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astraystayyh · 1 year ago

Text

Volcano

pairing : han x reader. enemies to lovers. slow burn.

summary : you've never gotten along with han, your mutual prejudices ruining any prospect of friendship between you both. but you slowly realize that you are more similar than what you originally thought- your darkness recognizing his, and his light yearning for yours.

"I'll take care of you. It's rotten work. Not to me, not if it's you."

cw : depiction of a panic attack, minor injury, both reader and han say mean shit to each other, cursing, mention of alcohol, reader has she/her pronouns.

word count : 13.2k

a.n: highly recommend listening to "Let the light in" by Lana when Han starts playing it in the fic hehe feedback is highly appreciated as always <3

skz quotes series masterlist.

You remember being seven years old, sitting on the floor of your bedroom, while your mom brushed your hair. It was a late July night, a cold breeze swaying your white curtains, akin to the fluttering of a butterfly’s wing. Your eyes were slightly puffy, delicate red veins protruding the white of them. You had just finished watching a Disney movie- the Lion King; heavy sobs escaping your lips when Mufasa died.

There were still faint hiccups coursing through you, a slight shake in your hands as you fiddled with the hem of your shirt. Your mom brought you to her chest, her chin resting on your small shoulder blade. "You’re sensitive, my sweet girl" she had uttered, rubbing your arms soothingly.

It was the first time someone described you as such. You didn’t know what ‘sensitive’ entailed exactly, but it contained the word ‘sense’, so you assumed it was something good, a quality to be proud of you. You could sense, maybe more than others, maybe too deeply. That’s why you cried when you didn’t get a good grade, or when your friends left you alone in the park.

But you didn't mind back then. What was your heart made for if not to feel?

You should’ve paid more attention to the way your mom spoke, to the bittersweetness lingering in her tone. As if she knew exactly what it entailed to be sensitive- to have your heart overflow with delicate feelings for the rest of your life, with no safe destination to guard them in.

☄༄

You’ve forgotten the last time you cried in.

The tears are lodged inside your throat- you can clearly feel them, an uncomfortable weight sitting on your vocal cords, rendering them impossible to use.

You used to cry, freely, so much that you lost count of how much it happened. But you realized that every tear that escaped your eyes, made you vulnerable, weaker, in the hands of the people around you. Every tear that washed over you, only rendered you more transparent for everyone to peer at how they wounded your soul.

So, you conditioned yourself to stop feeling as deeply, or at least to stop showing it. The sadness, the hurt, the anger were all stored within you; but your face remained placid, not betraying how you truly felt. You were like a pond, tranquil at the surface, raging from within.

But on days like this one, you miss the person you were. When the implications of being sensitive still haven’t weighed down on you. When you could get rid of your feelings in the essence of your tears. When you didn’t yet feel bad for feeling.

Chan's eyes are on you, as you type furiously on your laptop. Your vision is so blurry that you can no longer see your lit screen. But you’re afraid that if you pause then Chan would ask if you were okay, and you hated that question. Because you never truly knew the answer to it. Yes, you were okay. But you haven’t cried in six months and your friend didn’t greet you back this morning and you suddenly feel very small in a very large library.

"Hey," Chan taps your hand with his pen and you suck in a slight breath, before raising your head to meet his eyes. "Are you-" he starts but you’re quick to cut him off, knowing exactly where this was headed. "Did you answer question five? I’m stuck on what formula to use."

Chan raises a brow at you, and you blink repeatedly. His eyes travel to your feet tapping furiously against the floor, and he understands.

"I'm still at number four," he finally says and you nod in relief. You’ve been close friends for a year and Chan has come to know you- he’s dropping the subject.

"Oh, and are you coming to the party tonight?" Chan asks, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He’s hosting it and there is hope twinkling in his eyes. You feel bad because you’re about to crush it.

"No, need to revise more for the upcoming test."

"Of course, you’ll still be buried in your books," a sarcastic voice quips up, and you stiffen inwardly. Han- one-third of 3racha, Chan’s self-made producing group, and the bane of your existence. You never liked who you were around Han, he brought out the worst in you. Made all your insecurities roar forward, plastered across your body in neon red.

He was friends with Chan, long before you came into the picture, back into their high school days when Han skipped a class and ended up in the same one as Chan’s. A genius, as everyone around you liked to call him. And they were right- excelling came easily to Han, in everything he ever did. Even tapping into each one of your tender nooks and crannies.

He knew how to expertly push your buttons, how to make his tone sound mocking, and taunting, but only to you. Because you were sensitive, and he knew it, finding it almost amusing to toy with you.

You decide to stay silent because nothing good ever comes out of talking back to him. So, you bite your tongue, turning back to look at your screen. But Han’s elbow grazes your arm, as he leans a bit further into your face. "Come on, live a little, y/n. You’re missing out on the college experience," he makes a big show of opening his arms wide, a single red pen spinning between his fingers. "Quit being stuck up for one night." And it spins, and it spins, and it spins and something ugly inside you crumbles.

"I’m sorry I wasn’t born with a golden spoon shoved down my throat and I actually have to work for my future."

Han’s eyes widen at the raw animosity in your voice, before narrowing down promptly. He’s leaning onto your face again, and his tone is low and cold when he speaks again. "What did you just say to me?"

"Is it so hard to grasp that not everyone is as privileged as you? We can’t all afford to get wasted every fucking night and call it a life."

You’re being mean. This is the rudest you’ve ever been to someone else. You know that your reaction is disproportionate to what he said. But it isn’t just about this instant. It’s an amalgam of every moment Han made you feel small in, because you don’t go out as much as him, because you don’t understand as quickly as him. Taunts thrown your way under the guise of teasing, but you know better.

Still, guilt eats at you as your eyes lock with Chan’s. You should’ve stayed silent, as you’ve been diligently doing for the past year.

"How do you stand being her friend Chan? Is it out of pity?" Han muses, a pout pulling at his lips. You stare ahead as Han tsks lightly, before tapping your cheek with his pen, bringing your face back to him. "I think it is. Because isn’t she so fucking boring?"

Being near Han always makes you hyper-aware of things you never noticed before. Like how a breath has to travel from the depths of your body so you’d be able to release it, and how excruciatingly long it takes for you to draw in a new one. Because Han’s words are never harmless, no, they settle on the confines of your lungs, crushing down any bit of oxygen willing to leave you.

You've had enough.

"When you’re eighty, on your deathbed, and all alone. I hope you know that there is no one around to blame but yourself."

"Don’t cross the line, yn," Chan finally speaks and you scoff, as you get up to grab your things.

"What fucking line, Chan? So, he can insult me all day but as soon as I do it there is a line? Why are you taking his side?"

Chan stays silent and you chuckle dryly. "Of course, you are. You’re only friends with me out of pity after all."

"That’s not true-"

"Well, you didn’t deny it, did you Chan?"

"Yn, I-"

"Save it."

Han’s eyes are glossy as you take one final glance at him. But your heart’s bleeding too much for you to care about his minor cut.

☄༄

For how much time can a conversation haunt someone? Seventeen days, for your case. And you're still counting.

You have nit-picked your fight with Han in the library so much that it's driving you insane. His voice is drilled into your head- the coldness of it as he reeled back from the shock of your words, and then, the pure venom dripping from his tone, as he attacked you where it hurt the most. Chan.

Han chose his words carefully, stitched up the sentence perfectly to hurt you, to stick to your flesh like burnt skin, one that you peeled over and over, each time it threatened to scar.

You haven't talked to Chan in seventeen days. He tried to stop you; on your way out of class, in the line of your campus cafeteria, on the doorsteps of your dorm. But you always fleet away. His eyes were also imprinted into your brain- the disappointment in them when you clapped back at Han.

What about him? You wanted to yell. Why are you only disappointed in me?

But the tears in your pillow have dried. Then fallen again. Then dried once more. And you found the answer to question five. And you miss Chan, terribly so.

That's why you're pacing around his dorm, at 10 pm, when it's also terribly cold outside. Your fingers have gone numb from the ministrations of the wind, but you don't move from your place. You know that the chances of seeing Han- the second person you’ve been avoiding like the plague- would be higher here. But you didn't care anymore.

Your thumb hovers over the call button and you bite your lip harshly. Would Chan pick up? Would he hang up? Was he really your friend out of pity?

"Yn?" a voice calls out, and you startle, turning around to see who it is. Changbin, carrying two bags of groceries in his hand. He's Chan’s friend as well, the final member of 3racha. You like Changbin. He's always being very kind to you. You've grown much closer to him than to Han in the past few months; not that the latter has ever wanted a friendship with you. From the day you met and his eyes narrowed promptly each time you talked. You should’ve known from the start.

"Why are you out here in the cold?" Changbin asks gently, stepping cautiously towards you.

"Chan," you say simply and he nods, understanding what you mean.

"He's not here now, but he'll come home soon. Let's go inside, okay?" he smiles tentatively at you and you hum in reply.

Changbin opens the door and you follow inside. You help him take out the groceries silently, stacking them in their fridge and shelves. Lots of protein powder, and chicken packets. You'd laugh about it if you weren't so sad.

"Chan misses you," Changbin speaks up suddenly, and your heartbeat quickens at his words.

"I miss him too."

"Then you'll be okay."

You try to remember Changbin’s reassuring smile when Chan finally opens the door to the dorm, an hour later. He finds you sitting on the stool in the kitchen. His eyes light up once they settle on you.

And you unravel at the sight.

You're crying, sobs rippling from you as he brings you to his chest. He's patting your head and whispering that it's okay. And you know his shirt is all crumpled from clutching it in your hands. But he doesn't mind. He only hugs you tighter.

"I'm sorry, yn. So, so, sorry. I should've stopped him before, I just... You two are my best friends and I didn't want to add fuel to the fire by talking and-"

"It's okay, it's okay, I'm the one who should apologize for ghosting you."

"I understand why you did it. I fucked up but I missed you so much. Can we please never do this again?”

“Yes please,” you giggle, but the sound withers as the door opens once again.

"What is she doing here?" a cold voice breaks you and Chan apart, as your eyes land on Han. His gaze sucks the breath out of you, and the warmth in your heart fizzles out. Your hold on Chan’s shirt tightens and he takes an unconscious step in front of your body. Han doesn't miss the protective gesture.

"Get out, yn."

"You don't get to kick my friends out of my house," Chan is angry. And you regret ever coming here.

"Last I checked it's my house too." Han doesn't even bother looking at you. He's holding Chan’s gaze as if they're silently communicating. "You know damn well what she said why-" he takes a deep breath, running a hand angrily through his hair. "Fuck this. If she's not leaving then I am."

And with that he storms out, slamming the door behind him. You flinch at the sound.

Chan’s eyebrows are knitted as he stares at where Han stood seconds ago as if trying to conjure him up once again. You never wanted to strain their friendship. You knew how much Han cared for Chan, even if he didn't bear the same sentiment for you.

"Chan, I’ll leave. Call Han and tell him I'm gone."

"You don't have to."

"I know," you reassure, placing your hand on his forearm. "We'll talk more later, okay? It's cold and he has nowhere to go. Just call him, please."

"Fine," Chan concedes. "Call me when you get home, alright?" his eyes finally soften and you squeeze his hand in reply, before heading out as well.

The walk from Chan’s dorm to yours is fairly short, but tonight, it seems like kilometers are separating you from the safety of your bed. There is a heavy weight crushing your bones, most of it being guilt at what just transpired between Chan and Han.

That's what comes with being sensitive- you bear the weight of your feelings and the one of those surrounding you.

Were you out of place with what you said to Han? Yes. Was it eating you inside to see the consequences of your words? Yes. But he was also to blame, you repeated in your head. He was also to blame. Please. You plead, you don't know to whom, maybe to the voice in your head to stop being so mean. 'But none of this would've happened if you weren't so sensitive. So easy to bruise' the voice mocks and you stumble on your feet.

It happens so suddenly it takes you off guard- the way the breath is knocked out of you. You pause, chest heaving as you bend down slightly. Your hand is on your heart as you try to breathe again, but it's shaking so much. Your legs give out under you, and you plop down on the floor, eyes tightly shut. You can't breathe. You can't breathe. You're going to pass out.

"Yn, what-" A hand rests on your shoulder but you shake it off. You don't want to be touched. Not by him.

"Let me help-" Han speaks again, and you scramble away from him, as best as you can anyway. You end up kneeling on the ground once again, your back to him. "Get-get away."

"I know you're mad but you aren't okay and I know how horrib-"

"You aren't helping!" you shout through tears, as your heart threatens to spill out of your throat. "You’ve hurt me e-enough already."

You don't remember how you got home that night, how you managed to open the door or cross the road leading to your dorm. But you remember Han leaving you on the cold ground, just like you wanted. You remember the ache in your bones as you laid on your bed; the burning desire to stop feeling for a night, to cut your chest open and tear off your bleeding heart.

☄༄

One month later

If there's one thing you've always complained to Chan about, it's the fact that his building had an elevator in it, unlike yours.

Today, you’ve come to regret this fact. Tremendously.

You’ve been avoiding going to Chan’s dorm for the past weeks since the last thing you wanted was to see Han. But, he insisted on you coming over, reassuring you that it would only be him and Changbin at home since Han supposedly had other plans.

Well, Chan was wrong. Because Han just walked into the elevator you are in, mere moments before its doors closed.

Your breath catches in your throat as his eyes lock on yours. He looks like he wants to say something but he decides against it, opting for sighing loudly instead, before pressing the button leading to the fourth floor, rather harshly.

Your need to flee has never been this strong.

You watch anxiously as the numbers slowly go up. 1… 2… 3… Then a loud voice startles you and the elevator starts to shake in place. The door is suddenly opened and you are met with a cement wall, blocking your exit.

"What the fuck?" Han groans as you press the emergency button repeatedly, hoping that the elevator will resume its course and this nightmare will be forgotten.

It doesn’t.

"You’re going to break the goddamn button," Han pushes your hand away and you stumble away from him.

"Can you shut up? I’m not in the mood for your bullshit."

"Does it look like I’m happy to be here?" Han scoffs, as a ringtone plays in the elevator, cutting you off before you could respond.

"Hey guys, this happens from time to time, so no need to worry. Is everyone alright?" Someone speaks and you assume it's the worker charged with the maintenance of the elevator.

"Yes," you both reply at the same time.

"Great. We’ve contacted the mechanics but they said there’s a lot of traffic, so it might take a bit longer for them to get here."

"How long?" Han asks the question that’s on your mind as well.

"Two hours, at most, for you to get out."

"Oh, for fuck’s sake," you groan, as hot tears prickle at the corner of your eyes. This is the last thing you needed today- to be stuck in a cramped-up space with the one person who sucks the oxygen out of any room you’re in.

"Thanks, man," Han sighs and you turn your back to him, facing the wall. You’ve had a horrible day, scratch that, a horrible week. Hanging out with Chan and Changbin was the one thing you were looking forward to, only for the worst possible scenario to happen- being stuck in the same place with Han. You feel an urgent need to sob but you can’t cry in front of him. Not when he’s all claws and your skin is tender.

"Wait, are you claustrophobic?" He suddenly asks, seemingly inches away from your body.

"As if you’d fucking care," you scoff, before heading to a corner of the elevator and settling down.

"I'm not a monster, you know," he mutters in an almost sad tone, one that forces you to look up at him. His hands are deep into his pockets, eyebrows knitted as he gazes down at you. "Do you really think I’m that much of an asshole?"

"Yes," you reply instantly, before staring forward again. The hurt that flashes in his eyes shouldn’t tug at your heartstrings, but it does, ever so faintly, like the last wave that grazes your feet as you get out of the ocean. "I’m not claustrophobic," you add after a while and Han finally sits on the opposite side from you.

It’s hot and stuffy in the elevator, and it’s quiet, too quiet for your liking. You’ve never really liked silence for too long, it made the small voice in your head only grow bolder, louder, impossible to ignore.

Thirty-five excruciatingly long minutes go by and the tension only grows more suffocating. It’s simmering, barely beneath the surface, waiting for the person who will finally make it explode.

It’s Han.

“Can I ask you something?”

“No.”

“Come on, we have nothing else to do.”

“Have you tried being silent?”

"Yn," he says sternly and you begrudgingly concede. "Fine. Ask me."

You imagine him smirking slightly, the way he does each time he manages to push you over the edge.

“Why do you hate me so much?”

“We’re not doing this right now,” you shake your head, tone adamant.

"When’s a better time for it? We’re literally never in the same place."

“And whose fault that is?” You smile too sarcastically and he frowns. “So, I’m the only one to blame?”

“Can’t you see how full of yourself you are? Fuck, Han, this is exactly what I hate about you.”

“What are you even talking about?”

“You’re so immature, you never sit back to think of how your words might impact someone.”

"What words yn? I was teasing you!" his voice grows louder and so does yours. "You were hurting me!" you yell, chest heaving. There is something utterly terrifying in this confession- to let someone know how easy it was for them to get to you.

"But I didn’t mean to," he drags a hand through his hair, exasperated. "It's not my fault you felt that way."

An ironic chuckle leaves your lips, as you point at him. "See, you're doing it again! You're blaming me for my reaction instead of evaluating how your actions might have caused it."

"Look, yn," he scrambles to you until there are only a few centimeters separating your bodies. "I really wanna fix this, okay? Can we stop screaming?"

"Why are you so hellbent on fixing it?" you question, as you lean further away from him. He notices and takes a step back, giving you space.

"Because although I don't care about you, I care about Chan. And this is hurting him. So, I want to be civil with you."

The mention of Chan feels like a cold bucket of water dousing the fire within you. You know he’s struggling to be in the middle of two people he loves. He doesn’t deserve that.

"Fine," you sigh softly. “You talk. I’ll listen.”

"I didn't... I didn't know that my words would hurt you. In truth, it looked like you weren't affected at all. That's why I kept pushing you because… God Yn you're so perfect it maddens me."

Your eyebrows knit together at his words- the last thing you expected to stumble out of his mouth. "What are you talking about?"

"You never get sad, never get angry. Your emotions are always in check. You're always smiling, always laughing. Have everything figured out from how you want to be now to where you want to be in the future. And you know yourself, you never step out of order. And this is selfish and stupid but it irked me. Because I am the opposite of you. I'm a mess and too human it terrifies me, so I wanted to see if you had a breaking point. But each time I taunted you, you remained placid. So, I kept pushing to see if you'd break one day because, selfishly enough, that would make me feel better about how broken I am."

"Han, you're so stupid. Aren't you a literal genius? You excel in everything you do and you have fun on top of it, every single night. Don't you realize how lucky you are?"

"Do you really believe I find joy in being wasted and not even remembering what happened that night? I do that because I'm in my mind most of the days and it isn't the best place to be in. So, I like to forget."

“Why do you think I always bury myself in my studies? Because it's safe and it makes me forget too. Did you really think I didn’t feel? I feel too much and that’s the problem.”

Han remains silent as you curse under your breath. "Do you even realize how selfish this is? To test a human's breaking point? All because what? I didn't shove my struggles down your nose? Would you go around and do this to everyone who looked fine to you?"

"I know, I know, I was just in a bad place, and this isn't an excuse but I... I felt as if you were just showing me everything that was wrong with me."

"That is how I felt around you," you chuckle bitterly and he hangs his head low. He’s much quieter when he speaks again. “I guess we’re more similar than I thought.”

"Doesn't excuse what you did. You targeted me and made me feel insane because no one was hearing the hostility in your tone like I did."

"I know, I know. I'm sorry. I really am. I never thought it'd get this bad and I deserve every name you called me."

"You do." You close your eyes, as Han’s words wash over you. There is so much more you want to say, so much you want to spit out in his face because of his selfish coping mechanism. But you also want peace, for Chan’s sake. So, you try to bury your resentment, just like you do with every other feeling. One day it’ll turn into indifference. You’ll make sure of it.

You bite your lip, before clearing your throat. Your tone is softer when you speak again. "I'm sorry for what I told you in the library. About you dying alone and whatnot. That wasn't nice of me."

"You really hit the nail with that one," Han chuckles quietly, and guilt floods your heart at the expression on his face. "And I'm sorry for calling you boring. You aren't. And for everything I said before that."

"Okay. It's okay." You reassure, a tiny smile drawn on your lips.

He nods before a sly grin grows on his face. "Should we hug it out?" he teases, cocking an eyebrow at you and you stare pointedly at him. "Don't push your luck."

"Yes, ma'am."

An hour later, the mechanics finally manage to get the elevator going, which in turn allows you both to get out. Han opens the door to the dorm, and you find Chan lying on the couch, scrolling down his phone.

"Han? I thought you would..." he starts before trailing off as he looks up. "Yn? Where were you, I’ve been calling you for the past two hours."

"I didn't have signal."

"Why where were-" Chan goes to question before stopping once again. He hurriedly stands up and walks toward you.

"You... Are standing next to one another."

"We are," Han replies, glancing at you from the corner of his eye.

"And you aren't... Fighting?" his statement comes out more like a question, which makes both you and Han chuckle.

"We aren't."

"We talked it out, in the elevator which we were both just stuck in," you add and Chan’s eyes grow wide, as a breathtaking smile breaks out on his face.

"Oh my god. Finally. We'll talk about the elevator bit later but it's been so hard trying not to be in the same place as the both of you."

"We know. We're sorry," you both pout in sync and Chan shakes his head, before opening his arms wide. You giggle, before walking to him and sinking into his embrace. Han follows you shortly after, and your eyes meet behind Chan’s back. He shoots you a tiny thumbs up.

Is this how a dandelion feels, you wonder, when someone blows on it in the hopes it'll grant their selfish wishes. Only to be tossed away afterward, lifeless.

You drown out the thought before smiling back at Han. It doesn’t reach your eyes.

☄༄

Befriending two-thirds of 3racha holds within it a lot of privileges. The first one is listening to unreleased music, the second is having exclusive insight into their upcoming performances.

Their gigs don't happen as often as they'd like, because they're still students who unfortunately have lots of assignments. But when a window of free time materializes, they unveil their latest productions at vibrant parties, dimly lit bars, or even the occasional club. Which attracts a lot of people, some even coming from neighboring towns to listen to them play.

Everyone can recognize raw talent, even if rap doesn't happen to be their favorite genre.

This is how you know that they'll be performing Heyday, their latest creation, at Seungmin’s party. You've met him in passing, and Chan insisted that you'd come. Not that you needed much convincing anyway, you fell in love with this song the minute you heard it.

There is an exhilarating energy in Seungmin’s mansion, a palpable anticipation preceding 3racha’s performance, as you all gaze at the makeshift stage. The place is packed, bodies pressed tightly to one another. You feel slightly uncomfortable but you swallow it down. You're here to support Chan first and foremost, you can leave if things become too much for you.

The introductory chords materialize abruptly, and 3racha takes the stage. Chan is clad in a white shirt with huge gaps on his sides, revealing glimpses of his chest each time he bends down. Changbin, on the opposite end of the spectrum, is wearing a tightly fitted black shirt, hugging each muscle of his to perfection. Han, the last one to walk in, sports a loose black shirt, with a low neckline. His nails are painted to match the color of his attire, you notice.

The song kicks off with Changbin's incendiary rap as deafening cheers ring all around you. You make sure to scream on top of your lungs too, as Changbin’s loud voice commands the attention of everyone in the room. You’ve always held a penchant for his rap style- how powerful he sounds, and how addicted you quickly become to hearing him on stage. You remember once telling him that any song that starts with his rapping is a successful hit. He playfully nudged your shoulder but his appreciative smile was hard to miss.

Chan’s part is next and you try to rap along, as best as you can anyway due to your fleeting memory. It sounds mostly like gibberish but you don’t mind, especially when your eyes meet Chan’s and he grins at you, before morphing into the mesmerizing stage persona that's peculiar to him. You clearly remember the first time you witnessed him on stage, and how enthralled you were by the sheer power he exuded. His destiny was intertwined with music, no one could deny that.

A bed squeaking sound comes next, followed by the knocking on the door and you giggle against your will. That was Han’s ingenious touch, as Chan had shared when you'd raised a quizzical brow at him while listening. “Is this based on a real-life experience?” You asked, a knowing smirk etched upon your features, and he pretended to zip his mouth, earlobes turning a vibrant shade of crimson.

Han finally starts rapping in his inimitable style, exuding an effortless, laid-back aura. Your gazes meet at the "let's go play" line, and he tilts his head quizzically at you as he utters his confused "huh?". You raise one eyebrow at him prompting a sly smirk from him, before redirecting his attention to the opposite side of the stage. Yet, your eyes remain on him throughout his entire part.

The boys step off the stage, and you watch from the corner of the room with a wide grin as a swarm of people surrounds them. Congratulations and praise fill the air, and you can tell that 3racha thrives on this moment- it's what they live for, what makes their souls rise up from the ashes.

Chan catches your eye, and you applaud enthusiastically, letting out a happy giggle. He blows you a kiss, and you playfully pretend to catch it, eliciting a small shake of his head. Changbin, who's standing near him, catches the exchange and winks at you from a distance, to which you respond with two thumbs up.

Even though you're a bit far from them, you're certain the boys can sense the pride radiating from you in waves. There's something truly magical about humans existing in their element, particularly people you care about.

Your gaze shifts to Han, and your smile falters slightly. He's also glowing, but signs of discomfort are starting to creep onto his face. You recognize them fairly well, as you've felt them too at times when emotions become overwhelming. So, after a brief internal debate, you decide to act and begin making your way toward him, pushing through the crowd despite the rising complaints behind you.

They fall on deaf ears.

You grab Han's forearm, pulling him with you through the sea of bodies toward the bathroom. He doesn't fight, following diligently behind you. You open the door and pull him inside, pausing as you realize you don't have a specific plan for bringing him here. This is also the first time you've been alone together since the elevator conversation.

"Thank you," Han whispers, and you nod, your eyes softening. "I'm okay, I love performing, I just needed a breather," he quickly adds, as if feeling guilty for being overwhelmed.

"That's completely understandable. You are running on a lot of adrenaline, and the room is so crowded," you say with a smile, turning to the mirror to touch up your makeup.

Han remains silent for a while as you powder your face, before reapplying your cherry lip gloss. You can hear him taking in deep breaths, and you avoid looking at him, worried he might feel embarrassed.

"What did you think of the performance?" he finally asks, and you raise your head slightly. You lock eyes with him through the mirror, as he leans against the door, arms crossed in front of his chest. His black t-shirt falls a bit, revealing more of his bare skin, and your eyes trail down for a moment.

"It was really good. I think this song might be my favorite of all yours."

"Really?" Han grins, his words filled with an excitement that warms your heart despite yourself. He's just received heaps of compliments from hundreds of people, yet your words still seem to affect him deeply.

"Yes. I loved your rap, how it started in a laid-back manner, and then you cleared your throat and picked up the pace. It added a unique edge to the song."

"Thank you, really," his smile is genuine, and you giggle softly, shaking your head.

"What's funny?" he asks, walking up to you. You're still facing the mirror, and he's now only inches away from you.

"I didn't imagine you'd appreciate my compliment this much."

"It feels sincere," he shrugs and you nod, finally turning around and leaning against the sink.

"It is sincere."

"Good."

You hold his gaze, eyes only trailing down to go across his face. He looks far different from how he did on stage. Shier, more eager for praise.

"You have..." he steps up until the scent of his cologne tickles your nose. His hand raises ever so slowly to your face, and you hold your breath, as he picks up something from your cheek. His hands are warm.

"An eyelash fell. Make a wish."

A surprised chuckle escapes your lips. "You wish on fallen lashes?"

"You wish on everything when you need hope." his voice is low, a timber so foreign to your ears it sends shivers down your spine. So, you close your eyes, wishing for your heart to quit beating so fast.

"Done," you whisper and he blows the single lash away, his gaze still on you.

"Thank you for coming."

"Of course. I had to support Chan and Changbin." It slips from your mouth before you can stop it, and Han slightly recoils from your words.

"Right, them. Yeah. Of course," he finally backs away, and oxygen fills your lungs once again. "I'm good now. Should we go out?"

"After you," you nod tightly and he walks ahead first, his perfume trailing after him and pulling you into a dizzying dance.

☄༄

The party Seungmin hosted was your last time having fun for a while. Your preparation for midterm exams began soon after, and you found yourself swarmed with assignments left and right. Thankfully, you and Chan were going through it at the same time, which meant you met at the library each day, revising silently near one another.

Except this time, you were joined by Han.

Goosebumps ran across your skin as he pulled the chair next to you, not the good kind of shivers. You were reminded of the fight you had right here, three months ago. Which still left a bitter taste in your mouth.

You don't hate Han anymore. He's actually funny, and you enjoy listening to his ramblings when you go over to Chan's dorm. He's also really different in his home, much quieter, and softer. Much more like you.

But you're also human, and there is still a part of your brain sending off warning signals at his presence. Maybe because the hurt was never buried properly. You just brushed it off under the carpet after your elevator conversation. Most of it was spent shouting anyway.

"Hey," he greets and you just nod in reply. You can feel his gaze linger on you a bit after that, and a pang of guilt twists in your heart. "Hi," you finally reply, but you tune out his response. Why is it that you're sensitive to everyone's emotions but your own?

Twenty minutes go by, then forty, and you can no longer take the uncomfortable feeling clinging to your skin. So, you excuse yourself, hurriedly stepping out of the library.

Han follows you; you can tell it’s him because someone's chair scraped loudly against the floor as soon as you stood up, and that couldn't be Chan because he is always careful with the silence in the library. So, you put on your headphones and walk faster.

This is childish, surely it is, but you can't control your emotions. You've apologized and so did he, you talk from time to time and you even held his arm and took him to a quiet bathroom. So where is all this bitterness coming from?

"Dammit, yn, how are you so fast?" Han grabs your arm pausing you. He's panting slightly and you just blankly stare as he takes in a deep breath.

"Are you okay?" he finally asks and you nod, turning around to walk away. He stops you again.

"I made you uncomfortable, didn't I?" he asks quietly, and you sigh, rubbing your forehead wearily.

"You didn't do anything, I just... Being in that library reminded me of certain things."

"I know. Me too. Can we please talk?"

"We are talking," you raise your brows and he stares pointedly at you. "Come on you know what I mean."

"Fine," you giggle, "we can talk."

"I didn't apologize properly to you in the elevator. Truth is, I did it because Chan was mad at me and I couldn't stand it anymore."

The bitterness- you understand where it comes from now.

"But I am sorry. Truly sorry. I was selfish and I hurt you and this will sound like a joke, but I hate hurting people. I really do. I was just too wrapped up in my problems that I didn't realize how it would affect you and I'm sorry, I'm really sorry. I also shouldn't have tried to kick you out that day, but dying alone is my biggest fear, and seeing you in my home made me want to lose my mind because I couldn't get what you said out of my head, but it was so cold outside and again I shouldn't have told you to go out and I am so sorry-"

"Han, breathe," you smile, cutting him off and Han sucks in a deep breath, chest slightly heaving from talking uninterrupted for a minute straight.

"I'm sorry I just wanted to apologize, properly this time. I'm doing it because I'm guilty, not because of Chan. Nothing excuses my behavior, I know. And I wish I could turn back in time and actually get to know you because you're really cool and very nice, but I can't. All I can do is apologize. So I'm sorry, Yn. I really am."

"I appreciate it," you smile, and Han exhales a little from relief. "I didn't know that was your biggest fear, but even if it wasn't, that was uncalled for. I shouldn't have said something so mean. So, I'm sorry for it too. But I'm not apologizing for being mad, you deserved that."

"I did, I did, I know." He's quick to agree. "I don't want us to be awkward around one another. I'm not telling you that you have to be my best friend but, we can be friends, right? But you also don't have to. It's enough if you forgive me and... You know what? Never mind forget I said anything, I'm just nervous and-"

"Okay."

"Okay?" he repeats.

"We can be friends. I accept your truthful apology."

"Actually?"

"Yes."

"Like we can start over?" he grins and you chuckle at the excitement in his face. "Yes."

"Can we hug it out?"

"Too soon," you pout and he nods, a faint blush dusting his cheek.

"Right. Should we go back to the library? I saw that you were stuck on a question. I can help you."

"You won't make any comments?"

"No. Pinky promise." he outstretches his pinky towards you and you muse over it for a bit, before wrapping your finger around his. You grin at Han- your first genuine smile since he's known you. His hold on your pinky falters.

"Okay. I'm in."

.☄༄

Five weeks later- 1:13 a.m.

You were still slightly cautious near Han as if you were both threading along an invisible line. You could talk, but not too much, afraid any old animosity would shine through. And you could stay together, but not too long, in case it gets awkward and you wouldn't know what to do. So, you never mixed, just like water and oil, each of you knowing their place, away from the other.

But you still didn't want to miss out on outings with your friends. So, when Chan invites you for a movie night with Han, and Changbin, you don't say no.

The night runs smoothly, the warm beer you had easing your nerves bit by bit. It was also easier to forget that you once hated Han when he brought tears to your eyes from laughing so hard.

2:56 a.m.

An unbearable heat suddenly envelopes you, your very blood boiling from within. You hesitantly look down, to find your entire body bathed in red, as if your skin had melted away, exposing you to the scorching heat embracing your tender flesh.

You are in the heart of a volcano, with lava bubbling dangerously below. Hanging by a frail thread, you dangle over the edge of death.

And then, you plummet.

You startle awake, your heart pounding in your chest, your hand clutching it tightly. Cold sweat clings to your skin, and it takes you a few moments to realize that you're safe, far from the inside of the volcano that had threatened to consume you.

You glance at your phone- 3:43 a.m. You read. It's only been a mere hour since you went to sleep. You don't think you could drift back into slumber.

Dragging a hand tiredly across your face, you walk into the pitch-black kitchen. You pour yourself a glass of water, hoping that the icy drink will cool you down. You are safe.

"What are you-" you startle, dropping the glass and spinning around, hand pressed to your heart.

"Han, fuck, you scared me," you sigh, tugging at your hair slightly and he's quick to your side, a string of hushed apologies tumbling from his lips.

"I'm sorry, here let me clean it up," he kneels and you follow suit, grabbing his hands and gently pushing them away. "No, I dropped it, let me clean," you reassure, but your hands are trembling as you pick up the shards of glass, any bit of logic clouded by your racing thoughts.

Your heartbeat's ringing loudly in your ears, you barely register the glass cutting your skin until an uncharacteristic warmth oozes from your hand. Blood.

"Shit," you curse lowly and Han illuminates the place with his phone flashlight. "Did you cut yourself?" he asks and you shake your head, walking over to the sink.

"It's nothing, don't worry."

"Yn, let me see," he's standing behind you, the ghost of his breath grazing your exposed neck.

"Han, really it's-" he cuts you off, grabbing your forearm and walking you over to the couch. He finally turns on the lights before crouching down in front of you.

"Show me?" he asks gently and you're too tired to fight him. You open your palm tentatively, taking a look at your cut for the first time as well. It's not too deep, it won't require stitches. But it's also not shallow, blood oozing from it at a steady rhythm.

Han simply frowns upon gazing at your wound, before walking over to his room. You don't move from your spot, gaze lost into the space before you. What would happen if you never woke up? Would you feel your flesh burning? Bones melting as the searing lava-

"Here," he gently holds your wrist, as his eyes meet yours. "This will hurt a bit. Hold my arm as tight as you want and tell me if it becomes too much, okay?"

"Okay," you simply nod.

He dabs up your cut with a cotton pad soaked in alcohol. You hiss softly, as the liquid burns your open skin. Han abruptly stops at the sound. "Did I hurt you? I'm so sorry I didn't mean to I just-"

"It's okay," you smile reassuringly, "I can handle it."

Han nods, resuming his treatment. He's even softer this time, if that is even possible. He's careful when he rubs a soothing gel on your cut, before wrapping your palm in a gauze. He can't find a pair of scissors so he cuts it with his teeth, his lips brushing against the back of your hand. You account the warmth you're suddenly feeling to the aftermath of your nightmare.

"Why are you even up?" he finally asks as he settles next to you on the couch, eyes looking up to the ceiling.

"Nightmare."

"You’re okay?" he asks gently and he sounds truly concerned for your well-being. You aren't used to this. To Han acting like a friend to you. But it feels nice to be cared for, so you don't mind him blurring the lines tonight.

"I'm still a little bit scared," you admit sheepishly and Han's eyes soften under the dim moonlight.

"It passed. You're okay now."

"Am I?" you drag a hand tiredly across your face and Han frowns, inching closer to you.

"Is it a recurring dream?"

"Mm. It tires me out."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"No, I just want to forget." 'Help me forget' you want to add, but you decide against it. "Why were you up, anyway?"

"I got inspiration for lyrics so I had to write it down."

"Can you share some with me?" you ask, tone a tad too hopeful. Han catches it and smiles warmly at you.

"Sure. This is probably going to be in the chorus..." he pulls out his phone, heading to his notes app. "This is what I have so far... I let my frustrated screams out hoping that they’d be washed away in the rain. I send it off with a smiling face, down to the last drops left on my fingertips." he pauses, scrolling down a bit more. "I also wrote this; I think it'll be nice in a verse... I’m sure it’ll get better... Just like the earth hardens after the rain and flowers bloom again."

"You're such a talented lyricist Han," you whisper in awe, and Han’s cheeks warm up at your words, reminiscent of a setting sun. "But I also wish it was as easy as this. To let out all the emotions you bottle inside and for them to wash away with the rain." You bite your lip, as Han’s words echo in your head. "I think... I think that's why I get this nightmare. I don't free my emotions anymore, and they show up in my dreams to torment me."

You don't know where these bouts of honesty are coming from. Maybe because you're too weary to keep up a happy facade. Or maybe because you know that the person who wrote these lyrics must understand exactly how you feel.

"Well... It's raining." Han whispers after a while and you look at him, confusion plastered across your features.

"And?"

"Should we test it out?"

"Test what?"

"Screaming under the rain," he says as if it's the most evident thing in the world.

"What? That's insane, Han we will get sick and..." You pause, as the words dissolve in your mouth like the seafoam meeting the shore. "You know what? Let's do it!"

"Really?" he asks incredulously, a huge grin on his face.

"Yes!"

"Okay, let's go!"

You both abruptly stand up, still only clad in your pajamas. You quickly slip your shoes on before running outside. The rain envelops you in a cold hug as soon as you step outside, rain droplets trickling down your clothes. You don't mind, you have lots of bottled-up feelings to free.

"This needs music," Han smiles as he takes out his phone, putting his playlist on shuffle. 'Let The Light In' starts playing, and you shoot him a thumbs-up.

"It fits the rainy mood," you grin and he nods, squinting his eyes to be able to look at you.

"I think if we scream here, we'll scare the neighbors."

"I know!" you chuckle, wiping away the rain droplets on your forehead. "Where should we go?"

"The empty parking lot!" Han shouts so you'll hear him over the growing rain and you nod. He takes off running and you chase after him. You're both completely drenched once you're a bit far away from the house. But you don't care. Not when there is pure adrenaline rushing through you.

You finally stop, loud giggles escaping your mouth at the thrill of what you're doing. "You should start!" you yell excitedly and Han nods, taking in deep steadying breaths.

"Okay, I'm ready!"

"On the count of three! One... Two... Three!" and Han shouts at the top of his lungs, his screams getting lost in the rain. An incredulous smile breaks out on his face as you giggle loudly, the sound of it ringing out in the downpour.

"You looked insane!"

"I feel insane!" He yells honestly and a fit of laughter takes over you both. You hold his arm to steady yourself.

"You should try it now!" Han urges and you nod, willing yourself to calm down.

"Okay, will you count down for me?"

"Yes," he assures and you clap excitedly. Han can't help but smile at the excitement on your face.

"One... Two... Three!" And you shout, continuous screams spilling from the depths of your soul. Han wasn't wrong- your pain, your fear, your anger are all dripping along the rain droplets, from your bruised heart to the tip of your fingers.

You've never felt this free before.

The two of you don't notice the passage of time, the rain acting as a cathartic release to all your pent-up emotions. It was as if your pain intertwined with each rain droplet, and you were letting go of everything that had held you down. Each scream acted as a break from the burdens of the past, and the worries of the future.

As you finally stopped, panting and soaked to the bone, you looked at each other with raw exhilaration in your eyes.

"So, how was it?" Han yells over the rain and you break out in a relieved smile. "I don't think I’ve ever been this happy my entire life," you beam at him and the sight makes the rain feel less colder to Han.

He watches, a small smile on his face as you twirl around, face looking up toward the sky, a deluge of rain grazing your cheeks like a lover's tender touch. The smile doesn't leave your face as you spin around, happy chuckles leaving your mouth from time to time.

You look... free. As if there was an invisible weight on your shoulders that the rain washed away. A heavy burden that you carried within you, like a secret secret. He likes the sound of that. Maybe that's what he'll name his song.

Han slightly shakes his head as he watches you skip around, clothes completely soaked. You are now standing a bit far away, right beside a street lamp.

Ooh, let the light in

Its light shines on you alone.

Time seems to slow down, as Han’s steps falter. You're smiling, not at him, but at the universe. A happiness so raw filling you that it needs to come out, even if no one's watching.

You're spinning around, delighted giggles spilling from you like the most mesmerizing chorus. Something is building up inside Han, begging for a release. It refuses to come out in a scream- violently. It's tender and soft. He thinks that if you held his hand right now, you'd be able to free it.

Look at us, you and I back at it again

Is it possible to feel something other than an emotion? Because right now, weirdly, all he feels is you.

Cause I love to love to love to love you

I hate to hate to hate to hate you

Your eyes land on Han and there is pure joy dancing in your pupils. He's glad you no longer despise him. He doesn't think he can stomach it anymore.

Cause I want to want to want to want you

You run to him, holding his hand before twirling him around.

I need to need to need to need you

Han can't believe he ever thought you weren't human enough. You are a mosaic of every feeling that makes one human. There are lyrics writing themselves in his head and they're all about you.

Ooh, let the light in

You clasp both his hands, before crossing them over. And then you're both spinning around until the world around you blurs. All he sees is you, and the light surrounding you alone.

Ooh, turn your light on

He thinks he might, if the light is you.

5:22 a.m

"There is a heater in my room, you should come," Han offers as you dry your hair with the blue towel he just handed you.

"It's okay I’ll stay here," you point to the couch but he shakes his head adamantly. "You'll die from hypothermia. Do you know how mad Chan will be if I let you pass away?" he whispers in fear, a hand clutching his heart.

"So dramatic," you giggle, before following him into his room. He goes on his bed first before tapping the spot beside him. You sigh before lying next to him, snuggling further into the hoodie he gave you to change.

"You're still shivering," he remarks, as your teeth clink together.

"It's okay."

"You shouldn't have gone out with just a t-shirt."

"I didn't exactly plan on this, you know," you smile sarcastically and Han chuckles before tapping your shoulder softly.

"Come closer."

You debate for a second before complying, the cold tuning out all the rational thoughts in your head.

Your arm brushes against his and you can't breathe once again. But it's a different type of deprivation. Han always seems to steal the oxygen from your lungs, but for once, you don't mind. Red embers are burning within you and their flames keep you alive. You press your chest to his back, as your forehead rests on his shoulder. Maybe he'll turn you to ashes. Will you rise from them?

"You're so cold," his hand reaches behind to rub your arms soothingly, an earnest attempt to warm you up.

"I’ll be fine, go to sleep. Don't worry about me."

"I can't control it."

In the dark room, Han can't see you curling your hand into a tight fist at his words.

"If you stay quiet then I’ll sleep," you say after a while and Han giggles softly.

"That's the goal. You need to rest."

"You should sleep too."

"I will."

"Okay. Good night, Han."

"Good night, Yn."

You think he's fallen asleep when you speak up again. "Hey, Han."

"Yes, Yn?" He replies instantly, voice slightly hoarse.

"Can you repeat that lyric to me, about the flowers blooming again?" You ask quietly, and you feel him nodding against your chest.

"I’m sure it’ll get better... Just like the earth hardens after the rain and flowers bloom again."

His warm voice vibrates within your body. "That's a nice lyric."

"I hope you'll dream of it instead."

☄༄

Against Han’s strong belief, he's the one who fell sick after your rain-soaked outing.

You knew of it from Chan, who texted you saying that Han caught a nasty cold, and then got food poisoning, which meant he couldn't be there for their highly anticipated meeting—after their electrifying Heyday performance, a record label expressed strong interest in signing them.

"Can you come over and stay with Han?" Chan implores as soon as he answers your call.

“That bad?” You ask, a pout pulling at your lips.

"I don't want to leave him alone. He's been really sick for the past week now, and… it's partly your fault"

"I can’t believe you’re guilt-tripping me into coming," you chuckle even though you know he is right. Han wouldn’t have gotten out in the rain if it wasn’t for you.

"I'm sorry it’s just I don't think he's been good, apart from the illness. And I’m worried, and I don’t know I thought maybe you could talk to him. He reminds me of you, in his sadness, so you might understand what's wrong more than me."

You think it over for a second before rising up from your bed.

"I'm coming"

As soon as you step inside their dorm, Chan pulls you for a side hug, placing a quick kiss on your forehead. “Thank you so much,” he whispers, clearly grateful that you agreed to come. It worries you even more for Han.

“No problem. You can go, I’ll be with him.”

“Thank you, Yn” Changbin smiles before hastily pulling Chan outside the door. You wave them both goodbye.

You cautiously crack open the door to Han’s room, to find it completely engulfed in darkness. The stream of light from the door falls upon Han, who squints his eyes, trying to see who disrupted his fragile peace.

"Hi," you speak softly, finding it a bit odd to raise your voice in such a still room. Han attempts to sit up, before doubling over, hand tightly clutched around his stomach.

You rush to his side, kneeling beside his bed. It's the only lit-up part of the room.

"Still hurts?" you ask, your hand moving in soothing circles on his back. He nods, eyes squeezed shut, and you feel your heart crack at the sight.

"Have you taken any medicine?"

"A few hours ago. I need to eat something before I can take more, but I can't get up to the kitchen."

"Why didn't you tell the boys?"

"Didn't want to be a burden."

"You aren't. I'll make you something to eat. Okay? Try to sleep meanwhile."

"You don't have to," Han shakes his head, his eyes finally meeting yours.

"I know," you smile softly, before exiting the room.

Minutes later, you're back in the room, a bowl of sliced fruit in your hands.

"Do you guys live off protein powder and frozen chicken?" you ask, earning a quiet laugh from Han as he lays his back against the headboard.

"We do. Please save me," he jokes and you laugh, shaking your head. "Good thing I grabbed some fruit before leaving."

"Thank you," he grins, eyes slightly squinting closed.

"Here," you grab a strawberry, bringing it to his lips. His eyebrows raise up in surprise, a sheen layer of sweat coating them. "What? Look at how tightly you're clutching the comforter," you point to his hands and Han sighs, before parting his lips slightly.

His mouth brushes against your fingertips, igniting a cascade of emotions in you. You'll think about what it means later.

You grab a green grape next, feeding it to him gently. A drop of water trickles down the corner of his mouth, and you wipe it away with the back of your finger.

"I can- I can do it," Han mumbles, voice wavering like an unpredictable storm. His trembling hands reach for the bowl, but they struggle to hold it right.

"Han, it's okay, I don't mind," you try to keep your voice gentle, sensing that there is an impending doom awaiting just below the surface.

"No, I- I need to do it. Just let me-" A tear falls into the fruit bowl. "Let me do it, please. I can- I can do it, I’m not useless, I…"

The floodgate opens.

A stream of tears escapes Han's eyes as he looks down at the bowl between his hands. He's crying, eyes tightly shut and the small whimpers escaping his lips feel like a dagger piercing your heart.

"You're sick. Let me take care of you."

"It's horrible horrible work." His voice cracks as his eyes finally lock on yours, and you can tell that his anguish isn't about his illness. These are the words of the shadows threatening to swallow him whole. You have to fight them off with the light.

"I will do it."

As Han lays on his bed, the sound of you washing the dishes resonating from the kitchen, your voice bounces off the dark walls in his head. You didn't try to convince him that it was easy work, you told him you'll do it, even if it's horrible. You'll do it because you want to, not because you can, not because it's accessible. The thought sends a warmth in his chest. It's faint, like a flickering candle trying its best to withstand the wind. But it's there. He holds on to it. He'll shield it with his cupped hands so it wouldn't fizzle out.

"Hannie, you’re okay?" you peer into the room. Hannie- the candle's flame grows higher.

"Mm," he hums, too weak to turn and look at you.

"You're shivering," you remark, and he tightens the blanket around his body. "It'll pass."

You stay silent, and he thinks you've left the room. But then he feels the left side of the bed dip, with you climbing tentatively on it.

"This worked last time when I was cold," you smile softly at him, before bringing his head to your chest and wrapping your arms around his shoulders. He feels frail and fragile in your embrace. You hug him tighter to you.

"Warming up?" you ask and he nods against your chest. He's burning.

"Try to sleep," you urge quietly, your hand moving to pat his back. "It will pass."

"What if it doesn't?" Han asks faintly. Please don't let the candle die, he wants to plead.

"There is always light at the end of the tunnel."

"What if the tunnel is closed?"

"Then you go back to the start and find a new one," you respond.

"Can I find it later? I'm so tired tonight." His voice is drowsy, sleep already clinging to his achy bones.

"Just rest for now. You did well," you scratch his back lightly, as he nuzzles further into the crook of your neck.

There was never a candle to begin with- you were the light.

☄༄

Had someone told you five months ago that you'd be lying on Han's bed, watching "Howl's Moving Castle" at 2 a.m., you would've thought they were utterly delusional.

Yet, here you are now.

A lot of things had changed since your rainy outing with Han, as if the universe had shifted into alignment, two stars in the sky finally colliding and making way for something new. You saw him under a different light, understanding that no one picks up a dandelion unless they desperately need the solace it provides.

You've grown to care for him, in the course of the past two months. And funnily enough, you've started to like who you were next to him- just yourself, with no pressure of making conversation, or catering to his expectations of you.

He saw you at your worst anyway, and so did you, there was no use in filtering things anymore.

You've been there through the entire process of writing, composing, and producing Secret Secret- the song whose lyrics had captured your heart. You didn't expect him to ask you to be there with him, he just shot you a text, three days after you came over to his house. 'Wanna be there while I work on the song? I know you liked the lyrics.' It was an offer you couldn't pass up on.

You weren't, in your opinion, much help. Han was gifted in the music realm and song-making flowed naturally from him. But he noticed how interested you were in music, so he called you over each time he worked on the song, even asking for your input at times.

That's why, when the song was finally done and released on 3racha's Spotify account, you decided to celebrate by baking him a cake. You may have dropped an eggshell in the batter (you recovered it later on), and the icing's color turned out less vibrant than what you hoped for. But you managed to adorn it with a garden of little flowers, and with store-bought icing, you wrote the words "after the rain flowers will bloom again."

You showed up to the dorm and Changbin pointed you to Han's room, where he had apparently been holed up all day. You shot him a grateful smile, before pushing the door open with your foot.

"What are you doing here?" Han asked, an incredulous smile drawn on his lips.

"Surprise!" you grinned, pushing the cake his way. "Congrats on making Secret Secret."

"Are you serious?" he chuckled, jumping out of his bed. He peered at the cake, eyes softening as he gazed down at the design.

"You drew a little garden..." he whispered in awe and you nodded, a faint blush creeping up your face.

"I'm glad you recognized what it was. I'm not the best baker," you admit a bit shyly but he shook his head. "It's perfect. I can't believe you did this to celebrate our baby!"

"Your baby," you corrected, although the use of 'our' warmed up your chest, weirdly enough.

"You were here with me every step of the way. She's ours."

"It's a she?" you giggled, and he smiled proudly.

"Mm. Do you accept being her mother?" he mused; hands clasped in front of his heart like he was praying you'd say yes.

"It would be my greatest honor," you nodded solemnly, and he let out a breathy chuckle, grabbing the cake from your hands and setting it on his bed.

"Should we hug it out?" he teased, arms stretched wide but you merely stared at him, unimpressed.

"Come on," he whined, "you can't reject me for the third time. And, in front of our child. On her birthday!" his tone grew louder and you couldn't help but giggle at his mock outrage.

"Try harder."

"Our child won't know what a loving parent relationship is and then she'll seek out unhealthy love from the ones around her and-" you cut him off by finally wrapping your arms around him.

You've always known that being near Han left you breathless, but this time, it felt as though he was breathing life into you. You close your eyes instinctively, as his hold tightens on you. He smells immensely nice, like pinewood and soap. You should've hugged him sooner.

"Thank you," he said quietly, forehead pressed against your shoulder blade.

"You did well," you whisper back.

"We did. She's our child, remember?" he reprimanded and you laughed faintly.

"Yeah, ours."

Hours later, the movie's credits finally roll down, and the finished cake sits idly by Han's desk.

"I should go," you rub your eyes tiredly, and Han stares at you as if you are out of your mind.

"At this hour? Do you want our kid to lose her mom?"

"Han," you drawl, hitting his head with the pillow next to you. "You can't hold me hostage."

"I can, as your husband."

"Since when are we married?"

"Since you agreed to be Secret's mother." Another playful hit to his face.

"Stop attacking my face, how will I get laid then?"

"So, you are cheating on me?" you ask, feigning outrage.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry baby you're the only one I want." You falter at the nickname before hitting him even harder, matching the tempo of your quickening heartbeat.

"You're crazy," he laughs, grabbing your wrists and pinning you onto the bed. He's hovering over you, eyes hooded with a tender intensity as he gazes down at you.

"Will you stay, please?"

"The couch is uncomfortable," you reply, avoiding his eyes. He lets go of one wrist before holding your chin gently, urging you to look at him.

"You can sleep here. We've done it before."

"You were freezing both times. That's why I did it."

"I'm very cold tonight," he pouts, eliciting a surprised chuckle from you.

"Are you now?"

"Very much so."

"Fine. Only because I don't want you to die from hypothermia."

"Thank you!" he grins excitedly, finally letting go of your wrist. You bring a hand to your flushed cheeks, as he tosses a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants in your direction.

"Get changed! There is a spare toothbrush in the cabinet."

You make sure to groan theatrically, before heading into the bathroom, where you splash your face repeatedly with water. You aren't used to this- being a blushy mess, because of Han, nonetheless. It was dizzying you, how things took the complete opposite turn between you and him.

At least, back then you weren't alone in your hate, you couldn't stand being alone in your affection.

So, you'd stop this, whatever feeling that's coursing through you. Tomorrow, you will firmly close the door on the blooming feelings within you. But tonight, you’d both lay on the same bed, arms brushing against one another. It's completely dark and quiet, but there is an entire symphony playing within you.

"Thank you for today," he whispers, turning around and tucking his arm under his head, this way he's facing you.

You mirror his actions, and your fingertips brush against one another. You can't see him but you can feel him. He's everywhere, wrapping around all your senses.

"Thank you for making this song. It's very comforting to me."

"Why is that?" he questions, inching closer to you, you can feel his minty breath fan all over your face.

"I’ve always felt like I carried too many emotions within me. Like a volcano, bubbling over until the day I explode. I never liked feeling this way, so I tried to hide it," you confess softly.

"Like a secret secret."

"Like a secret secret," you repeat, glad that he understands.

"You don't have to hide with me," he says after a few silent beats, and you swallow nervously.

"I know." you lick your lips as the music inside you grows louder. "Still cold?"

"A little."

"Come closer," you beckon, and he complies instantly, wrapping his arm behind your back and drawing your chest close to his. Your legs entangle with one another, as your face lays on the crook of his neck. It's intimate, far more than any time you've done it before. You don't want to sink in his hold in fear of never resurfacing again.

"Good?" he asks, voice tinged with a newfound raspiness.

"Mm," you hum, and he releases a relieved sigh.

You've once read that everything in this universe sings. Every atom's vibration creates a sound, contributing to a grand celestial chorus. It's an unscientific, but lovely thought, to wonder who our hearts sing for.

Right now, it's for Han.

☄༄

The music echoes through your being, an ever-present melody that refuses to fade into silence. Even with no audience to enjoy it.

Han always found his way back to your side, no matter how many times you've tried to distance yourself from him. And you couldn't bring yourself to refuse him, because you were friends, first and foremost. And friends don't abandon one another just because a mere glance at them sprouts a blush across your cheeks.

That's how you find yourself on your way to Han's dorm, for the third time that week. Watching movies together has become your little tradition, for the past few months, and sometimes even Chan joins in. Although he mostly enjoys shooting you a knowing smile, to which you flip him off.

Your phone rings and Han's name illuminates your screen. You smile against your will.

"Can't wait to see me this much?" you singsong and Han's chuckle rings through the phone. It's rich and deep, causing you to tighten your hold on the device.

"Yes. And can you please go to the store? I'm out of snacks."

"What do I get out of it?" you muse, changing directions to the nearest convenience store.

"Snacks."

"Asshole," you giggle on your way to cross the road.

"And my eternal gratitude of course."

"Right, because I can't-" Loud tires screech right beside you and you startle, letting out a loud yelp as you drop your phone.

A hand on top of your heart, you bend down to pick up your fallen device, as the driver gets out of the car that grazed your body, mere inches away from hitting you.

"Are you okay, miss? I'm sorry I didn't see you." The middle-aged man is quick to your side, and you glance at the small kid in his car, willing yourself to calm down for their sake.

"I'm fine. Just a bit startled. Drive more slowly, there is a kid with you."

"I know, I'm sorry," he drags a hand through his stressed features and you couldn't help but feel sympathy for him. "It's okay, don't worry about it. Just pay more attention to the road, okay?"

"Thank you so much. Thank you," he clasps his hand in gratitude before getting back to his car and you wave him off, your heart still wildly beating in your chest.

You head into the convenience store, picking up the snacks you know Han loves before paying for them. But as soon as you step back outside, you spot a disheveled Han crossing the road, sprinting toward the store. His pace quickens upon spotting you.

"What are you..." your question is cut short as his arms wrap around you, pulling you to his chest instantly. You can feel the frantic rhythm of his heart, and you're confused as he pulls away, hands cradling your cheeks and turning your face left and right.

"You're alright, nothing happened to you, right? You’re okay?" he inquires urgently and you let out a confused giggle, as you grab his arm to steady him.

"What are you talking about?"

"I heard the tires screech and you yelled and then you didn't pick up when I called and I thought-" his voice cracks. "I thought something happened to you."

"No, no. I'm okay. Nothing happened, I promise." you reassure, as he brings you to his chest once again, his hand smoothing the top of your hair.

"I was so scared," he kisses your temple, as his thumping heart resounds within your chest. "So terrified that something would happen to you. I thought I'd lose my mind."

"You don't mean that," you shake your head slowly, peeling yourself away from him.

"Can you really not see how much I care about you? How I crave being near you?" his voice raises a slight octave. The music in you picks up.

"How long do I have to pretend to be cold to have you nearby? For god's sake, I'm never cold around you, yn. When I see you, I ignite." He takes in a deep breath, pressing his forehead onto your shoulder. "And I... I couldn't have lived with myself if something happened to you. I... You drive me crazy, Yn. When we became friends it felt like I was stepping inside a home for the first time, and yet I already knew each turn in it."

He grabs your arms, shaking you slightly as his chest heaves up and down. "My darkness recognizes yours and my light is you and you- you think I wouldn't care if anything happened to you?"

He shakes his head as tears prickle in the corners of his eyes. Has his music always been this loud, were you just not listening properly?

"I'm scared because we didn't start well and I understand if a part of your heart still resents me, I do. But I don't think I can pretend anymore. Not with you," his voice softens as his gaze locks on yours.

"Were you pretending too?" He asks, hope dripping from his tone. "Do you feel it too?"

A split second goes by. A candle flickering somewhere. A dandelion plucked from the ground. The shadow of a cloud passing over the sun- and you pick.

"I feel it too. So much that my heart feels like it’s singing for you, Han."

"I'll sing for it in return," he whispers, before crashing his lips onto yours. His hand slides up the back of your neck, drawing you closer. You drop the bags of groceries as you cradle his cheeks, feeling them warm up beneath your touch. You can't believe you've ever disliked your heart for feeling too much, not when the lovely emotions flowing in your heart threaten to burst it at the seams, submerging you in a warmth you've never known before- Han.

Two months later

You have 3 new messages from: hannie

"kept this song a secret from you baby but i wrote it for you so you can't be mad"

"i don't know if you remember but you’ve once told me that you are a volcano. as if that’s something that’s supposed to put me off. well, some people dedicate their lives to studying volcanos. and i would dedicate mine to learning you."

"Volcano.mp3."

Light.

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balkanradfem · 9 days ago

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I wanna tell you a story, and I'm not sure if I should publish this; it's embarrassing, it's deeply unflattering, it's naive and horrifying, there's not one bit of it that is positive, but I thought about it today and thought, 'that was messed up', so you know. Temptation to expose my life publicly is stronger than the shame you will inflict on me.

So this happened way back when I was in college, and I cannot overstate how isolated and friendless I was; I lived in a dorm, I had no friends, my roommate was away with her friend group, I was depressed, I had very little social interaction. I didn't even know I was a lesbian. I had taken up running though!

In the city there was a big long riverbank where people would often run, and I liked running there, it was big and grassy and other people would run too, so I felt like I was a part of something. I had a good time! Until, one day, a m*n caught up with me, and started running alongside me.

Now I know you all are smart, and you are thinking, red flag, red flag, but I was not smart. I was 20 and had zero feminist influence in my life, all I was taught was to be extremely polite or it was my fault if I get murdered, so when he started talking to me, I was as nice and polite as possible. He asked how old I was, and was surprised to hear '20', he thought I looked younger. He asked if he could run with me, I said okay, because you know, I was desperately lonely, I thought it was not awful if I was running with another person. He chatted with me, and then asked me for my phone number, which again, I very dumbly gave to him. He, to my absolute horror, memorized it instantly, and recited it back to me several times. He called me a few minutes later to check if it was real. My phone rang. It was real.

He asked if we could run together again, and I again, thought the only polite thing to say was 'yes', so I accepted, and so he called me up to run together few days later. I appeared, feeling much more self-conscious than usual, and this is where things started to go from bad to worse. He insisted we 'stretch first', and instructed me on how to do it, and while this was happening, he found it appropriate to touch me, hug me, put his hands on my arms and shoulder. I would flinch and pull away every time, which he would ignore. I felt uncomfortable and decided to stretch far away from him, but he would just follow me and get closer.

After running for half an hour, I was too tired, so we walked, and he started talking to me about his work and his previous relationship. His work was in finances, and it was so boring to listen to, I could not keep track. I dozed off thinking how, despite not having any human interaction in a long time, this was the most bored I ever was. Then he started talking about a woman he used to be with, calling her a gold-digger, and a w-slur. I hated that. I could tell he was trying to 'compare us' and subtly tell me that he thinks I'm different, because I'm a humble little innocent girl who would never want his money, but all I could think of was 'he was supposedly in love with her, but now he can call her names like that? It's only a matter of time before he decides I'm worthless too.' I was naive, but I wasn't taking women-hatred lightly.

I could see him staring at me when I ran and walked, his eyes lingered on places that made me feel uncomfortable. I had originally thought he wanted to be friends, because he was so much older than me it was ridiculous to even imagine he'd want something romantic with me, but seeing how he touched me, and how he was staring me down, I figured there was something weird going on.

We are again at a point where you'd be free to judge me, and okay, but listen; the times were different, it was 2010, the discourse was not what it is now. And I was scared. Okay. So. I knew I felt threatened by the idea that this m*n would maybe try something sexual with me, and I wanted to make sure to cut that idea short. So when he was saying suggestive stuff, I said 'hey you should know I'm asexual.' (I didn't exactly believe this, I just felt it was the only safe way to let him know I'm not interested. The gentlest rejection!) And he said 'no you're not'. To which I was a little shocked. And he went with a conspiratory tone 'you don't know how those people are, they hate sex'. And I'm like 'Yes, I do too!' and he just decided to not accept this. He decided I didn't know what I was saying, and didn't know myself enough to decide such a thing.

Next time we went running, he actually groped me.

When I got home, I realized I was terrified of him. I didn't want to come close to him again. But the female socialization of being polite, giving people whatever pleases them, never disappointing anyone or failing to be of use to them, was suffocating me. I couldn't pinpoint just what this m*n has done to wrong me, all I knew is that I felt unsafe, and I would be trembling in anxiety thinking about seeing him ever again. I wished I had anyone to tell about this. I was so alone that nobody ever knew this was happening to me.

I was wrecking my brain for several days, lost about what to do about this, before finally figuring it out. I found a way around the pressure to be accommodating. I could tell this person was looking at me sexually, and obviously I didn't want to do anything like that, so if I kept meeting him, it was the equivalent of 'leading him on', which they hated, and it was more polite to be upfront! And if I could pinpoint something actually wrong he has done (my poor brain could not yet conceptualize that my body was in fact, violated) then it was okay for me to cut ties.

Okay so this is where the stupidity continues; I didn't think it was polite to end something over a text message. I went to do it in person. I know. I know you're yelling right now. I'm sorry! I didn't know any better!

So he called me, and I appeared in my non-running shoes, which he immediately criticized. I explained then, that I came to say goodbye. I said he was looking at me weird (which he denied) and that I felt uncomfortable (which he felt I had no right to). He tried to convince me that it's good to keep exercising, and I mentioned I actually did other forms of exercise, for instance I had a big bag I liked to punch, and I was really good at it. (This was my way of saying, hey I know I look small but I can fight, I can punch. I did actually exercise with a punching bag too). He absolutely hated that. He told me I should not be doing that, that women should not be punching bags, it was a horrible idea. And that's where I clocked him. I understood, from that reaction, that he hated the idea of me being physically strong, and being able to fight back if he attacks me. Once I had that clear in my head, it was easier to cut ties. I told him I didn't want to run with him anymore, and to please not call me again. He was extremely displeased and aggravated, but, we were in public, there wasn't much he could do. I made sure he wasn't following me home. I came back shivering, in disbelief that I managed to get myself out of that.

So yeah, nothing else happened! It was just an extremely uncomfortable and scary experience I had, a week and a half that I spent terrified of a male that I gave my own number to, not understanding he was 'not just wanting to be friends'. Not understanding that 'you're 20? You look younger' from a 30-40yo male was already a red flag, that he approached me because he thought I was a child. Looking back it is a miracle that I managed to get out of that on my own, without ever consulting another person. I am sobbing at the fact that I thought 'oh sure this creepy old male wants to befriend me' and 'I should go and reject him in person' my goodness.

But this is how we're taught to act, isn't it? If we, as young women, try to look at m*n as predators, we get told off and that we're oppressing them and causing injustice to them and hurting their feelings! So I couldn't have had any bad thoughts about him or I was a sexist, unjust, awful and oppressive b-slur. I couldn't have told him no or I was unfair for not giving him a chance! Maybe I should have let him do whatever and try to just enjoy it – that's how I've been taught to give up my own safety and boundaries, for all my life.

So don't judge me too harshly okay? I did get away from him, and from multiple consecutive creeps. And I never, ever gave a male my number again. If socialization taught me nothing, this experience did. Can you imagine if I consulted someone though, and they told me I was being too harsh on him, since he did nothing wrong, and that I should have tried to make him happy instead? Because it's very likely that would have happened. I think in a way, my loneliness and lack of outside influence protected me too.

#male predators #radical feminism #feminism #creep story #trying to fend off a predator as a young woman #do not think you need to be polite when you're in danger

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cosmicluvcore · 8 months ago

Text

To be human part 1

Rottmnt Leo x reader, gender-neutral, friends to lovers, jealous Leo

Summary: Leo has the biggest crush on you, but he's afraid that you'd never date a mutant, so with the help of a cloaking brooch, he plans to become your perfect human boyfriend!

Part 2 here

☆

Okay I have to be honest. I saw someone with this idea, but I have no clue where it came from originally. If you know who I should credit, please tell me!!

Anyways, this concept gave me way too many ideas hope you enjoy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Leo wasn't great at dealing with his feelings.

He'd been crushing on Y/N for far too long, the terrapin couldn't even remember when the whole thing started.

A few loving glances and a flirty joke or two had suddenly burst into the thought of Y/N keeping him up at night. He wasn't great at hiding it either, blushing like an idiot when they smiled his way.

Leo knew he needed to tell them sooner or later, but he hadn't worked up the courage yet. A part of him hoped they secretly felt the same way and would confess to him, but there'd been no sign of that happening anytime soon. Leo wanted to confess, he really did, but... what if they didn't feel the same way? What if it made their friendship weird? What if he looked like an idiot? What if they never wanted to speak to him again?!

There were just too many 'what ifs' for his liking.

So Leo had decided to take the easy way out, hoping that Y/N would just see how great he was, then he wouldn't have to deal with any uncomfortable conversations. He started going out of his way to impress them, saving them on missions, being overly nice, letting them win in video games, giving them his last pizza slice, (which is very valuable by the way!)

Not that he'd ever admit it, but Leo had spent an embarrassingly long time researching 'how to get your crush to like you back'.

He'd bought a cologne for Pete's sake! But no matter what he did, they never seemed to notice.

It was a ordinary evening. Leo and the others sat in the projector room watching a movie. Raph, Mikey and Y/N were sitting comfortably on the floor surrounded by blankets and pillows. Meanwhile, Donnie and Leo took the couch, popcorn in their hands. They were watching some random action movie. Leo wasn't really paying attention.

He was more focused on Y/N.

Y/N had started fawning over the male love interest and that began to spark a little- scratch that, a LOT of jealously in Leo's heart. Every scene that guy appeared in they were freaking out, gushing over him like he was the best thing since sliced bread.

The blue-masked turtle scoffed to himself as the character appeared again, narrowing his eyes at the screen.

What was so great about this guy anyway?

Leo was twice as charming as him, he was the one with good looks, great one-liners and clearly the best ninja skills. This guy barely spoke a word and Y/N was blushing like crazy. But as he kept watching the film, something clicked in his mind.

He was human.

That's something Leo could never beat. Sure, 'biologically' he was part human, but he didn't exactly look like it. The turtle shifted a little in his seat, the uncomfortable feeling of insecurity settling in.

"Leo? Are you good?" Donnie asked, snapping him out of his thoughts for a moment.

"Me? Yeah, I'm great," Leo replied quickly, glancing away from his brother's gaze,

"It's just that this movie sucks, never letting Raph choose again!" He lied, that playful smirk returning to his face as he saw his eldest brother's reaction.

"Hey!" Raph called out from afar.

As the movie continued, Leo sighed deeply and took another handful of popcorn, chewing the kernels absentmindedly and leaning back in his seat. Was that really why Y/N wasn't interested in him? Because he wasn't human? There wasn't much he could do about that, it's not like there was just some magic spell that could-

Leo's face lit up as an idea popped into his mind, cloaking brooches. Yokai used them, April's slime friend had one, so they must be easy to find. Leo's mind started spinning with possibilities. If he could get his hands on a cloaking brooch, he could be human and finally get Y/N's attention! But, where would he get one?

For once, Leo was distracted as Y/N entered his room. Usually he'd be all over them chatting up a storm, but he was sitting on his bed glancing away from them.

"Leo?" They asked softly, watching as the turtle was startled by the interruption.

"Hey, what's with the jump scares?" Leo joked with a playful chuckle,

"I thought we were friends." He said in mock offense, leaning onto his back and over-dramatically draping his hand over himself.

Y/N couldn't help but laugh at his shenanigans, "I just came to check on you drama queen, you're being weirdly quiet today."

Leo blinked at their observation. Jeeze, was he that obvious?

"Ohh well you know, I was just thinking about Raphs' riveting movie choice tonight." He replied casually, quick to make up an excuse.

I mean, technically, it wasn't a lie he had been thinking about the film.

Y/N rolled their eyes at that, "You're just salty it wasn't your choice tonight, besides that movie wasn't so bad." They replied, calmly leaning against the door frame.

"Ooh really? You're just saying that because you were all over the male lead," He retorted, grinning smugly as he watched their cheeks flush, "You, my friend, are biased."

"Well- Can you blame me? That guy was a total stud." Y/N blurted out defensively.

"He was alright, I guess. Just totally not as hot as the real stud in the room." He said with a cocky smirk as he gestured towards himself.

Y/N let out a laugh at that.

Normally, Leo wouldn't take such a tiny thing to heart, but his ego took a hit from the way Y/N laughed at him. He was the type to eagerly take any opporunity to see them smile, but this time it felt like they were laughing at him. Scoffing at just the thought of him being attractive to them, it was this newfound level of insecurity that he didn't know how to handle.

"Alright Leo, seems like you're biased too." They said with a chuckle.

"I simply speak the truth." He shrugged in reply, trying to ignore the painful realization.

Thankfully, Y/N didn't seem to notice, "Well, I'm heading home. I'll see you around."

"I'll see you." Leo smiled, waving as he watched them go.

After the coast was clear, Leo let out a long annoyed sign. He leaned onto his back, letting the soft cushion of his bed comfort him as insecurities began to plague his mind.

He needed a cloaking brooch.

#Spotify #rottmnt #rottmnt x reader #rottmnt leo #rottmnt leo x reader #rottmnt leo x you #rottmnt leo x y/n #rottmnt x you #rottmnt x y/n #gn reader #gender nuetral reader #gender nuetral #rottmnt tbh #To be human #Tbh #rottmnt to be human

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charmandabear · 9 months ago

Text

Touch

Summary:

A series of short vignettes illustrating Astarion's relationship to non-sexual touch evolving over time.

Pairing: Astarion/Reader

Rating: M

Word Count: 2.3k

Tags/Warnings: fluff, fluff, and more fluff (with a very brief appearance from possessive!Astarion), act 3 spoilers

Read it on AO3.

Happy Valentine's Day! I originally wrote this as a gift for Cherie and now it's a gift for all of you~

“Really?”

He looked so scared. Like a lost little boy scrambling for something to hold on to. You needed him to know just how much you care, and words didn't seem sufficient.

Slowly, cautiously, you approached him and wrapped your arms around his shoulders. You could feel his whole body tense beneath you, as though he was bracing himself for something terrible. You held onto him, trying to imbue the gesture with all of the feelings of love and affection that you had developed for him since the day he held a dagger to your throat. Soon he softened, his muscles relaxed and you felt his hands gingerly settle around your lower back. But you didn’t want to push your luck with him, so after a moment you stepped back and looked at his bewildered face.

“You… you’re full of surprises, aren’t you?” A hint of a smile touched his lips, before he let out a quiet laugh. “Honestly, I have no idea what we’re doing,” he added, almost conspiratorially. “Or what comes next.” He hesitantly held out a hand, long fingers unfurling like a wounded animal coming to you for help. You gently placed your hand in his, afraid to spook him. You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding when he placed his other hand on top of yours.

“But I know that this… This is nice.”

***

You still spent evenings in Astarion’s tent, but now in a companionable silence rather than heated passion. He would read while you plucked on your lute, jotting down notes as they came to you. Occasionally he teased you for hitting a wrong note, or would offer surprisingly insightful feedback on your lyrics. He liked listening to you hum to yourself while you composed, but he would never admit it to you. And when the time came, you would leave for your bedroll to trance separately, just as you always had.

Until one night, when you strapped your lute to your back and started to get to your feet and a strangled noise from Astarion stopped you.

“Yes love, what is it?” you asked, almost worried that something was wrong. The tips of his ears were flushed pink from having recently fed on your blood, and they twitched slightly as he struggled to form the words.

“You can… if you want… trance here tonight. If you’d like that,” he added quickly, petulantly looking away.

Your breath caught in your throat. “Would you? Like that?” The words came out dry and uncomfortable, but you didn’t want your eagerness to scare him away.

“I mean, it’s only logical,” he offered as an excuse. “You’re so exposed out by the fire on your bedroll. It’s safer if you stay in here, with me. Safer for you, of course.” He flashed his signature roguish grin, and you found his deflection charming. You kneeled down beside him and planted a kiss on his forehead.

“You’re right, much safer,” you agreed, and the two of you settled beside each other, foot to head in order to fit in the cramped space. You breathed deeply as you settled into your trance, and you weren’t sure, but you thought you may have felt the back of Astarion’s hand brush against yours.

***

Karlach receiving her second upgrade from Dammon was a momentous occasion. You all sat around the fire, laughing and drinking, while Karlach touched everyone and everything in sight. You would touch her knee when she made a particularly hilarious joke. She pulled Wyll into a headlock while teasing him for how they met. Shadowheart kept stealing little kisses when she thought no one would notice (but you all did.)

What you didn't notice was Astarion grinding his teeth next to you. You didn't see his muscles tense as you grabbed Karlach’s hand, or when she ruffled your hair.

So when it was time for everyone to turn in and you gave Karlach a long hug goodnight, you were surprised when Astarion grabbed your wrist and pulled you out behind the Last Light Inn.

He pushed you up against the stone wall, kissing you fiercely, one hand twisted into your hair and the other pressed into your lower back. Your heart raced as you clung onto him, hands scrambling for purchase on his well-worn shirt.

“Mine,” he growled between kisses, pressing a knee between your legs and the sudden pressure against your mound elicited a light whimper. You pulled him into you, desperate to feel every inch of him in a way you hadn't for so long.

Your head felt cloudy as he broke the kiss, the two of you breathlessly panting. His hands remained tight around you, fingers digging into the soft flesh of your waist.

“What was that about?” you breathed heavily, still reeling from the passionate kiss.

“No one can touch you, you're mine,” he seethed, and immediately returned to his assault on your lips. You turned your head for air and he trailed his hungry kisses down to your neck, scraping his fangs across the healed bite without breaking skin.

“Wait, what?” Your confusion didn't stop the breathy groan that escaped your lips as his tongue ran along the shell of your ear. As much as you were enjoying seeing this side of him again, you pulled him back slightly.

“What?” you repeated, concern coloring your features. He scowled and looked away like a stubborn child.

“I don't like seeing other people touch you when I… can't,” he grumbled. You tried to suppress a laugh.

“I mean, sweetheart… you can,” you tease, touching his face almost as a demonstration. But you stopped as soon as you saw his pained expression.

“But I won't. If it makes you uncomfortable, love, I'll keep my hands to myself,” you said lightly, ducking your face to try to gauge his expression. He let out an exasperated groan and pulled away from you.

“And there you go, being all reasonable and selfless about it,” he grumped, crossing his arms. You reached out and touched his arms, encouraging them to uncross with a little squeeze. He relented and you slid your hands down his arms until they were holding his.

“I'm here, with you. We can go at whatever pace you need,” you said quietly. “But there is something in between no contact at all and having me up against a wall.” You flashed him a flirty smile, and his icy expression melted a bit.

You stood there for a few moments, holding his hands in yours, your thumb lightly stroking the back of his.

“Fine. I'm… I'm trying. Thank you for being patient with me. Although I wouldn't have expected anything less.” His features softened and he looked a little embarrassed by his outburst. You plant a tender kiss on his forehead.

“And like I said, I can keep my hands to myself. I make no promises about Karlach, though.”

***

“I've been dead in the ground for long enough. It's time to try living again.” He turned to you, and very gently, took your hands in his. “With everything that life has to offer.”

Your eyes sparkled as you looked at this man who had been through so much. The man who walked away from the ability to feel the sun on his skin, to see his reflection, to taste food and drink again. The man who chose to keep himself, to keep you, instead.

His hands may have been cold, but he radiated with a warmth you hadn't seen before.

“Meaning…?” You were almost afraid to speak, as though it might break a spell.

“If a night of passion is on offer, I could be persuaded,” he said with his signature charming smile. You studied him closely, trying to figure out if this was another deflection or if he was being sincere.

“Sounds good to me,” you joked, trying to match his tone. He suddenly let go of your hands and you were worried that you did something wrong.

“You know, I didn't care for you when we first met.” His brazenness made you laugh. “But I do now,” he was quick to add. “Being with you is about more than lust or manipulating you into a tactical alliance.” For the first time since you met him, he looked genuinely happy.

“I love you. I love this. And I want it all.”

He placed a hand up to your cheek and you leaned into his palm. You breathed in his scent deep, relishing in the bergamot and rosemary, feeling a tingle where his skin made contact with yours.

He leaned forward and planted an almost featherlight kiss on your lips. You would’ve been content to sit here forever, his hand to your cheek, and you would never want for anything else.

Then again…

***

Your heart shattered when Astarion sprinted off the pier when dawn finally broke the horizon. You knew that he didn’t want you to follow, and it took your entire strength of being to stay put. You were going to miss lazily tracing circles onto his skin as the two of you basked in the warmth of the sun. Getting rid of the tadpole was clearly a net positive, but you were all too aware of the toll it was going to take on him.

The rest of you trudged off to the Elfsong for a much deserved rest. With Wyll and Karlach in Avernus, Lae’zel flying off on the back of a magnificent red dragon, and Astarion still hiding in the shadows, your group felt small. You tried to laugh at one another’s banter, but it rang hollow. The only person who seemed to be genuinely enjoying themself was Minsc, and frankly you envied him right now, not a thought in that empty head of his.

Soon everyone silently retreated back to your room upstairs, all too content to sleep the day away. It had been a treacherously long night and an even longer morning. You found that you couldn’t trance properly without Astarion at your side, however. You fidgeted while trying to lie still, something you hadn’t struggled with since you were a youngling.

Eventually you gave up and returned to the bar of the Elfsong. The atmosphere was still sleepy, everyone quiet from the overwhelming events of the past few days. Alfira plucked on her lute while Lakrissa wiped down untouched tables.

You couldn’t tell how long you sat there until Shadowheart returned, looking significantly more refreshed. She perched on the arm of the cushy chair you had curled up in, tossing her silver braid over her shoulder.

“You look like you could use a drink, or several,” she laughed, and you nodded graciously in response. She patted your cheek affectionately before bounding over to Alan behind the bar. The others began trickling in, and you moved over to a table where you could celebrate properly. Gale made some witty quip and Halsin barked a laugh in response, and just like that the day’s tension eased into a weary but overall joyous energy.

But as night fell, you couldn’t help but glance at the doorway every thirty seconds, just to see if he returned. Jaheira noticed how twitchy you were, and she rested a warm hand on your knee.

“Don’t worry, little cub,” she said in that soothing voice of hers, “he’ll come in his own time.” You worried at your lower lip, doubt swelling in your heart. But just as soon as she finished speaking, Astarion burst through the door dramatically, looking only a little singed. He swaggered a bit, and his cheeks were tinged pink - he had just fed.

“Miss me, darling?” he sang and clapped his hands on your shoulders. You gazed up at him adoringly, your fingers lightly dancing across his knuckles. He collapsed in the seat next to you and without hesitation, he grabbed your legs and rested them in his lap. He almost looked giddy, a far cry from the pain and embarrassment plaguing his features that morning. He quickly fell into the conversation, joining Shadowheart in teasing Minsc. He absentmindedly stroked your calf with his thumb and you needed to take a sip from your drink to hide your growing smile.

***

The invitation from Withers surprised you. Not because you didn’t think he could track you down, he’s an all-powerful god, of course he could. Mostly it was because you didn’t realize just how sentimental he was.

You needed to spend the whole day of the party running errands in Baldur’s Gate, so you told Astarion that you would meet him at the Emerald Grove Environs in the evening. You wanted to pick up little trinkets for everyone, so you dashed about the city, checking each person off your list.

The smell of the camp hit you like a wave when you arrived. Memories came flooding back, of tending your wounds by the fire, or laughing at one of Karlach’s jokes while eating Gale’s famous wild boar stew.

You spotted Astarion immediately, hovering a few meters away from the food table. He looked dashing in his brown leather tunic with gold embroidery. You vaguely wondered if he had spent the afternoon carefully finishing the trim.

As soon as you were within reach of him, he pounced on you with a hug. His feet stumbled slightly as he swayed with you in his arms, his rich scent overtaking your senses. You felt so warm in his embrace despite his chilled skin. When he finally pulled away, he was beaming and your heart soared.

“I do feel a little bad keeping you all to myself. After all, I get to see you every night,” he laughed, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear. “Go on, go mingle - enjoy your time with the others. Bless them with your presence.”

You gave his forearm a reassuring squeeze as his hand lingered on your cheek.

“I’ll be here when you’re ready,” he added in a low voice, eyes dreamy. “I’ll always be here, my love.”

#valentine's day #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 astarion #astarion fanfic #astarion fluff #bg3 fluff #astarion x reader #astarion x you

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les-fleurrs-du-mal · 3 months ago

Text

ao3: les_fleurrs_du_mal (30 chapters posted and ongoing)

regulus black x original muggle character

[enemies to lovers]

summary:

Flora, the muggle half-sister of protective older brother Remus Lupin, finds herself hidden away during the First Wizarding War for fear of werewolf attacks. Her life is lonely and quiet until Regulus Black, a former Deatheater and an insufferable bigot, is also in need of sanctuary.

Chapter One

❦

Summer, 1978

It was some time after midnight when Flora awoke suddenly. Her curtains, which she’d left open after falling asleep from the sheer exhaustion of homework, twitched in the soft summer breeze of the still night. Welsh summers were never particularly warm, but this year had reached soaring temperatures. The air was still muggy when Flora woke in confusion, her skin prickly with sweat. The light of the full moon spilled into the room.

She moved only to push the books off her bed so she could get under the cool bedsheets, but was gripped with a sense of unease as she shifted her body and opened her eyes properly. A distinct creak on the stairs made her start. It was a slow, hesitant creak, like somebody was trying to be quiet.

Her parents had surely gone to bed, and it certainly wasn’t Remus. Not on a full moon. Flora pulled the sheet around herself, holding her breath to listen closer. She could feel and hear her pulse beating fast, gripped with a sudden certainty that she was about to die. She couldn’t move, insensible to all action. The footsteps continued up the stairs and moved down the hallway towards her bedroom. She hid deeper under her bedclothes, laying in dread of every second, her heart beating so hard and fast she was sure the intruder would hear it.

The door opened slowly and a small glowing light illuminated the room—a wand light.

“Flora?” A voice whispered, nervous.

Flora let out the breath she was holding and hastily threw back the covers, sitting up at once. “Sirius?”

His handsome face appeared in the dim glow of the wand light. His eyes widened and then softened with relief.

“Flora,” he rushed to her and took hold of her shoulders, looking her over quickly. “Are you alright?”

Flora noticed he was trembling. He stared at her like he wasn’t sure she was real, or more chillingly, alive. Flora was too bewildered to answer for a moment, wondering why she would not be alright, and why he didn’t turn the light on.

“Yes,” she answered distractedly, her eyes roving over his face. “Why are you here? Is Remus okay?”

Sirius blinked a moment, preoccupied with the inner whirlwind of his feelings. He looked at her softly and touched her face with platonic, brotherly affection. With the way he was constantly attached to Remus, Sirius may as well have been her brother.

She became suddenly aware of a second presence in the doorway. Sirius calmly turned his head and greeted a bespectacled boy with black hair, who also had his wand raised with a light emitting from the end of it.

“She’s fine,” Sirius said to the boy, who quietly breathed a sigh of relief.

“We’d better take her now,” he replied, stepping further into the room with a deeply disturbed look on his face.

Flora raised her eyes to look at James Potter, a boy she had heard plenty about from Remus and Sirius, but had never met until now.

“What’s happened?” Flora asked, her confusion and fear mounting as she observed the troubled looks on their ashen faces. “Where’s my mam? My dad? Remus?"

They didn’t answer her. They began to talk between themselves in low, anxious tones about taking her somewhere. When Sirius turned to speak to her again, he took hold of her hands and squeezed them gently. “I’m going to take you to the Potter’s house, alright? His mum and dad are there. They’re kind and they’ll make sure you’re alright. You’ll have to side-along apparate with me. Have you ever done that before?”

Flora shook her head slowly. “No, but why—”

“It will feel a little uncomfortable,” Sirius cut her off, standing up. “Like a tight squeezing, but it won’t be for long.”

James regarded Sirius with uncertainty. “Are you sure you’re alright to do it, mate? Maybe we should wait until Moody or someone more senior gets here.”

“I can take her,” Sirius replied.

“I think we should wait.”

“No, it could be a while yet. We need to get her out of here and somewhere safe,” Sirius insisted firmly.

Flora felt a sudden urge to scream as the realisation dawned on her, that something truly awful had happened. Perhaps she'd anticipated it for a while, unconsciously, through snippets she'd heard in murmured voices between her parents and Remus. Conversations she was not meant to be privy to. She understood there was unrest in the wizarding world, that her brother and his friends were helping. Now something had happened. She didn’t realise she was screaming until she felt Sirius’ arms around her, his voice trying to soothe her. She crumbled into hysterics, begging an explanation and fighting against him in order to flee the room and find out what it was for herself. Sirius held her fast, gripping her shoulders and looking to James for help. He looked just as lost as Sirius. They needed Remus. Flora knew as well as they did that she needed her big brother.

“Flora, Flo, please,” Sirius pleaded, “Calm down. Please calm down.”

“What’s happened? Tell me right now!” She sobbed wildly. At only fifteen years old, nothing terrible had ever happened in her life. She studied and worked hard at school, went to the pictures sometimes, read books. Bad things didn't happen to her. She was the 'normal' child, the one who sorely wished sometimes that she was magic like her older brother just so interesting things would happen. Now suddenly she didn't want it.

“Please,” Sirius tried again, speaking calmly. “Let me take you to the Potters. I’ll explain things there, I swear.”

“Is Remus there?” She asked hopefully, knowing it was a silly question. “And my mam and dad?”

Sirius shook his head. James hesitantly stepped closer and knelt down in front of Flora, looking at her. “We will explain everything shortly,” he said with solemn eyes. “But right now, you need to leave. It isn’t safe here.”

“Why isn’t it safe?” Flora asked with wide, tearful eyes. “This is my house.”

“Let us take you to my parent’s house. Everything will be alright.”

Sirius was able to ease Flora to her feet, rubbing her back in a useless effort to calm her down. In only her nightie, she was swiftly removed from her quiet home to face the worst news she could possibly imagine.

❦

Autumn, 1980

Flora stood at the kitchen sink, yawning and contemplating an early night with a warm drink and the new book she wanted to start. Darkness had gathered around the little stone cottage, summoning the owls that Flora presently heard hooting in the surrounding blackness of the trees. She scratched the side of her head and pushed a loose piece of hair behind her ear, splashing bubbles on her cheek as she did so.

Her days were slow: peaceful, mundane. She wondered when her brother would arrive — if he would arrive. He’d promised he would, but Order meetings often kept him late or away altogether. She tried hard to stay up on the nights he promised to come back, the nights he brought fresh food and provisions and the occasional gift to lift her spirits, but quite often she would secede waiting and go to bed. In the morning she would find that everything she needed had been restocked in the night, like some elf or fairy had been. He did not usually stay. But tonight, Flora so terribly wanted to talk to him, to see someone, anyone, and so she fought back the temptation of an early night. For someone who was only seventeen, going to bed each night with only the company of one’s inner voice was a dreadful thing. It made Flora feel like an old woman who had already lived the excitement of youth, and yet Flora had yet to experience it.

A long shadow outside caught Flora’s eye and she lifted her head to peer out. Her heart lifted the moment she recognised the tall, wiry figure of her brother at the ancient stone gatepost with his wand illuminating the darkness. She drew back from the old sink, shook her hands dry of water and bubbles, and rushed across the kitchen to the door. Without slippers and in only her pyjamas, she ran outside and down the path. It was dark and wet outside, but she hadn’t been out of the house all day and liked the cool, late summer air on her face as she hurried to meet her brother. It braced her, filling her lungs with the scent of damp moss and earth.

“Remus,” she half walked on the tips of her toes over the dirt path, careful to avoid treading on any sharp stones. She lifted her eyes and noticed there was a second person with him. Not that that was unusual. Sirius Black went wherever Remus went, like a pair. Sirius gave Flora his typical charming smile, a smile that admittedly always made Flora blush just a little too much, as he walked beside Remus. The young man was almost dwarfed by the latter’s height. Half a dozen shopping bags of food floated a little way behind them.

“Where are your shoes? Go back inside,” Remus said as he fixed his eyes on his younger sister.

“I’ve been inside all day. Did you get everything on my list?” She asked in a rush.

He shrugged his thin shoulders. “Most of it, I think. Sirius lost the list before we got there.”

Flora’s eyes sharply darted to Sirius, who quickly sought to defend himself. “It's fine. I’ve got a good memory.”

Remus snorted lightly. They all walked into the little cottage. It was a venerable, white-washed stone building with two ground-floor rooms and four upper rooms, rooms which had been added to over the years. The building itself was at least three hundred years old and had changed relatively little as far as anyone could guess.

Wales was an ancient land. There might have been an older building on the location of the present one, and the magic was heavy here, heavy enough that even Flora could sometimes instinctively feel it. It was not uncommon for her to go walking in the forest and stumble across fairy rings, which she was careful to avoid stepping in. As a child, if she listened very closely at night, she was sure she could hear the soft tinkle of music outside. Remus told her it was the elves, though Flora had never quite believed him, thinking he was winding her up because he was magic and she was not. But then her mother — their mother, who was a muggle — confirmed it to be true and so Flora believed. They were half-siblings, Flora and Remus, but close enough in age and upbringing to consider themselves full siblings. It didn’t matter that Flora wasn’t a witch. Frankly, Flora didn’t mind so much anymore, not with everything going on.

The cottage was firmly situated amongst the rolling green hills, overlooking the granite coastline of North Wales and little seaside town far below. The wizened old cottage was also heavily warded with protective and defensive charms, charms which protected its singular occupant. Remus said to protect, but to Flora, it felt like imprisonment. Worse still, she was almost always alone. The siblings had nobody but themselves to rely on, and increasingly Remus was unable to visit his younger sister. It was too dangerous, he said. Reports of werewolves in nearby towns and villages were becoming worryingly more common. He came now more out of necessity to deliver food and shopping and take a list of anything she needed or wanted. Today he had gone overboard, Flora thought, probably due to Sirius losing her carefully written list. But it quickly struck Flora as curious—there was too much food here for just one person.

“Right… bread, milk, eggs,” Remus began to empty the shopping bags onto the large kitchen table, which Flora sat down at and watched. He placed three loaves of bread down, two boxes of a dozen eggs, three pints of milk. “Jam… soup… uh, got you lots of fruit this time…chocolate…”

Flora studied him with a small frown, her chin resting in her hands. “Why’ve you got so much of everything?” She half exclaimed. “Half of this will expire by the time I get round to using it.”

Remus and Sirius shared a very brief, but tense look. It was a look that Flora caught immediately and it caused her to sit up straighter.

“What is it? Tell me now,” she demanded. Her soft Welsh accent lilted up and down as she spoke, which somewhat diminished the vexation in her tone.

Sirius smiled at her, speaking quickly in an attempt to distract her. “Shall we have a cup of tea?”

He flicked his wand at the kettle across the room and it began to heat up. Flora sat back in the wooden kitchen chair and folded her arms, eyeing them both with suspicion. Remus looked distinctly uncomfortable. He ran his hand through his thick fluffy hair and sighed through his nose quietly while Sirius busied himself with the tea. Sirius liked making tea. In fact, he enjoyed doing a lot of mundane household tasks (magic or no magic) simply because he never got to do it as a child. His absolute favourite was the microwave, which seemed to endlessly fascinate him no matter how many times he used it. He lived in a small flat with Remus in the muggle side of London, which Flora had only visited once.

Remus sat down opposite his sister. There was just a few years difference in age between them, but Remus always treated Flora like she was much younger. Since their parent's death, he had dutifully taken on a paternal role for his sister.

“Remember I told you before that things are getting more dangerous out there?” He began.

“No,” Flora replied dryly. “Tell me again."

Remus gave her a steady, stern look. “Flo.”

“Does bringing extra food make it less dangerous?”

Remus decided to ignore her sarcasm, continuing to speak levelly. Flora always thought he would make a very good teacher when he started talking like this.

“Well, every time I come here it does get a little more dangerous than the last.”

“Why’d you keep coming back then?”

“Flora,” Remus huffed, beginning to lose his patience. “Would you please be serious for a minute.” Flora glanced at Sirius, but he was fixated on making the tea with a faraway look on his face and clearly in no mood for jokes.

“I need to explain something to you—ask something of you, actually,” Remus went on.

“Me?” She frowned. “Why? What?”

“Well, I do really,” Sirius suddenly came to life, straightening up and looking over his shoulder. His face remained neutral, controlled. Flora waited, confused.

“Let me explain something first,” Remus looked at Sirius, “Before we get to that part.”

Sirius shrugged and resumed making the tea. Remus turned back to his sister, his face set and grim.

“The werewolves—”

Flora sighed heavily and turned her head away, not letting him get halfway through his sentence. “Not the werewolves again. I've not heard or seen anything."

“Flora, would you be quiet for five minutes,” Remus snapped with a deepening frown. He leaned forward across the table. “Just listen. Werewolf attacks have been reported close to this area. They’re getting closer and I’m seriously worried they’re looking for you specifically.”

“Why would they?” Flora replied, feigning an air of indifference. But her skin prickled slightly at this awful suggestion. That awful night was recalled back to her memory. She dreamt about it sometimes, only her dreams filled in the horrors she’d never witnessed. Remus had never told her what really happened, perhaps to spare her the thought of how their parents died, but in her heart she knew.

“Because they’re also after me. I’ve told you this before. Greyback wants me to join his—his pack. The Order believes that they believe hurting or kidnapping you would give them leverage. I’ve spent one full moon with them, but they don’t trust me. This isn’t just about protecting you as a just-in-case precaution, it’s crucial now that you stay put while I do what I need to do.”

Flora felt indignant at this. “I already do stay put! Where am I going to go?"

“You’ve left the wards several times. I know you go down to the beach, to the shops."

”I’m not likely to be attacked by a werewolf in broad daylight,” Flora said moodily.

”No,” Remus agreed, “but there are spies around. Someone could still easily grab you, daylight or not. I need you to stay here.”

“But it’s boring!”

”It’s safe.”

“Flora, listen,” Sirius began now in support of Remus. He brought over their cups of tea and sat down next to Remus. “You can’t leave.”

“So you’ve brought me all this extra food to prevent me from going anywhere? Half that bread will go mouldy before I get to open it.”

“No,” Remus rubbed his forehead with the palm of his hand, stretching his long fingers out and burying them in his hairline. “No, that’s not it.”

“This is the second surprise,” Sirius said as he sipped his tea. He glanced again at Remus, who was now rubbing his eyelids with the heel of his palm. When Remus lowered his hands, his eyes were a little watery and red from the pressure of his hand. He looked suddenly very tired, older than his twenty-one years.

“The other thing…” Remus started. His eyes met Sirius’ eyes.

“It’s my brother,” Sirius blurted out quickly.

Flora blinked. “Brother?”

“Yes, my younger brother.”

“I didn’t know you had a brother.”

“That’s because he’s a little prick. We don’t talk about him. He's, um, he was on the—you know, the other side of things. A Death Eater.”

Remus sighed heavily. Flora noticed he was gripping his cup of tea very tightly as Sirius struggled to explain whatever it was he was trying to explain. And this was odd because Sirius was never lost for words. He was always so sure of himself.

“A Death Eater,” Flora repeated when Sirius trailed off, prompting him to continue.

“Yeah, uh… well, ex-Death Eater I suppose now,” Sirius coughed softly to clear his throat. He swallowed thickly and his Adam’s apple bobbed noticeably in his throat. “He abandoned it all and came to find me. He’s hurt. Badly hurt. I still don’t fully know what happened to him because he won’t tell me. I thought maybe You-Know-Who had done something to him. But he's talking, giving us information that is useful to the Order, and so far it's been accurate, reliable."

Flora nodded slowly, keeping her large eyes fixed on the two young men. “Okay…”

“He’s not safe where he is,” Sirius continued. “We’re hiding him in our flat at the moment, but he can’t stay there.”

Flora was not stupid, and the realisation of what he was trying to ask hit her very quickly. But she held back, not speaking, and she waited for the horror of the situation to descend.

“Just to be clear,” Remus spoke up in a low, glum voice, “I don’t want this. I wish this wasn’t happening at all and I’m sorry.”

“Are you going to tell me that you’ve invited a Death Eater to come and live with me?” Flora demanded now, her voice growing increasingly higher as panic set in. She looked to her brother for help, but he was looking down obstinately at the table.

“Ex-Death Eater,” Sirius quickly corrected.

Flora glowered. “Oh, that's alright then."

“He won’t hurt you,” Sirius floundered. “I trust him.”

Flora scoffed, folding her arms across her chest.

“Please, just listen to me” he pleaded. Remus was clearly sitting out on the discussion, having known exactly how his sister would react. It was down to Sirius to convince her, and so far he wasn’t doing a very good job.

“He won’t have access to his wand,” he continued. “He won’t be able to do any magic."

“So he is dangerous?”

“No, it’s just…” Sirius rubbed his face now. “He’s not dangerous. Not really—”

“Not really?”

“Fuck’s sake,” Remus muttered with another very heavy sigh. “Let me explain it to her.”

“I wish one of you would,” Flora snapped in irritation.

“I was against it too, okay?” Remus began calmly. “I still am. I don’t like him but he’s been fairly reliable so far. He’ll be killed if he’s found. By the look of things, he nearly was killed."

Sirius’ face had grown rather pinched. He held his chin in his hand and frowned down at his mostly untouched cup of tea. His whole body, which he usually held in a careless, relaxed way, was now very tense and hunched.

“I just want him to be safe,” Sirius murmured without raising his eyes.

Flora was quiet for a long moment, glaring at the two of them. “So the extra food,” she began after a minute, “That’s for him?”

“I’m sorry we didn’t ask you first, Flo,” Remus answered softly. “We need to move him quickly though. It probably won’t be for long, mind. The Order will eventually find somewhere more permanent for him to go, maybe. But he’s not exactly their priority right now. He’s just a runaway, at the end of the day.”

“More like an escaped lunatic," Flora said indignantly. "I don’t want him here. I’m telling you no.”

“Flora, please,” Sirius looked up now. His soft eyes were huge and desperate. “I’ll be the first to admit he’s an insufferable little prick. He has his ridiculous airs and prejudices, but I swear he won’t hurt you. I wouldn’t have asked if I thought for even a moment that he would harm a hair on your head. Maybe it’s stupid, but I truly believe he can change. He just needs the chance.”

Flora sat back, halfway defeated. She found it very challenging to argue when Sirius was looking at her with eyes like that, and it did not help that she’d had a foolishly desperate crush on him since she was eleven. She knew she would cave the moment he asked. She reasoned she could handle a rude houseguest — she’d helped at the village pub when she was fourteen during the summer holidays — but she wasn’t so keen on her houseguest being a dark wizard who openly hated muggles. This would be odious, but she couldn’t deny Sirius anything.

“We already broached the subject with him,” Sirius went on when she didn’t respond. “We’ve made it very clear that he has to behave himself.”

“How long will it be for?”

Sirius shrugged. “Honestly, I don’t know. If he becomes too much to deal with, we’ll take him back to the flat until we can find another arrangement.”

“What exactly do you mean by ‘too much to deal with’?" She questioned carefully.

“Exactly what I said before. He’s a prick. I’m going to be completely honest with you, he will likely treat you with a lot of disdain because you’re a muggle. But whatever he says, take no notice. Just tell me and I'll sort the little bastard out."

“So he’ll just be rude?”

“At best, yes.”

“What about at worst?”

Sirius drummed his fingers on the table top. “He can be hateful.”

Remus sat up a little, as though a thought had just occurred to him. He touched Sirius’ arm lightly and shook his head, “Let’s not do this. We can find somewhere else for him to go. Why destroy her peace? She doesn’t need to know what people like him think of her.”

Sirius’ face dropped slightly. He looked a lot like a small child who had just been told no. Flora watched them curiously, feeling an odd swelling in her heart as she observed the pain and anxiety in Sirius’ eyes. Besides that, she was undeniably interested in doing something other than sitting around the house reading novels. When Flora had said life was boring, she meant she felt she was fading into the wings, always waiting, stagnant. She was so bored, lonely, and she resented her brother more and more everyday for keeping her here.

“Where’s he going to go, Moony?” Sirius was speaking in a low murmur to Remus. "He's not safe."

“We’ll find somewhere,” Remus replied with little certainty in his voice. “I promise.”

“He’ll be killed,” Sirius hissed. “They’ll find him.”

“They won’t.”

“One week,” Flora spoke up quietly, barely believing her own words as they left her mouth. She couldn't bear witnessing this. She didn’t have it in her to be cruel, and right now she felt cruel if she said no. “If he can behave himself for one week, he can stay.”

“Flo, you don’t have to—” Remus began hesitantly.

Sirius’ eyes lit up with new-founded hope though. “One week?” he replied quickly, latching to her words.

Flora nodded slowly. Her heart felt heavy but she couldn’t go back now. One week was fair, she reasoned. It wasn’t such a long time. And if Sirius’s brother turned out to be alright, then perhaps she would have a friend to fill her time with. As he was younger than Sirius, she assumed he must be her age. Either way, she reasoned, she had quite literally nothing to lose in letting him stay.

“One week. Okay,” Sirius nodded eagerly, “and we’ll visit every morning and evening to check how he gets on.”

Remus frowned. “I don’t think we can do that.”

“Well, I will anyway,” Sirius said. He then leaned across the table and clasped hold of Flora’s small hand. “Thank you. Thank you,” he whispered with great sincerity.

Flora coloured with pleasure, smiling a little in spite of herself as she relished in his joy and relief — joy and relief she had given. She knew her actions weren’t motivated out of any concern for his brother. Her motivation was purely for Sirius and herself.

“What’s his name anyway?” Flora asked, realising she’d never considered it.

“Regulus.”

“Of course it is,” she rolled her eyes gently and shook her head.

Sirius smiled, still grasping her hand in his tightly. He then kissed her hand, just like a knight in storybooks, placing a chaste kiss on her knuckles. Flora blushed to her ears and looked away, mortified and thrilled. And that was that. Regulus Black would be arriving the very next day.

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carriesthewind · 5 months ago

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I can't stop thinking about the notes on this rage-bait post about To Kill a Mockingbird.

Some of it is the sheer number of people falling for the bait and believing that the school district in question banned the novel:

But there's also this...tone to so many of the notes that I find fascinating. And I think two sets of comments illustrate why:

Every time I look at these tags I feel like there is something more to unpack. If I am being kind of flip, I can roll my eyes at someone "sigh[ing] at the lack of reading comprehension" while falling for outrage bait.

But more seriously, I feel like this comment is completely right about needing to be uncomfortable and leave sterile environments in order to grown and change...but that comment exists in the context of the writer being so deeply uncomfortable at the mere idea that an over 60 year old book will no longer be taught to some children that they completely fail to interrogate the underlying story. There's a failure to take the next step. It's possible the writer was uncomfortable when they first read the novel, but to quote a tag I didn't capture here, it's "one of [their] favorite books." The book doesn't make *them* uncomfortable at all. The writer is not willing to interrogate that the school district might have had good reasons for switching the book out of the curriculum. Instead, they assume that the reasons are because "people don't understand" the book - the writer "see[s] what they look for."

I love To Kill a Mockingbird. (Hell, I'm one of those white future-public defenders who read the book and saw the movie and watched Atticus with my soul in my throat and, while I was not directly inspired by him, he resonated with a deep part of me.) It would be an uphill debate to convince me to remove it from a teaching curriculum - but then again, I'm not in charge of any teaching curriculum and have zero relevant expertise. I've read now a number of different articles and reactions to this incident, and the reactions rarely have anything to do with the reality of what decisions were made and why. You have to jump through numerous links to find what appears to be the original parent complaint:

Yolanda Williams said she found out that students were saying the N-word and laughing in the classroom, and it was offensive. “Students were laughing out loud at the teacher’s response. That’s unacceptable to me,” she told the board. “Is there not a better way to teach about that era and the horrors of that era, other than having kids laughing in class when the N-word is said? It should not be required reading for all students. My child shouldn’t have to sit in that class like that.” “It’s not a conducive environment,” Yolanda Williams said. “It’s not just the book, but supplemental material that had the N-word.

(How much do we value, how do we weigh, one way of learning about the history of racism, against the pain of a black child? Whose comfort are we willing to sacrifice, and for what?)

The second comment I come back to is much shorter, but I feel like it's where everything fell in to place for me:

Were the people made uncomfortable by the book white people? How many of them? I don't know for sure - although I know at least one of the parents, as quoted above, was black - and neither do any of the commenters.

Why do we read "people" and see "white people?" And in a way, I'm asking a rhetorical question - because of course we do, because the tweet is set up that day. And, even more so, of course we do - because the people the book is for are white people.

To go back to the previous comment, the one I can't stop unpacking: the writer quotes a famous line from the book, "You never really understand a person until you consider things from his point of view...until you climb into his skin and walk around in it."

And yes, I love this quote.

But.

To Kill a Mockingbird was written by Harper Lee, a white woman.

The narrator of the book is Scout, a white child.

The hero of the book is Atticus, her white father.

The embodiment of the theme, the person whose skin Scout tries to step into, is Boo Radley, another white man.

Do you remember, the man who was murdered? Do you see him in that picture at the top of the post? How long does it take you to remember his name?

When do we step into his skin? When do we walk around with his perspective?

I love To Kill a Mockingbird. But if a school district wanted to teach a book to embody this quote, aren't there so many better ones?

Another commenter on the post appears to have actual lived experience with this book being removed from the teaching curriculum.

#to kill a mockingbird #usual disclaimer: please don't try to find any of the people whose comments I quoted #they were reacting to the screenshotted tweet in the way that the tweet was designed to provoke

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preyseisgone · 8 months ago

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Hi ! This is a callout post on @gloomylace also known as @clingyidol. Before I start , I hate doing these kind of things and it took me alot of effort (+ encouragement from friends ) to do this. Also please do not go and harass Lolita. Cher is a minor and I just overall do not condone harassment. I was originally going to stay quiet .

tw for , abuse , r//pe , violence suicide and more .

Before I start , “weren’t you two just friends ?” Yes but that is until this popped up in my feed. Lolita and another friend are the only two people that know about a situation that roughly happened 2 ~ ish days ago. I was insanely panicked and anxious being accused of stuff like this. I know this is Lolita on anon due to being my ONLY friend in the editblr community and the only one who knows this situation. (besides Avery, Avery isn’t on editblr or the same scenes as me) You know how deeply this affected me. So yeah kinda your fatal flaw assuming I tell my life story to more then 2 people 🤷 also STOP using fucking freyr on me. 🤍 massively appreciated. “An Ex friend” I have only one long term friend and that is Avery 🤍 I am not a fucking freak and copy people , even if I do have identity issues I know it’s weird to copy someone! This is really fucking low of you Lolita and I genuinely trusted you with information and my thoughts and feelings! But no you went behind my back for no reason. It seems like you wanted a reason to turn on me. 🤍

First of all , Lolita said this ! At the time , I did not know anything about oyasumi punpun . I don’t willfully consume media with the following topics

I am massively triggered by almost ALL of those topics . I felt like I was being essentially compared to an abuser , which overall made me feel very, very icky. When confronted about this - ( as seen in the images below )

Lolita ignored me . Cher has done this to another friend of cher’s , making an uncomfortable joke and then when confronted went on a dni and days later replied with something random . Lolita cannot take responsibility for cher’s actions. Che just ignores you essentially and then replies with something random! I am just sick of this behaviour and I will not be surprised if che or someone else will spread rumours about me JUST because I came out about this. I originally thought this wasn’t serious enough to be a call-out post and I felt like I was being overdramatic.

these two screenshots ^ .

multiple people (including me) have had their mental health DRAINED due to your actions. You have lied multiple times. It’s also such a coincidence that hate anons seem to follow you around and when asked you blame it on your exes ? In reality you probably sent them and you sent someone into a really bad episode! You make baseless claims off of little to no proof, broke SEVERAL boundaries of one of your ex partners. You also compared one of your bfs to someone who abused you which is just! plain! fucking wrong. You claim to have high empathy / sympathy and yet when someone who is also mentally ill did not react well over small things you went to shittalk them to their boyfriend.

props to you if you defend a liar and someone who makes nazi jokes xx lying about your exes stalking and harassing you is fucking crazy! Also sent my personal messages to someone and talked shit about me so yeah !

@artistrydoll + @magnoliawriter please reblog if you see this . ^_^

#⠀ ⠀ ◜ ⠀ ℐ℘ ˙ ⠀⠀important.#if anyone else has any experiences with Lolita feel free to share/add onto this post. ^_^#🫂🫂

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beansprean · 2 years ago

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Infodumps, nonsensicals, and foreshadows from the Guide!! Also I originally had cobwebs all over her in the first panel sketch but I forgot to add them back lol

My Familiar's Ghost part 21

Masterpost

(ID in alt and under cut)

ID: 1a. The Guide jerks into frame, snatching up the corded earpiece of an old fashioned phone and leaning in to shout frantically into the attached mouthpiece, "Nadja?!" On the other side of the panel, split by a jagged line, Laszlo holds the receiver of a corded analog phone up to his ear and casually checks his nails, answering, "Fraid not, darling. We just need to pick the marvelous rat maze of your brain for information on your spooky little secretaries." Behind him, ghost Guillermo hovers nervously, scraps of black shadow swirling around his glow. 1b. The Guide deflates, now looking slightly irritated, and asks "The wraiths? What about them?" Laszlo gestures loosely with his free hand and replies, "I was wondering how exactly one is made; I was reading an excerpt in 'An Un-Erotic G-' The Guide interrupts with "'Guide to the Undead'? Oh, yeah, that book is crap." Laszlo prompts, "Crap full of gaps, if you'll care to fill them for me?" Guillermo gets increasingly fidgety and impatient behind him. 1c. The Guide explains, appearing to keep a count on her free hand, "Well, like other ghosts, they die. If they have any unresolved business, they cannot move on to whatever afterlife they prescribe to, etc. etc. They are compelled to cause torment to those who tormented them in life, and in their presence are overcome by powerful emotions like hate or resentment or l-" Guillermo jerks forward into Laszlo's space to interject, his hand going right through Laszlo's elbow. "But what's the trigger?! Why do some spirits become wraiths and some don't?!" Laszlo glares at him and frowns deeply, leaning away.

2a. The Guide suddenly brightens, smiling, free hand curling up daintily. She says, "Oh, hello, Guillermo! I am glad to hear you are safe and sound. Now, don't forget to register your title with the council. There's a lot of new openings right now, so lucky you! Your first year's dues-" Guillermo interrupts her again, shouting, "Stay on task, please!!" and flapping his hand impatiently through Laszlo's arm. Laszlo screws his face up uncomfortably at the noise, leaning as far away as he can, and turns the receiver outward so Guillermo can speak into it directly. 2b. The Guide grimaces, surprised by the outburst, and holds up a hand defensively. "Okay, okay, jeez. I do not understand how this can be so pressing. A spirit is just a reflection of one's state of being! Normally, a wraith is a wraith because something has severed the body's connection to the soul, like a deal with a demon or a haunted organ transplant or witchcraft..." Laszlo and Guillermo freeze and glance at each other in realization. /end ID

#wwdits #my familiars ghost #ghost guillermo #guillermo de la cruz #laszlo cravensworth #wwdits the guide #what we do in the shadows #what we do in the shadows fx #my art #fanart #image described

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galedekarios · 9 months ago

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I'm not sure if you've seen this going around, but apparently after the new patch, there are people going super pro Gale and Mystra getting back together and acting like she didn't abuse him??? And the worst part is people claiming the player is just who he settles for because Mystra won't take him back and he'll never love the player as much and. I'm going to have an aneurysm. The way I'm suddenly seeing people blaming GALE and calling MYSTRA a victim. Please keep in mind, he can only go back to Elysium if he is the players avatar. And they're saying this is the best ending for him and he was never abused.

I'm so sorry for this rant but I'm SO aggravated by this and I just know if this was a certain other character then this would get people torn to shreds. I'm tired.

don't worry, anon. you can always vent in my inbox. 🖤

as to your ask:

i did see the new added effects and animations to the ending. the ending for origin gale had existed prior to patch 6 already, but they expanded on it with vfx.

my opinion on this personally is:

overall, this changes nothing for me about how deeply imbalanced and terrible their relationship is, nor does it change what mystra did to him, or how she conducts herself within the context of game canon, the decisions she makes and the things she says.

larian can add as many purple sparkles as they want to it - make them heart-shaped next them, too. it changes nothing.

It doesn’t change the fact that she is a goddess. a goddess who sent her chosen to him at 8 years old and made him her lover at some point in time after that. it doesn't change the fact that she was his teacher first, then his mentor, and then changed that intrinsically already imbalanced relationship (which is not even touching on the divine aspect) into that of lovers. it doesn't change the history she has had with her other chosen and what she did to them.

it's an ending that is viscerally uncomfortable to watch in this context and to me, it’s an abuser regaining power over their victim. a victim who, by the end of the game, still hasn't fully realised what has happened to him. the player can set companion gale on the path to it, and some things he comes to see, but there's a lot of healing still left to do.

i also want to add that what people claim doesn't really matter to me in this context, especially if it's what you outlined. so many reads and takes of gale show a complete lack of reading and listening comprehension and general media literacy. a shiny 'new' cutscene tends to do that, too. it happened before when patch 5 and the epilogue released.

i do feel you on being tired though. they fumbled gale's storyline in act iii and it results in a complete 180 from act i and ii. this only adds to it.

other posts than mine have detailed it far better. i don't have to spoons at the moment to rehash it all, but i would recommend reading @messiahzzz's post on gale and mystra's relationship as well as this one here. i also have a post on mystra, elminster, raphael and gale with info from the epilogue here.

#i've come to expect nothing from larian at this point when it comes to characters with female abusers #or characters whose abuse was 'quiet'#again i don't want to always play this card but imagine they had expanded an end with c*zador taking ast*rion's hand to run off together #ch: gale dekarios #ch: mystra #vg: baldur's gate 3 #text: asks #series: baldur's gate #larian critical #bg3 critical #fandom critical #abuse cw #grooming cw

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oncewhenalongtimeago · 7 months ago

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The Jealous One pt 10

Pairing: Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III x Fem!Reader

Words: 4,344

You really don’t know how to make bread. Hiccup doesn't know how, either.

Tags: fem!reader, silly, ambiguous timeline, Snotlout Jorgenson, Ruffnut and Tuffnut Thorston, Jealous!Hiccup, Post RoB/DoB, Pre-RTTE, unedited

Oh hel.

You stared down at the crumpled and half-covered plants by your feet sitting just at the base of a sheer rock wall, grimacing deeply at the wilted stems and leaves. Not a single sprout looked at all viable.

You bemoaned the thought that it might have been your fault that they ended up in such a manner- mud fights weren’t exactly conducive to healthy plants, nor were mudslides, which happened on Berk with a higher frequency than you thought they should, and the way it looked, the plants had been picked much too thin to make any kind of recovery- under normal circumstances, they should have been able to avoid any measurable damage- one or two mudballs, especially, but they looked sort of miserable, actually.

You wondered who had been picking them dry.

You sighed, feeling the full force of the sun on your back. You were sure you’d have to take responsibility, though you’d love if not another soul knew about your involvement. You could try and fix it up on your own, but-

You processed the vague sound of crunching mud- and after being so suddenly pulled from your musings, you nearly startled.

There went that idea.

You looked to your side with wide, uncomfortable eyes to greet another pair of slumped shoulders and startled eyes.

There stood Hiccup in his casual clothes, old green tunic pulled from what was most likely a deep crevasse in the piles of his room’s junk hidden under his work desk and his bed.

“I, ah-” Hiccup started, his voice slightly more nasal than usual, “Had nothing to do with that.”

You grimaced harder, turning fully to face him.

“I think I’ve been- I’ve been picking them dry.” Hiccup said, shuffling to match you, his palm grazing his elbow before coming up to brush the hair on his forehead, running it down the back of his head until it nearly reached his neck, “My leg- It gets worse when I’m, ah- …”

You glowered at him as he dropped his arm. You hoped your eyes were conveying your displeasure- culprit.

“It’s not exactly… Comfortable.”

He started shuffling and winced.

You could see the point at which he considered shifting again but decided better of it.

“You need to add more padding.” You said, brows furrowed evenly.

You knew he already had some padding in his pant leg, sewn to fit his stub, but you’d always thought he might need more in the socket of his prosthetic. You’d never said anything aloud, though- he, like you, could be quite stubborn and blind, especially when he was proud, which he was very often when it came to the things he’d built.

His original prosthetic was made by Gobber, though it was inspired heavily by Hiccup, which was something to be proud of, and Hiccup had had a hand in its care, of course, and had plans to add a few tweaks of his own.

“You think?” Hiccup asked sarcastically, looking at you with a grimace of his own. “I don’t think I’ll be able to carve in enough of a bed to keep any real padding- It’s going to shatter on me the next time I take a knife to it.”

“Yes.” You said, hoping he got blisters.

A brown-haired woman stormed past the porch on which you stood, wooden steps before you, rant wildly, though you could tell she was more impassioned by the wild mood than truly mad, "-I’d rather eat out home than be up at the hall, not with the bread- Have you noticed the difference? Audacious-brazen- the nerve-!”

You looked down at the bowl in your hands, covered by a rough, clean cloth, glowering at the poor excuse for a lump of dough you knew was cradled within it as you stood by the side between two buildings in Berk’s village center, waiting for Thora to return, listening albeit unwillingly to the rabble of the folks surrounding you.

You had been making a lot of bowls of dough recently.

It was unusually cheery out and even more bustling than usual- nearly everyone was out with a smile, though you found you weren’t so interested.

“-Aye, I ‘ave got a nice cutting of wood, if you find any interest– it’s good fer ‘em leg-making- and arm fixin,’ of ‘ourse, if yer fixing to make another, and I’m sure ye’d be needin’ some of ‘at soon.” You watched Johannes proposition Gobber out of the corner of your eye, who was clearly not paying him any attention, waving him off as he sipped out of his ‘cup’ arm- a mug with a handle stuck in it carved in the shape of a peg, easy to fit into his prosthetic’s screw hole.

Across the way, Johannes had a shallow cart of what looked to be just-recently-sanded strips of wood, thin and polite looking.

You furrowed your brows, wishing you were anywhere but there as he droned on- It was a rare day whenever anyone was unable to sell on Berk -a miracle, really- for Gobber was an easy buyer.

A tall red-headed woman burst past you, storming down the dock, hauling a large cart of barrels behind her like a field animal, “-Streams of cloth-!”

He thought himself wise and clever, but the old blacksmith was perhaps the most susceptible on the island to the advertisement of any decent material. He had a chest full of useless materials, though he often ended up doing at least something with most trinkets.

You shuffled, boot soles scuffing against the wood below, hoping that your dough was enough to land you a job in the Great Hall- they were so picky up there, really, the old maids- though you had to admit your culinary skills were quite poor.

You resisted the urge to rub the back of your head, recounting, ruminating and stewing your most recent run-in with Hoark’s wife.

She was the resentful type, one of the ones who had been pestering you and Snotlout with chores, not that he hadn’t deserved any of the pestering, but- Oh, you’d surely told her that if they wanted you to do any more you’d have to be paid. She’d respond by tossing a bowl towards your head, scolding you with something about public service and the Chief and dragons.

You shot something sour back about never having been a Rider- and, well, you’d gotten a bowl to the head for your efforts.

Exhaustion- you were up to your ankles in it.

Your arms worked hard into the pristine wooden counter, pushing and rolling dough over ground grains in the open hall of one of Berk’s newest buildings- you weren’t sure anyone had settled in yet, and that was just as well.

As you’d recently learned, with the lack of a proper kitchen in the Great Hall- it was poor, really, they’d set up shop here for the time being. You wondered when it would finally be declared a community building like the library had been, something which you’d taken a lot of joy in.

It was about time, really, and it was awful nice not to have to ask around for books or notes anymore, though some of them had the tendency to go missing, and without any real book-watcher to keep an eye out, many missing slips went unaccounted for.

You rolled the dough below your hands- dark and grainy- extra hard into the wood, a dark brown, smoother than any other table you’d known, sanded and sealed in a way that made it harder for any dough-bits to get stuck in the cracks and rot-.

You prayed to any God that would listen that Thora would be impressed with it this time- cooking was one of the least indulged-in activities on Berk and was not one you were particularly well-practiced in. It was one of your least favorite activities, in fact, but you needed the job if you were going to buy back the plants before anyone had noticed them missing and kicked up a fuss.

As you’d learned through careful reading, some of them you could only get from Johann and you knew for sure that that old liar played favorites.

It was a shame you couldn’t get coin any other way, but most things had been accounted for and you’d been stoutly refused pay for most of your chores.

You listened to the voices dancing and mingling from the open window, the wide open space and propped open doorway making you feel quite naked even separated by wooden walls from the outside.

You nearly scowled as you heard the voice of a woman, a portly blonde -very pretty but also frazzled- and you heard the vague idea of some other voice as hers mingled with something deeper.

You wished you were making stew instead. You could handle an alright stew. Snotlout would like your stew… If you didn’t tell him you were the one who made it.

You cursed the dough for the highest time that day.

Really, You had asked around and now you were starting to suspect that the dough-making test had been a torture that Thora had cooked up just for you.

You wanted to scowl again as you heard the noise of a crowd approaching the doorway once again, though you released it slightly as they bustled past.

You were slightly displeased as a straggler separated from the bunch. You caught him out of the corner of your eye as he stumbled over wood, a pleasant expression over his face as he looked back, the cheering of Gobber now loud and obvious past the door frame, growing quieter as he walked away.

You’d been running into him a lot as of late.

“What’s going on out there?” You asked, before he could speak. “It sounds like everyone’s out throwing a party. It’s not Snoggletog, is it?”

You turned your attention away from the bread

“...Something like that,” Hiccup said dryly. “Pre-festival.”

“Really?” You braced your hands against the edge of the table, the wood below creaking as you leaned over it.

You stuck your tongue out slightly, furrowing your brows at its sealed surface.

Despite its newness, it was a very poor counter; craftsmen had been, clearly, ignorant in the art of table-leg making, its sides slightly unbalanced and nailed into the floor. Compared to anything else you’d be able to find anywhere, it was probably one of the worst tables ever.

The other islands told you so- or, their trades, really. Berk’s carpenters could be considered novice in comparison- the exploration of anything other than fighting was... A privilege the inhabitants of Berk had only been recently afforded.

You wondered how the youngest children on Berk felt, having been able to grow up in a world without dragon fighting.

You’d always wondered as a kid, on war-torn Berk, how the other settlements had even been able to make something so smooth or beautiful.

The quality of the simple chairs and tables Johann had brought over on the very rare occasion had seemed otherworldly and had been sold fast- to be fair, though, it would probably be much easier for anyone to achieve that same level of quality in craft in any place with fewer conflicts.

You cringed as another loud shout echoed in from the outside, where the sun from the window felt nearly burning against your eyes.

“Here, let me-” Hiccup pressed the house’s shutters closed before going back to close the door, kicking away the stopper with his foot.

You felt every muscle in your body release as the noise from outside became more muted, looking down at your dough with new eyes.

It looked dark and slightly green, deflated like a sad, dry booger.

…It might have been overworked. You were no expert, though.

“I’m going to have to make a new batch.” You grumbled.

Hiccup shrugged, coming around the side of the counter, “...It looks fine to me?”

You didn’t even mind as he edged closer, too busy mulling over your failed batch.

“Are the others nearby?” You asked.

They hadn’t been around recently, so of course you’d assumed they’d been off doing Rider-ly things with their leader. The suckers had ditched you pretty quickly after the mud fight and you hadn't had the chance to mingle with or chase after and wrestle down the others recently, either, as they’d probably wanted you to do- though you knew they’d wander back eventually.

“...They’re up at the hall, probably, if you want to meet up with them. They’re managing the decorations, I think.” Hiccup said.

You hadn’t been around, looking around for work, nagging the Vikings that strayed from the late meal. Berk’s hardest workers always skipped it, staying out way past the setting of the sun- they were usually the ones who needed assistance but were too stubborn to ask for it. They also tended to be fond of their alone time, too disconnected from Berk’s larger circle to absorb any of the most recent news- when you were younger, you’d imagined you might end up like one of them.

“Decorations?” You asked dryly. You wouldn’t put the Twins in front of a yak, much less in charge of any decorating.

You were sure that hall would look unholy by the time you were able to see it again.

“Yeah,” HIccup said. His hair was slightly mussed and once again darkened, so he must have spent some more time in the forge, then. “You…?”

“Thora,” You grumbled, “She’s got me kneading bread all day, though I have no idea why.“

You turned his words over in your head again, then you perked up with confusion and slight skepticism, “You said something about a pre-festival?”

“Ah, yeah.” Hiccup said before he asked cautiously, “She’s… trying to hire you, isn’t she?”

“That’s what she told me.” You grumbled, before sighing with defeat, letting your hands drop from the counter and giving way as your shoulders slumped, “She’s been lying to me, though, hasn’t she?”

You stepped back from the corner and looked up finally, just in time to catch as Hiccup’s eyes darted from your feet back to your face.

The hairs on the back of your neck prickled as you begrudgingly took him in, back in his leathers, which looked almost polished, his underclothes darned and hair groomed if not clean, which looked almost unusual compared to his now-usual windswept look.

Though you had been making efforts to keep your mind off of it, then you were startlingly aware of his close proximity, taking careful, quick, unwilling measures of it in your mind, pulling details and etching them into permanent stone tablets and storing them away on dark-toned, foreign shelves.

You hadn’t had much time to get used to him again after your last real encounter.

The hug you shared- well, it had been, admittedly, private. It was a simple hug, though you loathed to share the experience with anyone else.

Hiccup pursed his lips, which was all you needed to know you’d been right. “She’s been… more focused on other things, so… Yeah.”

You grimaced, glancing away and nearly running a sticky hand over your head, before thinking better of it.

…Great. You’d been roped into more unpaid labor.

Hiccup looked at you oddly again.

You recalled something you’d heard earlier, and if he was right, then she was giving out your misshapen bread at the hall- maybe that was why. It was a mystery solved on his end.

You were probably not going to settle for a job at the hall, then, or risk the wrath of any others. You had to say that most of the bread that you tasted in the hall was poor. Unfortunately, though, you knew yours was worse.

“I don’t know how to make bread.” You confessed, glaring at the sacks of grains littering the corner of the hut and the sparse few bags slumped against the side of the counter table, melding to where table-leg-wall met wood flooring. “I don’t like making bread.”

You had half a mind to kick the sack, but you knew from experience that your toe would surely be stubbed, so you glared at the sizable boot-shaped indent in its side instead.

“...Does anyone like making bread?”

You turned your glare towards Hiccup, before reminding him, “Festival.”

You were sure at this point you’d age early, with how often you’d been straining your brows.

“There’s going to be one,” You stated more than asked.

“I-Ah, yeah.” Hiccup brought up his hand to rub at his chin, furrowing his brows, “I didn’t really- plan it, but, well, I think my Dad-Well, he sent a letter, and Gobber got ahold of it, and someone looked it over- there was something about expecting a warm welcome back, and harvest is soon, so-”

“Really?” You hummed, thinking.

Unlike your other Viking kin, holidays were few and far between- you had only two, Thorsday Thursday and Snoggletog, though you were sure you’d heard talk of more in the most recent years- wishful thinking, for the most part, but if it was true, and the people had been decided arbitrarily and not that it was time to celebrate, then you were sure there would be tons more to come.

“Right,” Hiccup said, crossing his arms and shrugging. “...Do you need any help?”

You gave him a look that you knew would encompass all of your skepticism at once, something you knew would say, ‘are you serious?’

It was… Maybe a bit too obvious that you did, however, you did have your reservations. Hiccup wasn’t a great cook at all- he could manage a very, very simple meal but you knew he always relied on the Hall’s meals to get by, and he was far from a baker.

At his responding second shrug you sighed and rolled your head back. Fine.

“C’mere,” You said, shuffling slightly to the side.

Awkwardly, Hiccup moved right up next to you- he didn’t take the side you’d expected, which startled you some, causing the hairs on the back of your neck to prickle.

A glance back at Hiccup’s face told you he regretted it too, his expression stiff and his shoulders too, awkward as if he didn’t know what to do with himself.

“What? So I…” Hiccup reached past you, his arm brushing against yours as he touched the dough.

It would have been so easy for him to turn the rest of the way and press himself against your back- You sighed nearly shakily, pulling the dough in two, your arms jerking as the tough dough snapped in half. “I wouldn’t know.”

You handed the smaller half to him, then grimaced at it mournfully. “It’s too hard.”

“Is there… What do I do next?” Hiccup asked.

You grimaced. You’d run out of milk and other grains- most of the bags you had left were just oat and wheat. “More water and dough- that is all I’ve got.”

“Hmm,” Hiccup grimaced back. “Where’s the…”

You nudged the sack leaning closest to you with your foot, grains shifting stiffly as your boot made contact with the rough sack. You were careful not to jostle it too hard- though it was mostly limp, leaning against the floor and flat wooden table-wall, you’d cut it open by the top, and you knew one hard knock would be enough to cause whatever was left inside to spill across the floor.

“The water’s-...” You looked off to the side, craning your neck where, to your left, an array of spoons and bowls lay neatly mounted on one wall, a small, polite bucket of boiled water, nearly empty, sitting below it all, with what you knew was a wooden bowl floating inside, right where you’d left it. “I’ll get the water.”

You let out a short puff of air before walking around Hiccup and going for a bucket.

You paid no mind to him as you’d bent down and peered into it, where your shallow bowl had flipped upside down somehow and the wood had gone from a dry dark to an even darker, water-soaked, nearly jet-black.

Behind you, Hiccup grunted.

You heard a small thump and heard what sounded like fabric shifting- he was kneading the dough, then, you assumed- possibly. He was most probably unclean, yet your dough was trash dough anyways, so perhaps it was for the best.

You grabbed ahold of your bowl with a sigh, flipping it over with your fingers and scooping up a decent measure of water, holding it carefully yet casually in one hand as you stood up and turned back towards Hiccup who had, while you were not paying attention, grabbed ahold of your sack of flour.

Somehow he’d turned it upside down, the flap holding the sack closed slowly unfolding itself, the beginnings of a muffle rushing building, not unlike the sound sand made as it poured out from between your fingers.

“Wait, I-” You startled, stepping forwards and dropping the bowl, which fell to the ground with a clatter and a splash.

Before you could reach out in full, Hiccup’s shaking yet tight grip on the sack meant that with all the force of a Nightmare, a pile of flour exploded over both the floor and your dough piece, resting miserably and floppily over the counter.

Your eyes fluttered open with astonishment, the shifting of the skin over your face feeling thicker as you opened your mouth, a heavy cover of flour laying across it.

You blinked down hurriedly, tugging at your tunic and staring at the heavy layer of nearly edible silt along your front. As it thickened under water- well, it would be the worst trouble to clean.

Besides you, Hiccup coughed, eyes clenched shut, the flour’s sack mostly empty and lying abandoned against new wooden floors- you hope they’d already been sealed. They should have been, but there were a few lazy folk and you knew you’d be feeling standoffish if, well, they hadn’t been.

You let your arms fall limp as you glared at the large pile over the countertop, a building ticking feeling growing in your throat.

Once he settled, you glanced at Hiccup, a sour look on your face, then you glanced away, stubbornly flicking some flour over towards him with two fingers.

“This is your fault,” You said stubbornly, denying your own clumsy lack of foresight and tossing Hiccup into the spotlight.

“What- hey,” Hiccup began before you yourself began to cough.

You puffed, and right after a cloud of white and beige grain bloomed into the air and sank with the slowest abandon onto the already thickly covered countertop.

Maybe it was the poor timing, or the comical, nearly hysterical silence which followed, or maybe it was perhaps a sudden reaction and refusal to accept what had happened and to perhaps smother any awkward tension with laughter, but you’d had to clenched your lips shut then, stifling a sudden onslaught of laugher, something choking and joyful-ugly in your throat- sharp as if you’d just seen one of the Twins tipped by a Yak instead of vice versa or you’d heard a Terror spill a bucket of fish over someone else’s yet, and yet this felt much lighter.

In the silence you’d left behind, it was Hiccup who laughed, an awkward, unsure thing, flour splattered across his face like dry dirt.

You had to snort then, shoulders jerking, a hand coming up to your nose to wipe away the grainy powder there and staying there as the joy wracking your frame grew to be too much, causing you to nearly keel over.

You stumbled forward, almost tripping over onto Hiccup, your bent head knocking into his shoulder, his hands coming to grip your sides as he struggled to stay standing.

“Sor-sorry,” You said, your hands coming to grasp at his upper arms, your fingers curling around them as you lifted your head and smiled at him.

“I-I,” Hiccup started.

You weren’t sure you’d even had a moment with anyone that was so simple and sweet. Not even with Hiccup, when you were younger, snider and sillier.

He didn’t stop like you assumed he would, leaning closer and closer- your eyes were wide, so much so they felt almost watery as he leaned in, noses nearly knocking, blessing you with a stiff press, thin lips meeting yours with simple heat and hard intention.

Oh Hel.

You made a small noise in the back of your throat as he pulled back, your face blank but still reeling from the last press of lips, your hands flat against his arms instead of curled around them.

You were there and not, feeling strongly the heat of Hiccup’s palm nearing your back yet practically soaking in the wooden-ness of your limbs.

“I-I,” You tried, glancing to the side, then back at Hiccup, scrambling for even a thought, something to say- instead you just leaned closer, his breath curling at your lips, shaking.

“Do you…?” Hiccup tried, his head tilting slightly more to the side as he too leaned again, his eyes falling slightly lidded, mouth hanging slightly open and his lungs beat with heavy breath and heart.

He pulled you close again, nearly flush.

You pressed back into it with nearly a confused whine, though you were no less invested, tugging him closer to you, the both of you turning smoothly for the single instant you’d both been pressed together before you pulled apart again.

“What…?” Your fingers clutched at the fabric of his sleeves as your head fell to his shoulder, resting in the place where the edge of one leather pauldron dug into your forehead.

You matched his shifting, as his chin rested just barely over your shoulder-ensconced head, the both of you moving in some tight, quiet, easing dance, all stiff limbs and smooth, small movements.

It hadn’t been much, but it had been enough to leave you panting, your face hot enough and your eyes nearly burning as you struggled to come back to yourself.

#httyd #how to train your dragon #x reader #fanfiction #hiccup haddock #hiccup x reader #httyd imagine #fem reader #female reader #toothless

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