twisted his own ankle, which means it's not his own mis-step he's thinking about.

Alec shrugs in Magnus' direction. "Feels like a sprain, not a break. Hopefully Jace'll remember to ice it this time."

"This time?" Magnus lifts a single eyebrow.

Alec's face shifts into a wry twist of a smile. "If I try to list every time Jace forgot to take care of a bruise and woke up sore and grumpy about the ache the next day, we'll never make it to dinner."

Magnus allows himself a soft indignant snort. "Because you're any better."

Alec shrugs again, not even attempting to argue. "There were more than a few reasons we were encouraged to be parabatai."

"Self-sacrificing idiots recognize each other?"

It's Alec's turn to lift his eyebrows, slow and purposeful and goodness he's pretty when he does that. "If that was all it took, the two of you would get along much better."

Magnus gasps and presses a hand to his chest, all fake offense and horror, and feels the warmth curl beneath his ribs when Alec laughs.

Magnus drops his hand, and shakes them both out before lifting one into a presumably familiar start of a gesture. "Do we need a short-cut?"

Alec frowns as if confused, and then scoffs out a rough breath before taking Magnus' hand and starting down the street again. "I'm not the one who tripped over a stair or whatever."

"But you could feel it?" Magnus is never sure how to ask about the parabatai bond, and he's never met a Nephilim who was either comfortable or possibly even capable of talking much about it, despite occasional attempts to learn more over the years.

Alec nods, and then shakes his head again. "We get physical cues, yes, but it'd be kinda useless in battle if we shared pain. Oh no, Jace got stabbed, I feel like I got stabbed, we both fall down and get eaten by demons?"

Magnus snickers, and tries not to think too much about Alec and battles or stabbings or demons. "I will concede the point, if I must."

Alec huffs out another overly audible breath. "You're ridiculous."

"But you love me despite it all."

Alec pauses, and tugs Magnus closer against his side before he starts walking again. His voice is soft, but clear enough Magnus has no difficulty hearing. "And I love you for it."

***

It starts like this:

The ceremony ends with a flash of light, of power, and you have another heartbeat.

It's almost the same as yours, settles in your chest right where a heart should be, and it mostly beats the same, strong and steady, but not quite. It's not yours, and it never will be, but you guard it just the same, just as hard.

Harder, even. It's so much more precious than your own.

***

"How's the ankle?" Magnus slides a mug across the table, smiles at Alec as he picks it up and breathes in the coffee's steam.

"Better than expected." Alec smiles back, and Magnus wishes he could freeze time, just for a little bit, just for a short break, just long enough to linger, long enough to enjoy that smile. "Either it wasn't as bad as I thought, or he actually remembered to wrap it properly afterwards."

"Or Biscuit reminded him."

"That is, unfortunately, much more likely." Alec rolls his eyes, though Magnus isn't sure if it's at Jace's inability to take care of himself or having to admit that Clary can be a good influence on people. Alec starts to take a sip, winces, and sets his mug back down; it was clearly still a touch too hot.

Magnus tilts his head. "Does Jace know you just burned your tongue?"

"Probably not."

"Too small?"

Alec shrugs. "Something like that."

"You can tell when he's hurt, and that it's different than when you're hurt, even though you don't also hurt, but the little stuff doesn't usually register?"

Alec does an odd and entirely unhelpful nod/head-shake/shrug maneuver, as if he really doesn't have a clue how to explain it. Another check in the apparently incapable column. Which is fair enough; it's hard to describe a lot of things related to magic with mundane words.

Magnus takes a careful sip of his tea. If he's going to love Alexander—which he is because he does, and he will, and that's never going to change—he needs to understand this, at least a little bit better than he does now. "Is it like an alarm in your head? A memory?" A phone call? A telegraph? A radio signal? Carrier pigeons?

Magnus is perhaps getting a trifle ridiculous again.

"It's a photograph rather than a vision?" Alec sounds entirely uncertain in regards the words he's chosen, but it sounds like a reasonable enough metaphor to Magnus. "It's not like there's any telepathy, or uh. Empathy? We don't share emotions or thoughts or pain, we just—" Alec gestures awkwardly at his own body.

"Physical cues, right." Magnus tries not to think what physical cues equated to Jace's I can tell he's happier. He fails. "Do I want to know if sex gives off 'cues' or should I remain cheerfully ignorant?"

Alec's cheeks flush, but he chuckles easily enough to make it clear he's not actually embarrassed. "We usually keep the bond pretty quiet unless we're fighting. I suppose sex would translate a lot like any other physical activity? Nothing too dramatic, but yeah. If one of us was paying attention at the wrong moment we'd probably figure it out by context, but it's not like we can feel anything that's, uh. Too private?"

"So he probably didn't get the equivalent of a much-too-personal photo album delivered to his brain last night?"

Alec half-snorts and half-coughs and drops the mug back on the table, hot coffee spilling up and over his fingers at the uneven impact.

Magnus laughs, and Alec grabs a napkin to clean up, and Magnus sends a soothing wash of magic over Alec's hands just in case. "Sorry."

Alec looks at him from under heavy eyebrows, but he can't quite hold in the twitch of a smile trying to form. "No, you're not."

"No, I'm not."

***

It begins like this:

You have two heartbeats, two sets of lungs, you can feel when your other shoulder itches, not like yours itches, it's clearly not yours, and yet you want to scratch regardless.

You're sitting quietly, studying or planning or waiting or wasting time, (even we waste time, it's all right), but your heart beats too fast and you're breathless.

Only you're sitting quietly, and your heart is steady and your lungs are quiet, in and out, as slow as ever.

The other you is running too hard, racing or fighting or fucking, the other you is pushing too hard. You exhale, slow and deep, and put your hand on your rune. You think about breathing until you can feel the difference: you are here, they are there, and eventually your heartbeats match again.

You have to do it again five minutes later, five hours, five days, five weeks, five years.

It gets easier.

Simpler, at least. It will never really be easy.

***

Lydia is in town for a visit, and Magnus' odd little extended half-Nephilim family has ended up at the Hunter's Moon. They're gathered around a couple tables shoved together, a dizzying collection of mismatched glasses scattered between them all, conversation bouncing back and forth easily enough.

Alec's gone quiet, as he usually does when he's around more than two people at a time, but he's leaning back in his chair, his shoulders relaxed and a hint of a smile in his eyes, and Magnus knows he's enjoying himself.

Maryse and Lucian start to say their farewells, pushing back from the tables and standing up and waving. It is a very odd feeling to realize that at this point in his life Magnus quite strongly identifies with Maryse Lightwood of all people, as he is considering sneaking out early with his boyfriend, too.

All the children get exhausting sometimes. Especially since Catarina already left to rescue Madzie's babysitter so he has no one to make obscure 300 year old jokes with to pass the time.

Raphael never cooperates when he attempts the occasional 50 year old one.

Alec shifts beside him, head ducked and a twitch of his lips like he's trying to hold something in, right as Jace says something that sounds more like a squawk than words, his face starting to flush pink as Isabelle and Clary and Maia all start laughing together.

Magnus tilts his head and watches Alec's smile widen. Alec had moved at the same time as Jace's reaction, too soon to be reacting to the sight of it.

Another weird parabatai thing, or did he hear whatever set Jace off?

"You said it's not empathy." Magnus doesn't manage to phrase it like a question.

Alec turns his head with a frown, trying to figure out what Magnus means. Magnus manages a flick of his fingers, a wave of his arm from Alec to Jace and back again. "Your reaction time seemed... unlikely?"

Alec blinks, mouth opening in a silent oh.

Magnus waits, but Alec doesn't say anything.

"Jace mentioned once that he could tell that you were happier."

Alec's slightly stunned expression eases back into a smile. "I am. But everyone can tell that."

"Not the way he does though."

"No," Alec agrees. "You've been asking about Jace and the bond a lot lately."

"I love you." Magnus shrugs, keeps going even though it's difficult not to be distracted by the look on Alec's face as he says that. "He's a part of you."

Alec leans forward, and presses a quick kiss to Magnus' cheek. He leans back, and the tilts his head as he looks at Magnus, as he considers. "That's not all of it though."

"Well." Magnus gestures widely, entirely incomprehensibly. He's not even sure what it is he's trying to figure out. He just wants... something. "The parabatai I've known all had complicated relationships."

Alec lifts his eyebrows.

"Not from the outside, not external responsibilities, not like we do. Did. Do?"

Alec's face does not shift, clearly not any more enlightened.

"Lucian and Valentine both loved the same woman." Alec doesn't quite wince at the reminder of Jocelyn's life, but it's a close thing, judging by the way his lips tighten. In his peripheral vision, Magnus sees Jace glance over at them, lingering a moment longer than usual before turning back to defend himself from whatever story it is that Isabelle's telling.

Magnus reaches out a hand, rests it on Alec's arm, waits until he sighs, and the tension singing beneath his skin eases a little.

"I knew a Herondale once before, and he and his parabatai managed to be engaged to the same woman. Sequentially, not at the same time."

Alec shakes his head, an odd tremble in his voice when he starts to speak. "Is this your way of telling me you and Jace are pining for each other behind my back?"

Magnus pulls his hand back and glares. Alec laughs at him, loudly enough the rest of the group pauses in their conversations to look at them.

"That was terrible, Alexander." Magnus crosses his arms over his chest, as Alec leans forward, trying and failing to even out his breathing. "I am attempting a serious conversation."

"I know, I know." Alec coughs a few times, a shiver of laughter still making his shoulders shift. "Sorry. Really, I just." He spreads his hands almost helplessly, and Magnus feels himself smile back.

"I know." Magnus sighs. "I don't even know enough to know what to ask."

He doesn't blame Alec for not knowing what he's trying to say, for not having words for something that the Nephilim clearly never talk about; it's just so aggravating, having a mystery in front of him with no good way to research it, to solve it. He hates not knowing. He wishes there was a hand-book or something. "I don't suppose there's a Nephilim children's book on the subject out there? Parabatai cliff-notes for dummies?"

Alec's face twists, as if he's having trouble interpreting or conjugating the sentence into something resembling sense. Magnus can see the moment it slots into place, and Alec's smile is back. "You're frustrated there's not a pile of academic treatises for you to read so you can be a proper expert."

Magnus shrugs again, a bit more extravagantly. "Perhaps a little."

"There's no proper manual for us either, beyond the rune description in the Gray Book. If that helps."

Magnus shudders eloquently.

"Maybe you'll be the one to write one," Alec says. "You're the smartest man I've ever known."

Magnus might be blushing. "Flatterer."

"It's not flattery, it's the truth." Alec is, as always, heart-breakingly sincere.

Magnus attempts to tease despite it all; it's that or getting dramatically sappy in public and that's a terrible idea. "Should I tell Isabelle that you said so?"

Alec clicks his tongue, as if disappointed. "Why do you think I said you're the smartest man I know?"

Magnus throws back his head and laughs, lets himself fall completely into it, into this, amusement and affection and Alexander, lets himself forget their audience, their expectations, the questions that probably don't even have answers, and just be happy.

It's such a change, he sometimes doesn't know what to do with it.

He's going to enjoy figuring it out.

***

It goes on and on, like this, like this:

Sometimes the other heartbeat is so loud you can't feel your own.

Sometimes you reach and you can't feel your other heartbeat at all.

Sometimes you stub your toe, and the other you swears.

Sometimes your shoulder itches and the other you scratches.

Sometimes you want to scream, because you just want to be alone.

Sometimes you want to scream, because despite your other heartbeat, you're always too alone.

***

Magnus should get up.

He should, but Alec's body is comfortingly heavy against his side, and it's very difficult to remember why he'd ever need to get out of bed again.

Except he needs the bathroom.

He sighs and starts to slide sideways, but Alec's leg presses down and his arm pulls Magnus closer. "Mmm-mmm."

Magnus swallows the fond ache in his throat and pats Alec's arm, then tries to move again.

Alec shakes his head against Magnus' shoulder and tightens his grip.

"Alexander." Magnus tries not to laugh. "I'll be right back."

"Promise?" His voice is rough and half-asleep, but there's something sharp and fragile beneath the words, as if part of him still doesn't quite believe that Magnus means it, that he'll always come back, that Alec is not going to be alone again.

"Of course, love." Magnus presses a kiss to the top of Alec's head.

Alec grunts, and rolls over until his arm flops against the other side of the bed. "Sorry."

"No need to be." Magnus slips away, blowing a kiss back over his shoulder before the bathroom door closes behind him. I feel the same way.

He's not sure how to say that out loud. When he's done he crawls back into bed and wraps himself around Alec and hopes the gesture is clear enough to say it for him. Alec clings right back, and Magnus is pretty sure it does.

He shifts his shoulders, settling more comfortably against Alec's chest, close enough he can feel Alec's heartbeat beneath him.

It's one of his favorite sounds now, low and steady. His thumb is rubbing back and forth in the same rhythm against Alec's skin, ba-dump, slide, ba-dump, slide. It's soothing and warm and perfect. "Let's never get up again."

Alec hums, a clear enough agreement.

Magnus closes his eyes, all set to see how close to forever they manage, when he hears Alec's phone buzz on the nightstand. He sighs, and starts to try and push back, but Alec's grip tightens again, refusing to let him go.

"It's just Jace. If it's important someone will try again from an Institute phone."

"How do you..."

"Modern technology, old man." Alec huffs and adjusts his shoulders against his pillows. "I do know how to work a smart-phone and assign individual ring-tones."

Magnus scoffs, but he's much too fond to actually sound offended. He gives up on the attempt, and reaches down to poke the parabatai rune down by Alec's hip. "You hear that, you're being ignored."

Alec's chest shifts up and down as he laughs silently. "I love you."

"Thank you." I love you too, Magnus thinks, and his palm settles against the rune as his hand relaxes. Even the part of you that's him, the part of him that's you.

"Are you about to ask about parabatai again?"

Magnus shrugs, knowing Alec will feel the shift of his shoulders. "Maybe? Is he having as nice a morning as we are?"

There's a bit of a pause, and Magnus isn't sure if Alec's surprised by the question, or if it takes some effort to figure it out. "Well, he's not miserable."

"You both talk about your emotions in relation to each other—"

"But I said it's not empathy," Alec finishes his almost question for him.

"And yet?" Magnus yawns. "Clearly not in a hurry for an explanation, darling. I just like knowing more about you."

"How can I resist that?" Alec presses a kiss to the top of Magnus' head. "It takes a little while, after the ceremony, to learn to interpret the other person well enough to know what the cues mean. But once you do, it's hard to go back to only acknowledging physical symptoms."

"But say, a tension headache is still clearly different than an injury."

"Usually. We do get it wrong sometimes. Maybe his tense shoulders mean he's angry and holding it in, but maybe he's just tired and had to stand too long in a briefing."

"Does Jace stay in long briefings that he doesn't like?"

"Occasionally," Alec says, his smile softening his voice. "He's better now than he used to be."

"He's happier too, isn't he."

"Yeah." Alec sighs his answer out slowly, and Magnus can feel how it makes Alec's whole body relax just a little bit more.

"How can you tell?" Magnus lifts his head, shifts until his chin is pressed against Alec's ribs and he can look at Alec's face. "Would you know he was awake, even if he hadn't texted a message or whatever it is we're ignoring?"

A grin flashes across Alec's face, but it fades quickly as he considers his answer. "If he's asleep when I'm awake, sometimes I can feel his heartbeat slow, can feel as the pace draws further and further away from mine." Magnus watches Alec's free hand reach up to rub at his sternum. "I know when he's sad not because I can feel that he's sad, but because I can feel his hands ache, and that's where he is when he's sad, cracking his knuckles or playing the piano."

"Hands." Something else you have in common. Magnus swallows the urge to say that out loud, remembering the sight of shoulders hunched as Alec hit the heavy bag too many times, the lines of blood when he let his bow or his arrows catch against his skin.

Alec makes a soft sad noise, a breath lingering in his throat even as he tightens his grip around Magnus. He'd heard it even though Magnus hadn't said it. Magnus blinks. "That's why you're always so good at figuring out what I'm not saying, isn't it. Practice with subtle physical cues?"

Magnus can almost hear Alec blink. "I guess?"

"Why's Blondie so bad at it then?"

"Uh." Alec's voice catches in his throat, and Magnus swallows the urge to snicker at the sound. "I must give different cues? You'd have to ask him."

Magnus rolls his eyes. That's not very likely.

Alec laughs, and shifts his weight until they're both on their sides facing each other. "If you're going to write your parabatai treatise, you're going to have to interview both sides of the bond."

"I know much better ways to spend my morning than interviews."

"Yeah?" Alec barely breathes the word out as Magnus moves closer.

"Yeah," Magnus whispers back right before their lips meet. Much better.

***

He has your heart, and you have his, but that doesn't mean you understand each other.

It doesn't mean that that's enough.

It doesn't mean he'll love you.

Not like you love him.

It doesn't mean he'll forgive you, when he realizes how different your heart is than his.

It doesn't mean you'll stop loving him.

You don’t think you could ever stop loving him.

***

Magnus hears someone enter Alec's office but he knows it's not Alec, who's still discussing something with a patrol leader the next room over; Magnus can just hear the lift of his voice through both open doors, though he can't hear what he's saying. Magnus doesn't look up from his phone, assuming whoever it is would rather drop off whatever it is they have for the Head of the Institute and leave again without having to engage with "the Warlock" sitting on the couch.

He almost drops his phone in surprise when a small leather book lands on the cushion next to him, and he looks up to see Jace smirking at him. "Present for you."

Magnus glances down at the book and then back up at Jace. "Should I be concerned?"

"What? No." Jace manages to look offended and embarrassed and amused all at the same time. He collapses down onto the chair opposite Magnus and shakes his head. "This is what I get for trying to be nice, suspicion everywhere."

"Maybe you should think about why that is?" Magnus keeps a straight face, but his voice is much too warm and amused.

"Ha." Jace's eye roll is almost as impressive as one of his brother's.

Magnus picks up the book, feels how soft the leather is, how loose the spine. It's old for what looks to be a journal, a decade or two at least. "What is this, then?"

"Alec said you were trying to learn about the parabatai bond."

Magnus blinks. "He said he didn't have a hand-book."

"It's not—" Jace swallows, his expression oddly distant, his eyes sad. "I think Michael Wayland wrote it. The real one."

Magnus opens his mouth, but he doesn't know what to say to that, so he closes it again.

"We were living in his house, you know?" Jace's hands are wrapped together, his thumb digging into a hollow between two knuckles. "I thought my father was Michael Wayland, and I knew he'd had a parabatai, that somehow they were apart even though they were both alive, which isn't... that's not how it works, you know?"

Magnus nods. Magnus doesn't let himself think too much about hands, doesn't let himself stare as Jace's grip shifts but never loosens.

"I found this in the library, and I remember thinking how different it was from how my father talked to me, how much he must have changed, how the distance from his parabatai made him someone else."

"You wished you knew the man in the book."

Jace nods and bites his lip. Magnus waits.

"Michael fell in love with his parabatai."

Magnus inhales. His fingers tighten around the book.

Jace's mouth quirks sideways into something that isn't a smile. "And his parabatai never forgave him for it."

Robert Lightwood never forgave him. That makes more sense than it doesn't, and Magnus exhales, long and shuddering.

"But Michael still loved him. Still kept to his oath as much as he could, even when his parabatai didn't, even when the bond stretched so far Robert couldn't tell when he died, and I wanted..."

"You wanted to be like the man you thought your father used to be."

"Yeah." Jace sighs. "I knew Alec was, I mean." He stops, and swallows, and blinks hard enough Magnus is pretty sure he's holding in tears. He's not the only one. "I wasn't going to make him say it if he didn't want to, you know? I always figured that that was why my f— Why Michael was exiled to his estate, that that was why everything was the way it was when I was young and we were so alone, so isolated. I couldn't do that to Alec, make him risk that."

Oh, Jace. Poor lost children with such strong hearts, the both of them, despite the world trying over and over to break them.

"But I knew." Jace nods at the book, still clutched in Magnus' hands. "If he told me, I wasn't going to be like Robert."

"Thank you." Magnus doesn't just mean the journal. He barely means the journal at all, though he knows he'll be grateful for it when he gets the chance to read it.

"He guards my heart, I guard his." Jace shrugs, unusually graceless, as if has no idea how remarkable the both of them are. "But you're welcome, I guess."

"Everything all right?" Magnus lifts his head and Jace twists sideways until they're both looking at the doorway, both looking at Alec as he leans against the frame.

"'Course." Jace bounces back up to his feet, shaking out his hands as he keeps going, slipping out around Alec with barely a pause. "Enjoy your dinner date."

Alec scowls quite adorably in confusion, and Jace laughs as he walks away, the sound carrying down the hallway even over the sound of his retreating steps.

"Interviews and presents, darling." Magnus stands and steps forward as Alec turns his scowl back to him. Magnus kisses him, one soft press of their lips enough to make the scowl fade away. "We're both more than fine, promise."

Alec sighs, as if he realizes that that's all the sense he's liable to get at the moment. "Glad to hear it."

"Are you all finished?" Magnus slips the notebook into the inside pocket of his jacket, opposite his phone. He pats it carefully, making sure it's settled, safe and secure.

"All yours." Alec smiles as he answers.

"Hmm, not quite." Magnus thinks of Jace, of Isabelle and Clary, of Maryse and Lucian, of Simon and Maia and Lydia, of Underhill and the patrol-leader whose name Magnus doesn't even know, of Madzie's laugh and Catarina's slowly widening smiles, even of the grudging respect Alec and Raphael are slowly re-building between them. Magnus kisses Alec again, just because he can. He finds Alec's hand with his own, and his smile widens at how perfectly their fingers slide together. "But close enough."

***

Sometimes they get it wrong. Sometimes they tie two souls together who should not have been so closely bound. Despite all the training, all the tests and precautions, sometimes they fail.

Sometimes you fail. You feel it end. You have to live with it as your souls stretch apart, as your connection fades until your heart beats alone again, and your chest echoes with it because it's too empty, too quiet.

It will never feel right again, being that alone.

But if you had the chance, even knowing what you do now, you'd do it again. You had your time together, fighting and working and living side-by-side. You'd saved each others' lives more than once, and you can't regret that.

You'll never again know if he feels the same, but you'll never regret it. Never regret him. It was worth it. It is worth it. Both for him, and for who you are now, for loving him.

Even when it doesn’t last, love is always worth it.

#shadowhunters #parabatai #malec #alec lightwood #magnus bane #jace lightwood #wayland herondale whatever #jilly writes #my sh fic #3b countdown calendar

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apogrcpha-blog · 7 years ago

Text

Eternal [ taehyung x jungkook ]

words // 7.2 K

pairings // kim taehyung x jung jungkook

warnings // major character death

summary // everyone has a soulmate and everyone is given a chance to live with them their entire life because people stop aging at 18. sometimes you have to wait, a very long time.

also on a03

Soulmates had been known to mankind since the beginning of time truly, records of ancient Egyptian pharaohs searching the limited known world for their true love. No one knew exactly how they worked, people stopped aging until they met their soulmates, that was the general story that was told but it was never explained quite well, it was more or less something you had to experience. Tae-il had always believed in them without a doubt, it was just something that he chose to believe in. Soulmates weren’t required for love, his parents were perfect examples. Two people looking as they had done since the first day their eighteenth year, that had been two years ago already and neither had aged a single day though often it actually went unnoticed. It was just assumed people aged slowly but the stories had been written down and recorded, some witnessed them in their real life, seeing people they love not age a day whilst others have become their proper ages, grandparents that appeared younger compared to their children.

Chang-hoon was Tae-il’s best friend though their views differed deeply, Chang-hoon frowned upon the mere thought of soulmates where Tae-il was excited as always, the thought of meeting his was something that was able to make his blood run and his heart pump. Maybe it was the boy’s creative imagination that made him as excited about soulmates as he was, the ideality of it was strange yet perfect to him. A refuge from normal citizen worker life with someone supposedly perfect for you, it was something so magical and idealistic that Tae-il simply could not remove the thoughts from his mind.

Tae-il grew older, artisan life was starting to be rather dissatisfying with him and so was the clear difference between sangmin and yangban, Tae-il rarely understood them when he was younger and the older he grew the more ridiculous they became. The majority being regarded as lesser by the minority, the more the artisan considered it, thought deeply about it, the worst all the logic behind it came though he rarely voiced the thoughts, all of it was hardly appreciated and revolutions did not happen with a single soul.

His eighteenth birthday was a strange affair, a stranger affair when another year had passed and he had gotten married to a girl whose name had been almost completely unimportant, it was for the sheer sake of family values, tradition and honour. Jang-mi was a well mannered girl, seemingly almost bread for children. They got their first child within the first year of their marriage as was customary, a boy they called Chang-min named after his best friend from birth.

There was a certain moment where Tae-il his heart was broken, not necessarily hopelessly broken but it suffered a harsh blow. Chang-hoon had come after the birth of Chang-min, the two best friend hadn’t seen each other in quite some time as Chang-hoon was a fisherman spending most time at sea. The conversation had shifted quite quickly from his newborn son to the soulmate Chang-hoon acquired. Quite some time ago, something his friend had apparently kept hidden from multiple years, Chang-hoon had met an oego nobi in one of the port towns he had visited during his trips. Law forbid their union but when Chang-hoon had noticed that the younger girl had started to age , appearing older than his mother he knew it was the right thing to do, not to mention the ecstatic buzz he felt when he met her. He knew had found his soulmate.

Tae-il was unsure if it was jealousy that haunted his mind as he played with little Chang-min, chances were that it was a form of jealousy. Aging wasn’t something necessarily enticing, some people from centuries ago had actively chosen not to find their soulmates to remain immortal, though it didn’t quite work that way. Most people did eventually die, their appearance did not grow in any kind of way but their mind slowly deteriorated until a shell was left, nothing close to whom they used to be. Tae-il didn’t care too much about the more vain side, rather he would prefer to see his son grow up and die before his son. Maybe it was even some kind of fear, the fear of his son being greeted by death before him.

Yet Tae-il was very aware of how slim his chances of finding his soulmate were, not to mention he was already married and had an obligation to his family. If there was one thing he valued above else it was family, part of it had been drilled into his brain since birth as he was their parents’ eldest son, guaranteed to carry on their family name but he himself though it was very important too, there might be little love shared between him and Jang-mi, she was a sweet girl though, but their love for their son was in unison and both of them cared deeply for him.

Time passed, Chang-hoon grew older whilst Tae-il remained the same. The same man of eighteen with some facial hair but not much who painted for everyone and no one, he had become more popular and had more requests than ever. Life wasn’t perfect but life was very good for him, his son was growing healthy and had a natural talent for their trade. Within the third year of their marriage they had another baby boy called Min-ki, followed by another girl the next year they named Eun-chae. Life was rather peaceful altogether, though not his idealistic vision, Tae-il wouldn’t have wished for a different like truly as he was able to watch his children and live in comfort.

There was one moment that changed this though. This domestic peaceful life, it was a normal day all together. Tae-il, whilst remaining the appearance of an 18 year old man, had turned thirty-five, his birthday wasn’t something considered very special, him and Chang-hoon celebrated it. Though the fisherman was rarely home, he had made some time for his best friend. At the end of the day after the sun had set and the moon risen Tae-il wanted to go to bed when he noticed Jang-mi staring vainly at a small bowl, her reflection was hazy yet there was one thing clear, a fine line tainting her forehead. Aging.

Opposed to what Tae-il had thought he would do, he did nothing. Merely gave her a kiss before going to sleep, leaving her frowning at the bowl. They weren’t soulmates, they knew that, but apparently Jang-mi had met her soulmate without being aware of it. Marriage was rather permanent though and Tae-il was unsure if she even had the slightest inkling of whom it might be, nonetheless neither ever spoke a word about it. Time passed, Chang-min turned eighteen and within a month was married to a musician’s daughter, his soulmate it turned out.

Jang-mi died, a very bad fever had struck and she had been left extremely weak until her heart stopped beating and Tae-il noticed the four thin lines tainting her forehead after she had died before the burial. Chang-hoon followed soon, an accident on sea after a harsh storm had struck his small boat, it was to be expected sooner or later. For some reason Tae-il had decided to support the family Chang-hoon had left behind, a last deed he could do for a friend whom he had grown jealous of.

Within a small decade his eldest son looked older than him, their second son had died in some kind of freak accident that none had been able to explain. His daughter was married to a farmer’s boy, it wasn’t the best socially but the family was very well off, enough food to sustain them all with complete ease and more than enough was sold to make them one of the richest families nearby, it was a good proposition to both of them.

Tae-il started to tell stories to his grandchildren, a story as to how he was younger than their father which was always a strange story to explain to a small four year old girl and one year old boy, the boy idly twiddling with his thumb. Time passed and Tae-il started to fall into retreat, isolated with just his work. His children died, their children died and the world started to twist and turn. World wars and invasions all occurred after one another with such a rapid succession that Tae-il found it hard to keep track off, they were left alone for the most part though all were affected by what was happening. A century and a half later his home country had suddenly been split in two with extreme tensions between the groups, everything went by infinitely fast.

Honestly Tae-il had never expected to live this long, the longest record was a hundred years yet his mind remained young and his body too, it had been more than two centuries already, he had witnissed society shift from a caste system with the most advanced technology being a telescope to their entire world being shifted, castes didn’t exist, nobility wasn’t determined by blood but by wealth, dynasties had fallen and the internet had been invented. Tae-il had surprised himself with how quick he was to adapt to the new worlds that had been replacing his old one, with all these rebirths he chose one for himself to, Tae-il became Taehyung.

-8-

Taehyung generally preferred and enjoyed 21st century live very much, a very peaceful moment of human history compared to the previous centuries. All the issues still existed in the world, world conflicts,poverty, famine and so much more but all of it had been in vast decline, compared to how things had been when he was born. Life was better, a lot better, Taehyung disliked the change and emphasis on family values, it was still there but it had merely changed a lot, either way life was better now, he recognised that.

Because of his appearance he had decided to study, enroll in college. It took a bit of time to get his papers together, considering he had never properly enrolled in a primary or secondary school since he had been alive for around two hundred years but it was easy to fake some papers, especially with the friends he had accumulated over the years, in the end he had gotten himself enrolled into a university studying art. It wasn’t all that necessary, ever since the beginning of the century he had taken advantage of the internet, a perfect platform for his career to bloom.

His artwork was very popular, it sold very well and he was doing extremely well in terms of money, far too much for him to use truly but it might be nice to try out college for once, get a paper. It wasn’t required but Taehyung quite liked to try out some new things, university was very typical now and he had always attempted to do what is typical for that generation to try and live something he would describe as a young life. It worked, which was also why he had suffered through the best and worst fashion trends.

The university was dedicated to the creative arts, music, poetry, writing, art and many more things. Taehyung had always been somewhat of a social magnet, even when he was still a small boy, so getting some friends proved to be the easiest thing ever. Part of him assumed that it was also so easy because he made it his mission almost to always remain friends with young people, he wouldn’t fall in some kind of slump of being so old and it always helped him remain normal, mostly in his speech as language had definitely changed. All in all the young people kept him alive, attempting to live the best life he could with his seemingly infinite life span.

Jimin was one of the few people who knew his entire story, well not entirely but as close as anyone had gotten, and to Taehyung’s surprise the boy took it very well and actually found it surprising, intimidating yet very cool. Nothing changed in their friendship and it made Taehyung extremely happy, it wasn’t necessarily lifting a burden off of his shoulders as he never viewed his age as a burden but it was nice for someone to understand him better, to know him better than most and for someone to know the string of lies he had attached to make him seem like any eighteen year old going to university.

“I want to introduce you to someone.” Jimin said and Taehyung raised his eyebrows out of curiosity, most of the people they knew were mutual so there weren’t a lot of people he could introduce Taehyung to but he always welcomed new people with open arms.

“Who?”

“Jeon Jungkook, he’s a freshman and is a singer but also an amazing dancer and a bit of a brat most of the time. He’s really nice though, when he wants to be.” Jimin said with a rather fond smile. After that the two went out and went to the college library, even though it was mainly focused on the creative arts, that didn’t keep them from giving tens of thousands of essays to write and to Taehyung’s surprise there was an extreme history collection on every single field there was to study, it was extraordinary how many books there were.

Jungkook sat with a few books open in front of him, earbuds in and a laptop in front of his face. Taehyung noticed how relaxed he seemed and felt a kind of immediately impulse to draw him, his complexion was quite warm and his expression was puzzled yet amused, maybe by his own lack of understanding. The little tongue sticking out as he focused, somehow he looked more photogenic than most people Taehyung had photographed without trying.

“Kookie, this is Taehyung.” Jimin said with a smile as both of them sat down around the table. Jungkook took his earbuds out and stared at Taehyung who did the same and there was something indescribable that had occured between the two of them though Taehyung had an idea as to wha it might be and there was a small tinge of hope, fear, happiness and sadness. Opposites colliding.

“Nice to meet you.” Taehyung said with a small smile.

“Nice to meet you too.”

-8-

Taehyung had stopped believing in his soulmate at some point down the line. At first he held out hope, he was always assuming the time would come but the decades passed and the world had changed so rapidly that he had simply stopped thinking about the idea of his soulmate. It had been decades since his eighteenth birthday and he just decided not to expect it anymore, if he had a soulmate he would’ve met him by now yet at the same time, there was an entire world to explore yet he had never left the boundaries of the country he had been born in. Maybe he had the worst luck with his soulmate somewhere across the earth, one he would never meet until his body did truly give out and resignm decide to stop because it was sick of his already extraordinarily long life span.

Nonetheless Taehyung read many books and papers about Soulmates, it was just something to interest him, keep him entertained. See how technology and scientific advances had changed stories, yet at the core everything was still the same as it had been. You age until your eighteenth birthday and then you stop aging physically until you meet your soulmate, interaction or not once you meet them it just happens. If you didn’t find your soulmate the body would start to deteriorate but it was almost always at an estimated three times slower rate which made their lifespans seem infinite. Yet if you did meet your soulmate at a later date you would age again, the rate ranged from a little faster than normal to so fast people died within a small month because they had been alive for so long already. There was also quite a lot on how perfect a soulmate really was, considering most of the time they were something that was ‘assigned’ at birth, the only way for it to change was for your soulmate to die. People grew into very different people than what was expected of them and sometimes soulmates didn’t go together anymore, it was life.

Meeting a soulmate whilst being aware was written about almost endlessly, Taehyung had read enough to know that it was so different all of them had the liberty and difference to all be best sellers. Somehow though, the more he thought the more confident he started to feel that yes, Jungkook was his soulmate. There was something about that strange feeling that made him think it meant Soulmates, the fear stemmed from the fear that Jungkook was his soulmate. Not because he didn’t want Jungkook as a soulmate, he was absolutely adorable, rather because he was afraid of aging fast. Aging itself was no issue to Taehyung, it was rapid aging that scared him. The thought of going from eighteen to forty overnight. He wasn’t too vain but it was a normal fear he had, he didn’t think it was irrational in all honesty. Everyone either feared aging or death, it was a very normal thing because it was an end or going towards an end to your one human life, it made sense really. Taehyung was still human, he feared the end to his already long life, more so than normal people because he had just gotten so adjusted and used to an extremely long life compared to normal people and that could be stripped away from him within months, he knew he was on rented time if Jungkook was his soulmate.

Over the years there had grown a massive culture around soulmates, psychics who could meet the two of you and determine whether you were soulmates or not. For a moment Taehyung almost wanted to consider them, but that was really stretching. So he decided on the far more rational choice, asking Jungkook. Seeing what he thought and how they could move, Taehyung didn’t like the thought of having to wait it out and still being unsure of who his soulmate is exactly because it could just be someone he spotted walking across the street, yet he had never felt that feeling before and to Taehyung that had to mean something.

Taehyung put his pencil down, staring at the sketch he had made. Over the many decades his art had drastically changed, due to both the materials that were available now and the shift in style, he preferred the diversity of him being able to do both very classical paintings and very modern ones, it made his work very appealing for richer people who would prefer a very traditional painting, he had received endless compliments on how they looked so authentic, not knowing the obvious story of his craftsmanship. Nonetheless it was an extremely easy way to make quite some money with a lot of people craving something so authentic.

A soft knock on his door made him look up from the workstation and slowly he got up, opening the door where Jungkook stood. The younger wore something different and it looked quite stylish for someone who had aggressively claimed he wasn’t trying to be stylish just yesterday. He had a small smile on his face but it seemed rather anxious, another thing Taehyung had mastered over the years, human emotion. It had always been something essential for him to emulate in his pieces but reading human emotion was like any other skill, only it took more practice due to exceptions which was sometimes all of them.

“You wanted to talk to me Taehyung-ssi?” Jungkook said, the way he sounded was anxious too which made Taehyung’s ideas confirmed about how Jungkook was feeling.

“Sit down, yeah? Do you want something to drink?” Jungkook shook his head.

“I’m fine.”

So the two of them sat down, Taehyung took a gulp from the mug of coffee.

“I think we’re soulmates.” Taehyung said, a small smile on his lips.

“I think so too.” Jungkook said, his eyes cast down at the ground. He had a small smile on his lips as he said it but as he looked down it was clear he felt very insecure about it. Taehyung felt surprisingly okay, despite during the time when he was born gay men were far and between, he assumed it was the experience of a lifetime to accept it quite easily, at first there was a wash of shame but over time he grew more accepting, recognising there was no logic in being unaccepting to everything, a century gave you so many experiences and in Taehyung’s opinion it was a lot easier to be accepting then.

“That’s good, you felt it too then?” Jungkook gave a small nod and looked back up again.

“Then I suggest we try dating, if you want that.” Taehyung’s voice was calm as he spoke, it was quite easy for him to remain so calm though he did feel desperate to make Jungkook feel more at ease but he wasn’t sure how to do it yet.

“Okay.”

“Let’s get to know each other then.”

Jungkook smiled. “Yeah.”

-8-

It had been two weeks since they started dating when Taehyung first noticed it. He had finished up one of his paintings. It was a cityscape, digital and one more apocalypse inspired. The overwhelming nature taking over all modern architecture and inventions, it was strange to think of how humans were invading a world but Taehyung decided not to think about it too much as of now. Opting to focus on the present and what was happening in his life rather than some apocalyptic scenario where nature wanted its planet back.

Digital art was still a little weird for him because it was so different yet similar to all the other mediums he’s ever used, it was just hard to adjust to really, that was it. He did understand it and had been working with it long enough to have a very solid skill, good enough to make professional work but it was still strange working with it. It didn’t matter though, he quite liked it because of how easy it was to change and adjust.

Taehyung took a step back, smiling at the work he had made before going to get himself something to drink and eat because he hadn’t really been taking care of himself well, it was very easy for him to fall into the habit of working without taking a single pause to drink or eat because he had fallen into his work and wanted to finish it within the hour but generally, that didn’t work out too well.

He saw his own reflection in the mirror of the window as he looked out, his own face. Fine lines, they weren’t really that noticeable, less than a thin layer of makeup and it would fade, nonexistent but that didn’t really matter, Taehyung liked his physical appearance but it wasn’t the most important thing in his life. It was the change though, that took him by surprise, how fast it was. It had been a week maybe since he had met Jungkook and a few days since they had agreed to be together as a couple, so far it had been going amazing in all honesty, him and Jungkook did fit together though sometimes Taehyung did experience a kind of age gap, almost like a lack of understanding between the two of them because of their age and Taehyung knew that was inescapable but it wasn’t nearly as bad as he had originally imagined, Jungkook was patient and understanding most of the time and it helped that Taehyung hadn’t ever allowed himself to become some kind of old, mopey, and complaining man.

Taehyung had decided not to tell Jungkook his entire life story, for one it was a tiring one to tell because of how long it was and a second was that Taehyung didn’t want to overwhelm Jungkook, in the end they might still decide they like to be friends but not necessarily like to be together, it happens. Because of that Taehyung didn’t want to drop the load of information on Jungkook but he felt like the time by which he’d have to do that was shrinking, closing in on him as he was clearly aging faster than he had expected.

Funnily enough, when he thought about it all, all he could think about was Jungkook, the best way to tell Jungkook and how he might react. Taehyung hadn’t even thought about his death that was approaching faster than he would’ve liked, that didn’t even come to his mind, his own well being was just pushed aside, almost forgotten because Jungkook had become his main concern.

He took a deep breath, took a sip of his drink and called Jungkook.

-8-

Jungkook took it all in very well, extremely well, far better than Taehyung had ever expected. Jungkook was understanding, he was a bit weird about it first but that was understandable, knowing that your soulmate was hundreds years old whilst you were just twenty was a little overwhelming, Taehyung could imagine that.

It almost seemed like Jungkook enjoyed listening to Taehyung’s story, it wasn’t too spectacular, a normal human life just expanded and because it was expanded there was more loss, regret and love than normal. Almost like a drama story, though it was considerably longer than most dramas.

“I guess you know what this means.” Taehyung said, a small smile on his lips even though he wasn’t sure if it was happiness, he was happy to see and know Jungkook understood him and how it didn’t seem to mind him much but Taehyung wondered if he really understood the depth here.

“You’re going to age really fast.”

“I think a year at most.” Taehyung didn’t have a perfect estimate, he had nothing that was exact but he had general ideas and he knew he didn’t have that much time really, he knew that.

“That doesn’t change things, really.” Jungkook said and Taehyung wondered if he really understood what he was saying but he would go along without a doubt, Taehyung would see what would eventually happen and if Jungkook would stay true to his comment, that him aging wouldn’t change anything.

“Are you sure about that? I don’t want to go all I’m older than you so I know better but it’s very hard, it’s harder than you think and I think you don’t fully realise all that will come.” Taehyung said, he wasn’t sure if it was because he wanted to protect his own heart of because he wanted to protect Jungkook, it didn’t matter really because it was about the idea that it would be quite hard on both of them and that was what it was about, Taehyung wanted to protect his own heart and that of Jungkook.

“I’m as sure as I can be.” Jungkook said with a wide smile. “I know i don’t have the experience you do and all that but trust me Taehyung-ssi, I understand this won’t all be beautiful and that I’ll end up hurt but it will be the same, maybe even worse, if we split up and I don’t spend the time with you. Everything will end in tears but at least we’ll have been together and I will have loved someone.” It was beautiful as Taehyung nodded, a smile on his face before the two of them shared a long kiss. Taehyung still felt a little weary, it was natural for him to considering all he had been through but Jungkook was more genuine than most people he knew, he admitted to the hurt that would come along with their relationship which made Taehyung believe he would end up okay, maybe not happy after it all but he would be okay.

-8-

Within the third month Taehyung estimated he was maybe around forty now, in physical age. He looked older now, though it was far from as bad as Taehyung had imagined it would be, yes he looked older, fine lines, small wrinkles around his eyes, all of it together made him seem older but it were the physical things he started to feel that really started to get to him. Muscle aches came faster and sooner, his arms cramped, his legs didn’t feel all too great at times. It wasn’t anything severe but it was very noticeable, any small physical change that he hadn’t made voluntarily was noticeable after a century, even the smallest changes.

Taehyung had stopped going to college, it had never been necessary either honestly, just a thing he did for fun and to meet some new people and now he was clearly aging he decided to stop going. It wasn’t necessarily about retreating inwards, disappearing from the world but it was just leaving his university, he still regularly hung out with Jimin, who was ecstatic Taehyung had found his soulmate, and his other friends, still did his work and honestly nothing had changed.

It didn’t feel like anything had changed honestly, but Taehyung was starting to slowly get a little worried. Just because things were going fast, very fast and even though he showed his love for Jungkook every day, he didn’t always feel like it was enough though. Like it wasn’t enough to make up for all the hurt he will cause, even though Jungkook kept saying he was more than he could ask for, it was a deep insecurity from inside of Taehyung that was his issue, he just couldn’t change that about himself.

For some reason the closer death came the more time Taehyung started to invest in what he would like to call his final series, not necessarily one piece de resistance, but a last showcase of his work. He worked day and night for two reasons, clearly he was focusing on his collection but he was also doing as much as he could to leave something for Jungkook, the best he could do was leave him money so he could sustain himself for a long time if things didn’t go as planned. Taehyung had never spend much money so really, all of it was just money that had piled up over the century. It was enough to last Jungkook quite some time so Taehyung felt satisfied, it wasn’t giving Jungkook debt it was enabling him to do as he wanted with money to fall back on.

The door opened and Taehyung was quick to cover his canvas, turning it around. Jungkook entered with a smile and two two had a quick kiss.

“How was class?” Taehyung asked as he moved to the kitchen, getting him and Jungkook something to eat.

“It was okay, I met a producer. Yoongi-hyung, he offered to help me create a song and see if he wanted to continue working with me after.” Jungkook said, his tone sounded like he tried to make it casual but it was clear he was excited. Taehyung smiled and pulled out one of the bottles of wine, small victories had to be celebrated. After they had confirmed that they were soulmates Taehyung had learnt that Jungkook had wanted to be a musician since he could remember, it was happy to see him finally get to do what he wanted to do.

“Small steps deserve celebration.” Taehyung said with a grin at the surprised look that Jungkook gave him at the sight of the two wine glasses. Taehyung did really believe in the celebrating the process more than the end result. The end result was what you would eventually end up looking at in the end, what you would listen to and all but Taehyung had learnt that the process was often even more important, it was what you went through and what would very heavily dictate the end result. If you don’t acknowledge your small victories in a piece could change your attitude and you might end up with a worse result.

“Like this?”

“Well, maybe not always like this but it’s the best I’ve got for now.” Taehyung said with a shrug and smile. Taehyung felt very strange as he was aware he was getting older, more physically than mentally yet nothing much had changed. Maybe because it wasn’t severe yet, it was just getting a little older, that was it. He was showing some small signs yet nothing changed but Taehyung was starting to be more worried and anxious about aging now, sure up until fifty, maybe even sixty, it was not so severe, fine lines and wrinkles, maybe some physical issues but they would be minor. Yet the age where it would really start to notice was growing closer and closer and he did start to feel anxious about how much he would change, he was scared of being incapable of taking care of himself, afraid of health issues that might come along and he was just becoming afraid of his shrinking time with Jungkook.

“To your not yet made song.” Jungkook laughed as their glasses clinked together.

-8-

Taehyung was more tired these days, he had always been a very heavy sleeper and always got the amount of sleep that was necessary but this was something different, he needed more sleep. He started to be more tired once the clock went past ten, it wasn’t necessarily changing his entire life but it was one of the few things he started to notice, small changes again. Yet again it was nothing too extreme but it were just things he noticed after being the same for such a long time.

Jungkook had made his song, it had gone viral everywhere to the point where he had even gotten some emails from entertainment companies, Jungkook was considering it. Taehyung understood why, it was a very useful push to assist him, it could basically make his entire career if he got through a while of being a trainee, whether he would end up as a solo artist or in a group, he’d at least have a few years of a guaranteed career ahead of him.

Yoongi had been fiercely against it, in part because he was genuinely a little selfish and wanted to keep working with Jungkook himself instead of letting him be owned by some company but Yoongi had brought up the very important point about artistic liberty, it varied per company of course but Jungkook would lose a lot of creative freedom probably, it wasn’t as though he wouldn’t be allowed to do anything but they needed to make songs which needed to sell and sometimes that meant shallow songs that sounded better, it happened. Taehyung knew it was about performing with Jungkook but Taehyung also noticed how much songwriting had helped him, how it was his creative outlet like painting was Taehyung’s.

“Kookie, it’s up to you okay. I don’t like to say this but I won’t be around much longer, you just need to consider both options but I suggest always doing what your heart says.” Jungkook nodded yet he seemed just as insecure as he had before. Taehyung noticed Jungkook really struggled with this choice, he did his best tow remind him it wouldn’t dictate the world, wouldn’t make the future be set in stone because he could always change things up.

“How are you feeling? I mean we’re always talking about me but we should focus on you.” Taehyung shrugged.

“We’re together, we focus on each other an equal amount of time.”

Jungkook smiled but was clearly in disagreement with Taehyung.

“How are you, really?”

Taehyung let out a sigh, his arm hurt out of nowhere, not badly but just in an annoying way. How lovely it was to grow older.

“I’m okay, for now. Really, I am. I’m just scared, insecure and worried.” Taehyung said it calmly, he was a bit worried but he was quite good at dealing with that, he just reminded himself some things were out of his control, there were things that would happen if he hated them or not and he slowly worked towards fully accepting them. It would take some time but it would end up well. “I’m worried there will be a point where I’m too old to do the things I love, that I can’t take care of myself anymore, worried I won’t be able to finish what I started. I’m not insecure because I look older, it’s just scary, all the physical complications that come along with growing so much older after a century of being the same person.”

It felt good to say out loud, it didn’t feel like a weight had disappeared but he felt more comfortable as he let himself slouch a little. Jungkook looked sympathetic and Taehyung knew he understood him, sure it wasn’t that close in his future but the general fear of becoming older, incapable of doing what you can now is everyone’s fear, or at least Taehyung assumed it was a very common fear. You go from completely dependent to independent, it’s hard to let go of that independence.

“Are you afraid I’ll have to take care of you?” Taehyung nodded.

“In the gross way, you know what I mean.” Jungkook let out a small chuckle.

“I wouldn’t mind, maybe a little. Depends, but i’ll always love you. Even if you are soggy and grey and old.”

“Thanks, that helped a lot kook.”

“I love you too.”

Taehyung felt eternally grateful for his soulmate, it had taken decades to meet him and their time was very short lived but it was enough for his life time, just to have a soulmate who would stay with him throughout the process of him growing older and older until something would give out and he would die. It was the cycle of life, he was past the middle now and nearing the end.

-8-

The brush fell out of his hand, a grave black mark on the spotless floor. Taehyung’s back hurt as he went down to grab it again. Those things had been happening more often, he let things fall out of nowhere and everything hurt as he tried to pick it up again. Jungkook wasn’t here now, Taehyung was happy that the younger wasn’t here to see it. It was embarrassing to him but he pushed through and kept going, the second to last painting. Taehyung had gone fully ‘old man’ by now, his skin was sagging and he felt a lot worse than he had been feeling all the decades that went before this but he pushed through it because he had Jungkook at his side, someone so full of love it was paralysing, it was stunning and so pure.

He continued to paint, pushing his glasses up each minute as they started to slip off of the bridge of his nose. Taehyung let out a soft groan as he mixed colours and went back to painting. This wasn’t what he had intended, the piece was a lot smaller than what Taehyung would’ve liked but his original plan had been way too ambitious for his age, too much work to still possibly be completed so he settled and went with something smaller.

Swapping brushes and he went back to painting again, stepping back for a moment glance. It did look like he wanted it to look so that was definitely one thing that was going in the right way, he smiled and decided to take a break for now. Another thing that had been added to his life, continuous breaks whenever he worked on something because his boy just couldn’t handle it anymore, endless hours of sitting or standing up for work. It took a toll on him, not to mention how tired he often got after working for just a short while, all because he was getting older, it was horrible.

Taehyung felt worse, he felt like crying even though he had no idea why. Jungkook loved him and took care of him, all of it was genuine. Taehyung considered it being because of his age, the aging had been harder on him than he ever considered. Taehyung had accepted it, had been able to accept him aging and went with it because it was nature, he couldn’t fight against it.

Still, he stared at the painting and felt like crying for some reason. He let his body slump, fall back into the couch and took deep breaths, in and out. Taehyung loved life and all that came along with it yet this didn’t really feel like living. This felt like being dragged along because he had to, Taehyung didn’t want to die but living like this was too much of a change for him, there was no time to adjust as he seemed to age a year each day, he didn’t have a long transition period to go from completely self sufficient to someone dependent on others to help him, someone who had to sleep an insane amount of hours yet always felt tired, someone who got exhausted after standing for fifty minutes. Taehyung lived healthily but the change was too much at once for him to handle, it all went too fast.

He felt like giving up until he remembered Jungkook. Sweet, sweet Jungkook.

-8-

Everything was set up, covered in sheets. Jimin had helped him with everything, Taehyung would’ve liked to have done it himself but he had recently acquired a cane, now he depended on it almost fully so Jimin had volunteered. Their entire apartment was cramped now, filled to the brim with Taehyung’s creations.

He heard the door click, Taehyung felt his heart pump as he pushed his glasses up. The door opened and Jungkook stopped before he stepped on inside, visibly stunned.

“What happened? What’s all of this?”

“‘Art and love are the same thing: It’s the process of seeing yourself in things that are not you.’ I don’t know how much longer I have, it’s impossible to predict but I’ve always been an artist and have always chased love, using one to capture the other isn’t that strange when you think about it. A last gift. My last collection.” Taehyung smiled as he pulled one of the sheets off, the piece in front of Jungkook and the first one. It wasn’t a piece of art he had made but just a picture of them on their first date.

Transcendence, made by Kim Taehyung.

The smile was a mix of happiness and sadness, Taehyung experienced both as Jungkook wrapped an arm around him as they went past every single piece. All of it had been made by Taehyung, digital art printed, watercolor, pencil, ink, acrylics and oil, any medium he knew how to work with had been incorporated, even more obscure things like small pieces made entirely out of small pieces of paper, a mozaik. Taehyung had even done some sculpting though nothing too grand as it was quite foreign to him.

Everything passed quickly as the two of them spend the entire day reminiscing about everything that had happened, smiles and tears were combined and shared.

-8-

“Our love, our love was eternal.” Jungkook’s voice faded, drowned out by the immense applause that echoed throughout the stadium. A bright smile on his face as he looked up, a star so bright it burned his eye. Taehyung.

a/n // i have tried my best to make the first bit, the history bit, as accurate as possible but i’m definitely not an expert in any way on korean society so I really just used wikipedia and a few other websites to get a general idea

#kim taehyung #jung jungkook #taekook #taehyung x jungkook #bts #mlm #m x m #major character death #;; my writing #;; kim taehyung #;; jung jungkook

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cescalr · 7 years ago

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Hi can i request an au about stiles and malia being soulmates? Like both of them having the same mark or something idk i just love soulmates aus and i feel like they need one

I’m actually writing one, but since it’s a slow build thing and Malia’s not even in it yet, here’s another for ya! :D

In this world, magic is well known. How could it not be? A person has something descriptive regarding their soulmate magically tattoed onto their body once they meet them; it would be hard to ignore the fantastical nature of such an occurance.

In this world, because of this, werewolves are not hidden. Hunters are regulated and part of the police force, and therefore require the same background checks – though they are admittedly more like an army than anything else.

After all, if something like the Anuk-Ite got free, you couldn’t exactly arrest it now, could you?

So, in this world, various things didn’t happen. In this world, various things happened.

Some of them are unimportant. Many are, of course, in a background sense.

But some things stay the same.

Malia was still adopted.

Claudia still died.

They are similar people, if not the same. The dread doctors died years ago, for example, so there is no way for Donovan to be given enough power to be a danger.

(Creating betas is a regulated process, too. It requires you to be of age and sound of mind, because it is a life changing decision. It transforms you, forever, into something else. Something super-human in nature.)

For another, Malia’s mother was caught and killed a few months prior to Malia’s return to humanity. Perhaps this is why, in this world, she finds it easier to control her shift.

Or, perhaps it is that in this world, her father doesn’t think her crazy for ‘thinking’ she was a coyote for the past nine years.

(That, however, doesn’t stop him from not knowing what to do with her.)

Despite the world knowing about the supernatural, knowing about druids and shifters and beasts and banshees and the science of magic, that doesn’t stop the Nogitsune from being a danger.

It just stops Stiles from having to worry about people thinking he’s the one murdering people.

(But it does mean he’s more aware. There are mandatory classes about possession in every school, since the incident in ’02, ’19, ’21, ’34, ’40, and the incident at Oak Creek…)

Stiles puts himself away the second he puts two and two together.

Malia shows up two days into his stay. The nogitsune has been quiet, for now. He’s not sure why, but he’s not about to question it.

“Malia,” Stiles says, when he sees her at lunch. Scott’s been visiting, and due to the nature of Stiles’ detainment here, he was allowed to help with the investigation and rescue of the lost coyote girl.

(Eichen house is one of the relevant changes. As a facility for the supernatural to go if they are a danger to others, or for the possessed, or for the simply mentally ill, it has higher regulations than a lot of the other places in the world. In this universe, it’s actually quite nice.

Nobody has tried to commit suicide in the asylum and succeded – there is always that caveat you gloss over in the fine text, after all - since it opened. A record, considering it’s canon counterpart.)

Malia stares at him, and Stiles winces, scratches at his side.

“I’m Stiles. A friend of Scott’s…” He offers, hesitant. He’s never met Malia before; he didn’t promise to help and then abandon that promise.

Malia doesn’t punch him. She stares, quietly, then slides into the seat across from him.

“You know each other?”

“Not now, Oliver,” Stiles says, and Oliver quietens. He’s a nice enough guy, Stiles supposes, but he’s more dangerous than he seems.

“You know Scott?” Malia asks, simple.

Stiles nods. “He’s my best friend,” Stiles tells her, response automatic.

“He gave me a shirt.” Malia says. “I’ve still got it. I’ll give it to you once we’re out.”

Stiles blinks at her.

“It’s yours.” Malia says. “It smells like you.”

“Oh.” Stiles nods. “Okay, then. Sure.” He says.

Malia offers a smile. A small one; closed lipped and more of a quirk upwards, but it’s pretty all the same. Stiles smiles back, sort of.

His side is still bothering him, but Stiles ignores it.

(It’s probably nothing.)

(Obviously, it’s not nothing.)

Stiles has a session with Morrell that evening. Not for her French teacher side, or her psychiatrist side (though she can’t help but have that side show up in all aspects of her life, of course) but for her druidic one.

The one that was trained in how to deal with nogitsunes.

“Have you ever meditated before?” Morrell asks.

Stiles almost laughs. “ADHD, remember?” Stiles asks, rhetorically.

“You can still try,” Morrell says. “Because you need to. It’s either that or another ice bath.” She adds, pointedly.

“I think I’d prefer the ice bath,” Stiles grumbles, but he sighs and nods, acquiesces.

“Copy me.” Morrell instructs, and sits across from him, cross-legged.

Stiles mimics her position.

“Take deep breaths,” Morrell says. “In for four, out for seven.”

Stiles does as she says.

“Close your eyes,” Morrell advises, and Stiles does so, because he wants to get this over and done with as quickly as possible.

This is nothing he hasn’t done before, with various other psychiatrists. Clinically diagnosed anxiety usually means they’ll try and find calming techniques – Stiles never really did well with the ones that required he just sit there, because those let him think.

“Visualise an empty room. It stretches on for miles, and it’s a blank, white canvas…” Morrell says, voice smooth, and Stiles lets it wash over him as he does so – and if there’s one thing Stiles is good at, it’s imagining things that aren’t real.

Stiles can’t exactly visualise nothingness, though. He uses the ice bath induced shared headspace as a template, and works from there.

“Now visualise it building up,” Morrell says, “Let it build itself. What kind of room do you see?”

Stiles still sees the blank shared headspace, but he simply lets his mind wander, for a moment. The room shrinks; the walls close in and the ceiling lowers.

“My bedroom,” Stiles says. “There are cork boards everywhere. String connecting blurred pictures, a couch where my bed should be.”

“Good.” Morrell says. “Now… sleep.”

She doesn’t say sleep, of course. But that’s what Stiles hears, and that’s what he does.

Morrell lowers the teen onto the floor and tidies up her supplies, then returns to her desk.

“Enter,” She calls, and Malia comes in, shuts the door behind herself.

“Good,” Morrell nods. “You remember basic manners.”

Malia scoffs and sits down, frowns petulantly across at Morrell.

“Have you had any troubles with shifting recently? Morrell asks, straight to the point.

Malia seems distracted, head tilted as she quite obviously sniffs the air.

“Stiles is here,” She says. “Or was here.” Malia glances around the room, and narrows her eyes, sniffs the air once more.

“Why is he behind your desk?” Malia asks, unconcerned for the most part, but there is a line between her brows one might call worry if they were feeling generous.

“Meditating,” Morrell says. “Now, back to you. Have you had trouble shifting?” Morrell repeats, and Malia seems mollified as she relaxes back into her seat, and shrugs. “I can’t,” Malia says, and Morrell leans forwards; concerned, intrigued. “I see,” Morrell murmurs.

“Well,” Morrell nods. “Hold out your hand,” She instructs, and Malia does so, if reluctantly.

“As a werecoyote, your fingernails should transform into claws at your command.” Morrell says. “Those who are more in control can even do individual nails. Or, of course, those who are more desperate.”

Malia nods. “So what do I do?” She asks, eager to learn. This Malia is no less eager to return to her coyote form than the one from before – This Malia knows her birth mother was an assassin and is dead and that her birth father had no idea she existed because her biological aunt removed all memories of her from him, and that doesn’t exactly warm her to humanity.

But her bio dad promised to visit, and to introduce her to her cousins, and Talia has been instructed to stay the hell away from my family because even in this world, Peter and Talia do not get along. So Malia has something to hold onto, at least, and it’s healthier than a hook-up in the basement of a mental institution.

(Not that that isn’t going to happen. But that that will be much healthier than it was in canon.)

“Concentrate,” Morrell instructs. “Focus on turning your fingernails into claws.”

Malia tries, and she tries really hard, but nothing happens.

“We’ll try again tomorrow.” Morrell nods, and Malia takes that as her cue to leave, but she hesitates.

“Is he okay?” Malia asks, and it’s slightly awkward but Morrell mentally smiles because it means the girl didn’t loose her ability to feel concern for other people during her time with the brain of a coyote.

“He will be,” Morrell tells her, because that is true.

Malia takes this answer and nods, then is gone through the door before anything else can be said.

Morrell turns back to Stiles, and waits.

Stiles is in this facsimile of his bedroom, with it’s odd couch and blurry photographs, and he’s siting there, staring at the door.

The door that’s ajar. Open.

He needs to close it, but he can’t close it with the Nogitsune in here. He needs to kick the nogitsune out the door, and then lock it. Lock it tight, so nothing else can ever get in here ever again.

He doesn’t want to hurt his friends.

Stiles stands and looks around the room, drags his fingers along the red string as he walks towards the cork board on the left.

He’s got to start somewhere, after all.

It doesn’t take too long to find a discrepancy.

Stiles finds a yearbook; in it, there are photos of people he knows, with their names and a quote that sounds like Stiles’ thoughts about them written underneath.

‘punchable-y pretty’ Is under a few people, and Stiles rolls his eyes at himself.

Stiles finds the discrepancy on the fourth-to-last page. He would have missed it if he’d have flicked over a page further than he had.

Stiles resolves to not flick through books after this. You might miss something important.

Stiles picks at the corner of a photo of a person he doesn’t recognise.

Corporal Rhys.

A dead man tells no tales.

Literally what the shit? Stiles frowns, and peels off the photo, then nearly drops the book.

Stiles does drop the book when he realises the fly isn’t a picture, but he grabs the creature before it can move, squeezes it hard in his palm.

The nogitsune is a fly. Small, unassuming. Something ignorable.

Stiles has decided he despises flies. Fuck ‘em.

Stiles pointedly ignores the struggles of the fly in his palm – he simply crushes it harder and stomps over to the door, then shoves it through and slams it shut, pulls the deadbolt across and locks it, then steps back.

Stiles nods, returns to the couch, and lies down.

Job done.

It took a long time for that technique for nogitsune removal to be discovered. It’s not the be all and end all; there are some side effects. After all, the nogitsune was just ripped out, but the stuff it altered still remains, there’s just no evil fly there to hold the reigns.

Still. Stiles wouldn’t find that out for a long time – perhaps never, if he were so lucky as to never kill anyone.

(In this world, that happens more often than people like to admit.)

Stiles sits up, groggy and tired, and heavy-feeling.

“I take it the nogitsune is gone?” Morrell asks, and Stiles nods, hesitant but hopeful, in a way he hasn’t been for a while.

It took a long time for the hunters to realise Gerard was rogue, and that he’d converted a lot of their better agents, like Kate and Victoria. Even Allison, for a short time, but she was young, and forgivable. After all, he’d manipulated her via the use of her mother’s death, and she wasn’t technically a hunter yet. You couldn’t exactly put all the blame on her shoulders for that.

Kate and Victoria are dead. That’s usually what happens when you work with the kind of person Gerard is.

Funny, that the bite he wanted ultimately killed him, but not before he could kill his accomplices.

(Still. Stiles isn’t exactly complaining, as bad as it sounds. He knows what it’s like to loose your mother, after all, so maybe he should be more sympathetic, but it’s a little difficult when she looked the other way while her husband’s father was beating you up and torturing your friends with electricity. Even helped, to an extent.)

“Then we’re done here.” Morrell says. “You are still booked in here for at least another week, however.”

“Why?” Stiles asks. “Because that’s when the amount of time you’ve paid for runs out.” Morrell says.

“Oh.” Stiles nods. “… I guess we don’t get a refund for the days we don’t use, huh?”

“No.” Morrell says, flatly. “Also,” She adds, and takes some bottles from her drawer. “Your prescripton.”

Stiles nods in thanks, grateful, and takes the bottles. “Make sure you take the correct amount,” Morrell warns. “No more, no less.”

Stiles nods, knowing full well that once he’s out of here he’s not going to have the luxury of doing that so he’s gonna simply take what he can get, and goes to leave the room.

“Be careful,” Morrell says. “And make sure this doesn’t happen again.”

Stiles doesn’t bother replying, he simply leaves the room.

“Why are you still here, then?” Malia asks, the next morning.

“What?” Stiles blinks, says through a mouthful of food, then hastily swallows. “What?” He repeats, clearer.

“Why are you still here, since Morrell said you’re clear,” Malia repeats, states.

“Oh,” Stiles shrugs. “Well, for one the money we payed for this isn’t going to magically reappear, so I might as well stay for the rest of the time, you know, just in case,” Stiles tells her.

Malia nods and resumes eating her food, a slight wrinkle to her nose showing her distaste for it.

“Don’t like the food?” Stiles asks.

“I miss deer,” Malia says, glumly, through her mush. Stiles isn’t exactly sure what the food is, but it’s about as good as the food in the canteen, which is to say it’s fucking shit.

“Venison,” Stiles says, absently.

“What now?” Malia asks, and stiles shrugs. “The meat you get from deer. Venison.”

“Oh.” Malia blinks. “Well, I miss that, then.”

Stiles nods, and the two continue eating in what is a surprisingly comfortable slience, considering their lack of familiarity with one another and the place they’re in.

Well. To be fair, Stiles has been here for at least a week or so. Malia’s only been here for a couple days.

That night, Stiles finds Malia in the boys’ shower room.

“Uhm.” Stiles says, then turns around. Oh, but there’s mirrors. He turns, and faces the door, and definitely doesn’t look at her in his peripheral vision.

There are some words on her shoulder blade, but there’s too much steam. Really, Stiles can’t see anything.

“Stiles I – don’t care,” Malia says, as if she can’t see why he would think she would, or why he might think she should.

“Oh?” Stiles asks, unsure of what to say.

“There aren’t boys and girls’ rooms in the woods,” Malia says, and Stiles knows that, obviously.

“Well, why are you in here, anyway?” Stiles asks. “Why not the girls’ room?”

“Because it’s cold in there.” Malia says. “And it’s hot in here.”

“I think the steam makes that obvious,” Stiles says, and he can’t see it, but Malia smiles.

“Yeah,” She says. Stiles winces.

“So, uh –” Stiles starts, but he doesn’t finish, as Malia chooses then to finish showering and simply walk out into the main area, blasé as you please, completely and utterly naked.

“Uh.” Stiles says, scratches the side of his head.

“Now you’re staring,” Malia points out – almost teasingly, but it’s a little too matter-of-fact for that.

“No,” Stiles denies, looks away.

“Look,” Malia says. “We’re both in a place we don’t actually need to be right now, and I’m bored.” She shrugs.

“… The basement’s off limits?” Stiles offers, and Malia smiles.

second part gonna be over on my AO3 once I’ve done it!

#A 'Nonnie | Anon Ask #all the asks | ask #stalia #fanfiction #teen wolf #stiles #malia #/shipping #lovely request mate #good one #soulmate au #werewolves are known au #alive hale family au #etc etc

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hxh-secretsanta-2017 · 7 years ago

Text

from :@chaasiu

for @readbooksandweep who asked for a leopika soulmate au involving colour. thank you for all the asks you've sent me throughout the month, and happy holidays!

There’s something special about a person’s eyes that captivates Leorio—and not just in the scientific sense where light rays enter the cornea, diverge at the lens, and an image registers in the brain. It’s the fact that people are always looking, always searching, despite this world being so dull and grey. How people still manage to hold onto hope even when the statistics are against them.

And they’re not at fault, not really, because Leorio often catches himself doing the same. He allows curiosity to take over him, questioning every person he passes by on the streets: Is it them? Could this person be my soulmate?

The answer, he knows, is almost always a no. Because the world is kind and cruel at the same time—his soulmate will only reveal themselves to him when the time is right, and before that time comes, he will continue to be blind.

So, for now, he tries to enjoy his days in the colourless.

As a man nearing his thirties, Leorio Paladiknight has found himself a stable job at a small clinic in the city. He spends his days helping out other citizens in the best way he knows how and while he is frequently put in high-stress situations, the friendly atmosphere between the physicians and patients makes it more than worth it.

His client today is a friend and it’s starting to become concerning just how often Leorio sees him here at work.

“Hold still, Gon,” he says as the younger boy squirms in his seat, wincing as Leorio carefully applies disinfectant to the cut on his leg. “You really have to be more careful next time, got it?”

“I will!” Gon agrees enthusiastically and Leorio only sighs because he wouldn’t be surprised to see him back at the clinic next week. Recklessness is in Gon’s blood.

Off to the side of the room, Kurapika watches the scene play out in silent amusement. Beside him, Killua’s eyes are flickering all over, from the door to the posters on the wall to the cabinets full of medical equipment. He seems to be micro-analyzing everything which strikes the doctor as odd considering there’s nothing around them that he hasn’t seen many times before. Then again, Killua has always been a weird kid.

Bringing his focus back to Gon, Leorio asks, “How did you get this injury, anyway?”

The grin he receives is so wide that it seems to split open the brown-haired boy’s face as he physically bounces in excitement. “We went to the park to try out the new skateboard Killua got recently and I was going down this path when the world just—exploded with colour.” His arms are spread out, mimicking a hose spraying water. “It’s like, suddenly, everything was complete and I could finally see the other half the world that was missing. I guess it shocked me so much that I lost control of the skateboard and fell off.”

It’s not the fact that Gon has found love and Leorio hasn’t that weaves a sting of jealousy in his heart; it’s the uncertainty that he might never get to experience the full effect of colours that he truly envies. The tone Gon uses to describe the whole situation almost makes the doctor want to believe in magic.

“So, you can see more than just blue now?” He has to know.

Gon nods vigorously.

“And you can see more than just green?” He turns to Killua, still partially in disbelief.

The white-haired boy holds a secretive smile. “Yeah.”

And thinking back to just a few minutes ago when Killua had been looking around the room as if seeing it all for the first time, Leorio supposes that this is all new to him. Because that’s how it starts, or so Leorio’s been told. The first colour you see is the colour that’s most closely associated with your soulmate. Then, for the next few days, weeks, months, years, the rest of the world is still grey until everything else fills in.

“Wow,” he breathes out, and wonders what he would give up just to experience all that for himself.

When he finishes tending to Gon’s wound, he leads his friends out to the hallway and walks them to the entrance of the clinic, mind still spinning with all this new information. Just as they’re about to leave, Killua turns around and shouts, “Hey, old man, when will you finally find your soulmate? At this rate, by the time you actually find them, you really will be an old man!”

Leorio gestures to shoo him out of the clinic and he really wouldn’t be Killua if he didn’t piss off Leorio at least once every day. “Yeah, yeah, just get out of here, you brat!”

As he turns around to fill out some forms, Kurapika is a relaxing and welcoming presence at his side. Unlike the younger boys, Leorio has always looked forward to the blond’s visits, however rare they are.

“It’s truly amazing, isn’t it?” Kurapika laments thoughtfully.

Leorio hums in agreement. Gon and Killua had met as kids, then grew to become best friends, and now soulmates. They’ve told them of the time they had gone fishing at a lake, Gon leaning back to cast out the bait into the water and almost falling in because the entire body of water before him had lit up in a dazzling shade of blue. When he turned around, he saw that Killua’s eyes were the same colour.

At the same moment, Gon’s pants had turned obnoxiously green, as the white-haired boy had expressed it. The grass beneath their feet was a similar hue and it was then that Killua began to question Gon’s fashion sense. In a way, the vibrancy of the colour matched Gon’s outgoing personality perfectly.

Leorio glances over at his friend and wishes he could see what colours make up Kurapika, where the lighter shades of his skin fall and the where the blend of light paints over his clothing and how much more beautiful he’d look outside of the greyscale.

“Do you think you’ll ever meet your soulmate?” he asks, and watches as Kurapika furrows his eyebrows in deep thought.

“I’d hope so,” the blond says eventually, a gentle smile on his face when he looks up at Leorio. “I think we’re all subconsciously searching, anyway.”

And the doctor nods, because it’s true. He continues to think about it that night, long after Kurapika has left and the clinic closes for the day, and discretely wonders if he would still want to find his soulmate if it meant that he wouldn’t be with Kurapika.

What Leorio knows: over the past few years since meeting Kurapika, he’s developed something akin to a crush on the Kurta. He’s denied it to himself for a long time and it’s pathetic because it’s so unlikely that they’re soulmates, but it’s not just something that he can control. Sometimes, he thinks he’d even be okay with never seeing colours at all if it means he could have a happy ending with Kurapika.

What Leorio wishes people told him: the colours come because you find love, not because they make you fall in love.

Kurapika’s house is effortlessly clean. It never fails to impress Leorio when he stops by for a visit and sees that every single item has its place in the rooms. Unlike his own home, where stray pieces of clothing somehow end up all over chairs and couches and loose papers reside on the floor more often than in folders or on a shelf, Kurapika actually maintains a tidy household.

Entering through the doorway, Leorio slips off his shoes and mutters without really thinking, “I should hire you to clean my room.”

The other boy raises an eyebrow at this, the corners of his mouth lifting upward. “Oh? My services are expensive, you know. I doubt you’d be able to afford it.”

“What a cruel friend.” Leorio feigns hurt.

Letting out a quiet laugh, Kurapika gestures at him to take a seat in the living room. “Would you like a drink? Although I only have tea to offer.”

“Sure, tea is fine.”

As the blond walks over to the kitchen, Leorio makes himself comfortable on the couch. It’s been far too long since he’s last visited, truthfully. Between his lengthy shifts at the clinic and Kurapika’s own busy schedule, the two of them rarely have a day off at the same time to hang out. He’s missed this—this calm and relaxing atmosphere that seems to settle around them when it’s just the two of them alone.

The sound of an alarmed shriek followed by the shattering of glass has Leorio jerking his head up in time to see Kurapika jump a foot back from where he had been standing. His hands are clasped around his mouth, body backed up against the wall in fear.

Immediately, adrenaline kicking in, Leorio runs over and sees the cup Kurapika had been holding earlier broken on the floor. Turning to the blond who is visibly shaking, he asks, “What is it? What’s wrong?”

Kurapika only manages to raise an arm and point at the counter in front of him, stammering out incoherencies, eyes wide. Following his line of sight, Leorio glances over and sees a small spider crawling on the marble surface. It all makes sense, then, when he remembers Kurapika telling him about spiders triggering a response in him; something about his parents and the loss of his childhood friend and how he’s never really been able to get over it completely.

Working quickly, Leorio disposes of the spider and returns to the blond’s side. He watches, helpless, as Kurapika sinks down to the cold tiled floor and curls up within himself, gasping softly every now and then.

“Breathe,” Leorio instructs, voice quiet but firm. “It’s okay, just breathe.”

He holds Kurapika in his arms, trying to provide any amount of reassurance he can as the younger boy shakes with a force Leorio’s never seen before, a state of vulnerability that’s completely foreign to him.

“I-I’m sorry,” Kurapika says finally, as if choking the words out forcefully, breathing still uneven. The doctor can tell that he’s trying his hardest to compose himself again.

And Leorio shakes his head, replying with the one thing he believes most in his heart. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

It’s when the tears start flowing and Kurapika feels truly and utterly broken that he asks, “How do you think my soulmate would react if he saw me like this, freaking out over a tiny insect?” The question causes a bitter laugh to escape his lips, face still hidden in his arms as if he’s too embarrassed to raise his head. “How can anyone love me, Leorio?”

And Leorio holds him tighter, rubbing soothing circles on the younger boy’s back, wishing that he could take away emotional pain like how he stitches up physical injuries at the clinic. He wants to say, even if they don’t love you, I will; wants to say, I don’t need the colours to see that you’re amazing; wants to say, I’ll always be here for you—if you’ll let me.

He wants to say so many things but swallows the words back down because that’s not how their world works and Kurapika is not his to love.

Instead, Leorio leans forward to rest his lips on top of the younger boy’s hair. Closes his eyes and murmurs, “Your soulmate is a fool if they don’t realize how lucky they are.”

His hand is steady, experienced, as he uses a pair of tweezers to delicately remove the stinger from skin before pressing an ice pack to the swollen area. “There you go,” Leorio tells his client. “Bee stings can be a pain but you don’t seem to have an allergic reaction, so it shouldn’t take long to heal.”

Ponzu, a young girl who happens to wear a pink shirt and a large hat, smiles at him appreciatively. “Thanks for your help. I’m also sorry for getting a little bit of red on you,” she says, pointing at the smudge of blood staining the bottom of Leorio’s shirt, most likely caused by having brushed against her arm when the stinger was being removed. He hadn’t even noticed it until she brought it to his attention, and hadn’t noticed her wording until he looks down, expecting to see grey, and instead sees—

“Oh,” she exclaims, noticing the expression on his face and misunderstanding, “what I meant is that I accidently smeared some blood on your shirt. You’re still colourblind, aren’t you?”

Is he? Leorio stares at the spot on his clothes, mystified. Is he still colourblind, or is this…?

Red, the logical part of his mind supplies him. Blood is red.

“Doctor?”

At the sound of Ponzu’s voice, he snaps out if it and quickly composes himself. “Right, sorry. Don’t worry about the stain, it’s nothing that can’t be washed out.” He tries to give his patient a smile through the pounding in his head as he goes to one of the drawers to take out a small bottle. “These painkillers will help with the aching and the swelling should fade away within a week.”

“Thank you.” She accepts the medicine gratefully. Her gaze stays on him for a few moments longer as if she has something else to say, but she simply bows politely before exiting the room.

Now alone, Leorio takes the time to confirm his suspicions. He looks around the room and sees certain objects pop out at him: the (not-grey) pen he’s used so often that lies on the desk, the (not-grey) first aid kit on a shelf in the corner, one of the (not-grey) chairs off to the side. They’re not grey and he sees, really sees them for the first time, and thinks, holy shit.

His next thought is: I have to tell Kurapika.

Before Leorio even realizes what he’s doing, he’s already making his way out the door, well aware that he’s still in the middle of his shift and not caring in the slightest. As he runs the three blocks to Kurapika’s house, it’s like he’s a newborn again experiencing everything for the first time. Different parts of the world light up before him, from the leaves that are just beginning to change colour to a few of the cars passing by on the street, all delightfully, magnificently, undeniably red.

He’s out of breath when he finally rings Kurapika’s doorbell and still trying to get oxygen into his system when Kurapika opens the door.

“Leorio?” the younger boy asks, visibly surprised. “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be at work?”

Through his wheezing, he’s somehow able to make out a few sentences. “I just—I was working with a patient and she had some blood on her arm and, like, I almost messed up the treatment procedure because I could see it. I could see the colour. Red.”

Kurapika only manages to blink as Leorio bounces on his feet, words coming out in a stream of excitement.

“It’s—it’s so vibrant and bright and dark at the same time and I can’t even describe it, Kurapika, but I had to come and tell you. It’s just beautiful.” He only stops to catch his breath and freezes when he notices— “It’s… the same colour as your eyes.”

There’s a moment of stillness before the blond finally clears his throat and shifts around almost nervously, taking the pause in Leorio’s words to speak up. “Actually, just now, I think I also caught a glimpse of… colour.”

It feels like an eternity that they stand at the doorway unmoving, shocked into silence and staring at each other because this—this can’t be a coincidence. Leorio feels it deep inside him, a confirmation in his very soul that his speculations are correct, even if it all seems too good to believe.

“No way,” he whispers. “It’s you.” He takes a step back as if re-evaluating the whole situation. “This whole time, it’s been you.”

Kurapika smiles tentatively, like he gets it but doesn’t entirely understand. “I suppose this means that we’re… soulmates?”

Everything is still reeling in his head, but the word soulmates resonates with Leorio now in a way that it never did before. He nods slowly in reply, not able to fully take it in yet, but he finds himself moving closer to the younger boy; closer and closer until he brings their lips together and somehow, it’s like the world burst into colour in that moment despite the monochrome of greys still surrounding him.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that,” he says when they break apart.

There’s a light blush of red—red that he can actually see now, red that is faint and just barely there but still definitely noticeable—on Kurapika’s cheeks as he looks up at him almost shyly. “Me too.”

They’re quiet for a few minutes, letting their brain catch up with their hearts. “So, what colour did you see?”

“Brown.”

Leorio wrinkles his nose. “Brown? The colour I’m associated with is brown?” He’s heard that brown is dark and murky, like the dirtied water of swamps and the mud that gets stuck to the bottom of boots, none of which seem particularly appealing. Killua had once mentioned that it was also the colour of shit.

Kurapika laughs gently at his reaction. “It’s a strong and solid colour, a reliable foundation like the bark on trees. You’ll see when it comes. I think it suits you perfectly.”

And the older man leans in for a kiss again because he thinks he’s more than okay with being brown if it means getting to be with Kurapika.

(“Shouldn’t you be getting back to work though?”

“Ah! Fuck, you’re right,” Leorio mutters, scrambling to straighten his hair and make himself presentable. He half-runs, half-trips down the path for a few steps before stopping and turning around to blow Kurapika a kiss as dramatically as possible.

The Kurta only shakes his head despite the smile lingering on his lips.)

Leorio has always been fascinated by a person’s eyes. They’re the first point of contact that light rays hit to let you observe the world. They’re what allows him to see red, to see the rest of the colours when they eventually come in time.

Kurapika tells him that his eyes are warm and inviting and that they display the full effect of just how generous he is. Brown like hot chocolate and smooth caramel and the determination that paints over him when he’s focused on work at the clinic.

Gon describes Killua’s eyes as if they contain oceans in their little round orbs, washed over in a brilliant shade of blue. When he’s angry, the white-haired boy can throw fiery tides at you with just one look. In the intimate spaces shared with only Gon, they are gentle and calm, as if stroking seashells on the shore.

When Leorio himself looks at Kurapika’s eyes, he is overwhelmed by kindness. He can feel the blond’s thoughtful nature touching everything that he lands his gaze on, a true and genuine love for the things he cares about, even in the greyscale. There is compassion hidden behind each glance and unconditional support for those he admires.

Leorio has always been fascinated by a person’s eyes, but he thinks that the way Kurapika’s glow a bright scarlet colour is the best by far.

#hunter x hunter #hxh #leopika #leorio #kurapika #fanfic

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ratherhavetheblues · 5 years ago

Text

Claire Denis’ ’35 Shots of Rum’ “I feel like…I have wings…”

These days, an old black and white film about God will find few takers. However, there is a still-practicing filmmaker, namely, Claire Denis, who pulls out all the stops to revisit such a vehicle. Is she a nun? Nope. Is she a God-fearing militant in favor of aid to the distressed? Nope. Is she a social scientist, tracking religious consequences through the ages? No, no, no. What Denis’ excitement pertains to, is the work of that mostly shunned movie, called, The Seventh Seal (1957), created by notable-no-longer filmmaker, Ingmar Bergman (1918-2007), whose output engages the intrinsic disaster of piety and smarts. (The word, “intrinsic,” is crucial here. And as such, her perspective is problematic, not formulaic.) In addition to piety and smarts, that film spotlights a young couple of itinerant circus performers in the 12th century, the husband, Jof, agog with the possibility that their baby boy could become a dazzling acrobat, or a juggler, pulling off an “impossible” trick, the kind of trick only an oracle would imagine.

Intrinsic in the travelling folks’ itinerary, is the sentence of being left out of the lives who, if not making the world go round, making the world theirs. 35 Shots of Rum (2008) contemplates the hopes of Jof, almost a millennium shot forward. As such, our film today carries the special bonus of catching up to, once again, the bittersweet world of Jacques Demy and the musical muse of Demy’s soulmate, Michel Legrand (setting out the latter master’s magical transcendence by way of those deft swallows, the Tindersticks).

Diminutive Jof comes a cropper with the salt of the earth in a medieval beer hall, and, by way of putting a less embarrassing story in the mix, he tells a gathering at his caravan that he “roared like a lion” against the mob. Our protagonist today, Lionel, a Paris commuter train driver (far from Jof’s open road), is an African immigrant-widower who dotes on his adult daughter, Josephine, still living with him. The action here is pensive in a puzzling way. Whereas Jof and Marie are on the hook to circumvent various substantial evils (the plague, for instance), Lionel and Jo seem to lead a rather uneventful, mundane existence. Their reticence to speak (a less extreme strategy of the vow to silence, in Bergman’s, Persona [1966]), counting upon face and body language, becomes a form of poetry you could study for years.

Such a peculiar, elusive narrative presents a daunting task of identifying and structuring the artistry being given to us. One readily manageable gift, however, in this connection, is the opening scene and its riches of rail lines and bustle and a high-pitched, low-textured accordion motif, keening for something misplaced and yet with an abundance of lift, rather like the music of a carousel. The first visual incident involves a set of shining rail tracks plunging forward from the driver’s smudged window. Soon we’re presented with multiplicity of tracks near a railroad station, resolving to one line describing a gentle curve as against the standard fast forward, a departure redolent of both poetry and prose. Even more palpable, however, is the jumble of wiring (a sort of Black Forest or snowstorm) and its masts maintaining electrical power and its dynamics, along with mechanical devices being a force of stasis. Constituting a form of synthesis with those visuals, there is the musical motif, filling out the progressions in such a way that we are transformed as part of the doing of a sorcerer’s apprentice. That formidable protagonist, Lionel, comes into view in close-up profile at twilight with his shift nearly over. Lighting a cigarette and gazing at a more substantial and impressive long-distance train passing by, the set of his face is far from easy. Tindersticks add a flute component, lightening the load somewhat. We see the back of the last coach, touching the black void with two sharp red stoplights near the wheels, and a more diffuse green field of action near the structure’s top. An elicitation to accentuate the positive.

Then we see Josephine (the play of her two forms of name being a bit like the red/ green just mentioned) patient in a Metro car squashed like livestock. She stops at a kitchen store to consider a presser cooker/ rice preparer; and, presto, Lionel comes home to the flat with one, scarlet and shiny, making a statement. What with her doing the laundry and his carefully undressing and having a shower before dinner from that new appliance—she smiling on hearing him come in, and he pleased to be the bearer of good tidings—all the connection involves their silence within a sanctuary of their own perceptual making. This low-key activity allows us to salute the savvy with which they have designed their little nest—choosing paneling in very effective blacks and greys, with subtle yellow floor tiles, and with uncluttered spaces. When they’re close enough for a welcome little kiss, she tells him, “You smell of cigarettes,” a case of maintaining a pristine society. (Another of the audacious compositional touches is the virtual disappearance of Caucasians in the City of Light—Josephine’s subway, for instance, entirely filled with blacks—as if this enclave represents the best hope of clear thinking.) Seated quietly, they eat with gusto. She puts on some lively music—far less lively than what we heard along the tracks—and Lionel picks up two apples for their continued health. Sanguine, for sure; but not successfully addressing those minutes, probably frequent, in the dark engine.

Upping the ante, the only black in sight not serene, namely, Rene, an old friend of Lionel, has come to his retirement day at the commuter system. Lionel watches the man of the hour about to clean out his locker, and he is apprehensive that his friend has dangerously lost the company grip. (At his suicide, our protagonist being confronted with the horror of Rene having chosen a place on the rails where the calm one would encounter him, the latter holds a difficult silence, culminating in, “Fuck, Rene!” [you’ve overreached].) Certainly, our careful one, would never place on his locker wall a photo of a pretty sharp acrobat, spinning many plates by way of a multiplicity of long sticks. To ponder such sensuous acuity is to be on the hook to see and feel things in a very different light. Lionel, on that special, presumably happy day, comes upon that aficionado as he trembles. And being a rock of some endurance, urges, “You can’t fall apart now. Not in front of everyone…” On to the retirement party, and Rene can’t manage a smile. From the girls, there is a beautifully designed, rather rakish, leather jacket. From the “brothers,” a scepter (ravishing in its mosaic details), the likes of which a jungle king would have close-by when presiding. Still glum, Rene manages a brief speech: “My friends, thank you for being here. I’ve waited so long for this. It’s a deliverance, you know. [His troubled manner has all of them on edge.] Tonight I feel like… I have wings…” On the Metro, with Lionel, his scepter wildly incongruous, he tells his friend, “Surrendering… Surrendering to this condition, is what’s so hard. I’d liked to have died young. But I’m at the age I’m at. And healthy as an ox. I’ll die at 100 at this rate… I don’t have this life in me. The subway and all that. It hit me unarmed and unprepared…” A few days later, they meet coincidentally in a bar. Lionel asks, “Got any plans?”/ “Tons,” Rene ironically replies. (Another gift, during the festivities where the lucky man spends most of the time with head bowed, is an iPod. Someone tells him, “All your music at your fingertips!” Music, again, but bulk; and Rene, the acrobat manqué, feels the pain without a plan to beat it. Lionel had for years been staging special events, dear to his heart, in the form of a drinking binge of 35 shots of rum in quick succession—his sense, for what it’s worth, of regal acrobatics. “Down the hatch,” a woman in the company [all black, of course] is cheered on. She ends her run at 16. The natural follow-up would be for Lionel to run a row of slam-dunks. But, to the surprise of all, he says, “Not tonight…” The vision of Rene’s horror has induced that current of self-criticism in our protagonist, rarely elicited; and soon it’s back to the tune of, “Fuck, Rene!” Oodles of charm, a go-to friend, to many. But.)

Jo, within the aura of Marie (a 12th century pragmatist), is enrolled in a college program of Economics, where she can practice utopian possibilities. The first sustained action in the world at large where we see her is to go jogging with a young mulatto man, Noe, who occupies the penthouse of their building; and joins Rene in distraction—not due to lack of understanding but lack of devouring. (That would introduce, though, the third member of Jof’s troupe, namely, Scat, who sleeps in a hammock near the ceiling of their caravan, and sleeps with as many women as he can.) They’re in cool apparel as they cruise along the industrial service road where their building stands. She begins to outpace him, and, true to form, he jumps into the Seine (far from the Seine of tourists and billionaires). “You’re crazy!” she laughs, when he regains the service road and the upper hand. (The little acrobatic, of the jog which suits her, being eclipsed by jagged face-saving and latent hostility.)

While Josephine wends her way to oblivion, there is a woman, Gabrielle, the unofficial manager of the easily managed centre, who shows to us, if not the virtues of wide variety of mood, their capacity to put into play juggling initiatives, come what may. One thing she does have up her sleeve, however operative, is the tangled history of films about taxi drivers (she being one), particularly, Jim Jarmusch’s film, Night on Earth (1991) and Abbas Kiarostami’s Ten (2002). She begins her tenure on the pavement with the complaint, “This is not my day…” A young dude, needing to move only a few blocks, counsels her to practice “flexibility;” but, in fact she’s already on the case. She maintains that she knows very well how fortunate she is, in finding every day to be unique. And, “No boss breathing down my neck.” In addition to her being a queen of the road, she’s frequently sitting in the dark, on her balcony or even in the stairwells of her home. Jo, rather obtuse for a closet mystic, teases her that she’s still carrying a torch for Lionel, who lived with her for some time before and after Jo’s German mother died, necessitating the young girl to come to Paris and her bemusing father. Despite the misalliance, all the players in this relationship have generally found ways to pleasurably intermingle. But the ways of volatile Gabrielle are not the ways of muted Lionel and Josephine. She also visits that bar where Rene needs the alcohol, and gives him a sunny smile (during the interregnum of Lionel’s patriarchy Rene would have been a frequent guest). After a quick espresso, she’s out the door to get back to work. And from the suicidal one’s perspective, and its remarkably dirty windows, she’s been transformed from incandescence to a blizzard of grey deadness. Such a fate dogs her to the end, a veritable sentence of solitary confinement. But it is her resilience, notwithstanding (like the taxi/Mom in Ten), which matters. (A “Fuck, Rene!” [and all the other cripples]; but in being disappointed for him and the rest, not pissed off that a lame clique had been abandoned.) She undertakes posting a thankless note about the by-law there, about someone leaving a bike in the hall. (Noe trips over it in a dark passage; and all he does is yell, “Shit!”) More thankless care comprises how often she invites Josephine to her suite and is given excuses that her studies come first. The four of them are excited to have tickets for a popular band. Off they go in Gabrielle’s car in a rainstorm—she, knowing Lionel only too well, asks, “Got your wallet?”—and the car breaks down (Gabrielle, as so often, no doubt, succumbs to, “I can’t believe this!) due to transmission problems. The concert never happens for them, how could it? But they’re within walking distance to a Jamaican restaurant they know, insisting, “We didn’t feel like going home like this.” (Remarkably, though, the place had already closed; but, in the current of the fantasy easiness here, the woman-proprietor welcomes them, and happily prepares suppers on her own. On the other hand, that generosity and sanguinity is something else.) The sound system comes to life, and Lionel and Gabrielle enjoy dancing together. Jo smiles at this, and soon she and Noe are the night’s special event, the passion of their embrace becoming a concern for her dad and a reflection for Gabrielle. The food arrives, and the host’s black and white dress is like a bit of outer space, a bit of a silent concert. Noe, while dancing with Jo, exclaims, “You’re something else!” He got the wrong girl. (During the inevitable wedding, Jo tells Gabrielle, “You’re not going to cry?” When the latter tries to help with the bride’s outfit, Lionel tells her, “Jo can do it herself.” We last see her sitting alone in a shadowy stairwell.)

The sequel of that calypso meal finds three of the four at Noe’s apartment. His cat has died, and he disposes of it with not a moment of care. Dumping the body into a garbage bag, he brags, “No frills, he’s dead and gone for.” This finds Josephine covering her nose and mouth, and saying nothing. Gabrielle’s asking for an aspirin at least reflects being distraught. (Here the axiom, stemming from Jarmusch, of abusing a pet, means the abuser has metaphorically become roadkill.) With this he announces his interest in moving to Gabon (“pays well”); and Jo goes through the motions of dissolving what was supposed to be elevated performance. Wouldn’t you know he’d couch his departure with, “Now that my cat’s dead, I’ll like it” [the offer]—more fake acrobatics. But this shake-up involves depths and shallows, to savor, racing back to the lyrical and ambiguous curve of the tracks in the first scene.

Jo protests, “You’ll ditch us and go away?”/ “Why not?” the TV poker gamer bluffs. “You always tell me how it’s ugly and old here” [a list of her surprising immaturity including being unmindful of the historical and advanced possibilities of Paris]. In this context, a cut to Lionel, who for various reasons might have preferred sleeping to remaining in that company, finds him walking along a sidewalk eating a croissant—to him a non-ugly factor. On arriving home, he finds Jo in a frenzy to clean their flat. (While still on the sidewalk he notices her putting finishing touches to cleaning Noe’s balcony window—forcing her to stretch in a precarious way. [Acrobatic, sort of.]) Lionel’s confusion about the cleaning blitz extending to his place displaces his placing out more croissants, and messes up his reading the newspaper designed for flat-earth fanatics. “Why are you doing housework?” the sort of poet asks. “Isn’t it clean enough?” When Noe yelled, “Shit!” was he in error? Does Gabrielle’s client/stranger’s demand for “flexibility” start biting here? Jo moves on to rifling through old photos, including one showing her German mother and Josephine as a baby, and proposes throwing all of them out. Lionel is far from happy about this frenzy, so foreign to his learning. She counters that, “It’s filthy here! We need to empty it all out.” Her recruitment by Noe has no heart for a mosaic on the wall, traces of her father’s rather pathetic poetry. In the confusion he calls out, “This makes no sense! Think of yourself.” To which she counters, “Noe’s leaving!… I’m leaving, too” [the clean-up in the service of giving her father a clean home to be alone with]. “Don’t be silly. We’ll do as we please. As we always have. Nothing will change…” is the desperate hope. Jo yells to him, “Yes! Everything will!” Finding among those keepsakes a letter written by her mother to Lionel living in Paris and living with Gabrielle, we are taken up by a facsimile of one of those enthralling dramatic dialogues which Bergman had become a master in delivering, to deepen our understanding of the principal’s dilemma. “Lionel, I miss you. I miss you so much. Josephine finally fell asleep. She looks like you when she sleeps. It makes me love her even more. Please let me live by your side every day. She’ll be my daughter, too. My love, my rascal…” On the heels of that discovery, Josephine knocks on Noe’s door. When he opens it, she finds his arrogance: “You have something to tell me?”

Coinciding with that Road to Gabon, Lionel, “the rascal,” has lost Rene, but in the course of a rhapsody/daydream on the job, he conjures a horse and a wagon on the tracks as far back as the heights of Jof and Marie. Somehow the image of Jo also appears, for a fraction of a second—this being an apparition for the ages, regardless of stiffs like Noe. And thereby they take off the tarp from their long-dormant Volkswagen van in the underground of the facility (close to where Gabrielle parks, with the little touch of pedantry masking her roof-light to offset rascals), to play one last (confused) victory lap, to Germany (where Jo learned to speak German before reaching Paris after her mother’s early demise). In a cast generally mustering understated performance from blacks and their secret hideaway to transcend a terminally polluted mainstream presumptuously claiming to be viable, the home stretch unveils an elderly German lady (Jo’s grandmother), who takes over—a bit of a scandal in an era of race obsession—as a Bergman oracle, typically smothered by a roster of fakes. “We don’t see you enough. That’s the way it is now. We all live such withdrawn lives [Jo, if only she were alert enough to grasp the outrage being alluded to]. Everyone in his corner. Every man for himself. Would you like some coffee?” (Jo’s capitulation coming across subliminally, as in, “Yes, I would Ma’am.” The hostess retorts, “You don’t have to be so formal” [largely mundane, Jo, having succumbed to formulaic piety and smarts]. You must have been driving all night [as with Jof and Marie, on that long night when “formal” Death commanded nearly everything in sight]. You can stay for lunch, or even spend the night.” Jo replies, in German, “Thanks, but we want to get back on the road [brave words, but here the usual subterfuge; and masking, I’ve got a wedding to bring off, with a fake acrobat]. Maybe some other time” [when hell freezes over]. Does this obtuse connectivity derive from Denis’ background in Africa?) The old gal, disappointed with her prim relative, subtly mocks, “Some other time…” She swings past this transmission problem, however, by recalling a (very) brief joy. “Your mother said she fell in love with a guy in Paris. I asked her, ‘Is he cute?’ [oracles not likely to pose such questions in a straightforward way]. She looked me straight in the eyes and said, ‘You’re going to like him’” [the speaker has a troubled face and she looks downward]. Rallying once again, in face of this semi-invasion, or Death, she finds something lively. “I taught her to swim. She was scared of the water. We’re all scared of it. I’m also scared of that [nearby, North] Sea. So vast, so wide. And when you scream, no one hears you… Lionel, do you remember that time when we all went swimming together? We basked in the sun. Lost in the dunes [ring a bell?]… Good wine [she smiles]. Not always that good” [when Lionel was buying; the volatility raining down, and needing to be met]. Though he would not follow the verbal language, there was, in the body language of this transaction a delivery of that day. A delivery the steady and gentle “cute” “rascal” chooses to ignore. “You don’t remember?” she asks him. Her hurt, from this lie, is short lived. “Why don’t we drink some wine? A little glass of wine, now. Why not?” (There is a cut to a wall in that room, showing Jo as a baby held in her mother’s arms; and a dark print of a nude woman seen from behind, treading into the sea at night with a moon casting moonlight on the sea. Iconic matter, to someone, anyway.) “A little glass,” she perseveres. Then they are all drinking that wine. Lionel silent, in a dilemma, unsheltered by his usual comrades. The oracle has more to say. “Sometimes it seems the whole world is scared of suffering. Everyone wants either total stress or some peace in their happy little lives. But not us, not us! We’re strong, aren’t we? Aren’t we Lionel?” The latter minor poet, gracing so many rigors, comes up empty here, very well understanding that he is hated. “I’m glad Josephine gets by in German. It makes me happy” [dipping into the “happy little, prosaic lives” so potent in Bergman’s Fanny and Alexander]. “Just like your dad” [to be a stiff], the lady, clearly fluent in French, skewers a surprising target.

After a short stop to the grave, pouring some water on the flowers, while golden leaves waft down in lieu of almost total neglect, the van reaches the shore, recalling the embarkation of buttoned-down Block and his squire (the aristocrat who fails, and the salt of the earth, who also fails), coming ashore from a crusade centuries ago. It’s All Saints Night, and a group of children, carrying lights and singing, goes by their caravan, etched vividly in the twilight as they negotiate a ridge. Peering out of their home away from home, they fail to pierce the urgency of that full-hearted dash for the sake of a lively life, so long ago and remaining to be fulfilled.

How dare, then, Lionel’s wedding gift of a rice-cooker (“Living Tech” brand), snow-white with a few sissy images at the base—as if to look down upon Jo’s retreat? The slight fails to register with Jo, but it had better register with us. There are many enclaves on this planet sworn to never hear a discouraging word; and some—like that of the club we’ve just taken the depths of—actually being overachievers. But thanks to that oracle, our love affair of the sweet (musical) suite and the sweet apprehensions (as in the small handful of great Demy films) must unequivocally demand more. As the wedding reception rolls on, with a pianist a bit less sweet and a bit more bitter, Lionel climbs the rum shots game, to perhaps reach something to quieten his malaise. “A moment like this only happens once,” he overstates. Neither a consummate acrobat with his rum, nor a consummate juggler with cronies, Lionel—harkening to that siren call having endowed those falling short in Demy films remaining lovable (and a lovable longshot for reaching the strictures Jof had in mind a thousand years ago)—settles in to enjoy the party. But his miasma (far more potent than the ton of rum he’s feeling as we leave him while never forgetting him) is the real concern of this masterful film.

As if a divided homage to this rather secret society—and especially the secret society that was Lionel and Josephine—Denis has planted several factors in her film which amount to a possible blossoming of a long-overdue being “strong,” and not being “scared of suffering.” Some we have already encountered—for instance, Lionel and Jo on a long-ago horse, implying proof against the fear of the likes of Rene. And yet a mark of shame, due to that shining, though flawed, accomplishment of Rene, so more honest. This touches upon the pedantry of Josephine, in action during her college preparations, to become what many others insist she settle for. She mouths, like so many others before her, that “the Global South has not been handed the credits to thrive. “It is neither right nor wrong. Rules, used to manage international debt-loads, impose trouble upon countries in debt. I don’t think we can ignore (Joseph) Stiglitz” [American Nobel Prize winner, in the field of “Economic Sciences”]. (The Prof notes, “You say it as if it’s totally self-evident. It’s a little pedantic…” [pedantry eliciting fear, as in Wild Strawberries]. Another student—coinciding with flawed but somewhat cogent, Rene—argues, “When we revolt, it’s not for a particular culture. We revolt simply because, for many sources, we can no longer breathe…” More bookishness surfaces during Rene’s finally returning a book he borrowed from Lionel. The latter admits that he had forgotten all about it. The subject was about the evils of being “educated to death,” which, it transpires, had become a joke amidst the cognoscenti. The title was Mars [War]. We can well understand why he, so scared of suffering, forgot about it. But that he touched it at all, is a revelation!) On Noe’s wall is a poster, titled, ODISSEA 2001. Flashy optics. No Mars. Their marriage won’t last a year. Then, what?

Many viewers, with a didactic bent, have inferred that 35 Shots of Rum is patterned on the Yasujiro Ozu classic, Late Spring (1949). They claim to have strong evidence by way of the Denis documentary, Talking with Ozu (1993). A few narrative steps do coincide; and the rather precious disinterestedness of the Japanese protagonist does (vaguely) show that area of musicality here. Could the contrasts between the films be urgent here—Denis’ film being modern cool, while Romantic Ozu fumes about the cruel frozenness of Japanese action? Another aspect of Talking with Ozu, is her warning that she “dislikes auteurism and the cult of cinephilia.” The pros read this, and proceed nevertheless—a move like stepping off the observation deck of the Empire State Building. The bona fide involvements here, with Bergman and Demy/Legrand, have very little to do with the movie industry, as it has chosen to fool with.

#claire denis

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crushingonrazz · 8 years ago

Text

Believe in Me - Part 1

Ao3

Rating: Mature, for death and violence, but that’s not the whole thing

I’m going to post this two chapters at a time!

Red and Blue are soulmates. What happens when one of them forgets that?

“Hi! I’m Blue! What’s your name?”

He held out his hand towards the other, who looked at him distrustfully and made no move to take it. “That’s a stupid name,” he growled, his gold tooth flashing slightly in the light.

Blue just shrugged and smiled, withdrawing his hand. “Well, I like it, and that’s what really matters!” he said brightly, then continued. “I don’t think I caught your name.”

The other sighed loudly and stuffed his hands deeper into the pockets of his scuffed leather jacket. “Sans, same as the rest of you fuckers,” he said finally.

Blue frowned. “Please watch your language,” he insisted, prompting a laugh from the other.

“What, you got a fucking problem?”

Blue’s frown deepened, and he stepped forward, into the other’s personal space. “As a matter of fact, I do,” he said, narrowing his eyes. The other looked surprised for a moment, then opened his mouth as if to speak. Blue interrupted him with a laugh, then clapped a hand on his shoulder and stepped back. “I’m just kidding!” he said brightly.

The other gaped at him for a moment, his mouth opening and closing as he tried to find the words to express his confusion. Blue didn’t give him the chance, however, grabbing his elbow and beginning to drag him in the direction of the refreshment table, chattering away. “And I know your name is Sans, of course! But we can’t all be Sans, that would be confusing! So you need a nickname! Ooo, we should match!”

“Why the hell would we match?” the other growled, the red magic in his eye sockets flaring slightly as he considered whether or not he should be trying to get away from the smaller skeleton or simply punching him in the face.

Blue turned back to face him, a huge, happy smile across his face. “Because besties always have to match!”

Red hated patrols. If he had to have a stupid, useless job, why did he have to get exercise while doing it? It was unnecessary. But what Fell said, went, so Red found himself stomping through the woods angrily, practically daring anyone to jump out and cause trouble. He shouldn't be working. He shouldn't even be in UnderFell. He should be tearing apart the multiverse to-- He was jerked out of his reverie as he kicked at a clump of snow he was walking by and managed to trip over a rock that had been hidden underneath it. Cursing, he fell onto his face, having failed to break his fall with his arms. He lay there and groaned for a solid two minutes before he heaved himself back to his feet and turned to the offending rock. He considered prying it out of the ground and finding out exactly how much magic was required to shatter it into pieces, but decided it wasn't worth the effort and just stomped on it instead. He continued on, grumbling more loudly now, but he had barely gotten five feet before he tripped again, this time managing to find his balance before he fell. "Oh, fuck you, ya piece of shit rock!" he yelled. He whipped around to look for it, deciding that it was, in fact, worth his time to destroy the thing. Instead of a rock, he was confronted with the brightest orange thing he had seen in a very long time. It was some sort of cloth, partially covering a figure that was facedown in the snow.

Cautiously, he approached it, summoning a long, thin bone construct in one hand. He stopped a little ways from the prone monster, then held out the bone, lightly poking whatever it was, then jumping back like a small child with a bug when the thing responded by moving slightly. Steeling himself, he flipped the orange piece of cloth off of the potential threat, then jumped back again. It was a skeleton. A fairly small skeleton, even smaller than him, if that were possible. Unlike him, their bones were perfect and unmarked, the stretches of whiteness practically gleaming in the soft light of the forest. Their face was pressed into the ground, soft breaths the only sign they was still alive. They were clutching tightly to the orange piece of cloth, as though afraid that it would be taken away from them, and they were clothed only in a white t-shirt and dark pants. Red recognized him immediately, beginning to panic slightly as he crouched down and reached to flip him over, hesitating for a moment when he realized that the orange cloth was going to impede him in that goal, as tangled into the back of the other’s ribcage and arms as it was. Red reached for the awful thing, grasping what he now realized was a sweatshirt of some kind by the sleeve, his panic keeping him from making any significant connections from it, and attempting to pull it away from him. If anything, the small phalanges only curled into the cloth tighter, and he began hearing small gasping whimpers that told him the skeleton was awake, which made him breathe a sigh of relief and wonder why he wasn’t getting up on his own. He stopped pulling on the hoodie for a moment, and instead kneeled and took the other by the shoulder, flipping him over carefully. Red's breath hitched when he saw what was stopping the other from doing anything. There was a slash through his whole ribcage, from his right clavicle to the edge of his left floating rib. Bright red marrow leaked from the wound, which Red found himself recognizing far too well. Then his eyes shifted up to the other's face and he sighed. "Blue?" he asked quietly, and though the other's tired, terrified eyelights showed no sign of recognition, he continued. “Where the hell have you been?”

Upon receiving no further response than faster, more panicked breathing, Red carefully slipped his arms under the smaller form and lifted, picking the other up with an ease that shouldn't have surprised him. Then he shortcutted directly to his room and laid Blue down on his bare mattress. He then blipped to the bathroom and back, now with the first aid kit. Marrow had completely soaked the white t-shirt, and Red hissed under his breath. How was he still alive? He started to remove the shirt, slipping one arm carefully through a sleeve, then turning to do the same with the other before he realized that he still had ahold of that awful orange sweatshirt that he should have immediately recognized. He gave it a tug, and when there was no sign of letting go, he grumbled under his breath and just lifted the shirt over his head, pushing the whole thing far enough down his arm so that he had room to work. Blue appeared to have passed out, having used some of the last of his energy to hold on to the hoodie. He began cleaning the wound, clearing away the marrow and bits of shattered bone, and...dust? Red frowned. Dust only came from monsters that had died, and Blue clearly was not dead. Then he caught sight of the gray smears on the orange coat, and it clicked.

Stretch... He finished cleaning the wound carefully, trying not to think about it. Then he was left with a stripe of broken ribs, the ends of which he applied ointment to and wrapped carefully. When he had finished, he stood up, taking the supplies back to the bathroom, then taking a shortcut down to the kitchen. He pulled open the fridge and grabbed a container of leftover lasagna. After quickly heating it up and grabbing a fork, he went back upstairs. Blue was awake again, but just barely. He looked around blearily as Red entered the room, not seeming to be able to focus. Red set down the container of food and silently helped the other sit up against the pillows. "Here," he said finally, picking up the lasagna and cutting off a small piece for the other to eat. "This will help you heal."

Blue opened his mouth mechanically, and Red pushed the fork in, making sure it was absorbed completely before getting a new piece. This way, the entire slice was gone in a few minutes, and the smaller skeleton was looking more and more alert. Finally, as he finished absorbing the final piece and Red set the empty container aside, he managed to choke out, "Who--who are you?" Red didn't answer immediately, looking at the other's round blue eyelights. “You don’t know me?” he finally asked, but it was more of a statement than a question, and the other didn’t bother to answer. Blue seemed confused for a moment, then said, "I--I'm Sans. Who are--" "Me too, sweetheart," Red cut him off gently when it seemed like he wouldn't be able to say anything else. "But people like you call me Red. Howsabout I call you Blue to match?" Blue just blinked at him for a moment before nodding tiredly. "Okay," he whispered, apparently too tired to question it. Red stood, picking up the now-empty container, and said, "You should try to sleep, alright? It'll help you heal. We can talk more the next time you wake up." Blue's eyes flashed with something like fear, and he seemed to be trying to sit up straighter, though all that accomplished was for him to scoot his arms back and let out a long, unfiltered groan of pain. Red gently made him lay down, whispering assurances under his breath, half to himself and half to Blue. When the other was settled and seemed to have calmed down enough to sleep, Red left the room quietly, letting his back rest against the door for a moment as he fought back tears. Then he went down to the kitchen and put the container in the sink, absentmindedly beginning to wash it, trying not to think about what it meant that Blue didn't seem to know who he was.

“Because I don’t fucking want to talk to you, you little shit!” Red cried, attempting to close the door in Blue’s face.

“Yes you do! Everyone wants to talk to the Sansational Blue! You don’t have to be embarrassed by your love of my greatness!” Blue yelled back, pushing on the door relentlessly.

Fell was sitting calmly on the couch, completely ignoring the entire exchange in favor of the book he currently held in his hands.

“Are you fucking serious?” Red yelled back, trying unsuccessfully to push Blue out of the way.

“No, of course not, but you still need a friend and I’m here for you!” Blue gave an extra hard slam, knocking Red onto the floor and calmly letting himself into the house, closing the door behind him.

Red jumped to his feet, swearing loudly, about to forcibly pick the other up and throw him through the nearest window, when Fell stood up and set his book aside, glaring at the two of them.

“Can you two please keep it down? Some of us would like a little bit of peace and quiet!”

Red grumbled under his breath about where he could stick his peace and quiet, but Blue shifted back and forth for a moment in silence. “You have a beautiful home, Fell!” he finally chirped nervously, but Fell just shook his head and walked into the kitchen.

They both watched him go, but Red turned back to Blue as soon as he was out of sight and hissed, “I will kill you if you do not leave right this minute.”

“No you won’t!”

Red was spluttering, and Blue grinned at him happily until he said, “Oh yeah? Fuckin’ check me, then!”

Blue cocked an eyebrow at him, but obeyed without another word. Red had almost the same stats as his brother, except…

“See? I have LV. I really will kill you. So leave. Now.”

Blue regarded him carefully, rethinking some things. Then he nodded decisively and said, “No, you still won’t kill me. I’ve heard about your world, and I can understand something about your situation. You must not have thought you had any other choice.”

Red had frozen completely, staring at him like he’d never seen him before.

Blue took a step forward and grabbed the other’s hands, smiling kindly. “Besides, I know you can be better. Anyone can!”

Red seemed to be fighting an internal battle, but finally, he sighed and pulled his hands away. “Fine, ya fucking blueberry. What do you want to do?”

Blue’s squeal of delight was enough to make even Fell smile from the next room.

Red had just finished drying the dishes when he heard the door slam open, his brother's shouting filling the house. "SANS! YOU LEFT YOUR POST EARLY, YOU--" Red practically ran to the doorway, swinging halfway around it and throwing a weak bone construct at his brother to get his attention. "Fuckin' shhhhhhh!" he hissed at the other, who seemed confounded by the fact that Red was daring to attack and then shush him. "Blue's trying to sleep upstairs," he added quietly, and Fell’s mouth dropped open.

“Blue is back?” he asked, and Red nodded silently. “So you found him, then? He's okay?” Red moved back into the kitchen so that his brother couldn't see the look on his face as he said, "Yeah, kind of." He went back to washing the container, rinsing the soap off and drying it quickly as he heard his brother come into the kitchen.

“Kind of?”

“I found him while I was out patrolling...he was laying in the snow and he...he…” "Is he okay?" Red grasped onto the edge of the counter, breathing deeply. He opened his mouth, and a choked-off kind of sob came out before he could stop it. He set the container down very carefully, studiously avoiding looking at his brother as he said, "No. No, not really." There was a long moment of silence as Red tried to steady his breathing. He didn't want to show this kind of weakness in front of his brother. Crying because you were scared was just something you didn't do in this world, no matter how much you might want to. No, he needed to suck it up, to pretend he didn't care if Blue lived or died or forgot all about him-- Another dry sob racked through his chest, and he found himself sitting on the floor very suddenly, with his brother holding him close to his chest and rubbing his back. He couldn't even appreciate the rare show of affection through the haze of fear and sadness that seemed to be pulling apart his soul from the inside. "What's wrong with him?" Papyrus asked quietly, still rubbing Red's back as he cried. "He-he had the-the.." Red couldn't find the words to say it, so he just made a slashing motion across his chest, and Papyrus nodded in understanding. "And h-he doesn't know m-me, he d-didn't r-recognize me at all, and h-he had S-stretch's sweatshirt, and th-that m-means--" "Stretch is dead?" Papyrus asked, surprised. "Why was he even in Swapverse? And isn't Blue supposed to go before Stretch?" Red nodded, still crying. He didn’t know what this meant, that things had changed so drastically. He didn’t know how to even begin to respond to the news that Stretch was dead. Not that the world held any permanence. He’d be back at some point. They sat there in silence for a long time, Red sobbing while his brother held him close. It was a role reversal for something they hadn't done since they were both children, starving on the streets of the Capitol, but Red couldn't appreciate it because he was so entirely stuck in the room upstairs next to the small skeleton sleeping in his worn-out bed.

#believeyo #undertale #undertale fanfiction #cherryberry #cherryberry fanfiction #angst #death #violence #disbelief #disbelief!Sans

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sealegs2414blankpages · 8 years ago

Text

What Hurts The Most

Sugakookie ~Yoonseok

This is actually a continuations of Soul Partners Always and Forever ~

However, it can be read as a stand alone fic. If you'd like an even more thorough understanding of YoonSeok and their relationship then please feel free to read Soul Partners Always and Forever.

Word Count: 13,490

There was something to be said about exhaustion. Now, it was fully understood what his mother said when she was exhausted from work. It wasn’t that she had a physically laboring job but it was emotionally tiring. Having to think so much could be so very, very tiring. In this case, Jungkook hadn’t been thinking as much as swimming through a vast tumultuous sea of emotions. It truly was exhausting. Even worse was that as he laid on his own bed, half of his body hanging off, he didn’t feel comfortable. No, not due to his awkward position but his bed… Well, his bed hadn’t quite been his bed in a while. It had become a stranger. It didn’t feel like home anymore, it felt lonely.

The longer he laid the the heavier he sighed. Throwing his arm over his eyes, the man tried to keep his last memories of his boyfriend… ex-boyfriend? At bay. He didn’t want to revisit their argument, those deep sad coal eyes before he turned around and shut the door behind him. It was just bringing about more emotions he didn’t need. Who knew how taxing finding your soulmate could be?

It had only been about a couple weeks since his wrist started to throb and random emotions that didn’t come from Jungkook but filled up his very soul took over. He was laughing at moments that he really shouldn’t be laughing in… Like with the parents of his dance students. No, that was not the time to be laughing when he’s discussing how one of their children are acting up and not listening like they used to. Inquiring if something was going on at home. Or how he just suddenly burst into tears while in a rather intimate moment with his boyfriend. It was so bizarre and new and overwhelming. Neither him nor his boyfriend knew what was going on but Jungkook could tell. He knew, he knew that Yoongi had an inkling.

That was what had set everything off. Yoongi would just grow quiet and distant, which was something they had battled before but that was when he got too absorbed in his music. This was different, it was secretive and really, Jungkook just couldn’t tolerate it. He didn’t think he was asking for a lot. For his boyfriend, his boyfriend to be honest with him. It didn’t matter much, Jungkook found out. He found Park Jimin, one of the most beautiful creatures he had ever seen. The man had died his hair orange but it was fading and somehow the fading color looked better than the original. He had bright eyes and the cutest cheeks that Jungkook just wanted to squish and very plump lips. Did he mention how short the other man was? Just like Yoongi hyung. So small but with many more muscles. Jimin was cute and he didn’t need the help of his aching wrist to tell him that, that was his soulmate. A sense of serenity had fallen over him the moment he laid eyes on Jimin.

In that same moment, the man raised his head from the document he was filling out at the front desk of the dance studio Jungkook worked for and found Jungkook’s eyes. He could tell the other knew as well. A shy almost awkward smile broke over both of their lips and Jungkook’s feet were moving before his mind could even catch up with it.

“Hi.” He spoke softly, almost a sigh.

“Hi.” The words weren’t magical but they were. It was indescribable the way he felt meeting his soulmate let alone hearing the other man speak. He had so many questions, like why was he crying the other day and what made him laugh so hard that Jungkook even started smacking his knee with tears forming in his eyes while in front of his student’s parents. He didn’t though. That happened later.

That happened after Jungkook went home practically skipping and rushing all his words excitedly as he told Yoongi that he met his soulmate and how amazing it was and if he felt the same way when Yoongi met Hoseok hyung. However, the excitement fluffy haired brunette was feeling wasn’t reciprocated. There were storm clouds above his lovers head and the mood shifted so quickly it was jarring. And then it dawned on him, that Yoongi knew the entire time. He knew that Jungkook was close to finding his soulmate and said nothing. Didn’t comfort him when he didn’t understand what was happening to him, just let him think that something was wrong with him. That Yoongi was scared of this happening but for the life of him Jungkook couldn’t understand why. Why didn’t his hyung, best friend, lover, want him to find and have what he had with Hoseok, his soul partner as they always said.

Neither of their words were nice and neither was the ending. It had been over a week since he last saw Yoongi. Oddly enough, he had just met Jimin and that was the first person he went crying to. Yes, crying because Yoongi had always been the only one to invoke such strong emotions from him. All emotions. All taxing emotions.

Jimin though, Jimin was great. He was understanding, caring and somehow could just soothe him with a simple hand on his back. It was amazing. It felt a little awkward at first, baring so many private and intimate thoughts with the other but it also felt right. They were meant for each other after all. It also wasn’t long before they developed a pretty good friendship. Work was, well it was a lot more fun with Jimin around. They joked a lot and played pranks on the other. Talked serious when it was needed and it was nice.

Park Jimin was a half of Jungkook that he didn’t know he was missing.

Letting out a heavy sigh, “Sorry, Jimin-ah…”

He knew that his feelings were transferring to his soulmate but he had never been very good about controlling those when it came to Yoongi. They had left things in a place he wasn’t sure was the right place. It was a dark place and that didn’t settle well with Jungkook. It also was frustrating because he didn’t know how to approach it.

Feeling around for his phone that he had tossed on his bed, Jungkook grasped it and slid the lock screen off. Opening up his messages he saw that he had missed. Well… a lot. There were 23 messages from his hyung and more than half of them had been read but not responded to. It was mainly just questions about if he was alright. Truth was, he wasn’t and that isn’t what he wanted to reply with. He had found someone who was now integral to his life but he also had a person waiting for him that had been integral to his life. Fingers hovering over the keys, he typed out half a sentence then erased it. Sitting up suddenly he ran his fingers through his hair before leaving his bed. Grabbing his keys and wallet, he stuffed them in his pocket and trudged out of his apartment and down a very familiar path.

It took him four minutes and 26 seconds before he found the courage to knock on the door. It took another one in a half minutes before the door was pulled open to reveal someone who might as well be the owner but definitely wasn’t.

“Ah… Hoseok hyung.”

A taller man with raven mussed up locks looked down at the younger with a neutral but tired expression. They didn’t say anything for a moment and then the elder pulled the door open wider and stepped back, letting the younger in.

“He’s not here right now.”

Nodding, Jungkook stepped into the apartment that also might as well be his home considering how he was here ten times more than he was at his own. Following the other man they ended up in the kitchen and Hoseok was pulling out two cups like it was his own apartment. Knowing his place, Jungkook slipped onto the barstool and watched quietly as Hoseok made tea. He didn’t know what to say so he just kept quiet.

“No milk or cream right?”

“Uh.. yeah, that’s right.”

Neither one spoke while the tea was being prepared. The silence wasn’t awkward but introspective. They both were collecting their own thoughts and best way to approach the very big elephant in the room. As Hoseok poured the tea, he finally spoke up.

“Why are you here?”

The words were spoken quietly, gently. It wasn’t accusing just matter of fact. Nothing to be offended about and Jungkook wasn’t. He reached out for the cup of tea that was being pushed into his hands. Staring down into the golden liquid, he nibbled on his lip. It was a nervous tick he couldn’t get rid of. Why was he here? That was a good question.

“I-I’m not sure.”

Sigh.

He wanted to do that as well. Jungkook couldn’t bring him to raise his eyes, so instead he raised the cup to his lips and blew on the steaming hot liquid. Hoseok leaned against the opposite counter, cup in his left hand and his right hand shoved into the front pocket of his jeans.

“You can’t do this Jungkook. You have to be sure.”

Again, the words were soft, gently, even caring. The younger male raised his eyes and looked into his hyung’s eyes.

“Do.. do you kn- Oh… Of course you do.” The communication was silent but Jungkook could see it all in the expression that Hoseok was wearing. Of course Yoongi told him everything, bared his soul to the most appropriate person. His soulmate. If he was being honest with himself, Jungkook was jealous of their relationship. Not all the time just sometimes. There were moments, moments like these when he wished he could be that person for Yoongi but he couldn’t and he never would be. The two of them had been a source of insecurity for Jungkook for quite a long time. He had gotten over it but right now, with his own soulmate appearing somehow old insecurities are cropping back up.

Shifting from his position, Hoseok moved to the counter that the younger was occupying and rested his forearms on it, setting his cup down. Searching for Jungkook to look at him again. He waited until the younger did.

“I know enough. I felt enough. I know you love him Jungkook-ah but you can’t be unsure about this. Y-you have to know.” Hoseok faltered and looked away running his hand through his hair and sighing again. His index finger trailed around the rim of his cup.

“I don’t know… I don’t know if I can patch him up again.”

Jungkook was at a loss for words and sputtered, “B-but you’re his soulmate hyun-”

“It doesn’t matter, Jungkook! You didn’t see him the other night. You didn’t see him...” Hoseok pushed off the counter and walked away from Jungkook, the anger he had been hiding beneath the surface bubbled up but the elder put a lid back on it as soon as it started to leak. Turning back around.

“He’ll be home soon, if you need more time then you should go now.” The younger stumbled down from the stool and left his tea untouched. Not saying a word, his teeth dug into this bottom lip as he made his way for the door. As it creaked open he heard the other man speak again.

“And Jungkook-ah, I’m really glad that you found your soulmate.”

As the door closed behind him, he could see a small but genuine smile from his lovers soulmate.

More days passed without any contact from Jungkook and Hoseok refused to leave Yoongi’s apartment. If he was in a better mood, Yoongi would appreciate that his home wasn’t an utter pigsty, as well as the hot meals he was being provided. They both knew well enough that if Hoseok didn’t interfere that Yoongi wouldn’t be eating and he’d just be living off of water, energy drinks and his music. Hell, Yoongi wouldn’t even come home at night if it wasn’t for the youngers pestering that he needed proper rest or would get sick. His notification sound went off on his phone.

Hoseok-ah 3:21am:

Hyung if you aren’t home in 9 mins I’m calling the cops and reporting vandalism at your studio

Yoongi hyung 3:23am:

But u know nothing is broken

Hoseok-ah 3:23am:

That’s 8 min now.

Yoongi didn’t bother replying to the message but shoved the phone in the pocket of his black sweat pants and raised his arms above his head stretching. Unfortunately, he knew that Hoseok would really do such a thing if he didn’t abide by his rules. It had happened before, though luckily that time the officer was really good about it and just thought the person who had called had a little too much anxiety. Both were happy for the false alarm.

“Hyung, I made you a bath with those ridiculous bomb thingies you like so much.” The words floated through the air as soon as the door had opened.

“They’re bath bombs, Hobi.” He grumbled tiredly as he made his way to his bedroom and peeled off his clothes. He heard the ‘whatever’ that came from the younger but chose to ignore it. The water was still warm which was nice. He should really thank Hoseok later. Maybe take him out for korean beef? Probably. He owed his friend a lot. More than a lot really. Sinking into the relaxing bath, he closed his eyes and tried to do what he had been doing at the studio, not feel anything. Anxiety had been driving him crazy since Jungkook left. He was worried. It didn’t matter that the man was probably fine and cozying up to his soulmate, not a single word made his fingers and toes dance in a way that would lead him right to Jungkook’s door step. It already had, twice actually. Each time though he left without knocking.

It wasn’t his place to intrude on Jungkook’s space. He wouldn’t have left if he didn’t need it and even now Yoongi didn’t know how to go about talking with the younger. What he cared most about was the other's safety. Everything else could come after that. Feeling like he was being watched, Yoongi peeked out of one eye and found his friend perched on the end of his tub, chin resting on top of his hands.

“That’s creepy. If I was anyone else, they’d call you a stalker.” Closing his eye again, he tried to pretend that Hoseok was not staring at him. It didn’t really bother him, they were both so close anyway. However, that would never stop him from pretending otherwise. It also wouldn’t stop Hoseok from becoming even more gross, like he does.

“But it’s not because you loovveee me!” The whine and exaggeration could be heard a mile away. Yoongi’s nose scrunched up but he chose not to reply. A game they played frequently. The two men stayed in silence for a bit longer. That was until Yoongi realized the other wanted to tell him something but didn’t know how to say it. The ever slight churning in his stomach gave it away.

Opening his eyes lazily, he raised one eyebrow, “Spit it out. What’s up?”

Hoseok refocused and really looked at Yoongi who was very much staring directly at him. Sitting up he chewed on the inside of his cheek while still debating on if he should mention who he saw today or not. It took him a bit longer than Yoongi would have preferred and he felt his eye twitch in impatience however he would always let the other tell him when he was ready.

“I saw Jungkook today.”

An ambush of emotions flooded Hoseok but he had been prepared for it this time. They really didn’t need to communicate verbally right now. He could feel all of the worry mixing with relief, excitement with disappointment and a tiny hint of jealousy splashing around as well. Even without feeling the other's emotions, Hoseok had expected all of this. It was only logical, if they had switched places he expected to feel the same.

Yoongi grunted, rubbed his nose as he looked anywhere but at Hoseok. It was bad enough that the other knew exactly what he was feeling and he didn’t really have any privacy but he didn’t want Hoseok to see it too. One would think it wouldn’t matter but sometimes it did. The water felt cold now, it was lukewarm but it felt cold and Yoongi was ready to be done with the bath. It was a nice gesture but unfortunately those words doused any of the relaxation Yoongi was just experiencing moments ago.

“How is he? Is he okay? Is he hurt? No, no don’t answer that last one. Just tell me he’s okay.”

Moving closer, Hoseok slid across the floor and placed his hand over Yoongi’s wet elbow that was resting on the side of the tub now.

“He’s healthy.” Yoongi was already nodding before his friend had finished his sentence. That was what he wanted to hear and not what he wanted to hear all at the same time. Still relief flushed through his veins. It was what he cared about the most after all.

“He uh, he came here hyung but I sent him away.”

Whiplash is what Yoongi should have right now with how fast he turned his head towards Hoseok.

“Why? Why would you do that?!” The anger rising in him laced his words like an old friend and Hoseok didn’t flinch. He had expected this reaction, it was never fun but expected nonetheless. Squeezing Yoongi’s arm, he tried to get his friend to understand him. Pleading with his eyes for the other to calm and find reason.

“He was confused hyung. It won’t help either of you to see each other like that.” Yoongi pulled his arm away from Hoseok and looked past the younger man. He let out a huff and then a sigh. Sitting up straighter, he placed his hands on either side of the bathtub.

“Let me get dressed.” He grumbled before finally standing up and watching the other man leave him to some privacy. Taking his time, Yoongi dried himself off, pulled on a pair of old boxers and a band t-shirt he got ages ago, it even had some holes in it. Brushing his teeth he thought about what Hoseok had told him. He needed more information but he also knew he needed to keep a level head. It was so hard for him to do when it came to his boyfriend.

Boyfriend…

Was Jungkook still his boyfriend?

God, he hoped so. He really, really wasn’t ready to let go of the man. He wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to. Just thinking about it made his heart hurt and he found himself closed fist hitting it over his chest. As if distraction would make what he’s feeling go away. It didn’t. Ah, Hoseok… he needed to stop thinking like this.

Walking out of his bedroom, he found Hoseok lounging on the couch, feet propped up on the coffee table in front of it.

“Sorry, Hoseok-ah.” The words were a soft grumble but the other heard him and flashed him a smile.

“No worries. I’m counting the days until it’s your end to experience it.”

This actually caused Yoongi to laugh a little. Taking a seat next to Hoseok, he punched the man in the arm.

“Brat.”

Hoseok laughed with him before growing serious again. They needed to finish the conversation they had started and really the sooner the better. He reached for Yoongi’s hand and held it in his own.

“I can’t tell you much hyung but just give him some time.”

“Some time? It’s been weeks!”

The frustration that Yoongi was trying to reign in was hard. He couldn’t help but be upset that he missed his chance to see Jungkook again, to hear his voice, to maybe, potentially feel his touch. It made him ache even more than he already was. Hoseok just squeezed his hand tighter.

“Hyung… Come on.”

“I know. I know. Ugh, just, I miss him and I know I shouldn’t be upset but I am. You saw him and I didn’t.” A smile was threatening to break through Hoseok’s defense. So much so that he had to bite on his cheek to stop it from doing so. Yoongi was already eyeing him warily though.

“Just laugh, I’m pathetic I know.”

Being given permission just allowed for a few short giggles to slip through but right after Hoseok interlaced their fingers.

“No, no. You’re not pathetic. It’s just cute. Really cute. Grumpy, standoffish, no PDA Min Yoongi is all pouty and whiny. You’re cute.” A few more chuckles escaped and it was met with a glare from the elder. A glare that certainly didn’t phase the younger anymore. However, Yoongi kept his hand just where it was.

“Where’s your phone?”

Yoongi raised a brow, “My phone?” he was confused as to what his friend would want with that. Hoseok stood up and looked around the apartment he had cleaned earlier.

“Yeah, your phone. Let’s text him, huh?”

Yoongi was answering before fully processed the second part of what Hoseok had said to him.

“I don’t know, in my room? Wait what?” He was left alone on the couch as the younger walked off to find his phone only to return a moment later with a still very cautious Yoongi on the couch. Sitting back down next to Yoongi, neither paid attention to their thighs touching. Holding his phone out to the rightful owner, Hoseok nodded encouragingly.

“Yeah, I know you’ve been dying to do so. He knows that I’m going to tell you he was here so it’s an open invitation for you to say something. Just you know, uh, let him know you’re thinking about him.” Slowly, Yoongi accepted the phone but only stared at it blankly after his fingers had somehow found their way to his chat with Jungkook.

“I-I don’t know, it’s almost four in the morning now. He’s probably asleep. I don’t want to wake him.”

He was stalling, they both knew this. Hoseok clucked his teeth and shook his head in disapproval before swiftly taking the phone back in his hand and typing for him.

“Yah! Yah! What do you think you’re doing?!” Immediately, Yoongi snatched it back and saw some gross message with too many emojis and kissy emojis at that. A devious grin was plastered over Hoseok’s face.

“Oh come on, you know I wouldn’t send that actually! Give it back. I’ll be serious now.” Snatching the phone back, he looked at the screen one more and both of his eyes widened immensely. Hoseok set the phone down on Yoongi’s thigh and looked down at his hands that he placed in his lap like his mother had sat him in timeout. Yoongi looked at the phone then at Hoseok.

“What. Did. You. Do.” It wasn’t a question and the both of them knew what had just happened but of course it needed to be confirmed by Yoongi’s own eyes. Picking up his phone he swiped open the lock screen and saw the same exact sentence that Hoseok had jokingly typed with all seven emojis sent to his precious Jungkook and even worse it was read.

Yoongi <3 4:12am:

Jungkookie I can’t stop thinking about you. I misss you and love you sooo much

Wiping his eyes, Jungkook tried to look at his much too bright phone screen and cursed before promptly lowering the brightness to almost nonexistent. Blinking a few more times he tried to read the message that he had gotten. It hadn’t actually woken him up. He had been tossing and turning for hours, having horrible dreams in the few moments he could actually fall asleep. Regardless his room was pitch black and the bright light was not welcome.

Reading the message for the second time was a much bigger success but his brow furrowed together.

“What the hell?!” His hoarse voice croaked out. Staring at his screen even harder, Jungkook read it for the third time. The sentence remained the same. There was no denying that this rather mushy and kind of gross message did indeed come from Yoongi. How many emojis is that?

“1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6,...7? Is he drunk?!”

Rubbing his eyes, Jungkook groaned as his stomach started to churn. His mind couldn’t make sense of this message because it wasn’t like his hyung at all. Yoongi was crap at texting and he was even more crap about being affection through words let alone text and he most certainly didn’t use emojis. Being drunk was the only thing that made sense. If he was drunk at 4am, which sadly isn’t out of the realm for him, well being awake that late anyway. If he was drunk now then it made Jungkook worry. The longer he laid there thinking about it the larger the stone in the pit of his stomach grew. Surely Hoseok was with him and was watching him.

But what if he wasn’t?

What if Yoongi was alone and drinking by himself. Oh god, he wasn’t walking down the streets of Seoul right now was he? Those clubs raged for hours and some even stayed open until 4am. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.

No matter what their issues were, Jungkook never wanted Yoongi to be in a dangerous situation like this possible one. He picked up his phone and text back a quick,

Jungkook-ah 4:17am:

Are you drunk?

By now he was pretty wide awake, leg bouncing as he waited for a reply that was never coming. After another six minutes, he picked up his phone and called. It rang and rang and rang and rang. No answer.

“Shit.”

Tossing aside his covers, Jungkook through on the nearest clothes he had which were his sweaty dance attire from earlier that night. They smelled horribly of sweat. Just a pair of grey sweats and a large white t-shirt. He ignored how disgusting he was sure to feel later and shoved his feet into his timberlands at the door as he grabbed his keys and rushed out the door. He had even forgotten his wallet.

Honestly, he was praying that he wouldn’t have to wander around Seoul to find Yoongi but he called again and still received no answer. It was so frustrating. Making his way hurriedly through the empty streets, he was really glad that it wasn’t earlier and people would be able to see and potentially recognize him. Recognition was was a rare occurrence but knowing his luck, it would happen today of all days if it wasn’t 4:40 in the morning.

Trying the doorknob he turned it easily and was instantly annoyed, that man never locked his damn door. It had annoyed him before in their relationship and it still does. Jungkook’s heart was beating so loud the closer he got to finding Yoongi that he didn’t even hear the grunting noises coming from the living room. The scene his eyes laid upon though was nothing like he had anticipated.

Yoongi and Hoseok were a tangle of limbs, Yoongi pinning the other to the floor and making a grunt here and there at the energy he was having to expend to do this.

“Ah, Yoongi”

“What? Yoongi? Do I have to teach you again about ugh manners, Hoseok-ah?!”

Neither of the men on the living room floor noticed the intruder. He stood by quietly watching the two wrestle? Were they wrestling? Honestly, Jungkook had no idea what he was watching but his annoyance was building the longer he stood there. He didn’t even have any words but finally, Hoseok was able to move his head to the left enough to spot the other man in the room. He let out a squeak that neither Jungkook nor Yoongi had ever heard before.

“What the-”

“Jungkook-ah,”

Yoongi continued to keep Hoseok pinned to the ground and stared at him like he was crazy.

“As if I’ll fall for that. Now, stay still so I can, ugh-”

“Don’t mind me, just let him continue whatever,” Jungkook waved his arm around at the two of them. “He’s doing.”

Jungkook wasn’t sure he had ever seen Yoongi move that quick before. It wasn’t because his hyung was slow or anything, this was just new. The elder rolled off of Hoseok and stared up at his lover from the floor. The brunette’s lips were pressed in a tight line as he stared down at the two of them. He raised an arm and gave a clipped wave at Yoongi.

“Glad to see you aren’t stumbling around the streets with a bottle in your hand. I’m going home.” Scrambling to his feet, Yoongi moved to stop the younger. His anxiety had his stomach and knots and by default, Hoseok as well. Words floated across the air, they were meant for only Yoongi’s ears but Jungkook heard as well.

“Calm down hyung.”

“Sorry, Hoseok-ah.”

Why this irked Jungkook so much right now he couldn’t say. He had experienced the way they communicated for years now. This wasn’t anything new but it bothered him. It bothered him more than he wanted. A Justin Beiber song broke the tense atmosphere between all of them and Jungkook reached into his pocket to pull out his phone. Reading the name across the screen, he sighed in exasperation. How could he forget that he had his soulmate and of course they would know he was upset right now. How did one reign this shit in? Well, clearly not very easily judging by the words he had just heard.

“Hey, Jimin hyung.” He said with a tenderness, Yoongi hadn’t heard before, as he placed the phone against his ear. The volume was so loud, or the person on the other end was so loud that Yoongi could hear what was being said.

“Jungkookie, are you okay? What’s wrong. Where are you?”

It was a rush of shrill, worried words and somehow it soothed Jungkook. The corners of his lips turned up in a small smile.

“I’m fine hyung. I promise. Mhmm, yeah just uh go back to bed. I’m sorry I woke you. Yeah, tomorrow. Mhmm, we’ll talk tomorrow. Yes, hyung. I promise. Jimin-ah! Go to bed.”

A chuckle, a chuckle that Yoongi hadn’t heard in so long, so long. But it was for someone else. For his soulmate. It hurt. His chest hurt. He couldn’t keep his fears from manifesting and plaguing him. Silently, he apologized to Hoseok who had snuck off to another room. Probably the guest room.

Another moment and the phone call ended and the phone slipped back into Jungkook’s pocket. Glancing up at Yoongi who was only a few steps away from him Jungkook didn’t say anything. The two just stared at each other. There were so many words that needed to be said but neither knew where to start. Scratching the back of his neck, Yoongi coughed and cleared his throat.

“Look, uh, I’m sure you saw that text. It was just Hobi messing around. It wasn’t supposed to be sent. I mean who uses seven damn emojis.” He was rambling and Jungkook just stared at him unimpressed.

“I see. Well, tell him not to do dumb shit. I thought you were drunk and alone. My mistake.”

He wasn’t sure what he was expecting but he wasn’t expecting Jungkook to be so cold. Yoongi knew that it was his fault for waking him up at four in the morning but… He didn’t know. Maybe he hurt Jungkook more than he thought he did. Maybe Jungkook realized all that he was missing with his soulmate and didn’t want to be bothered anymore. Maybe Jungkook just realized he was playing house with Yoongi and it would never amount to what he felt for his soulmate.

Jungkook turned away and started walking towards the door. Yoongi immediately followed, not too close but he followed. He would follow the man in front of him to the ends of the earth and back. Now he knew just how much it hurt to not have that feeling reciprocated.

“I’m sorry for not telling you.”

They both knew what he was talking about.

I’m sorry for not telling you that you were feeling your soulmate. I’m sorry for not explaining it. I’m sorry for not encouraging you. I’m sorry I just didn’t want to lose you.

They were all unspoken but still heard.

“I’m sorry too.”

I’m sorry you didn’t have faith in me. I’m sorry you were overcome with your fear. I’m sorry I didn’t make you feel more secure so that you could tell me. I’m sorry I left.

The full meaning was hard to pass to the other but Jungkook prayed his hyung could hear it. Placing his hand on the doorknob, he hesitated but nothing passed between them and he opened it.

“Hoseok said something gross but…”

Jungkook was stuck between the fresh air outside and the cool air of the a/c as he waited, always waited for Yoongi to finish what he was saying.

“Jungkook-ah, I’m glad you found your soulmate.”

Those were unexpected words. They were unexpected from both the man leaving and the one staying. They were unexpected but true. They were unexpected and they hurt. It hurt so much more than Jungkook had ever thought hearing those words from Yoongi would. Furrowing his brow, he glanced back at Yoongi and saw a small but genuine smile on the others face and it hurt even more. It was the same smile Hoseok had given him when he had been here last. What Jungkook didn’t notice was the sadness behind Yoongi’s eyes.

“Ah, yeah.”

The door shut heavy behind Jungkook and in Yoongi’s face for the second time. Neither went to bed with a light heart. Neither went to bed with smiles on their faces. Neither went to bed easily. While Jungkook tossed and turned by himself, Yoongi slept fitfully with Hoseok running his fingers through the others hair, trying to soothe him as much as possible.

Hoseok-ah 1:34pm:

It’s your fault I went to work with six bags under my eyes and a stiff neck. You owe me pizza.

Yoongi hyung 4:42pm:

I don’t owe you shit.

Yoongi hyung 4:43pm:

Meat lovers or Hawaiian?

Hoseok snickered from a small plastic chair in the waiting room. Yoongi always liked to play a grump but he was really soft. Laughing a bit louder, he almost fell out of the child’s hair he was sitting on. It was a close call but a little girl who was probably about seven or eight, grabbed onto his arm.

“Be careful.” she shyly told him before going to the other side of the table and taking out a coloring book from her backpack. Hoseok was a little embarrassed but he smiled brightly at her and thanked her before shooting Yoongi a quick reply that he was bringing a friend over too,

“Ahjusshi, why are you sitting here anyway, the big chairs are over there?” She had her crayons out by then and was starting to color a half colored picture.

“A-ahjusshi?! I’m your oppa! Oppa…” Glancing up the little girl giggled but nodded.

“This side is more fun, don’t you think?” Her crayon moved back and forth over the page while she thought about what he said. Grinning, she nodded again.

“Okay...oppa.” A bright grin broke over his face.

“Oy Hoseok hyung!” Snapping his head to the left, Hoseok saw that his friend was calling him. Scrambling up he tripped over his feet and knocked the chair over. The little girl was giggling at him again and he flashed her one more smile before fixing the chair and walking over to the front desk. A mob of kids rushed out of one of the room and he almost got mauled down. They were intense but he couldn’t help but smile at them.

“Ready, Taehyung-ah?” He asked to the mop of caramelized haired boy in front of him.

“Almost. His class is just ending.”

Hoseok’s phone buzzed again,

Yoongi hyung 4:52pm:

Who?

Hoseok-ah 4:52pm:

You’ll seeee ;)

Pocketing his phone, Hoseok ignored the sure to be cursing Min Yoongi for his brattiness. Pleased with himself, he leaned his arm on Taehyung’s shoulder even though the boy was taller than him. Taehyung was waiting patiently, eyes peeled on the door that had just opened. A moment later, a shorter male with really defined biceps walked out, some sweat gracing his brow. He bowed his head slightly to a few parents who stopped to say a few things to him and then his eyes found his friends.

“Tae!” The other male called excitedly and Hoseok’s friend boxy smile made it’s appearance. Pinching his friend on the arm.

“Where have you been hiding the hottie calling your name?” Taehyung turned his head towards Hoseok and wiggled his brows.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” Then he dropped Hoseok’s arm of him and rushed over to the so-called hottie. Hoseok hung back and watched the exchange. Taehyung pretending the hottie smelled back, the hottie smacking Taehyung in the chest and acting offended only for them to break out into giggles half a second later. Hoseok was entranced and he thought he could watch the other from afar forever.

“Hyung,” A familiar voice entered the room and Hoseok forced himself to tear his eyes away from the angel only to be surprised. Jeon Jungkook? He watched as the male approached Taehyung and the angel. Hoseok also watched just how the angel’s eyes lit up when he saw Jungkook. Ahh… He never thought in a million years that he would come across Jungkook’s soulmate so casually. Small world. Really small.

Keeping quiet, he watched how the two interacted, it was like seeing a mirror of him and Yoongi. They were puzzle pieces that fit so well. He was slightly disappointed since he had made plans to hit on the other man but it was what it was. A part of him was glad that Yoongi hadn’t met Jungkook’s soulmate. He would be jealous in general but even more so since the man was stunning. Anyone would fear that Jungkook would fall out of love with them and into the arms of the person that… well, that he was meant to be with.

Funny, how his heart hurt for someone else. For his own soulmate.

“Hoseokie!” Hearing his name being called, he snapped out of his own haze and walked over with a polite smile on his face. Propping his arm back on Taehyung’s shoulder he nodded to them all. His eyes lingering on the angel’s face for longer than necessary before looking at the person he had just seen at an odd hour of the night. Hoseok missed the light blush that presented itself on the angel’s cheeks.

“Hey Jungkook.”

The tightness from that night was back in Jungkook’s face. He was polite though, smiling tersely, he greeted Hoseok.

“Hi hyung.”

It wasn’t hard for Hoseok to see how the air shifted between the two and the angel’s hand reached towards Jungkook’s, his pinky connecting with the other males. Comfort. It was something they did best. Raising his eyes back at Jungkook, he saw how the man relaxed even if just slightly.

“I didn’t know you knew Jungkookie. Do you know Jimin too then?” Looking back towards Taehyung, Hoseok shook his head no.

“Unfortunately, I haven’t had the pleasure to meet him.” Training his eyes back on the angel who now had a name he smiled brightly. Jimin couldn’t meet his eyes for more than half a second before he was glancing at the ground and then back up with a shy smile.

“Hi, I’m Jimin. I work with Jungkookie here and Tae is my new roommate.” He sounded very chipper and Hoseok wished he could listen to him talk some more.

“Got any plans tonight? Hobi and I are about to get some food. Yoongi’s paying right?!” Taehyung nudged Hoseok for confirmation. He nodded and smirked devilishly,

“Yep, pizza. He owes me but we should pick up some beer on the way back. You’re welcome to join.” If Taehyung hadn’t already offered an invitation even if it wasn’t quite as blunt, Hoseok wouldn’t have offered. Unfortunately, Taehyung didn’t know what was going on between the lovebirds and it was only natural that he extended the offer to Yoongi’s longtime boyfriend and friend.

“Really?!” Jimin’s eyes sparkled in excitement at the invite but Jungkook cut in before he could say anything more.

“Sorry, I have another class.” Jimin innocently turned towards Jungkook and quirked his head in question,

“But Kookie it’s Wednesday and you do-”

A sharp tug on his pinky and Jimin finally got the hint.

“Oh, oh, yeah. The new class you added. Ah, I forgot.” Taehyung reached for Jimin’s other hand with both of his and swung the arm back and forth.

“That sucks that you can’t come but Jiminie you can come right? Right?!” The puppy eyes that were being trained on the angel almost had him cracking but Jimin shook his head.

“Sorry TaeTae, I’m still training so I need to shadow the next class.” Immediately after, Taehyung started pouting. It was the most ridiculous pout Hoseok had ever seen. Smacking him on the back,

“Come on, they’re busy. Let’s go grab beer before Yoongi really turns into a grump. I’m sure he’s been moping all day as it is.”

There was no hiding the fact that he had sad that last bit for Jungkook to hear. It wasn’t a lie either. For the few hours Yoongi had been up, Hoseok was positive that the man moped the majority of it.

“It was nice meeting you Jimin-sshi. Let’s hang out next time. Bye Jungkook, good luck with your class.” He waved at the both of them, dragging a Taehyung behind him only to have the angel rush up to them right before they made it to the door.

“Tae, I need the key.”

Fumbling in his pocket, Taehyung found the entire reason he had stopped by the dance studio in the first place. Pulling it out along with a gum wrapper he handed both to Jimin.

“Keep the change.” Jimin looked down into his hand and huffed in annoyance.

“Get out.” He swatted at his roommate and Hoseok made note of how adorably small Jimin’s hands were. Maybe he should pick up a second job. He had more than enough dance experience.

Poking the taller man’s side, Jimin silently asked the other to speak up. Jungkook stopped picking up his towel from the floor and looked behind him. He exhaled a long sigh and took a seat on the floor of the studio.

“Why did you make me lie? It’s Wednesday, we close early on Wednesdays.” Jimin asked as he took a seat next to the younger male.

“Hyung… Did you miss whose place they were going over to?” Jungkook looked at Jimin as if he should know this answer. Wracking his brain for a name, Jimin tried to think of who was mentioned but all he could see was Hoseok’s heart shaped smile in his mind and instead he began to smile too.

“Ugh, hyung! Why are you smiling so creepily.” Ears tinging pink, Jimin snapped out of it and erased the smile asap.

“W-what are you talking about?”

“Oh no.. Don’t tell me… Ew, seriously? Don’t tell me you have a crush on Tae now?! You promised that wasn’t going to happen.” Jungkook shoved Jimin away from him.

“Didn’t we talk about what happened with your last roommate. You don’t want a repea-”

“Jeon Jungkook! Who would like that oddball? Hoseok is much more attractive.” The shock resonated around the room from both boys. Jimin was flushing as dark as a tomato now, he hadn’t meant to say that much and Jungkook was just...welll, shocked.

“Hoseok hyung? Huh…” He tutted while raising a brow at the shorter male next to him. Patting Jimin’s arm in sympathy and understanding, Jungkook spoke again.

“It’s okay, I thought the same thing when I first met Hoseok but you haven’t gotten to know him yet. That will disappear soon enough.” Jimin scowled at the younger but let it go because he didn’t want the spotlight on him anymore. Laying down he rested his head in Jungkook’s lap and moved the younger’s hand into his hair. It garnered a small chuckle from Jungkook but he appeased his hyung and played with his hair.

“So, whose house are they going to?”

“Yoongi hyung’s.” A sadness seeped out and Jimin didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to. Everything was understood. All too well, everything was understood.

Two six packs in, three pizza’s demolished, Yoongi relaxed against the arm of his couch watching Hoseok and Taehyung hurl insults at the other as they played street fighter on the PS4. It was a good night. A good distraction. Taehyung was always a wild card but in a good way. Yoongi liked to grumble but he had a soft spot for the kid even if it wasn’t shown all that often.

“Hyung, I’m about to crush this loser over here. You have to play me next!” Taehyung spoke excitedly as he smashed some buttons that were supposed to be a combo but half the time Yoongi just thought Tae was hitting whatever buttons he could with no real strategy.

“Sure, sure, if you win.” The younger whooped, as he hadn’t been able to get Yoongi to play with him a single round so far. Which made sense, Yoongi often preferred to watch from the sidelines and when he did jump in, he could get really really competitive.

“Oh hyung.”

“Hmm?”

“We saw Jungkook today. It’s a shame you weren’t with us. It was after his class and I know how you like to ogle him while he’s all sweaty.” Taehyung was snickering to himself but unfortunately he couldn’t tell how the mood had shifted. He was too enthralled in the game and Hoseok lost his edge immediately. A few seconds later, it was a KO and Taehyung won.

The boy jumped up, whooped and ran around the couch before plopping right back down in his spot and tossing Hoseok’s controller up to Yoongi, eyes glued on the screen again. Hoseok looked over at Yoongi but kept quiet. Pushing everything to the back of his mind, Yoongi grasped the controller and focused on the screen.

Taehyung lost three times in a row. Yoongi had a smug smile. Hoseok was content with the evening.

Jungkook-ah 11:37pm:

I miss you (unsent)

The days flew by and it was the weekend before Jungkook realized it. He had been spending a lot of time at Jimin and Taehyung’s place. He didn’t like going home but he didn’t want to think about that. Jimin didn’t mind and Taehyung didn’t really seem to notice anything odd. Or if he did, he kept his mouth shut about it. Jimin had spent the previous day trying to tell Jungkook that he needed to talk with Yoongi. Whether it was to end things or make up, it needed to be figured out. This only upset the younger and immediately after, Jimin tried to placate him instead. They both weren’t used to this soulmate, feeling each others feelings thing. It was hard getting used to how hurting your soulmate hurt you ten-fold. An uppercut and a sucker punch directly after. It was a bitch.

Taehyung was throwing clothes at Jungkook, as the other male just stood there letting the clothes that hit him in the face fall to the floor. His eyes were glowing with daggers but Kim Taehyung seemed to be oblivious to everything.

“Yah! Kim Taehyung!” He finally had enough, the other stopped turning around and just laughed.

“I told you, we’re going out and you’re wearing those clothes. Put it on. Yelling at me gets you nowhere.” Taehyung chuckled some more and picked up the black ripped skinny jeans and pressed them against Jungkook’s chest.

Pinching a cheek, he sweetly said, “Get moving sweet cheeks.” as he walked past, Taehyung slapped the younger’s firm butt cheek. Jungkook dropped the clothes again and stormed after Taehyung, picking up over his shoulder and slamming him down on the elders bed. He huffed, glaring at a still laughing Taehyung.

“Fine!”

Rolling out of his bed, Taehyung went over to pester Jimin. Pester was a lie, he went to tell Jimin nicely to get dressed they were going out. He even so kindly hinted at meeting some attractive people. As for who, of course he wasn’t going to tell.

Stirring his drink for the umpteenth time, Yoongi looked around the nightclub and sighed. What was he doing here? Oh right, Hoseok had beat him at rock paper scissors and now he was forced to be in this crowded, loud night club. He didn’t dance so why would he go to a night club? He wasn’t single… or was he? It sure felt like he was single. A small part of him was hoping that he wasn’t but what else would you call this? Sighing again, he picked up his drink and downed it all in one go.

A hand clapped his back,

“Whoa there cowboy. It’s too early to be downing our drinks like that.” A deep voice spoke over all of the music and chatter of the joint they were in. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he looked at the silver haired man who could be none other than Namjoon.

“Cowboy? Have you been out of the country for too long?” He scoffed and waved the bartender over for another as well as a shot of patron for his friend. Namjoon laughed and leaned against the bar.

“Maybe I have. You look good tonight hyung. Is that...eyeliner? Hah, how did Hobi rope you into that?!” Yoongi smacked the finger away that was pointing at his eyes. He was about to wonder how the guy even noticed but he was on the brighter side of the bar so maybe that was enough.

“Your fault you dick.” He grumbled and it only made Namjoon laugh even more. Hoseok had truly conned Yoongi into this night because they hadn't seen Namjoon since he returned from the states. Some big business deal he had to fly over there for like six months. It had been too long. They needed to get out and somewhere down the road he had been coaxed into actually dressing like he cared. If ripped jeans, a slightly more form fitting white shirt and a leather jacket was caring.

It was.

Why? To hell if he knew.

It wasn’t long before he lost another bet and was pulled onto the dance floor. Seriously, what the hell, were the gods against him or something. Yoongi made sure to take another shot right before he was forced on the floor though.

“Hyung looks like he’s having fun.” Namjoon yelled over the crowd to Hoseok who was next to him at the edge of the dance floor. They both watched Yoongi in the thick of things with some girl who had managed to sidle up to Yoongi.

“He really needs it. This breakup has been harsh.” Hoseok had never said those words before and it felt odd to say it but what else did you call it. Namjoon’s eyes widened.

“Shit, Hobi. I missed a lot while I was gone.” They both nodded, eyes glued on Yoongi happy that he had finally just let himself loose. Setting his empty glass down, Hoseok slipped into the throngs of bumping bodies and danced circles around most but he wasn’t dancing for them anyway.

“Three Red Headed Sluts.” Taehyung called to the bartender with three fingers raised. Both Jungkook and Jimin judged the other hard. It took him a moment but Taehyung looked from his left to his right.

“What?! Don’t knock it until you try it.”

Ignoring their lame asses, Taehyung pulled out his credit card and slid it across the bar.

“Keep it open.” Passing out their shots, he raised his up to cheers with them. Jimin and Jungkook exchanged a look but raised their glasses and knocked it back. Jungkook refused to admit it but the shot wasn’t that bad at all. He even ordered another without letting Taehyung see. He’d never live it down if the other male had found out.

They knocked back a couple more drinks at the bar before Jimin caught his roommate roaming the crowd like he had a purpose.

“Who you looking for?” Jimin leaned head against the taller boys shoulder in an attempt to be looking from the same angle. He didn’t see anyone that particularly stood out. Though, the place was packed as it was a Friday night.

“Just a hyung. He mentioned he might be here tonight, it's been awhile since I last saw him. A grin flashed over his face. Taking the last swig of his Dirty Shirley, Taehyung pushed off of the bar.

“Let go dance, it’s ready for us now.” he called behind him already on the move.

Jungkook and Jimin exchanged looks before finishing up their drinks and following suit. Jungkook calling to his hyung that was far ahead of him,

“It’s never ready for us.” He couldn’t deny that after two drinks and two shots he was feeling pretty good. He wasn’t sure why he had been dreading coming to this club in the first place. It wasn’t that bad at all. Especially not since they had mostly been left alone. There were a few girls here and there that had eyed them but been too shy to approach, instead trying to invite them with their eyes. To which they had all ignored, for now. Who knew how the end of the night would turn out.

By the time Jimin and Jungkook made it down to the dance floor, Taehyung had found Namjoon and was laughing loudly at whatever had been said by the man. The other two stopped by the edge of the dance floor watching Taehyung and Namjoon. Jimin leaned in to Jungkook so he could speak easier over the music.

“Who is Tae with?”

“Ah, Kim Namjoon. I don’t know him that well but they’re friends.” Jungkook filled in his hyung while turning his eyes away from two who looked like they were in their own world and roamed over the dance floor. That was until Jimin grabbed Jungkook’s arm suddenly. His eyes were much brighter than a few moments ago.

“I’m going to go dance with someone. I’ll be back.” He looked at Jimin but didn’t question just nodded to him, sending him off. Jimin flashed him a smile and then wiggled his way through the crowd. Jungkook followed him with his eyes and soon found out why he had just been ditched.

Jung Hoseok.

He couldn’t help but laugh, it wasn’t long before Jimin had garnered Hoseok’s attention and the two began to actually dance with each other and not whoever Hoseok had previously been dancing with just a moment ago. Oh, Park Jimin, you’re not going to live this down later. Jungkook started to dance his way along the dance floor. Trying to find a spot he wanted to claim as his own. He managed to dance his way away from someone who was a little to free with their hands. Only to find his gaze land on someone he could never mistake for anyone else.

Those raven locks now had blue streaked throughout, he wouldn’t have even noticed it if the lights in the club hadn’t spun across his hair for a moment. A leather jacket, no the leather jacket that Jungkook had refused to tell Yoongi if it looked good on him or not. Simply because it made the male look so devilishly good that he wanted to jump his bones right there. He was glad he couldn’t see what type of goddamn it! A body moved and now he could see just how well those jeans hugged his ass.

Jungkook sucked in a breath, this was not how the night was supposed to go. He wasn’t supposed to be thinking about Min Yoongi. He wasn’t supposed to be seeing him and he most definitely wasn’t supposed to wanting to pin the man to the nearest wall. It didn’t last long though, Yoongi wasn’t alone. Which made sense, Yoongi didn’t dance. No, he never danced unless he had a partner and that partner had to drag him onto the dance floor or he was beyond wasted.

Long black silky hair flipped past and Jungkook saw her. Min Yoongi had a partner and despite what Jungkook wanted to say, she was cute. She was really cute. Moving closer, he eyed the too of them noticing each movement of Yoongi’s hands sliding along her hips. The way she would bend forward slightly to rub her ass against his crotch and each smile. Each and every smile she was giving him. There were too many. Jealousy was flaring and he was sure that Jimin could feel it but maybe the alcohol and good time the other was having would dull it.

Jungkook was too preoccupied to care. He couldn’t get his eyes to leave and before he knew it, he had danced his way with one fool after another over to Yoongi. He accidentally bumped into the elder, but didn’t even get a glance his way, so Jungkook did it again. Still nothing, which only fueled his annoyance even more. This time he slid his hand against Yoongi’s which was daring since the girl clearly had her arms around his neck.

It worked.

His favorite coal colored eyes were on him and they didn’t leave. Both continued to move their bodies with the music but their eyes only gazed at each other. Jungkook’s were lit with a fire he didn’t bother hiding and Yoongi was surprised not sure he was seeing things properly. Then Yoongi broke the gaze so he could check out the other from head to toe and back up. His tongue ran across his bottom lip unconsciously. Jungkook moved even closer and Yoongi was removing the girl's arms from around him turning completely towards the one and only person he’s been longing for, for weeks.

Yoongi’s hands reached for Jungkook’s hips and pulled him against him, the two moving their bodies to their own rhythm. It was still in time with the music but no one was quite synced just as the two of them were. Words weren’t exchanged, it was too loud to talk even if they wanted to. Jungkook ran his hand through Yoongi’s hair, curling his fingers and tugging on it. His hips grinding against the other, his eyes full of desire not wavering. Yoongi’s hand slid up Jungkook’s chest to his neck, fingers gripping his chin but hesitating. The younger didn’t though, he rushed in lips against the other.

The kiss wasn’t magical, it was hard, caution to the wind and intoxicating. There was no asking for asking just intruding but is it truly intruding when you were welcome all along? Yoongi’s mouth welcomed him back enthusiastically and kissed him back just as rushed, impatient, wanting to swallow all of him. Greedy, it was so greedy. Jungkook’s hand slid up underneath the shirt Yoongi was wearing, dying to feel skin on skin, it was so warm, growing hotter with each passing moment. He yanked on Yoongi’s hair again causing the man to growl and bite none too gently on his bottom lip before sucking on it between his teeth. Jungkook ran his fingernails down the other's back, while rolling his hips over and over against his hyung. When their lips finally pulled apart it was curses that was leaving them.

“Fuck..Fuck Jungkook.”

This time Yoongi dove in, kissing the other as if he hadn’t seen him in years. That was what it felt like. Separating from each other didn’t seem like a viable option. Of course they had to and sooner rather than later. If they didn’t they might just make a spectacle of themselves on the dance floor and really put on a show. Jungkook pull back staring into Yoongi’s eyes.

“Don’t dance with anyone else again.” He yanked on the elders hair and he had to bite back a moan.

“Got it?” The harshness and possessiveness of the youngers words made Yoongi shiver in need. He pulled Jungkook in for another kiss, nipping at his lip before licking along it.

“Got it.” He muttered in between kisses. It wasn’t often that he let Jungkook boss him around but every now and then. Every now and then it was welcome and really, really, hot. Jungkook slid his hand into Yoongi’s and pulled him out of the throng of people. He didn’t even see that the both of them had brushed completely by Jimin and Hoseok who had been witness to everything emotionally and may or may not had spurred the two of them on in an intense and much too fast kind of way.

Pulling apart Jimin was pink from head to foot but thankfully you couldn’t tell with the dimness of the club. Running his hand through his hair, he looked off to the side.

“I need a drink.” Hoseok grinned at the words the other had meant to mumble.

“You read my mind.” He said loudly over the crowd and pulled Jimin towards the bar.

The cab ride to surprisingly, Jungkook’s apartment was a blur. It was a mess of hands on thigh and neck kisses, nervous glances at the cabbie who was just praying the two wouldn’t get busy in the back of his vehicle. He didn’t even care that he almost didn’t get paid for the ride. Bills were tossed up front and the man didn’t even bother counting it just zoomed off before they could get back in if they made a mistake.

They didn’t. The hallway, elevator and walk to his front door was a mixture of kisses, moans and giggles with hushed nothings in each others ear. It took Jungkook four tries to unlock his door, mainly because Yoongi wouldn’t stop sucking on his earlobe and it was so damn distracting. The two stumbled through the door only to end up with Yoong’s back flat against the door and Jungkook getting him back with an attack on his neck while simultaneously shedding the elder of his leather jacket. Pushing the younger off, the two slowly made their way, each piece of clothing coming off as they made their way through the apartment. Pit stops were made, mainly against the kitchen table which Yoongi very proudly bent Jungkook over and removed his pants, and the back of the couch where Jungkook practically shoved Yoongi onto. It took awhile but they finally made it to the bedroom with maybe a sock or two on. With Jungkook spread underneath him, reaching for Yoongi,

“Yoongi-yah, I need you. Right here. Right now.”

He properly devoured him at his request.

Sunlight found its way across the bedsheets and Jungkook snuggled further into what felt like someone's neck. Of course it couldn’t be someone’s neck because he had been sleeping alone for weeks now. Dreams were the best. He didn’t want to wake up. It felt like one of those moments when you were half awake but still half dreaming and if you just snuggled harder you could fall right back into that dream without much interruption. Jungkook did that.

About a hour later, the man opened his eyes just to promptly close them again and pull the covers up over his head. It took another five minutes before he let go of the blanket and sighed at the morning that was awaiting him. He couldn’t help himself but rolled his head over to the left and saw that no one was there. Groaning, he had a dull headache. It would go away with a couple of pills he was sure.

Reaching his arm towards the nightstand he felt around for his phone but couldn’t find anything. Rolling over he looked and saw nothing, maybe it’s on the floor? Jungkook leaned over the bed and didn’t see his phone. What the hell did he do with it last night? He couldn’t recall. Sitting up he looked down and realized he was naked. If he was naked and alone in his bed, then damn he really had a good night with the alcohol. Scratching the back of his head, Jungkook pushed the covers aside and stood up. He felt stiff but ignored it, sometimes dreams were much too real. Honestly, he was a little worried that he had slept with some random last night and they had left like any good one night stand would.

Just thinking about this made him groan even more. Rubbing his chest while yawning, he padded out into the living room and started to see pieces of his clothing. Well, Taehyung’s clothing. Once he made it to the kitchen he found his pants and his phone. Pulling it out, Jungkook went to turn it on. Nothing. Of course it was dead.

Walking back towards his bedroom, he yawned again only to stop short as another person with black hair streaked with blue stepped out of his bathroom in just a towel.

“Shit.” He muttered under his breath. Last night wasn’t a dream, he wasn’t stiff for nothing, last night wasn’t a dream. “Shit.”

Turning around, Yoongi stared at the other before a lazy smirk spread across his lips. Jungkook stared back at Yoongi and noticed how there was still a slight residue from his eyeliner the other. Fuck him, he did wear eyeliner. The man really was dressed to kill.

“This is the best dream I’ve had in a long time, don’t wake me.” The sleep slurred words filled Jungkook’s ears and he shivered. It had been too long since he had heard Yoongi’s sleep ridden voice. He had almost forgotten how much he loved it. Jungkook didn’t know what to say so he just chuckled and went to plug in his phone. As he walked past Yoongi he didn’t see how the man had reached out for him but hesitated and dropped his arm back by his side.

Ruffling his own hair, Yoongi went to go collect his clothes.

“Jesus, did he throw my clothes out the window or something?” he grumbled to himself as it felt like all of his clothes were in places they should have never ended up. Bringing them back into the room he started to get dressed.

“I’ll leave in a moment.” Jungkook had his back to Yoongi so the elder couldn’t watch him hold his breath at those words nor let out a deep silent sigh. He nodded,

“Alright.” the words were barely audible but enough for Yoongi to hear. With just his jeans on, he turned on his phone screen. 8% battery life and more than enough missed calls and texts. He let out a sigh.

“Sorry, I should have asked before I used your shower.”

“It’s fine hyung.”

Yoongi shoved the phone back in his jeans pocket not bothering to reply to the messages yet. Instead he pulled on his shirt and his leather jacket, mussing up his hair again. He chanced a glance over to the younger only to find him staring at him.

“Jungkook-”

The younger raised his eyes to Yoongi’s and he froze. He didn’t know what he was going to say, his mind was a blank.”

“Beautiful…”

“Uh, what?”

“Oh uh, nothing.” Yoongi coughed to clear his throat and his mind. He hadn’t meant to muter that.

“If you don’t want to be bombarded leave your phone off. It uh looks like Hoseok and uh Ji-Jimin have been looking for us.”

“Ah…” Jungkook looked away, disappointed. He didn’t know what he expected but he knew he didn’t want that type of response. Nodding his head, he added,

“I should probably shower too.” Yoongi walked to the door and stopped looking over his shoulder.

“Don’t let Jimin worry too much. It uh, it hurts you know?” He coughed again,

“Ah, well you’ll figure it out.” Turning ahead, he didn’t see Jungkook looking after him. He didn’t see the longing, he didn’t see the uncertainty, he didn’t see that Jungkook wanted him to stay.

Hearing the door click close, Jungkook still stood there staring after him.

“I missed you.”

Pulling his phone out of his pocket, halfway home, Yoongi decided to just called Hoseok.

“Thank god! Hyung, how could you not even tell me you were home?!” The relief was quickly followed by scolding.

“I wasn’t home. Still aren’t.” There was a pause on the other line.

“Oh… Well, you still should have told me you were okay! You just left without telling anyone.”

“I don’t expect you to tell me when you’re going to fuck someone Hoseok-ah, why would I tell you.”

There was another long pause at the end of the line and then the hesitance returned.

“Hyung… you know I could tell-”

“Right, so I shouldn’t have to tell you.” His voice was starting to raise to a louder decibel. Letting out a frustrated groan he shoved his keys into the lock and opened his door.

“Sorry, Hoseok-ah. I just made another mess. Everything’s a fucking mess. Any semblance of progress is right out the fucking window.”

Yoongi kicked off his shoes and went straight to the coffee pot. God how he needed some caffeine. Luckily he didn’t have a hangover but he felt like he had one. An emotional one. He really didn’t know what the hell was wrong with him. Why was Jungkook even there last night?

“But you don’t regret it.” It wasn’t a question. Hoseok was stating a fact. A fact that Yoongi couldn’t deny. He didn’t. He didn’t one bit. Jungkook could send him to the depths of hell for centuries and he still wouldn’t regret last night. Just remembering how the others touch felt against his skin, gave him goosebumps. He needed it.

“No… no, I don’t. I just don’t want him to have a hard time with Jumin now.”

Laughter broke over the phone and Yoongi scrunched his nose up in confusion and annoyance at just how loud it was. Pulling the phone away from his ear, he glared at his phone and decided to just put Hoseok on speaker phone and set him down on the counter.

“It’s Jimin. Why do you keep calling him Jumin?” Tapping his fingers impatiently on the counter, he waited for the coffee to finish brewing. It was taking much longer than he would have liked. God, he knew he should have invested in a damn keurig.

“Because it makes me feel better. He can be that twisted twink from Magical Messenger or whatever it’s called.”

“Mystic Messenger and Han Jumin is not a twink.” Yoongi’s fingers stopped tapping the counter and he looked over at his phone as if he could see Hoseok through it.

“How do you know, huh? Have you played Magical Messenger?” a cough could be heard from the other end and this time Yoongi laughed. He laughed hard, so hard that he was slapping the counter and his gums were showing.

“Jung Hoseok, you play Magical Messenger! Oh this is so good. Is Jumin your favorite?! H-how many times have you played.” Yoongi continued to laugh while the other line was screeching some nonsense about how they had never played and a load of crock because Yoongi knew otherwise.

Well, he kept laughing until he turned around and saw the very person he had just left about 45 minutes ago standing in his house unannounced.

“I-I gotta go.” Smashing his hand over the phone, Yoongi tried to hit the end button but it took him a few times before he did. His eyes were trained on wet hair plastered to Jungkook’s head as he stood at the edge of his kitchen.

“Will you laugh like that for me hyung?” Yoongi was at a loss of words and just stood there staring at the man in front of him. His hand gripped the edge of the counter harder with each step that Jungkook took towards him. His knuckles were turning white.

“You always do it for Hobi hyung, but can you do it for me?”

Yoongi felt a hand over his, gently peeling his frozen fingers from the edge of the counter.

“Hmm?” The younger was still questioning him and working his hand away from the counter. It took awhile for him to find his voice as well as for him to relax his hand. Yoongi made it though, he still couldn’t believe what he was seeing was real.

“Y-yeah…” The stutter he couldn’t control nor could he control just how much warmth spread through his chest when he saw a smile directed at him from Jungkook’s lips.

“Jimin is great hyung. He understands me in a way I could only watch unfold between you and Hoseok. I get it now. I get just how amazing it feels to have that one person who can be your other half, can soothe you with just a look. Who shares what you feel and doesn’t mind sharing that burden. There’s nothing like it. Nothing.” Yoongi could only swallow the lump in his throat as he listened to his former lover in front of him. Who was still holding the hand he had just peeled off of the granite.

“He smiles when I smile, laughs when I laugh, argues with me and likes to pretend he’s mad when he’s not. He shares my sadness and I share his. I never realized just how much pain I could feel from another. It hurts. It’s such a different feeling from when I hurt myself. I know you understand what I’m saying, it’s so hard to explain. I get it now. You know what hurts me the most though?”

Jungkook’s warm chocolate eyes kept holding Yoongi’s gaze. They never waved, steadfast directly on the shorter man. His thumb rubbed over Yoongi’s hand. Back and forth, back and forth. Yoongi remained frozen. He felt like if he was to move everything was going to shatter. He was waiting for Jungkook to shatter it anyway but he wanted the illusion that everything would be okay would last as long as possible.

“What hurts the most, hyung… What hurts the most isn’t when I hurt Jimin or when he hurts me. No, what hurts the most is when you walk out my door. When I can’t see you anymore. When I don’t hear your voice. When you smile for someone else. When you leave, hyung. That hurts the most.”

Jungkook stepped even closer to Yoongi, they were only a few inches apart now. He cupped Yoongi’s cheek, thumb caressing him. Eyes just as warm as ever.

“What you did was wrong but I forgive you. Can you forgive me for leaving not once but twice?” The slight quiver in Jungkook’s voice made Yoongi’s chest tighten. He wanted to envelope the man in such a tight embrace that he’d never let go and Jungkook would feel just how much he cared for him. How, he never needed to forgive him before there was nothing to forgive. He had been in the wrong, he was the one who had caused this mess. He wanted to tell Jungkook just how perfect and precious he was.

Yoongi was a master with words, but words on paper, clips of thoughts and phrases, words in songs. They were easy, feelings and spoken ones were not. Which is why he didn’t hesitate this time to press his lips gently against the love of his life. He poured his heart and soul into that kiss. It was nothing compared to the rushed, lustful kisses they shared the night before. It was slow, gentle and sweet. It was intense in it’s own respects but felt like a cool breeze on a hot summer day.

When Jungkook opened his eyes, Yoongi was already staring at him, eyes sparkling with any emotions the other couldn’t feel through the kiss, with all the reaffirmation possible.

“Always, Jungkook-ah. I’ll always forgive you.” The smile Yoongi’s eyes bestowed upon was stunning. Just how the sun rises and falls, the stars dot the sky and guide you back home. That’s what Jungkook’s smile did for Yoongi. It guided him right back home, where he belonged.

“I love you, Yoongi-yah.” He slid his arms around Jungkook’s waist, eyes unable to look away from the man he hadn’t seen nearly enough of for far too long.

“I love you too.”

A loud cough broke the moment between the two love birds, as Hoseok would call them later.

“Sorry to interrupt this lovefest but thank god!” It of course was Hoseok. He had rushed over in a flurry, thinking something had happened to Yoongi but it was just Jungkook. Rushing over he enveloped them both in a hug and began jumping about.

“I didn’t know how much I could handle, Jungkookie.” He whispered to the younger and then jumped a few more times. Yoongi was scrunching his nose in disapproval but seeing Jungkook laughing, he kept his aversion to himself. He wanted to hear that beautiful tinkling laugh of his for all of time.

“Is there a reason you’re still here Hoseok-ah?” A deep grumbling erupted in Yoongi’s bedroom. Jungkook was on his left, holding his hand while Hoseok was on his right also holding his hand. As much as he loved his best friend, he wasn’t making it quiet that he really just wanted to be alone with Jungkook. The younger was trying to stifle his laugh behind his hand.

“Did you forget we all have plans to watch a movie?” He sniffed as if he was offended at being told without being told to get out. It was a couple days later, since Hoseok had the good sense to leave those two alone after the kitchen reunion lest he wanted his ass kicked by Yoongi. A couple days was more than enough, thought. At least he thought so. Jungkook also didn’t seem to mind either.

“Movie?”

Jungkook turned towards Yoongi and smacked him on the chest.

“You’re the one who invited him how could you forget. Jeez, you’re the worst. Why are you friends with him hyung?” Yoongi scoffed at the insult he had just been dealt.

“I don’t know Jungkookie, maybe you should just replace him as my best friend. At least you don’t forget about me.” Hoseok pretended to be upset and Jungkook giggled but agreed to replace Yoongi.

“Uh, excuse you Jung Hoseok,. Jungkookie is mine.” A groan could be heard but everyone ignored it. Jungkook propped up to look at Jimin who had appeared. Hoseok, raised both of his brows, surprised by the possessive side of Jimin.

“Why is Jumin here?” The same person who groaned asked another question he should know the answer to.

“It’s Jimin!” Jungkook and Hoseok yelled at Yoongi simultaneously.

Standing by the entryway to Yoongi’s bedroom, Jimin’s ears turned pink and he looked shyly away.

“Sorry, hyung but you didn’t lock your door again so I uh, let myself in.” This time Yoongi got flicked in the head and let out a howl in pain.

“How many times do I have to tell you to lock the door?”

“One more?” He teased and got flicked again. Hoseok and Jimin broke into laughter at the two. Sitting up fully, Hoseok watched Jimin standing there awkwardly by the door. Feeling eyes on him, Jimin met the gaze and smiled.

“Come on let's watch the movie.” Hoseok tugged on Yoongi’s hand that he was still holding but let go to walk with Jimin out to the living room. Leaving the two lovebirds to pretend to bicker, like they did from time to time.

Or perhaps they did so that way they could get another moment to sneak in a private kiss.

“If I come in there and you’re kissing again,” Hoseok called to the others,

“We’re not watching Iron Man!” Jimin finished for the other. They exchanged looks and laughed while hearing Jungkook and Yoongi groan before shuffling into the room and smooshing on the couch together for movie night.

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