#this is less defending and more just frantically tapping the sign

[piratekenway]

squints at OFMD fandom. you got a show set during the Golden Age of Piracy named Our Flag Means Death and you’re…surprised? that there’s character death?

[harrypotterbrainworms]

Painful Living

Summary: Remus hurts you accidentally as a werewolf as you’re trying your best to hide it. 

Pairing: Remus Lupin x Male Reader

Key: (Y/N)- your name

Word Count: 2718

Your face burned a little as you managed to get out before anyone else got hurt, and now you were limping back to your dorm. Now in the light you could see that it was worse than you initially thought. A fair scratch across your face with some added bruises and scrapes on your legs, better and worse than you had thought.

Things happened so fast, faster than you would’ve liked. This was a rare occurrence which the marauders barely prepared for. The evening outside still raged on as you cleaned yourself off. Nothing felt off or wrong at this moment, so you thought it’d be better to see Madam Pomfrey when it was actually daytime. You winced as you dabbed the alcohol on the wound. This was gonna leave a nasty scar. You collapsed into bed, your dreams felt hot and out of order. Your eyes burned as you opened them to find that as it usually does… time passed and now you were being awoken by an awful talking sound.

“Wah-What?” You managed to say before passing out again, the smell and taste of metallic blood filling your senses as you fell face deep into the pillow. Dreaming of nothing and kind of everything. Hearing the sounds around you and the frantic people making weird sounds you assumed were probably words, but everything was so muffled.

“(Y/N)? Are you okay?” You could hear the fuzzy idea of words coming from a cocky looking mouth. Sirius.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just fine” You slurred out as you waved him away, you just felt a little sick, he should stop worrying. You shivered and pulled the duvet around you. It was cold last night and you think you had bled all over your pillow which was true as you looked back to see the red stain.

“Dammit.” You cursed as you got up, your head spinning before it settled and you could focus your eyes on Sirius.

“What happened last night?!” He scolded you, taking your face aggressively as he inspected the wound. It didn’t sting that much anymore, so you assumed it must’ve properly closed up now. He whispered a few curses to himself and let go of your face. “You just left?!” He pointed vaguely to the air, turning back to you with a hand on his hip.

“Did I?” You mumbled, rubbing your temples trying to remember the exact events of the night. Sirius clicked his fingers in front of you. “Earth to (Y/N), we need to get you to the hospital wing. Remus just got out” Sirius held his hand out towards you.

“Did you say anything?” You said as Sirius helped you out of bed. Your memory became less fuzzy as you walked towards the wing. “Remus. Oh god… Remus” He winced slightly.

“Remus what? Oh.” He looked at the door of the hospital wing, pausing to see if you wanted to go in alone. You nodded and he let you go, waving him off as he headed to breakfast.

Getting patched up, Madam Pomfrey didn’t chat or even scold you. Just working silently with pursed lips as you winced away from her every now and then. She checked you for any sign of infection before dabbing a potion of some kind that made it feel like your body closed in on itself, making you feel dizzy.

Just as quickly as you got in, you left, Lily waiting outside of the doors to escot you back and make sure you were okay.

“I’m fine.” You rolled your eyes, your feet dangling off the edge of the bathroom counter as she applied makeup to the newly formed scar across your face. “See? I’m dandy. Pomfrey patched me up and now no one needs to worry” You tried to give a reassuring smile, but Lily just shook her head.

“You need to tell him (Y/N).” Lily frowned, a hand on her hip as you watched her work her muggle magic on your face. You frowned back. No one needs to worry about you, you were fine. Why couldn’t anyone believe you? “Here. Bring it back after school… Tell him… for your’s and his sake.” She put a hand on your shoulder and you shrugged it off, getting up. “Fine.”

It was hard not to bump into someone as goddamn tall as Remus, but somehow you managed just long enough to make sure he didn’t see you as you slipped out to reapply. James gave you sad side glances from his desk until he managed to corner you. He got up, walking over to your desk, a furrow in his brow.

“Sirius told me.” Similar to Lily, he had placed a strategic hand on his hip, pouting slightly. “Of course he did.” You frowned, giving Sirius a side eye from your vantage point. “No, no. No ‘of course he did.’ It’s not fair to him” He pointed at Remus who was sitting away from the other Marauders similar to he was, looking very deep in thought. Your heart dropping a little bit.                

“Tell him.” His nostrils flared as he looked at you, you looked away, guilty.  “I can’t.” You whispered away from him, so he could barely hear you. He shook his head disappointedly.

“Fine. I warned you.” As he walked away, you subconsciously touched your face looking over at Remus as you sighed. It’s harder than James thinks, you thought to yourself. An audible sigh leaving you, you didn’t want to lie to your boyfriend, you really didn’t.

Sitting in the darkest corner of the library you can avoid the other, you hear footsteps approaching you. You froze before looking up to see Sirius. “I don’t want to hear it from you too, Pads.” You sighed, sinking further into your seat.

“You can’t tell him, (Y/N).” He sat down next to you, grabbing a book to hide his face as you both talked. “What?” You whispered.

“We both know he’s stubborn. He’ll dig himself into hole.” He whisper shouted back at you, his eyes peering from the top of the book. His eyebrows falling and rising as he talked, ending in a furrow and side glance towards James and Remus on the other side of the library.

“I don’t know.” You replied, sighing heavily as your brain tried to decipher your feelings. Tell Remus, Don’t tell Remus. it was a 2 for 2 vote, you sighed again. This was stupid. You touched your face again, thinking about what Remus would want. Probably to tell him. “Just keep it in mind.” Sirius ended on another frown, today sure was the day for frowning, you thought. He put the book down, giving you a nod as he disappeared behind a bookshelf.

It had been a full two days avoiding Remus like the plague, until he finally cornered you in a hallway on your way to class. Two arms trapping you to the wall, you could feel his breath against you.

“I’m not an idiot.” He asked in a calm anger, a scary trait he had. His eyes burning with determination as you wondered if you could just fall through the wall to avoid him. “I don’t know what you mean.” You lied.

“If you’re scared of me… Just say it.” His eyes pleaded for an answer from you as you struggled to further the lie. With his statement, he back away from you, seeing the metaphorical sweat on your brow.

“That’s- that’s not it” You fumbled, wringing your hands together as your heart pounded into your ears. “Then what?” He barked.

“I don’t- I can’t… I don’t know how to tell you-“ You smudge off makeup to reveal the scar. His face fell as you looked down. He wanted to reach out and trace your scar, but his eyes were filled with betrayal and sadness. You stayed quiet.

“I hurt you, didn’t I?” He demanded softy as you prayed to be sucked into the wall again. His eyes were filled with a kind of hurt you hadn’t seen before. A wave of guilt keeps you somehow quieter than silence itself.

“Just tell me!” He pushed further, stepping back as if your silence struck him a blow.

“I didn’t mean to lie, okay?-“ You tried to start, but he wasn’t having any of it.“What.” He deadpanned, his worst fears coming true as he watched you fumble your wording.

“It got out of hand and then no time was the right time and now-“ You tried even harder to explain yourself, but you had already dug yourself into a hole as you watched Remus’s eyes look for any reassurance that he was wrong.

“All of you lied to me?!” You gulped as his voice was raised, his voice straining as he tried to hold back tears. “To protect you!” You defended yourself as best you could.

“No.” He just said, his hands wanting to reach out even more, but he held them in front of his chest.

`I thought you’d be mad and then we’d break up and never speak again and-“ You wrung your hands together more frantically as he stepped away more.

“You thought right. I am mad.” He sighed sadly, not giving you the satisfaction of a last look as he walked away. A few tears finally escaped your eyes as you watched him.

You paced up and down the common room as Sirius, James and Peter did their own thing, your relentless thinking seemingly escaped your own head as James spoke up.

“I told you.” He hummed sadly as he waxed his broom. “I know.” You sighed. “So many times.” He looked up at you, a motherly shake and sigh as he rubbed circles around the helt. “I know.” You groaned, frustrated with your own decisions.

“For the record I said he’d be hurt.” Sirius wedged in his own opinion, you and James shooting him an angry look. He held up in arms in surrender, shutting his mouth before someone could tell him.

You groaned loudly, throwing your arms up in the air. “I’m going to sleep.’ You announced and your audience shrugged as you stormed off.

Tired and sad, you crawled into the sad excuse you called a bed, a light brown blood stain still on your pillow as you climbed in. You needed to tell Remus something, anything, that reflected your guilt, but you thought it best be a job for tomorrow if you could ever fall asleep.

You caught Remus in the courtyard, the sunset sky looking over it. He was alone, thank merlin, as he read to himself. You took a deep breath and tapped his shoulder. “What.” He stated, still mad. The statement not really in question and more ‘Please leave me alone.’ You sighed and tried to make the words come out, but as he stood up towering over you, you had to clear the lump in your throat before you spoke.

“Let me explain myself and you can hate me in peace, I promise.” You looked up at him with pleading eyes, he chuckled bitterly. “Please, Moony…” You pleaded further trying to catch his gaze.

“I don’t hate you, (Y/N)… How could I? It’s just that I don’t want to hurt you again. Look at you” He pushed your face up with his hand, tracing the scar across your face. “I couldn’t handle that. We made a promise and then you just lied to me.” You looked down, ashamed of his soft eyes piercing your soul. “Your word means nothing if I can’t trust you or myself.” You sat down on the stone ledge in the courtyard.

Remus frowned down at you, his lips pursed slightly as you tried to speak. He bent down to sit next to you.You were trying so hard to get the words out in a way that made sense. He sighed and looked away from you and up into the lilac sky. “Everyone promised no one would get hurt.” He looked back at you, laying a hand on yours. “I can’t handle hurting you again.” You keep your eyes locked away from him. You could hear him sigh again, taking the hand away. “I can’t handle you hurting me again…” He struggled to get the last words out, his throat catching the last syllable.

“This is why I couldn’t tell you. I can rest and be fine. You do it every month, I think I can handle getting a scratch.” You felt yourself growing more frustrated with him. Treating you like you couldn't handle a bit of roughhousing. Though every time he looked at your scar your heart hurt. You put a hand on his shoulder softly, trying to keep the same energy as him.

“It’s not fine. It’s different for me. I deserve this.” He shrugged it off, staying as stubborn as ever.

“You, Remus Lupin, don’t deserve this.” Your frustration was very clear through your tone now, pausing before every word.

“You can’t possibly understand what I go through.” He turned away from you now, eyes truly locked on the sky, refusing to look at you.

“I know that, but I’m trying to, okay?” You huffed out, crossing your arms as you watched his eyes dart from cloud to cloud. Choosing to focus on everything, but you. Your chest growing heavier with guilt and anger.

“Maybe you should stop then. You don’t need to.” He said as he stole a side glance as your frown, looking a little proud at his affect on you. “But I want to, Remus.” You sighed, crawling into yourself as you laid your arms and head on your legs.

“Then maybe we should break up.” The words landed into your brain with a crash, the feeling of the moon being pulled from the sky. Leaving you to feel the darkness that was washing over the sky as the sunset. “W-What?” You managed to choke out.

“Maybe we just shouldn’t be together, We can’t keep hurting each other.” He stared off into space, failing to notice the stream of the tears that started to fall down your face as the words felt like they were slowly choking you. “How can we date if you can’t be honest with me?” The sounds from your sobs were getting more difficult to keep to yourself. Your shoulders shuddered with the exhausted sobs leaving your body, Remus’s ‘peace’ being disturbed by this, he looked back at you.

“I’m s-sorry, I really… I really didn’t want to lie. Please don’t hate me, Remus. Please. I thought it would be okay, that you could be okay. I didn’t want to hurt you” The violent sobs took a course through your throat, the words harder than you thought they’d be. He frowned, this isn’t how he hoped it would go. Against all his better judgement he grabbed you, holding you close as you sobbed.

“It’s okay.” He hummed softly as he held your shaking frame, you sobbed harder into his chest. “It’s not. I lied t-to you. You deserved to know” You spoke muffled by his sweater. “I don’t want to lose you.” “You won’t lose me, love.” He squeezed your body a little tighter, your arms weakly snaking around him too.

“I shouldn’t have lied, it wasn’t fair to you.” You hiccuped as you pulled away from his grasp, looking up at him with the softest look you could. The guilt eating away at you as you watched him look back just as lovingly.

“It wasn’t” He sighed, taking your hands into his while you desperately tried to control your crying.

“I just… You can’t protect me all the time, even from yourself” His heart broke looking at the tears streaming down your face, his eyes softened as he held your hands pulling them to his lips to kiss softly. “I shouldn’t have said that to you.” He whispered into them which felt like it made you sob harder. He was so kind to you.

“I really am sorry, Remus.” You said as you held onto his soft hands, feeling his lips plant another kiss softly onto them.

“I know.” He said softly as you brought you into another hug, wrapping his arms warmly around you. It made you feel safe. It made him feel better.

[supremeinlilac]

Three’s not a crowd, especially when it’s us (4)

Pairing: Cordelia Goode x Reader x Wilhelmina Venable

Word count: 3175

Warnings:  slapping, choking, idk arguing? Brief sexual thoughts.

A/n: I don’t know if this is in character for either of them, but it’s what I felt fit the story so we’re going with it. Also I’ve plotted out the rest of this series and it should be about 10-12 parts long, depending on how much I ramble. Also, I used a line from Apocalypse because I felt like it fit. Anyway enjoy :)

PART ONE | PART 2 | PART 3

“Are you fucking her?”

Cordelia’s questioning was blunt, arms crossed as her gaze flickered between the two of you. You almost laughed at her, but the reflex of defensiveness acted first, and had both Mina and you scoffing at her accusation.

“What?! No” You reacted simultaneously, responses tripping over the other in their haste to deny the claim. Your sincerity doing nothing to quell the fire that seemed to be flickering in the Supreme’s eyes, as if in silent warning. She also was completely disregarding you, directing her question only to her girlfriend.

“Well what is it then? I’m not stupid, I know that something is going on between the two of you.” Her foot tapped impatiently against wood as she waited, an unconscious mirroring of the taps of Wilhemina’s cane.

An uncomfortable silence hung in the air like fog, thick and poisonous and determined to seep into your pores. You could feel it, stinging and burning at your eyes and forcing you to blink away tears. But there was not fog, and the tears were of guilt; overwhelming guilt that had built like rain in a river, threatening to break flood defences and drown you.

You stood rooted, mouth gaping as you tried to stutter out a response, only babbled incoherence falling from your lips. They were too dry, and you noticed so suddenly, supposing your brain was trying to focus on anything but how Cordelia was looking at you. Your tongue darted out to wet them. Wilhemina looked guiltily at the cracked paint at the base of the wall, knuckles white against her cane and you worried the skin might split.

“I lied. I didn’t tell you what my real power was when I came.” Your words died on your lips as you admitted them, until you were barely whispering. You couldn’t meet their eyes. You noticed that on a part of the flooring the planks didn’t fully meet each other, you’d never seen that before.

Wilhemina’s cane cracked against the floor, her head shaking softly at the ground and you wondered why she seemed annoyed. Surely she knew when the game was up, it made no sense to lie further and risk all the relationships you’d built up in your time here. At least it made no sense to you, you already thought that you might love Wilhemina, but it was not justification enough for you to keep up this charade.

Cordelia looked shocked, as if whatever she’d been anticipating you to say had not been that. It wasn’t as if you expected that she knew your secret. You’d been quite careful with your lies throughout your time at the academy. No one could have known.

“You knew?” She turned on Mina, red anger back in her tone and you felt a swell of protectiveness surge within you like a tide. You scurried between them, a barrier, hands up towards Cordelia in mock surrender. You didn’t want Wilhemina to take the fall for your actions. “No, please don’t be upset at her, Cordelia, she only found out last night.”

Your eyes were silent and pleading at the Supreme, who’s gaze was unreadable as she blinked at you. A soft hand fell onto your shoulder from behind and pulled you sideways slightly, out of the middle of the two, so you all were stood equal. A broken sigh left the lips of the woman in lilac, but her hand stayed on your shoulder as she started.

“You don’t need to lie Y/n, it’s okay. Yes Delia, I knew. I found out about 6 weeks ago when-”

While she had been speaking, you’d turned to her, brows furrowed as if to ask what she was doing. Interrupting her when she was about to reveal your power, you both fell into a hushed argument, speaking in words that you both knew would wash over the Supremes head. It was less of an argument per say, more that neither of you wanted the other to burn in the inevitable fire.

Cordelia simply watched your interaction, her own insecurities bubbling to the forefront of her mind. She looked as if she would have preferred that Wilhemina had actually been fucking you, rather than this lie that had spanned over weeks.

Why hadn’t you felt comfortable; safe enough to come to her about it? Why had Wilhemina kept it from her, were they growing apart? She pushed the growing intrusive thoughts down and quashed them like a cigarette under the sole of a boot, as well as the looming voice of her mother, who’d seemed to be making more frequent appearances as of late.

Cordelia cleared her throat.

You were the first to break the silence, holding a hand up when Wilhemina made to protest, silencing the words on lips. “I-urgh-” your hand came to nervously scratch at the nape of your neck, “I used my powers on Ms Venable.”

As annoyed as she was at her girlfriend for her lies, your confession was quick to make Cordelia’s face fall from one of annoyance into worry. A small breathy “what” fell from her mouth as she frowned, turning to Mina, hands coming up to cup her face as she examined her diligently for injury and signs of pain.

Your heart seized painfully when Cordelia paused her examination of Mina to through you a glare over her shoulder. Her eyes were dark. She’d never looked at you like that before. You’d never seen her look at anyone like that. You assumed she thought you were trying to hurt Wilhemina, and maybe part of her would have been right, you hadn’t done it out of kindness.

The law echoed firmly in the back of your head. The punishment for harming a sister witch was to be burnt. You shivered. Technically, Wilhemina was your sister witch now. Stories had told you that in the coven, there was lots of people hurting each other without consequence, but that did nothing to quell the unease that grew in your stomach.

“Darling, I’m fin- I’m fine! Delia, please.”

When Cordelia didn’t cease to stop in her efforts of checking for injury, eyes hardened with the thought of someone hurting the people she loved, Mina brought her fingers slowly to wrap around hers, stilling the frantic movement. She coaxed Delia’s fingers to open before pressing them against her heart.

“See, I’m alright. Y/n didn’t hurt me I promise. Look I’ll show you.” Wilhemina’s voice was soft, thumb brushing over the Supremes’ knuckles.

She stepped away from Cordelia, and you both watched as she extended one of her arms towards the table. You, knowing what was going to happen, swallowed loudly and let your eyes travel to Cordelia.

As the candle lifted from the table, she gasped, looking to you as if she thought you were the one using your powers. Upon finding your eyes already on her, her head whipped back to Mina, who was now ushers it to come to her through the air. “Impossible” Cordelia gasped quietly, on the cusp of her breath, stare locked on the candle.

The candlestick reached Wilhemina’s waiting outstretched hand, and the woman turned back to the both of you, a proud look on her face. If the situation had of been different, you would have given her a thumbs up or expressed verbal praise, but Cordelia’s face was pale and confused so you pursed your lips.

“You’re not a Salem descendant, I’ve never seen anything like this,” Cordelia tried to reason, head shaking as if her logic would somehow reverse the fact that Wilhemina had just telekinetically brought a candle to an awaiting palm.

You stepped towards Cordelia warily, unsure of how to approach telling her without just blurting it out. Wilhemina stepped behind you to replace the candle, she looked smug. You didn’t know how she was handling this admission so well. You were a mess and Cordelia was perplexed. God how you wished you’d never kept it a secret.

“It’s my power,” you tried to explain, voice low. Cordelia looked confused, narrowing her eyes and looking to Wilhemina for an explanation. You started up again before she could answer for you. For some reason you felt the need to be the person telling her.

“I gave Ms Venable magical abilities, and I’m sorry, I just wasn’t thinking because I was mad and I’ve been teaching her and she’s actually really really gifted which I was surprised at, you know seen as it wasn’t by birth. The magic I mean.” You rambled, nervousness making you talkative, trying to defend yourself and Mina before the Supreme had a chance to interject.

It was her hand against your cheek that silenced you, and you heard Wilhemina gasp in shock behind you. Cordelia was trembling, from what you assumed was anger. Why was she so angry, you understood her to an extent, but you weren’t hurting anyone, were you? You tried to keep your eyes locked on hers, but they were too piercing, too extreme; and you had to look away.

Had she always been that tall, or was it her anger that made her seem twice the height, looming and dangerous. The slap had made your head spin, stepping backwards but yet she kept advancing. Your cheek stung but the knowledge that you’d gone enough for her to strike you hurt worse. Cordelia never really even got angry at anyone, she was usually very coolheaded.

“HOW COULD YOU KEEP THIS FROM ME” her voice was sharp, and too loud, and it made your head ache uncomfortably. You were worried the girls may hear. “WHAT DID I TELL YOU ABOUT SECRETS? I NEED TO KNOW WHAT PEOPLES ABILITIES ARE TO KEEP YOU SAFE.”

She was so close you could feel the warmth of her breath on your skin and smell the tang of her perfume, and yet you didn’t think you’ve ever felt further from her. Her chest rose and fell heavily and you slowly looked up at her, stopping at her nose because you couldn’t bare to meet her eyes.

Cordelia’s lip twitched as if she were about to say something else before she quickly turned and stormed out of the room. The door slammed and you flinched, shoulder dropping as you pulled a lip between your teeth.

When you look, Wilhemina’s eyes are on the door. Her head turned and your eyes meet, and she looks, sad? You can’t remember the last time you’d seen Mina look sad and the thought makes your chest ache painfully.

She makes for the door before pausing, hand on the handle. Glancing back at you, it looks as if she’s contemplating staying to comfort you, fighting with her brain about who needed her most in that moment, who she needed more. The glance must have only been momentary, but it felt like minutes, time stretched out and bare before you in your pain. But then the glance was gone, and so was she, the door swinging in her wake.

You were alone. Your shoulders dropped again, although you didn’t remember raising them. Perhaps you subconsciously did at the prospect of Wilhemina staying.

You didn’t feel like raising them again.

***

Wilhemina thought it best to leave Cordelia to allow her anger to thaw, since she’d retreated to the greenhouse. She always liked to be left alone to think when there in the day. She’d listen to Fleetwood mac in the absence of Misty, and let the plants and potions calm her. Maybe she’d smash a couple to defuse, not that she’d ever let anyone know that.

Wilhemina made herself busy in her office, needing anyway to complete the stack of paperwork that she’d allowed to build up in her eagerness to practise and perfect her new magic. It would serve as the distraction she needed to stop herself from seeking out her girlfriend, although it did nothing to clear the image in her head of the hurt on your face when she’d left the room earlier.

She worked until the ink ran out in her pen and the paperwork had been reduced to a minimum. Pushing back from the chair, she gathered the completed paper into an arm, cane in the other. When once she would have struggled to open and close the door without dropping anything, having to rely on Cordelia to get up for her, now the door swung open freely.

Making sure the filing was correct, Wilhemina took the stairs slowly up to her shared room, slowly because the events of the day had taken their toll. She now felt heavy with impending sleep. All she wanted was to have her love in her arms again as they slept.

Thoughts of her girlfriend swirled like mist in her mind, a welcomed distraction as her back started to twinge with pain. Reaching for the handle to their bedroom, she jumped back, clutching at her palm with the other as her cane fell against the dresser. Sucking in a deep breath as her hand began to smart, throbbing in her fingers with a heightened heartbeat.

The door handle had burnt her, it felt like, and now that she bowed slightly to inspect it, she saw how it glowed a warm orange. In fact, the whole door was tinted slightly, not enough for anyone without focused to see, but enough for Mina to know it had a protection spell over it. She’d seen the lesson Cordelia had given in the types of protective spells one could use.

Cordelia had cast a protective spell, the third type from her lesson, she remembered, to stop anyone from getting in, even Mina. Even though she was upset, Wilhemina sighed affectionately. It was so Cordelia to put the least harmful protective spell on the door. Even in her anger, the supreme hadn’t wanted to hurt Wilhemina as she tried to enter, like the other two spells would have.

Wilhemina brought her hands to meet on her stomach, unsure of what to do now she was locked out of her bedroom; all the other witches had returned to theirs, and the house was quiet. She assumed Cordelia would let her in when she went to sleep, wanting to be alone for as long as possible.

After finding her pyjamas and a set of new clothes folded neatly on the chest at the foot of the bed in the spare room, anger flickered in her chest. Surely Cordelia wasn’t expecting she actually slept here. Alone. Turning on her heels, she strode determinedly towards your bedroom.

***

You’d heard stories form the girls when you’d arrived, about when Wilhemina had first arrived in the house years ago. None of them had been there to see it, so the words were mere rumours passed from ear to ear and morphing like the muttered sentences of a child’s game of Chinese whispers.

Some days they seemed ridiculous, the notion that she could have been so carelessly cruel. Today, you believed them. You’d been struck yourself by the unforgiving blade of her tongue.

By the realisation that perhaps you’d been wrong, and that magic wasn’t a thing everyone deserved. Or could be trusted with.

Wilhemina could barely control the fire of her own emotions, never mind the magic you’d trapped her with. She let anger and fear steer her actions and didn’t seem to have the capacity to actually regret them after.

You’d managed to poke a hole through the fragile calm that Cordelia had managed to envelope her in over the years, and you were allowed to see the flickering glimpses of her former self. You let yourself mourn for the person you thought she was.

Perhaps now you knew her, the real her, you may never truly love who she has become. Could you let yourself love someone born from so much spite?

She’d come to your room, eyes hard and angry and hands shaking against her cane. Hissing through bared teeth that you’d ruined everything, among other things that you missed because you couldn’t stop watching how she was shaking.

She’d looked at your blank expression, and how your cheek was still slightly pink, and snapped. Lurching forwards and choking your neck between strong hands. She almost smirked at how your expression changed so suddenly, finger coming to claw at her own, a desperate attempt to get free.

Anger and hurt clouded her mind, just as the thought of Delia earlier, yet this was a thick fog, opaque and suffocating, and stopping her from truly registering what she was doing.

Yesterday you would have become instantly wet and squirmy with the thought of having Wilhemina’s slender fingers wrapped around the delicate skin of your throat. But now, with the black of her eyes holding no kindness as she squeezed harder, making your vision almost blur, you weren’t aroused, All you knew was fear.

In that second, you’d been scared of her. You’d felt it, and so had she.

She’d obviously heard your fear, your pain, because a second later she was stumbling back, cane cracking as it fell to the ground. Her eyes were wide and frightened, as if she couldn’t recognise herself, watching how you held your neck protectively.

You’d watched as she tried to compose herself, smoothing down her skirt with hands that still shook, fingers slightly curling into the fabric. As she stooped to pick up her cane, cracked it twice against the floor and left as if nothing had happened.

You’d seen in her eyes, a silent apology that she always refused to voice, as if breaking some unspoken law she’d set herself. Wilhemina was never in the wrong. Even if she was.

Later, when the moon seemed to be the only witness to your sleeplessness, you let your wind wander, staring at the ceiling. Your covers were drawn up to your chin protectively, as if it would somehow stop the monsters. A childish belief.

In the past 6 hours, you’d been struck by both of the women you’d believed would never raise a hand to you. You wanted to laugh, and cry. Everything was so quick to crumble beneath you, the soil dry and unstable.

This is what Cordelia had meant. Secrets are dangerous. The ground fell away and left you teetering on the edge, so much uncertainty hanging above you. Regret and guilt too.

You supposed it was your own fault, always setting yourself goals that were highly unrealistic and then being surprised when they didn’t work out. You strove for things unattainable and out of reach.

Wilhemina was the moon, dark and cold and misunderstood. She never let anyone see her true self, she was guarded and everyone could only see her through a lens. Everyone except Cordelia.

Cordelia was the sun, she was warm and familiar and the source of things to flourish and grow. Her smile was bright. They were so opposite, but they needed one another, moving in harmony and in sync.

They were both so unreachable but yet, weren’t we told as children to reach for the stars?

PART 5

taglist : @pearplate @billiedeansbottom @pluied-ete @extraordinarilycelestrial @toujours-ensanglante @mssallymckenna @magnificent-paulsonn @shineestark @commanderspeach​@grilledcheeseandguavajelly @darling-dontforgetme @amethyst-bitch @its-soph-xx @germansarechill @bluesxrgnt @d14n4ol @ninaahs @sarahp-stan @natasha-danvers  @imgayandmymomdoesntknow @lovelypeasantjellyfish @rainbow-hedgehog @paulawand  @saucy-sapphic @lilypadscoven @citizenoftheworld-stuff-blog ,if you want to be added just send me an ask :))

[actress4him]

Whumptober 2020 - Day 13

We’ve got another POV change today, this time to Lance! Gotta give not only my semi-regular shout out to @trope-appreciation-tuesdays for providing inspiration, but also a special shout out to the mod @the-wandering-whumper since they have declared two different tropes used here to be “their jam”. ;) Don’t expect the chemical pneumonia part of this to be medically accurate haha. This is called science fiction for a reason.

Day 13 - Chemical Pneumonia/Oxygen Mask

Fandom: Voltron: Legendary Defender

Warnings: death mention, respiratory distress, needles

The Yadselites were brilliant scientists. Pidge and Hunk had been in their element all day, oohing and aahing and making googoo eyes over all the equipment and experiments they were being shown.

Lance? He was the opposite of in his element. Sure, some of that stuff was pretty interesting, once someone, anyone, bothered to explain to him in plain English what the heck they even did. But most of the day had been a whole lot of science-speak that he only understood every five words of, and he had zoned out so many times that he was about to fall asleep.

“So, it’s a gas that does...what exactly?” Shiro asked. At least he wasn’t the only one who didn’t get the techno-babble speak. 

Pidge pushed her glasses back up on her nose with one finger. “It incapacitates the Galra. Basically it’s like throwing in a smoke bomb before the SWAT team goes in.”

“Yeah but this doesn’t just make their eyes water,” Hunk added. “Sounds like by the time you got in there every Galra would just be lying on the floor.”

“Dead?” Shiro sounded a mix of fascinated and horrified.

“No, no,” their tour guide, Rokuba, assured in that perpetual soothing tone that was part of the reason why Lance was falling asleep. “Only, as your Green Paladin says, incapacitated.”

“So it would, like, do our work for us? I’m okay with that.” It wasn’t like he minded how difficult his job was. He just wouldn’t mind if it was a little less difficult. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed that Keith had taken a few steps backwards away from the group. Oh. Right. Galra-incapacitating gas, half-Galra Mullet. He’d probably be a little nervous, too, if it were him.

“Is it safe for other species...humans, for example?”

“Oh yes, very,” Rokuda smiled. “The gas targets a very specific combination of genes that are only found in Galran DNA. For humans, Yadselites, and all other species, there is only a light, sweet smell.” She reached for the canister. “If you will allow me to demonstrate…”

Before Lance - or apparently anyone else - could even think to protest, a flowery-smelling mist erupted into the air. Shiro and Hunk both shouted and lunged for the canister. Lance spun around to face Keith, who had clapped a hand over his nose and mouth and was staring at the gas in wide-eyed panic.

Then Pidge was bodily shoving him out of the lab, everyone following close behind while Rokuda stammered out multiple apologies. Ignoring her, Shiro shoved his way forward and clapped his hands onto Keith’s shoulders. 

“Keith! Keith, talk to me. Are you okay?”

Keith coughed. 

But it wasn’t, like, a terrible sounding cough. Just pretty much your typical “I have a tickle in my throat” cough, not one that seemed like he was about to keel over and die. 

Slowly, he lowered his hand, swallowing visibly. “I...I definitely inhaled some. But...I think I’m okay?”

They all let out a collective sigh of relief, despite the fact that he didn’t sound all that sure. He wasn’t choking or falling over, so that was as good of a sign as any. 

“Dude,” Hunk groaned. “Don’t scare me like that!”

Keith’s nose wrinkled and he looked as if he was about to protest that it wasn’t his fault, but Pidge interrupted. “Either you didn’t inhale enough to do any damage, or you don’t carry all of the right genes for it to affect you.”

“It could be either,” Rokuda offered. “We have not yet tested the effects of a minuscule amount, or on any species mixed with Galra. Again, I apologize greatly, your heritage momentarily slipped my mind.”

Shiro gave her a tight smile. “Well, he seems to be alright, so that’s what matters.”

The tour continued. Vargas passed, or at least it felt that long. By the time they finally, finally got back to the Castle, Lance had completely forgotten about the incident with the gas. 

Everyone gathered at the bridge so that Allura could lecture...ahem, brief them on the diplomatic meeting they’d be having the next day. Lance and Keith were standing side by side, the former tapping his foot rapidly, about to have a nervous breakdown if the Mullet cleared his throat one more time.

And of course, he did.

“Dude!” Lance exploded, throwing his hands up in the air. “Stop it with the throat clearing already! What is your problem?”

Keith’s eyebrows knitted together, and he raised one hand to his neck. “Sorry. My throat is just…” He covered his mouth with his jacket sleeve and coughed. 

“Our briefing is almost done, and then perhaps you should drink a hydration pouch,” Allura suggested. “However, it will be much easier for me to finish if there are no more interruptions.”

“Sorry,” both boys mumbled in unison.

They fell quiet as Allura resumed, not even any more throat clearing from Keith, though it kinda sounded like he was having to try really hard not to. The breaths he was pulling through his nose were loud and extremely deliberate. Lance was torn between still being annoyed and starting to be concerned, but leaned definitively more toward concerned once his breathing began to stutter both in and out.

Shooting glances out of the corner of his eye, Lance pressed his lips together and wondered if Keith was somehow even paler than usual. There was a strained look on his face, and Lance was debating whether or not he should interrupt again to ask if he was okay when Keith lost his battle to hold everything in and burst into a coughing fit.

The rest of the room fell silent as he doubled over, sounding like he was about to hack up a lung into his sleeve. Shiro crossed to him and rested a hand on his upper back.

“You okay, bud?”

Keith nodded through the last of the coughs, then straightened and swiped his hand across his eyes. “Yeah,” he rasped. “Sorry. ‘m fine.” He sucked in another labored breath, and coughed once more.

Coran edged his way toward the door. “Perhaps I should go get you that hydration pouch now.”

“Yes, please,” Shiro answered for him. 

“Sorry, ‘llura. You can -” Keith tried to draw another breath, but it seemed to get stuck in his throat and sent him into another coughing fit.

“Would you quit trying to talk?” Lance protested. “You’re clearly not okay right now.”

“‘m fine,” he whispered, but then his eyes went wide and he froze, his mouth hanging open as if to gasp in more air but the sound of his heavy breaths had completely stopped.

“Keith? Keith!” Shiro shook his shoulder. “Hey, look at me, what’s going on?”

Without further warning, Keith listed to the side, stumbling a few steps until he was falling practically into Lance’s arms. He scrambled to catch him before he slammed into the ground, though they both went down in the process.

“What the heck, Mullet?” Lance would never admit it to anyone, but he was scared. Keith’s head was laying on his shoulder, the rest of his body sprawled out inelegantly in his lap, and his eyes and mouth were still open wide. This close he could just barely make out a faint gurgling noise coming from the back of his throat. 

Lance snapped his attention up to Shiro, who was crouched next to them. “He’s not breathing. Shiro, he’s not breathing!”

Their leader bent over with his ear next to Keith’s face, then suddenly scooped him up off of Lance, standing and immediately breaking into a run. The others followed, looking just as alarmed as Lance felt. 

“What’s going on?” Allura demanded.

“I don’t know,” Lance replied, “but he needs the infirmary, now. Page Coran!”

He was close on Shiro’s heels when they entered the infirmary and Keith was dropped down onto a cot. His lips had taken on a blue tint, and he was definitely paler than usual this time. Hovering over him, Lance waved his hands around frantically, desperate for something to do to help but unable to think anything past, he’s not breathing he’s not breathing he’s not breathing.

“Here!” Pidge launched herself into his field of vision with something in her hands that she slapped down over Keith’s nose and mouth. An oxygen mask. Lance felt an inkling of relief at seeing the device, but it was quickly overshadowed by fear.

“His throat, though. His throat was...if it was closed up, then he still won’t -”

“I know.” Shiro’s voice was terse, all his attention focused on the boy who might as well be his brother. He stroked his human hand through Keith’s messy black hair, pressing his bangs back from his forehead. “I know. But I don’t...we need Coran in here.”

“He’s on his way,” Allura assured.

“I’m here!” The advisor burst into the room with all his usual gusto, and Lance felt his chest loosen the tiniest bit. Immediately snatching up the scanner, Coran frowned and mumbled to himself as he waved it over Keith’s prone body. After examining the screen for only a tick, he spun around and pointed at a cabinet against the far wall. “Number Five, I need an injection of stavunairalducord!”

As the only one of the humans who could read Altean, Pidge accepted her assignment right away and dashed to the cabinet, rummaging until she found the correct item and bringing it back to Coran just as quickly.

“Thank you, Number Five.” Twirling the needle around in nimble fingers, he popped off the cap and plunged it none too gently into the side of Keith’s neck. Lance flinched and cut his eyes away.

“What is that? What are you doing?” Shiro demanded.

“Number Four has extreme swelling in his throat and lungs, preventing air from passing through. This injection will begin to take the swelling down while we prep him to go into the healing pod.”

Sure enough, as Lance watched, Keith’s chest began rising and falling again, almost imperceptibly. Behind the oxygen mask his mouth relaxed, and his eyes fluttered shut as if in pure joy of being able to breathe. Shiro slumped a bit when he saw the reaction, though his hand never stopped carding through the black hair.

“What does he need the pod for?” Hunk asked, wringing his hands together.

Coran was already methodically beginning to remove Keith’s jacket and gloves. “To clear out the foreign substance that caused this reaction, and also to heal the damage that it caused. Whatever it is, it seems to have started eating away at the lining of his lungs.”

“Foreign substance?” Lance echoed.

Pidge gasped. “The Yadselites’ gas! You know, the...anti-Galra stuff!”

Groaning, Shiro dropped his forehead into his hand. “How could I have forgotten? But I never expected it to take this long to have an effect. I should have brought him back to get checked out right away.”

“He seemed fine, though,” Pidge offered. “It must have something to do with him only being half, or because it was just a tiny amount.”

Coran hummed. “Well, whichever it is, it’s a nasty little bugger. I’d hate to see what would have happened if he had inhaled any more.”

“Is he...gonna be okay?”

Lance had been almost certain that Keith had lost consciousness by that point, but his eyes slitted open then and found Lance’s. His hand twitched, and Lance glanced down to see him giving a weak thumbs up.

Coran chuckled. “Yes, I think he’ll be just fine. That is, if we get him into that pod as soon as we can, so let’s give him some privacy to get changed, shall we?”

Hunk ushered everyone out of the room, eager to let Keith start healing. Lance kept looking back over his shoulder at the pale, still figure on the bed. He was pretty sure he wouldn’t be relaxing at all until the Mullet was up on his feet and throwing jabs at him again. The feeling of him collapsing into his arms and the sound of his struggles to breathe would be sticking with him for a long time to come.

[darkpoisonouslove]

“Left to Heritage”

Summary: A fight between her fairies and Griffin’s witches leaves Faragonda looking at the past in a desperate attempt to prevent losing someone else she cares about like the friends the war took from her. All she finds is pain, yet she can’t let go of the relationships burning her fingers with the impossible choices everyone bound by them has to make. Set after 1x05. Canon divergence.

I have been incredibly salty about the way the whole theft of the Ring of Solaria was handled on the show so you get this canon divergence in which Winx actually do the smart thing and tell Faragonda what the hell happened. How things play out from there is not necessarily better but definitely more emotional for Faragonda. Aka here is also something about the fallout between her and Griffin that was never explained on the show.

“If the ring isn’t returned, the Solarian court will issue an official demand to Cloud Tower for its retrieval.”

Bloom’s eyes had caught fire despite their aquatic shade. They’d burned like an ocean turned from water into flames and her tone had carried the assertiveness of a queen that Faragonda had only heard once before despite the numerous royal heirs Alfea had provided education to ever since she herself had been a student. So many born rulers and none had had the bearings of such natural authority, almost innate, as the Earth girl that had stumbled upon her powers by accident.

Faragonda had almost slipped into the past through the hole Bloom’s fiery stare had burned into her soul. She had to do it regardless of the searing pain of touching the edges she’d cut into herself to stop the spreading rot. She had to do it to look for more similarities, some tangible proof that she wasn’t grasping at straws to hang her hope by. It could be the universe answering her prayers with abysmal delay. Or it could be an illusion she’d trapped herself into when nothing could compare to the cruelty of the real world.

The surface of the oval mirror in her office rippled like she’d cast a stone in the stream of time and found the memory her five students shared now along with the trauma and crushing responsibility chasing royalty out there in the real world where Alfea’s walls were but a blissful fantasy of deceptive safety. The school had hardly protected its students back when she’d been one of them and things would only get more dire if she were right about the witches Cloud Tower was raising in the heart of its spiky structure that welcomed intruders to leave while they still could. It was not an empty threat.

The gloom hanging over her girls like an aura in the image in the mirror was yet more frighteningly precise proof of the truth she already knew. Stella was lying in her bed as if she’d been taken down by a plague she couldn't fight with Flora fretting over her, Musa tapping on her knees as she sat cross-legged on the floor like she was trying to hold a rhythm slipping away from her and Tecna sifting through a boatload of digital information less daunting than the emotional waves reality was rocked by.

Bloom was leaning over Stella like a guard, her fists clenched so hard that her knuckles had turned white as if the fire in her veins was trying to burn its way out of her body and eliminate the threat she’d had to succumb to. Faragonda had seen that instinctive determination right before another threat had been eliminated to take away with itself any remaining sparks of hope for the company left behind.

Flora straightened up like a flower reaching for the mercy of the light finally gracing it. “What if we tell Miss Faragonda?” she asked and just like that the grave silence was dispelled. And so was the self-absorbed focus that had swallowed Bloom to separate her from her friends. “She could help us get it back.”

“No!” Stella bolted up in bed as if to drop the reason that could save them from smashing their heads. “No one can know that I’ve lost the ring of Solaria,” her frantic voice was spilling out the worries of her heart in the trust in their friendship they’d forged with their lives and signed with their blood. “That I failed as a princess.” New tears welled in her eyes as if the soreness hadn’t bruised them with enough red already without the light of her magic to relieve the strain in them.

Faragonda would’ve wondered how the mirror did not crack from all the pain flowing from her to hit directly where her reflection would have been if the memory was not still playing like the room had witnessed it.

“You didn’t fail, Stel.” Bloom sat down on the bed, her hand on Stella’s shoulder as if to ground her concerns. Or to ground Bloom’s impulses in the warmth of her friend instead of that of the flames no doubt licking at her opened fists. “You were ready to defend it with your life.”

Faragonda had deduced that much even if they’d tried to steer her attention away from the specifics. Bloom had only relayed that Stella had been kidnapped to demonstrate the gravity of the situation but they’d tried to beat around the bush about any other details except for the fact that the witches had walked out of that confrontation with the ring of Solaria. And her girls had walked away with a Stella who was alive and intact, and eaten through by guilt she’d had ingrained in her along with her royal bearings and the responsibility for the ring on her finger to have its absence crush her more than its weight on her shoulders had.

“Bloom’s right,” the sound wave of Musa’s vehemence could have shattered the windows. Perhaps it had even carried the subconscious intention to rid her of the sounds stuck inside her – cries that were years old and other fresh ones from a few minutes ago. “You did everything you could. It was those witches that are guilty for everything,” she slammed her fists down on her knees to no other result than hitting herself as she kept her tantrum away from her magic.

“It was their third attempt at the ring that we know of,” Bloom’s words had everyone else nodding in support of her reassurance but it only had Faragonda pressing her palm against her mouth to keep it all in. Even if she couldn't stop herself from asking herself why she didn’t know what dangers were lurking for her girls out there. “They’ve been targeting you since Gardenia.” That much would have been a safe guess even for her despite the limited amount of information she’d had but she hadn’t wanted to make it before Bloom had confirmed it for her. It said too much about the determined claim both her fairies and Griffin’s witches had over the royal heirloom.

“It’s a powerful magical object,” Stella made the fact sound like the most biased opinion Faragonda had ever heard. Or maybe it was just the purpose of her words that made it so. “They’re not the first ones to want it. But they are the first ones to get it.” It wasn’t just her who was biased anymore, Faragonda’s own convictions rising from the ashes in her lungs almost like a phoenix with the only exception that they’d never died. “And it happened on my watch,” Stella cried out. “I’m the only Solarian royal that failed to protect it.” She buried her face in her hands, the lack of the ring on her finger startling not with her incompetence but with the competence of those who currently had it.

The low spirits of her girls were left in place of how much they’d put into the confrontation to be that drained from both energy and faith and they’d still lost regardless. She may have been one to be blinded by endless optimism when younger but after being sucked into a war and spat out with its teeth marks all over you, you learned to take pure power into consideration. And her girls had had a lot of determination to draw from which left their defeat sending familiar chills down her spine at the thought of the enemy.

Tecna put away the gadget she’d been tinkering with and the discomfort of the emotionality they were all drowning in to lend the others the logic they desperately needed, making Faragonda give the image in the mirror a proud smile despite her mixed feelings on its existence forced by necessity. “Getting the ring back is a priority over anything else, even covertness. And Miss Faragonda is our best bet on that,” she rationalized, the words reverberating through the rest like they shared a mind on top of the heartfelt bond they’d formed so quickly. “We can insist on it being done discreetly,” Tecna continued, finding her sensitivity as well to fit into the collective flawlessly, the way they gravitated towards each other pulling even Faragonda closer by the strings in her own heart it had touched. “After all, I doubt Miss Griffin will be thrilled with the imprint this crime will leave on Cloud Tower if it becomes public knowledge. It’s in everyone’s interest to keep this quiet.”

Faragonda could only hope every mentioned party would be as reasonable as Tecna had accounted for. She’d had the same belief in her friendship once that Tecna was putting into logic but she couldn’t bet on it anymore with all the walls in the way. It had come to that for her when certainty had been pulled out of her reach along with the warm hand that had held it and all she could do was hang on to the prospect that if she was right, Bloom would be able to count on her friends more than she could on her heritage, that there would be no walls Bloom would be left outside of again.

“Tecna’s right,” Musa pushed herself off the floor as if with a sonic blast but resolve was the only magic that lent her the speed and coordination to rise to her feet in one swift, graceful motion worthy of the dancer that the fairy of music was. “We can’t just sit around now that we’re all back together,” her hands were balled into fists as if to hold on to the presence of her friends once she didn’t need them to support herself. “We have to act. Unless we want to find out what they want with the ring the hard way.”

Stella nodded, a small smile barely tugging the corners of her lips upwards to meet the tears still rolling down her face. The inevitable sniffle that followed was enough to shake her whole body and disintegrate both the smile and the confidence.

Flora was quick to grab a tissue from the nearby box and offer it to Stella as she sat down on the bed next to her. “It will be okay, sweetie. You’ll see,” she put her hands on Stella’s shoulders to have Bloom let go of her so that Flora could draw her into her soothing softness while Stella bunched up the tissue in her fist instead of using it.

“I hope you’re right, Flora,” Stella whispered, turning to her in an attempt to nestle her tear-stained face into the crook of Flora’s neck and hide her weakness into the warmth of the nature fairy even if it weren’t the light of her own magic. “I can’t disappoint my father after he entrusted me the ring.” A sob shook them both alike as Flora held her, only gripping tighter at her despite the crease carved into her forehead and the glassiness of her eyes as they tried to mirror Stella’s and shed their water that only Flora’s will to put her friend’s comfort before her own held back.

Bloom caught Stella’s hand that was hanging limply at her side instead of having wrapped itself around Flora in search of more support. There was no need for her fingers to prob for it, however, as Bloom laced hers through them gently but firmly – in perfect contrast with the flames burning in her gaze with no cautiousness to rein them in, only fierce protectiveness to feed them.

The heat was tangible both through space and time to explain why Stella had flinched at Bloom’s warning about making the issue official and taking it to the appropriate authorities. Not only that, it was also familiar.

Faragonda had been defended with the same vehement warmth to the point of almost becoming collateral of it but despite the burning coldness of the hole left behind once it’d been gone, she had no definitive proof of Bloom’s origins. The ferocious protectiveness she’d known had come from two people, one of which undoubtedly had nothing to do with the fire in Bloom’s veins or the flaming color of her hair. It was the determined commitment of true friendship she’d seen in the girl and nothing more. Not without solid proof that the ring could give. She had to get it before someone got the confirmation of her suspicions first. If she was right, she had more duty towards Bloom than just that of a headmistress and Bloom had more burden to shoulder than the weak grip of Stella’s hand on hers in the absence of the ring.

She cut off the magical flow turning the mirror into a pool of memories instead of the solid reflective surface that it was and focused her magic into overcoming space this time. It wasn’t the spell or the physical distance she had to conquer–she had regular practice with that as she was still a constant presence on the Red Fountain invitation list for any and all events–but the emotional chasm that had opened between her and Griffin. It was just a few years old and it was already as deep as their friendship had ran in their souls.

A gasp almost tore from her at the weightlessness overwhelming her senses when she knew it would be gone faster than it had appeared. And indeed, the negative energy of Cloud Tower clung to her aura long before her atoms assembled themselves together again to leave her standing in Griffin’s office.

It hadn’t changed one bit in the days she hadn’t seen it–that had to be over one thousand at this point and more–and carried the spirit of the same frighteningly elegant professionalism and academic pursuit as well as overwhelming flair for the dramatic and inclination towards honoring history’s scariest and most threatening moments. The pointy edges and horned skulls were only the props for the powerful dark spells stored in the tomes lining the shelves that almost drew her eye to them in search of something that didn’t belong there. That would have swallowed her attention if not for the witch whose presence commanded every bit of the space – from the interior to the magic flowing in the walls through the veins of Cloud Tower.

Griffin hadn’t changed either, familiarity streaming from her almost deceptively. “Someone had better be dying,” she emphasized each word to compensate for the cold her gaze wasn’t piling on Faragonda as it remained on the book opened in front of her. Faragonda couldn't even tell if it was work or passion that she’d interrupted from the unnatural stillness clinging to the witch as she refused to move a muscle for her. “If not,” dramatic pause right on cue, “it will be your life on the line.” A ball of violet power formed in Griffin’s hand, the seriousness of the threat in no way undermined by the lack of attention to back it up.

“It’s really urgent,” Faragonda pushed the sounds through her teeth, almost choking on the shredded mass that came out as justification for her presence instead of the animated greeting that had once been the norm. She barely dared breathe in the room looming over her and threatening to bury her alive, her arms sticking to her sides to avoid alerting Griffin further. The witch had no desire to take her presence, much less the inconvenient news she’d deduced Faragonda was bearing.

“You should hope so.” The magic in her palm slowly faded, each change in the paling shade like a drop of water slipping from Faragonda to never come back and only assault her ears with the passing seconds. As if Griffin was giving her the time to adjust and begin on her squirming to fit the witch’s agenda. “Otherwise, you’ve wasted so much energy coming here for nothing,” Griffin looked up at last, slamming her book closed just as she locked eyes with Faragonda in a cheap intimidating technique that may have made her flinch back at their student days but those were long buried and it couldn't get even as far as the sound wave of it did.

There was an invisible force squeezing her heart like her ribs were made of foam and couldn't protect a diamond, not to mention something so fragile. It wouldn't be past Griffin to use one of the relatively harmless hexes–though, anything would be harmless compared to the forbidden magic Faragonda was on the lookout for–on which she’d just been refreshing her memory but she’d made it known after their fallout she wouldn't throw away her magic on revenge. The hexes could have been for an advanced class or for the personal vendettas on her list that Faragonda hadn’t been added to after Griffin had crossed off their friendship. She’d ended all contact between them, running school-related business through Saladin as if she’d erased from her mind any trace of the private language only the two of them spoke.

No curse could top that. A curse would require her to put some feelings in the casting, at the very least, to take an interest in the fact that Faragonda still existed so that she could make her life hell. Instead, she was letting her poison all her days on her own like she’d never seen her wings in the mirror and every attempt to be the witch she’d never believed she could be was blowing up in her face. If only she could blame everything that stood between them on the inherent divide between fairies and witches.

Faragonda squared her shoulders looking at Griffin through the emptiness between them. Their personal drama had waited so long it could take a backseat to the responsibility she had towards her girls. “My students have reported to me that your witches–Icy, Darcy and Stormy–threatened the life of Stella, the princess of Solaria, to steal her ring from her.” She didn’t pause before forcing the names off her tongue when she knew the last time they’d cracked against Griffin’s ears it had cracked their friendship but she had to borrow some air from the witch’s domain to continue. Not too much, though, lest Griffin snatched the word away and never found the benevolence to give it back. “They want the ring to be returned or they’ll take it up to the Solarian court and you’ll be hearing from king Radius.”

Griffin rose from her chair, her aura casting a shadow over the whole room as a mantle of darkness fell over the golden of her eyes to suffocate it much the same way it gripped at Faragonda’s throat to throw her in a memory that should have died long before all the other death had plowed into them. “Are you threatening me?” her voice was quick to mirror the intent she’d read into the words to draw a clear line between them and leave them on opposing sides once more as if they hadn’t found home in each other after they’d lost it all.

“Griffin, please,” Faragonda raised her hands – an old habit that had gotten her beaten down multiple times during the war when it still left her words to use on the witch. It had been words that had gotten between them, and not the numerous spells they’d thrown each other’s way voluntarily and not at all. “This is not a threat.” A pulse of Griffin’s magic stung her eyes nearly to tears with the reminder of the witch’s distrustful heart. “I’m just trying to save us all the trouble that this whole situation will cause if it blows up.” Coming clean had to be easy when you didn’t have a hidden agenda–at least not a malicious one–but one wrong word would paint her a bigger villain than anyone Griffin had had to deal with in the past. The notion was preposterous after it had been her winx that’d kept Griffin huddled in the depths of Cloud Tower and turning herself into a vessel for dark spells.

“Of course, you are,” the tension rolled off Griffin’s frame like the taunt rolled off her tongue but she’d take it if it meant Griffin trusted her “insufferable goodness” as she’d once put it, all in good faith. There was no joke now, only open distaste that was still preferable to unrestrained hostility. “Always so considerate. Getting worked up over a trinket,” Griffin flaunted the mockery in her face in a challenge Faragonda wouldn't normally take but Griffin’s own reputation as headmistress could be on the line.

“This is a royal artifact, Griffin,” she forced her voice to stay level–an ounce of asperity would leave the space between them even more slippery than the frozen surface of a dead planet–despite Griffin’s attempts to get a raise out of her as she rolled her eyes in purposeful ignorance, pushing all the buttons she could still find without having to look. It was in her heart she’d stored the knowledge and Faragonda had the chance to reach in it if she’d just keep it open long enough. “You know this is serious.” A split second’s hesitation. Just enough to take a page out of Griffin’s book. “You know how much efforts Oritel threw into hiding the Book-”

“Fine,” Griffin’s tone cut her off like a knife she was aiming at her throat next.

She could hate her for digging up the ghosts haunting the shared home of their past only to spill into the present and link them together with the tears trembling on the surface of Griffin’s voice to mirror her own. As long as she didn’t let the effortless connection they’d had–still had between them if only Griffin would let it out of the dark basement she’d locked it in to rot away without light and oxygen–join them. Faragonda was already right there with her, the echo of her own words burning her tongue and down her throat even in the airless emptiness filling her after the memory of their lost friends had sucked everything else out of her.

“You’ll have the ring on your desk in the next few minutes,” Griffin crossed her arms, almost hugging herself as if to make sure Faragonda wouldn't give into the impulse to wrap her in her own embrace. As if she didn’t know it would only pull her closer with a might she could hardly resist while the cold was still in her veins spreading with every beat of her heart that she couldn't share with the royal pair of Domino. “If there isn’t anything else,” there was only everything else, lingering in the air around them and making it heavy to draw in as it fell towards the floor to escape the struggle of their lungs, “let yourself out. It’s too late for noisy visits.” Too late for her.

There went her chance to see the friend she hadn’t lost in the war only to push away. Common sense dictated she had to hope there wouldn't be another one like this, for the sake of the universe and not just the girl for whom affection was already flaming in her heart upon recognition. She couldn't let this moment slip through her fingers like the life she’d shared with the half of the Company now residing in unknown locations had. At least have some good come out of everything the three young witches had done.

"Griffin-”

The sigh Griffin released in an abrupt bout of frustration carried the rest of the thought away to leave the accompanying feelings clawing at her ribcage to get out. “Business related, Faragonda,” the witch stressed either word before gliding over her name with indifference. “This was not a slumber party invitation,” her irritation spiked again to pierce through Faragonda’s stomach and spill her guts out in a violent display that would have made the ancient evil Griffin had initially picked over her cackle with abandon at her misfortune.

"Business related...” They had too much business together for Griffin to just brush her off like she was the dust on a tome of spells the witch had stolen when she’d still been with them . “Your students have kidnapped one of mine and threatened to kill her to steal a royal artifact. That is grounds for expulsion.” It was enough to get them convicted if she could convince Stella to testify and let her friends do so as well but she’d promised she hadn’t come to threaten Griffin so she had to steer clear of her students as well. Griffin never did do well when cornered so the most she could afford was to implore her to listen to reason.

"No,” Griffin’s instant stubbornness echoed off the walls to crash down on her and beat her into the floor. A little more force and it would bury her right there under the roof of the powerful organism Cloud Tower was that Griffin had employed to protect the three witches when she’d let them into the school.

"Come on, Griffin!” she urged, her pleading almost pathetic to her own ears with how little it moved the witch, almost enough to convince her it was their affiliations exactly that were getting between them instead of their own hearts. “You should be able to see by now that they are following into the footsteps of their predecessors.” A shudder ran through her just at the thought of how far that road went. Right to the frozen surface of Domino. “You know what the ring can do.”

"It doesn’t matter,” Griffin’s eyes bore into hers, the seriousness of her dismissal drilling a hole into Faragonda’s mind to let out over her muscles the overflowing impulse to grab Griffin and shake her. They’d lost everything while putting all their efforts into preventing just that. They couldn't sit idly by and watch it happen again, only this time letting it unfold without interfering. “It’s not going to lead them to anything but ghosts.” Griffin’s look changed, accusation almost covering the agony underneath just like she was barely breathing through the losses Faragonda had forced on her once again after all attempts at burying them had been in vain.

Faragonda drew in a shaky breath before jumping off the ledge without the certainty of Griffin catching her. “I’m not sure about that.” She hesitated for a moment, her fingers curling at her sides for her short nails to dig into her palms when Griffin’s heart visibly jumped into her throat.

There was no going back as Griffin forced herself to swallow it along with all the questions bubbling from inside her to make her burst and Faragonda forced her magic to flow between her palms and form an orb of light that started shifting until it accommodated the image of Bloom with every little shape and vivid color. Griffin had to see it as it was so that she could tell her whether it was reality or illusion.

Griffin’s gaze was fixed on the image as the colors bled in until they reached their full vibrancy to have her eyes lighting up with another million questions exploding in them upon recognition. “Who’s that?” her voice came out as if in slow motion while she was trying to catch her mind from speeding away from her with conclusions.

"That’s Bloom,” Faragonda said only. For someone who wanted an objective opinion, she sure was twisting her words to steer them into the desired direction. Not that it mattered what she’d say when she could count on Griffin’s brutal honesty.

"Who is she? Where does she come from?” Griffin fired out at her as she rounded her desk to get a closer look, already having jumped on track with Faragonda’s suspicions.

"She’s from Earth.” Chasing down the words was much easier once Griffin was taking them from her eagerly. Faragonda could practically hear the logical deductions weaving themselves together in her mind and the emotions boiling in her heart like Griffin had allowed it instead of fiercely protecting her privacy after the last time Faragonda hadn’t liked what she’d read in her. It wasn’t about the fight between them now but about a promise they’d made together and had been forced to give up on if they’d wanted to keep hearing each other’s breaths. Maybe it could bring them back together if it was brought to life like the little baby in the center of it that they hadn’t gotten to hold in their arms.

"There have been no fairies on Earth for centuries,” Griffin’s eyes were on hers again, checking for a lie only to scorch her with their insistent shine once she didn’t find one. Almost like she was looking to see the explanation inside Faragonda’s mind as if they hadn’t reached the same theory despite the deafening cries of the past echoing around them without their permission.

"She’s sixteen, has fire powers and the spirit to match the physical resemblance,” Faragonda dared lay a little more of her soul out there along with the hope threading itself in it again. If Griffin was seeing it as well, then she wasn’t-

"And she dropped right on your doorstep?” The arch of Griffin’s brow was like a slap in the face as it was followed by a scornful smile. “It should have tipped you off instantly how easy this is. Your wishful thinking is blinding you. That relentless optimism never did lend you a clear grasp on things.” The mocking tone might have been scraping against the walls of her heart from inside to leave abrasions behind but the cold in Griffin’s eyes was so unbearable with the reflection of her own loss it was that she had to look away.

Her hands dropped at her sides, the image of Bloom long lost along with her focus that was now carried away by the merciless winds lashing over the once welcoming surface of the most beautiful planet in the magical dimension. “It made me stick with you,” she barely found the strength to whisper through the ice pushing at the inside of her eyes to smother every memory of fire and warmth she’d ever had. She’d known better back then and it’d brought Griffin back to her. Why couldn't the same happen with Bloom? Why couldn't the universe finally answer her passionate prayers and give them back at least a part of what they’d lost on the battlefield?

Griffin’s derisive chuckle shattered the hair-thin glass she’d been hiding behind in her run from reality. “Thick as thieves we are,” despite the spiteful resolve it was wrapped in, her voice was raw like it’d been flayed alive and left to bleed out by a careless cut of a knife and Griffin had always been one for perfection and precision. She couldn’t have been the one to cause this to herself no matter how careful Faragonda lied to herself she always was. “I’ll get you the ring but do me a favor and don’t drag me into your blind pursuit of will-o-wisps.” Griffin turned her back on her and walked back to her chair, every click of her heels against the floor crushing yet another part of Faragonda’s broken heart like it was snow.

"What if it’s her?” she pushed even though it was low to attack Griffin in back. She couldn’t lose her completely when she’d come in pursuit of finding – Bloom and the ring, and Griffin and their friendship.

"What if she’s an impostor?” Griffin countered, in no hurry to face her as she was confident she could lead that battle even blindly but Faragonda could do that. They’d always been counterparts, reflections of each other. Until she’d broken away with the storm in her eyes. “What if she’s working with the Trix?” Griffin’s logic had her blood run cold. It could never happen. The blood in their veins would never allow such alliance of hell. “They never would have gotten the ring if they’d had to face the intuitive protectiveness of the Dragon Fire,” Griffin forced the cursed words out of her mouth with less effort than Faragonda would need to get out of the trap that she’d walked right into when her eyes had seen whatever she’d wanted them to and her heart had operated according to the same logic. “She’s probably a fake they’ve infiltrated among your girls. How did she even get to Alfea?”

Griffin’s gaze was boring into her again in her impatience to dig out the answer herself if she could and bury Faragonda in its place, get it over with. It was starting to lick a little bit too much like flames at her tender skin, just like Griffin’s magic had been protecting her on par with the Dragon Fire, and had her mind tossing between the tangible past out of reach and the threatening future she was speeding towards.

Her students. She couldn't let them pay for a lapse in her judgment. She was no longer a reject transmagic graduate of Alfea who wasn’t even sure she had a best friend to lose. She was the headmistress and had some of the responsibilities her friends had died fulfilling. She had young girls to take care of and she couldn't shake the image of Bloom holding Stella’s hand to let her have at least a little of the safety Faragonda hadn’t secured for her. For either one of them. She had to celebrate if she was wrong about the fate resting on Bloom’s shoulders but that was exactly why she couldn't afford to ignore the possibility of being right, as insignificant as it was.

"Stella brought her,” she made herself return to the present stopping on the way to pick up the question Griffin had asked her. “She accidentally discovered her powers when she tried to help her against an ogre and some goblins.” A coincidence for those who believed in them. But after they’d all been pawns in a vicious game that had been going on for centuries, it would be foolish to think there was anything not driven by a reason... or a person.

"Oh, yes. The coincidence of the century,” Griffin deadpanned, reading her thoughts in a backwards fashion. They’d never been so out of sync before. “This is a blatant set up and you’re naively falling for it.” No wonder when Griffin didn’t want to give in even an inch still firmly grounded behind her desk and seeing to it that she didn’t move either. In fact, her look would be enough to glue Faragonda to the floor, no spell, no magic. “This kind of gullibility flew when we were students but after everything you’ve been through, you should know better. You’re awfully trusting for a war veteran and a headmistress with the responsibility for hundreds of lives.” Her teeth left marks in Faragonda’s heart even though it was her own lip Griffin almost bit into in her vehemence.

She could have it all, swallow it one piece at a time, if it meant they could be together in their signature complementary existence. Griffin was the spice to Faragonda’s sugar making it hard to eat too much to keep your teeth from rotting. She’d been the mindfulness to her optimism, the logic to her faith even back when they’d both been witches and their dynamic hadn’t failed them throughout the rest of the way, Griffin keeping them grounded while Faragonda had carried them, hopeful, into the future. “I’ll keep an eye on her-”

"And please, don’t inform me,” Griffin was fighting her on every step now, her words piercing Faragonda’s wings like they hadn’t even done back when both of them had still been getting used to the sight and feel of them. She’d accepted the change in her once with the whole history of the magical dimension standing between them and she’d done it again after the war had ripped out not just the warmth of their friends, but also the pieces of themselves touched by it. She’d held her cold body to get shaken by the same shivers only to back away from the possible return of the small flame they’d mourned like Faragonda was coming to burn her and everything she’d built out of the remains of her life for the crimes she’d committed before.

"You have to keep an eye on the Trix as well.” It wasn’t her that was threatening everything they’d suffered for, everything they’d built out of the ashes of their hope. And it wasn’t Bloom either. She couldn't take away the desperation choking them every time they tried to speak the names seared into their hearts but they could speak hers with the faith she’d need to survive the monstrous responsibility of her heritage. “You’re also responsible for hundreds of lives as headmistress.” It wasn’t just the two of them anymore and they had people to take care of besides themselves... or each other.

"At least I’ve taken the time to look at them before jumping to conclusions,” Griffin muttered through the unwillingness to bring to life the past she wouldn't have had without Faragonda’s interference as she’d stood up for her even with the pile of bodies under Griffin’s feet, even with the hole in Griffin’s heart that wasn’t hers to fill. “Expelling them will only push them further into any ambitions of greatness they have,” Griffin continued, giving voice to logic instead to hide behind like they didn’t tell each other everything. Like they wouldn't see the truth regardless of the words spoken. Like their souls were not one whole.

"That’s hardly possible,” Faragonda’s own voice rose in turn as it looked to reach her friend. “You’ve read their admission letters.” Rule them all.An agenda they’d heard before coupled with powers they’ve seen in action to barely survive them. What more did Griffin need to recognize the impending threat?

"Unfortunately, I also had the bad judgment not to keep them confidential,” Griffin squeezed at her heart as if to crush it even if her hands were gripping at her desk like she was trying to hold herself upright.

"You had concerns just like I did,” Faragonda would drag Griffin, kicking and screaming, back to the memory of standing together if she had to but she wouldn’t let them fall apart over three little witches that weren’t even the real deal, only offspring left behind like weeds. “You’re the one who’s set off on some misguided mission to save their souls.” She bit her tongue as her fists unclenched–the marks her short nails had left in her palms oozed blood–and her hands flew up to clamp over her mouth but it was too late.

"Your facade is crumbling, Miss Sunshine Positivity and Acceptance,” Griffin growled at her like a guard dog that had caught a trespasser red-handed.

"Griffin,” her tongue probed around with each letter curling in anticipation of the witch pouncing only to stiffen once the familiar name hung in the air waiting to drop like a bomb on them if she didn’t secure it to the words that would follow. Faragonda swallowed and licked her lips as she lowered her hands back at her sides lest she accidentally brushed the trigger. “It’s not your personal failure you couldn’t save them from the three monsters’ ways.” A chance. They’d agreed to give them a chance that the three witches had thrown away long before the attempted murder they’d almost covered and were still getting away with. Griffin had shrugged off their total lack of morality and humanity as witch-typical bullying even when they’d caused permanent damage to fairies and witches alike in her attempts to protect them but she had to open her eyes to the fact that there was no one to protect them from and everyone to protect from them. “It has never been.” They were the ones that hadn’t given Griffin the chance she’d wanted to help them by following their ancestors’ plan too closely to be unfamiliar with it.

Griffin’s shoulders slackened, leaving her tall frame sagging like she would fall back into her chair when Faragonda’s next breath breezed over her. “I was beyond saving as well when you stepped in but that didn’t stop you.” The insistent burn of Griffin’s eyes frantically touching every corner of her soul ran through her in higher voltage than Griffin’s refusal to look at her had been back when Faragonda had saved her life with the portal that had brought them on the same side. Griffin may have had a hard time finding a place in the home Faragonda had had waiting for her inside herself but now her fingers were frozen at her desk after their failure to even find the doorknob. “What’s different now?”

Everything.

Faragonda shook her head to throw the word away before it could fall from her mouth. They were still the same friends, the same parts of one whole... even when they were broken apart. That at least Griffin had already experienced for herself to believe it was possible. “You saved yourself, Griffin.” Had she failed to mirror Griffin’s own light back at her the same way she’d given her hers, too caught up in their duality of counterparts, their forbidden friendship of a witch and a fairy? “You’d made the right choice. It was what brought you to me.” She’d left a part of herself behind to find her way to Faragonda while her students were looking to take everything that didn’t belong to them and the ring slipping from one finger to another so easily was only the start. “And what brings me here now is a matter of interrealm security they’ve dragged us into.”

Griffin rolled her eyes as if to counter the words rolling off Faragonda’s tongue and keep them from reaching her. “I’ll fix that,” she strengthened her shoulders again to take the burden that wasn’t hers to bear along with the guilt for leaving anything of her soul with the Coven to corrupt but it hadn’t been her fault. Icy, Darcy and Stormy had never been touched by their predecessors–thanks to the sacrifice that had left Bloom and Stella their unsuspecting targets–yet they were still following the same agenda of their own volition, cut from the very same cloth as the witches they were descended from like everything else those monsters had left behind in their inability to create anything but destruction.

"What if you can’t?” Helplessness had strapped her hands to her sides, yet the question slapped Griffin in the face moving her backwards and further away from Faragonda to the opposite of her intentions. She’d just wanted to dig her out of the past now that they could witness a future that had been stolen from them.

Griffin raised her chin like she did in defiance and not to stare her down, though Faragonda was still way down below her to have Griffin’s words dropping on her head like bricks to crack her skull open rather than wall her up outside Griffin’s heart. “You should worry about yourself. Save whatever’s left of you if there’s anything at all from the old Faragonda.” It was the sharpness of Griffin’s words that cut her loose from the strings moving her around for her lungs to draw in a gasp of air. It’d been her Griffin had been looking for in the past rather than the piece of herself forever encased in ice. “She would never advocate for me to turn my back on three young girls.” The contempt was unlike anything Griffin had ever regarded her with. Not even when she’d accused her of betraying her by turning into a fairy.

"I still trust you, Griffin,” she stepped forward only to bite her tongue and stop dead in her tracks at the sight of Griffin’s demonstrative retreat. She was still herself... even if she’d failed to give the reassurance her best friend needed that she hadn’t turned against her in her pursuit to rid them of every trace of the witches Griffin had left in a show of heart she’d made her question.

"I don’t trust you,” Griffin put them on opposite sides again drawing a clear line between them that she couldn’t cross as easily as the distance between Alfea and Cloud Tower. No fairy dust could fix what she’d broken with the cold inside her. “I don’t know you,” Griffin’s voice spilled out in frozen waves that would make Faragonda’s lungs burst if she opened her mouth to risk swallowing them. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ll have to run this midnight errand you’ve sent me on.”

She dematerialized without sparing another glance at Faragonda to leave her alone in the emptiness of the office like they’d never been there together. The room only seemed to broaden around her to leave her hopeless in the middle like a star that was flickering out in the vast void swallowing its dying light. Cloud Tower remained asleep to her light magic instead of closing in its dark energy on her to suffocate her or chase her away – whichever came first. Griffin had left her unsupervised in her office like she wasn’t enough of a traitor to be kicked out, let alone hunted for vengeance like Griffin herself had been when they’d been brought back together.

She wasn’t coming back and Faragonda had to return to her own office, to her own school and to her own life. A task she almost failed amidst the panic engulfing her consciousness as if to consume it once her body dissolved in her magic and left just her soul behind to wander aimlessly without the anchor of a home. It was just the sight of flames burning in green and blue eyes alike that grounded her back in her rightful position of leadership – a legacy she’d taken over for her friends to rest in peace after they’d done their duty at the price of an inhuman sacrifice.

The ring was waiting on her desk even though it had to have been just a few minutes. She’d lost track of time in the tomb of cold loneliness she’d found herself in when she’d been left on her own.

She picked it up, the weight of it almost non-existent in her palm to contrast with the ton of emotion it had brought out in just a few short hours only for the trouble to be resolved so quickly through cooperation. Maybe Griffin was right. Maybe the terror that had been nestled inside her ever since that day on Domino when her soul had only remained grounded in her body by the warmth of Griffin’s hand in hers had resided in her too long to hollow her out and fill her with paranoia. Maybe she was judging unjustly after the unfair hand the universe had dealt them all on that battlefield.

Or maybe they were being made pawns again to be shoved on the front of another war. She didn’t have Griffin’s warmth anymore–only the burning hurt in her gaze–but she had her students–maybe even the girl she’d sworn to protect with her life–to take care of. She’d have to let Griffin look after herself this time and do the same when the witch refused to be her support and let her be hers.

It was too ironic to be left to the heritage of fairies and witches fighting each other just like their students. Only, that was not what left Griffin unable to look at her. And she had to hope against all logic that there wasn’t another legacy their students were fated to uphold, that it was just the everlasting argument between fairies and witches that was the only thing connecting them all. But she couldn't. Her and Griffin’s friendship was too powerful to be cut in half by an ancient yet superficial divide. And the Dragon Fire was too strong to be extinguished by the evil of three witches.

The ring had found Bloom in an endless universe to bring her to her friends and her heritage. All that was left was to give it back to them and hope it’d acted like a lucky charm rather than a jinx. That and believe in their friendship after the one she’d had left after the unimaginable hatred the universe had been subjected to had given in to the fight they should have ended on Domino instead of inherited in place of the lost crowns Bloom would never get to see.

[lefaystrent]

Lifeline ch.4

Fandom: Thomas Sanders, Sanders Sides

Pairings: platonic lamp/Thomas

Summary: Unable to help himself, Patton reached out to ruffle Thomas’s hair. The other sides rolled their eyes, knowing what would happen, except— 

Patton’s hand.  

It made contact. 

Chapter Navigation: one, two, three

AO3 Link

Thomas rolled out of bed at a decent hour and prepared himself for the day. He dressed with going to the gym in mind, planning to meet up with a friend there. It was amazing how motivated you could be to stay in shape when you had someone else to work out alongside with. Whistled tunes filled the air, and Thomas went so far as to wink at his reflection in the mirror just to giggle at himself.

It was a start to a good day. He’d go burn off some energy and calories, and then he’d cool down at home with some script writing for a video.

Thomas smiled to himself and opened his bedroom door.

“BE PREPARED!!!” Roman bellowed out in the middle of a flying leap.

“AAAHHHH!” Thomas screeched, throwing up his arms to shield his head and closing his eyes to wait for the impact.

The impact never came of course.

“Ow,” Roman groaned from the floor, sprawled face-down in the carpet. He pushed himself up partially, looking around as if to see where things went wrong. His eyes caught on something shiny under the bed. “Oh look! A quarter!”

“WHY DO YOU KEEP DOING THIS?!?!” Thomas demanded, heart still very much pounding frantically. “And was that a Lion King reference?”

“One of these days, Thomas!” Roman vowed. He hopped up easily to his feet, whirled around, and jabbed a finger at him theatrically. “One of these days you will know my princely embrace!”

“One of these days you’re going to give me a heart attack!” Thomas held his hands to his chest, just to make sure said heart wasn’t going to beat out of his ribcage.

“I can kick him. Just say the word,” Virgil offered from the doorway. If Thomas hadn’t already been frightened within an inch of his life, he would have jumped at Virgil suddenly being there.

“The only one who I will allow to kick me is Thomas himself!” Roman declared. His eyebrow lifted dramatically, a smirk dancing on his lips. “Of course, if he thinks he can, that is.”

There were a lot of things Thomas admired about Roman, his steadfast determination being one of them.

But even Thomas’s patience wasn’t infinite, and this had been going on for weeks. Weeks of surprise-tackle attempts and challenges daring Thomas to do what he was coming to believe to be the impossible.

And yet, seeing the shine of hope time and time again in those similar brown eyes, Thomas couldn’t deny him.

He just didn’t have to be happy about it.

Thomas shuffled over and, with all the power he could muster, he swung his leg at the speed of a dying turtle.

“Ehhh,” was his war cry.

His foot passed through Roman’s leg harmlessly.

Roman looked equal parts worried and offended. “Thomas. I’ve seen toddlers more spirited.”

“What do you expect? I’m a pacifist.” Thomas sulked. “It’s not like I want to hurt you.”

Roman gave a hearty laugh. “Hurt me? Impossible.”

“Challenge accepted.” Virgil snapped his fingers. A cloud of thick smoke billowed out around Roman’s head, startling one of his shrill screams out of him and making Thomas’s eardrums cry in agony. His arms waved about to dispel the darkness.

“Oh my god,” Thomas couldn’t help but blurt after the smoke cleared. Behind him, Virgil choked on a snicker.

Roman’s angry face was covered in gothic make-up: white foundation, black circles around his eyes, and dark lipstick.

“Are you trying to give me lung cancer?” Roman coughed. He looked like he wanted to go on a tirade, but spotting their expressions, his face went carefully blank. Mechanically, he turned to the nearest mirror.

“It’s not that bad,” Thomas tried. Roman still screamed bloody murder.

“I LOOK LIKE I JUST CAME FROM A KISS CONCERT!!!!”

“What can I say except you’re welc—” Virgil began, only to have to duck as a hairbrush came flying at him. “Watch it, Princey!”

“My face! My precious face! How am I supposed to woo anyone like this?!”

“Just don’t. Effort is overrated anyway.”

Patton had to step in when Roman went for his sword. He popped up beside Roman, firmly grasping his wrist to lower the weapon.

“Now Roman, I’m gonna have to ask you to cut that out,” Patton said. He was smiling and the puns were there, but no one could doubt his seriousness.

“That emo nightmare started it!” Roman defended himself. “He used his powers for evil to ruin my face!”

Patton turned to Virgil, and maybe it was the ‘Dad’ look on his face, but Virgil flung out his arm to point at Roman. “Because he keeps going around scaring Thomas.”

“I’m not scaring him intentionally! That’s just what’s happening anyway!”

“Newsflash moron, if you know it’s going to happen, then you’re intentionally doing it!”

“I’m not doing it to scare him!”

“Then why do you keep doing it?!”

“Because I want to be special too!”

Dead silence.

Roman caught up to what he said, breath catching in a gasp as he realized the way everyone stared at him. His eyes darted between all of them. He took a step back.

Thomas didn’t like the way he looked like a cornered animal. Nor did he like the implication of what Roman just said.

It had been clear from the beginning what Roman had been up to with all his ‘surprise attacks’. If he couldn’t ease a physical connection into forming between him and Thomas, he’d startle it into working. As if whatever it was that made touch possible between Thomas and his sides could be blindsided if Thomas didn’t know it was coming.

It was a crazy, frustrating, yet somewhat endearing plan by his creative side.

Thomas just hadn’t fully grasped how the plan had been born of desperation.

Born of jealousy.

“Roman,” Patton called to him, voice filled with anguish, love, and guilt. He held his arms out to him, but thought the better of it. He stood there, hands clasped anxiously together.

For weeks Roman had been trying. And for weeks, Patton had been the only one able to reach Thomas on a physical level.

Whenever Patton would reach to Thomas—whether it was a pat on the back or to ruffle his hair—it was always initiated with this awed hesitance, like it frightened him to think that this time it might not work. And every time, his whole body would slump in relief to see that his hand didn’t go through Thomas.

He still didn’t understand it, but Thomas felt the same.

Patton popped up more than ever nowadays with every kind of excuse to help Thomas with his daily life, and Thomas was glad for it. The hugs didn’t feel so suffocating anymore, now that he wasn’t so scared of himself. It was something that he cherished.

And it wasn’t something that all of his other sides had yet experienced.

Thomas had no idea where Virgil truly stood on the matter. He popped in unexpectedly, made cryptic comments, same old same old. He never tried to touch Thomas, nor did he express any interest in doing so. But Thomas noticed that whenever the topic came up or whenever Virgil watched Patton giving Thomas physical affection, he got quiet.

As for Logan . . . well, he hardly showed up these days, and when he did it was at the oddest of times. If the others were around or if Thomas tried to talk to him to clear the air, he’d act like nothing happened or that nothing was amiss. Or he’d give his input and duck out before the issue could even be brought up.

Roman on the other hand . . .

He was trying so hard.

Roman hugged himself tightly, jaw clenched, shoulders stiff, and the very picture of closed-off. He tapped one booted foot against the floor.

“Hey, Princey,” Thomas said in a soothing tone, putting as much care into his words as he could. “You know you’re special even if we never end up figuring this thing out. You know that, right? I’d never think less of you for it. You mean the world to me.”

The tapping foot stilled. Eyes closing, Roman turned away from them, facing the corner. Thomas feared that he would sink out. That he’d shut them out.

Just like Logan did.

“Roman? Kiddo?” Patton prompted.

Roman let out a heavy breath. “Yes, I know, I know.” He waved a hand over his face, and to Thomas it reminded him of those days before a big performance, those nerve-wracking minutes he stood behind the curtain before his cue and had to pull his composure together. Roman spun back around, face clear of make-up and all signs of distress. He beamed at them. “Of course I am special! One failing or several does not define who I am, only what I do after! And Thomas, as your passion, your courage, your creativity, I will not give up here!”

He strode past them all regally, head held high. Even Virgil leaned out of the way to let him through the doorway.

“No more dallying! We have a gym to conquer!”

“Annnd he’s gone,” Virgil commented.

It took Thomas a moment to collect himself after Roman’s abrupt change. Maybe too abrupt? Roman did embody a lot of his acting skills. It was good to hear that Roman would keep trying. Thomas just didn’t want him to beat himself up inside along the way.

“Yay?” Thomas cheered.

A pat at his back turned his attention to Patton. He smiled kindly at him, optimistic. “We were planning to make today a good day, right? The day’s still early!”

“Yeah . . .” Thomas agreed. Well, more like he wanted to agree. Was he just overthinking this? He looked to Virgil, the embodiment of his overthinking. “Any thoughts, Virge?”

Virgil pushed off from the doorway he’d been leaning back on. “Just thinking about how everything can go wrong, but what’s new?” Without a backwards glance, he swept out of the room as well.

Patton followed after, suddenly waving around a kitty poster with the words ‘Be Positive’ written on it. Thomas shook his head and fell into step behind him.

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[bubmyg]

Can u write about being out with them all but you’re not having that great of a day so yoongi silently does little things to help cheer you up or just know he’s there for you until he eventually sneaks y’all away so he can just comfort you uwu

genre/warnings: college!au,part of the “ps i love you” series linked on my masterlist, scarce on dialog but heavy on the fluff

word count: 1,958

Yoongi’s attention perked at the sound of your name leaving Taehyung’s mouth, line of sight traveling from his unaware friend to your rigid profile. You smiled none the less, a tight lipped number, barely edging an indentation into the skin of your cheek, acknowledging his call to you.

“You had an exam today, right?” The ice in Taehyung’s glass audibly clattered against the sides as he gripped and stirred his plastic straw within. He paused, long enough to cock an eyebrow, “How’d it go?”

Your breath caught, spine freezing, but you covered it, that same, not quite there, smile pressing at the seam of your lips. You shrugged, “It’s over now, at least.”

Yoongi didn’t catch Taehyung’s head bowing in acknowledgement because he was already gripping the underside of his chair to scoot closer to you. Your attention turned to him, one eyebrow quirking, your inquisitive smile one step closer to genuine. 

But you couldn’t fool Yoongi. 

He just shook his head, turning back for the table. He retrieved his untouched dinner roll from where Seokjin had tossed and successfully landed it on the edge of the miniature plate. Nimble fingers worked the dough apart, tearing a sizable piece to stretch toward you, dropping the latter half back to the dish. When you reached for the bread, Yoongi retracted his hand, chin curt in shaking once more, bangs fluttering over accusing eyes. 

His free hand lifted, tapping his bottom lip with the flat of his index and middle finger, stretching the bread towards you once more. You rolled your eyes, another good sign, one that plastered a toothless smile on his face. Your mouth parted slightly, just enough for his thumb to nudge the bite past your lips, the same digit swiping at the corner of your mouth on the descend, clearing it of flaked crumbs that clung there. 

He leaned, shoulder brushing against yours, voice soft against your cheek, “Good?”

You nodded, gaze ducking to your lap the longer attentive eyes swept across your features, tongue curling around the underside of your molars for more than just ridding them of the remnants of sticky yeast. 

Yoongi pecked your cheek before twisting for his plate, “Do you want the other half?”

“Not right now. Thank you.”

The slide of his eyes down to your fiddling hands at the hem of your sweater ripped away when Hoseok called his name, drawing him into the conversation with Namjoon. He barely registered their complaints about one of their shared professors, one they’d all have next semester as well, throwing in soft hums and yeah’s of acknowledgement when needed. His attention instead drew to sliding a hand over your thigh, thumb and fingers working together to give a comforting squeeze over the denim. 

Conversation lulled longer than he expected, so much so that he purposefully drew himself away when Jeongguk joined, chin cocking to glance at you. You sat in the same position, curled into yourself, fingers pinching and pulling at colored threads poking out knit wool. His hand on your thigh traveled upward, brushing at your wrists until your fiddling paused, eyes crinkling and pinning on him in confusion once more. 

The dim lighting in the restaurant snagged into the intricate engravings decorating the various rings pushed across delicate knuckles, sliding off the links of Yoongi’s bracelet where it hung loosely over his protruding wrist bone. He nodded to his hand, the wiggling of his fingers intensifying, inviting you to do the thing you always grappled for anyway. 

You hesitated even in his blatant insistence, fingers falling away from your sweater to cradle his palm, gently tracing over the planes of his skin. His wrist went limp, splaying his hand across the middle of your thighs for your liking. He only turned with a satisfied smile when he felt the first twist of the ring on his index finger. 

You were on the fifth link of his bracelet when the food arrived, attention not deriving from pressing the pendant against the blue veins crossing up the underside of his wrist even when the waiter slid your plate in front of you, simply muttering out a barely there thank you. 

Yoongi’s finger flexed upward toward yours, kissing the heat away from your cheek when you startled. “I need my hand,” He teased, eyes flicking for the steak slab on his plate. His lips touched your skin again, closer to the corner of your mouth, “and you need to eat.”

A sigh swallowed in the back of your throat when you turned, gaze centering into his. His heart ached when you forced another smile at his lingering apprehension, trying to reassure him. He was quick to reciprocate that.

“We’ll go soon,” Yoongi promised. His hand left your lap, thumb and index finger pinching your chin to center a chaste kiss over the wobble of your bottom lip, “Now eat before I have to defend your fries from Jeongguk.”

The shards of fried potatoes were the only things you ate, nibbling on the centers, dropping the burnt edges in a neat pile at the corner of your plate. Your salad looked sad, the cooked pieces of chicken oozed over with the dressing that never got mixed onto weeping lettuce. You nudged tomatoes about with the pronged edge of your fork, separating them from the croutons so that you could drag a particularly large piece of red cabbage over the squares of bread like a lasso. 

You dropped your fork, sucking in a sharp breath through your nose. Your fingertips never quite made it into the threads at the hem of your sweater as Yoongi was thrusting his keys into your hands, irises gentle when you parted your mouth to protest. 

“Go warm the car up for us,” He encouraged, napkin dabbing at his lips, “I’ll be there in a second.”

“We don’t have to leave yet—”

Plastic stoppers on the bottom of his chair only heightened the sound elicited when he slid backward. He twisted, easily gathering his jacket as he stood. Your mouth was still parted when he stretched the fabric, dropping it easily across your shoulders. 

Yoongi crouched, cupped palms securing the jacket around your stature as warm hands rested on your ribs, words curling over the shell of your ear. 

“It’s okay, angel.“

You disappeared in a flutter of black as Yoongi dropped back into his chair. The chatter between the others had slowed, curious gazes flicking in his direction. He addressed Jimin, his silver haired roomate the only one to fully meet his gaze, eyebrows knit in concern. 

Yoongi passed over a crisp set of bills, hand on the back of Jimin’s chair to hush, “This is enough for our meals and for fresh food. Bring them something home, please?”

Jimin nodded, crumbling and shoving the bills into his front pocket. “Of course, hyung,” His eyes trained on Yoongi as his attention lifted to bid goodbye to the others, “Is everything okay?”

His silent wave sated the others as he stood, nod gradual at Jimin’s inquiry. The corner of his nose wrinkled, “Yeah. Bad day, you know?”

No, Jimin’s smile grew fondly across his lips, I couldn’t tell. He’d barely parted his mouth for an affirming yeah when Yoongi was speaking again, hand gripped hard into the back of his chair, chin cast over his shoulder almost frantic. 

“Do you care if they stay over tonight?”

Jimin couldn’t have spoke any faster, speaking for the other five occupants of their house with wholesome sincerity, “Of course not, hyung.”

Yoongi found you curled in the passenger seat of his car, cool air barely rolled over to heat where you blasted it front the vents. His jacket lay across your front like a blanket, nose pressed into the soft collar, eyes trained forward on the dusty lines of his dashboard. 

He didn’t speak until after he’d secured his seat belt with a deafening click. You’d turned the radio off completely. 

“Ready?”

When you hummed, he flicked on his lights and tugged at the gear shift, pulling out of the diner’s parking lot. The drive back to campus was short and he’d barely navigated onto his street when you were mumbling from underneath your tiny shelter, “Can we go back to yours?”

The last time he saw your apartment, it was covered in notes and highlighters and empty coffee cups and your favorite hoodie you’d stained in ink and coffee from said empty coffee cups. All reminders of your aching heart, all the way down to your broken umbrella and sopping wet socks curled off the edge of your hamper. 

Yoongi turned into their driveway, flicking off the lights when they illuminated the back of Taehyung’s car angled awkwardly beside Namjoon’s. “One step ahead of you, love,” He grunted as he shoved open the door, quick in waddling around to your side. He opted for wrapping an arm around your waist, lips against your temple, “I’ll text the guys and ask them to be quiet when they get back.”

“It’s okay,” You mumbled, cheek against his shoulder as he maneuvered you inside, “Can’t hear them from up in your room anyway.”

He got you up into his room on the third story, into one of his hoodies, and tucked under his sheets. He was halfway through folding your jeans, leaving them in a neat pile on top of his desk when you were calling his name. 

“They were going out after dinner, right?” You squinted up at him when he sunk a knee into the side of the mattress, “You can go with them. I’m fine here.”

Yoongi couldn’t stop the roll of his eyes, palm nudging over the you sized bump in his duvet.

“Scoot over.”

You obliged, limp in allowing him to wrap himself around you, lifting and tucking the blankets into your awaiting hands underneath your chin. His lips sponged against the base of your neck, fingers twining inside the pocket of your hoodie. 

“First of all, they’re going to the frats,” His mouth traveled around the side of your neck to nudge his nose against your cheek, “Second of all, you think I’d leave you alone? In my bed?”

“But if you want to go—”

“I don’t.”

“Okay.”

It was silent until your stature twitched in Yoongi’s embrace, the softest gasp parting your lips. 

“Sorry.”

Yoongi’s palms spread against your naval, feeling it jump and twitch with the rise of your shoulders. He frowned, turning you to your back to hover over you. “Sorry for what?” He demanded quietly, tracking a single tear where it squeezed down the contour of your nose.

You shrugged, squinting up at him in an unwarranted haze, “For being the worst.”

He lowered himself to you, pausing his descend a breath above your lips. “Say that again and I’ll make you get up when Taehyung inevitably drags himself into the wrong room later.”

“Yoongi,” You hiccuped, “I’m serious.”

“Angel. So am I.”

The tears fell all while he shifted you again, shoulders pressing into the pillows to pull you across his chest. Warm palms curled into your cheeks, brushing each droplet as it spilled, patient with you as you eventually shifted higher across his torso to bury your face into his neck. 

“I love you,” Yoongi’s cheek pressed against your forehead, grip on your waist tightening, “we’ll try again tomorrow, yeah?”

You sniffled, “Yeah.”

He shifted enough to tuck his free arm behind his head, thumb on your hip tracking methodical patterns at the skin there, musing, “You know, they say the sun will come out tomorrow as well.”

“Don’t—”

“Rumor has it I’ll love you then, too,” Yoongi grinned when you hid further into him with a mewled whine, “Tomorrow, that is.”

“No.”

[taeheyhey]

The Scale of My Happiness - 1

Yoongi x Reader - Fluff/Angst/Eventual Smut

Warnings - None

Summary -  Our favourite girl Y/N is an internationally respected musician in her own right and, at her manager's insistence, meets Bangtan at an awards ceremony at which they are both performing. After a brief interaction, Y/N finds herself enchanted with the members and is excited about the prospect of a potential collaboration, right up until she meets a Yoongi.

(Based on this ask)

A/N -  Hello lovelies, I've crawled out of my cage just in time for Genius Min Suga's birthday to post the first chapter of my next fic. It will more than likely be a full-ish length fic, so I hope you look forward to the story and bear with me! I hope you all enjoy, please please let me know if you do! It really means so much <3

Chapter One - 2.3K Words

You grimaced as the tape holding the mic wire in place pulled out small hairs at the back of your neck as it was peeled away, taking a long pull from your water bottle and rubbing your fingers over the area as one of your many assistants apologised profusely and repeatedly before disposing of the offending tape in a nearby trash can.

You smiled and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder – what was her name again? - surprised when she squealed at the contact and whirled around, the look on her face terrified as though she were about to be flogged.  

“It’s okay...” you paused to allow her to furnish you with her name. When none was provided you continued. “If I burst in to tears every time a few hairs got pulled out I’d stop letting them send me to get my bikini line waxed.”

She flicked her eyes down to your stage costume, this one in particular leaving very little to the imagination, and you were as ever endlessly grateful for the existence of thick dancers tights. She still looked unsure but gave a wonky smile before scurrying out of the dressing room. You leaned against the counter with your back to the mirror and raised a greeting hand to your manager as he walked through the door, his face beaming.  

“Another incredible show, y/n,” he enveloped you in a brief but sincere hug, reluctant to get any of your sweat on his obnoxiously loud suit which probably cost twice your booking fee. “I don’t know why they keep printing those stories about you.”  

“Because it sells papers Michael, and the world needs to know what a heinous bitch I am,” you responded with a wry smile.

You were only half-joking with each other. The fact of the matter was, you didn’t know the assistant’s name as she was a replacement who had been on the job less than a week. The previous girl had tried to use her position to get a foothold in the music industry, and when you had informed her kindly – but in no uncertain terms – that she would need to put the work in and that she couldn’t expect success by using you as a stepping stone, she had quit.  

That would have been upsetting enough on its own, a lot of your staff had been with you for years and you considered the majority of them to be friends, but she also decided to go to the media, apparently determined to use your name to acquire fame in one way or another.  

It hadn't taken long for the rumours to spread, such was the voracity of netizens looking for their next target on which to bestow a plethora of snarky accusatory comments parenthized in snake emojis. When the news of your "diva behaviour" broke, you decided to take a break from social media, reluctant to have to deal with the contempt of those who were certainly not your fans; and to avoid the defence tactics of those that were.  

You knew they meant well, all rushing to defend your honour, but the arguments they got in to sometimes and the casual way in which barbarous words were thrown around like so much confetti often made you physically wince.  

By the time you had girded your loins and decided to get back to your instagramming and tweeting a week or so later, to your great surprise – and relief – no one was talking about you anymore.  

They were all talking about something called BTS.  

~~~

Sitting in Michael’s office, scrolling open-mouthed at the fierce enthusiasm with which the group were referred to in the news articles regarding their much-anticipated appearance at the impending award show, your manager appeared over your shoulder as though he had been summoned.

"Incredible isn't it?" He asked, his eyes almost glittering as he bent closer to the screen in your grip. "They don't look real do they?"

They were certainly like nothing you had seen before, seven perfectly groomed and styled beautiful young men all standing in a line posing impeccably before a huge crowd of press photographers. “They look computer generated,” you finally managed in agreement.

He walked around the armchair you were sat in and lowered himself on to the end of the sofa to your right, placing his laptop down on the glass coffee table and lifting the screen excitedly. “Wait till you see them dance.” You leaned forward in your seat to better see the video he brought up. He tapped the space-bar to set it playing and it was clear he had prepared it quite some time in advance.  

You watched, enraptured, at the sheer precision and synchronisation of the complex moves. Not a foot placed wrong and every gesture – every facial expression – obviously repeatedly rehearsed to perfection. When it had finished, Michael looked so proud it was almost as if he had choreographed the routine himself. “So,” he leaned back on the sofa once it had ended. “What do you think?”  

You frowned at your manager and friend of almost a decade. “What do I think?” Oh god, he didn’t expect you to be able to start doing routines like that did he? “I think I’m about five years too late to train enough to pull that   off Michael, and there’s only one of me.”

It was his turn to stare incredulously at you. “What? No, ugh for god’s sake,” he reached in to his trouser pocket and retrieved his own phone, impatiently tapping his passcode on to it before lifting it to your eye-level to show you an email. “They want to meet you.”

~~~

And so, some three weeks later, dressed in your awards show finery and re-primped and de-sweated after your performance, you were hustled around the labyrinthine corridors of the award show venue and shown in to a room which was somehow even more manic than your own.  

Michael leant over and whispered covertly in your ear. “We should have had them come to you really, doesn’t seem right you having to make all the effort.”

You shrugged, it wasn’t really something you had thought about. Besides, it was Michael that had set it up so you weren’t sure what he was expecting. “It’s easier for the two of us to come here than vice-versa. I mean,” you swept your gaze across the room and gestured at the hubbub. “Can you imagine trying to navigate those hallways with all of this?” There were about four handycams running from various angles and two professional looking photographers standing around.  

Wasn’t this supposed to be a dressing room?

A smartly-dressed woman approached and shook Michael’s hand before turning to you. “Y/N it’s honestly such a pleasure to meet you. We have some people here who have been really looking forward to seeing you today.” With that she gestured to a vaguely horseshoe shaped line-up of men, all of whom you recognised from the various articles and videos you had examined perhaps a little more closely than was necessary after learning you were to meet them.

She spoke to the group in what you assumed to be Korean and you smiled as warmly as you were able while simultaneously being dazzled by how much more attractive they were in person. Based on what you had seen over the past few weeks, you wouldn’t have believed that that would be possible.  

One-by-one they greeted you, clasping your hand in theirs briefly with a slight bow as they introduced themselves. For the most part, they seemed as shell-shocked as you, each sort of laughing and jostling one another to stand the furthest back away from you, and you might have been offended were they not so utterly charming.  

One of the group, Namjoon you had learned, spoke English with an impressive fluency and seemed entirely comfortable in your presence, assuring you how much they all enjoyed your music and how much they were looking forward to the possibility of a collaboration. You cast your eyes towards Michael at this sudden revelation and found him standing and looking like a pig in shit as he emphatically nodded and stuck his thumb in the air. So, you smiled and told him you were very much looking forward to it too.  

Another – quite frankly unreasonably good-looking – member of the group with mint-green hair and a broad, wide-eyed smile stepped forward with one of your albums held out before him like an offering. “I really like this, it’s really nice. Could you sign it?”

You were touched by his words and the effort he had clearly put in to ask you in English. You felt bad for not even learning the basics of Korean and made a mental note to memorize a little should this collaboration that you had literally only just heard of in the past five minutes ever come to fruition.

Before turning to leave, you told them as a group that you were excited to see their performance later that evening. They had been placed as the penultimate act for the evening, the predominant theory from the internet being that it was a ploy by the show's producers to keep viewing figures high throughout the three-and-a-half-hour ordeal that was usually the awards ceremony. It made total sense, you yourself could never quite bear to watch them in full even when you were attending the damn things.  

Just as you were about to make your way back through the maze of corridors, you heard a frantic “photo, photo!” somewhere back in the centre of the room, and the smartly-dressed woman placed a hand on your shoulder. “Would you mind taking a quick photo with the boys before you go?”

“Of course,” you were surprised Michael hadn’t mentioned it first, he was clearly thrilled at the prospect of milking this meeting for all it was worth from a business standpoint, but when you saw him cast a surreptitious wink in your direction, you knew it was a contrivance on his behalf to have the other party do the leg work. A sort of “playing hard to get” move. You rolled your eyes, both exasperated and endeared with your manager in equal measure, before positioning yourself in the centre of the six ludicrously beautiful men, feeling somehow graceless and frumpy in comparison to them.

Wait a second...six? Weren’t there supposed to be seven?

As though reading your mind, a brunette with a heart-shaped smile and the sharpest jaw line you were sure you had ever seen suddenly stood upright from his slightly crouched, blatantly well practised group-photo pose, looking around the room confusedly. “Yoongi-hyung eodi iss-eoyo?”

You exchanged bewildered glances with Michael, casting your eyes around the room at the moderately chaotic clamour that ensued for a few moments, dying down to almost nothing as a young man with dyed light-brown hair and dark feline eyes strode in to the room.  

After a few moments of silence, Namjoon spoke first. “Eodi iss-eoss ni hyung?”

“Hwajangsil,” came the man’s perfunctory reply, before he sat himself down in a chair in the far corner of the room, lifting an iPad from the counter beside him and studying it with a level of concentration that could only be described as intense.

The room was still and silent for a few moments but for the monitor mounted to the wall showing what was taking place in the auditorium, everyone but the man on the tablet too unsure of what to do next to hazard a guess and take action.  

After what felt like an hour the translator finally spoke to the latest arrival to the room. You had no idea what had been said but whatever it was caused the man in the chair to lower his device and turn to where you were standing, his eyes widening for the briefest of moments in reaction to your presence, clearly seeing you for the first time.  

He rose from his chair and took a few steps towards you. You couldn’t pin-point if it was his unflinching stare or the fact that he seemed so uninterested in meeting you, but something about him made you feel uneasy.

He took your hand in his in much the same way as the other members had, except when he lowered his head in a bow he retained eye-contact with you the entire time. His voice was deeper than you had expected, and he spoke throatily as though he had just awoken from a nap. “Hello, I’m Yoongi, it’s nice to meet you,” his tone implying that it was, in fact, anything  but  nice to meet you.  

He didn’t give you a chance to respond before returning to his seat and his iPad, seemingly not deigning you worthy of any further attention.  

You could almost hear the offense in Michael’s harrumph at the rebuff, the “hard to get" approach evidently forgotten as he declared loudly and pointedly. “We still haven’t taken a picture yet!”

The dismay in his voice while announcing such a trivial fact was amusing enough to break you from the somewhat perturbed stupor from your interaction with the seventh member of BTS, and you laughed good naturedly and resumed your position in the centre of the six young men.  

The resulting photo was flattering for everyone in the frame, and was a strong competitor for the most retweeted picture of the year; the publicised interaction exposing each respective fanbase to the work of the other artist.  

Only you would be able to make out the thinly-veiled look of disdain which was thrown in Yoongi’s direction as the picture was taken, and the camera was incapable of capturing the dark look he shot you in return.

[seeaddywrite]

stars, hide your fire: chapter two

i absolutely will not be able to keep up with daily updates, but i’ve got the first 10k of this written & i’m just editing for continuity & nonsense sentences right now. this was almost a 5k chapter, but i thought that was a bit much, so there will probably be another part up tomorrow. 

also, to address one of the questions i got: yes, this is on AO3, if you prefer to read in that format.  

Chapter Index: 1 || 2

Anxiety is one of the remnants of active duty that Alex can’t shake. His fingers tap a frantic rhythm on his good knee as he watches the group he’s assembled parse through the surveillance footage and the schematics for the weapons, and he catches himself beginning to list all the ways Guerin and the others could blame him for this. He should have found it sooner. He should have pushed harder for information, when Jesse Manes was at his mercy. He should have known his brothers wouldn’t give up this easily just because their father and de facto leader disappeared. Alex should have thought more like a Manes, and less like better man he was trying to become.

He knows that the likelihood of anyone blaming him for those things is next to nothing, logically, but the worry is still there, half-stifled in the back of his mind. It’s especially loud as Guerin snatches the schematics and begins muttering to himself, and even consulting Liz on something that looks like an equation on the lower corner of the scans. Alex keeps his eyes on those two -- it’s easier than looking at Isobel’s ashen, waif-like countenance or the barely-contained fury on Max’s face. The lights keep flickering on and off, and Alex knows that he’s struggling to contain his powers. Alex thinks that’s understandable, but he might be the only one, judging by the sharp looks the others keep sending him.

“Evans, do you mind?” Valenti is finally the one to snap. “We’re all worried! But no one can read without lights, and if we’re still under surveillance, the fireworks show inside might seem a little freaking suspicious!”

Max’s lips tighten, but the lights steady and hold.

Alex lets them have another twenty minutes of trying to search for a way out of the mess in front of them before he clears his throat. Six pairs of eyes bearing various signs of horror and resignation look up at him, and Alex’s heart beats a little faster before he finds the calm, calculating place in the back of his mind that allowed him to survive ten years as an active duty codebreaker while men died all around him.

“Before you all start making plans,” he says calmly, projecting his voice just enough so that everyone in the room can hear him. “Just listen for a minute, okay?” There are a few nods, and after a moment, Alex continues, knowing that in their confusion and fear, they will respond to a voice laden with authority -- just like soldiers in the middle of an op gone tits-up. “Project Shepherd is my father’s pride and joy. It’s a family legacy, and has been for generations. There’s no way he’s given the keys to the kingdom away to random strangers.” Alex glances at Kyle, who nods once, encouraging. “This has to be my brothers. Kyle, Guerin, and I ran into Flint when we went to Caulfield --” The aliens all flinch in tandem at the words. Alex wants to reach out for Michael, seated to his left, to offer some measure of comfort at the bleak reminder, but he doesn’t have that right anymore, even if they are friends. And Michael is already stowing his grief behind a fierce mask, anyway, and wouldn’t appreciate the attempt if it was made. “And I’m pretty confident in guessing that Charlie and Hunter are involved, too.”

There’s a low mutter of discontent from Liz, whose dark eyes are blazing with badly-contained anger. Alex knows how she feels. Max runs a hand down her arm as he watches Alex, waiting for the rest of whatever he has to say, and Rosa leans in closer, looking more confused than anything. There’s still so much about the time before her resurrection that she doesn’t know, despite their best efforts to bring her up to speed.

“I know those guys,” Alex plods forward, refusing to be distracted. “I know how they work, and they’re not going to stop coming for us unless we stop them. And I think the only way we’re going to do that is by getting someone on the inside. Someone who knows how they work -- someone with the training and the skills to make them think that he can help.”

Guerin’s body goes rigid next to Alex, and Liz surges to her feet, but none of it stops Alex from saying: “I’m going to do it. I can get the information we need to bring in the government, or higher-ups in the military, and keep your names out of it. If I’m the one undercover, I control the narrative -- it’s the perfect set-up to make sure they all end up in a military prison, at the very least..”

Chaos erupts in the room around him, and Alex sits back, arms crossed over his chest, and waits.

There’s something grounding about being surrounded by people who all care about each other despite having plenty of reasons not to. Alex has never had a normal family, full of love and bickering and over-protective siblings, but he imagines this is what it would have been like, if he had. Fighting because they don’t want their siblings and loved ones to be hurt, rather than because they do.

Alex has never had that, not really -- his oldest brother, Charlie, had defended him a few times, but in the end, Jesse Manes’ opinion was the only one that ever mattered in their house, and according to him, Alex deserved to hurt. Eventually, Alex had gotten used to the isolation and abuse within his home, and he’d learned at a young age that sharing blood did not mean sharing love. He’d hidden his softest parts behind a sharp tongue and a rough exterior, complete with piercings and a ‘fuck off’ expression that kept even the most determined teachers and their questions at bay. Liz, Maria, and Rosa were the only ones who’d never been fooled, but looking back, Alex can admit that he kept even them at arm’s length. It was necessary, at the time; none of those women were the sort of people who would do nothing if they found out exactly how bad things were for Alex at home, and the last thing he’d wanted was for them to get hurt because of him.

Needless to say, from that perspective, it’s utterly bizarre to be sitting there,  listening to Michael’s little, makeshift family fight him on the course of action he’s chosen to take his father down for good. They’re all trying to protect him -- even Max, who’s only been breathing again for two weeks and has barely spoken two words to Alex in all of that time. But even still, he’s volunteered himself for the mission instead, on the grounds that he can defend himself with his powers if necessary, and the fact that it’s not fair to ask Alex to move against his own blood.

It’s insane, of course. Max is a cop, but he’s never been a great one; he’s too straight-and-narrow, aside from the lengths he’s willing to go to in order to protect the people he loves. This is the sort of op that requires planning on the fly and subterfuge, and a flexibility that Max just doesn’t have. Not to mention the fact that there’s no way Max will ever learn enough about computers and hacking in time to be any of use to Project Shepherd, and he doesn’t have the family ties that would get the Manes boys to even consider trusting him, even if they haven’t, by some miracle, seen anything suspicious about him on their surveillance footage.

Despite all of that, Alex can’t help but feel a little warmer at the obvious concern, even if he has no idea how to take it. His feelings about Max Evans and his god complex are complicated even on a good day, and Alex isn’t used to this sort of protective behavior. He knows it’s coming from a good place, though -- the one real conversation he and Max have had was about Michael, and the fact that if Guerin sees Alex as family, Max does too, no matter what their relationship status might be.

So,  yes. Alex would be lying if he said that it isn’t oddly nice to have people worrying about him, but eventually, enough is enough.

He’d gone silent as soon as the fighting started; Kyle had warned him that no one was going to like the idea of Alex going undercover with Project Shepherd, and Alex had predicted Michael’s immediate and absolute denial -- but this is his decision. His family, his legacy -- his responsibility. If he’s ever going to feel like it’s safe to be with Michael again, if he’s ever going to feel free of his father and his damned battles, Alex has to do this. There’s no other way out from beneath his shadow, and Alex has spent enough of his life missing the sun.

Alex has to do this, and no one is going to stop him -- no matter how good their intentions.

“It’s gotta be me,” Alex says loudly, adopting a tone of command that he’d learned in the middle of the desert in wartime. It effectively silences the squabbles filling the room, and again, six pairs of eyes turn to him, some incredulous, others resigned -- and one pair of beloved brown orbs full of vehement denial. But Alex sits tall on the couch, meeting each gaze in turn with steely determination, hoping that he looks more confident in his own abilities than he feels. His brothers aren’t stupid, and there’s a good chance they’ll see through his ruse, but he has the best chance of fooling them -- and Alex isn’t willing to risk anyone else.  “Come on, guys, you know it has to be me. No one else knows Charlie and Flint like I do, and no one else has the training to be useful to their project.”

Alex doesn’t know how he ended up as a member of this eclectic little family, but it’s happened, and he’d do a thousand horrible things before he let anything happen to any of them. Lying to the family he’d grown up with seems like a small price to pay in order to keep them safe. Michael has always deserved happiness and safety, and while Max and Isobel have their issues, they aren’t anything like the villainous aliens Jesse Manes laments about. And Liz, Rosa, and Kyle -- they deserve better than lives on the run, too, which is what awaits them if Project Shepherd ever finds out about their ties to the aliens.

Alex allows himself a moment to reflect on the way they’d all come together, in the wake of Max’s death, as a way to remind himself of why he’s doing this. It had happened in fits and starts, with plenty of stalling. At the beginning, he’d stayed strictly to the periphery. Most of that had been his own choice; in the wake of Michael’s decision to pursue a relationship with Maria, it had been easier to just keep his distance and try to keep moving forward with his own healing.

It only took a month for Michael’s relationship with Maria to end, though, and Alex found himself as a Max fill-in, bailing the other man out of the drunk tank and hiding the acetone when it looked like Michael might drown in it. It’s not an auspicious start to a friendship, especially considering their history, but after several awkward interludes and false starts, they manage to find even ground. Alex doesn’t think they’ll ever quite manage a completely platonic friendship, but they’ve found something that works for them -- something that someday, they hope can become something more.

Michael isn’t the only one who gets tangled up in Alex’s life in those rough months. After a few weeks of private grief, Liz showed up, wanting access to the Caulfield files to look for intel that could help bring Max back from the dead. She’d mentioned in passing that they needed help making sure that no one would question the cover story for Rosa’s miraculous return, so Alex had been the one to put enough of a digital footprint online so that anyone but an experienced hacker would have to believe she’d been kidnapped, not murdered, ten years past.

And then, somehow, the Ortecho sisters became regular fixtures in his cabin. It seemed like one of them was always there, cooking burned meals in his scarcely-used kitchen or dragging in a television set from Arturo’s basement when they noticed Alex didn’t have one. It hadn’t taken much for Alex to remember how much he’d adored Rosa as a teenager, or why Liz had been one of his closest friends for well over a decade before they drifted apart -- and he couldn’t deny that he’d been grateful to feel less isolated from the town.

From there, it all spiraled into weekly dinners and brainstorming sessions,  to sharing his space and his time with these people as they fought back against what seemed like the inevitable. They’d won against it before, and Alex is absolutely certain that they can again. But they need to all be on the same page, first.

“Max can defend himself if he has to,” Michael points out before Alex says anything more, shoving himself forward on the couch to bring his body within touching distance of Alex. It’s the closest they’ve been in months, and Alex hates the way his heartbeat speeds up just from the  proximity. “No one in your family knows that he’s an alien, plus he’s a deputy. Your dad wanted Cam’s input from the Sheriff’s office -- I bet your brothers will want what he can tell them, too. It’s a way in.”

Alex tries to decide whether Michael has so much faith in Max that he believes he can pull off an op like this, or if he’s just so sure that Alex can’t that he’s scrambling for any better option. Neither speak positively about Michael’s headspace, and Alex isn’t sure he wants to know the real answer. Michael’s been incredibly protective of his brother since his resurrection, though -- it seems strange that he’s willing to go along with Max’s self-sacrificing offer.

“Are you forgetting we just brought Max from the dead?” Isobel interjects shrilly, before Alex gets the chance to figure out what the hell Michael is thinking. She directs her icy gaze at Michael, and then at Alex, as if he hadn’t just told the entire room that he’s got to be the one to join Project Shepherd. Isobel’s been the quietest since they all arrived, and is pressed into Max’s side in a way that even Liz isn’t, though she’s still sitting close. Alex knows Isobel’s still trying to pull herself together from the realization that her husband was a mass-murdering psychopath for the duration of their marriage, and understands that she has the right to heal in her own way, but he’s getting tired of being the subject of her ire. “Like hell are we sending him straight to a bunch of people who want to cut him open and play mad scientist with his guts!”

“Give me a break, Isobel!” Michael snaps back at his sister. “I’m not trying to get him killed! But he’s got a better chance of defending himself than Alex, if shit gets ugly. I’d go if I could, but I’m on a fucking watchlist -- there’s no way they’ll buy it.”

He sends a look at Max that Alex can’t really see, but the taller man nods once, and rests a hand on Isobel’s shoulder. “Michael’s being smart, Iz,” he says quietly. “We can’t send Alex into Project Shepherd to --”

“I don’t think we should be sending anyone!” Isobel interrupts, and crosses bare arms over her chest. Fire dances in her eyes as she stares around the room at the assemblage, and for once, Alex is reminded of the intimidating teenaged girl from high school who’d had every straight guy at Roswell High panting after her. Lately she’s seemed more like a shadow than that person, and Alex can admit that he’s glad to see her regaining some of herself -- even if it’s the more difficult parts. “This is all stupid. Starting up some kind of super-spy mission is asking for them  to figure out our secret if they don’t already know. No one’s made a move on us, yet. There’s still time for us to get out of town; we don’t need to risk anyone for the sake of information. It’s not worth it!”

Isobel has suffered so much loss already that Alex can understand her point of view. There’s a risk to this op, and not just to Alex -- if he fails, there’s a high probability the entire truth will come out. It’s not a big leap from Alex being a traitor to the rest of them being involved, and from there, it’s a pretty easy supposition that Jesse Manes might have been right about who in Roswell might be from another planet. She’s thinking ahead and weighing the consequences against the possible reward -- and to her, it’s not coming out even.

“Do you really want to live the rest of your life looking over your shoulder, Isobel?” Alex asks softly, ignoring the way that Guerin is practically thrumming with anger in the seat next to him. He’ll deal with him soon -- but first, he needs to get everyone else settled down. Kyle is already in the corner, talking to Liz and Rosa in a low, soothing whisper. It strikes Alex then how lucky he is to have Valenti on his side, especially considering he doesn’t like the plan anymore than they do. He’s trusting Alex to make the right calls, and that means a hell of a lot.

“I know my family. They’re not going to stop coming. Eventually, even if they can’t get video or photos, they’ll come to town and ask the right questions to the right people. They’ll hear about Rosa Ortecho’s magical reappearance after ten years. They’ll hear about Michael’s hand, or the bizarre power outage, or the lawyer who just up and disappeared. Or maybe they’ll stop by the diner, or the hospital and find dad in that coma, and he’ll just give them all the answers when he wakes up.” That particular scenario is terrifying, and Alex pushes forward, refusing to dwell, or feel guilty for telling the bald-faced truth, despite the growing disquiet on his friends’ faces. “There are thousand ways for them to find out the truth, and to hurt you. Running isn’t going to make a difference. They’ll find you, eventually. It’s a delaying tactic, not a solution.”

Alex exhales slowly, gives everyone a moment to process his logic, and finishes: “So I’m going to take them down from the inside, and I’d really like you all to help me -- from a safe distance. If you don’t want to, I understand, but I am doing this. With or without your blessing.”

[some-cookie-crumbz]

Hi! You're one of my favorite kidge blogs ❤️ I have a prompt request for some sweet Keith/kidgeling interactions! Only if you have the time though :3 Have a nice day!

Erhmahgerd, thank you so much!!! I’m so glad you enjoy my works! Consider this sweet little bit of fluff an apology for my last fic! x3

Pidge’s business trips away were an odd mix of stressful andinvigorating for Keith. Once upon a time, he disliked them because it meant he’dbe all alone in their home for an extended period of time. But as the yearswent by, they got married and started having children, it became a little lesslonely. He still missed having his wife around, which he felt was a given, butit was also nice to have some one-on-one time with their kids.

The week had been a bit chaotic between appointments and extra-curricularactivities, but he made sure that Friday night was all theirs. It worked outwell, as the dark foreboding clouds over the head made the kids more hesitantto leave the house after they got home from Amber’s fencing lesson. He’dordered pizza for dinner and played Uno. Well, Amber, Kaden, Newt and he hadplayed Uno. Ari, only two years old, hadn’t understood and simply enjoyedshouting Uno every time someone lost or gained a card. After the game, got theolder kids into their pajamas and put a movie on for them, then got Aria in thebath and tucked into bed. When he headed back out, the movie had ended and theboys had passed out hard. Amber, meanwhile, had changed the channel to a newsreport.

“Dad, what’s going on?” She asked, looking over her shoulderat him and indicating the screen with the remote. It was a report about therecent threats made by an alien race known as the Awzurians. The Awzurians hadbeen a Galra-aligned world that willing joined Zarkon years ago, as a way togain power and protect their people from slavery. In the years following Zarkon’sdeafeat, they’d been struggling to maintain control over any worlds handed overto them. At a conference two weeks ago, when Keith and the others had discussedthem peacefully releasing the remaining planets under their control, theirleader swore that Earth would pay for such an insulting request.

It was part of the reason Pidge was gone; she’d left to helpthe coalition forces determine what kind of technology the Awzurians had attheir disposal.

He frowned a bit, taking the controller and turning thetelevision off. “It’s nothing you need to worry about, sweetheart. Come on, offto bed. It’s getting late,” He said quietly. She didn’t seem convinced, hereyes bright with the same skeptical gleam her mother had pinned him with toomany times to count, but she went along without a fight. He carefully scoopedup his two boys and carried them off to their rooms, tucking them both inbefore going to wish Amber a good night.

He hoped that in the morning, he’d feel better, but hetossed and turned for a good hour, unable to sleep. He was good at pretendingit didn’t bother him, that he didn’t see the Awzurian leader, Chespa, and herfollowers as a threat, but he was rather concerned. After all, they’d workedwith Zarkon for years; how much did they know about Zarkon’s practices? Didthey have any Galran technology of their own to use? And what if they knew howto make use of quintessence? What if they did launch an attack on Earth?

And, if they did attack, what if something happened to thekids?

A loud crash erupted outside, causing him to jump and dartout of bed. A quick glance outside revealed it to only be the crash of thunderoverhead. He released a low sigh. "It’s just a storm, Kogane. You’regetting yourself all worked up over nothing," He paused when there wassuddenly a loud, distinct shriek down the hall. He picked up the baby monitoroff the bedside table and toggled it to the only camera still in operation.

There, standing in her crib, little hands on the edge of thebanister, was a wailing Aria.

“Oh, baby girl,” He said softly, setting the monitor backdown and heading out. The hallways was barely lit, a small flash of lightningilluminating the little wooden sign hanging on her door. It had been a giftfrom Shiro, one for each of their kids, with their names carved and painted intheir respective favorite colors. He tried to flick on the hall light butnothing happened. “Huh… Must have knocked the power out.” He mumbled beforeslipping over and opening the door.

The moment he poked his head in, Ari’s big green eyes fixedon him and she screamed again. “Dada!” She wailed, holding her arms up towardshim.

He crossed the room quickly and scooped her up "Hey,baby girl. It's okay, Daddy's here," He cooed softly, stroking along herback as she buried her face in his shoulder.

"Scary monsters!" She hiccupped.

"Sweetie, there are no monsters," He said softly,carefully readjusting his grip on her.

She lifted her head long enough to point at her window beforeducking back down into him. He glanced outside and, when another flash oflightning and thunder rumbled rushed through, he saw a branch from the treescratching at her window. "Scary monster noises!"

He knew he’d forgotten to do something during the week."Okay, baby girl. I'm sorry for upsetting you," He said, turning andmaking his way to the door. "Come on, you can sleep in bed with Daddytonight. I'll keep all the scary monsters away. Does that sound good?"

She nuzzled into him, little hands clenching in the fabricof his night shirt. "Mmhmm,"

He headed out into the hallway, checking again and sighingwhen they didn’t. He hadn’t expected the storm to come in nearly as fast or asloudly as it did. He paused when he saw a small clustered of shadowy figures congregatedin front of his door. Could it be Awsurian spies? He shifted and moved morecarefully, wanting to see what was going on as quiet chattered started up amongthem.

“Does everyone have a something to defend themselves with?”

"I brought this,"

"Just thebat? Really?"

"Better than what youbrought. Which is nothing,"

"Hey! Ibrought my brains! Brains are just as important to a fight!"

He blinked then frowned, walking closer at the familiarvoices. "Kids?" He asked in slightly surprise, all three littlefigures turning towards him.

"AAAAHHHH!" They all shouted, the soft whoosh ofair in front of his face echoing after the shout. There was a frantic rattlingsound before he was blasted right in the face with a bright, yellow light.

"Oh! Dad!" Amber gasped, moving the flashlight sothat it was pointed above his head, so that they could all see each other.There, right in front of his face, was the end of his older son’s yellow wiffelball bat. "Kaden, put that down!"She huffed, reaching over to shove the bat down.

The younger male looked away sheepishly, tucking the batbehind his back. "S-Sorry, Dad,"

He reached over and lightly ruffled his son’s hair, keepingone arm secured under Ari to keep her close. He then looked from each of themin turn. "What are you three doing up?"

Newt scoffed a bit, raising an eyebrow at hi. "Littleunfair to be the only one asking questions, don't you think? What are you doing up? And what about Ari?"Amber rolled her eyes before reaching over smacking him over the head "Ow!Dad, she hit me!" He whined, covering the sore spot as he looked up athim.

Keith sighed and shook his head. "Amber Rose," He warned lowly. From the corner of his eye hespotted Kaden wandering off, but turned his attention back to his eldest.

"What? He's being annoying!"

"That doesn't mean you need to hit him. Now, why areyou three up?"

"We heard screaming," Newt said with a shrug,having recovered from the smack.

He blinked a bit in surprise. "Wait, you heard Ari,too?"

"Ah, no," Amber said, looking off to the side uneasily.

"Unless herscreaming sounds like a certain stinkyolder sister of mine? Then no,"Newt quipped. Again, Amber smacked him upside the head and pinned him with alook. "Ow! Da-ad!"

Keith groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Amber,what did I just say?"

"Not my fault he's being a dumbo," She harrumped.

He shook his head at the duo and looked down at Ari again,who was whimpering softly. Had all the kids been startled awake by the storm?Or was it just Amber? And, he briefly wondered as he cast a worried look downat her, had she actually been woken up? Or had she, like him, been unable tosleep? Plagued by the fears of a different potential storm on the horizon?

He perked up when he noticed movement to his left. There,holding up his little sister’s favorite plush toy up towards her, was Kaden."Ari, look! I got Muffin for you!" He proclaimed happily.

She lifted her head with a sniffle, before reaching out withone hand and pulling the green dinosaur into her arms. "Thank you,"She said quietly, offering him a watery smile.

He beamed up at her before moving to stand in line with hisbrother and sister.

Keith smiled at him, warmed by his son’s thoughtfulness. "Goodjob, bud. That was very nice of you," He then looked back at the otherthree. Kaden was still toting the wiffel ball bat, tapping the carpeted floorwith it, while he spotted Amber toting her luxite blade. He reminded himself tolet her know in the morning that she should have left that hanging up on herwall, where he’d hung it up a few weeks prior. "You guys should head backto bed. Everything's fine and it's way too late for you all to be up.Especially since Mommy'll be coming home early tomorrow and we're gonna have abig family breakfast.”

Amber stared at him for a moment, before glancing down thehallways towards her own bedroom, and then back at him. "Yeah, but ourrooms are all the way down the hall,"

He blinked, turning to open his own door, then paused with hishand on the doorknob. "What?"

"You said it's late, so why make us walk all the way back to our beds? We can all just sleep with you and Ari, like a bigsleepover," She suggested. Ah, he realized what was going on. He saw aspark of recognition flash on the boys’ faces as well, seeing what their sisterwas trying to play at.

Ari lifted her head and looked at him excitedly."Sleepover! Sleepover, Dada!"

"Yeah! Walking is lame!"Newt agreed,

Kaden, ever the one to take the initiative, moved over,shoved Keith’s hands off the doorknob, and threw it open. "Come on, Dad!It's cold in the hallway," He said, Newt and Amber just a few quick stepsbehind him.

He couldn’t help butchuckle a bit as he followed after them. "You kids are ridiculous,"

He had been expecting that all three of them would just pileon to the bed, heedless to where Keith himself intended to settle in. But,instead, they all hovered by, waiting. It was he was settled in with Ari,getting the two of them tucked under the covers, before the three of them piledin with him.

Amber cuddled up beside her little sister on the left side,tucking up in Keith’s arm with her and snuggling her little sister lightly."Here, Ari. You can cuddle up here on this side with me and Daddy,"

On his left, Keith watched as the two boys came over on hisleft side, instinctively wrapping his arm around the two as they snuggled upagainst him. "Me and Newt will take the right, then,"

"Cool kidssleep on the right side! Dweebossleep on the left!" Newt announced, lifting his head long enough to blow araspberry at his sisters. Amber shifted, preparing to give him whatfor again,but Keith tightened his arms around them in playful warning.

"Kids, no more fighting,” He said gently.

Kaden snuggled down and smiled lightly. "Ari's worriedabout scary monsters, right? If we all snuggle together, then any monsterstrying to come in will see how many of us there are and leave!"

Newt turned to fix is amber eyes on his older brother."Well, that or they'll see our Dad is a flippin’ Paladin of Voltron,"

"Shush, dingus. We're trying to sleep," Ambersaid, stifling a yawn of her own. Ari, happily nuzzled in between her Daddy andsissy, had already started to doze back off.

Newt grumbled something else but was too quiet and muffledas he let out a squeaky yawn of his own, little eyes fluttering shut.

Keith couldn’t help but chuckle as he watched each of hiskids fall back asleep one at a time. Between the blanket and four little bodiessnuggled up against him, he was almost uncomfortably warm. His arms werefeeling a little tingly from having them both wrapped snug around the kids, butit was a sort of pleasant sensation. He’d never thought that he’d someday behappily married with a family all his own outside of his wildest dreams. Inyet, all these years later, through all the fears and tears and struggles they’dfaced, he had a happy life with a wonderful wife and four energetic kids thatmade up his whole world.

Were they perfect little angels all the time? No, but heloved them and wouldn’t change them for the world. He loved all the people inhis life, truly he did, but he loved his family the most. And, he thought as hepulled them just a bit closer in, his own eyes slowly drooping shut, he’d doanything he could to protect them.

[royal-writer]

It’s only a nightmare

i want to wake up

-

A final squeak echoed from the last step on the spiral staircase. Essätha shivered involuntarily from the icy cold sensation it left in her bones. Her insides quivered, breathing in the musky stale odors of the home. No breeze. No fresh air to fill lungs. Only floating specks in the air, and the disturbance of loud breathing from those in front of and behind her that made the space seem too loud.

Just as the rest of the old palazzo, this area was covered in a thin layer of dust. She noted the impression of new footsteps imprinted on the long runner carpet from the party’s series of shoes and feet as they looked around the impressive room. Large in size only however; it lacked and true character aside from paintings and a chandelier that sat high in the towering architecture of the ceiling. Lowering it daily likely proved a terrible chore when people had last resided here, in order to light the many candles.

“This place gives a La Belle et La Bête vibe, don’t you think?” Adela remarked with a strained laugh.

Essätha gave a snort in answer. Fairytale rubbish; there were much better reads to be had. The only redeeming quality of the novel had been the honest and true developing quality of the prince and Beauty’s love.

“Let’s hope no Beast comes out, begging for a virgin’s love,” Penimra all but purred, earning a swift disapproving glance from the pink Tiefling.

“That’s not what he asked for,” Essie tartly informed the high elf. “He told the merchant he wished for one of his daughters to suffer in his place, and he would let him go. He had no memory that the wicked one cursed him to his beastly form; he didn’t remember the fairy changed his shape at all until he could get a beautiful virgin to consent to marry him.”

“Well he’d be in poor luck,” Pen offered in a snotty tone, placing his hands on his wide hips. “The only beauty here has been bedded so many times-”

“Disgusting,” Ravamora muttered in revulsion.

“That’s not need-to-know information,” Sulhadur muttered, although there was no sign of surprise in his expression.

“Oh dear godsss,” Essätha groaned, stepping around some of the others. “A virgin doesn’t necessarily imply to sexual experiences, Pen. It could mean simply a free woman. Typically it means unmarried, but in a broader sense, it could just refer to one who is not owned as such like property; has no boss, no lover, no leader.”

Sulking, the warlock hunched his shoulders over with a dreadful sigh. “The world screwed the virginity out of me from the start.”

“Now now, Penimra, that’s no way to talk,” Abernathy soothed, stepping over to wrap one of his thick arms around the sullen elf’s shoulders.

A pity party? Now? Releasing a frustrated noise in her hand as she smothered her face, Essätha slid past the converging mass of her companions. It was like they couldn’t enter a manor to reclaim at all without something bad happening.

Pri’cha; having lit the way with a candle in their claw for the less-fortunate visual abilities, turned their gaze upon her as she approached. Eerie light refracted on the shine of their exo-skeleton from the wick’s flame; making a cascading aura of gold seem to shine around Pelor’s little follower.

It made her a convenient beacon for Amon, who seemed just as irate as she, as he shifted his jaw and worked his gaze over the room.

“Niss Essätha? Why would a Beast-nan be cursed by a fae folk?”

“It’s only a bedtime story, Pri’cha,” Essie soothed with a crooked smile of amusement. “The prince was cursed to appear like a bipedal animal because he refused to marry a wicked fairy; an unholy wench whose care he was left in because his mother left to wage war and defend the kingdom.”

Appalled, the small bug parted their mandibles in astonishment. “The fairy caretaker tried to seduce the prince?”

She shrugged. “It’s a strange book, to say the least.”

While the cleric struggled to comprehend and unravel the deranged message in the novel, Essie turned her eyes upon the nobleman. He took to one knee, inspecting the floorboards with a critical eye.

“Something wrong?”

He shook his head, and began to rise. The bottom of his cloak swirled dust around him; covering the bottom of his clothes in smears of filth.

“No,” he stated with unease. “The only other footprints that appear to be in this room are from small creatures; mice, lizards perhaps.”

“You don’t think the manor would be booby-trapped, do you…?” she ventured, tapping her boot against a space in front of her. The floorboards squeaked quietly beneath the test of her weight.

Amon grunted. “Doubtful. If anything else resides here, though…”

“Magic booby-traps,” Pri’cha whispered in almost awed reverence, stepping between them.

They exchanged barely-restrained laughter, to the Thri-Kreen’s confused staring from one to the other.

“Are you suggesting there’s some, or do you sense something?” Essätha inquired, trying to restrain her giggling.

The bug gave a shake of their head, wiping dirt that had collected on their pristine form off. “I feel nothing,” they solemnly stated. “There appears to be no magic in this area.”

Bobbing her head with understanding, Essätha stepped forward to investigate more of the surrounding area. There was a large throw carpet in the middle of the room; a pattern that seemed to emerge into some shape she couldn’t identify beneath the dirt and smears and smudges of footprints and discoloration. Frowning, she turned her attention elsewhere.

Peering at the panels of the wall, her eyes scanned each painting. Landscapes only; the farthest being an image of the villa it appeared. She looked to the doors; three on either side. Two had been left open. The middle on the left hand side, and the furthest on the right. Each appeared to lead to a bedroom, but it was hard to see inside at current angle.

While Amon circled the rug with Pri’cha’s candle aid, Essie crept over to the closest room open on the left. Her mind tuned out the noise from behind her. Bickering indecision; novel discussion, the definition of virgin, all of it. Her tongue darted out nervously over her lips, tasting the still air and the lingering odor of damp wood in it.

It was a simple bedroom. Clearly no master room. A bed; queen sized at least, with a veil of stained curtains much of it to block out the sun. Likewise, the window was covered; thick drapery shrouding out the light and shuttering the outdoors. There was no sound of songbirds or crickets; no chirp of critters or breeze to be heard moving outside. Silence. Disturbing, uneasy silence.

She stepped closer, examining the dresser and built-in closet in the wall. A nightstand stood on either side of the bed. There appeared to be a picture frame on the floor, with shards of glass scattered by the bedside. Nothing otherwise stood out as a personal object or memento. No paintings aside from more landscapes of valleys and hills, and no trinkets or children’s toys to differentiate the tastes or age of its previous owner.

Drawn to the only available clue, Essätha slipped inside the doorway.

The room felt suffocating. A lightheadedness swam over her as she breathed in the stifling air, and sank down to her knees to pick up the frame. Her hands began to shake uncontrollably. A shard of glass sank into her palm, drawing a line of red as she flipped it over.

Beneath the muffled ringing in her ears, the door slammed shut.

Oblivious, head throbbing, she turned it over to stare upon the image. A girl, young, sitting upon the lap of what one could presume to be the mother. Their hair color the same, their outfits quite similar. The child’s eyes were blank; purely white, with no iris, no pupil.

The longer she stared, the more horrifying it became. The shape of the woman appeared to erode; a sinister shape taking her image. Morphing, twisting, a skeletal shape that was not quite human.

The picture frame fell from her hands, and what glass still clung to the frame broke off to shatter loudly across the floor.

Awaken as though from a spell, Essätha sucked in a breathe and whipped her head around.

A scream tore from her throat.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Amon was the first to react; brandishing his sword as the sound of the door hurtled into the frame with enough force to shake the wall and send a wave of dust flying to the floor. His eyes jerked first to where Pri’cha was; still at his side as he’d been examining the carpet, and then to where the rest of where his colleagues stood gathered with mixes of similar confusion at the startling noise.

His heartrate; so steady even at the abrupt noise, suddenly jumped.

Where was Essätha?

Charging the door, with stunned companions a few steps behind in their sluggish shock, the nobleman grabbed for the knob and threw his weight into the door.

It did not budge. The handle did not turn. It felt cold to the touch, even wearing his leather gloves.

“Essätha?!”

His voice tore through him; raw and frantic.

A scream. An unholy scream; blood curdling and filled with terror.

His blood turned to ice.

Slamming into the door, he grunted as he threw himself bodily into the wood. Again, to no avail.

Too quiet. There was no other sound now on the other side of the door.

Another slam, gripping and twisting the knob uselessly in his hand, but still it did not budge.

He could hardly bare to breathe. The only other time he could recall that he felt this way was years ago. The strain on his chest; the paralysis that wanted to take over, the helpless feeling of panic. Fear so real and so vile it rendered him breathless and shaking. His head spinning, his muscles tense, the entire world but a casualty to his wrath in any pursuit to keep safe the soft glow of light that exuded from his heart’s fondest affection.

The last time he’d been this completely terrified is when no one knew where Marie was. They’d found her, minutes later in their search, asleep in the back of the manor having tired herself playing with the dogs outside.

He’d never been so scared. He was ready to do anything to make sure she was safe. To have some bit of information. Anything. Anything at all to know she was okay.

And that same feeling was surging up in him; a hurricane, a typhoon, an earthquake rocking his foundation and the only drive burning his lungs and bringing the hoarse cry of rage in his tight throat and keeping him focused; keeping his erratic heart from liberating from his chest, was that he had to get through that door. She had to be okay. He would get through, and he would protect her.

He had to. He had to.

Not her, too.

Not her.

Ripping out another husky battlecry, Amon lashed out at the sealing space between the door and the frame with his sword as he lunged into it once again.

The blade stuck into the wood.

“Step back, Amon,” a firm voice commanded of him. Abe’s.

Someone grabbed at him. He struggled, shaking as he was hauled back by Sulhadur’s firm grip. The dragonborn’s golden eyes were pleading, and just as frightened as his as Amon threw his elbow into the Dragonborn’s side to force his release.

“Amon-”

He ignored the red Dragonborn. His eyes darted back to the door, holding his breath as Abernathy swung his mighty axe with a sharp cry of fury.

It stuck, sending shards of wood like shrapnel flinging in every direction.

He wedged the battleaxe free, pulled it over his head, and grunted as it came forward again, smashing apart the doorhandle and with enough momentum to send the door flying open.

Nauseous with dread, Amon threw himself headlong ahead of the party; barely out of the way of the axe as he flung into the room ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Her mind couldn’t even comprehend what it was seeing. One second the black figure appeared humanoid, and the next it seemed almost cat-like. Shifting down, distorting upward, it’s face almost appearing canine next. It’s form a fluid mass of inky movement; the only consistency being the shape of its empty, lifeless eye sockets.

A sphere of oozing toxin formed above her hand, and she flung the poisonous magic at the shapeless mass. The sound it made caused her skin to pimple and the hair to rise on the back of her throat. It was a mixed sound between a mournful, crying woman and a wolf’s snarl of anger and hurt.

Half-crying half-laughing, the puzzling figure pounced at her; a muzzle forming from its face.

Teeth sank into the arm she threw up to defend herself, and another wild shriek escaped her. Her legs kicked out as she struggled, drawing a shape in the air with her other hand. The invisible rune and choked hiss of words summoned a skeletal hand, which grabbed at the monster’s throat as a shag of maned brown-red fur began to coat it.

Another roll of pain staggered into her brain as the creature reared back, snarling. She sucked in a breathe; the feeling as though something was spearing her head, pain coming and going randomly, made her twitch and recoil into the nightstand. Blood seeped down her arm, and speckled from her bloody hand upon the floor and the monstrosities canine-humanoid shape.

Her brain reeled, struggling to make sense of it as the furry complexion contorted again. A memory this time. Familiar. Wrapped in happiness; in love; in a carefully stitched pattern of images.

She sought the eyes of her mother’s face. They were green, just like she remembered. But lacking; void of spirit.

The haze of white seemed to wash over them, and consume her. All she could see was white.

Then her face, staring back at her.

Part of the door came flying out; chunks of wood hitting her. Her? She saw herself, detached, flinching from the shards of oak with a hiss.

Before another strike could blow the door open, the vision massed in a shadowy black once more. Faster this time; taking the shape of something it seemed to know well. A raven.

The bird flung itself over to the window. To her shock, it broke the single-pane glass, sending glass flying outward and leaving a collection of feathers stuck to sharp edges as it took to flight.

Lightheaded, Essie’s head fell back into the short table with a thunk. She gasped raggedly for air as a figure rushed the room. Her body tensed; in a whirlwind of motion too fast for the eye, barely making out the fur mantle and dark navy in a mistake for the uneasy figure that had been there moments before.

Lord Amon turned to face her. She scrambled back further.

Real, or not real? Real, or not real?

Her eyes moved upward, searching his face.

His dark eyes were soulful; overflowing with emotion. Terror, relief, worry; they were brimming with life and affection.

Real, her mind decided with its own sigh of relief. Recognition.

“Essätha,” Amon wheezed. His voice lacked depth; hardly had sound. It was a wheeze of a man with little air left inside to utter barely a word.

She tried to sit up more; a streak of crimson left from her hand as she slipped back into her half-laying position. Not that it mattered. The moment she moved, the nobleman took a few short strides across the room, his boots crunching on broken glass until he was beside her. He went to his knees with a bit more care to the surrounding sharp slivers, immediately gathering her against his torso.

The smell of dog and old forests clung to his skin. He seemed to find the will to breathe all at once; sucking in a great force of it as he pulled her closer.

She rested her head into his chest. The sound of his pulse was like a drum in her ear.

With more careful footsteps following in from behind, she managed to peer up from over Amon’s shoulder to see the rest of the company filing in the quaint room with mixed expressions. Fear, concern, and tension in most of them. Most everyone had a weapon at the ready uneasily.

“What happened?” Sulhadur spoke up; seeming to be speaking on everyone’s behalf as they studied the peculiar scene.

Her mouth opened, but she couldn’t find her voice. Swallowing helplessly, Essie leaned into Amon, digging her fingers into the back of his cloak for stability and leaving a stained bloody print of her hand on the fabric.

Abe moved forward gingerly. He met Amon’s gaze as he reflexively tightened his hold upon her, casting a wary glance to the approaching sound before seeing the half-elf-orc. He took a few seconds to examine the wound on her arm; engraved with teethmarks, before tentatively leaning over.

As the paladin laid a hand upon her shoulder, she sucked in a deep breath, and exhaled as her skin began to stitch itself back together.

“I saw a photo laying on the floor and went to fetch it,” she struggled, her voice distant and rough. “When I did I- I saw the image change. It was like a fog came over me. I didn’t know what was happening until I dropped the picture, and turned around to see a… thing standing behind me.”

“What photo?” Abernathy mused, looking around. He spotted the image, and lifted the frame from the floor. “This photo?”

Gasping, Essie swatted at him. “Don’t look at it-”

The frame fell back to the floor. She stared at it, surprised to see a non-animated image. The only thing that was the same as before, was the unsettling empty white area in the little girl’s eyesockets.

“What’s wrong with the picture?” Adela inquired, a shudder visibly moving over her as she leaned in.

“N-Nothing. Now,” Essätha explained, leaning her cheek against the sturdy shape of Amon’s shoulder. “Earlier it- it changed. The mother figure- or older figure, whatever you want to call it- began to take on a different form. You could see her skeletal shape as her skin almost… melted-”

She shivered, going silent as Amon stroked her back comfortingly. Her eyelids fluttered, wanting nothing more than to close and rest, but fearing the horrifying images might return.

“Creepy,” Ravamora observed a bit too nonchalantly for her taste. She shot the wood elf a glaring look.

“How did you get those bite marks?” Abernathy inquired, extending a hand to place carefully against her arm. He ran his fingers over where they had previously been, before he’d healed her.

“The thing standing behind me- about where Pri’cha is now, attacked me when I turned to look at it,” she whispered. The misshappen mass seemed to materialize even in her waking mind’s eye, and her spine grew tense.

Amon stroked her back slowly once more, murmuring something in a language she didn’t understand close to her ear. She couldn’t make sense of it, but the tone was gentle and sweet.

“What did it look like?”

Considering Abernathy’s words, she struggled to convey the oddity: “At first, it looked almost human. Tall. A little bit shorter than Sul? Entirely black, like a shadow. The only identifying feature were its eyes; they were white. Just… white.”

“It almost seemed to polymorph in front of me, but into multiple things at once. At one point it seemed almost cougar, another bear-like, then mouse, then wolf. It settled on the wolfish form. A hybrid? Like a werewolf? But just as it was almost on all fours, and materializing fur, I hit it with an acid blob. It jumped back and screamed. God it was the most unsettling sound I’ve ever heard; like a sobbing woman and numerous screeching animals all at once.”

Another shudder. She took a deep breath, and continued: “Then a pounding headache came over me. It seemed like it was poking at the inside of my skull, and it… Whatever it was, it began to look like… my mother.”

The room fell uneasily silent. Somewhere in the middle of her recollection, Amon had moved to sit- very carefully- amongst the glass with her, and had settled to pull her into his lap. She wrapped her hand into his clothes, taking deep breaths of his cologne to steady her resolve. The sound of his heartbeat had lulled back to its normal pace against her eardrum once again, and the strength of his arms offered a much-needed sense of security to her frail will.

To her dismay, Abe offered her a question before she could finish. “Did the creature begin to look like anyone else you know?”

“Yes, in fact,” she murmured in a dry, cracked voice. “It… took the shape of me. The door then- it shuddered and exploded bits over the room, and the thing turned once more, into a raven before breaking out of the window, right over there.”

She pointed to where the curtains had been displaced, and the foggy unclean glass sprayed out on the windowsill and outside.

Torm’s devote follower grunted with displeasure.

“I hate to say it, but it sounds like you’ve encountered a skin-changer, Essätha.”

A tense pause. “A what?”

“Skin-changer,” Abernathy offered once more. “Cursed people; they are not like were-beasts or other polymorphers. Nor are they like druids. Little is actually known about them, but Skin-changers are said to be once magic-weilding folk who used their magic in perverse and disturbing rituals.”

“Because of this, or perhaps on purpose, these people were changed. They no longer have a permanent form, and instead obtain the ability to change into other creatures at will. However, they can not take the form of an embodiment unless they have seen it.”

“If it changed into the shape of someone you knew, then whatever it was must have an ability to look into a person’s mind; an unproven theory until now,” Abernathy explained, uncomfortably adding on, “If… it has changed into you, Essätha, we need all be alert. There are tales of Skin-changer’s taking the place of the living whose form they can take. Some stories say if you look into the eyes of a Skin-changer, it steals a portion of your soul to aid in its transformations.”

A chill ran over her like an ice bath. Her lungs forgot how to function entirely.

“Abe,” Sul rumbled nervously, gazing over her pale features.

The paladin seemed to realized his error, and cleared his throat. “You’ve nothing to fear, Essätha. We’ll keep an eye on you to make sure nothing tries to replace you with any of us unaware and unguarded.”

That didn’t make her feel any better.

“There’s some blood and feathers still stuck on the window,” Ravamora chimed in. “Maybe we could check it out and use it to track the Skin-changer, somehow?”

“Good idea!” Abernathy agreed, grunting as he pushed himself up to his feet once again.

Essätha could hardly pay them a piece of her concentration. Her soul? That thing could have a piece of her soul?

She pressed her face into Amon’s chest, trembling all over as she breathed in his jerkin in quick little bursts. On the edge. Flickers of the creature; something that clearly should not be, clawing at the back of her mind.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Her form shook, nestled into his ribs and pressing closer like she wanted to climb inside him.

Amon was fine with the idea. He already held close her secrets, her fears, her softness. Swaddled them close, kept them gently near the fire beneath his breast in the beating of his heart. Let them be warmed, there. Let the light keep her fears away, there.

As the spread of the group began to disperse to thoroughly inspect the room, brought a hand to his face. Teeth dug into the leather of his glove, and he tore it off to toss it aside. His hand smothered down her backside as he repeated the gesture with the other, pulling her into his chest even more. One hand to cradle her back, the other to stroke her hair, and push the loose strands tenderly behind her ears with care.

A hiccup of breath pressed into his clothes, and Essie struggled to get closer, check shaking. Her fingers pawed at his coat.

“Hey,” he breathed in a hush, reaching down to take her hands. “Take a deep breathe. Hold it four seconds. Let it out, slowly.”

While he rearranged her position so she could sink into him, her arms placed around his shoulders so she could wrap them around his neck, the stuffy rasp of her breathing poured against him. Her breathing choked with tears she withheld, resting her face into his chest.

After the fourteenth-or-so deep breath, she finally spoke in a small, timid voice: “I want to leave.”

“Of course-”

“Stay with me,” Essätha wheezed against him, burying herself into him. “Please. I need you.”

The nobleman felt a stirring flutter deep in his heart.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he whispered close, caressing her back. “I’m here. I’m here.”

Another choked sound; a broken sob breaking through, and she slumped into the cradling of his arms. Completely vulnerable, shattered, and trusting.

He spoke low in her ear. The words of elvish had such relaxing tones. She may not understand the sweet nothings he promised her; his sword, his shield, his protection, his heart and all his love, but the soothing depth and meaning seem to bring her a sense of calm. Her crying was quickly turned to merely weak snivels in no time. He cared for neither sound; each made his heart hurt in the worst way, but it was an improvement to soul-crushing weeping or the scream he could not shake from his thoughts.

Abernathy approached once again from around the bed.

“We are going to check the other rooms-”

Arms tightened around his neck.

“I’m taking Essätha outside,” Amon reported shortly. He’d had enough of his mad-house, and the poor woman crumbled against him had surely seen enough for the day.

The orcish-elf did not argue, but solemnly nodded with understanding. “We’ll join you shortly.”

Sighing as the paladin turned away to address the others, Amon slipped his legs carefully in. He could feel the tension rise in Essie’s spine once again as she clutched for him; like he was but an apparition, and would vanish if she did not hold too tight with all her might.

“It’s okay,” he comforted her softly. “I’m not letting go of you.”

A muted, wavering sigh pressed into his collarbone. He could only make out a single ‘M’lord’ in whatever she suppressed to say into his clothes, but even just one word from her sweet voice melted any doubt and further strengthened his resolve.

Resting her weight carefully against himself, Amon slipped a hand against her rear for support, and stood. His neck hurt for a moment as she hung for a moment; a dead weight, before he could drag her closer and she looped her legs around his hips for purchase.

Stepping out of the ghastly haunted room, the nobleman murmured endearing affections into her hair, pressing a kiss against the curly waves of black before turning the opposite direction of their peers to head down the stairs.

The grateful shape of her lips trailed his collarbone as she sighed, going placidly lax in his arms.

He wore the most awed smile of devotion a man could ever have, taking one slow step at a time, as they left the wash of the ugly moment behind.

He would keep her safe. No demonized fiend would take her beautiful soul, now or ever.

Not her.

Not his beautiful Essätha.

[dorkyungsoowrites]

Spontaneous Attraction Ch. 21

Pairings: Kyungsoo x You

Genre: Fluff/Angst/Smut | Ambiguous AU

Warnings: None

Word Count: 5.6k

Description: Kyungsoo surprises you.

A/N: The song I was thinking of when writing near the end of this chapter was this one if you're interested. It's a really beautiful piece, but you can imagine your own favorite if you wish.

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A concert hall when there's no concerts planned is rather surreal. The large theater-like auditorium was eerily quiet, and you only turned on a few of the backstage lights so you could see. It cast long shadows through the narrow hallways, each of your footsteps echoing. You went into a green room of sorts where there was an old sofa and a storage of chairs. The tall stacks took up half the room. Not normally one to get mad or jealous left you feeling overwhelmed. You didn't have much experience dealing with it so it continued to make you itchy and restless. You paced. How can one human live with being so vile? Her only good qualities seemed to be how cute she looked and her cooking. She was a liar, and unfaithful, and manipulative, and shallow, and so plastic Barbie would gawk. Her whole attitude soured your afternoon. Just thinking about her nasally, fake sing-song voice grated your nerves. You don't think you've ever hated someone as much as you did her. She encompassed every quality you despised in a person. It was almost impressive.

The anger still tangled. Driving had helped, but thinking about it brought it all back again with a new force. You jerked down one of the stacks in the room, a dozen or so metal and plastic chairs clattering to the ground in a cacophony of screeches and bangs that hurt your ears. You can't recall ever raising your hand to anyone like that before. How could Kyungsoo ever like a monster like that? How could he have been so blind to how horrible she was? How could he not feel the urge to puke every time she crossed his mind? How could he not do anything about it but say she wasn't worth his time? Were you any better for stooping down to her level by calling her names and almost slapping her? Your lungs constricted, heart galloping to gain speed. You collapsed on to the sofa, the springs protesting, and let your tears fall hot on your face.

How could he let her touch him like that? Speak like that? Who even says shit like that like you're not even there? You allowed yourself to think about why that hurt so much. The way he looked at her was familiar to how he looked at you sometimes. Your fists curled in on themselves. At some point he had fucked her. He fucked that villain of a woman. Those same sweet, plump lips had wandered her skin. She had heard his little breathless moans and sweet whispers. She had felt his dick inside her. Before you. He had touched her in ways you didn't know; free of apprehension and caution. Not chained by his trust issues or worries. Lingering, sweeping caresses filled with undeniable affection. Ways you could only dream about. She still had her claws in him. Your chest got tighter, unable to keep your breathing even. You were having trouble keeping your thoughts rational. Didn't you matter enough to him? Weren't you enough? Your heart was compressed painfully. You couldn't stop from wondering if he had ever thought about her with you. Was he watching for warning signs that you were similar? Did he actively avoid holding you in the same way he had with her? Would you never know what it was like to be truly, deeply loved by Kyungsoo? It made you sick to think you might share any qualities with that snake. Your stomach churned, and a pit swallowed your insides. Your gut was hollow. Like someone had reached in and licked them clean. Tears rolled down your cheeks. This was fifty times worse then when Chanyeol had sex with you drunk in high school. You felt violated somehow. You were empty. Alone. An uneasiness cocooned you in your own isolated corner of the universe sat there on that old sofa in a dark concert theater.

An electronic ringing startled you. It was your phone. Correction: it was Kyungsoo trying to call your phone. You tapped the red button. You needed time to cool down. The conclusion smacked in to you like a train. This is how Chanyeol felt watching Kyungsoo be with you. Knowing you were touching Kyungsoo like you used to hold him. This is how Kyungsoo felt when Chanyeol or the others got too close. Afraid another person would know what it was like to be loved by you and siphon it away from him. To a lesser degree you imagined, but the jealousy seeped through your veins and corroded your heart like acid. Just when he was putting more faith in you you go and act like some over-reactive lunatic. You were disappointed in yourself for lashing out immaturely. You should be better than this, but when he licked his lips as she leaned closer your brain flooded with the fear that he would kiss her. Your unwavering trust in him suddenly grew a grain of doubt. If you hadn't jumped in would he have kissed her? The majority of you wanted to believe he had enough sense not to hurt you the same way he had been hurt. He wasn't a hypocrite, but there was always that nagging voice in the back of your mind. It pointed out that for the first three months you were together he had no problem lying to you about his job. It was different, but also not. The way he got trapped in a trance with her around...you couldn't say he would never hurt you with complete certainty anymore. That fact is what you resented the most out of this situation.

After a couple of hours you drove back to your apartment. You had calmed down and cleaned up the chairs then strolled around the empty building trying to clear your head. Kyungsoo had called five more times before giving up. You weren't sure what you would say to him, but you knew you were drained and wanted to sleep. It was a long fucking day.

Only when you got to your front door Kyungsoo was sitting on the floor slumped against it. He was blocking the way. When you ran off your roommate should have been there. She was gone when you returned, but that would mean he specifically denied waiting inside so you couldn't avoid him. He had been sitting there for hours. A pang of guilt hit you. When you stepped closer he looked up and sighed in relief. He pushed himself to his feet. You noticed how red and puffy his eyes were, dark circles sitting underneath from where he hadn't caught up on his sleep.

"You should be resting," you couldn't help but say. "You look exhausted. Health comes first, Soo." He side-stepped to allow you to unlock the door and followed you inside. Once he re-locked the door he realized you were already halfway across the room. He hurridly threw off his shoes and ran after you, catching your shoulder before you could leave the living area. He didn't try to turn you around, voice small and afraid.

"Please don't leave." When you didn't move he continued. "You have every right to be upset with me. I don't know what came over me. I couldn't move. Please believe me." His voice cracked on the last words and you swallowed the sudden lump in your throat. His second hand rested on your other shoulder and stepped closer. You felt the heat radiating off his body. Kyungsoo dropped his forehead next to his left hand. His tone lowered to a whisper to hide his straining voice. "She means nothing to me. I can't lose you. I'm so sorry. I never...I swear--"

"It's not like I'm in the clear either," you replied solemnly. "I shouldn't have blown up like that. When she touched you and talked to you like that...I just got so jealous."

"No, no," Kyungsoo consoled instantly. His hands massaged slowly over your shoulders down your arms while he spoke. "I've never seen anyone stand up to her like that before. I couldn't believe it. It was amazing."

"Amazing?" you repeated gently. "I almost hit someone, Soo. I've never been that angry before. I hated it." He placed a lazy kiss to the side of your throat. Flashes of him kissing her came behind your eyelids. The same lips her fingers had grazed hours before. The same pair he parted for those fingers. You resisted recoiling from the touch. It didn't work. You didn't dare look back in fear of his reaction.

"You were defending me. Protecting me. I was in awe, jagiya." His fingers slipped to your waist. "That's all you've ever done, isn't it? You've given so much of yourself and your time to take care of me. You're far more generous than I deserve. I don't know what I'd be like if I never met you. I don't think I'd like that Kyungsoo. You've done so much for me. I owe you everything." His shoulders shook once, choking back a sob. Remorse covered his next words. It steadied the frantic swirling of emotions that had built up in your chest so you could sort them out. It meant you could help, and that's something you enjoyed. Helping others be happy. "I'm a terrible boyfriend. I should be stronger for you. I shouldn't have to rely on you for everything."

"You know, I kinda like taking care of you," you reminded him gently. "I really haven't done all that much. You're the one who's stayed strong. I like it when you can rely on me for a few things." His lips returned to your neck, mouthing against the sensitive skin. You tensed, but didn't flinch away that time.

"Stop. You're comforting me again and that's not the point."

"What do you want me to say? I don't understand why you're upset with yourself."

"Because it's you," he answered. It was like he was pleading with you. He needed you to understand. Acting like he was more worried of your reaction than the actual issue. Didn't he know you weren't going to yell or send him away? You blamed the snake for this. She had severely messed with his head. Kyungsoo should realize you were more empathetic and less petty than that. "It's you and you're wonderful and I just sat there. I can't even listen to myself. How am I supposed to expect you to not get too close with the other members if I can't even tell one woman to stop? I might as well have fucked her on the table." Something wet splattered on your skin. It trickled down and soaked in to the collar of your shirt. "I've tried for so long, but I'm never going to deserve you. Oh god, and now you're going to leave because I was an idiot." You whirled around to face him at that. Your arms embraced him. He hid his face in the crook of your neck, hands on your back.

"That was the stupidest thing I've heard you say. I'm not leaving, Kyungsoo," you told him in a low soothing voice. "Don't you ever think that." You weaved a hand through his short hair. His heat and firmness combined as he leaned against you and you felt his small puffs of air at your ear, sending goosebumps all over your skin. He touched every surface of your body he could in the position. You shoved down the image of him holding the other woman like this. He was trembling.

"I'm sorry," he repeated guiltily. "I'll do whatever it takes to make it up to you."

"Calm down, sweetheart," you cooed lovingly. More wetness hit your skin. You started lowering, legs tired and unwilling to move. He followed you to the ground, sitting on your haunches. Kyungsoo let himself collapse into you, limp in your arms. A sob cracked his voice, sniffling. You carded your fingers through his hair, other hand running up and down his back. "I'm right here, Kyungsoo. I'm not letting go."

"Why not?" he rasped defeatedly.

"Because I love you," you replied without thinking. Any other time he would have grinned and said it back. That time he only cried harder, air escaping him unevenly and being gasped back in in tiny hiccups.

"You should be furious. Why aren't you mad?"

"I am upset, but I can't change that right now. I know I need a few days to calm down. You do, too. You're exhausted."

"Not for you," he argued stubbornly. "Let me make it up to you. Let me take care of you."

"Kyungsoo--" your voice snagged in your throat as his lips met your neck. They pressed softly to your flesh, peppering affections up the line of your jaw. When they reached the joint by your ear they became more urgent, trailing back down.

"Let me make you feel good," he whispered hotly, the words spilling from him in a rush to speak in between kisses. "Let me make you cum in the way only I can." You bit your tongue to prevent any noise from escaping. The tip of his tongue darted out to taste your skin. You knew he must have caught his tears in the process. You jerked away and immediately regretted it. Your eyes met his. They were bloodshot and dewy. The dark circles underneath puffed out with his cheeks that were blotchy and red. A single new streak stained his face from the center of his right eye where a salty droplet had collected on his lower lashes, and something inside of his dark brown irises fractured. He was pouting. Bottom lip jutting out past the upper, and your chest ached. You spoke slowly, absorbed in his eyes. Torn between comforting Kyungsoo and protecting yourself.

"Don't...look at me like that." He sucked in his plump lower lip to nibble at in an attempt to hide the emotions oozing through in physical form. You thumbed at his cheek to wipe away the wetness there. His gaze danced around your features before drifting to your own lips longingly and darting up again like he was afraid of getting caught.

"Like what?" His speech was just as drawled out.

"Like I'm breaking your heart."

"Then let me feel you." It wasn't right. Both of your mindsets were all wrong. Without replying you rose to your feet. He remained stunned on the floor. You walked to the kitchen and poured a few sips of whiskey in a glass then returned to him. When you kneeled he swiped at his eyes and choked back a sob. It didn't work well. His small gasp was sharp and loud in the quietness of the apartment. You took up his hand and urged his fingers to grasp the cup. He threw the liquor back, glass thudding on the hardwood afterward. Another sharp, choking gasp. More tears fell. He was panicking, his whole body quaking as it became more difficult for him to breathe. He hunched over, legs falling out beside him, forearms on the floor, hiding his face in the space between. Calmly, you brought a big, fluffy blanket back to where he lay huddled in on himself. Panic attacks you knew how to handle. His wasn't full blown yet, but you saw the harsh breathing and scared look on his face. Everything had become too much for him to conceal behind his stoic features. It didn't surprise you that with his stressful job something like this could happen. He was mentally and physically drained from touring and running into his abusive ex that afternoon. He had pushed himself too hard. Put too many expectations on himself. On you. You weren't perfect, and you weren't going to instantly forgive every transgression of his towards you, but you weren't going to close him out either. You didn't always know what to do and say despite what he thought.

Draping the blanket over his small frame did nothing. He needed something to ground him to reality. You hugged his middle awkwardly from the side, resting your head on his back. The touch made him flinch at first, but when he realized your intention he curled up tighter. His shaking hands pulled the blanket around his face, his sharp gasps elongating, attempting to control his breathing.

"It's okay," you said quietly. "Just breathe. I'm here, Kyungsoo. Listen to me. Nothing bad is going to happen. Don't force yourself. It's okay to cry. I won't leave you. You're not alone through this. Just breathe." You huffed as his arms came around you suddenly, pulling you to your side. He hugged your waist, face hidden under your chin, fingers digging into your back, grappling to you like a life buoy. You embraced him while he sobbed and shook in your arms.

This was the only way he'd ever hold you.

Desperation.

Desperate to feel your contact, desperate to claim you, desperate to keep you. Was that what you had become? Not just a support, but the cure-all to his hurts? The bandage? The balm? You promised to help him trust again and be by his side. But...somewhere along the way did you cease to exist without his name following you? Y/N and Kyungsoo. Kyungsoo and Y/N. Kyungsoo brought his girlfriend today. Kyungsoo's girlfriend invited us all over for dinner. Kyungsoo gets anxious when you touch his girl. They're attached at the hip. Kyungsoo's moving in with her soon.

You had been steadily stripped down. You were his. Not just in heart; in name and soul. In your quest to make his heart more accepting you had isolated yourself. You had let his unhealthy habits creep up on you and take over. You were too soft. Gave in to his indulgences too readily. Kyungsoo made you weak. You couldn't resist him at all.

After near an hour passed Kyungsoo evened out his breathing, but didn't let up his hold. He let you raise his head to look at you. You wiped his face and nose with the blanket.

"There. Now will you come sleep?" He nodded silently. Kyungsoo leaned forward to kiss you, but you turned away. He frowned and croaked out,

"Why won't you let me touch you?" You blushed, ashamed by the answer, and tried to move. He pulled you down and held you still. "Why?" You shoved on his chest. It was hard to think with his big, round, sad eyes that close. You leaned on your elbow, staring at the floor.

"Because," you muttered bitterly. "What's the point?"

"What's the point?" he scoffed in disbelief. "Comfort? Relief? Pleasure? Love?"

"What love?" The words slipped before you could stop them. His eyes widened. You both sat up. More word vomit left your mouth without thinking. "You just fuck me because you're possessive. I'm sure little miss perfect chef got all your real love. You've never just touched me."

"What do you mean?" You sighed.

"It won't ever be enough, will it?"

"I don't understand, jagi. Of course I love you."

"I know you do, but how else do I know except from your word alone? What parts of you did she get that I'm not? How much more did you touch her and mean it? It feels like she got the real Kyungsoo and I'm only getting the pieces she left behind. She was so fucking amused I was picking up her leftovers. That sounds so selfish and stupid out loud, but how else am I supposed to think when the only times you fuck me are when you need me for something? Comfort or someone to claim as yours. Why can't I be enough for you as I am? Why do I have to wait for you to be hurting?" Your voice cracked on the last sentence. "I don't understand why you can't just love me with your whole heart. It hurts, Kyungsoo. It hurts knowing the person you love with every fiber of your being doesn't trust you and return that feeling."

"You think I don't?" he exhaled pitifully. His eyebrows came together and rose up. Lost and pained. "Y/N. Jagiya..." He wiped his eyes clear of any lingering tears. "Is that why you were so upset?"

"Partially."

"I never--" He paused and started over, trying to find the right words. You continued staring at the floor. "We were only together once, and I didn't enjoy it. Not like I love being with you. You showed me how amazing it could feel to be with someone because you care about them. I was an awkward mess around her. It wasn't me. It's so easy for me to be myself with you." Your gaze lifted.

"Really?"

"Really really." The corner of your mouth ticked upward. Kyungsoo stroked your cheek, fingers tangling in your hair. "She didn't even care to get to know me, but you know me better than anyone. I promise I love you wholeheartedly. I do trust you. You have me; all of me. Not pieces or leftovers. She didn't know what the fuck she was talking about."

"Why don't you act like it?"

"Because I'm an idiot," he chuckled. You scoffed, but an amused smirk pulled on your lips. You really were weak around him. "Are you still mad?"

"A little." He frowned.

"Why?"

"I don't believe you."

"I don't understand."

"It doesn't feel like I know you. I'm constantly guessing. I've never been able to understand you."

"Oh...really?" He blinked at you innocently. "I've always thought it was amazing how intuitive you are." You huffed out a weak laugh.

"Then you must not know me either." Kyungsoo made a pensive expression then stood. You watched, unsure, as he bent down and held out his hands. After hesitating a moment you took them and he pulled you to your feet. You followed silently as he walked through your apartment to the living room. He tossed the blanket you gave him over the sofa. You tilted your head in questioning. He pushed the coffee table aside then took out his phone. He set it on the sofa and faced you, bowing at the waist as the music started. A waltz. The strings established the rhythm, plucking lightly. They were joined by a clarinet then a saxophone who began the melody. Kyungsoo outstretched a hand with a hopeful half smile.

"Dance with me?" You stood shocked. He closed the distance and wrapped his fingers around yours with one hand. They still trembled slightly. He guided the other to his shoulder before resting his on your waist. You gaped.

"Y-you dance? Like, ballroom?"

"I learned," he answered. Before you could say anything the rest of the orchestra came through the speaker on his phone, all joining the melody, and he pulled you in to step with him. It was more of a small shuffle in the tiny space, but it was dancing. You kept up after shaking off the shock, avoiding his feet. "I saw you dancing in the kitchen a few times when you thought I was in the bathroom," he explained. "So I asked your roommate and she said you liked old fairytale tropes more than you'd admit. Told me you always secretly dreamed of dancing spontaneously with your significant other. I've been listening to classical music and decided to watch a few videos on waltzing. I was going to surprise you when we moved in to our new apartment." It was hard to take in. Not only had Kyungsoo been studying the music you loved to play, but he learned to dance to some of that music. It was extremely touching. No one had ever tried to get in to classical music for your sake. They brushed it off as boring or didn't want to take the time. Playing music in an orchestral setting was the thing you loved doing more than anything else in the world, and he took the time to understand that. To immerse himself in it. He listened and took it to heart. He knew you better than you'd thought.

"Kyungsoo..." you breathed. He blushed under your stare, losing some of his nerve.

"Am I not turning enough? Did I pick a bad song?"

"I had no idea you were listening to this music for me."

"Of course. You listen to mine."

"But dancing too?" He chortled and shook his head in mock disappointment.

"Unbelievable. Your eyes are all sparkly like stars. How did I fall for such a dork?" The key changed in the song, more violins joining. You held his hand tighter. He smiled warmly, face inches from yours. And he had insisted in the past he wasn't one for grand romantic gestures. Liar. A smirk pulled on your lips.

"I seem to recall it was because you got shitfaced drunk and had to be taken care of like a lost puppy."

"Low blow."

"A cute, small puppy." He scowled, a playful glint in the twitch of his lips.

"You're gonna take that back." The strings did a flourish as the music crescendoed and changed back to the original key. Kyungsoo stepped quickly and spun you out from his body, still keeping hold of one hand. You were standing beside him. Then on the next count he tugged you to reverse the spin. You collided ungracefully with his chest. Kyungsoo held you close as you continued waltzing in your living room. He was grinning. You wavered a moment at the blinding quality. His eyes weren't bloodshot anymore. He was genuinely happy. You felt your heart skip. "Still think I'm cute?" You couldn't answer. The words wouldn't form. You were struck speechless. Kyungsoo slid his hand to the small of your back and mumbled, "such a dork." It was almost as if your fight hadn't occurred. Almost.

The dance went on. One two turn, one two turn, one two turn. Right back left, right back left, right back left, all in a circle. It wasn't your rug anymore. You were twirling on a cloud. And he was the gentleman to sweep you off your feet. It was something you'd only dreamed about. There was a magical quality to being able to dance with someone else. Normally you spun around a ghost in the kitchen while cooking or cleaning. An invisible partner was nothing compared to this. Your daydreams weren't perfect, but this was. Your feet naturally followed beside his. His palm in yours grew clammy. The second your other hand slipped from his shoulder to his chest you could feel his heartbeat. It fluttered under your fingertips. This was real. His love for you was real. You felt like such an ass for doubting him.

"You've done a lot for me too you know," you pointed out meekly. He looked at you pointedly, arching an eyebrow.

"Yeah?"

"Well first, you did all this for me."

"You like the dancing?"

"I like that you tried to take interest in my passions. Let's not even count the number of times you've helped me get better at cooking or just did it for me. You also support my work. I can't even begin to find the words to show my appreciation for that encouragement. I can tell you've changed since I met you. Maybe that's just you opening up more, but I think you worked really hard to forget about the bad habits your ex instilled in you. Seeing her today couldn't have been easy. Especially with me there making a mess of things." The tempo slowed. Kyungsoo focused on you with a ferocity only he could accomplish while simultaneously looking relaxed. It was always an experience being under his scrutiny. It astounded you how completely he could narrow in on one goal and stay on it. It showed in his work every day. He made you feel like you were the only existing thing. Like your little universe was only populated by you two. That only you mattered. It was thrilling and terrifying, and filled your chest with warmth. It was safe locked in his gaze. Comforting.

"You don't need to apologize. I wouldn't have been able to get through that if you weren't there for me."

"Shut up a minute I'm trying to be corny." He chuckled at your outburst. "You're warm and kind, and thoughtful. Smart and talented. Maybe a little too practical sometimes, and you're grumpy when you're bored."

"I thought you were going to compliment me."

"But I love you," you finished. "I'll always love you. I can't imagine a future without you there. I'm sorry for getting jealous and doubting your feelings. It was stupid. I'm happiest with you. You're safe."

"That sounds awfully close to boring."

"Not at all. I just mean you make me feel at home." You sighed and jokingly added, "It's like lately we've switched places. I'm being insecure and you're taking chances." The tempo was gradually increasing again as the strings kept the counter-melody lighter with short notes.

"So my dancing is charming enough to get you to forgive me?"

"Yeah. Sure. I'll still need a few days to cool down though." The lower brass entered bombastically, and Kyungsoo did one sharper turn to catch you off guard, making you gasp. He grinned and laughed at your reaction.

"Is this the first time you've danced with anyone?"

"Of course. It's not exactly commonplace."

"Well remind me to do it more often," he declared. "Your face is priceless." Your cheeks flamed up. The entire orchestra came back in in a different key, loud and magnificent. It swept you up with a feeling of nostalgia and romance. You wished you could remain in his arms all night like this. The song was coming to a close. A solo violin took over the last few bars. "Do you still want to move in with me?"

"Absolutely," you answered without hesitating. Kyungsoo slowed your steps gradually until you were standing still, eyes fixed on you. He looked enchanted. Your mind jumped back to the restaurant one last time. The way he was trapped under her in a trance...wasn't the same. He had been rigid and almost frightened. Here with you it was different. Almost like he wanted to be drowned by you. He welcomed your call to come closer. He yearned for the emotions to swallow him up. You couldn't quite place your finger on it, but it was more transparent than before. He leaned closer, letting your hand go so he could cup your face. There were no masks or illusions or fancy words. Kyungsoo was open; drawing you in through his heady gaze.

The violin cried through a long fermata. Then he kissed you. Just a whispered touch. The first in an ever deepening pool that would threaten to consume you. He kept coming back for more, plush lips pressing languid, lingering touches to yours. His breath fanned across your face. His tongue teased your lower lip, and you opened to him. The hand on your back urged you forward, molding his body to yours while his other threaded fingers in your hair. You ran your palms over the plane of his chest, feeling the muscles tense and jump at the simplest brush of skin. Your fingers linked around the back of his neck. Little sighs and breathless moans like fading sunlight poured into your mouth. His desperation melded with yours and grew with every gentle caress. He splayed his hands on your back, cradling you as if he had been practicing exactly how to in his head all night. He pressed more firmly against you. His lips brushed against yours more incessantly. If there was a time you could pinpoint where you forgot about everything and gave in, that was it.

The desire to direct how the night would end dissipated. You didn't care. Kyungsoo could have kissed that monster of a woman in the restaurant and you'd still love him. He was it. You knew it deep down in your bones. You may not believe in soulmates, and it's true no one is perfect, but Kyungsoo was perfect for you. There was no one else you'd rather spend your time with. You'd be his forever if he asked.

Kyungsoo stepped forward. You stumbled backward with him. He continued with this until the backs of your knees hit your bed. He gingerly lowered you to the mattress, refusing to disconnect your mouths. Body pressed tightly to yours, you ran out of air. You gasped for breath. His lips traveled to your ear.

"I love you," he mumbled sweetly. You shivered visibly. "Completely and always." He rolled so you were laying on his chest. Your legs intertwined with his, arms wrapping around you securely.

"I love you, too Kyungsoo. Always." He sighed contentedly and you rested your head on his shoulder. One of his hands slid up the card through your hair. Then a low vibration hit your ears. His chest rumbled. He was humming. The notes drifted around the small bedroom like a lullaby. The waltz. It was relaxing and his voice soothed all the heartache. Smooth and rich. Like a colorful ribbon dancing around and gently touching each note. You loved his voice. Always overflowing with emotion. It never failed to lighten your mood when the world around weighed on you. Naturally, you joined. The harmonization was one you never tried before. You weren't trained like he was. But you had the ear for music, and it was hard to mess up humming. Kyungsoo smiled kindly, surprised by hearing your voice. He kept playing with your hair, sending shivers down your spine. Before you realized it you were drifting off to sleep.

[the-musical-cc]

Yyyyeah, I wrote a thing because I like to make myself cry.

Parties weren’t really his thing. Sure, maybe his mother loved them, but often they meant a group of Goddesses who he rarely even saw pinching his cheeks, telling him how much he’d grown and asking him questions he had to speak to answer. When his siblings were around, it was easier, but this time they had scattered to explore the castle as soon as they arrived, leaving him behind. Baak and Oriana weren’t much help and Fuega had her own shyness to overcome, so he’d had to deal with a good hour of it on his own and he was exhausted.

There was another factor, though. Lucas. Even if the healers assured them that the medicine had done a great job at controlling his seizures, the fact was that everyone was still afraid to take their eyes off him, and while Lucas tried not to make a fuzz about it, Tristán could tell it kind of bothered him. Particularly when his younger brothers, like himself, were the ones playing nanny. Tristán eyed his brother for a moment, pondering, and then lightly tapped him on the hand to call his attention.

‘Will you be alright on your own?’ he signed ‘I kind of wanna explore around as well’

Lucas pondered on it shortly, but ended up nodding.

‘It’s fine. I’ll be right here’ and he smiled reassuringly.

‘Sure?’

‘Sure I’m sure. I’ll stay close to mom in case anything happens. You go ahead and have fun’

So Tristán seized the first chance he had to slip outside and to a secluded spot in the gardens. Mayahuel’s house was surrounded by a mile’s worth of magueyes. He walked among them, enjoying the silence, until he found a nice grassy spot to sit on.

The stars could be seen from this plane, and he was grateful. There was nothing quite like them, even in his mothers’ domain. They made him instantly relax and forget about the noise and crowd of the party inside the castle. It was so peaceful out there...so peaceful...

He woke up after what seemed hours and scratched his head. The nap had been refreshing, although he preferred his own bed. He began to make his way back to the castle, hoping his siblings were as tired as he was so they could leave soon, but on the way back, the sight of a circle of little heads surrounding a scene caught his eye. He heard someone fall to the ground with an ‘Oof’ and winced. Oh, no. This was the problem with parties where the adults were having too good a time to check on their kids. He looked around, hoping to stop one of his older siblings or cousins, but saw no one, and, with a sigh, he approached the scene.

The multitude was conformed by godlings, angels, mestizos, some cryptids and maybe a calaca or two. He could barely see anything from what they were watching in mesmerized silence, except that it was a gang of angels and they were well into their teens. He made a face. Why did he have the creeping suspicion that they weren’t picking on someone their own age? He sighed and searched his pockets, maybe he had a candy bar or two to offer the poor victim once they were done. It wasn’t much but it would at least help them feel comforted.

“Get up!” one of the angels was saying “Can’t you even do that, worthless spare?”

The gang laughed. None of the kids forming the circle did, a couple of them seemed mortified. Tristán scoffed. Not mortified enough to intervene, thought? Well, he was one to talk, though… if he could only wield a sword properly! Then they’d see. He’d show them. As he was, though, he would only make things worse and end up with two beat-up kids instead of one.

“I pity your parents” another bully said.

“I pity your entire family” the first one said “How did they ever overcome the shame of your birth?”

Tristán frowned, hoping they would just get it over with. He didn’t think he could stand hearing more of this. He heard someone shuffling -presumably the victim trying to get to their feet- followed by the sound of them falling over again, no doubt pushed again by one of the bullies.

“Aw, you gotta try harder than that!”

“Why don’t you do everyone a favor and disappear, you freak!?”

“Oh, guys, we’re wasting our breath! He can’t even hear us!”

Tristán froze, his heart beating up his throat. Oh, no. Please, Gods, no. He was supposed to stay inside, he was supposed to stay inside-

He began to move, frantic, trying to squeeze between the bodies surrounding the scene, earning a lot of groans and curses, until someone shifted enough for him to see the victim and he sucked breath in, his stomach dropping.

It was Lucas. He was covered in grime, as though he’d been rolled over it, and he sat on the ground, eyes set on the dirt absent and glossy. His lip was getting fat. Tristan struggled harder.

“Leave him alone!” he shouted. He didn’t know he could be this loud “Leave him alone!”

One of the angels in the group turned and saw him and elbowed the leader. Pale eyes set on his shape. Murmurs spread among the present.

“Chin! Es el hermano!” someone in the circle said. The sea of children parted, recognition in their eyes as they glanced over him. Tristán, his eyes set on Lucas’ shaking form in every step, made his way through them. A lot of times, he had fantasized about doing this, about facing bullies to defend someone, but he didn’t feel like he’d imagined he would, powerful and glorious. He felt sick. His eyes were watery.

“Hey, isn’t he related to this sorry freak?” one of the bullies asked.

“He’s my brother” he set his eyes on the pale-eyed angel, the one that seemed to be the leader of this little pack. They were all older and taller than him, but he was positively boiling with anger and couldn’t care less for the moment being “So you leave him alone right now”

“What, this broken little twerp?” the pale-eyed one snickered, kicking some dirt in Lucas’ direction. Something cracked inside Tristán “We were just playing with-”

Tristán’s fist impacted his face and he fell back, on his butt, blood gushing out of his nose. Everyone gasped and hell broke lose. Most of the audience was disbanding, running for it. More figures were approaching.

“Don’t call him that” Tristán’s voice was quivery and shrill. His entire body was shaking. It was exactly like the stories he’d read, the stories Miguel had told him on the late nights. The hero had stepped up against injustice. But he still felt sick, and angry, and tears were spilling from his eyes, and he wanted to scream himself hoarse and then some more. He’d been feet away and had done nothing! He’d left him alone for monster like these kids to pick on! What kind of brother was he?

“Apologize” he demanded, his voice still watery. The pale-eyed angel glared at him over his broken nose.

“You stuck-up little son of a native wh-”

With a roar, Tristán fell over him, hitting every part of him he could reach. Someone grabbed him from behind, pulling his hair, only to be tackled one second later. A quick glance showed Tristán the cavalry was here. Rahui was kicking and screaming on the grasp of the angel that had pulled his hair. Somewhere on the back, Esteban and Adeleine were trying to pull a bully off Baak’s fallen, struggling shape, to no avail. Oriana had curled the strap of another bully’s bag around his neck somehow and was mercilessly pulling, much to Valdez’s evident dismay. Even Fuega and Feliciana had each grabbed one leg of the biggest one and wouldn’t leg go, bitting down hard as he tried to stay away from Mila’s rage. A punch on the jaw made him pay attention again. The bully flipped them over, hitting his nape against the ground, and landed another punch on his cheek. Tristán screamed.

“GET OFF MY LITTLE BROTHER, YOU SLIME!” came Rahui’s outraged scream. Tristán lifted his knee, jamming it with all the strength he could muster on the bully’s chest. He hear the air getting knocked out of him and seized his chance to flip them over again, landing another hit on his face. And another, and another, until he had to stop to catch his breath. He got to his feet, panting, wiping the sweat out of his face. Around him, his family recovered as well. Miguel was kneeling next to Lucas, probably from the moment he’d arrived that’s where he’d been, tenderly wiping his face, his expression grim. Tristán, the same sick feeling as before coiled inside his stomach, grabbed the pale-eyed angel by the neck of his shirt and dragged him towards them, where he dropped him unceremoniously.

“Apologize” he repeated. His voice was still choked. He was still shedding tears, but his hands didn’t shake anymore.

“Tristán...” Miguel hissed, mortified. Lucas’ eyes were set on the ground before him. The pale-eyed angel shuffled on the ground, but didn’t speak. Tristán grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him up, raising his fist in a threat.

“Say you’re sorry. Now!” he sobbed.

“Y’know...” the angel said slowly, with a smile that was missing one tooth “...he can’t hear me, the broken little-!”

Tristán’s fist landed on his face one more time and his head fell back, dazed.

“Tristán, that’s enough!” Valdez called behind him. He could hear Fuega crying. Tristán closed his eyes, fearing he was going to vomit. This was so messed up, but what else was he supposed to do? They’d hurt his brother! Poor Lucas who’d never hurt anyone! And only the Gods knew how many times it had happened, ho many times the other godlings had mistreated him without anyone in the family finding out, without anyone standing up for him.

It had to stop.

He’d make it stop.

“Call my brother broken one more time” he wailed, tears still streaming from his eyes. Disgust coiling in his stomach. For the bully and for himself “And I will kill you, you hear me? I will kill you”

The pale-eyed angel didn’t reply. He’d had the snark beaten out of him, it seemed. Tristán stayed for what it seemed hours there, holding the front of the bully’s shirt, breathing harshly, ready to land another blow, until someone approached him and gently un-pried his fingers from it. He stood, stiff as a statue as Elphaba put her arms around him, muttering into his hair. He heard Raul gently talking to Lucas, easing him, and Rahui’s frenzied explanation of what had happened to a disgruntled-sounding Belleza.

But he could only move again when he felt Lucas take his hand. Elphaba released him and he turned to Lucas’ questioning eyes. ‘Are you alright?’ Oh, Gods. Was he worried about Tristán even when he’d been the one beaten up? Tristán’s eyes filled with new tears.

“I-I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner” he sobbed.

He cried like a baby. He cried until he felt he couldn’t even breathe anymore. He cried until his mother’s arms surrounded him and even then he just hiccuped tearlessly into her shoulder.

“You made quite the number on your hands” Xibalba said, looking at his bloody knuckles. His expression was unreadable. Tristán gulped, his puffy eyes set on his feet. He could hear his mother going around bandaging his siblings’ wounds, sparing them comforting words and aunt La Noche yelling her head off to the parents of one of the bullies (‘My Oriana has a sprained wrist thanks to your savage of a child-! Oh, please, of course she wasn’t strangling him! Look at her! Look how small she is-!’)

“I’m sorry, papá” Tristán mumbled. Red eyes set on him, still unreadable.

“Sorry” he repeated, his tone distracted as he examined the bandage absently “Well, you are your mother’s son. I was rather surprised that you hadn’t gotten into a fist fight yet, frankly”

Tristán felt his face scrunching up in effort to not cry again. He took a deep breath and let the words rush out.

“I left Lucas alone. I went out- I wasn’t going to take long, I swear, but I...I fell asleep and when I came back-” he gulped, his voice strained “I stood there...I knew they were hitting someone and I didn’t do anything until I saw it was Lucas...I should have done something sooner! I shouldn’t have left him alone!” at this point, his voice was shrill and small and he was all but sobbing again “It was all my fault. All my fault, papá. P-please don’t be mad at me- I won’t d-do it again”

Xibalba placed a hand over his head -the boy started and then relaxed under the hand ruffling his hair affectionately.

“Deep breaths” was all that Xibalba said, his tone gentle, and that was enough for his son to know he wasn’t angry. Tristán did try to breathe, tears still streaming from his eyes, liberating, until he was too tired to cry anymore and instead a groggy numbness settled over him. His eyes stung.

“I’m sorry” he repeated one last time. Xibalba removed his hand from the small head, sighing, and picked him up with perhaps more effort than usual.

“Come. You’ve had a long day”

‘You need sleep, he says. Staying up late fuming isn’t going to do any good, he says’ La Muerte scoffed at the lights bellow her studio balcony, arms still crossed before her chest. As if it were that easy! Every time she closed her eyes, she could still see all the beloved little faces covered in dirt and bruises. She could still see the scrapes on Dulcea’s elbows and knees and even her face. She could still feel Tristán clinging to her, crying his little heart out with blood still over his knuckles.

She could still see Lucas’ fat lip and his sad, sad eyes.

Gods, if she thought long enough about it, she felt like going out to kick those little winged ruffians on their respective behinds herself. But it wouldn’t help, she reminded herself. Most the parents had offered apologies. Some of them have been heartfelt, some had not. A couple of them had simply picked up their kid and left without so much as a word and the Candlemaker had had to rush and catch her by the arm before she went after them and fed them their teeth because she was just too angry too think properly.

It would have been a lie to say she didn’t blame herself partially. She hadn’t noticed Lucas leaving her side, caught up in a philosophical debate with Tlaltecuhtli that had ended abruptly once she’d spotted Adeleine frantically signing for her to come near the entrance door. She knew the boy had to have his space, and forbidding him to leave her side would do more harm than good, but it was at times like this that she was tempted to do just that. Because she’d been abruptly reminded that some beings seemed to live and thrive just to hurt others and her poor son had already too many challenges in his plate to have to also deal with these-

The studio door opened and Lucas’ face, pale and anxious, peered at her from the opening. She turned to him and motioned for him to come close.

‘Why are you awake? Does something hurt?’ she signed, crouching to look at his face. The lip swelling had finally gone down and he’d taken a bath, but something in his eyes still looked hurt. She guessed it would for a while. He shook his head.

‘Mamá, it wasn’t Tristán’s fault’

La Muerte furrowed her brow. Tristán’s fault? Where on earth had anyone gotten that idea? She signed for him to elaborate and Lucas sighed, shoulders sinking a bit.

‘They surrounded me because I wasn’t paying attention. I should have paid attention.’

‘It’s not your fault either’ she immediately countered.

‘He was defending me. They called me-’ his hands froze and he lowered his eyes, mouth pursing ‘They called me broken. They called you...well, I’m not repeating it. They made him very angry’

‘They really did, no?’ La Muerte agreed. She didn’t even need to ask what they’d called her. There was a particular faction of angels that seemed to always end up having troubles with native godlings and they always used the same word for her. She’d long-since stopped caring, but the kids took it at heart whenever it happened. And Xibalba… ‘Mijo, don’t tell your father that they called me something bad, please?’

Lucas smiled faintly and nodded.

‘I won’t’

‘Why would any of this be Tristán’s fault, though?’

Lucas hesitated a bit, but he ended up letting out a resigned breath.

‘He thinks it’s his fault because he left me alone’ he signed and lifted both hands to his side as if to say ‘Crazy, right?’. Oh. La Muerte grimaced. Truthfully, she and Xibalba had been concerned about this kind of thing, the un-due responsibility their children felt about Lucas’ condition. They were still discussing possible alternatives to actually depending on either of them or his siblings all the time with La Noche, the Candlemaker and other health experts from the different realms, but the reality was, they weren’t yet sure of what to do and the more time they took to solve it, the more these thoughts ingrained themselves in the kids’ heads. La Muerte had to admit to herself that she had allowed herself grow comfortable with the thought of Tristán staying behind to care for Lucas at parties, given that he was shy and not inclined to want to go around to socialize, but if any lesson had to be drawn from the day’s events, it was that it had been a massive blunder on her part to do so.

And her kids had paid for it. Just like Sartana had paid for her naivety.

She pushed the thought aside and gritted her teeth. Oh, Xibalba was right, it didn’t do her any good to allow herself to stay up and alone with her thoughts. Actually, wasn’t admitting, even to herself, that Xibalba was right a sign that she needed to sleep in itself? She let out a breath through her nose.

‘It’s way too late for you to be up, mijito’ she signed ‘We should both go to sleep now’

Lucas hesitated in place.

‘Are you going to tell Tristán it’s not his fault? He won’t listen to me or any of us for that matter’

She nodded, smiling a bit.

‘Tomorrow, we can tell him together’

This seemed to cheer him up considerably. He went to her and hugged her and she squeezed him a bit too tight in return. Her gentle son. She understood how Tristán had felt seeing him being beat up and insulted by those kids all too well- the righteous, blind rage it must have caused him. His mother’s son, after all, was what El Chamuco had said earlier that evening, a trace of amusement in his voice, and as much as she liked to think her children had the best parts of Xibalba too, she couldn’t help but agree and feel proud in her heart of hearts.

She walked Lucas to his room and kissed his forehead goodnight, before setting off for her own room. Xibalba jerked awake when she laid down next to him.

“Done fuming, are we?” he teased in a groggy mutter. She pulled from his mustache playfully once and  gave him a quick peck on the lips.

“Go back to sleep. We have something important to do tomorrow”

Tristán doesn’t quite believe it’s not his fault for a long time, even if he pretends not to anymore to ease his parents and Lucas.

His knuckles healed, and La Muerte mentioned, even as she checked the still tender skin a few weeks later ‘Your siblings tell me you have one hell of a fist, ñervo. Maybe you should try boxing instead of fencing’.

He laughed self-consciously and shrugged a bit, but he considered her words for weeks on end.

‘Do you think it’d be bad if I took up boxing?’ he signed at Lucas one afternoon, as they lied with their stomachs to the floor of their father’s castle, playing canicas.

Lucas tilted his head in confusion and made an expressive motion with both his hand and head; Why? Tristán couldn’t quite find the right words immediately, so he pretended to study his marbles for a moment before replying.

‘I don’t know, I guess...maybe I don’t want to be a brute that beats others up’

Lucas shook his head vehemently and started signing so quickly that Tristán almost missed what he was saying.

‘Not a brute! You didn’t hit those guys because you wanted to, you did it to protect me. Not a brute. You’re a...’ Lucas scratched his head, searching for a word. He knew if he used the word ‘Hero’, Tristán might get upset, as he had when Dulcea had proclaimed him so in the middle of a playground some days before. ‘...you’re my guardian angel’ is what he finally settled for, seeming a bit embarrassed once he’d said it. It was cheesy beyond belief, and maybe that was why Tristán felt choked with emotion.

‘Really?’

‘Honest’ Lucas smiled and ruffled his hair ‘Besides. You got our mom’s arm, I think. With that, I bet you can knockout every opponent they put in front of you. Just try not to get too beaten up or you’ll end up twice as ugly as you already are, OK?’

Tristán playfully shoved his face, laughing.

[lightning-court]

Stitches and Smiles

This is the first fanfiction written for our Court with our members by our amazing Healer, Levi @lifelillysandmagicwands. It’s just a random day in the court and please do like/reblog and leave feedback for Levi if you enjoy this! Welcome to a little glimpse of The Lightning Court. Enjoy!

Levi awoke to her summons bell ringing wildly, breaking the calm silence of her private room and scaring her so badly she fell off her bed. She toppled out of her warm blankets, knocking over a pile of books and effectively waking up Ori who was napping on the windowsill. She’d make up for frightening her later, she thought as her cat glared at her and then slipped under her still toasty blankets. She glanced at the clock that sat on her wall- it was far too early to be up. But alas, duty calls. Or more specifically, the injured did. She quickly threw up her tangled hair into a bun, splashed water onto her face and grabbed her work satchel before running out the door. As of three weeks ago, Levi was living in the castle. During training season, injuries were at a high-and so the demand for a live-in healer was as well. But unfortunately, it meant that sleep was a rare commodity for her and Milly, the other court healer. Levi’s stomach gurgled its opposition to work before breakfast. Perhaps Alexa was up already, making breakfast for the High Ladies, but there was no smell of pancakes or coffee in the air, so it was unlikely. Strolling through the halls of Hiraeth and occasionally tripping over her own feet, she concentrated hard so as to not stumble like a drunkard, lest someone come upon her at this ungodly hour and think she was abusing the generosity of her High Ladies. Levi made note to ask them for a different mean of summons. She had been woken too many a night by the loud clanging of that awful iron bell. Maybe they'd send a night guard to fetch her next time someone decided it would be a wonderful idea to throw daggers half drunk at 3am.

Realizing she had unintentionally started to frown and furrow her brow, she tried shaking off her bitter mood. As she turned the corner into the hospital wing, the unusual silence reached her ears. If someone was injured, surely there would be voices speaking, or at the very least, cries of pain. But there was nothing. She must have been called to the High Ladies’ tower directly.

Tonight was Milly’s turn for the late shift, but it seemed that her schedule was getting to her, since she seemed to be curled into a ball and completely asleep in one of the medical beds. Let her sleep, Levi mused; after all, that was her some days ago-always passing out, not so much at the castle hospital wings, but always in the hallways and during meals. Walking past a gently snoring Milly, Levi opened the door to the mixing room to look for her work clothes. She’d walked all the way there in her training pants and sleep shirt, which was a sheer grey and kept riding up her stomach, as well as slipping off her shoulders. It would be rather awkward to work in that, if the patient was conscience.

After replacing her rumpled clothes for her far more appropriate healer’s attire, she slipped back out of the hospital wing, only slightly more awake than when she came.

It was a rare day in the city when they didn't have a sky full of dark grey and black clouds, crackling with thunder and lightning. Today however, there was sunlight softly dripping through the thin white clouds that swirled around with the east winds. This must be something the Búrkalag was working on. It was a nice change of pace, all her flowers and plants would be grateful for the extra sunshine. With a renewed sense of focus, Levi found herself climbing the 150+ stairs to the fourth floor of the castle, making her thank the gods for the still cold air of the early morning.

She approached the open tower ledge and gently untucked her wings, stretching them wide and curling her toes. Tucking her satchel under her arm, she bent her knees and shot up towards the door to the High Ladies’ suite in the highest tower. It only took about a minute to reach the balcony, but it was one minute of very cold ears and wind-lash tears. Levi released a small sigh of relief when her feet touched the solid stone of the balcony. From her spot, she could see the entirety of the west side of the city, and some of the sea close by. Surprisingly, there was little to no wind this high up, and that was thanks to the sheer amount of control the High Ladies had on their surroundings.

Tucking her wings behind her again, she lifted a hand, knocking on the doors softly, and waited. Shifting her weight from side to side, Levi took a moment to prepare herself to greet the High Ladies. It always unnerved her. Settling on “Good day, Milady”, she straightened her back and took a deep breath as the dark blue and purple stain glass door opened.

“Grood-uh, I mean-” She paused her rambling at the sight of a very serious looking August, standing in the doorway with a long billowing robe of royal purple that matched the color beneath her eyes, her blonde hair in a long intricate braid. “What happened?”

The High lady said nothing, only opened the door wider and stepped back into the large room. Levi cautiously stepped in after her, her eyes darting around, searching for signs of blood or something being amiss. But before she could scan the whole room a loud clang made her jump. With a start she looked for the source of the sound, but August shook her head in a silent warning and walked into a side room, off the living space. Following her, Levi heard quiet mumbles and a hushed whisper. Moving the curtain aside she caught full view of High lady El, dumping blood soaked cloths into a very large fireplace. Pausing to watch them catch fire, before walking all the way into the spacious chamber.

“Levi! Thank goodness, come here quickly!” El said, walking halfway to her and gesturing frantically with one hand. “What happened? Who’s hurt?” Levi responded. Knowing it wasn't either of the High Ladies, a weight that had been forming in her chest was lifted. Moving to El’s side, she looked down at the person on the bed who was clad in only a thin white nightgown, looking remarkably pale. Her usually mischievous eyes now filled with pain and confusion.

“Bon?”

“Lev? Why aren't you sleeping?” questioned Labonno, the First-in-Command to the High ladies.

“Me? I'm the healer! What your excuse?”

Bon then gestured to her left forearm with a grimace. Furrowing her brow Levi dropped to one knee and snatched Bon’s arm into her hands. Blood coated her fingers within seconds. “What happened? This is a deep wound Bon, you're going to need stitches before I can reform your skin” Levi mumbled as she searched with one hand through her satchel for gauze, her other clamped on the still bleeding wound. Bon looked at the painting of a large palace on the wall, avoiding her gaze and her question. El spoke up from behind her instead “There are more Levi, at least three”

Raising an incredulous eyebrow, and glanced sideways at Gusty. Who, in response sighed and sat next to Bon on the bed. “Tell her Bon, what did you do last night?”

Bon shifted uneasily, frowning deeply and wrinkling her nose. She glanced up at Gusty cautiously, who in turn gave her a stern sort of glare, something you'd get from your mother after misbehaving. With a sigh of resignation Bon returned her gaze to the healer, too busy quietly mending the second wound she had found on Bon’s side, the first already closely stitched and tingling as it healed over.

“I didn't know this was going to happen. I went out for a stroll on the south side, to take a look at the new bar” she mumbled, clenching her jaw as she recalled the incident. El made a tsk-ing sound with her tongue as she gently braided Bon’s long hair as she added, “And ended up frightening me half to death, showing up at our door so early - looking like you’d been to hell and back, covered in blood no less!” El scolded, giving Bon a solid tap on the top of her head.

“So you went out for a drink? Then what?” continued Gusty, with a raised brow of interest.

“I was trying to talk up a blacksmith when I saw a man across the bar touch a girl's leg and push a drink into her hand” answered Bon, her eyes going cold as she stared straight ahead, lost in the memory and seeming to forget about the pain of her wounds. “He was acting like he owned her. I didn't like the way he stared at her, like she was some kind of meat”

“So you attacked him?” asked El, her large eyes wrinkling around the corners as her lips pulled into a frown.

“Not right away!” Bon defended. “I waited until I was sure she didn't want to be around him - and she didn't! She asked him to leave but he wouldn't go”

“That still doesn't explain why you're so roughed up - you're an exceptional fighter” piped up El. Bon winced before answering “I had...a few drinks-”

“A few?” cut in an extremely sceptical Gusty.

“And I didn't think. I just...lept in- I was so angry I hadn't thought to make a plan”

She curled her legs under her as Levi finished with the last of the stitches, flinching with the moment, before murmuring a quick thanks.

“I didn't know he had friends with him, it was four to one. Yeah, they got in a couple hits, but I still won” Bon added, a wicked grin curling her full lips. Gusty let out a sigh before sitting next to El, giving space for Levi to stand.

Getting up and wiping her crimson stained hands on a cloth from her satchel Levi took a second to check over her work. And after nodding to herself, she pulled out a tin of salve.

“This will help to keep it from itching and scarring. Next time Bon, please try to keep the High Ladies from worrying about you getting into fights” She mumbled as she smeared some across the now fleshy pinky wounds.

Gusty looked up at her, a small smile gracing her elegant features.

“I'm not worried about my First-in-Command getting into a fight Levi, she can handle herself fine” she said, giving Bon a knowing pat on her shoulder before taking a breath to continue.

“What I do have a problem with however, is her disturbing the peace of my city. If you need to fight someone Bon, at least have the sense to take it outside” she finished with a pointed look in her direction.

“Yes, August”

A steady silence filled the room, the only sounds being the fire crackling heartily in its hearth and the soft tinkle of wind chimes hanging from outside the bay window.

“Will that be all, Milady?” inquired the suddenly very fatigued healer. Gusty stood, with a slight shake of her head and turned to face her properly.

“Yes. Thank you for coming at this hour Levi, go get some rest. I'll have Alexa bring up your breakfast to your room before you go”

“Um, go where exactly? - Milady” said an already confused and slightly drowsy Levi.

“Home” Gusty replied, leading her back towards the door “You've been working very long shifts. Milly will get a few days off as well”

Her tone left no room for the argument that was trying to slip through Levi’s lips. If she and Milly weren't around, who would act as healers in their stead? The High Lady, seeming to know her concerns, spoke before she could.

“I will be temporarily suspending any weapon training in the castle and in case of any other injuries, a friend of mine from the Dawn court will be visiting us and living in the castle. He can act as healer while you and Milly are away”

August looked at Levi as she opened her door for her, the sky now filled with both sunlight and dark clouds bunched together like clumps of grey wool.

“Go get some sleep, you look like you're about to pass out” She said with a small and slightly concerned smile.

“Of course, goodnig- Err.. good morning?” Levi quickly bowed and opened her wings once more. Slinging her satchel over her head, she leapt from the balcony.

With the healer safely out of sight and headed to bed, August returned to her mate and First-in-Command-the latter sound asleep and mumbling quietly to herself, the color already returning to her skin. The day was new and the aroma of fried eggs and spices was already making its way up from the kitchens. Rubbing her heavy eyes, El slipped her hand into Gusty’s and dragged her down onto the velvety black couch next to where Bon slept.

“She'll be fine, it's only a few cuts and a hangover. Nothing she hasn't dealt with before” El whispered, her eyes already fluttering close and a sleepy grin pulling up her lips. Pressing a loving kiss to the side of her mate’s head, August leaned back into a throw pillow. Closing her eyes as well and pulling her arms around El’s small frame, she let herself be thankful for the fact that she had her mate in her arms. Her friends were alive and well, and all the lands had found peace for the first time in centuries. Her court was not perfect but neither was she. Yes, she was extremely grateful and she would continue to be as long as there were things to be grateful for.

High Ladies: @mayhemories and @aelin-and-feyre First: @runesandfaes Second: @ilikebigbooks-and-icannotlie Third: @fiery-feyre and her wonderful wife @darlingfireheart Spymaster: @foxboy-lucien Spies: @havilliardandgalathynius @cynical-minds-for-cynical-times @shinywhiteshoe @tarafitz124 @wingsofanillyrian @zacc-efronn Executive Assistant: @queenoffantasy Light Wielder: @destiny1444 Thunder Enforcer: @poisonbooknerd Storm Whisperer: @kazgavejasonthecrowbar Dragon Keeper: @bbyshadowbat Emissary: @cassiancalore Emissary of Mortal Lands: @dreams-of-feysand Ambassador: @thebookishshadowhunter Healers: @rowanismybae and @lifelillysandmagicwands General: @therealmofgoals Chief Strategist: @acomafxtog24-7 Commandress of Bloodshed: @rhysand-and-rowan Cryptographer: @deathbytitanium Captain of the Guard: @highqueenofmagic Assassin: @acourtoffuckmylifeup Lightning Thief: @sugarcoated44 Seer: @aelinxfeyre Priestess: @rowaelinandfeysandfeels Hitwoman: @seldomsmurf Cartographer: @she-was-brave-and-she-was-strong Librarian/Informant: @deezrmuhsheeple Researcher: @starzablaze Historian: @rhysand-vs-rowan Lady in Waiting: @magic-madness-heavensin Weapons Designer: @inejcalmarekaz Painter: @thexscarletxwitchx The Sassy friend who Wanders in when needed: @tntwme Random Anonymous Cat: @insert-username-here712 Court Falconer: @m0ther0fdrag0ns Court Musician: @veinssaxonio Designer: @tog-trash Cat Lady: @smokeydiamondstorm Court Entertainer: @acourtofredqueens Court Witch: @azuremirwae Random Dragon: @searching-the-stars Crazy Old Sage: @justanotherpaperheart Counselor: @whyyoumakemesadstahp Cook: @alexiea1 Gardener: @otaku-trash-sendhelp1000-7 Architect: @couldilienexttoyou Shapeshifter: @highladyofluna Treasurer: @iris-cygnets Story Keeper: @my-ships-will-never-be-sank Art Shop Keeper: @skyl0rd5177 Teacher: @amberissues Mixologist: @ponyjockey Photographer: @autumn03 Astronomer: @court-of-shadows-and-fury Soldiers: @aelin-rattlesthestars @the-girl-of-ticking-clocks  (We are open for potential soldiers) Record Keeper: @feyre-herondale03 Black Sheep Of The Family: @aroyalbluedragon​

[vonseal]

better

prompt requests here!

64 / socky :  “Here, take my blanket.”

They first met at an overnight summer camp. Minhyuk thought he looked weird, with his floppy black hair and large glasses. Still, he had a smile that lit up the entire room, and he bounced from person to person with more enthusiasm than Minhyuk had seen before in his life.

His final bounce was in front of Minhyuk, and he waved a hand ecstatically. “Hi!” he greeted, seemingly out of breath. “I'm Yoon Sanha and I'm eight years old!”

He didn't realize he was supposed to introduce himself back until Sanha gave him a questioning stare.

“Park Minhyuk. I'm nine.”

“Whoa!” Sanha's eyes lit up. “You're nine? You're the oldest one I've met so far! You must be super smart! What grade are you in? Have you memorized your entire times table yet? I haven't. I think I can do it by next year, though.”

There was too much to respond to, and so Minhyuk decided to just fall silent and nod along with all of Sanha's inquiries and comments. He was talkative, in any case, and while Minhyuk didn't really like conversing all that much, he did like to listen.

So he tuned in to all of Sanha's rambling. He learned that Sanha was the youngest of three brothers who teased him all the time but cherished him more than anything. He learned that Sanha was teaching himself how to play the guitar and had made his fingers bleed in the early stages. He learned that Sanha one day wanted contacts instead of the bulky glasses he wore. He learned that Sanha would soon be getting braces, as much as he begged his mother not to, and that he was scared the metal pieces would come to life as a robot and murder him in his sleep.

All in all, it was a lot of information to take in, which was why Minhyuk realized he was perfect for the job as Sanha's best friend. How many other people would put up with being talked to for hours? Not many, and by the looks of it, everyone else seemed turned off by Sanha's relentless optimism. Not Minhyuk, though. Minhyuk tapped his shoulder at one point and said, “We're friends now.”

Sanha had grinned widely and had blushed, ducking his head and hiding his face, and Minhyuk just smiled to himself.

They roomed together for the summer camp. On the first night, Minhyuk came back from the toilet to find Sanha frantically searching through his bags, a look of fear solidly placed on his face.

“Sanha?” Minhyuk stepped closer. “What's wrong?”

“My blanket is gone!” Sanha announced. Minhyuk noticed his hands were trembling. “I-I-I thought I told my mom to pack my blanket! Why's it not here? Oh my gosh, Minhyuk, I can't sleep without my blanket! I know it's a-a childish thing, and everyone ma-makes fun of me, but I can't sleep!”

Minhyuk stared at his new friend for a second, at his panicked expression and the odd frown that had overtaken his features.

He wanted happy Sanha back.

He reached up to his top bunk, where his things had already been unpacked, and pulled down his own blanket. It was a newer one, something his mom bought him specifically for the trip, and it held no deeper meaning to him than just being something to wrap himself in.

“Here.” He held it out, and Sanha blinked at it. “I know it's not your blanket, but...but it can do for now, right?”

Sanha didn't answer at first, and so Minhyuk tried again. “Here, take my blanket. We can call your mom tomorrow and see if she'll drop off yours.”

Tentative hands reached out, lightly grasping a hold of the soft material. When Minhyuk let go, Sanha held it close to him, fingers curling up and clenching it near his chest.

“Better?” Minhyuk asked.

Sanha nodded. “Better,” he murmured.

Camping, Minhyuk soon learned, was rough. Setting up a tent was harder than it appeared in the movies, too, especially when the only partner available was Yoon Sanha.

“No, Minhyuk, this part goes here-” Sanha stuck one of the pegs in the ground and started tying off part of the tent. “And then the one labeled G goes on the other side-”

“You're reading it upside down!” Minhyuk exclaimed when he noticed the small instruction booklet that Sanha was trying to follow along to. “Didn't you think something was wrong when you saw that the tent wasn't even right-side up?”

Sanha tried to defend himself. “All campers do it like this, because real life is in reverse from the images.”

“That doesn't even make any sense!” Minhyuk tore one of the pegs out from the ground and snatched the book away. “I'm in charge of instructions from now on, okay?”

Sanha followed along, though not without several mistakes. By the time the tent was finally stuck up (albeit, a little lopsided, but it still would work for the night), the stars had woken from their slumber and the birds had begun to fall silent, lulled by the darkness into their own restful sleep.

Minhyuk made certain that all of their food were stored in the correct containers and that the fire they had set up before (which Sanha nearly burnt himself on twice) was properly put out. Sanha, meanwhile, seemed content enough to watch as Minhyuk did all the work. He flipped through a few of the books he brought, but after the third time Minhyuk checked on their belongings, he groaned and flopped over. “Minhyuk!” he whined. “I'm sleepy! Can we go to bed?”

“I can't believe you dragged me into the wilderness to go to bed,” Minhyuk mumbled. “Aren't you excited to see the forest at night?”

“Nuh-uh! Lots of weird things come out at night; wolves and bears and tigers and lions-”

“Are we in Korea in your head?”

Sanha pouted and pointed at the tent. “We didn't bring sleeping bags to just stare at them. Come on, Minhyuk, I'm tired!”

Minhyuk finally did relent, but not because he had a soft spot for Sanha or because Sanha deserved a good night's sleep every night. He just relented because Sanha made very good points, was all, nothing more and nothing less.

Still, he didn't want to sleep. He was stretched out on top of his sleeping bag, staring up at the thin fabric of their tent. Sanha lay beside him, curled up and looking quite similar to some sort of worm. A long worm. Maybe a snake.

But Sanha couldn't be a snake unless it was a cute snake.

“Hey, Sanha?”

“Mm?”

At least he was still awake. Minhyuk rolled over to face him. “Let's play truth or dare, okay? That's something that should always be done on camping trips.”

Sanha yawned and peeked through one eye. “Really?”

“I wouldn't lie to you, would I?”

“You definitely would.”

“Sanha.” Minhyuk sighed. “Fine. We'll go to sleep and make this the most boring camping trip of all time. Sounds like a great-”

“Truth or dare?”

It came so suddenly that Minhyuk had to take a second to actually react, but he made his decision still rather quickly. “Truth.”

Sanha hummed lightly, then asked, “Do you have a crush?”

Minhyuk stared at his friend. The moonlight filtered in through the fabric of their tent, casting a light blue glow over Sanha's face, shining in his brown hair and making him seem more soft and serene than he usually was.

And, when the sun would come up, Sanha would beam brighter than a big, orange ball of fire and flames could ever attempt to. He would probably stretch his ridiculously long limbs before rising from bed, and he would shake Minhyuk awake, ready to eat some of their prepared camping food around the fire that Minhyuk would have to start because Sanha was too clumsy to be let around anything that could burn him.

Did he have a crush?

“Yes,” he replied quietly, and he averted his gaze so that Sanha couldn't see the longing in them.

“Really?” Sanha sounded surprised. “Oh. Who is it, then?”

“You only asked me one truth, so now it's my turn!” Minhyuk wouldn't reveal that Sanha was his crush. Sanha wasn't like that. Sanha liked girls. Minhyuk would save himself the trouble and the heartbreak and never admit it. “Truth or dare?”

“Truth.”

“This is the most boring game of truth and dare ever. Dare is a lot more fun.”

“You can choose it next time, then,” Sanha retorted. “I chose truth. Ask me a question.”

Minhyuk bit at his lip, then turned over again on his back. “Do you have a crush?” he asked, and he was almost scared to hear the answer.

(He wasn't sure what he was scared of. He wasn't sure if he was scared of a yes or of a no. Both prospects were equally frightening.)

Sanha was quiet for a second or two before mumbling, “Yes.”

That was exactly what Minhyuk was afraid of.

(He had been afraid of both.)

“Truth or dare, Minhyuk?”

“I don't want to play anymore. I'm tired.” It was a lie, a silly, stupid lie, and he knew Sanha could see right through it. Nine years of being close made them aware of each others' quirks, of likes and dislikes, of truths and lies. And Minhyuk was lying, and based on Sanha's narrowed eyes, the younger boy could tell.

Still, Sanha didn't try to convince Minhyuk otherwise. He simply scoffed and pointed at the sleeping bag. “At least go to bed in your sleeping bag. My mom didn't buy these so you could sleep on top of them.”

“I'm not that cold.” Another lie. Another lie that Sanha saw right through. It didn't help that it had gotten a little chilly in their tent and Minhyuk's arms were crossed, wrapped around himself in order to try and conserve some sort of body heat.

In response, Sanha reached down into his sleeping bag and pulled out a familiar-looking blanket. It was cheap and gray with red lightning bolts. Minhyuk recognized it instantly, and he tried to hide a smile. “Is that-”

“Here. Take my blanket.”

“Your blanket.” Minhyuk grinned as it was passed over to him. It didn't really cover much of his body anymore, and he couldn't imagine it would cover any of Sanha's body at this point. It had a few holes toward the edges, the telltale signs of it having been used until it had become worn, and for some reason, that made Minhyuk's heart leap in his chest.

He wrapped up in the blanket the best he could. He felt warmth flood in through him, and he knew it wasn't from the extra material covering his skin.

“Better?” he heard Sanha ask with a yawn.

Minhyuk took a deep breath. “Better,” he whispered.

College was a more difficult time than Minhyuk could have ever imagined. He told his mother he was simply stressed over schoolwork and extracurricular activities. Truth be told, though, he could easily handle the load of work he had been given. He could handle being out until late at night, finishing up assignments in the library or practicing his choreography in the campus' dance studio. None of that was an issue to him.

Rooming with Sanha, though, stressed him out more than anything.

He dreaded going home at night. Sanha would greet him cheerfully, exuberantly, usually with some sort of meal prepared. They would eat and laugh and talk, and Sanha, ever so fond of being close to people, would hug him or nudge his shoulder or just touch him. It sent jolts of electricity through Minhyuk's skin, and when they both retreated to their rooms for the night, Minhyuk would stare over at Sanha's door, reminded of how unreachable the younger boy truly was.

“I still think you should tell him,” Minhyuk's friend and dance partner muttered to him one night after a particularly grueling practice. “I mean, that's what I did to the guy I like, and look where I am now!”

Minhyuk scowled, then glanced over at his partner's partner. “Everyone knew that Myungjun-hyung had a huge crush on you, though,” he mumbled.

“I didn't.”

“Because you're an idiot, Jinwoo.”

He might have deserved the small smack to his shoulder, but he just gave Jinwoo a smirk in response.

“Point is, you might be surprised. I was. I thought I knew everything about Myungjun that there was to know, and so when I confessed to him, I expected him to kindly reject me and for our relationship to turn awkward. I didn't expect that he would laugh and end up crying on my couch and tell me how long he loved me for.”

Nearby, Myungjun was painting a large banner on the ground, something for the arts festival that the dance team would be taking part of. His strokes were even and clean, and he had his tongue sticking out of his mouth in slight concentration as he worked. Jinwoo rubbed some sweat off his own forehead and stared fondly over at his boyfriend.

“I know Sanha better than you knew Myungjun back then,” Minhyuk mumbled under his breath, causing Jinwoo's attention to be broken away from Myungjun.

“Not likely. I think you're missing something really big right underneath your nose. Like, he's friends with tons of people, but he only lights up for you. And he hates to cook, always talks about how much he despises it, but he still makes sure you have something to eat when you come home. And you claim he only dates girls, but when has he ever gone on a date in his entire life?”

Jinwoo had very good points. Minhyuk just hated being proven wrong, so he shot back, “He tells me how pretty girls are sometimes, though.”

“Myungjun would tell me how nice some guy's ass was. It's a jealousy thing. It's stupid to do, but he's probably trying to make you jealous like Myungjun was trying to make me jealous. It's stupid,” Jinwoo repeated, then glanced over once more at his boyfriend. “Hey, sweetheart!” he called out. Myungjun looked up. “You're stupid!”

Myungjun grinned in reply. “Love you, too!” he yelled, a little too loud for the practice room, before turning right back to his painting.

Jinwoo stared pointedly at Minhyuk. “Doesn't Sanha act like how I just acted? Doesn't he tease you and call you names? And doesn't he seem like he's trying too hard to make you jealous at times?”

Maybe in certain circumstances, it was perfectly okay to be proven wrong. After all, if Minhyuk was proven wrong here, perhaps it meant that Sanha actually did like him. Perhaps it meant he wasn't harboring a one-sided crush at all.

Perhaps it meant Sanha would see him more than just a friend.

He hurried home as soon as they had cleaned up the practice room. Myungjun and Jinwoo walked hand-in-hand, and Bin took a few steps ahead of the group in order to call Dongmin.

(“Myungjun thinks Dongmin and Bin will get together before you and Sanha,” Jinwoo had whispered. “If you let me down, Minhyuk, I lose twenty-two thousand won and my dignity.”)

When he arrived back in his shared apartment, Sanha was already waiting. He jumped up from his seat on the couch the moment Minhyuk walked through the door and gestured excitedly at the microwave. “I made you some rice!” he announced proudly. “You might have to heat it up, if you want, but you can definitely eat it cold. Either way, I think, it should taste fine, because I tried a recipe my mom had told me about and-”

“I like you, Sanha.”

The words came out before he could stop them, and once they hung in the air between the two boys, Minhyuk decided not to snatch them back. He was going to be honest with himself, and with Sanha. And if Jinwoo was wrong somehow, if Sanha didn't like him back, then Minhyuk would request that their friendship remain as steady and strong as it had been already for years and years.

But if Jinwoo was right, then surely this was the correct thing to do. Surely admitting his feelings would work better than storing them in and bottling them up and watching as he and Sanha went through life flirting around each other but never quite grasping onto their mutual emotions.

Sanha stared at Minhyuk for what seemed like a full minute. Nothing was said. The noise on the television was light and steady and didn't cut through the moment.

Sanha was the first to break it. “I...have rice-”

That aversion to his confession really wasn't what Minhyuk wanted to hear. He tried again. “Were you listening, Sanha? I like you. I like you as more than a roommate and as more than a friend. I want...I want to have an actual relationship with you. Like, a relationship where you hold hands and...and go out on dates. A relationship where maybe we can one day tell each other that...”

Sanha wasn't looking at him. Sanha was scurrying off to the microwave, opening it to reveal a large bowl of rice, and he seemed nervous. “Rice!” he exclaimed, pointing at his dish. “I made you rice, Minhyuk! I've always made you rice, and you always just come and eat it, and I think we should just do that right now! You should eat the rice and I can sit down and talk to you about everything that happened to me today, and then we can watch an episode-”

“Why are you avoiding the subject?” Minhyuk snapped. Sanha fell silent and licked his lips. “If you don't like me, just tell me, Sanha! I can take it! And if you don't like me, we can...we can do all those things you wanted and I'll ignore my feelings.”

Sanha remained quiet.

“Sanha...” Minhyuk balled his hands up into fists and took a deep breath. “Do you like me?”

The television was the only sound in the apartment again, and after an extra minute, Minhyuk decided to turn. But then Sanha smacked the bowl of rice onto the table, and he heard his friend yell, “I've always liked you, stupid Park Minhyuk, but you're an idiot! You're the most stupid idiot on the whole planet! It took you this long to confess – you're so dumb, Minhyuk!”

Minhyuk wasn't the first to retreat to his room like he thought he would. Instead, Sanha shoved past him, ignoring Minhyuk's shocked expression, and hurried into his own room. The door slammed shut and Minhyuk couldn't even wince.

Sanha liked him?

Sanha liked him since always?

Sanha always liked him?

The information was a lot to take in, and Minhyuk's mind was reeling. Jinwoo had been right all along. Now that Minhyuk stopped to think about it, everything Sanha said or did was due to his feelings and emotions. He always made food, he always picked Minhyuk up during rainy or snowy weather, he always tickled him and got close to him and leaned on his shoulder and stared at him when he thought Minhyuk didn't notice.

He did all the things that someone with an obvious crush would do, short of explaining their love, and Minhyuk just now saw it all.

His heart hammered heavily in his chest. He rushed after Sanha, opening his door to reveal the boy in tears on his bed.

“Sanha?” he whispered.

Sanha didn't look up. Sanha just covered his face with his hands and shook his head. “Go away, you idiot,” he mumbled with no bite to his words. “I can't be-believe I've liked you all this ti-time and you finally blurt out that you like me. H-How long have you liked me? If you liked me, why couldn't you see how much I liked you?”

He hadn't meant to upset Sanha. He closed the door behind him and made his way to Sanha's bed, feeling the slight dip in the cheap mattress as he, too, took a seat.

“I think you established why I never noticed,” Minhyuk mumbled. “It's because I'm an idiot.”

Sanha sniffed and peeked through his fingers at Minhyuk. “You are,” he fussed. “You're the most stupid idiot ever. I can't believe I like someone so dumb.”

“I feel blessed that you like me even though I'm an idiot.” Minhyuk cleared his throat. “Y-You should feel happy that I'm willing to put up with your stupidly long arms and legs, and your ridiculous screeches you make when something embarrasses you.”

“Better to date someone like me than to date s-someone like you.”

Minhyuk smirked and continued to stare over at Sanha. They made eye contact, and Sanha didnt' move away. “And, yet, you want to date me. You want to date a stupid idiot. I wonder why that is.”

Sanha's lips trembled. “Because...because I'm a stupid idiot. I-I never noticed that you liked me.”

“Birds of a feather flock together.”

Sanha gave a small snort, then rubbed at his nose. He removed his hands fully from his face, clasping them nervously together in his lap. “But...but I like you, an-and you like me, so now what? Does this mean...does this mean we're together?”

Together.

The thing Minhyuk had been yearning for since he could remember. Together with Sanha. The thing he had thought he would never once in his life attain. He could finally grasp onto it. Sanha was his. He was Sanha's.

He couldn't help the grin that tugged his lips upward, and he leaned suddenly into Sanha. “Do you want to be together? I don't know if you can handle me, Sanha. All this swag and cool-”

“You're a moron!” Sanha cried out, struggling to get away from Minhyuk's affectionate cuddles. “I don't want to date a moron!”

“Too late! You're going to date me and you're going to like it!”

Fortunately, Sanha was giggling, all previous signs of his tears drying up quickly. He fell down onto the bed, and Minhyuk followed suit, scooting over next to him and realizing just how difficult it was to remove the smile from his face.

Sanha caught sight of the smile. “Stop smiling. You look so dumb.”

“That must be why you like me so much.”

“Yeah, right. As if.”

“Oh? So if you don't like my stupidity, then you must like my swag.”

He received a shove then, and he laughed as he rolled back over to his original position. Sanha clutched at his pillow with a pout, and Minhyuk realized just how lucky he was. Even if Sanha had stupidly long limbs and a loud screech, he was cute and beautiful and kind.

“Here.” Minhyuk reached down to the end of Sanha's bed, where a familiar gray blanket with faded lighting bolts was folded. He straightened it out and draped it across Sanha's head. “Take my blanket.”

Sanha didn't move at first, and so Minhyuk whispered, “Better, Sanha?”

Once those words left his mouth, Sanha poked his head up from the blanket before grabbing onto Minhyuk and cuddling in close. The new proximity made Minhyuk's ears go red, and he stiffened before Sanha hit his shoulder weakly.

He could actually get used to this, and with slow movements, he wrapped his own arms around Sanha's body.

Sanha sighed. “Better,” he responded.

(Minhyuk agreed.)

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Arsenal 2-2 Tottenham: Gunners and Spurs’ frailties exposed in breathless derby draw | Football | Sport

Bragging rights are shared – and a feisty but error-strewn north London derby reinforced the fact there is little else for these two clubs to fight for this season.

After the classy wins by Manchester City and Liverpool, this was an old-fashioned blood-and-guts encounter with lusty challenges, niggling tussles and never-say-die determination.

Arsenal showed the fight that went AWOL in the Europa League final while Tottenham seem to have lost the self-belief that took them to the Champions League final.

Now if Christian Eriksen – one of their brightest performers – packs his bags on the final day of the transfer window, it could start to look like a very long season indeed.

The Dane was back in the Tottenham side but that was less of a surprise than Mauricio Pochettino’s attempt to disguise his lack of right-back options.

Davinson Sanchez looked like some sort of competition winner – or was that loser? – in a ‘be a right-back for a day’ exercise that from the first whistle unbalanced Tottenham and regularly looked in danger of being their downfall.

Arsenal started brightly but never underestimate their own defensive frailties. Having barely got out of their own half, Tottenham were suddenly in front after 10 minutes.

Heung-min Son’s pass to Lamela took David Luiz out of the equation far too easily, but it was alright, it was on that celery stick of a right foot that the Argentine famously ignored to score that rabona.

Forced to use it this time, the shot was so tame that Leno should have held it. Instead, the ball bounced off his hands and who was there to tap in the rebound than Eriksen, with broad smile and, unsurprisingly, no badge-kissing.

Leno’s handling was better when stopping subsequent shots from Eriksen and Son but a low effort from Kane again bounced off his hands and in the struggle to get the ball clear, Granit Xhaka rattled into Son stupidly for a clear penalty.

Kane converted his record-equalling 10th north London derby goal from the spot but Tottenham this season have not been without their defensive problems, too.

Luckier for them, Lloris’s gloves are made of stickier stuff and he was able to grab a sharp Nicolas Pepe effort just before the break.

A free-kick from Arsenal’s record signing two minutes later was also blocked by Lloris but when the ball inadvertently hit Danny Rose’s hand with his back turned, Tottenham seemed so panicked about a VAR review they forgot to mark Alexandre Lacazette and he skipped through them all to pull one back. It was going to be a frantic second 45 minutes.

Lloris almost passed straight to Pierre-Emerick Aubameyang on the edge of his own area then made amends by tipping Matteo Guendouzi’s shot round the post.

Sead Kolasinac’s attempt to convert the corner denied his team-mate Aubameyang an easy tap-in.

Every challenge in the area was met with a hopeful cheer that must have been audible in the VAR bunker at Stockley Park. But Arsenal were going to have to do it for themselves.

Dele Alli was given his first action for the season a few minutes before Dani Ceballos made his appearance as both managers explored their options.

The latter made the first impact, a long-range shot which Lloris tipped over the bar – the Spurs captain again to his team’s rescue.

But with the defenders too static in front of him, he was always vulnerable. Guendouzi made the pass, Aubameyang stole in and the scores were back level.

Kane had rattled the woodwork in a rare Tottenham attack but now it was Arsenal who looked more likely to win it.

Lloris saved a long-range Xhaka effort but from a free-kick Arsenal though they had beaten him again with a well-worked winner.

VAR confirmed, though, the assistant referee’s view that Kolasinac had strayed offside in the build-up and a draw was probably the fair result.

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