#i feel really intensely about it still. the grief is occupying a large part of my brain atm and i know i cant just skip to being on about it

[catboysalmon]

Birthday...approacheth. strange feelings accompanying

[kissinginkitchens]

You Bring Me Home—Chapter Eleven: Water Under the Bridge (Finale)

a/n: welcome back my loves <3 It’s so weird to think that this is the final chapter of YBMH and I’m definitely having a lot of feelings about it (denial, mostly). I want to say a huge thank you from the very bottom of my heart for sticking with this story and these characters that I love so much. I’ve had the most fun over the past few months talking to some of you and hearing your thoughts; I cherish it more than you’ll ever know. With all of that said, I’m going to miss this era so so much but I would still love to hear from you lovelies, so please feel free to drop by my inbox and let me know what you thought of this series!! Feedback, criticism, all of it is welcome :) Much love, Mel <3

Pairing: Hawai’i!Harry x Original Character (Halani <3)

Warnings: swearing, angst

Word Count: 6.7k

catch up on parts one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, and ten

January, 2018

A strand of hair tickles Harry’s nose and his eyes flutter open. The faint sound of car horns and traffic outside reminds him of his location when his memory fails. He gently slips out of the bed and tiptoes over to the window, careful not to wake the girl sleeping soundly next to him. A thick layer of snow blankets every building and surface in New York City as far as the eye can see, and the grey sky above signals another storm on its way. 

I’m going to die of hypothermia, Alani shivers, nursing her steaming cup of tea as she walks away from the office window and takes a seat behind her desk. Even after living in the city for a year, she still hadn’t adjusted to the cold weather and feared that she never would. Her boyfriend had joked on numerous occasions that you can take the girl out of the island, but you can’t take the island out of the girl. 

“Vanessa’s on line three,” her assistant calls from the doorway. 

“Thanks,” Alani nods before bringing the phone to her ear. “So, what did you think?”

“It was brilliant,” the editor admits. “Insightful, witty. I think they’ll love it,”

Alani smiles and spins in her seat to face the window again. “St. James has been on my ass about this piece for weeks. I hope it’ll shut him up,”

“It will, trust me. Hey, I gotta go, but I sent the revision notes and we can discuss more later,”

“Great, thank you so much. See you at dinner,”

“Ta-ta.”

Alani reaches for a pen and scribbles a reminder onto a pink post-it note nearby. 

Bloody five-star hotel, you’d think they could afford decent pens.  Harry grumbles to himself, shaking the ballpoint to no avail. 

“Where are you going?”

Harry freezes in his tracks and turns to the brunette stretching out her tired limbs. He has to clear his throat to keep from saying the wrong name. 

“Just a quick walk,” he explains with a tight lipped smile. “Go back to bed.” 

She flashes a wide grin and snuggles back into the covers, but he secretly hopes that she’s gone by the time he returns. 

The snow crunches under Harry’s feet and he digs his hands deeper into the pockets of his coat. He had never been very fond of the cold, but he did have to admit that Central Park looked unbelievably beautiful in the winter. His phone buzzes inside his pocket and he digs it out to read the message. 

Mitch: Me and Sarah are going to Bisous in ten. Meet us?

Harry: See you there. 

********

“French is such a pretentious language,” Maleah scoffs, taking a bite of her pastry. “But I’ll be damned if I have to give up my chocolate croissants,”

Alani chuckles lightly and traces the restaurant’s logo of a red kiss printed on her napkin. Going to Bisous at least once a day had become a tradition during her best friend’s visits. 

“I’ll have to smuggle a real one back for you and then you can tell me if this one’s the real deal,”

“When are you going, again?”

“Next month,”  

Maleah wiggles her brows. “Oooh, Valentine’s Day? Are you taking Mason with you?”

“No,” Alani says casually. “It’s for work,”

“Well, who says you can’t mix business and pleasure?”

“Literally everyone.”

“Okay,” Maleah sighs, patting her full stomach. “Let’s go now before I get sleepy.”

The two friends make their way out of the busy restaurant and Alani’s shoulder brushes someone next to her. 

“Sorry.” she apologizes, making brief eye contact with the other person before doing a double take. 

Mitch purses his lips and turns his head back to the other girl at his arm while Maleah drags Alani out the door. 

********

“I mean, what the hell was that? I could barely keep my drum kit together,” Sarah laughs gently, sipping her coffee. 

“Cause of death: rocking too fucking hard,” Mitch shrugs. “There are worse ways to die,”

Harry stirs his black coffee with a spoon and watches the mini whirlpool grow. “Rob said you could feel it in the balcony, too,”

“I’m surprised you didn’t die,” Mitch pokes. “Mr. defective lungs,”

“Heyyy, I can’t help the asthma thing, alright?”

“Well it’s the last night,” Sarah chimes in. “Are we gonna try to beat the Kiwi record and go for four times in a row?”

Harry shrugs, a soft grin on his lips. “Dunno. Maybe if it feels right,”

“I say we cut out the middleman and just bulldoze MSG ourselves. What difference does it make if the fans tear the house down or if we do?” Mitch suggests. 

“Oh yeah,” Harry nods. “I’m sure Irving would love that.”

“Some food for thought.”

The trio finish their breakfasts and excitedly continue their conversations about the impending show, but the entire time, Mitch is haunted by the knowledge of Alani’s presence in the city. He debates telling Harry, but is suddenly reminded of the intense aftermath of the pair’s falling out. 

********

“Where’s Alani?”

“Don’t fuckin’ say that name to me ever again.” 

Mitch’s brow furrowed. “What’s going on?”

And with a simple question, anger had subsided into grief. Mitch still didn’t  know all of the details surrounding their split, but he had pieced together sufficient bits from Jeff and, in part, from the lyrics Harry penned in the following weeks. The slump had lasted through the fall and winter of that year, but as spring rolled around and the album’s release drew closer, Harry pulled himself together enough to promote and tour. It felt good to be on the road, and he found himself revitalized by the energy of those who came to support. Tour itself had been relatively intimate, as he had actively decided to play smaller venues than the sold out stadiums he was accustomed to, but the enthusiasm of the crowds hadn’t changed from his band days. As Harry occupied his attention with music, Hawaii grew smaller and smaller in the back of his mind. Eventually, it dwindled into a dull ache at the center of his chest, felt only on particularly long nights coaxed with a little bit of alcohol in his bloodstream. For now, he tried to focus on his last show at Madison Square Garden. 

********

Alani’s stomach turns. Had she really seen Mitch or had it been a remarkable doppelgänger? She hoped it was the latter, knowing that if he really was in New York City, Harry wasn’t far behind. This was by no means the first time she had been reminded of her summer love turned sour, but it stung just as much every time. The first incident was last April when she turned on the T.V. only to find Harry performing one of his new songs on Saturday Night Live. It had resulted in the loss of her favorite mug as it shattered against the hardwood floor in her apartment. Since that day, Alani had seen his face on countless billboards in Times Square and habitually asked taxi drivers to change the radio station or turn it off entirely. After a while, she had gotten better at dealing with the sinking feeling whenever he was mentioned, it was easier to detach feelings for someone who lived on a screen. Running into Mitch, however, had blasted a hole straight through the fourth wall that Alani had erected,  and she knew that there was absolutely no way she could cope with a similar encounter from Harry. 

“Oh shit,” Maleah gasps softly, looking through the windshield at the hundreds of people lined up on the pavement outside of Madison Square Garden. 

“What?” Alani asks, head still spinning. 

Her best friend immediately turns to her with a nervous smile and shrugs. “Oh it’s nothing. Hey do I have something in my teeth?”

Alani glances out the window behind Maleah and her eyes bulge. “Woah, what’s happening there?”

“Oh it’s probably, like, Lady Gaga or something. Anyways, look at this random text I got the other day.”

But it wasn’t “Lady Gaga or something.” The marquee reads “Harry Styles—SOLD OUT” in bold lettering. Alani retches into her bag. 

********

“Oh, for fucks saaake!” Harry shouts playfully, the sound of his obscenities echoing throughout the large venue. 

Mitch and Adam chuckle beside him and continue setting up their equipment while Sarah offers a comedic “badum-tss” on her drum set. 

“Okay then at that point, stage lights will come down and it’s ‘Meet Me in the Hallway’,” the technical director speaks into his earpiece.

Harry nods and watches the screen behind him roll through the animation that will play during the song. 

“Alright, then it’s—”

“Wait,” Harry interjects over the mic. “Sorry, can we run it?”

“Run ‘Meet Me’?”

“Yeah,”

Mitch tenses listening to the conversation that filters through his own inner ear piece, but he continues fiddling with the strings of his guitar.  

“Running ‘Meet Me’,” the director affirms. “Sarah, stand by.”

Harry’s eyes dart over to Mitch and he nods as a sign to begin. The guitarist clears his throat and strums the opening chords. 

Meet me in the hallway 

“M’gonna go wait in the hall…”

Meet me in the hallway 

“Give you some space to think and then we’ll talk, yeah?”

I just left your bedroom 

“I never wanted to hurt you.”

Give me some morphine 

“I hope you got all the material you wanted.”

Is there any more to do?

“Please don’t go.”

Just let me know and I’ll be at the door, at the door

Hoping you'll come around

Just let me know I’ll be on the floor, on the floor 

Maybe we’ll work it out

********

“Maybe I shouldn’t go,” Maleah offers. “I can catch a return flight tomorrow,”

Alani sits up in her bed and shakes her head. “No, Mi, it’s okay. I’ll be fine,”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. It’s probably just a stomach bug or something,”

Maleah gives her friend a tight squeeze and pulls away to read her face. “Let me know if you need anything, I’ll come right back,”

“Thank you,” Alani says, forcing a smile. “I’m so sorry to put a damper on your last day.”

“Nah, there’s nothing to worry about. Feel better soon, Nani.”

The door closes softly and Alani burrows deeper into the covers. She tries to bury the emotion back under a lock and key, but a gentle sob fights its way up her chest. It wasn’t supposed to be this way, she cries, but maybe it was. Just as the sun rises and sets, so had Harry entered and exited her life, and maybe that’s exactly how it was meant to be. After all, Alani had gotten exactly what she wanted, hadn’t she? So why does it still hurt? 

The snow falls gently outside of her window, but the entire scene blurs into shades of white and grey behind her tears. It had snowed just like this on the day she moved to the city. Shortly after the article about Harry had been published by a small gossip site, Alani had contacted the publishers and threatened litigation if they didn’t take it down. Unsurprisingly, they had also been contacted by Columbia Records and thus, the piece was removed that same day. Despite the quick turnaround, Rolling Stone had caught wind of the storm brewing on social media and reached out to Alani a few days later. They had been impressed that the elusive Harry Styles granted her an interview, but they didn’t push the matter much further. Instead, they had offered her one piece of her choosing to prove herself. If the reviews were favorable, she would be given a regular contributor spot, unpaid of course. They would re-evaluate at the beginning of the new quarter and negotiate from there. When January of 2017 rolled around, Alani’s writing was making surprising waves in the Rolling Stone community, so she had been hired on as a junior writer and assistant to the Editor in Chief. The pay wasn’t great, but it was a leap in the right direction. 

Despite everything that had changed in a year, a string of random letters on a building that Alani passed a million times had brought her emotions right back to the day she had tried so hard to forget. Her phone buzzes under the covers and she reaches out a hand to locate it. Her editor’s name appears and she answers it quickly. 

“Hello?”

“Darling, hello! Where are you?”

“Oh my god,” Alani groans. “Vanessa I’m so sorry,”

“Is everything okay?”

Alani sits up and clears her throat. “I have food poisoning,”

“Christ, from where?”

“Bisous,”

Vanessa sighs. “Poor thing. Okay, no worries we’ll just reschedule,”

“I’m so sorry, I’ll make it up to you,”

“No need to be sorry, get some rest and we’ll catch up later!”

The call ends and Alani gawks at the time. 7:30 already?  She slumps back under the covers and sifts through her social media, wincing when she sees several of her friends posting about the line outside of Madison Square Garden. No, Alani decides sternly when the sudden urge to go stirs in the pit of her stomach, absolutely no fucking way. 

********

“10 minutes!”

Harry scans the crowd from the monitor backstage. He pinches his lower lip between his index finger and thumb as the nerves settle in. 

“The house is packed,” Jeff comments with a hand on the singer’s shoulder. “And there’s still a crowd outside,”

“We did it?”

“You did it,”

So why does it still hurt? 

“Thanks for everything,” Harry says, bringing his manager in for a hug. “Couldn’t have done it without you.”

Jeff pats Harry on the back. “All in a day’s work for the dream team.”

Before heading out, Harry stops one of the crew members and asks if any of the guests on his list have arrived yet. Names are read off, friends from different inner circles over the years, but there’s one name in particular that isn’t called. He offers a thumbs up and a forced grin before making his way to the stage.

It always surprises the technical crew at every venue that Harry has specific lighting requests for the house. Performers had their individual preferences, this wasn’t unusual, but no one made a bigger deal about being able to see the crowd like Harry did. He enjoyed being able to see each person and connect with them, especially when performing an album that was as personal as this one. But in every sea he searched, one face was always missing. Tonight’s audience, much to his disappointment, was no different. 

The crowd cheers as “Sweet Creature” fades out and the lights on stage dim. More than half of the show has already gone by and they’ve reached the point that is always a little harder to get through. Harry takes a swig from his water bottle and clears his throat to fight the lump that forms. He breathes in deeply and “Meet Me in the Hallway” begins, but no matter how hard he tries to focus on the technical aspects of his performance, it’s nearly impossible not to get dragged back into the moment when the song was written. 

“I should go back,” 

“H, I don’t know if that’s such a good—”

“I have to go back.” 

And so he had. After two hours of pacing the airport lounge, Harry had jumped into an Uber and sped back to the hotel. It had taken another agonizing twenty minutes to explain his situation to the front desk workers and retrieve his old room key, but it was no use. He was too late. The bed was still unmade, but there was no sign of Alani save for the faint scent of Baby Honey and a gold necklace tucked away between the sheets. 

The flight back to the mainland had already departed by the time Harry stumbled through the hotel lobby, and there wouldn’t be another one for three more hours. In the meantime, he decided to get some fresh air and clear his mind, hoping all the while that he would find Alani at the edge of the beach waiting to run back into his arms. She never did, and he was left with all the words he wished he had said. 

I walked the streets all day 

Running with the thieves 

‘Cause you left me in the hallway 

Just take my pain away 

Just let me know and I’ll be at the door, at the door

Hoping you'll come around

Just let me know I’ll be on the floor, on the floor 

Maybe we’ll work it out

********

“Great show,” praises Rob Sheffield, author of one of Harry’s favorite books, Love is a Mix Tape. “Drummer’s incredible,”

Sarah beams and Harry flashes her a grin. “Thanks. It’s Sarah’s band, really. I’m just the frontman,”

“Well she kicked ass. All of you did, and I can tell by the way the floor was shaking that I’m not the only one who thought so.”

“Thank you so much, that means a lot.”

More guests filter in and congratulate Harry and the rest of the band, but while he sincerely appreciates all of the love, he can’t help the way his eyes flicker to the door every once in a while in the hope that someone else will straggle in. He slowly loses that hope when the room empties and the night drags on. 

********

This isn’t ethical, Alani chastises herself, this is wrong on every level and you’re gonna pay. She runs her fingers over the Rolling Stone press badge in her hand and stares at the marquee towering over her. What the fuck are you doing? 

“Excuse me!” Alani calls when she sees an employee slip through a side door. “Hi, I know I’m really late but I’m actually here with Rolling Stone,”

The blonde-haired woman blinks and scans over the badge with an unamused look on her face. 

“Nice try,”

“No, wait,” Alani begs. “I have to get in there, please—”

“You and every other girl within a twenty-five mile radius.”

Alani takes a deep breath and re-groups. “You don’t understand. I really need to get back there, I’m working on an important piece,”

As the struggle continues, another woman in stiletto heels exits through the side door with a clipboard in tow. 

“My name is Alani Hale, see? Please just—”

“Wait,” the woman with the clipboard intervenes. The name sounded strangely familiar, probably from the blacklist, in which case security would need to be notified. “What did you say your name was?”

Alani holds her badge out and swallows hard. “Alani Hale, junior writer for Rolling Stone.”

The woman checks through the blacklist but the name isn’t registered. She does a cursory glance over the V.I.P section and her finger lands on a note that reads “Mahealani ‘Alani’ Hale—Code Carolina: escort backstage and inform Mr. Styles immediately.”

“Follow me, please,”

Alani trails behind, doing her best to keep up with the long strides of the woman with the clipboard.

 “Marta to security, I have a Code Carolina,” she murmurs into her ear piece. “Repeat, I have a Code Carolina.”

Alani’s heart races as they zig-zag through the arena. Did Harry know that she was coming? Had Mitch told him that they saw each other at Bisous? The answer was no, Mitch hadn’t told and Harry didn’t know. He had only hoped. Unbeknownst to Alani, her name was printed on the Madison Square Garden list and on every list of every show in all the countries scheduled. Through Paris and all through Rome, Harry had looked for her face in the crowd and he dreamed that one day his efforts wouldn’t be in vain. 

“Wait here,” Marta instructs, leading Alani to a back room with mirrors, a couple of couches, and a clothing rack. “Someone will be with you shortly.”

Before she can ask any questions, Marta is gone and the sound of her heels echo down the hall. Alani takes a deep breath and her lungs are immediately filled with the familiar scent of vanilla. Her eyes carefully rake over the scene and land on a familiar white shirt hanging on the rack and the words “Enjoy Health, Eat Your Honey.”

“Thief,”

“I meant to return it.”

Alani spins on her heel and Harry stands with his fists shoved deep inside the pockets of his flared pants, eyes cast down at the floor. She tugs on the sleeves of her coat and offers a shy smile. 

“It’s okay, looked better on you anyway.”

A brief silence follows and they size each other up like it’s a gunfight, each waiting to see who will draw first. His hair is longer and curlier, Alani notices, chest and shoulders broader, too. But there’s a familiarity in his creased brow and in the heart shaped curve of his cupid’s bow. Harry does his own inventory; dark, almond shaped eyes, check. Round face, cinnamon skin, check and check. Her long, wavy locks are now shoulder length, but he’d recognize the scent of Baby Honey anywhere. The two are absorbed in their own silent assessments for a moment longer, but Alani quickly gets the urge to flee after she counts too many similarities between this Harry and the one that left her with a broken heart. 

“I should go,” she croaks, taking a step back. “I shouldn’t have come—”

“Why did you?” Harry asks earnestly. 

Alani tugs at a loose thread on her sleeve before crossing her arms. “Saw your name outside and got curious. For a while there, I started to think that maybe I imagined you,”

Harry doesn’t know what to do with the knowledge that he had haunted her as much as she had plagued him. He had spent so long believing that he meant nothing to her, but nevertheless, a part of him left room for her return. 

“You did, this is a hologram projection,”

Alani smiles and her shoulders relax at his humor. It really was him. 

“Did you enjoy—”

“I didn’t see the show—” they speak at the same time, eager words overlapping. 

“Oh,” Harry laughs softly. “You didn’t miss much,”

Alani shakes her head and takes a single step forward. “No, that’s not true. I’m sure it was amazing,”

Harry offers a coy grin, the shadow of a dimple on his left cheek. One hand emerges from his pocket and his knuckle brushes against the tip of his nose. Alani catches sight of the silver rose on his finger and she still remembers how it feels under the pad of her thumb. 

“Are you hungry?” he asks softly, pulling her from her reverie. 

“What?”

“Have dinner with me?”

Alani blinks, her throat suddenly dry. “Oh. Well I don’t know, I don’t wanna interrupt—”

“Never an interruption,” Harry assures her. 

She nods and he takes a step back. 

“M’gonna go change,” he explains. “I’ll just be a minute.”

“What, you don’t wear custom Marc Jacobs suits to dinner?” She teases. 

He grins, amused, and continues backing away towards the door before correcting her. “It’s Gucci.”

Alani rolls her eyes and he disappears into the hallway. 

When Harry reemerges in a beanie, puffy coat, and light wash denim jeans, he leads them through a series of tunnels and exits. 

“Where are we going?” Alani asks, bracing herself for the snow outside. 

“It’s a surprise.” he offers and she doesn’t fight him on it.

********

“We’re not eating here?” 

A soft smile falls on Harry’s lips. He hadn’t realized just how much he missed her incessant questioning. 

“No,”  he replies, opening the passenger door with one hand and passing her the bag that contains their dinner. “Too crowded,”

“Oh,” 

It made sense that Harry would want to keep a low profile and avoid any possible paparazzi sightings of the two of them, but it still felt strange to worry about such things after they had lived so carefree in Hawai’i. But that was then, and this was now, things had inevitably changed. 

“D’you wanna play some music?” Harry asks, settling behind the wheel. The parallels between this moment and their first excursion together make her chest tighten. 

“How about,” Alani starts. “Your album? Since I didn’t get to hear it live,”

Harry’s breathing hitches. “Well, I dunno—”

“Please?”

He meets her pleading eyes momentarily and, against his better judgment, agrees. 

“What’s it called?” she questions. 

“It’s just my name,”

“Self-titled, very classy. I like it,”

“I thought about calling it Sign of the Times,” Harry reveals. “But it’s already been done before,”

Alani hums. “Prince,”

“Yeah,” he nods. “But then I also thought about going with ‘Pink,’ because, you know, when in doubt—”

“Go with the pink one,” they say in unison and Alani smiles softly. How had he remembered that?

“And it’s the only true rock ‘n roll color,” she continues. 

Harry beams. “Exactly. But then Jeff suggested that we just go with the name. Simple, but effective,”

“Okay, so now that we’ve got the background,” Alani pokes. “And you’ve sufficiently distracted me, can I listen now?”

He swallows and checks the GPS, still twenty-five minutes to go. 

“How about we hold off,” he suggests. “Just for now so we can listen to the full thing and really soak it in?”

Alani backs off. “Alright, deal.”

She presses shuffle on the playlist of her frequently played songs for the month and immediately regrets doing so. Clearing her throat, she goes to press skip but Harry stops her. 

“S’a good one.” he says gently, so Alani lets Adele fill the awkward space. 

If you’re gonna let me down 

Let me down gently don’t pretend 

That you don’t want me 

Our love ain’t water under the bridge

********

Harry opens the passenger door and Alani steps out, her eyes squinting to make out any recognizable landmarks in their surroundings. They remain a comfortable two feet apart and make their way to the entrance of what appears to be some sort of greenhouse. Alani is filled with more confusion, but she doesn’t ask further questions until they reach the white double doors. 

“What?” Harry questions. “Never been to the New York Botanical Garden?”

Alani’s eyes widen. “The—wait, you—we’re?”

“After you,” he chuckles lightly, opening the doors. 

“Are we even allowed? I mean is it open?”

“I pulled some strings,”

She enters cautiously, immediately met with an archway of blush colored flowers and string lights that takes her breath away. A long, narrow pond in the center reflects the image back and creates a kaleidoscope of pink, green, and golden hues. 

“How did you,” Alani begins, at a complete loss for words. “Who are you?”

Harry nods in the direction of an adjacent hallway. “There’s a ballroom set up for a wedding tomorrow night, but Jim said we could crash as long as we clean up after ourselves,”

“Jim?”

“The director.”

“Of course.” 

Sure enough, round tables with cream colored tablecloth and elaborate floral centerpieces are arranged around the room. A delicate, yet undoubtedly expensive, chandelier twinkles in the center of the room and casts such a warm glow that Alani momentarily forgets about the snow outside. 

“Dig in,” Harry instructs, setting the pasta on the table in front of them. 

Alani sits and gently sheds her winter coat as he does the same. Underneath his jacket, Harry wears a yellow shirt that catches her eye with the words “treat people with kindness” printed in black lettering. She freezes when she spots a gold chain with a sun and moon pendant nestled comfortably between above the words.

“How is everyone?” Alani questions politely to shift her attention. “Mitch, Tom, Jeff,”

“They’re good, yeah,” he nods. “How’re Freddie and your family?”

“They’re fine, and he’s living his blissful little life,”

“Good for him. Miss his cuddles,”

And yours, Harry thinks, but he pulls back. Alani offers a shy laugh and thinks about the elephant in the room yet to be addressed: the break-up. It’s worth discussing, but she sure as hell isn’t going to be the one to bring it up. 

“And how’ve you been?” Harry asks when the silence stretches out for too long. 

Alani chews and ponders the question. “Good. Been working a lot,”

“Where at?”

“Rolling Stone,”

“Really?” he beams. “That’s incredible, congratulations,”

“Thank you,” she replies graciously. 

Harry’s chin rests in his palm and he twirls a noodle around his fork. “So you live here?”

“Yeah, in the Village,”

“Wow. Greenwich Village, a real city-slicker now. Traded Stevie in for the Holland Tunnel?”

A bittersweet smile spreads across Alani’s lips at the memory of her beloved Bronco. “Sadly, yes. And you?”

“Malibu,” Harry divulges. “I hate the cold.”

“It’s not so bad. You can always cuddle up with the giant rats,” she jokes, which makes his nose scrunch.

“I’m just gonna pretend you didn’t say that,” 

“Speaking of pretend,” Alani wiggles her brows. “You were in a movie after all,” 

“I was,” 

“I didn’t watch it, sorry,” 

Harry feigns offense and Alani quickly back pedals. “I don’t like war movies!”

“And you hated my guts.” he teases, though it pains him that there might be some truth to his words. 

Alani shakes her head and fights the urge to reach across the table for his hand. “No, not really. It was kind of the opposite, actually.” 

Harry’s eye wanders to the outside of Alani’s wrist and a faint smile creeps across his face when he spots the black outline of a crescent moon. He wonders if there are any new inked designs that he isn’t aware of. Despite all the time that has elapsed, there is a familiarity in her presence that he hadn’t felt even in the comforts of his California residence. It was like kicking off your shoes in the doorway after a long trip. It was like coming home. 

They finish their meal and continue their light-hearted banter into the night. Harry tells his favorite stories from tour and Alani wishes more than anything that she could have been there. She details the events of her own busy life in New York and the highlights of working for Rolling Stone, one of which being the time that she got to meet Stevie Nicks in the flesh. 

“Did you tell her about your car?” Harry presses enthusiastically. 

“No way,” Alani chuckles, draining the last of her drink. “I wasn’t gonna embarrass myself in front of the Supreme,” 

“I think she would’ve found it flattering,” 

“Naming your child after someone is flattering, not a car,” 

Harry shrugs. “I think it’s cute,” 

“Yeah well,” Alani sighs. “You’re not like most people,”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

She mulls it over, studying the familiar sea glass irises that she never thought she’d see again. What had Alani meant by that statement? Truthfully, she didn’t know if she could put it into words, nor had she meant to say them in the first place. But something about Harry always made her feel brave, like she could speak her mind uncensored and he would understand without even trying. 

“I just meant that you’re, you know,” she starts. “Not judgemental. Like, I could tell you that I think I’m part alien and you’d probably try to help me find my home planet,” 

Harry laughs and leans forward with his elbows on the table, an unspoken challenge for Alani to continue her thoughts. 

“You make people feel seen and heard,” she says finally with a wistful look in her eye. “I mean, why do you think all those people lined up to see you tonight?” 

The last part of her statement is a deflection from what she really wants to say, which is that Harry makes her feel seen and heard. Despite all the time and space between them, it was still true and it terrified her. There was only so much bravery that Harry’s presence could evoke. The mood shifts suddenly when Alani’s phone buzzes and the name “Mason” with a pink heart emoji lights up the screen next to her glass of water. Harry hadn’t meant to look and he deeply regrets that he did. 

“You have a boyfriend,” he comments dejectedly, and though he hadn’t meant it to be accusatory, all words carry the sting of judgment when falling on guilty ears. 

“Oh, and I’m sure you’ve stayed celibate this entire time,” Alani bites back. 

Harry’s brow furrows. “I wasn’t—I didn’t mean—”

“I’m sorry, this was a mistake,” she apologizes, standing with her coat. 

“Wait,” he jumps up. “What just happened?”

“I have to go—”

“Just stop for a minute, please,”

Alani stops in her tracks and turns back to face Harry slowly. His jaw is tight and the crease between his eyebrows is deeper than she remembers. 

“I’m sorry,” she begins carefully. “Thank you for tonight, but I really shouldn’t be here—”

Harry’s eyes clamp shut and he runs a frustrated hand through his messy curls.  

“Can you stop acting like you’re doing me a favor by leaving and just talk to me?”

“What do you want me to say?” Alani pushes back. “‘I’m sorry that I saw your name in flashing lights and I got caught trying to spy on you’?”

“Alani—”

“‘I’m sorry that I tried to move on’?”

“Stop apologizing—”

“I’m sorry that I fell in love and fucked it all up because I was afraid and I’m sorry that I betrayed the one person who meant everything to me,”

Silence falls between them and the only sound is the sniffling of Alani’s nose as she tries, and fails, to hold back the emotions that pour over. 

“That’s why I went,” she continues, voice wavering. “Because I’m selfish and I couldn’t stay away. Every single day, I’m reminded of how royally I screwed everything up and it tears me apart, so I went to try to make things right and take some of that pain away. Even though I hurt you and there’s nothing I can ever do to change that,”

Harry swallows hard and his eyes sting, but Alani speaks up again before he can respond. 

“So please,” she begs. “Please, just let me finally do something right by you and let me go,”

He takes a cautious step forward and shakes his head. “I don’t want to,”

They both hold their breaths, anticipating the other person’s next draw. 

“And maybe that makes me selfish too,” Harry adds. “‘Cause I went back that day, back to the hotel,”

Alani blinks. “You did?”

“Yes,” he nods. “Because I wasn’t mad that you published the article, I was scared that it was the only reason you were with me—”

“Harry—”

“But then I realized that I didn’t care,” he laughs dryly. “Because I still loved you, and I figured that having you— having just a little bit of your heart and your attention—was worth it, even if you didn’t really love me back,”

He takes another step forward and the toes of their shoes nearly touch. “And maybe I’m being selfish now by asking you to stay, but you’re not the only one trying to get rid of the pain,”

Alani takes a shallow breath and studies the eagerness in his eyes. The sight makes her chest pound. 

“I’m sorry that I ever made you doubt,” she whispers. “But I meant every word I said, you were everything to me. You were the sun that my life revolved around and I was terrified of losing you because the truth is that I hate the cold, too,”

Harry gently reaches a hand up to her cheek and Alani leans into the warmth of his touch. 

“Can I show you something?”

You and your goddamn surprises. “Yes.”

He leads them down several winding hallways before flicking a light on in the gallery. Alani’s heart stops when she sees it. 

“Not quite as impressive as the real thing,” Harry offers. “But Ms. O’Keeffe did a pretty damn good job,”

An original Georgia O’Keeffe painting of a waterfall, their waterfall, the one that Alani had mentioned all that time ago, is displayed proudly on the wall before them. A replica had hung above the bed they shared on many nights and all at once a faint memory resurfaces. 

“Where did you say the original was?”

“New York Botanical Garden,” 

 “M’gonna take you one day,”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

Alani takes a step closer to the artwork and examines the details of the oil on canvas. A few steps behind, Harry is only concerned with her reaction and pays little attention to the piece of art on display. As far as he was concerned, Alani was the only one worth admiring. 

“Do you remember what you told me when I asked why you went to the falls to write?” Alani asks. 

Of course Harry had, but he remains silent to let her continue. 

“You said that you liked going there,” she adds, deliberate. “Because it made you forget about every bad thing that ever happened to you, because none of it was real in comparison to the feeling of standing in front of that waterfall,”

Harry nods gently, but he still doesn’t speak. 

“Do you know what that feeling is called?”

“No,”

“It’s called home,” Alani says softly, turning to face him. “It’s what I felt, what I feel, when I’m with you,”

His breath hitches and he stands frozen as she carefully walks toward him.

“And while we’re making wishes come true,” she smiles delicately. “I never told you what I wished for the day we saw that rainbow,”

“What did you wish for?” Harry searches. 

Alani’s eyes fall to his parted lips. “That you would kiss me.”

His mouth curls at the edges and he releases a long breath. “Think maybe I can deliver on that one, too.”

Harry leans in, ever so slightly, and Alani closes the gap. They had been standing mere inches apart, but the meeting of their lips bridges an entire chasm. Over and over again, like waves against the shore, their mouths collide desperately as they pull each other closer with no intentions of ever letting go. 

********

February 14, 2018

“Comment est le temps?” 

Alani peers up at Harry and shields her eyes from the sun behind his back. “What does that mean?”

He grins softly and kisses the top of her head before taking a seat on the balcony next to her. 

“Means ‘how’s the weather?’,” 

“Oh,” she leans over, lips puckered for a kiss. “Full of perfectly Parisian sunshine,”

“Try sayin’ that ten times fast,”

Alani swipes his pink, heart shaped sunglasses and slips them onto the bridge of her nose with a contented sigh. Ahead, the Eiffel tower stands proudly in the distance and the lenses of her glasses tint the entire scene in a picturesque rosy glow. 

“La Ville de L’amour,” she hums. “Did I say that right?”

“Oui,”

“Hey, you know what I saw on the room service menu?”

Harry shakes his head. “No, what?”

“Piña coladas,” Alani wiggles her brows. “Think they deliver at midnight?”

He chuckles lightly and his hand takes purchase on her knee. “They better,”

“Never had a Parisian piña colada. Sounds romantic, though.”

“Sure does, sweets.”

Alani stands and reaches for Harry’s hand. He accepts and rises to his feet, pulling her close. Below, the sounds of the city serenade them as they gently sway in the chilly breeze. When Harry feels Alani shiver, he hugs  her to his chest and rests his chin comfortably on the top of her head. She feels his steady heartbeat against her cheek and smiles softly, fingertips smoothing up and down his back. 

“Are you ready for Valentine’s Day surprise number one?” he asks, pulling away slightly to meet her eyes. 

She narrows her eyes. “Where are we going?”

Harry pulls back with a mischievous smile, hands still attached to hers, and leads them back inside.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

Alani giggles but she doesn’t push. Instead, she happily follows him out of their room, down the hall, and into the bustling streets of Paris. 

We don’t know where we’re going 

But we know where we belong 

And oh we started 

Two hearts in one home 

It’s hard when we argue 

We’re both stubborn 

I know, but oh

Sweet creature, sweet creature 

Wherever I go, you bring me home 

Sweet creature, sweet creature

When I run out of road 

You bring me home

[prettyguardiankore-blog]

Love in Literacy ch5 (Levi x Reader)

(sorry i haven't been updating this much, with how forgetful i am, and the fact that i took a short writing break, it just happened like that :) as always, the fully updated chapters are on my ao3!)

CHAPTER 5

THREE WEEKS AGO

Upon first meeting her, Levi didn’t care for her. The artificial smile she plastered on her face left a sour taste in his mouth. It reminded him of the smiles that the corrupt government officials held themselves to, waltzing into the Underground from their mansions on the surface, preaching of equity for the lower class, all while simultaneously draining their pockets with the outrageously high prices they charged for essential items. It was irksome. For this reason, while she talked, he zoned out, only refocusing when she addressed him directly. Otherwise, he feared he might get snappy, which would only earn him a lecture from Furlan later. Thankfully, the interview went by rather quickly, until eventually the librarian snapped her notebook shut, and shot them another polite smile.

“That's it for the questioning, only one thing before I let you guys go, I’m going to need a print of your signatures.” she said, as she scurried back over to the front of her long….and incredibly messy desk. How disgusting. He could see the thin layer of dust that covered its surface from where he stood. He scrunched his nose slightly in distaste as he fought the urge to shove her out of the way and begin to clean it from the inside out himself. Another reason he was wary of her.

Soon, the librarian had pulled out three blank sheets of paper and pens, and handed them out amongst them. As she did, Levi silently thanked himself for learning, at the very least, how to print his signature… but he knew the same couldn’t be said for others. His eyes flicked over to Isabel, who was staring intently at the paper, with a dumb expression on her face. He grimaced. She really did wear her heart on her sleeve. Is she going to say something?

He watched as Isabel took a shaky breath and took a large step forward toward the librarian, who looked like she was just preparing to occupy herself with another task. She stretched her fingers out to give the librarian a small tap on the shoulder to capture her attention. She turned back with a puzzled look on her face.

“Is something the matter?”

“I’m sorry, I don't really know how to write a signature.” Isabel grumbled.

Levi expected her to give Isabel a pitying smile, and patronizingly apologize to her, for even thinking that Underground thugs would be literate. Since they'd gotten here, the biases that people held for those who resided in the Underground had become evident in the way that they were spoken down to, but she didn’t. She looked at her, processing her words for a moment, before offering her a small smile.

“That's perfectly fine, you can always just do some sort of figure, or if you’d like I can teach you a simple one for your name. ”

Levi could see the tension releasing from Isabel's posture. She was probably expecting the same as he had been.

“...Really?”

“Of course! I’ll show you right now.”

Levi shot Furlan with a questioning look.

Do you think this is going to take a while?

Furlan responded with a small shrug.

I dunno.

Levi sighed, and turned his head back to Isabel's situation.

The librarian's eyes brightened as she grabbed Isabel's hand and tugged her over to the tables, pulling up two chairs for them to sit, with Levi and Furlan still waiting at the desk.

“Some people when signing documents, will only use their first name, their last, or both, some will even abbreviate. A lot of them honestly look like random scribbles...hmm...how about we write yours as ‘Isa Magnol?”

“O-okay!”

“Okay! I’ll write it down right now, and you can practice it every now and then, until you get it.” She said, as she grabbed her pen, and began slowly moving it across the paper. After she was done, she turned back to Isabel.

“Well? What do you think of it?”

”It’s really pretty...but it looks kinda complicated, will I really be able to do this?”

“Of course you can! You seem very capable! Here, give me a moment.”

She moved behind Isabel's seat, leaning over her to grab her hand. Levi noticed Isabel tense at the touch, but relaxed when she remembered she meant her no harm.

“I’m going to show you the motions of it, and then with that, you’ll be able to try it on your own.” she said, quietly.

He felt himself soften at the sight. He knew Isabel wasn't used to this type of gentle treatment, it wasn't something that he or Furlan were capable of providing for her, and it certainly wasn't something she had received before she had tumbled onto their doorstep, all battered up. He sometimes felt guilt for not being able to provide her the life that a young girl should be living, although she didn’t seem to mind. They had a good dynamic among the three of them, but as a result of their harsh environment, it lacked a certain tenderness. The librarian's expression was different now. During the interview, it seemed like she was putting up an artificial persona for them, which had been annoying him more than it probably should’ve, but the way she spoke to Isabel now seemed genuine. He internally reprimanded himself for judging her so harshly initially. She looked down at the paper with intense focus as she wrote the name down. When she was done, she straightened back up, gazing down at the paper with pride.

“How nice!”

Isabel beamed at her compliment.

“Okay Isabel, you keep the first piece of paper so that you have something to reference when you practice, and I’ll take this one as your official signature." she said, pulling up the paper from the table.

Suddenly, as if she had just remembered they existed, her head snapped back to their direction. Levi flinched slightly, and snapped his head to the side. He hadn't realized he'd been staring. He looked up to Furlan. He looked absolutely smitten, gazing at her as she made her way back to them. Good grief. She let out a pensive chuckle.

“I’m sorry, I got a little distracted, didn't I? ...If you guys have completed your signatures I can take them right now.” she said, reaching her hands out towards their papers.

Levi quickly handed his paper over, but as she moved over to Furlan, he quickly shoved his own behind his back. Levi raised an eyebrow at him. What is he doing?

“Excuse me!”

“Yes?”

“Well, as it turns out, I was actually having some trouble with my signature as well. ” He said sheepishly. Levi could see his face going a light shade of red. He gave him a hard stare. He knew Furlan was perfectly literate, so why was he lying to her?

“...Oh? With what part specifically?” she asked, with a bemused look. Furlan's face was beet red now.

“W-well... I was thinking it would be useful to me if you ‘Showed me the motions of it’ like you did with Isabel th-” In an instant the situation became clear. What an idiot. Was this his way of flirting with her? How annoying. He wasn't going to let him waste their time. He raised his arm up, and quickly jabbed him in the gut with his elbow. Furlan doubled over. Levi's eyes widened slightly, it seemed he'd unintentionally put too much force into his hit. Well, whatever. Furlan was a big boy.

“We don’t have any more time to dilly dally around here, we should’ve left ten minutes ago” he said flatly. “Just give her what you have.”

Furlan sighed, and shot him a stink eye. Levi knew he'd be receiving an earful from him later, but he didn't care. He watched as Furlan defeatedly handed the sheet over to her. She gave him a small, awkward smile before walking back to her desk, and filing her papers away. She turned back to them.

“And with that, you guys are all done here.”

“Thank ya! I’ll try to come here when I can to say hi!” Isabel piped, practically vibrating with excitement. She'd really taken a liking to her. The librarian gave her a soft smile.

“I look forward to that very much." she beamed. She paused for a moment, before turning back to where he and Furlan stood.

"The nurses office should be two doors down, on the right side of this hallway, you can’t miss it.” she directed.

He gave her a curt nod, and began heading back through the large wooden doors, and the others followed suit behind him. As soon as he entered the hall, he could feel an angry pair of eyes boring through the back of his head. He turned around to face Furlan.

"If you're going to say something, then just say it."

"She was really cute! Why'd you have to go and do that!? I looked like a fool." He complained, running his hand through his hair. Isabel snickered under her breath, and Furlan shot his head to her direction.

"Don't laugh!"

"It's kinda funny isn't it? You don't have a chance with her anyways." she jeered. Levi sighed.

"You were wasting time. We came here for Erwin and those documents, not to get girlfriends. I was just trying to stay on track." Levi, said unbothered.

"I can multitask." Furlan responded, plainly. Levi rolled his eyes.

"Well whatever, you can always come back. We have shit to do now."

Isabel let out a sharp cackle. Furlan sighed defeatedly, but didn't object. With that, the three of them continued down the hall, to the nurses office.

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THE PRESENT

“Are you going to go now?” Furlan whispered, leaning down slightly. The two of them hovered in front of their barrack door. It was pitch dark...It had to be at least two am. A cool breeze of air ruffled their hair, the only thing to be heard was the soft howling of the wind. Levi gave him a hard stare.

“We only have two more days before our first expedition, and our client's deadline falls shortly after. We can’t afford to waste time, we have to make the most of every second we have from here on out.” Levi responded dully, running his fingers through the bottom of his leather satchel, feeling around for something.

He sighed. Ideally, they would find the documents they needed before the expedition, and be back on their way to meet their client by Tuesday morning. Although Levi was confident in the abilities of Isabel and Furlan, the small knot in his stomach only became more prominent as the day of the expedition drew near. No matter the circumstances, he didn’t like the idea of throwing their lives in needless jeopardy. He felt his hand wrap around a small wooden box, and immediately drew his hand from the bag. His lockpicking kit. He opened it, carefully examining its contents. It looked like everything was in place. He looked back to Furlan.

“Erwin left for a meeting in Mitras a couple of hours ago and most likely won't return until morning. I’m going to go and look in his office. You and Isabel will go look in Shadis’s office.” He said. Levi noticed Furlan shift pensively where he stood in the dark, hand rubbing the back of his neck.

“Are you sure you don’t want me and Isabel to stand lookout for you? This all goes down the drain if we end up getting caught, and you know that.” he pushed. It certainly was a valid point, but Levi wasn't going to change his mind. Tonight was an indispensable opportunity that he wasn't going to pass up.

“No, we need to do this tonight, and since Shadis is actually in headquarters, it makes more sense that you take Isabel so that she can stand lookout for you while you go in.”

“I suppose that’s true enough...” he said quietly, chewing his bottom lip. He let out a small exhale, “...Okay, fine, I’ll go fetch Isabel now.” His confidence seemed to be slowly but surely returning to him, which was a relief. Furlan worked most effectively when he was self assured.

Levi reached his hand up and placed it firmly on Furlan’s shoulder.

“I’ll meet you back here in an hour.” Levi instructed.

Despite the sheet of darkness covering them, Levi could still spot the smug smile Furlan was shooting him. There he is. The corners of his lips upturned ever so slightly in response. Furlan pulled back, stretching his arms behind him.

“Of course, just don’t take too long.” He teased, as he began to walk away, waving a hand back at Levi.

“Yeah yeah, whatever.” Levi muttered, as he made his way in the opposite direction, and to his Captain’s office.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Levi faced no issue getting into the castle, the guards were criminally incompetent at their jobs, prattling away with each other, paying little to no attention to the task at hand. He'd managed to slip past their post, and into the castle, far too easily. After that, the long halls were completely empty. They've put far too much faith in their Royal Guard, he mused. Still, he stuck close to the walls. As he made his way through, he soon found himself passing the library doors. His eyes trailed down to the bottom of the door, he could see a faint yellow glow emitting from the thin crack. He slowed his steady pace.

Is she in there?

He blinked.

...Why do you care.

Levi let out a small huff as he continued to the end of the corridor, and slowly pushed the large wooden doors open. They let out a long shaky creak, despite his efforts. This should be it. His eyes darted left and right between the various doors, until they landed on the second to last door, on the left wall. There it is. As he walked over, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his lockpicking kit. He kneeled down and began his work, all while keeping a small focus on his peripherals. Shortly, he heard a small click from the knob, so he lifted himself up, and slid in.

The Captain's office was just about what you’d expect it to look like. It appeared to be a bit smaller than the other rooms...or perhaps that was due to the copious amount of books lining the walls. And it didn't stop there. His long desk was covered in them, too. Although, despite the clutter, it was still tidy, which Levi could appreciate, it made the task at hand a lot easier. Aside from the books, the desk was seemingly bare, except for a small stack of papers, and a black pen placed next to it. Levi took a couple steps forward, and reached up, picking a random book off the shelf. He flipped lazily through the pages. He wasn’t going to bother to try reading them closely right now, but he was curious of its contents. As he scanned the pages, he saw that there were a lot of dates written in, which lead him to believe that it was a history book. He gingerly closed it, and put it back in its place, before picking another one from the opposite shelf. Same deal. So our great Captain is a history nut, huh?

📷

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Fuck.

Levi ran his hand through his hair. His hour was almost up, and he hadn’t found shit. He had practically turned the room upside down. He’d checked under the carpets, all of the cabinets, the backs of furniture. He’d even checked the drawers for false bottoms, but to no avail. It simply wasn’t in there, which meant unless Furlan for some reason found them in Shadis’s office, that Erwin most likely kept it on his person. If that was the case, that meant the situation was more complicated than anticipated. The theft and the assassination would have to occur at the same time. Levi sighed, and slumped into the Captain’s large velvet chair, closing his eyes for a couple seconds. He opened them back up, staring at the ceiling. A wave of disappointment washed over him. It wasn’t in there. I should just leave then. He heaved himself up from the chair, and placed himself in the center of the room. He began scrutinizing every inch of the office, searching for any remaining signs that someone had broken in. Once he was satisfied, he headed back to the door. He opened it slightly, putting his ear up to the small crack he had created, listening for anyone. When he heard nothing, he began to silently slink back to exit the castle. Once again, he passed through the halls with no issue, and once again, he found himself wanting to check inside the library, an urge that he quickly shoved back down to wherever it came from.

He picked up his pace, towards the last hallway. When he arrived, he placed his ear against the door. He could hear the two guards still chattering away. The guards didn’t stand directly in front of the door, rather, they stood at the bottom of the short staircase that led up to it. There was a thin floor space along the stone walls that Levi could walk through, so as long as Levi didn’t make a single sound as he crept through the door, he could make his escape scot-free. He took a deep breath, before opening the door, creating just enough space to peer through. There were two of them, the one on the right was a bit stockier, with spiky blonde hair, hardly being contained by his cap. He was doing most of the talking, he had a loud, abrasive voice, like a foghorn. The one on the left was lankier, with a shaved head, his contribution the conversation was goofy, nasally laughs. They were still in position, gabbing away. His eyes moved down to their hands. The one on the right held a bottle, which appeared to be nearly empty. Even better. With a bit more confidence, Levi pushed the door further, and began moving through. He kept his eyes locked on the two buffoons, who still made no note of his presence. Soon he was completely outside. He ducked down, and began creeping along the walls back to his room.

“Have you seen that librarian around lately?”

Levi halted. The tall one let out an exasperated groan.

“No, I haven’t, it’s a real shame, she’s a cutie, huh? I was planning on askin’ her out.”

“Do you think she’ll say yes?”

“I think I have a good chance, the last time I saw her, she was practically throwing herself at me.” He bragged. The smaller one let out a harsh cackle.

“Yeah right!”

“No, no, I’m serious! She kept shooting me this flirty smile while we talked.”

”Whatever.”

“I'm serious! The next time I see her, I’m gonna ask her out! And she will say yes.”

“Well...wanna bet some cash on it?”

"You're on!"

Levi suddenly remembered a past conversation he’d had with her.

Oh? And what is?

I don't know... stocky men?

Levi glanced back at the man. He definitely wasn’t pretty to look at. Was she actually interested in him? She really did have poor taste then… but something about what he said didn’t sound right, a flirty smile? That woman glued a polite smile onto her face whenever she spoke to anyone. That’s probably what it was, and he misinterpreted her motives. That sounded right. He continued along the wall, and then stopped. Why was he trying so hard to rationalize the situation? So what if she was flirting with some guard, he wasn't her dad. He shook his head, and did his best to ignore the feeling of relief he’d felt when he’d come to his conclusion, as he snuck back to his room.

Soon, he was out of the castle grounds. He now walked back through the barren training fields. It was still dark, and wispy grey clouds covered the sky, blocking any light the moon would have provided him. The only sound was the soft rhythmic thumping of his own boots hitting the ground. It would be a ten minute walk until he was back in the barracks. He grimaced at the thought of the harsh training he'd be subjected to later in the morning, running on, if he was lucky, an hour of sleep. Suddenly, his head jolted up as he heard a crash in the sky. He furrowed his brow. Thunder? Soon after, it began sprinkling, but unfortunately it didn’t last long, the light shower had quickly turned into a full on downpour. Levi groaned. Just my luck. He thought, glaring up at the gloomy sky, as if he could intimidate the rain into submission with his stare. He quickened his pace, and the barracks were soon in sight, when he heard something. It was difficult to see through the heavy rain, but he squinted his eyes, and made out the figure of… a woman. He stopped in his tracks. Who was it? Well, whoever it was, they were looking straight at him, and it seemed like they’d recognized him. Levi sighed, and began walking towards them. They’d already seen him, so instead of trying to hide, he began to fabricate a story to feed them as to why he was out in the dead of night. He settled on telling them that he was trying to fit some extra 3DMG training into his schedule. It might be unbelievable, but they couldn't prove otherwise. As he moved closer, her identity became more apparent. The delicate features of her face, the way her hair was put in place, the shape of her body… his eyes unwittingly lingered on the way her corset framed her figure.

“Levi? What are you doing out so late?” she asked, wide eyed.

His eyes shot back up to her face.

“I could ask you the same.”

She let out a high pitched giggle, quickly bringing her hands up to cover her face. He cocked an eyebrow. This was unlike her. Something's off. She was disoriented. She wore an empty-headed grin on her face, that lacked the usual stiffness her smiles usually held. She put her hands down, lazily giving him a dismissive wave.

“I suppose you could,” she mused, “I-I was just headed-” She lost her balance, and staggered forward slightly. His hands instinctively shot out to catch her, but she caught herself before he needed to. As she did, a light but apparent scent filled Levi’s nose, and the situation became clear to him. She was wasted. He couldn’t hide the disdain on his face, but she didn’t seem to notice. He hated alcohol, and everything that came with it. Or maybe he just hated drunkards. Nonetheless, the situation was less than ideal. She let out another giggle.

“I was just headed back to my room, I decided to go out tonight.” She said, matter of factly. He clicked his tongue. It would be a hefty task, considering her condition.

“You can’t even walk in a straight line”

“I-I don’t need to walk in a straight line to get to my room! There’s lots of t-twists and turns to get there.” She lifted her pointer fingers up and began revolving them around sporadically, motioning these ‘twists and turns.’ She looked up at the sky. Her smile weakened. Levi watched her intently as he saw her eyes shift into something more sorrowful.

“It’s raining,” she noted, softly. Levi groaned. She was really out of it.

“It has been, for the last ten minutes.” She gave him a serious look.

“I really hate the rain, yknow.” Levi shook his head, she was sputtering nonsense.

“Where’s your room?”

Her eyes slowly moved over to the castle as she lifted her hand, and waved it in its vague direction.

“There.”

“I’ll walk you. It’d be irritating to wake up and find you passed out on the ground.”

“How fun! I was just thinking that I could use s-some company!” He shot her a look of annoyance.

“I'm just taking you to your room.”

“Well whatever, it’s better than that fake Marla.” she grumbled.

Levi rolled his eyes. Fake Marla? He had no idea what she was talking about, but he decided not to ask about it. He wasn't eager to subject himself to her drunken rambling. If he recalled correctly, Marla was that soldier girl that had died that day… How close were they? So she was drinking to forget, then? He sighed and stepped over to her.

"Put your arm over me."

"W-why? I can walk."

"I have places to be, I don't have time to be waiting around for you, stumbling about."

"Rude." She pouted, but she obliged, throwing her arm over his shoulder. Levi leaned down and reached his arm over to her waist, pulling her closer. He adjusted slightly, preparing to walk, when he halted. He had initiated all of this, offering to walk her to her room, giving her his shoulder to lean on, pulling her close...wasn't he being far too friendly? Did he have ulterior motives that he was unaware of? He glanced back at her. Her face was close, her eyelids drooped slightly. No, he was just doing this because she was moments away from blacking out. The heat of her body against his became very obvious. He shifted, and for the first time in a very long time he could feel his face flush ever so slightly from embarrassment. He cleared his throat, and began walking forward.

"This way right?" He asked, nodding to the front of the castle. She shook her head.

"No, go right."

"The entrance to the castle is that way." he said, frowning.

"I-I know, but sometimes there's a guard there that I really don't like…” she leaned in even closer, bringing her voice down, “So lets go my secret way." she whispered, with a grave expression on her face.

God, she was talking like a seven year old. He marveled in the fact that she was only a couple years younger than him.

"What does he look like?"

"Huh?"

"The guard."

"O-oh, ehhhh well he's blonde, kind of tall…." So it was him.

"Sounds like he's your type." he said, dully. She shot him a look of disgust.

"I still have standards." She sneered back.

Levi scoffed, but her response had made him smile a bit. He returned his focus to the task at hand.

"So where is this 'secret way' you're blubbering about?"

"Just keep goin' this way."

Levi continued walking to the right, which seemed to lead to the back of the castle. As far as Levi knew, there were no entrances that way, just some shrubbery. I hope she's not making this shit up. Once they'd arrived, it was just as Levi had remembered, no entrance. He groaned.

"Are you seriously so shitfaced that you're actually making things up?" He demanded. She pushed herself away from him, taking a short moment to regain her balance, and glared back at him.

"Stop being so impatient! God, you really are like a baby! So temperamental!" She began to walk over to the garden. She glowered back at him.

"Give me a moment!" She shouted over her shoulder.

Levi scowled back at her. He wasn't used to people speaking to him like that, but seeing as she was barely conscious, he decided to let it slide tonight. Levi watched as she kneeled down, clasping her fingers tightly around the round bottom of the ceramic pot that held a tall, bushy shrub, and with a small grunt, lifted it up, away from the wall. Levi's eyes shot back up to the wall, and he could now see some wood peeking through the leaves. A door? She continued with the two following pots, until a small, wooden door was completely revealed. She shot him a knowing smirk, and he rolled his eyes. She reached into her pocket, pulling out an old, janky key, and shoved it in, and with a small click, the door popped open.

"Told you so."

"Whatever."

They entered the narrow doorway, and she closed the door softly behind her. Levi walked over and placed himself under her arm again, and hoisted himself up, and they began walking down the silent hallway. She had been extremely chatty the way there, but she was now eerily quiet, only telling him which turns to take every now and then. Levi thought he would've been grateful for some peace, but now that she wasn't jabbering away, things that he'd been able to ignore earlier became impossible in the stillness of the old castle. The way she smelled like roses, the way her waist felt under his hand…

“Levi?”

“What.”

“Why are you doing all this?”

Thankfully, he’d asked himself this question earlier, so he was able to answer without missing a beat.

“It just seemed like the decent thing to do.”

“But you didn’t have to go through all this trouble… you could’ve just had the guards escort me.”

“It’s not that much work. Think of it as payment for my reading lessons.”

She hummed in response. He glanced back at her. She looked like she wanted to press him further, but was stopping herself. Maybe she's sobering up??

“You smell really good.” she said softly.

Nevermind.

There was that bothersome heat in his face again. He swallowed.

“Didn't take you for a pervert.” he retorted, as if he hadn’t been thinking the exact same thing earlier. She snickered.

“Whatever- Oh! Here it is! My room.” she piped, jumping up a bit, causing Levi to sway to the left. Thank God. Another second with her and his brain would've went into overdrive. He released her, and she lurched forward, shooting her hands up to catch herself on the door, which miraculously she was able to pull off without eating shit. Levi clicked his tongue. It seemed like he was going to have to babysit her. He grabbed her arm, pulled her back, and pushed the door open. He was absolutely disgusted with the sight before him. Loose papers, dirty clothes, and books strewn all over the floor. His eyes moved up to the bed. Same deal. Covered in papers, some empty teacups, and other random items. He shot her a dirty look.

“What the hell is this pigsty? How the fuck do you live like this.”

“As long as no one else sees it, what’s the big deal? It’s my room anyways.” she grumbled. He clicked his tongue. It seemed that she was really going to make this whole thing complicated, every step of the way.

“Gross. Stay here.”

He walked over to the bed, and began cleaning it off. He placed all the papers in a neat pile on her desk, carefully stacked the ceramic cups, and settled on putting all the other various items on a pile on the floor. He began shaking out the bed sheets, which, to his grave disappointment, had crumbs. Repulsive. He walked back over, navigating his way through the maze that was her floor.

“Come on.” he instructed, reaching out his arm for balance. She clasped onto it tightly, slowly making her way to the bed, and throwing herself on it. Letting out a blissful sigh, she rolled over to her stomach, closing her eyes. Levi awkwardly stood at the foot of the bed, gazing down at her. He quickly averted his gaze. He felt like he was doing something wrong.

“I’m going to leave now.” he said.

“Mhm” She was already half asleep.

Levi nodded, and began exiting the room.

Fuck.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

"What the hell are you talking about?" Furlan shouted.

Levi squeezed his eyes shut in frustration. They'd failed retrieving the documents before the expedition, and the nerves that were chewing Levi up from the inside were now spilling out. He didn't want Isabel and Furlan to go on the expedition. He was capable of doing it all himself, going on the expedition, killing Erwin, and retrieving the documents.

After he'd returned to his barrack from the librarian's room, he'd stayed up. That woman still mourned the death of her partner that had died a year ago. Her sorrowful face as she gazed up to the rainy clouds flashed through his mind. He didn't want Isabel and Furlan to become memories for him to grieve over, while he got drunk at some dirty bar. They meant too much to him. Like she'd said, it was a very real possibility that they would all die out there, at the very least, he wanted to lower the chances to only one of them dying. He looked back to Isabel and Furlan's pained, confused faces with cold eyes.

"We haven't even seen a real titan yet, and it'll be our first time outside the walls. It may take all we've got just to make it back alive. But if I'm by myself, I'll manage somehow."

"Why would you say that bro-" Isabel began, desperately, before she was cut off by Furlan, who shot his hand up. Her mouth clamped shut. Furlan's demeanor shifted into a more stoic one. Levi could tell he was trying to understand why he was dropping this on them so suddenly.

"So what you're saying is," he started, in a low voice." That we can't handle the expedition, right?"

"That's right, in my opinion."

Isabel jumped down from the crate she was sitting on, and began stomping over to him, until she was just inches away from his face. Her fierce green eyes bore into him.

"How can you say that?! We won't know until we try! What's the matter... this isn't like you at all!" she cried out. Levi scowled, snapping his head away from them. He rubbed his temples. Why were they making this so difficult? He was just looking out for them.

"If you wont stay behind, then this conversation is over!" he shouted, angrily, "We'll wait for another opportunity." he said, with finality. He stormed off, with no destination in mind. He couldn't meet their eyes. He could hear Isabel calling out for him as he walked away, but he ignored her, continuing on.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

After Levi had stormed off, he considered going back to his barrack to sleep, but he didn't want to deal with other people. After wandering around the castle for about fifteen minutes, he'd come across a tall set of stairs, and decided to go up. He'd soon found himself at the top of a tower, the vast night stretched out before him. He gazed back up, thoughtfully. Wispy clouds covered any light the stars are moon would've given him. Just like the Underground. He slowly stepped forward, and sat himself at the wall's edge, staring up at the grey sky. It's all the same. He shut his eyes, trying to escape the situation he faced, just for a short moment. Why were they pushing so strongly against his attempts to keep them safe? Were they that opposed to his care? He sighed. He'd come up here to clear his head, yet here he was, getting himself even more mixed up than before. He closed his eyes again, when he heard the door click open. His head jolted in its direction, and he saw Isabel's head pop through, and Furlan's followed. They walked over to him. They still looked angry, rightfully so. He tore his eyes away from theirs. He couldn't bear to look at them right now.

PLAY THIS.

"Bro!" Isabel called.

"Levi, we need to talk. We can't agree with you going off on your own." said Furlan. Isabel nodded her head furiously in agreement.

"You said that we'd all take the first step outside the walls together, are you really going to go back on your word?" She asked woundedly. Levi turned from them, and back to face the sky.

"It's all the same...Above, Underground, when the clouds cover the moon and stars, it looks exactly like the Underground, even up here," he said, softly. Isabel looked at him with utter confusion. He couldn't blame her. He didn't know what he was rambling on about either. A short silence filled the air.

"...If you're only referring to the color of the sky, I suppose you're right...B-but this is completely different!" Isabel exclaimed, eyes bright, "Unlike the Underground, we know there's no roof! It just goes on!" She turned to Furlan.

"Right?" Furlan nodded at her and smiled back at Levi.

"That right, this sky is endless. You can't even compare the two!" He said, with a small laugh. "That would just be silly!" Levi looked back at them in wonder. Suddenly Isabel's eyes widened, and she started jumping up and down excitedly.

"Hey, hey look" Isabel yelled, frantically pointing up to the sky, "The clouds moved! The moon is so bright!" She ran over and plopped down next to Levi. Furlan carefully seated himself on the opposite side, warily eyeing the edge.

Levi's eye followed her finger. He could see it, gleaming brightly through the clouds. Its soft glow washed over him. His eyes widened.

"You can't ignore the difference anymore now, huh?" She said, cheekily.

He turned to Isabel, and then to Furlan. How could they be so hopeful? How could they march aimlessly into the future, without knowing what it held? Were they just that different from him?

...

What did that make of him, then?

"Levi." Furlan said, turning to face him "You need to believe in us."

"Yeah!" Isabel chirped.

Levi looked up to the illuminating sky, and the two equally illuminating people seated next to him. For once, he decided to give in.

"Okay."

https://archiveofourown.org/works/30083745

[space-wizards-in-space]

The Murmur of the Land

Armitage Hux x Reader

{wordcount} 1.4k A/N: I did it again. I made him alive after ROS. Are we complaining though? No. Enjoy.

(a small bit of angst but BOY AM I SOFT)

Summary: Thoughts can only be disregarded for so long before one may begin to feel consumed.

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

Armitage pulled at the roots with strong hands, hands caked in dirt and grime. It was a thing he’d never thought he’d be subjected to a few years ago, but now, he couldn’t imagine his life any other way. It was less stressful despite all the work. Droids helped a lot with harvesting and planting, but he still preferred to do quite a bit of it himself. He could lie to himself and say he enjoyed it, but he knew it kept his mind off the past. It kept himself occupied and busy, and the man feels as if he were to stop at any point, his loud thoughts would cause him to go insane.

So he worked. Armitage worked and worked, day in day out for a standard year. Slaving away in a field that he slowly built up foot by foot, acre by acre. Moving out from the escape pod he made into a makeshift hut and moving into the small house he built with the help of the couple of droids he bought from the farmer that lived about a days walk east from where he set up camp. They were good company, not too talkative and would only engage when spoken to, chirping short responses in Binary that Armitage could only half comprehend.

It was a peaceful life.

Much more peaceful than his previous one, if not a bit lonely. That was something he chose not to dwell on, wishing to block certain memories from his mind in hopes of keeping his morale high.

So he continued to work, pulling roots and placing them in the large woven basket at his side, sparing a glance at the labour droid doing a similar task on different crops.

“You’ve made quite the life here.”

The sudden voice made his calm expression tense and his blood run cold. Colder than the durasteel blaster barrel that pressed up against the back of his head, not too hard, but rough enough to know that the wielder meant business.

Any voice at all would have startled him, but this one, in particular, made his entire body freeze as he struggled to find his tongue.

“It’s an odd sight to see you so dirty and unkempt. If the circumstances were different, I would have even found it rather attractive.” The words were laced with poison. They were said so coolly but Armitage made note of the slight hurt beneath them.

He slowly turned to face her, raising his dirt-covered hands as he came face to face with a blaster before he made eye contact with a person he thought he would never see again. If fate had been different, If your obvious purpose of being here would have been less hostile, he would have hugged you, but if the weaponry on your person made no mistake, you were not here for a joyous reunion. Much to his dismay.

“So quiet for a man who once commanded entire legions of stormtroopers.” You spat, your lip quivering and your jaw tensed. He took the time now to notice the long scar that ran down the side of your face. That’s new. His mouth opened and closed, looking for the right words to address the woman he once loved. That’s not to say he still didn't love you. He always had. It’s just that one wouldn’t want to dwell on what could have been between them and a lover when they presume said lover to have died in a fiery blaze.

So, to put an end to the deafening silence, he said the only thing that he could formulate.

“You look good.”

Your brows furrowed.

“Don’t try to charm your way out of this.” You spat, hurt in your eyes. “You left me to die.”

“I did not leave you to die.” Armitage snapped back. You pushed the blaster closer to his face and he immediately shut his mouth.

“You don’t want to test me right now, Hux.” Your venomous words were empty, however. He could just tell. His knack for reading people didn't grow rusty after a year of solitude.

“(Y/N)...” He spoke, slowly reaching for the hand that held your blaster, and when he was met with no protest from you, he gently closed his dirty and worn hands around your own gloved one. He recognised those gloves too. You were never really one to let old things die.

His eyes glanced to your face, only to see a now broken expression as your own eyes stayed glued on his gentle grasp. Your mouth slightly parted and your eyes grew glossy. He slowly slipped the blaster from your hands, dropping it to the ground as you fell to your knees, letting your hand fall from his own and to your side as you stared at the blaster that lay in the freshly turned dirt.

Armitage slowly crouched to reach your level, too scared to move any closer out of fear of provoking you somehow, only now he could see how truly tired and hopeless you looked.

“I have been so angry… for so long.” You choked out, your glazed eyes fixated on the dirt before they flicked up to Armitage’s softened expression. “I thought I could do it, but you...” You stopped to take a breath, casting your gaze back down as the eye contact was too intense for you. His chest tightened at your words. Just at the thought that he spent so long thinking you had died in vain, but you were truly just living a year with thoughts of animosity for him in your head.

Finally, Armitage spoke.

“I thought you had died.” He was quiet, almost a whisper. “I had given up hope months ago. I thought it best to not dwell on such things as…” Then he stopped. Debating his next words. They were never things he had said aloud, only thoughts he had pushed down as soon as they surfaced. Just thinking of it caused a lump to form in his own throat.

Your gaze was heavy on him now as you anticipated him to finish his sentence.

“Lingering on your presumed death… well, I wouldn’t have found much reason to go on.”

Though Armitage kept his lips sealed, he shook, and for the first time since his escape back on Exagol, tears began to fall. He instinctively covered his face with his hand, wishing for you to not see him like this, despite seeing him in this state countless times before.

It was then he felt the familiar embrace of your arms around him, and he let out a sob. Whether it was out of the grief of what could have been had you not been separated that fateful day, or out of relief that you accepted him in such a dishevelled state, but they were arms that felt like home. Because truly, no matter how much he tried to convince himself, his cosy little shack was never truly home. There was always something missing from it. He knew it was you, but again, he tried to push you from his mind.

Now that you were here, however, accepting him into your arms after holding a charged blaster to his head, something inside him snapped. Something that’s been there since the fall of the Order. Possibly even since he first met you all those years ago. Him, a lowly General, still working beneath his father, and you, a pilot with wide optimistic eyes that captured his attention from the very moment he caught your gaze.

He had always had this feeling that he was never truly doing the right thing. The right thing, not being something of a moral dilemma, but a personal crisis. In his mind, something has always felt wrong about every choice he ever made and you were the trigger.

He never wanted to be a military man. He never wanted to live under constant stress for the sake of power. He was stuck. Trapped in a life that he never chose. He was groomed from a young age to be a leader and he fell for it. The power was intoxicating but the older he grew, the more tired he became of people expecting things from him. You can tell a child all you want what you want them to be, but as they grow more of a conscience, they choose their own path.

And now, as Armitage slowly pulled away from your warm embrace to look into the red-rimmed puffy eyes of the woman he fell in love with years ago, he realised what he truly wants.

You.

And now, after all these years of turmoil and stress, now that he finally had you, just you, it felt as though he was whole.

[paladin4theright]

Lovin’

Loud music boomed in the ears of teens spread around Stan Marsh’s house. Butters Stotch had a little to drink thanks to the girls at the party. Bebe had mixed him her own favorite cocktail, a Blue Hawaiian, just for the small blonde teen to try. If Butters could picture what a tropical rainforest tasted like, it was most definitely this rum-based drink. Butters was at Stan’s house for one reason only and that was Kenny McCormick. Sure, it was Stan’s birthday and Stan had been really sweet to have invited him but Butters only entertained the idea of attending because his longtime crush told Stan that he was definitely going to be there. He watched Kenny through pale blue eyes and grinned as the other boy trifled with everyone around him. Butters liked how flirtatious Kenny was with other people. Butters liked watching everyone’s reactions to the way Kenny would coyly speak with them. Kyle, for example, would get flustered where Stan would play along. Token would get embarrassed and Clyde would make it into a competition of who could flirt with whom better. The small teen sat on the couch, people watching, as he sipped on the tropical goodness that was his Blue Hawaiian. Kenny made his way around the house, touching shoulders and hips gently as he greeted everyone. For once, possibly because of the sheer number of people that occupied the Marsh residence, Kenny was not wearing his orange parka. It was sitting, waiting for him on the couch, much like a certain blonde boy. As he greeted everyone he could, he already felt some of the effects of the coke and whiskey he’d adequately mixed together. Everything was great. Boisterous rock music played over the speakers and it made his night that much better. The music was infectious. It made him want to fuck, get drunk, and cause general mayhem. He turned and found Butters watching him from the couch with his pale blue eyes. A wide smile crossed his lips and Kenny moved fluidly through the crowd of teens. He made his way to Butters and kissed the crown of pale blonde hair before sitting down next to him. He touched Butters’ shoulder lightly.

“Having fun?” His blue eyes had brightened intensely from the alcohol.

The smaller teen grinned and nodded his head. He held out the Blue Hawaiian for Kenny to take from him. His lips were a light blue from the Curacao mixed in the drink and chapped from the cold air. Stan’s birthday was in October so the air was starting to get colder in their tiny mountain town.

“O-oh yeah, I’m havin’ a g-great time.” Butters shuddered. His heart grew warm when he’d felt Kenny kiss the top of his head. Everything felt a little warm actually. “Are you?” He asked, “Ya were t-talkin’ to a lot of people.”

Kenny’s grin only grew. “Well, yeah! I’m havin' a great time!” His cheeks were rosy from the happiness and slight intoxication he felt. Kenny wrapped his arms around Butters and he nuzzled his nose against the smaller teen’s cheek. He took another drink from his solo cup and tried not to make a mess of himself or the Marsh’s living room couch. He’d decided that Stan had thrown a pretty fuckin’ rad party.

“W-well that’s great, Ken!” Butters attempted to speak over the music. He felt his heart flutter as he looked down to his lap. He reached to his sleeves, pushing them up halfway up his forearms. He looked up at Kenny, nuzzling against the other teen, moving his face so his lips were at Kenny’s cheek, giving him a quick peck. He giggled happily. Kenny chuckled at the kiss and looked down. Butters’ arms caught his attention when he noticed traces of bruising on the pale flesh. Kenny frowned as he ran his right hand over the other youth’s soft arms. His fingertips lightly grazed the skin, being so incredibly careful. If Kenny was being honest, he could admit he worried about Butters often. He knew he had done things that were hard for Butters even if he didn’t remember them. Watching a friend die over and over again could be devastating. He set his drink down on the coffee table and he leaned over to Butters’ neck, leaving light and gentle kisses. He felt Butters grin and lean his head over to allow Kenny more room to kiss at him.

“K-Kenny,” Butters let out a soft moan. He felt little needle pricks all over his body and butterflies floating around his belly. “Ya wanna do this here?” He asked, running his small hands up Kenny’s arms and wrapping them around Kenny’s neck.

The tall teen smiled and leaned against Butters’ warm ear and whispered, “No one here will even remember anything.” His voice was sultry as he kissed Butters’ ear gently and continued to kiss back down his neck. “Don’t be nervous.” His lips moved against Butters neck as he spoke. He then lifted his head to look at Butters and those pretty pale blue eyes. Kenny’s own messy hair fell into his eyes. So many thoughts crossed Butters’ mind but the one that was most prevalent was how handsome he found Kenny. Kenny was always handsome and just knowing that Kenny was as into Butters as he was into Kenny made the small teen’s heart swell and his body shake. Butters could feel his appendage already growing, tugging at the khaki pants he wore. His entire body trembled at the thought of Kenny’s hands wandering over his body.

Butters smiled and nodded his head, “If ya sure Kenny,” He leaned forward to kiss the taller youth’s soft, wet lips. He barely pulled away to tell Kenny. “I trust ya.”

Kenny brushed his lips over Butters’. “After the party is over we can go to my house if you want.” He suggested with an innocent looking smile. The thought behind that smile, though, was anything but innocent. His own feelings for Butters were both romantic and physical. No one made him feel the way Butters did. He didn’t feel poor, he didn’t feel like a failure, and he certainly didn’t feel like he wasn’t loved. That’s what he adored about Butters. “Only if you want to.” He added again.

Butters grinned, excitedly nodding his head. God, he wanted Kenny so badly but those butterflies in his stomach were making him nervous also. Looking at Butters, it would probably be hard to tell that he felt any sexual feelings at all but when he was around Kenny since he’d hit puberty, all he wanted was for Kenny to be with him, around him, and in him. His love for Kenny, Butters thought, could probably make Butters’ heart blow up.

“Y-Yeah, Ken, ‘course I wanna!” He confirmed over the rock music playing. He moved his arms to grab at the front of Kenny’s shirt, pulling the other boy closer to him. He locked lips with Kenny again, still keeping that tight grip on Kenny’s shirt.

When Kenny’s lips locked with Butters’ he felt heat move to his cheeks and a quiet groan escaped him. He always felt like goop when he was with Butters. His heart began to beat in his chest and he felt himself getting stiff, the baggy sweatpants he wore started to feel a little uncomfortable.

“Here, let’s move out of the way.” He moaned against Butters’ lips as he helped the teen stand up and the moved to the stairs. He sat down and patted his thighs, indicating for Butters to sit in his lap. He smiled innocently up at Butter with his large, happy sky-blue orbs.

Looking closely at those bright blue eyes when Butters moved to sit in Kenny’s lap, the petite teen noticed they looked old and tired. They seemed to have seen a lot of grief and held lots of mysteries, which was weird for his age. He faced the dirty blonde-haired boy as he straddled Kenny. Butters wasn’t very heavy at all, mostly from years of borderline neglect. His parents sent him to bed without supper more often than not it seemed. Once he was situated, Butters wrapped his arms around Kenny’s neck and leaned forward to start leaving soft, tiny kisses around Kenny’s lips. It seemed a little quieter on the stairs, probably because of the half wall that surrounded it. It was perfect because Kenny would be able to hear just about any noise that Butters would emit. Cheeks flushing with color, Kenny’s eyes widened, but he loved the feeling that Butters gave him. He wrapped his arms around Butters’ smaller frame and held him close and protectively. He moved to kiss Butters’ neck, sticking his tongue out and trailing it gently against Butters’ soft skin. He moved his mouth to Butters and kissed him sloppily. Sloppy kisses, in Butters opinion, were the best thing in the world. It showed passion, love, and a need for Butters that nothing else had shown him. He let out another hum from the back of his throat, loving the feeling of Kenny being all over him. “J-Jesus, Kenny,” Butters remarked, moving his hands up to grab lightly at the back of Kenny’s dirty blonde hair. He grinned, leaning into the wet kiss to flick his tongue up against Kenny’s bottom lip. Kenny’s lips were soft and supple and tasted like cigarettes, weed, and whiskey.

“Mrph, Butters…” Kenny sighed out and parted his lips, invited Butters to a more passionate kiss. Butters always tasted sweet, which was Butters as a definition. The boy deserved all of the attention Kenny could afford to give him and more. Kenny had decided that when he was old enough, he would dedicate all of his attention to Butters and would work to make a better life for them - maybe move far away. Maybe they could go to Hawaii! Kenny grew excited at his own thoughts, as he passionately kissed Butters.

“Ky!” He heard over the music. “Ky-Le.” It was Stan, drunk as fuck, calling for his best friend. Kenny rolled his eyes, smiling and continued his business with Butters.

Unapologetically, Butters ground his hips into Kenny’s front. He moaned against Kenny’s lips, mouth open and wanting more as they kissed. Butters couldn’t say it, maybe he was too young, but he loved Kenny. He loved Kenny with all his heart and he couldn’t get over how the other boy made him feel. If they were to run away, right now, right this instant, Butters wouldn’t regret it. As long as he was with Kenny, he was happy. “K-Kenny,” Butters moaned, “Kenny, I n-need ya.” His stutter was apparent in his arousal.

Kenny groaned, feeling his own excitement growing when Stan turned down the music and told everyone to get the fuck out. Kenny smiled and looked at Butters. “My place then?” He established with a smile, looking up at Butters as he leaned back against the stairs, watching him through the dirty blonde hair in his eyes.

Butters blushed when Kenny actually looked at him. He was so happy. Kenny was so attractive and sweet and perfect in every way. “Y-Yeah, let’s go!” He voiced his eagerness and moved to get off of Kenny. He held his hand out to the other boy to help him stand. “A-are we walkin’?”

Thanking the smaller boy, Kenny used Butters hand and helped himself up. He moved across the living room and grabbed his orange parka and draped it over Butters’ shoulder. “Yeah, I don’t have a car remember?” He smiled.

Cartman suddenly popped between them, “That’s because he’s fuckin’ po.” He slurred and then walked off, humming “In the Ghetto” by Elvis Presley. Shrugging it off, Kenny turned his attention back to Butters. “Ready?”

Butters watched Cartman for a moment, tilting his head. “More than ready!” He exclaimed before taking his gaze off Cartman and looking up at the teen that stood a good head and a half taller than him. “Don’t worry about it, Kenny. I don’t got a car neither.” He reassured as held out his hand to grab Kenny’s.

There is DEFINITELY SMUT but since it’s tumblr I won’t post it so I won’t get flagged. If you’d like to finish reading the naughty stuff then move on over to my AO3 account!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/13938804

[moonbeammuses-a]

@gentlegently cont. from an ask

                                              A bar. It’s a bar. A human bar, for perfectly ordinary humans in need of a bit of uneventful watering or, more likely,beering; a place that could not be any MORE mundane or any LESSadventurous, utterly unbeaten in its normality. Dirk could kiss it. Because here’s the thing: all day, from the first cacophonous bleep of his alarm clock to the last blister-footed step that brought him into this part of town, he’s been completely DYING dying for a drink.

        Annoyingly enough, being the universe’s favourite plaything does not always result in instant wish-fulfilment. Quite the opposite: over the years, the detective has often found that the simpler his urges, the more viciously complicated the world’s efforts to keep him on his toes. Honestly, he would be hard-pressed to imagine anything less spectacular than the much-needed discovery of a quiet place to have a bit of a sit-down and a container, any kind of container, from which to sip a drinkable liquid, any kind of drinkable liquid. When he startled awake this morning, a whole eighteen hours younger and more naive, he was still fool enough to hope for a park bench and a hot cup of cocoa. Around midday ( his hair a mess and his shirt stained with ghostly ectoplasm, the sight of which is destined to evoke exceedingly wrong connotations ), he would have gladly contented himself with any old folding chair and a bottle of stale apple juice. But by now? Good grief, he’sdesperate. Not that it’s much of a surprise, after a whole day of having been bulleted across town in the most feverish zigzagging pattern by whatever forces of nature still seem to be suffering from intense onslaughts of galactic boredom. Nothing else could explain their pesky tendency to deem him such an excellent bouncy ball. Before chance, fate, or simply his malnourished instincts made him happen across the bar, he was just about ready to curl up on a mould-covered spot of pavement behind a leaky rubbish skip and slurp mouthfuls of rainbow-oiled puddle water. And now this! He’s positive he has never seen a more inviting establishment in his entire life: the door is just a door, just a normal human-sized door without sanity-threatening riddles or insane mechanisms designed to catapult unsuspecting visitors into a far-away dimension populated by, oh, blood-thirsty paperclips, if he knows his luck. The walls are just walls, the windows are exactly that, warm and glowy with a hospitality that sends several full-body shivers of hope racing all the way from Dirk’s singed hair to his exhausted toes.

                                                                              When he finally stumbles into the room, it’s with an exhale of relief loud enough to shake the entire building. And — and perhaps it’s mainly the pure delight of being welcome, the unbridled joy of, just for once, NOT finding himself on the short and definitely far-too panicky end of a life-or-death chase — perhaps it’s just all of that, but when he spots the barkeeper behind the meticulously polished counter, it appears to him that he’s never seen a more handsome face, never entrusted himself into the care of two hands more expertly kiss-worthy than those.

               Unmistakably re-energised, the detective hurries toward the counter and seats himself, regrettably leaving little smudges of doubtful origin on whatever surface he touches, but glossing it all over with a radiant smile. His belief in the world and humanity at large has been rekindled, all is well again! “ Good evening, my good-looking, drinks-pouring barkeeper man, ” he enthuses vocally, thoroughly basking in the wonderful experience of acquainting his behind with something as outlandishly comfortable as a seat. “ If you’d be kind enough bless me with a cup of tea and perhaps a biscuit or two, I swear I will love and cherish you FOREVER! ” Remarkably, it doesn’t feel like an exaggeration. Nothing but floaty dandelion fluff remains in the tingly hollow that was, up until a second ago, Dirk’s brain. The enamoured grin is quick to drip from his lips, however, when he shoves his hands into all and any pockets he encounters in his clothing and finds not coins, not banknotes, but an empty packet of crisps, a rubber duck, a cracked-open geode, six identical pink glitter gel pens, a miniature flowerpot, a palmful of what he can only assume were once fruit loops, the lower half of a toothbrush and a huge rumpled-up ball of leaflets advertising a never-heard-before brand of turtle food.

                               “ Oh — Oh, God. Do you — p-please tell me you accept payment in the form of case-solving! I’m a detective, you see, a fairly good one, if fairly is understood to mean almost and good, uhm, adequate-in-all-regards-except-likelihoods-of-success. I … I have connections to the CIA!I could give you a get-out-of-prison-for-free gift voucher, o-or … oh! I could find that one object you’ve lowkey been looking for all those weeks!, the one you don’t really NEED, but would quite like to see back in your possession because its disappearance feels like a vague gnawing at the back of your mind, complete with cerebral little chomp-chomp noises! Those are destined to drive you insane in NO TIME at all. Your mental health should be WORTH a mug of hot plant water or two! ” He’s going off a hunch here, frankly, but — everyone has an object like that, and he really, really, really needs that cuppa!

Well, that certainly was an entrance. Jimmy had only just finished clearing away several glasses and their subsequent condensation marks from the group that had occupied that particular barstool, and the three on either side of it. He was setting out new coasters when the undeniably odd man  plopped down before him, cheerful demeanor clashing horribly with the state of his clothes and hair. Whatever this man had been through, his attitude seemed undeterred, and really, something about that eagerness was utterly charming. Jimmy found himself smiling at this new customer even before he’d really heard the request, too caught up in the bright yellow of his.. slightly damaged jacket, and the almost manic gleam in those blue eyes. 

The eager request for tea was met with a chuckle, once it actually processed. “I just might hold you to that,” he joked. 

“You’ve got good timing, I only just finished boiling some water,” Jimmy continued, turning to the kettle behind him. Indeed, the machine had clicked off at nearly the same moment this new man came in through the door. Jimmy spooned out a portion of tea leaves, a rather lovely fall-themed blend, spicy chai with a hint of ginger, sure to help fight against the chill that clung to the wind today. When he was readying to pour the water, he heard the unmistakable sounds of his new patron frantically pocket-checking. Ah. Seemed his day had left him with more concerns than mussed hair and a dirtied coat. 

Jimmy had barely opened his mouth to offer the cup of tea on the house when the man began to offer his services as a detective, of all things, and Jimmy turned to face him curiously, kettle still in hand and all-but-forgotten as he listened to the explanation. It was all a bit strange, really, but something about the fervent energy in the way h spoke left Jimmy smiling all over again. It was adorable, truth be told. He could see how the flurry of words might bother some, but it was, honestly, quite endearing. Still.. the emphasis on something lost nagged at his mind. Well, maybe he was being a bit silly. After all, this was a stranger. 

“Not to worry,” he said calmly. “I’ll let you have this one on the house. You seem to have had quite a day, and I imagine a nice cup of tea will do its own small part in making your day a bit better. But in exchange, you’ll have to tell me more about your detective work, okay?” he asked, and turned his attention to filling the teapot so that the leaves could steep. “Not many people ask for tea in a bar, you know,” he commented. “I usually just make it for myself.” With that comment established, he turned and dug around in a cabinet beneath where the kettle sat, pulling a half-emptied package of Tesco’s malted milk biscuits. Tucking that beneath one arm, he also retrieved an unopened pack of Chocolate-coated Digestives, ad he set both before the stranger, soon followed by a cup and saucer, and, of course, the teapot. 

“That’ll need a good two minutes to steep,” Jimmy noted, nodding at the teapot. “Goes great with honey, if you like.” A scan around the bar revealed it was nearly empty, aside from a couple of regulars in the booths, nursing their drinks and looking quite content for the moment. So Jimmy pulled his own stool up, sitting across from his colorful customer, and setting his own teacup on the bartop. “So, you’re a detective?” he asked. “Do you work with the police?” A pause, then.. “You mentioned finding objects. ...Do you maybe help find people who’ve gone missing?” 

[oscar-isaacs-number-one-bitch]

The Friendly Film Fan Mini Reviews (2018)

Due to time constraints and the nature of finals week being intensely busy, I’m not able to give my full time and attention to every movie I see in theaters in terms of writing up a full-length review (though I did just write up two for Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse and Bumblebee, so go check those out). Occasionally as well, I get busy enough after seeing one that by the time I actually do have time to write a full-length review, the relevance of said review has passed with time. With this in mind, I do a set of mini-reviews each year that are more like short summaries of what I thought of each film, along with the usual score on a scale of 1 to 10. Not every movie I didn’t write a full review for this year will get one, but I’ll try to cover the ones I feel that I need to for this list. Here are The Friendly Film Fan’s mini reviews for the calendar year of 2018:

 A Simple Favor:

A Simple Favor provides a decent showcase for Blake Lively’s acting abilities with style for days, but the mystery really isn’t anything special, playing off as a sort of discount version of Gone Girl that forgot why that movie worked so well, but Anna Kendrick is cute, and at least it has some good performances amidst lackluster dialogue. Really expected more from this one. 6.4/10.

 Leave No Trace:

Please never let director Debra Granik leave us for this long again, even though the result of it is perhaps the best movie to come out about post-war veteran life in a really long time. Ben Foster puts on a great performance that’s par for the course for him at this point, but the standouts here are Thomasin McKenzie, a genuine talent that should get a lot more work after this, and a script that respects its audience just as well, if not better, than it respects its subject matter. 9.8/10.

 A Prayer Before Dawn

A terrifically performed but occasionally difficult to watch, brutally hard-hitting movie with a career best turn from Joe Cole, A Prayer Before Dawn firmly establishes A24 as not just one of, if not the, best independent movie studio working today, but also the most ambitious. It tackles things like drug addiction and gang violence while also being a uniquely inspiring coming-of-age character piece. The film being set in a Taiwanese prison without subtitles (until Cole’s character learns to speak the language that is) truly lends to the sense of the world, and the result is really quite special. 9.4/10.

 You Were Never Really Here

Lynne Ramsay’s meditation on humanity’s obsession with violence is a stunning watch, as the film actively chooses to refuse to let the audience partake in such brutal acts as depicted in a tour de force performance (perhaps a career best) from Joaquin Phoenix. The film is always focused on how badly people want to see the violence and then forces you to reflect on why you wanted to in the immediate aftermath of its happening. The editing, direction, and Phoenix’s performance all add up to a seriously impactful watch. 9.4/10.

 The Clovehitch Killer

Many people were wondering if I was going to give this movie a full review, given that both my younger sisters are in it, but given how low it flies on the radar being a VOD release simultaneous with its limited theatrical run, a full review may not have gained a lot of traction. That being said, this is a really solid example of how to do a good film on a low budget; it’s noticeable, but it doesn’t detract from the overall narrative as much as it typically would in a movie like this. The first act takes a bit to pick up some steam, but once Charlie Plummer finds a box in a barn, it’s a pretty tense ride the rest of the way. 7.2/10.

 The Kindergarten Teacher

Netflix has been picking up some pretty good stuff lately, and while I haven’t yet viewed 22 July or The Ballad of Buster Scruggs yet (still waiting for ROMA as well), this is a pretty good indicator as to how they’ll get into the awards circuit. It’s good, and Maggie Gyllenhaal is really good in it, but the protagonist is just too unlikable for me to want to keep watching. Gyllenhaal plays the part well, but it’s difficult to root for someone to kidnap a child (which is a thing that happens). 7/10.

 Ralph Breaks the Internet

No, it’s not as good as the widely beloved first film, and that’s largely because what made the first one so special was its emphasis on classic arcade style video games as a means to tell a story but not the point of the story, a self-growth tale about Ralph learning to not be insecure about his place in the broader world he occupied, and also an arc that’s immediately forgotten as this one starts. The sequel aims to mostly just show off everything Disney owns in animated form since it takes place in the internet, but much like the internet, it seems much more concerned with selling you something rather than actually making a new point, though given Disney animation’s storytelling pedigree, you still have a good bit of fun along the way. 8.2/10.

 Boy Erased

If there’s a singular film I’m more disappointed in than any other this year, it would be Joel Edgerton’s Boy Erased, an LGBT drama about the dangers of conversion therapy that doesn’t really seem to make any greater point other than “conversion therapy is bad.” Everyone in it does solid performance work, but it’s all just pretty good work where it could be great, there’s a whole rape scene that’s never really addressed by the movie except for briefly after it happens but not in context to the main character, and the whole thing is so drab and colorless right from the get-go that it feels like Edgerton doesn’t want you to feel any sense of joy even before the bad stuff happens. It’s not a bad movie, but it feels incredibly lackluster given the talent involved. 6.9/10.

 Bohemian Rhapsody

And if there were any film this year people probably should be more disappointed by, it’s this paint-by-numbers recap of the highlights of classic rock legend Freddie Mercury, with his time in the band Queen serving as the main backdrop. Rami Malek’s physical performance is too devoted and genuinely astounding to not garner him some awards attention, and the use of a Mercury sound-a-like he lip syncs over shouldn’t be held against him in terms of that, but it does make a little bit of a difference since one can tell it’s definitely not Malek’s voice in the singing parts. The re-creation of the Live Aid concert is a true work of art, but getting there is such a plain ride, it’s honestly kind of boring. In fact, there’s whole edits in the film where one of Queen’s hit songs will start being written, and then it cuts away to a concert version of it but doesn’t bother to stay in any one spot for more than a few seconds at a time, and the moment either gains momentum too quickly or loses it entirely. This film needed to be great in order to justify being more than just another fairly average Brian Singer movie, and in my view at least, it didn’t accomplish that. 6.1/10.  

 Lean on Pete

Another foray into small film territory from A24, this coming-of-age tale starring Charlie Plummer in the role that will almost certainly propel him to stardom if he’s not there already is a terrific, moving portrait of grief, hope, loss, and love so subtly rendered by the script that by the time it rips your heartstrings out at the end, you barely realize the impact of the journey you just went on and the credits are already rolling. And hey, it’s always nice to see Steve Buscemi get work that unexpectedly fits him since he’s becoming such a recognizable chameleon of an actor; we may always recognize his face, but his performances just keep getting deeper. 9.4/10.

 And those are all of my mini-reviews for the calendar year of 2018. Any you didn’t see on the list that you’d hoped to? Any verdicts you’re surprisingly elated or disappointed by? Let me know in the comments below! Thanks for reading, and keep an eye out for my next review, coming soon!

[moodring89]

[Taegi] Espresso Marmalade Ch.3

Pairing: Taehyung / Yoongi (ft. side Jikook) Rated: M / NC-17 Genre: BDSM!AU Tags: Dom!Yoongi, Sub!Tae, Shibari, Master/Slave, Canes, Impact Play       Summary: Jeongguk was more eager to get inside the club, taking long strides to the set of black steel doors. It was the younger’s idea to bring Taehyung to Void. Seoul’s first fetish house, an upscale BDSM parlor that was legally permitted and licensed. Or the one where Tae’s a meek virgin who catches the eye of Void’s most popular dom. Previous chapters: 01 , 02,

*Problem with the layout? Read on ao3 here.

Chapter Three: the Boy Who Lies It was a thirty minute drive to Void, giving Taehyung ample time to self-reflect on his anger, except he wasn’t going to do that. There was no pressing down on the brakes once he’d abandoned Jeongguk, dead set on breaking something precious of Jimin’s, a wrist, his pretty face, anything to placate the rage he felt then. He kept thinking back on that boy, Woozi – continuously, continuously, and continuously. How the audience took him in with some sort of cruel, refined amusement; how Taehyung himself had watched as he was punished, haunted by the fact that he’d liked it. Then he imagined Jeongguk in Woozi’s stead, being tortured in an open room because of his indiscretion. Honestly, he felt more like an overbearing parent than a friend at the moment. Taehyung was always an old soul, too judgmental at times and prone to being annoyingly willful. He wasn’t thinking of how this might hurt Jeongguk, how it might jeopardize whatever bullshit relationship he had with Jimin. It wasn’t real, anyway, right? Taehyung had seen it firsthand, existing in the red, angry lines across Jeongguk’s back. Love wasn’t supposed to be so fucking violent. It was one o’clock in the morning when Taehyung pulled up outside the club. Denizens were pouring in and out the doors. It was a busy night, apparently. He killed the ignition and stepped out into the cold air. He’d been in such a rush to leave the dormitory that he forgot to grab his coat. It hardly mattered with the adrenaline coursing through his veins, the anger mixing with raw, nervous energy – warming him through. Taehyung was a storm; one that was ready to be unleashed. Just fucking watch him go. He threw open the doors to Void as if he owned the place. Taehyung was so focused on his current objective that he didn’t question a single, goddamn thing. No – the gentleman wearing a leather dog hood with mittens leashed by a fucking space demon, that – that was all well and dandy. The reception area was swarming with new patrons to one side and the regular check-ins on the other. Luckily, all Taehyung had to do was flash his ID due to his past visit being logged, and he was allowed entry. “Oh, gorgeous,” the woman behind the desk said – it was the same receptionist he’d met on his first night at Void. Tonight she wore a nametag that read, ‘Claire’. She leaned over the desk, her large, full set of breasts spilling over her forearms. “I knew you’d come back for more trouble.” Truer words… “It was hard to stay away,” Taehyung said, lying as easy as breathing when there was partial truth to it. “Can you tell me whether or not a specific scene professional is here right now?” She raised an inquisitive brow, adjusting her glasses on the bridge of her pointed nose, “For an appointment or a show?” ‘For an ugly confrontation and an ass beating,’ Taehyung mused quietly to himself. “It’s about a question I have in regards to using a scarf as binding material for an over-arm tie. Do you know if Jimin is still around this evening?” “You drove here just for an inquiry?” Claire teased, tucking a hand beneath her chin, as though that was the most adorable thing to have happened, ever. In any case, she could tell that he was serious. “Jimin finished with his last appointment not too long ago.” The receptionist found it a little bit odd that Taehyung showed up within the same hour that his friend had left. “However, his shift doesn’t end for another twenty minutes. You can usually find him in the lounge area.” Taehyung said nothing else, wordlessly headed for the corridor that would bring him to the main room. Reflecting what he’d seen from outside alone, the club was packed, maybe even more so than it had been last week, except this time he didn’t have anyone with him. He was alone, a small fish swimming in an ocean of sharks. It didn’t matter to him that he was gaining looks, heads turning as he walked by. Then he remembered the unspoken dress code and realized that he was once again, sticking out like a sore thumb. Oh, goddamn it. He was wearing a baggy pair of black pants and one of his night shirts. The collar of it was beyond stretched out, exposing the pretty contours of his collarbones, the white fabric falling off one shoulder. He reached for his scarf and was coming up empty, cursing low when he realized that he’d left it in the car. Fuck it. He could deal with being openly stared at for a short while, his venture too important to abandon for a wardrobe malfunction. This wasn’t going to take long, anyway. All he had to do now was find his target. The lounge was more chaotic at this late hour, scenes unfolding like the first time Taehyung had attended, except they weren’t being performed on stages, but on ground level, and by the guests themselves while being supervised. It might be hopeless to find Jimin at this point, the room considerably less orderly, which meant it was more intimidating for Taehyung. He did a slow turn, taking in all that was around him – fighting not to get distracted while on the lookout for silver hair. The bar was completely full, all stools occupied, save for the black button tufted booths. The area was dimmed, the only light coming from small string lamps that illuminated the center of each table, leaving all else shrouded in darkness. Just when Taehyung was about ready to give in to despair, seated at the furthest booth, was Jimin. He was dressed in a hooded sweatshirt with his hair mostly concealed beneath it, wrapping his spit slickened lips around a glass of water. Alone. How opportunistic…Taehyung was a force that couldn’t be stopped at that point as he pushed his way through the crowd that separated them. All he could think about were the bruises, all deep and prominent across Jeongguk’s body. How glossy eyed and sad the younger had looked while he defended the asshole. Jimin sensed the boy’s presence before he saw him. Violence was a good way to end the night, he supposed, as he calmly placed his water down and out of the way. He knew that in about five seconds that he was going to be placed on top of the table. It was Jeongguk’s ‘bestie’ – the kid who’d already caused him enough grief. Taehyung was headed straight for him with the elder allowing it to happen. Jimin kept his arms at his sides when he was abruptly dragged up to his feet by Taehyung’s large hands twisting in the front of his shirt. The table rattled as he was roughly shoved into it. Taehyung was gorgeous, even while furious. Jimin could understand Yoongi a bit more from this angle, could see the appeal in every line of his devastating features, and he could feel the strength in the intensity of his trembling form. It incited Jimin’s own bout of anger – however, unlike Taehyung, he was able to manage it, “Taehyung-ssi, right? Do you not know how to hold a normal conversation?” “Normal conversations are meant for normal people, not for assholes like you. I’m so sick of hearing how much you care for Jeongguk, when you hurt him on whim. You hurt him because of me,” Taehyung said, voice oddly calm despite how clearly pissed off he was, pressing all of his weight into Jimin. “Wow, you really understand nothing, do you? You’re very wrong and I didn’t hurt him, because of you…although, you certainly didn’t help the case.” Jimin was tired of situations such as these. They happened so often in the form of ex-lovers, concerned family members, friends storming in like they were saviors. Ignorance at its finest, people so quick to judge, growing up with a set of beliefs, protected by their rose-colored glasses. They were sad, deluded people. “I gave Jeongguk exactly what he asked for and you’d know that if you cared enough to listen to him. Truth is, you’ve been a bad influence on my submissive, Taehyung-ssi.” Taehyung wondered what that meant, giving Jeongguk ‘exactly what he asked for’. It was unfathomable that Jeongguk thought this was love. Taehyung leaned in towards the elder, as if closeness served as some sort of dial for anger that he kept steadily cranking up, growing harsh, “Don’t talk about him like he’s some fucking pet of yours, because he isn’t. He’s my best friend, he’s a whole person, and you’re just a piece of shit looking for reasons to inflict pain on others.” “Oh, but Jeongguk is my pet,” Jimin murmured softly, bringing his face a mere inch away from Taehyung’s, invading what little that was left of his personal space as a subtle way of pushing back. “What are you going to do once he moves in with me? Picket outside my loft? He has a ways to go with his training, but it’s inevitable. So long as he wants me, I’m not letting him go. And I also think you owe it to yourself to admit that all of this makes you jealous.” Taehyung’s cheeks flushed at the accusation, actually livid. “It’s not like that with Guk.” “Not all jealousy has to be of the romantic sort,” Jimin said, as he slowly moved his hand to the fist still curled in his shirt, trying to gently coax Taehyung’s fingers open to release him. The boy didn’t budge. “Jeongguk has found himself. He knows what he wants, what he likes, but who are you? What is it that you want, Taehyung-ssi?” “What I want is to hurt you for what you did by breaking each of your fingers, so that you can never touch him again,” Taehyung managed to get out in one shaky, overwhelming breath. He felt himself slipping into that part of himself that he couldn’t control. His weakness was impulse, forever and always. One hand released Jimin in favor of reeling his arm back, imitating the elder’s sweet politeness, “I want to leave my own mark, ‘Jimin-ssi’.” Jimin could tell that the Taehyung’s fit of rage would not be easily settled or assuaged with neither words, nor logic. Right now Taehyung felt justified in raising his fist – Jimin knew that he couldn’t be stopped, at least not without using force. He didn’t need an upset submissive, especially now. Jimin looked him dead in the eye, “That’s an awful lot of greed for one boy. Luckily for you, I like to indulge. Go ahead.” What the hell was his problem? ‘Whatever,’ he thought, ‘open invitation or not, it’s still gonna feel good and right.’ Just as Taehyung came down to strike Jimin, an arm abruptly hooked around his own, preventing him from going any further. The monitor from the other night, Namjoon, had to use most of his strength to pull the boy off of him. Jimin released his white knuckled grip from the table, having been prepared for Taehyung to hit him, “I was beginning to wonder if you were ever going to show up.” Namjoon gave a healthy roll of his eyes, “Excuse me for having not yet mastered the art of teleportation. And you –” The monitor hadn’t been expecting to catch Taehyung’s fist square in the jaw, staggering back a couple steps. Fuck. Namjoon grunted at the discomfort, but was ready to defend himself, blocking Taehyung’s next swing, before delivering his own. He could hear the howls of laughter coming from his earpiece, Wonshik was rolling, “Ah, man! That was great…Good thing we got it all on film. I thought you were faster than that, hyung-nim, but nope. You suck and there’s comfort to be had there. Anyways, face recognition pulled up a one Kim Taehyung. He’s brand-spankin’ new.” “Not anymore he’s not,” Namjoon said, as he stared down at Taehyung, ignoring the ache in his lower jaw. The boy was sitting up on his elbows, watching the monitor from his spot on the floor where the blow had sent him. Taehyung’s lip was busted open, broad chest rising and falling, still worked up and seething mad. Namjoon didn’t like it – not one fucking bit, as he decided to put an end to it, “Kim Taehyung, I sentence you–” “Wait,” Jimin said, gently placing a hand on Namjoon’s forearm, stopping him before he could make Taehyung’s removal official. Once it was done, there would be no way of reversing it. “Before you do your song and dance, you should know that…” There was only one sure way of overriding a monitor’s power, “…this boy has a master.” It wasn’t the truth, but it was close enough. It might even help the little brat, Yoongi and Taehyung both. ‘Breathe, Jimin,’ Yoongi said, tearing his eyes away from the corridor that Taehyung and his little bunny friend had practically ran to make an escape down. The younger remained silent in the aftermath of Jeongguk’s outright display of disobedience. It’d felt like a slap in the face. He stared holes into the Persian carpet, searching for an explanation as to what had just transpired, since it made no sense at all.   ‘Jeongguk has never…’ Jimin murmured softly, voice barely above a whisper. It wasn’t like him to get angry over such things. A dom had to always remain in control, especially of their own emotions. Right now, he was being woefully transparent. ‘He would never behave this way. Who the hell was that kid he was with, this ‘Taehyung’?’ Yoongi was amazed over the fact that Jimin had gone so long without a submissive being a huge fucking brat. He threw out the obvious as a friendly reminder, ‘When a sub acts out, it’s rarely unintentional. They want to see what they can get away with, how far they can push you, since that’s when a dom is most expressive. You should give your bunny what he so desperately wants from you…’ ‘Jeongguk is in love with me. So, he’d want a great deal more than what I’m capable of giving to him,’ Jimin said, unsure of why it hadn’t felt wrong to expose something so intimate to Yoongi. The elder was a seasoned professional, one who’d probably been in the same situation multiple times before. Maybe that was it. ‘I’ve known for a few weeks now, but it’s starting to get intense.’ ‘He’s young and also new to the community.’ Yoongi shoved his hands inside the pockets of his jeans, tired, and freezing in a perfectly warm room. He shrugged with a show of nonchalance, ‘Of course he’s in love with you. Wait–he wasn’t a virgin, was he?’ Jimin was almost offended by the question. He shook his head, much to the elder’s relief, ‘Come now, I’m not that stupid. The only thing with that is, he never enjoyed his past sexual experiences, and he always topped. I guess I’m his first in a different way.’ ‘Christ. Be careful, especially if you don’t plan on reciprocating his feelings. Although, if you ever decide to go there with him I wouldn’t judge you for it, and I’d personally knock the teeth out of anyone who did,’ Yoongi said honestly, having personally been faced with that battle. If Jimin denied how he felt right now, he’d call him a fucking liar. It was obvious that he was taken with his rope bunny. ‘I now fully understand why you stopped taking submissives into your care.’ Jimin hadn’t meant to say that, the regret already settling into a frown on his face. He enjoyed taking care of someone. Jimin also loved being needed by others. He looked over at Yoongi, taking in the hint of amusement there, a faded look of fondness that was usually lost on him. ‘Unless you were rethinking your retirement?’ ‘Taehyung is a boy who’s lost…’ It wasn’t that simple, it hardly ever was. Taehyung was absolutely stunning, a burning flame, the sun personified. After only two seconds of meeting, Yoongi could tell that he was fucking complicated. ‘…he’s a boy who lies to himself.’ Jimin raised a brow, wondering if he should be concerned, or intrigued. ‘It doesn’t sound like you’re all that put off by it.’ ‘That’s probably because I’m not.’ Yoongi peered over at Jimin seriously, taking in his look of surprise. ‘Should Taehyung return, I’ll make him mine.’ “Oh, the fuck I do,” Taehyung spat out venomously, as he started pulling himself up to his feet. He paused to glare at the two hands being extended to help him, Jimin and Namjoon’s both, “Are you kidding me? Look, I don’t know why this duck-looking motherfucker is lying to you, but I belong to no one.” “Such brave talk, but I think we’ve had enough of the heroics for one evening, don’t you?” Jimin was practically glowing with amusement, almost pitying the boy for his next move. He turned towards Namjoon, “Let Sugar know that his little pet is out here causing a scene.” Taehyung felt his blood run cold at the mention of Yoongi’s scene name. There was no way that could be allowed to happen. The implication alone was laughable, that he belonged to – to his professor? He pressed his tongue to the gash at the center of his bottom lip, tasting the thick rivulets of blood there, thinking of a way out of it. Hell, he would’ve contemplated more violence, if not for the odds being stacked so high against him. “I’ll just leave.” “This is odd behavior for a pet,” Namjoon said, ignoring Taehyung’s declaration to raise a skeptical brow at Jimin. “It's also common knowledge that Sugar doesn’t take submissives anymore, and he hasn’t for quite some time.” “This one here is his saving grace,” Jimin insisted, the lie absent in his words, fully believing in his own statement. Call it good intuition. Taehyung had potential, especially if Yoongi was able to see it already. The elder had always been so perceptive, so very good at reading others, knowing exactly what they wanted, what they craved. “Sugar’s exceptional boy…” “Well that’s – that’s fucking cute, but…” Taehyung laughed, without the amusement, taking dangerous strides closer towards the shibari expert. Namjoon was there, pressing a firm hand to the boy’s chest as Jimin lowered his gaze to Taehyung’s mouth, watching his lips form around words – words he’d heard so many times before, it was almost comical, “I’m nobody’s bitch.” It was that particular line that was often disproved, almost like a sentence in of itself. Yoongi was right, Taehyung was fucking lost. From between them, Namjoon gave a heavy sigh. It was obvious to him that Jimin was protecting the kid, but why? He brought the slim, plastic microphone to his mouth, sensing that the situation wasn’t going to deescalate anytime soon. “What’s Sugar’s twenty?” No one seemed to be listening to Taehyung, especially when, “I said I’d leave on my own, so long as duck tales doesn’t say anymore bullshit on my way out.” He really didn’t want to deal with Yoongi right now. The thought of it was enough to set off his anxiety, already too embarrassed about his obvious loss, having accomplished nothing by showing up at Void tonight. He was quick to add, “There’s no need to get that fucking guy here.” “Yeah, especially since ‘that fucking guy’ saw everything,” said the voice from the crowd that had steadily formed around them. Taehyung felt as the dread washed over him, all too familiar with the low, humorless tone of its owner. The younger turned to find Yoongi standing there among dozens, vividly severe in a black fitted blazer and matching slacks. A red silk was tied under his arms and under the lapels of his jacket, coming to settle around his slender waist. The colors were vibrant in contrast to his fair skin, rendering Taehyung into silence. Fuck. “Scratch that, Wonshik,” Namjoon said, dismissing the monitor’s search. He instantly removed his hand from Taehyung out of respect for Yoongi. It was an unexpected outcome to say the least, but it was no longer any of Namjoon’s business, “I take it that you’ll see to his punishment then?” “Most certainly,” Yoongi promised, playing the role to its fullest, as he stepped beside Taehyung. He eyed the split in his bottom lip, tsking with disappointment, “We should get that cleaned up, but first I want you to apologize to Jimin.” Taehyung scoffed at the prospect of doing such a thing, he was so disgusted. “What? No…” Yoongi nodded more to himself, than to anyone else – tacking on Taehyung’s rude behavior onto the growing list of things that would need to be worked on. It was useless when the boy didn’t even understand the point of the apology, didn’t fully realize the offense. Yoongi knew this and yet, he was still hopeful that manners were residing somewhere within that beautiful foundation, but oh well. “My sincerest apologies for Taehyung,” Yoongi said, apologizing on his behalf. He was being careful with his wording, since Taehyung really wasn’t under contract as his submissive, going along with the lie that Jimin started. If Namjoon learned of this, he would end this little exchange, and have Taehyung thrown out. “There was a misunderstanding and he acted impulsively. It won’t happen again.”     “Misunderstanding, my ass,” Taehyung bit out through clenched teeth, when Yoongi sharply turned to regard him, dark eyes daring the boy to open up his mouth again. For whatever reason, certainly not because of the chill he felt running up his spine, Taehyung didn’t make another remark after that, remaining quiet. Jimin was endlessly amused by the whole display, as he smiled crookedly, “Thank you and yes, please see to it that it doesn’t.” The final glance he shot Taehyung was practically oozing with conceit – feeling victorious and not above being petty about it. Jimin turned his back on them, before grabbing for his drink, and leaving for the evening. Namjoon was doing his best to clear up the crowd, encouraging the lingering onlookers to go back to playing, before he too disappeared. Taehyung missed him already.   The elder’s presence wasn’t something that could easily be ignored, especially when Yoongi began to shamelessly roam his eyes across his body, like that’s what he was there for – not much different from a work of art in need of being picked apart for deep interpretation. Taehyung once again reached for the scarf that wasn’t there, forgetting that he didn’t have it with him, making it impossible to hide himself from the open scrutiny. “Follow me,” Yoongi said, voice clipped and glacial, leaving no room for argument. It took a moment for Taehyung’s legs to start moving in an attempt to keep up with Yoongi’s brisk pace, watching how he effortlessly weaved through the swarm of people. He was being led down the corridor, pushing away the anxiety he felt from making so many turns, focusing more on the fact that it was new territory for him. Void was much like the large factory that Taehyung had initially perceived it to be, giving off a clinical atmosphere with rows upon rows of doors, and immaculate marbled tiles. Where the fuck did they stick the Enchanted Forest? Yoongi came to a stop in front of a set of red double doors, pushing them open. It was everything you would expect to see when visiting the school nurse, minus the nurse. Taehyung shuddered to imagine what they would’ve been like, to be greeted by a man or woman dressed from head to toe in latex, snapping on a pair of rubber gloves. “No nurse?” Taehyung asked, unclear on whether or not that was the case. “A majority of scene professionals opt to undergo some form of medical training,” Yoongi said, patting the leather examine table. “Take a seat.”   Taehyung quietly declined by keeping still, “Because what you’re doing is dangerous.” Here and now could work as an educational moment, Yoongi decided, as he walked over towards the cabinets to get what he needed in order to clean Taehyung’s cut. “Everything Jimin did out there was with Jeongguk in mind. For instance, when he told the monitor that you were mine, he was ensuring that Void can still be a place that Jeongguk brings you. It’s a big part of his life, is it not?” Oh, hell, no. Taehyung was not about to allow Yoongi to undo this ugly, confusing web. Not so easily. He shook his head in disbelief, “That’s bullshit…” Yoongi set the tray of supplies down on the table where Taehyung’s ass should have been seated, tamping down his annoyance. “He didn’t lift a finger to you. That was out of respect for Jeongguk.” “Jeongguk’s back looked like a fucking Jackson Pollock painting, except the artist only used shades of red,” Taehyung argued, wondering why Yoongi couldn’t understand him, not even a little bit. “And it was my fault–” “Your friend has been breaking the rules of their contract,” Yoongi said, tersely, as he walked towards the refrigerator behind Taehyung. The boy was on edge the second he neared, eyes following Yoongi’s every move. The energy in the room was high and charged with tension, watching as he removed an ice cube from the freezer, before handing it to him. “One after another. Jeongguk was punished because he wanted to be.” Taehyung pressed the cube to his cut, wincing at the discomfort. The wound was pulsating beneath the pressure. “Why would he want that…?” “People either come here to give pain or to receive it, sometimes even both.” The younger was reminded of Hoseok, when he’d referred to himself as a switch. Yoongi once again patted the table top and was relieved when Taehyung slowly, but surely made his way over to it. Opening a new bottle of ointment, he squeezed a decent-sized dollop onto a cotton swab. Yoongi tried to simplify it as best he could, “Pain can be physical and mental – pleasure or medicine. When it’s controlled, you can understand the benefits, can’t you.” The question was rhetorical and even if it wasn’t, Taehyung wouldn’t have known how to properly answer it anyway – not wanting to agree with Yoongi. He slid himself onto the table, gripping at the leather with one hand, as the other continued running the ice along his swollen lip. The new information was swirling around Taehyung’s stubborn mind, trying to sink in and make sense. He didn’t want to feel another moment of guilt over Jeongguk, and the elder was providing him with enough reason not to feel it, sensing that the comfort was necessary, but also unwanted, which was just too fucking bad. Yoongi’s eyes fell to where Taehyung’s shirt was hanging open, expression visibly darkening as he took in the smooth definition of the younger’s exposed collarbones, “Where is our favorite purple scarf?” “I forgot it in the car,” he answered innocuously, the ice melting between his now cold, numb fingers. What was this soft moment? Taehyung stared back at Yoongi, trying not to dwell on how pale his skin looked against his dark black hair – how much prettier, yet deadlier he looked then, “After tonight, I’m not coming back to Void. It really isn’t for me anyway.” “Oh, really?” Yoongi asked, feigning curiosity when he could’ve easily written the predictable lines flowing from Taehyung’s pretty little mouth. “Which part of it ‘isn’t’ for you?” Right, the reasons that Taehyung seemed to suddenly have in bulk were, “The orders I would have to follow, the pain that could be inflicted, and the punishments. I guess all of it?” The silence that followed was intensely unsettling, Yoongi staring his feline eyes into his own, as though seeking every corner of Taehyung’s mind for the truth. That first night at Void had revealed the boy to him completely – what with his dick hard and straining against his jeans, thick lashes wet with tears of awe as he watched Woozi being degraded, and punished. Yoongi had seen that look before, had recognized it in countless others. Envy was common in an establishment like Void. He approached Taehyung with the swab between his fingers, unable to maintain their polite conversation, when he began haltingly, “I don’t like being lied to, Taehyung. It’s one of those absolutes with me and I won’t tolerate it.” Taehyung was quick to deny it, “But I’m not lying.” It was a pitch too high, perhaps a little too fast. All in all, it was the same outcome, a fucking lie. It was always too easy for Yoongi to decipher when he was being lied to, which was the main reason why he couldn’t stand it. The small, white lies were the worst in his opinion, because they were needless. From a young age, no one could tell him a lie, at least not successfully – not even his own mother. Not even on days where he would prefer being told a lie over the truth. Yoongi admonished the boy for the continuous dishonesty, something cold and feral marring his usually calm features, “You just did it again.” “Believe whatever the fuck you want, it’s not like you can do anything about it,” Taehyung said, the words slipping past his lips before he even had the chance to consider them.   “Oh, sure, I can,” Yoongi said, taking on a sweet lilt to his usually rough voice. “I’ll remember it.” Taehyung snorted, more out of nervousness, than anything else, “For what? My term paper?” “We aren’t to discuss school while we’re here, Taehyung,” Yoongi chided softly, before he started leaning in, intent on lowering Taehyung’s hand away from his mouth, so that the ice wasn’t in the way of the swab. The moment their skin made contact, Taehyung reacted on impulse, slapping the other’s hand away. He’d used enough force to send the ice cube, as well as the swab to the floor. The ice broke immediately upon contact, the glimmering shards sliding across the floor. Yoongi slowly wet his pouty lips, growing more enticed to further test the boy, as he brought his hand up again. Long, delicate fingers were an inch away from skimming the top of Taehyung’s cheekbone – the skin there soft and flushed with a rosy color, when he was met with another slap. It felt like all the oxygen had been sucked out of the room then, leaving Taehyung gasping for air, his chest rising and falling heavily. Yoongi stepped in closer to him, tilting his head when Taehyung’s wide, innocent eyes left his own, and it was like being shut out from the sun. Again, he went to caress the side of Taehyung’s face and was automatically swatted away, more angrily and heated than the previous time. The last of Yoongi’s patience snapped, instinct burning up throughout his toes to his fingertips, when he brought his other hand to the front of Taehyung’s throat. It was light pressure, holding him rather than grabbing – just tight enough to get his point across. That this is exactly what Taehyung wanted, but was too stubborn, and ridden by fear to admit. “Our meeting again was either fate or cruelty, but this is, well,” Yoongi mused, lips curling slightly, as he used his grip as leverage to pull the younger off the table, and onto his feet. Even while Taehyung stood at full height and was practically towering over the elder, it was clear who was in control. “This is like a dream,” he murmured, irrevocably drawn to the boy, despite all the cold, garish places inside him that said not to bother. Yoongi was no match for the sun, but he wanted to contest it, “And to think that I was gonna leave you be, angel – but then you showed up dressed like you’re homeless, incurring violence.” Yoongi really shouldn’t have been proud of that. There was nothing impressive or admirable about it, and yet. “You’re full of surprises, Kim Taehyung.”   Taehyung felt as his heart began to race, urging his brain to function long enough to tell Yoongi to stop – to push him away, but his body chose to ignore him, reacting to the fear as though it was something pleasant. Taehyung hated himself for it – hated the fact that his cock was eagerly stirring in response to the thrill of Yoongi’s dominance. He sent a silent prayer to whatever Gods were listening that the elder was too distracted with baiting him to notice it. He closed his fingers into the sleeve of Yoongi’s blazer, deciding to hang on for what was to come. And it was happening so slowly, the precious space between them dwindling by the second – Yoongi’s firm hold around his neck bringing him down, until their faces were so close they were nearly touching. It was just when Taehyung thought he was about to be kissed that the elder purposefully stopped himself short, a wicked smirk tugging at his pink, kittenish lips, “Will you let me taste you?”  

The question alone was enough to paralyze him. Taehyung had been privy to a couple ‘first’ kisses in his lifetime. When he was seven, he knew that the kiss he received from the girl at school was different from the ones his parents would give him. When Taehyung was fifteen, he knew that the kiss he received from the neighbor’s daughter was different from the girl at school. He was now being presented with his first adult kiss, a proper kiss from the same gender, a kiss that scared him shitless. He swallowed thickly, the slightest action obvious to the elder, despite his schooled look of indifference. Yoongi’s grip tightened a fraction, causing his breath to hitch. Taehyung found himself nodding, even though he knew that it wasn’t enough. Yoongi was still waiting. Taehyung closed his eyes just to escape the humiliation, releasing a sharp gasp, “Yes…” “You remembered to use your words for me without having to be asked,” Yoongi husked, voice going lower the closer he was to claiming Taehyung’s lips, “…you’re such a good boy.” The first brush of contact elicited a deep, embarrassing whine from the younger – the sound of it like a punch to the gut, leaving Yoongi hungry and desperate. He slid his other hand around Taehyung’s waist, pulling their bodies flush against each other, greedily needing more without even having his fill yet.     Taehyung whimpered when he felt the elder’s teeth scrape over the broken swell of his bottom lip, where everything felt far too sharp and tender, trapped in a prison of long fingers, and a skilled mouth. The insistent press of Yoongi’s tongue was hot and sinful against Taehyung’s numbed flesh, the ice having left him tingling with sensations steadily returning. He parted his lips, moaning softly when Yoongi delved his tongue in, deepening the kiss. Fifteen was a lifetime ago for Taehyung, unable to remember how to kiss. He was too overly self-aware and clumsy, even as he melted into the warmth of Yoongi’s mouth – he was stilted at first, before his tongue shyly teased back. The response served as a small act of willingness on Taehyung’s part, a green light that had Yoongi chasing after more, more, more. He steered them towards the nearest wall without breaking contact, pinning the boy to its surface. There were questionable things – filthy, unforgivable things that Yoongi wanted to do, say, and promise to him, but he hadn’t done this in a long, long time. There were rules that Yoongi had to abide by as a dom, especially if he wanted Taehyung to become his submissive. It was rare that the elder acted on whim. He never took what he wanted without thinking twice. He never kissed as though he was starved for it, yet there he was with Taehyung as his only form of sustenance. Taehyung, who was helplessly drowning in him, fingers trembling in his jacket, holding onto him like he was a lifeline. It was maddening – Yoongi’s teeth dragging from his top to bottom lip, tasting the blood, knowing that it would be smudged on their skin. Taehyung stopped himself from leaning forward when the elder pulled back far enough to look him in the eye. Not like he would get very far with the hand that was still wrapped around his neck, Yoongi’s thumb running circles over his pulse. “You know what you remind me of?” Yoongi asked, voice all breathy and affected from their kiss. There was a mingled mess of saliva and blood against his pink, pouty lips. It was difficult for Taehyung to look away from it, as he raised hesitant fingers to wipe it from Yoongi’s porcelain skin. His wrist was abruptly caught midway, Yoongi’s charcoal eyes taking in the mirrored smear of crimson across Taehyung’s lips, “A baby tiger, unaware of how strong and fearless it’ll be once it’s fully grown.” Taehyung was sufficiently dead by everything that came out of Yoongi’s mouth. Prepare his death certificate, he was ready to sign. “That’s very poetic of you…are you sure it wasn’t the eyes and orange hair?” Yoongi moved past the sarcasm, leaning so that his words skimmed across the younger’s lips, “I want to put an end to those lies of yours, Taehyung.” A hand slid down the front of Taehyung’s chest, his stomach sinking beneath Yoongi’s touch as he held in his breath. “The ones you keeping telling yourself that you didn’t want this, or me. Not the orders, the pain, or the punishments…” “Please…” Taehyung whispered, less than a second away from Yoongi palming over the thick outline of his hard cock, where he’d be able to confirm just how desperate he was for it. A switch inside him flipped. “I can’t, I can’t! I’m sorry.” Just like the cube had shattered, so did he – Taehyung was fragmented, pieces of himself wanting to give in and allow Yoongi to continue, but then the rest of him was terrified. He’d spent so long protecting himself from the shame of indulging in literally anything. It was his grandmother’s life insurance that was paying for his tuition and instead of studying; he was here, doing this… Yoongi recognized the panic, slowly detaching himself with a step backwards, as to not crowd him. It was obvious that Taehyung was still reeling, as he wiped his mouth with a trembling hand. “This,” he said with a start, a finger gesturing between himself and Yoongi. “…can’t ever happen again.” The elder doesn’t say anything to his statement, the tension climbing. He allowed Taehyung to get as far as two steps, before his hand shot out to grab at his wrist. The boy turned so easily for him, willingly parting his mouth against Yoongi’s with a sigh, as a set of cruel lips sucked on his tongue, seeming to follow a rhythm that had Taehyung’s hips rocking forward to seek more friction. If Taehyung was a tiger, then the blood housed within his veins was roaring. He felt dizzied by the rush of arousal, overly sensitive to every little thing. “Mmm…” Yoongi hummed against his mouth, before once again leaning back to stare into the depths of Taehyung’s eyes. Slowly, the elder raked his teeth along his bottom lip as though he were savoring the taste, “Of course, Taehyung. This can’t ever happen again.” Oh, oh… Using Taehyung’s words against him. Taehyung laughed at the underlying spite, roughly pulling himself free from Yoongi’s grasp. “It’s funny how you told me not to mention school here, when class is still in session, professor.” This fucking guy. With Yoongi, everything was a point to be made or a lesson to be learned. Well, fuck that and fuck him. “You’re a fucking asshole,” Taehyung muttered bitterly, before he shoved the doors open, momentarily contented with leaving Yoongi far behind. He followed the corridor, unable to hear people talking as they passed him. It was like the world was on mute with no words or music to fill in his surroundings with life. The receptionist was already leaned forward, ready to flirt with him as per usual, but he couldn’t hear a single thing. He hadn’t even slowed down, until the winter air hit his skin, reminding him that he was underdressed for the inclement weather. He unlocked the car and sat there with the key in the ignition. The scarf lied there on the passenger seat, looking plenty guilty. He brought the knitted fabric around his neck. Taehyung spared a glance into the rearview mirror, revealing the deep flush of his skin, and his cut shimmering wetly. The lesson to be learned is that Taehyung was a liar. A liar and a coward, because he wanted… He wanted Min Yoongi. --------------------------------------------------------------

Jeongguk was in bed with the lights off, save for the laptop pressed to his stomach. He was hiding in his game – PUBG, grabbing a frying pan during his loot in an abandoned house. It would protect his ass from gunfire, barely, but why not? He found gasoline for the car he stole along the way. He usually hated playing by himself, but he didn’t want the company right now, to which Hoseok wasn’t taking the hint, continuing to message him throughout his match. He was too angry and worried about Taehyung. He’d even left his phone behind, which was extremely unlike his hyung.   An hour ago Jimin had been kind enough to confirm what Jeongguk already suspected, sending him a Snap of Taehyung and Yoongi with a caption that read, ‘You two have much to discuss’. Well, no shit.       It was ten minutes later that the door was busted open with Taehyung’s hip colliding with the wood, cursing the damn thing on his way in. He quietly placed their keys down on top of his desk, trying to be covert. It was a long, horrible night. He couldn’t wait to get inside the shower to rinse it all off. Still considerably dark in the room, Jeongguk managed to close out of the Steam app undetected, before he reached over and turned their bedside lamp on. The sudden flicker of light startled Taehyung, “Shit!” “Where were you?” “Oh, my god, Guk,” he gasped, placing a hand against his chest, willing his racing heart to calm the fuck down, and listen to him for once. “I thought you were sleeping.” “Hyung, you left me. You went on and on about socks in some weird, psychopathic fit and then you left me,” Jeongguk said, throwing the sheets off and swinging his legs over the side of the bed. “I wondered if you were headed out to a department store to buy them for me in bulk. That you would come back here and bury me under a vat of fuzzy assortments.” Taehyung shook his head, because really, “You know I have no money, even if the purchase would totally be worth it. You know, we should have a sock day. That’s not a bad idea.” Jeongguk was officially done with the socks. “I know that you went to Void.” Ah, fuck, Taehyung thought. How did he find out? Duck tales, whoo-ooh!   “Yes, alright, I went to Void and did something stupid,” Taehyung started, unsure of how to proceed without pissing Jeongguk off. Did such avenues exist? “You’re not going to be happy with me, but before you go bat-shit, I need you to hear me out first. I attacked…” Jesus, this was going to sound ridiculous. He tried again, “I attacked…Jimin.” Jeongguk was on his feet then, approaching him at a pace that Taehyung wasn’t at all comfortable with. He was a Jason not a Michael Myers aka he wasn’t above running – dear god. Very carefully, Jeongguk asked him, “You did what now? Taehyung, what the fuck?” “I know that he cares for you in some fucked up way that I clearly don’t understand…yet? Look – I’ve been really close-minded lately. You opened this door, showed me what you were into, and I didn’t even really try to understand it. All I did was judge you, Guk…” “Yeah, you did, but no surprise there. You always fucking do,” Jeongguk said, brows furrowing angrily. Truthfully, he was more disturbed that after an ‘attack’ all Jimin did was send him a photo. He just noticed the gash on Taehyung’s bottom lip, wondering if Jimin had been the one to give it to him. Taehyung felt like a broken record, unable to believe anyone else except Jeongguk. “I still don’t understand, okay? Fuck. I’m trying here. Just tell me that those marks weren’t because of something I did?”   “The marks…?” It dawned on him then, connecting two and two together, which would explain his friend’s absurd bout of recklessness, and sock mania. “Tae – Christ, no, they’re not…they’re because of me. I did things to get myself into trouble. Is that what tonight was all about? Wow…” Taehyung blinked, “Why would you want to get into trouble on purpose?” “I like being good for him, but I wanted to see what it would be like if I was bad for once? You and Hoseok hyung already know how well I can do as a brat,” Jeongguk laughed, slightly embarrassed to be confessing this much, even if they were as close as brothers. “And I liked it, by the way. It was freeing, almost? Jimin is always so gentle with me, always praising me, and making me feel all beautiful, and delicate, like I’m made of glass or something. I just wanted him to be rough with me, well – rougher than usual.” Taehyung sighed, disappointed with himself for acting so irrationally, “Well, I didn’t realize and I’m sorry. I should have let you talk earlier. I felt like such shit for leaving you.” “Yeah, that entire sock rant had me questioning the state of your sanity. Anyways, apology accepted, can we please get back to the part where you attacked Jimin?” “Right, okay, uhm do you want the theatrical version of me riding on horseback to storm the castle or, do you want me to get straight to the…” Jeongguk’s glare was enough of a hint. “I shoved him into a table and just as I was seconds away from hitting him, a monitor showed up. I was so pissed off about being stopped, that I clocked the guy. He turned and caught me right in the mouth. It was a trade.” Taehyung felt bitter, watching as Jeongguk breathed out a sigh of relief. “Oh, yeah, don’t worry. No harm befell your master, it was just me. He was more than fine, actually, quacking out his jokes, and waddling off on his webbies.” Jeongguk paused, “Did you just – wait, are you referring to Jimin as a duck?” Taehyung shrugged, “If the shoe fits. I mean, everyone gets to be an animal of some sort, right? You’re a bunny, he’s a duck, and I’m a tiger, apparently.” “Yoongi called you a tiger?” Jeongguk asked, curiously. It both surprised and concerned him that out of all doms Taehyung could have attracted, that it was Yoongi who’d been interested in him. There were rumors, stories that had been carried through the grapevine. Aside from that, it was a Yoongi didn’t train submissives anymore. He smiled when Taehyung shyly nodded in response, his skin flushing suddenly. “If Yoongi were an animal, what would he be? You’ve already thought of it, haven’t you?” Being an art history major, Taehyung often found himself comparing people and situations to famous works of art. Lately, he had no problem with gaining access to his mental gallery. The moment he’d watched Yoongi step onto the stage at Void, he knew that he was a Cuthbert Edmund Swan piece, crossing a river at night, and every other panther piece before or after it. Yoongi was as good as midnight, a cat in the wild, as graceful as he was cunning, and predatory. “No,” Taehyung said, lying some more – lying to himself, and to his friends now. “If the typical asshole counted as an animal, then, maybe?” “That kinda works, actually, and Tae,” Jeongguk said, tone growing serious. “Be careful around Yoongi, alright?” “There is no ‘around’ Yoongi, other than at my classes, and believe me, I don’t want to spend more time with him than I have to.” Wow, Taehyung was getting good at this, this whole – denial thing. “Hypothetically though, if I wanted to be near him, what would I have to be careful of?” “For starters, Yoongi doesn’t take subs anymore and even if he did, most doms don’t like to train, uhm…” Jeongguk trailed off, trying to think of a delicate way to put it. Taehyung lowered his head the longer the last syllable dragged on for. “…virgins. Doms don’t like to train virgins.”   “Oh,” Taehyung said, having been disconnected from his friends once or twice due to that topic. Hoseok had a damn field day with it. If what Jeongguk said was true, then Taehyung really had nothing to worry about with Yoongi. Not now or ever, probably, since he was borderline celibate. Then why was he slightly disappointed by that news? “Good to know.” Jeongguk picked up the pillow that had fallen off his bed in his haste earlier. “Also, I got around to seeing Hobi’s photos, and you were right. They’re shit. I hyped him up though, so there’s a high possibility that we might be receiving more tomorrow.” “Oh, goody,” Taehyung said, giving a roll of his eyes. Jeongguk walked up beside him then, large hands gently grabbing at his face, inspecting his wound. “It’ll be better by tomorrow, hyung.” Yeah, maybe. --------------------------------------------------------------

Saturday was always an off day for Taehyung. Actually, any day when he didn’t have class was an odd, confusing day. It was worse when no one was trying to strong arm him into last minute plans. Taehyung had his notes open, eyes skimming over the details of Yoongi’s last lecture. Reading over the words, he swore that he could hear the professor’s voice – hearing his voice, Taehyung could vividly see him. Soon it wasn’t the dorm anymore, but it the medical room at Void. It was difficult when Taehyung could still taste him on his tongue – could still feel him on skin, like a ghost wound. He pressed his fingers to his cut, contemplative. Yoongi wouldn’t want him once he knew that he was a virgin. Taehyung eyed his phone. There was a lot he didn’t understand, within himself, and in general. His text tone went off – this was his reason to grab for his old, shitty Android. The KKT chat was being spammed with photos from Hoseok. He would happily ignore them for now, as he instead clicked into his mail inbox. Firing up his laptop would take too long and wouldn’t be worth it overall. He found the email with Professor Min’s number in it. He really shouldn’t be doing this, even if the email made it sound mandatory. Taehyung knew he had a choice. He could deny the professor, until his dying breath – avoid giving away his number, and never have to speak with him outside of a school setting, ever the fuck again. ‘This can’t ever happen again…’ echoed off the walls of his mind. It was as cruel as Yoongi’s last kiss. If there was one thing he'd learned from Jeongguk's situation, it was to be a fucking brat. He went to add a new number, typing in ‘Prof. M’ as the contact name. To: Prof. M ------------------- It’s Kim Taehyung. You know, the student you want to fuck :D Jeongguk told me some terrific news last night that pertains to our situation. Apparently doms don’t train virgins. So sorry to shatter your dreams of one day owning me. Guess it’ll be someone else’s job :/   Sat. 05, 02:10pm It was less than a minute later that Sent went to Read.

[seriouscuttervoice]

Apotheosis

Chapter 2 | I

Fandom: Mystic Messenger/Death Note (Crossover)

Characters: Rem, V, OCs (V’s family), Jumin Han

Links: AO3 | FF | First Chapter | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Notes: This chapter is long, long, long overdue, initially because of writer's block and then because of the stages of grief that came with realizing V route was going to (and did) redact a lot of my fic into firm AU territory. I've decided that instead of changing my plans for this fic to align with the information provided by V route, I'm going to continue with what I originally had planned for the fic. I'm not complaining about having additional canon information-- it's fantastic-- but I fear my motivation to finish this will dwindle into nothing if I have to go off my original course too much. I started writing this chapter before V route and finished it after, and it's probably the first time I make a major divergence from canon (other than, you know, having V be the reincarnation of a shinigami from an entirely different series) on purpose. I really hope you enjoy this and I apologize for taking so long to get it out!

It's not her first week or even her first month at school when another student, not by his actions or anything he's said but by his mere presence, strikes Rem breathless. She's seen him before, in church, in class, but she never realized until now that she isn't the only person who spends their recesses outside alone. As if pushed away by some invisible force filling the air, he stands at the edge of the school courtyard; perhaps it's the same force that compelled Rem to wander off here in the first place. The tall and empty walls that should have diminished him with their size are inferior to the look in his eyes, ice and fire all at once, passionate scrutiny, and with a start this young boy reminds Rem not of her own downfall but of Misa's, the man she loved who used love like a weapon and turned a god to ash. It's too much memory for a boy so young, and when he turns that gaze on Rem in this soft, child's body and asks, "Why do you look at me that way?," Rem has spent enough time as a human to know that he is art.

"Do you want me to stop?" she asks, uncertain if she's disturbed him. He's a little shorter than Jihyun is, but it doesn't feel that way. The boy's eyes survey her up and down, appraising her with eyebrows arched, lips twisted for a moment in thought, before he shrugs and turns his face away.

"Do as you like," he tells her, and for a moment the command stupefies her, desperately searching in her mind for what exactly it is that she'd like to do so she can comply. Her eyes find her shoes, black and freshly shined the night before by Yunseo. The other boy wears similar ones of a slightly different style, his pointed at the front where Jihyun's are square, standard footwear for the compulsory school uniform. Rem hesitates, then raises her head again to look at his face.

"What's your name?" she asks, and the question feels too personal, a few characters on a page that could be the difference between life and death, a secret to be closely guarded yet is so easily taken away.

"You don't know it?" the boy questions, an overly critical crease in his forehead for someone his age. "We've been in the same class for two months and twelve days, we attend the same church, and we've visited each other's houses before, but you don't know my name?"

He speaks like he spends his free time reading the dictionary, a pastime Rem can't deny she's participated in herself before out of boredom, selective of his words in a way that's unnatural for his stature. She stares wide-eyed at him for his harshness. Human names and even faces are difficult, slipping in and out of her mind without a trace no matter how hard she tries, and she's tempted to ask how he can remember her name before she realizes he's not given any particular indication that he does.

"I suppose I've forgotten," she mumbles, allowing her language to slip back into the stiff formalness she was accustomed to as a shinigami to match the other's speech. She's surprised to find how unforced it feels, realizing for the first time that her quietness around most humans might be due to the amount of effort it takes to vocalize as they expect Jihyun to.

The other blinks, scowling but apparently unable to look away from her, and after a moment of contemplative silence he slowly utters, "My name is Jumin Han."

Jumin Han.

It's a name she's heard before, the Han part certainly is, in her parents' dinner conversations and dripping with bitter spite from Yunseo's lips. His family doesn't live far from where Jihyun's does, a large house with black panels that's more modern than most others in the neighbourhood, though the inside is more traditional than one might expect.

She repeats the name several times in her head, Jumin Han, Jumin Han, the words more precious than the other boy could realize, and somehow she knows that this time she won't forget.

"The conventional thing to do, at this point," the other says, startling Rem out of her thoughts, "would be to introduce yourself, but there's no need as I already know who you are."

She nods, her lips feeling stuck together, and though the boy is stern she finds herself taking his word for it easily, something about him exuding honesty and trustworthiness even while he rebukes her with his words. She feels she's somehow unearthed something, trespassed into a space she wasn't meant to be and stuck gold, like the earrings she wore as a shinigami, like the pink paint she took from the human world. He doesn't seem bothered by her staring, though he doesn't meet her eyes, and for a moment Rem longs to stay like this, silently drinking in the details of this boy's world, a world that appears to be all his own, separate from the oversaturation and noise she's come to associate with the human realm. He doesn't interrupt her, completely still and with perfect posture, and she knows then that she was wrong in her initial assessment of him. This boy is better than Light Yagami, greater than Light Yagami, and if the gods fell for him it would only be natural, his effortless honesty making him worthy of it, with no need for deception or delicate maneuvering to make it happen. He emanates magnetism, seems almost composed of it, and it's a quality she thinks can't be taken from him, a fundamental of his being that makes him meant to walk this earth.

She tears her eyes away; too much, too much, and when she does he takes a step toward her and she finds herself breathless once more.

"Spend recess with me," he says, his right foot barely a few centimetres from hers, eyes full of intensity. She nods again, refusing to look away this time, and he remains for just a moment, holding her there in his world, before he moves back.

And then he smiles.

Muscles in his face relax, eyebrows lose their arch, his lips curve just barely upward, and he looks at her with a carefreeness she wouldn't have thought him capable of as the warm light of morning seems to envelop her from his face.

"Good," he says, motioning to a bench by one of the paths in the courtyard. "Should we sit? I think we'll like each other, Jihyun."

Rem knows he's right, and it's a strange feeling, unaccustomed to attention or her presence being wanted, and together they walk away from the towering wall.

Jumin becomes a fixture in her life with ease, occupying a place she didn't know existed and fitting perfectly into it. The two of them are silent more often than not, but it's a different sort of silence than that she shares with her family, a silence that's whole instead of hollow, a silence that's full like a sponge with water, and while she can't tell if she herself contributes anything to that completeness, she knows Jumin does with his overwhelming presence. They don't speak because there's no need for words, and when the words do come they are easy, unedited in their clunkiness, too big for either of them and their children's bodies. She's half-tempted to tell him her history, to ask if he was a god once too, but otherworldly as he seems Rem knows there's something irrevocably human about him, the very thing that drew the likes of herself and Gelus to this world in the first place.

Rem's searches for gods who'd become humans are mostly fruitless, references to human descent almost invariably linked to Christianity. Typing in Gelus's name does nothing either, the other apparently uninterested in making himself known to other former shinigami, if he's even here at all. It's possible that if he too became human then he's in a completely different time period than Rem is, or a different timeline altogether. And there's also a chance he didn't become a human in the first place.

It's much easier to find references to the opposite, the concept of humans that become gods, deification or apotheosis as the process is called. Humans appear to be fascinated by the idea, and Rem supposes she can understand what the allure of power and eternity could be to people who never had them within their grasp. She too might find it enthralling, were the power she had not the power of death, and were the eternity she had not dependent on it. Her parents never ask what she's searching for, so she never has to hide it, though she likely could if she wanted to because Jihyun apparently inherited her talent for going unnoticed, though not through any ability to be literally invisible. He slips in an out of places almost without a sound, and those just realizing he's entered the room remark that he surprises them with his quiet. She doesn't broach the subjects she searches for with Jumin, either, though he'd undoubtedly be interested in the concept of descent from godhood, but he's too sharp and too perceptive for Rem to fully trust he wouldn't put the entire picture together.

He starts inviting her to his house, and though Jihyun is allowed to invite over anyone he wants, he's also allowed to go any place he wishes, and Rem prefers to be at Jumin's. The other boy's house is full of invisible people; kitchen staff and housekeepers that Rem rarely sees, going about their obligations to maintain the orderliness of the place. Jumin doesn't think twice about it, and soon neither does Rem, the novelty of being seen both unnerving and difficult not to enjoy. Jumin listens to her, and Rem knows that if she ever asked him to make her a promise he wouldn't break it, possessing a degree of respect for her that's totally foreign to her life.

Jumin's father is rarely home, though his mother always is, and Jumin makes a point to correct Jihyun when he refers to her as such, firmly informing her that the woman living in his house is not his mother. Rem gives him a questioning look, less aware of human customs than she expected, and Jumin says he'll explain it another time.

Jumin's insistence that he and Jihyun be alone most of the time is no discomfort to her, used to adults taking little interest in her life. Even when their parents get together for dinner, Jumin prefers that the two of them take off on their own as soon as the meal is finished, circling the perimeter of his garden or sitting on the rug in his bedroom.

"I thought you were looking forward to having dinner together with your father," Rem comments, purposely not phrasing it as a question so the other doesn't feel obliged to respond. Jumin leans back against the footboard of his bed, so large it could probably swallow him.

"I was," he says, tracing circles on his kneecap. Even outside of school, Jumin dresses as if in uniform. Jihyun wears a t-shirt and jeans, though Rem isn't sure whether or not they're expensive. "But his girlfriend is with him, and I don't like her."

"Oh," Rem says, and suddenly everything makes sense. She wondered why the woman who appeared to be Mr. Han's wife was so young, but time spent with Kyosuke Higuchi should've told her that this was normal for businessmen. Jumin's father seems so kind, though, she wouldn't have thought to connect the two even in spite of them having the same occupation.

"Mm," Jumin acknowledges. She watches him for a moment, wondering if he wants to elaborate, but he says nothing more so she doesn't press him. Jumin's bedroom is nice, a bit oversized but so is Jihyun's. Everything from the wooden floors to the bed to the armchairs on either side of the table in the middle of the room are white, the only exception provided by a fish tank that sits on top of the table, the fish swimming inside reflecting the sunlight with vibrant colours.

It's quiet for a long time, and Rem wonders for a moment why Jumin sits on the floor when his room has armchairs and a window seat, and she's trying to decide if that's too impolite to ask when she feels a weight press against her arm, eyes widening as she realizes Jumin has shifted to lean on her, just slightly, his dark hair falling on Jihyun's shoulder. The touch is unexpected, accustomed to her only contact being Yunseo's hand firmly grasping Jihyun's when crossing the street or in a crowded place.

"Jumin?"

Jumin stiffens, and Rem regrets it for a moment as he raises his head ever so slightly, then seems to change his mind and leans on Jihyun again.

"You know," he says softly. Jihyun waits. "I've never had a friend before."

This isn't surprising. Jumin is young, has hardly had enough time in the world for it to be confusing that he hasn't made friends before, but the word puts Rem on alert.

"Friend?" she echoes, and Jumin shifts off of her shoulder to engage her in a serious look.

"That's what we are, right?" he asks, and though his voice is steely the question is sincere, searching her face with his silver eyes for answers. "Friends?"

Rem returns his eye contact and for once wonders if Jumin feels her presence as strongly as she feels his, because he averts his gaze slightly to look at her nose instead of her eyes. It's a word Rem hadn't considered for them before. Friends… the weight with which Jumin spoke the word makes sense now, though Jumin himself wouldn't be able to understand it. He's a young boy with the body of a delicate child, only a few short years into school. Rem is ancient, lived for centuries without ever having a single friend, the closest perhaps being Gelus, but even then it was she who was fascinated by him, the other shinigami sharing no similar interest in Rem or anyone other than the human girl he watched. That, of course, was natural. And Misa could hardly be called a friend, care for her as much as Rem did.

But him… Jumin Han. He seeks out Jihyun's presence, remembers things about him that Jihyun doesn't remember about himself, hangs onto his every word even when they're clumsily put together and say nothing of importance. He's unselfish, doesn't only care for Jihyun to the extent that Jihyun can be useful to him, whether as a willing sacrifice or a soundboard. Jumin is considerate of Rem, gives her special attention that even her parents don't give her. His eyes are the only place that Rem holds any significance—that Rem ever held any significance.

"Yes," she breathes, and Jumin watches her, unwavering. "I suppose we are."

Jumin slowly nods, then shifts again, replacing his head against her shoulder once more. Silence overtakes the air, the distant sound of parents' voices downstairs drifting into the room from behind the closed door.

"Let's stay this way," Jumin murmurs, and Rem can hear in his voice that this time it's not a command.

It's a plea.

"We will," she says.

She hopes he can hear in Jihyun's voice that it's a vow.

[tenspontaneite]

Fundamentals for the Aspiring Assassin (3/?)

Later, Ritsu told him that the third day was easily the worst.

In his lucid moments, he could recall parts of the last few days. He remembered sitting with Karasuma-sensei and trying to pull the disparate shards of memory together, trying to discern the mysteries steadily assembling in his brain. He remembered waking up on the hallway floor, with little idea of how he got there. He remembered waking up in excruciating pain, and talking one teacher down from killing the other.

He remembered almost nothing about the third day; not until the sun was dipping below the horizon, and the room had gone orange from the light through the curtains. He didn’t wake, so much as he became aware of being awake, sights and sounds transforming into something that had meaning, something that wasn’t just maddening noise. The room was red-and-orange and there were tentacles waving across his vision.

Nagisa stiffened at the sight of them, and they stilled.

“Nagisa-kun?”

The voice was familiar, and easy to place. “Korosensei.” He identified, and tried to sit up. His muscles twitched, but did little more – held back by something. He looked down and found yellow twined around his limbs, far softer than the rope had been, but decidedly firmer. “…What time is it?”

“It’s 6.47pm, Nagisa.” Ritsu said, her voice unusually subdued. “How are you feeling?”

Nagisa took a moment to assess his physical state. He felt…awful. “Quite bad.” He admitted, noticing that his throat felt rough and sore, his voice unusually hoarse. His body felt like a giant bruise and the headache was wreaking havoc on his ability to form coherent thoughts. He looked up, and sure enough, Korosensei was there. The sight of him… “What are you doing here, Sensei?”

The super-being emitted a long, thoughtful noise. “Why, taking care of you, Nagisa-kun!” He waved his tentacles cheerfully. Nagisa’s eyes tracked them unerringly, the sight making him feel oddly aggressive. “I have to say, I’m glad I found you last night~! Ritsu-chan might have had trouble taking care of you on her own, I think.”

Nagisa noted that he was quite thoroughly restrained. A glance around revealed that he wasn’t in the futon at all – he was, in fact, suspended carefully in the air by a tangle of yellow appendages, his head and neck tenderly supported. “I don’t remember anything.” He ventured, uneasy. “Is it the third day? …the fourth?”

One tentacle retrieved a bottle of water, another carefully shook some vitamins out of their bottle. “Only the third, nuru-fu-fu~. You haven’t had a very good day though, I have to say.” The items drifted close to his face as he was manoeuvred, with painstaking care, into an upright position. The tentacles on his arms slipped away. “Can you take these, Nagisa-kun?”

Tentatively, he reached out. His fingers were shaky and weak as they closed around the bottle, and trembled too much for him to open it. Before he could even ask, a tentacle had solved that problem, whipping the lid off in a supersonic blur of movement. A supersonic blur that, interestingly enough, he had no problem following. “…Thank you, Sensei.” He tipped the bottle back and took several small gulps, finding that his throat rebelled at the motion, the gag reflex unusually sensitive. Nausea. He’d been ill today, then? He accepted the vitamins and took them one by one, spluttering a little as he fought not to gag. “I don’t suppose I’ve eaten much today.” Nagisa sighed, taking another sip of water before allowing the bottle to be taken from him.

“You have had some difficulty keeping your food down, that’s true.” Korosensei agreed. “You’ve been quite ill – but still with a healthy bloodlust, I’m pleased to say.” He giggled, nyu-hu-hu, as though tremendously pleased by this detail.

Nagisa observed his teacher warily. “Bloodlust, Sensei?”

“You have tried to kill Korosensei numerous times today.” Ritsu informed him helpfully from nearby.

“Quite unsuccessfully, as you can see.” The super-being’s head ran through with green stripes. “I have to wonder if this treatment of yours is worth it! You’ve made far better attempts in the past.”

Nagisa narrowed his eyes. “In the past, I wasn’t half-way through intensive brain modifications.” He retorted, blinking as he remembered…something brain-related. It suddenly occurred to him that this wasn’t the first time he’d had his brain thoroughly messed with, though details weren’t forthcoming.

“That’s true.” Sensei mused, wide grin as unmoving as ever. “Still, I think there’s been some improvements, hm? You have much better motion perception now~.” He flicked a tentacle past Nagisa’s face, insanely fast, but still well within his capability to track. He flinched, proving the point quite nicely. “We’ll see if you’re any better at killing me in three days…”

The words were vaguely ominous, in the way they tended to be when inviting kill-attempts. Confident and challenging, with a little mirth.

Nagisa stared at him consideringly, eyes flicking momentarily to the case in the corner. Quite abruptly, the vivid memory of packing it came to mind. He remembered other compartments, ones he’d never seen before. He knew that computing lined the whole thing, nodes of memory and data storage in every corner, occupying even the carbon-nanotubules that were the primary reinforcement for the shell…it was paltry, compared to what Ritsu had once had available to her, but the hardware in that case was ahead of anything available this far in the past.

“…Ritsu.” He murmured, thinking hard. “Are you alright? You have barely any sensors.” It occurred to him, for the first time, that she might be feeling as wrong as he was – disembodied, almost. Stuffed down into a weak and rigid form with far too little sensory input. The knowledge of why he felt like that was almost there, a memory at the root of everything…

Korosensei looked over at the phone inquisitively as Ritsu offered a vaguely uncomfortable smile. “It’s fine, Nagisa. I’ve been branching out a little to compensate. We can talk about it later.” She looked significantly at their large yellow teacher.

“…Keeping secrets from Sensei, I see.” Korosensei said, morose.

Nagisa wasn’t paying much attention, though. He frowned, looking down, looking at limbs of yellow waving through the air and, feeling, like-

The tentacles stopped moving. The stillness was…soothing. Nagisa’s perceptions shifted with a disorientating jolt, and he realised he’d been on the edge of…something. Madness and grief and rage flickered at the edge of his thoughts, shaped like super-beings made of whipping shadows. He realised that he was sweating, breathing hard, out of nowhere-

“Nagisa-kun,” Korosensei said, keeping his many limbs motionless. “Ritsu-chan and Karasuma-sensei refuse to tell me the purpose of this headset of yours, but I worry that it is giving you some unpleasant mental conditioning. You’ve been reacting quite unpleasantly to Sensei’s friendly tentacles today.”

He kept quiet for almost a minute, desperately trying to calm himself from the sudden…something. “Sorry.” He said softly. “I don’t know why, yet.” He felt…fragile. Like a paper lantern holding in a flame. His head hurt. Colours weren’t right, suddenly.

Slowly, a tentacle began to move, reaching for the water again. Nagisa’s eyes tracked it unerringly, the motion utterly arresting, utterly infuriating, dangerous-

“Sensei, Nagisa…” He heard Ritsu, her voice unusually worried. “Nagisa, I think you might need to start your next cycle early. I don’t like the look of your brain right now.” Nagisa felt oddly cold at the words, but not afraid. Not worried.

“Ritsu-chan, he hasn’t even had dinner yet.” Korosensei pointed out, his eyes slanting outwards in a hint of unease.

“Try to take some more vitamins, it will have to do. Sensei, please fill up the headset with that fluid, too.”

A little numbly, Nagisa accepted the water and several more vitamins, fighting against his nausea to swallow each one down, fighting against the mind that kept wanting to remember-

“Quickly, Korosensei-“

He felt a shudder run down his body, sickeningly strong, like he was undergoing a completely different procedure, like something was latching onto his mind, asking what do you want to be/what can we make of you/what will you become

“Beginning cycle.”

---

The next time Nagisa woke up, he was alone with the Ritsu-phone, and he understood what was wrong with his body and senses. He knew.

“Ritsu,” he spoke, astounded at the realisation, “I was a super-being myself, wasn’t I?”

Red eyes blinked at him. “You remember, Nagisa-kun?”

“Not…really.” He admitted, raising an uncoordinated hand to rub at his eyes. “Not much. I…remember the tentacles asking me what I wanted to be.” He remembered sight and scent and sound and touch being so much more than they were now, he remembered not being confined to two hands and feet and a rigid skeleton…

Ritsu’s face on the phone was more serious than she’d ever seen it. “Do you remember what you said?”

“I…” It was a powerful memory, rooted through ­years of thoughts and emotions and experiences, like it was the foundation of everything that came after it.

What do you want to be? What will you be? What will you become?

Nagisa shuddered. “I remember.” And, with that in place, he could remember so much more. “Ritsu…I never realised how much it affected my mind. I spent decades, decades, like that…” It was one thing to know, objectively, that you weren’t the same person you’d been before the treatments. It was another thing entirely to be in a normal body, feeling like himself again.

“You were still Nagisa.” Ritsu asserted, sadly. “You were different, but you were still Nagisa. You must remember me talking about it.”

He did. (“You’re different now, Nagisa. You don’t think or feel the same way about things anymore. You can’t tell, but it’s true.”) “I handed control over to you.” He recalled, rubbing at the side of the headset as if he could reach the skull beneath. He remembered long, long years of complete trust, moving at the behest of an artificial intelligence, trusting her to know who he was when he couldn’t remember, trusting her to know what he needed to do… “Ritsu…” It was overwhelming.

“…Nagisa.” Her voice was soft. He realised that he was crying.

“The others…they all died. Didn’t they.”

Her avatar peered at him, eyes hooded with sorrow. “It’s why you took the treatments. You couldn’t manage the job alone.”

He nodded, jerkily, and breathed through the floods of emotion. The intensity was unfamiliar. He hadn’t realised how much the tentacles had dulled it. “It’s the fourth day?”

“It is.” Her avatar was less familiar to him by now than the electronic voice in his head, but it was still unbearably reassuring to see her there. “Korosensei has decided to supervise you as much as he can for the rest of the process, but I sent him away for class so that we could speak.”

“Korosensei…” Nagisa could remember the previous evening, a little. “He was here yesterday, wasn’t he? And something went wrong.”

“You were unstable the whole day, Nagisa, and quite ill too.” Ritsu put her virtual face in her virtual hands, as though tired by the memory. “You had quite violent flashbacks throughout the day, and reacted badly almost every time Sensei moved his tentacles too quickly. You vomited every time you ate anything more filling than vitamins. I realised in the evening that, well, you were sort of at a tipping point – at a stage where you needed to have more done or your brain wouldn’t be functional. You...nearly had some very bad seizures.”

He sort of remembered that. “Was that when you put me out early?”

“It was. It came on quite suddenly.” Ritsu’s avatar looked down, shame-faced. “I’ll be watching more closely now. But you should be over the hill, so to speak – things should get easier.”

“My memory is certainly better.” Nagisa agreed, looking dubiously at his trembling fingers. “These tremors, though…”

“They’ll get worse before they get better. It will be a while before you can work on them.”

“Well, after the last cycle.” He sighed. “So, have I given anything important away?”

“I’m quite sure that Sensei doesn’t know about the time travel yet.” His AI overlord claimed. “He thinks you’re being conditioned to be aggressive towards him and is quite upset about it. He’s noticed the case, but taken me at my word that I’ll blow it up if he tries to get in or take it away. The rest of the class haven’t given anything away, either. Hopefully we can take him by surprise.”

Nagisa frowned, trying to recall. “With…the upgrade?” He muttered, brows furrowed. “That was one of the objectives, wasn’t it?”

“We only have the one vial for now. If you can get the drop on him, it’ll be enough. Otherwise we’ll have to make more.” She paused. “Do you remember any other objectives?”

“…Kidnapping scientists?” He guessed, knowing it wasn’t right but unable to place the memory.

Ritsu giggled. “Not quite, Nagisa. I suppose we’ll just have to wait for the next cycle.”

---

Nagisa was lucid enough that morning that he managed to get up, get to the kitchen, and fetch his own breakfast. Unfortunately, Korosensei ended up returning almost the very moment he began hacking that breakfast back up again.

“This is a bit embarrassing, sensei…” He muttered, not bothering to resist, as he was suspended in mid-air by tentacles and painstakingly cleansed. “None of it even hit me. You got a bucket at Mach-20 speeds and made sure I didn’t make a mess.”

“You are ill, Nagisa-kun! I will take perfect care of you, or how could I face you as your teacher?!”

It was somewhat startling, to suddenly be in this position. Even without taking the time travel into account…Nagisa himself had never been on the receiving end of Korosensei’s pampering tendencies very much. There had been a couple of times that his teacher had fixed his hair up, but troublemakers like Karma had attracted the aggressive caretaking far more frequently. Then again, he’d never been visibly ill in the presence of Korosensei that he could remember, either.

He saw tentacles flash by, carrying- “Sensei!” He objected, turning red. “I can change my own clothes!” No matter how high-speed the change-over would be, he was perfectly happy not to have his teacher implement a change of underwear, thank you very much. Thankfully, the tentacles stilled at his words, some of his own clothes from his teenage years hanging over them. “…Did you go to my house, Korosensei?”

“Of course!” The looming yellow super-being proclaimed, cheerfully. The waving tentacles made a number of his old, old reflexes twitch unhappily, but they didn’t arrest his control like they had before. Thankfully. “No one else could do it, considering you’re meant to have been kidnapped, and you could hardly stay in the same clothes all week, Nagisa-kun! Ngyuuu~.”

Nagisa sighed, because actually, that was quite helpful. “Well…thank you, sensei. I can change on my own, though.”

“Hmmmm, well, if you insist,” Korosensei pondered, putting him gently down to the bathroom floor. “I’ll leave you for a while, then! I’ll be listening to make sure you don’t fall over.” In a rush of air, he was gone and the door was closed. His clean clothes were also folded neatly on the floor – and they were, in fact, pyjamas. Well…that seemed logical enough, since he was unlikely to be leaving the futon much.

Nagisa scrutinised the door for a moment, but decided against locking it. It wasn’t as though a locked door would stop Korosensei if he felt he needed to get in, after all. He went about his bathroom tasks quickly, fully aware that Sensei probably wouldn’t be held at bay for long, and sighed with satisfaction as he pulled on the provided (clean!) clothing. Pyjamas really were more comfortable than school clothes, too – they’d undoubtedly be far more suited for the task of laying around all day. He eyed himself critically in the mirror as he put the last button into place, fingers shaking hard enough that it took several tries.

His reflection was decidedly more haggard-looking than it had been before, with heavy bags under its eyes and an unhealthy pallor to its skin. The tremor looked much more alarming from a third-person perspective, too – honestly, he looked like he might fall over at any moment. He could sort of see why Korosensei was fussing so much.

Nagisa sighed at his reflection, untying his braided hair and making a token attempt to sort it all more neatly. He managed to get as far as picking up a comb, whereupon he apparently triggered Korosensei’s grooming senses or something, because the next second there was a mass of yellow brushing the door aside at astounding speed. The comb was snatched from his hand in mere moments, while other tentacles quested through the room in search of products.

“Let me take care of that for you, Nagisaa-kun!” Korosensei invited himself, promptly combing his hair out, applying dry shampoo, combing again, braiding, and tying in approximately the time it took him to say the words. Thus, in the space of several seconds, Nagisa found himself feeling significantly neater. The air around his head was also considerably warmer from the speed of Korosensei’s movements, but that was alright.

“...Thank you, sensei.” He offered, blinking. “Aren’t you supposed to be teaching at the moment?”

“Your classmates are doing some practice questions right now. I’ll go back to mark everything in a few minutes, hu-hu.” Sensei gathered Nagisa up into his tentacles without a further word, returning to the sitting room in a blur. “Your classmates are worried about you, you know. Ritsu-san isn’t telling them very much.”

“There are reasons for that.” Ritsu claimed, imperiously. “Besides, there’s only two cycles left. They can wait.”

Her words were a balm to Nagisa’s soul. “Thank goodness.” He sighed. “Only two more…”

“How do you plan to return, Nagisa-kun?” Korosensei asked, setting him down on the futon and passing him an opened water bottle. “After all, your parents think you’ve gone missing. There will probably be a fuss, don’t you think?”

“Ah…well, I’m planning to claim amnesia, but I’m not sure about anything else.” He answered, frowning a little. “I’d prefer to avoid having to go to the hospital, not only because of the bills, but because of what they’ll find in the blood tests.” He made a face at the water, but had a little anyway. “If you’re in the picture now, sensei…do you think you could drop me in another city? That way I could just go to the police station and have them contact my mother…and I can refuse medical treatment more easily, too.”

His teacher nodded, wide grin bobbing up and down. “I would be happy to, Nagisa-kun. I’ll even supervise from a distance to make sure you get to the police station safely. Be sure to think about the details of your plan over the next few days. Make it an assignment, even.”

Despite everything, Nagisa couldn’t help but smile at that. “I will.”

“Good, good…” Korosensei’s tentacles waved out in approving ripples. “I have to return to your classmates now, Nagisa-kun, but I will come back soon!”

And, with that, he was gone, leftover winds ruffling the sheets. The cap of the water bottle settled into place by Nagisa’s phone. He sighed.

“Everything alright?” Ritsu inquired from the phone.

Nagisa waved a hand at his now-immaculate hair in answer. “Just…Korosensei.” He explained, putting the water down so that he could lay down. “He’s so…” He struggled to find the words to describe it.

“Himself?” His oldest friend offered. “Nostalgic? Familiar? Overwhelming?”

“All of that.” Nagisa agreed, quite worn out by it all. “But especially the last. I’ve had so long to get over our graduation, but even so…”

“It’s different now that he’s actually here.” Ritsu sympathised. “I understand. It was hard for me, too – except I process things more quickly, so I got over it not long after he arrived.”

“Aa. Must be nice.”

“I suppose.” She harrumphed, simulated face falling into a pout. “If I didn’t have all my work to do, I’d be so bored. Having so little processing power is painful, Nagisa. I feel so…slow.”

He held up a hand to watch it tremble. “I think I understand.” He said ruefully.

---

Despite the fourth cycle having clearly helped, Nagisa wasn’t perfectly lucid the whole day. Later, when Korosensei returned, the sight of him was so profoundly shocking that he started choking on his own saliva.

“Koro….sensei?” He gasped, in between coughs.

“Agh, Nagisa-kun, breathe!” The teacher in question implored, tentacles waving frantically, two of which went alarmingly close to his face. “Do you need me to do the Heimlich? Is there something obstructing your throat?!”

“I’m fine,” Nagisa wheezed, heart clenching in his chest as he looked up and up at the tall super-being who had done so much for him. “Sensei…”

Yellow limbs rubbed soothingly at his back. “Hmm?”

“…Didn’t you die, sensei?”

The round, grinning face observed him for a moment. “Despite your best efforts, Nagisa-kun, I am very much alive.” He snickered, nyu-hu-hu, and went momentarily green-striped.

Nagisa remembered the Shield of Earth flickering in the sky, and a knife in his hand, and so many tears he couldn’t see.

He decided not to argue. He was too tired to figure this out. “Okay, sensei.”

---

By the evening, Nagisa could conclude that it was probably the best day of the procedure yet, despite his inability to eat much, and a few momentary lapses of awareness. This was largely due to the fact that he was lucid and coherent for almost the entire time, and he even managed to fall asleep naturally when he got tired, rather than needing Ritsu to induce it.

Part of the credit, however, undoubtedly went to Korosensei.

As soon as he’d finished with classes, he shamelessly invaded Karasuma’s house to flagrantly pamper Nagisa. He bought all sorts of food from all over Japan, trying to find something that wouldn’t set off his nausea. He tested the articulation of his joints, and having deemed him stiff and sore from extended bed-rest, promptly transformed the bathroom into a makeshift spa for him.

Nagisa tried to insist that the manicure and pedicure were unnecessary, but he was thoroughly ignored. At the very least, there was no nail art, or even paint.

One of the most bizarre parts was probably the massage, given how unused to non-combative contact he’d grown, but frankly Nagisa had lived long enough that he could deal with the strangeness of it. He really was stiff and sore, after all. Lying in one place for the majority of four days would do that.

Really, though, the strangest thing was being treated like a precious student again. He’d completely forgotten the thorough, thoughtful care that Korosensei had bestowed on their class – or, rather, he’d forgotten what it felt like. It wasn’t something any of them had ever experienced again after graduation, and the return to it was…soothing. Heartwarming, even.

Nagisa hardly knew what to do with himself. He supposed he’d never really gotten over Korosensei’s death. None of them had.

“Thank you for taking care of me, sensei.” He murmured, as he was presented with a warm cup of herbal tea. Surprisingly enough, it didn’t set off his nausea at all.

“You’re very welcome, Nagisa-kun.” A yellow tentacle extended to the other side of the room, returning with a book. “Now, I believe we have a few hours this evening…Ritsu-san tells me you should remember things you learn now, so why don’t we catch you up on your studies?”

Nagisa blinked, and glanced at Ritsu. She shrugged at him. “You’re quite stable now, Nagisa. I think you should remember any new things you learn, at least a little.” She stared meaningfully at him. “And it might be helpful to test things you already know, too.”

He nodded, slowly, and obligingly turned to Korosensei. “Can we start with English?”

“Your best subject? Hm, I suppose you are recovering.” The man tapped a yellow finger to his chin, contemplative. “Very well, then. I’d like you to translate these phrases for me…”

It swiftly became evident that he was, in fact, mostly fluent in English by this point. Evident enough that Korosensei swiftly noticed, posed him more and more difficult things to decode, and then eventually began flat-out conversing with him in the language.

“You were not this good at English a few days ago, Nagisa-kun.” Korosensei observed, in the language being discussed. “Is this something to do with that headgear of yours?”

Nagisa answered slowly, and not just because he had to be careful about what he said. The words and knowledge were there, but his mouth wasn’t used to shaping the words, and it took longer to think about than he thought it should have. “The headset is artificially forming connections in my brain,” He said, enunciating every word with as much precision as he could manage. “I already know a lot of things I didn’t before. Soon, I’ll know more.”

Korosensei stared at him. As always, his grin didn’t change, but he did seem a little surprised. “Nuruu? That is quite valuable. In that case, I understand your risk-taking better than before. Did you know how much you would be learning when you agreed to this?”

“I knew fluency in English would be included, and I was also given an estimate of the volume of the information.” Nagisa answered honestly. “What I’m ending up with is more than I expected, though.” His pre-procedure self certainly hadn’t guessed that he’d be receiving a head full of super-being reflexes, as well as over a century of memory.

“Very interesting, Nagisa-kun. Your English is certainly very good. Why, Nakamura-san doesn’t stand a chance at beating you for marks, now. She will certainly be annoyed!”

Nagisa laughed, remembering the tenacious woman that the tenacious girl had grown into. “Yes, I expect so.”

“And, the accent is interesting, too. I can’t quite place it.” Korosensei seemed earnestly intrigued, if his expression and tentacles were anything to go by.

His accent was a bit of a bastard amalgamation at this point, given the variety of people he’d been speaking with over the years. “Ah, it will be a mix of things.” He informed, thinking back on the English-speakers he’d communicated most with. British, Irish, Australian, American….he’d been exposed to almost every English accent under the sun. He paused, and added “I should be able to speak other languages, too.”

His teacher’s tentacles perked up, rippling with interest. “Oh, is that so?”

“None as well as English.” He nodded, a little bashful at the evident fascination. “But…hypothetically, I should know at least thirty languages now, at least to a basic conversational level.”

“…Nyuya?!”

---

Korosensei ended up spending most of the evening testing his linguistic skills. He managed to run through Spanish, French, Russian, Mandarin, Korean, Italian, Thai, and Portuguese before he ran out of languages he was fluent enough to test. By the time Karasuma-sensei got home, Nagisa was helping Korosensei improve his skill in Catalan, a feat made quite easy by both its similarity to other languages and also Korosensei’s superhuman intellect. Teaching Korosensei was satisfying in the same way it was satisfying to teach AIs…or, well, superbeings. He just learned things, soaking vocabulary up like a sponge.

Karasuma observed the clearly-not-Japanese conversation taking place on the floor in his sitting room with wary interest. “…I’m almost afraid to ask.” He commented, flatly, making his way through to settle in an armchair.

“Ah, Karasuma-sensei!” Korosensei greeted, cheerfully, waving a rippling arm in welcome. “Nagisa-kun is helping me with my language skills!”

Karasuma’s eyebrows went straight up. The look he gave Nagisa made him flush like a schoolboy…which, technically, he now was. “…Nagisa, helping you.” He voiced, neutrally.

“I know a lot of languages now.” Nagisa explained, a little embarrassed by all the attention.

“An understatement, Karasuma-sensei! I have to admit; the risk of permanent brain damage seems almost worth it for all this learning! And I’m sure there’s far more than languages involved if it was approved for my assassination, nyu-hu-hu…”

Nagisa smiled up at his teacher. It really was convenient how Korosensei easily accepted that the headset had to be for the benefit of killing him. Such egotism was quite useful. “Honestly, sensei, I was a little worried you’d think it was cheating.”

“Information is an assassin’s greatest tool, Nagisa-kun.” Korosensei said, unintentionally echoing Karasuma. “And even if it weren’t, I’m your teacher…and a teacher is always happy to see his students learn.”

He’d had many of his own students over the years. He could agree with that. “On that note, Sensei…How about learning some more languages?”

The superbeing’s arm-tentacles flexed suspiciously. “Wouldn’t you prefer to learn something new yourself, Nagisa-kun?” Still, there was no disguising the hints in his expression and limbs; it was overwhelmingly obvious that he’d only require the slightest justification to agree. He smiled, reminded that his old teacher had himself never stopped learning while he was alive. And now, he was alive. He could go on learning.

“It’ll help me integrate the new information properly, so I’d find it very useful.” Nagisa assured him. “Rehearsing what the headset has given me will help my brain adapt to it properly.”

As he’d expected, that was all that Korosensei needed to hear. The tips of tentacles wriggled with delight. “In that case, let’s try Arabic! Do you know that one?”

Nagisa laughed softly, a little self-conscious under Karasuma’s stare. “Ah, I do. I’d say it’s about as good as my Italian, though the writing’s harder. Would you like to start with that? Once you’ve memorised the essentials of the writing system, it will be much easier.”

“Perfect, Nagisa-kun! I’ll just grab some writing tools!”

---

On the fifth day, the headset had imparted enough of the neurological changes that once-hazy memories were becoming concrete, and evasive information was now within his grasp. There was a significant downside to this: his future brain, which had adapted to far superior physical capabilities and a host more available limbs, was now wholly out-of-place in a regular human body. The shaking and tremors that had begun building were now severe enough that he couldn’t walk safely on his own, and he couldn’t hold even a water bottle without dropping it. Sometimes, a motion he’d intended to go in a particular way did the opposite instead, which generally led to his remaining limbs lurching suddenly in directions he’d not intended at all.

“I tried to mitigate the effects, Nagisa. I’m sorry.” Ritsu fretted, watching as he shook and trembled horribly at the mere action of sitting up. “Even though I know so much about the brain, its systems are so inter-connected, I couldn’t leave out too much of some parts without making the whole thing fail…”

“We prepared for this, Ritsu. I knew I’d be useless for a while after the procedure.” Nagisa reminded her, voice shaky and halting along with everything else. Frankly, he far preferred this state of affairs to the mental instability and delirium of the third day, but it was still a pain to deal with. On top of that, he was still undergoing dramatic neurological changes every day, and the headaches were immense. “At least my peripheral nervous system isn’t affected.” If they’d had to find a way to carry that over, his heart might not even beat properly. Thankfully, it wasn’t a necessary part of the procedure.

“There is that.” She agreed, sighing. “Still, once it’s finished we can get to work with your rehab. You should start plotting out the details for your return.”

He smiled at her, lopsided and mischievous from his lopsided position. “Like you’ve not already calculated everything, down to the smallest detail?”

“If I do all of your prep work for you, you’ll never learn to do it yourself,” Ritsu sniffed, turning up her avatar’s nose. It was a well-worn exchange between the two of them. “And then what sort of sorry assassin would you be?”

“One who isn’t very self-sufficient, probably.” Nagisa agreed, sighing as he attempted to form a solid fist. He wasn’t very successful. “I’ll spend the day thinking through everything, I suppose. And then you can tweak my plan as you like.”

She giggled. “Much obliged.”

Nagisa observed the empty bedside with a vague, lonely sense of loss. “I suppose since Korosensei won’t be here much today, we don’t need to watch our words, either.”

“…Aa.” He and Ritsu exchanged a light frown. Korosensei, after all, was currently supervising the class at the pool he’d arranged.

While she’d arrived back within an acceptable time-frame, it wasn’t ideal. For one…’Shiro’ would shortly be making another appearance, while Nagisa was still incapacitated and unable to do much about it. Chances to strike at someone like that off of his home ground were few and far between. Ritsu could guess quite accurately how long it would be until the whole river debacle…but he couldn’t act.

“Soon.” Ritsu assured him, after a moment. “I’m gathering resources. By the time you’re ready to use them, we should be set.”

He nodded, once. Then he sighed, and started planning.

So…how do I make sure not to end up spending weeks in the hospital when I reappear?

---

Karasuma returned earlier than Korosensei that day, considering his duties as a teacher weren’t exactly thick on the ground on a pool day. Quietly, he observed Nagisa’s inept attempts at almost any sort of voluntary movement, and efficiently set to work helping him.

“Thank you for taking care of me.” Nagisa murmured, as he was supported upright. Obediently, he opened his mouth to be fed the multivitamins, grateful that the nausea had mostly passed. He refused to feel any shame at his incapacitation as a bottle was held to his lips for him to drink.

“It’s fine.” Karasuma replied, and said nothing more on the matter. He was comfortingly direct: if he said it was fine, it absolutely was. Nagisa watched him, curiously, and…yes, he thought that all this hardship he was enduring might actually be increasing the agent’s respect for him. Always a good thing, that.

The evening passed uneventfully, for the most part, except for when Korosensei dropped in to find Karasuma feeding Nagisa, which he apparently considered his sworn duty.

“You weren’t here, and he needed dinner. There’s no sense in complaining.” Karasuma told the superbeing directly, sounding distinctly unimpressed with his hysterics.

“But thorough, tender care and maintenance is my thing, Karasuma-sensei!” Korosensei near-shrieked, having plucked the bowl and spoon out of his colleague’s hands the moment he spotted them. Now, he loomed protectively between Nagisa and his other teacher, tentacles undulating with a sort of vengeful upset. “And besides, I’m clearly much better suited for it!” Several yellow limbs supported Nagisa in a perfectly comfortable upright position while one other guided the food to his mouth, an admittedly much more stable configuration than what Karasuma’s two hands had been capable of. Nagisa had to restrain a giggle around the spoon as he watched a guarding veil of tentacles form around him, the twitch to their movements practically shouting of petty outrage. “You’re always trying to find ways to be more popular with the students than me, Karasuma-sensei…”

“You’re delusional.” The accused instructor stated, flatly, taking his leave of the room with an irritated scowl.

“…You’re being quite rude to him, Korosensei.” Nagisa pointed out, in the wake of Karasuma’s exit, and watched the tentacular cradle ripple with sudden agitation. “Did you even apologise for strangling him the other day?”

Korosensei flailed a little, flustered. “Nyuaa….well…no. But that is…!” He scrambled for words, round face quivering with dismay.

If Nagisa were Karma, he’d likely have pressed it further, and made sly remarks about the example Korosensei was setting for his students, fanning the fluttering into full-blown paroxysms of penitence. He was not Karma, however, and didn’t have any particular drive to needle his long-lost teacher for petty amusement. “You should maybe do that soon, sensei.” He said, and diverted the topic in another direction. “In the meantime…”

His teacher’s movements settled a little, the small eyes in his round face peering at him inquisitively. “Hmmm?”

The muscles in Nagisa’s face were as shaky as the rest, but he was still capable of controlling them: he affected a vaguely embarrassed, imploring smile, allowing the tremble to make him seem especially helpless. Physically, he was exactly that helpless against a being like Korosensei. Psychologically, though…

Weakly, with large soft eyes, he said “Sensei, I’m a little hungry still.” And waited.

An entire superbeing’s worth of tentacles exploded into impassioned, nurturing action. Distraction: success.

He did hope that Korosensei would apologise to Karasuma soon, though. Unwarranted strangulation seemed like something that could lead to grudges, if left to fester.

---

Then, finally, he was sitting by to be prepared for his final session. Korosensei efficiently refilled the headset’s nanomachine supply, fed him his pills, and gingerly lowered him to his futon. “I understand this is to be your last session with that headset, Nagisa-kun.” He said, ponderously.

Nagisa nodded, emitting a very relieved sigh at the idea. “I’ll need follow-up sessions for a while after, to make sure everything is settling correctly. But, unless something goes wrong, I shouldn’t need my spine tapped again.”

“Hmm…” The slow, dour curl of the tentacles indicated the turn of Korosensei’s thoughts. “…I would very much like to know who offered you this...treatment.” The two broad digits concluding his main handling appendages gently lifted his braid out of his face, setting it over his shoulder.

Nagisa blinked at him, serenely. “Aa.” He acknowledged, and deliberately did not say any more.

The digits drew back. “Well then…goodnight, Nagisa-kun. We will talk more tomorrow.”

---

On the sixth day, Nagisa woke with the knowledge that he was mercifully done with having his brain rewritten, but also with the most uncooperative body he’d ever had to endure.

“Oh dear.” Ritsu looked very sympathetic from his phone screen as he demonstrated his inability to do pretty much anything beyond pointless flailing. “That looks very annoying. Recovery might be longer than anticipated.”

Nagisa stared at her, and just about restrained himself from saying something very rude in the futuristic parlance that, given time travel, only they remained privy to. As it was, he likely wouldn’t have even managed to successfully shape the syllables.

“…Is this expected, Ritsu-san?” Korosensei asked, several seconds after Nagisa’s attempt to communicate mostly resulted in highly slurred spluttering. As to be expected at this point in the timeline, he was spurting mucus gratuitously, and had put down waterproof tarps to protect Karasuma’s house.

He couldn’t even communicate in sign language, given the terrible coordination of his hands. He couldn’t even scowl properly. And, of course, the headset had to stay on in the interests of augmenting his recovery for at least another day. It was technically active now, but since it was only reinforcing native functions rather than exercising its own, the pain was limited to frequent stabbing twinges rather than unrelenting agony.

“It isn’t unexpected.” Ritsu hedged. “We knew that there would be severe disruptions in almost all systems involving voluntary movement, but it’s hard to predict exactly what will happen, given the complexity of the brain.” She paused. “Thankfully, practice should cause rapid improvement, given the substances in his body. We should see significant improvement by the end of the day.” A pointed look was aimed in Nagisa’s direction, and he sighed, obediently setting to work flexing his fingers as a decent starting point. Of course, the movements were jerky and uncoordinated, but even that would help.

Korosensei observed him with concern for a while. “Nagisa-kun, is it safe for you to chew food at this point? Is there a risk of biting into your tongue?”

He blinked, surprised at the question. He’d not actually thought of that. Experimentally, he worked the muscles of his jaw, trying hard to keep his tongue still. The motion was difficult, but he thought he could keep his tongue clear well enough. Even so…he wasn’t certain. He shrugged apologetically as a response.

“Hm.” His teacher expressed, and then he blurred out of the room. A few seconds later, he returned with several cans of soup in a shopping bag, and a few limbs set out to the kitchen with them. “We’ll have to go with a liquid diet for now, to be safe!” He proclaimed, tentacles oscillating around him.

“That’s probably safest.” Ritsu agreed.

Nagisa tried to say ‘I really hope I can recover quickly’, but without the fine control of the many muscles involved in talking, it came out horrifically slurred, and probably well beyond the comprehension of even Ritsu’s voice recognition programs.

He sighed. And, because his speech wasn’t going to improve unless he practiced, he tried to comment ‘this is going to be a long day’.

“…Maybe I’ll spend the day making a new speech recognition program.”

---

Nagisa didn’t start his attempts to recover in earnest until Korosensei left. As much as he knew that his teacher would never hold his repeated failures at coordination against him, he did still retain a measure of pride, and preferred not to demonstrate such a profound level of incapacitation in front of someone he admired.

Thus, once his teacher had left for class, Nagisa determinedly set to work with his rehabilitation. For the most part, this involved a lot of frenetic flailing in his futon while Ritsu observed his brain and prodded processes in the right direction.

The work of Ritsu through the headset was now far more involved. Where before she’d been growing his brain into the broad shape of what it had been in the future, now she was watching and applying her nanobots with pin-point precision. It required every ounce of the processing power they’d brought back in the case.

So, when he extended his arm and it didn’t work correctly, Ritsu was looking at the neurons firing in his heavily altered brain. With the nanomachines and their legion of synthesised proteins, she tried to reconcile the connections trying to form and the ones the headset had imposed, tying together all of the many, many loose ends. With luck, she might be able to preserve the good things – like his improved reaction time – while getting rid of the connections which relied on a very different body.

Essentially, she was overwriting a fair bit of the work she’d done over the last six active cycles. She had the extensive pre-treatment scan to go off of, so it wasn’t like she had nothing to refer to. However, to see where the problem areas were in the first place, he had to trigger them. Hence the flailing.

As one might expect, writhing energetically without pause was a fairly strenuous activity. Given his previous superhuman condition, Nagisa honestly wasn’t sure how to rate his current stamina – it had been a while since he assessed himself using human norms. At any rate, he ended up breathing hard with exertion after less than fifteen minutes of all-out activity, which was appalling by his remembered standards. He tested his ability to extend an arm and make a fist, and deemed it insufficient for the provision of the water bottle at the bedside.

By the time lunch rolled around and Korosensei dropped by to check on him, Nagisa was absolutely parched, and drenched in sweat. The futon was in a bit of a sorry state as well, but given his current level of coordination, it wasn’t really safe for him to exercise anywhere else.

He sighed with relief on seeing Korosensei, but kept his mouth shut, trusting Ritsu to communicate his needs.

“It seems you’ve not been neglecting your exercise, Nagisa-kun. I’m pleased to see it.” The supercreature observed cheerfully, several tentacles already in the kitchen going about their tasks.

“He’ll need food and drink, Sensei, and many of the vitamins.” Ritsu explained. “A bit of a wash probably wouldn’t hurt, either.”

Nagisa grimaced and nodded fervently, not at all comfortable with the way his pyjamas were sticking to his skin.

Korosensei gathered himself up, eyes gleaming. “It shall be done.” He intoned, tentacles expanding across the room in a garishly yellow lattice of movement. Nagisa eyed them, resigned, and waited for the cosseting to ensue.

---

After a very speedy seeing-to of all of Nagisa’s requirements, Korosensei returned to class. He commented, just before leaving, that he might be back late, because ‘Terasaka-kun has recruited the class for an after-school assassination, nyu-hu-hu’. His head was distinctly stripy as he said it, quite clearly expressing his opinion on the likelihood of said attempt’s success.

The knowledge that his classmates’ lives would shortly be at risk, as well as his teacher’s, put Nagisa into a decidedly grimmer mood. About an hour after he was left alone with Ritsu, he began to worry that some small divergence might make things go badly wrong, and set to work focusing on the movement of his hands. Two hours after lunch, he’d recovered enough control of his fingers to sign, shakily, ‘Warn Korosensei’. Korosensei’s name sign was, of course, a garbled blend of ‘kill’ and ‘teacher’.

Ritsu observed him with interest. “About the assassination attempt this afternoon?”

Slowly, Nagisa pressed his hands into service, forming ‘Yes’, and then ‘danger to team, danger to teacher’.

“So, warn him that there might be a danger to the class and to be on his guard?” She pressed.

‘Concerned about time changes’, Nagisa explained briefly, and continued ‘warn about scientist’.

The AI kept silent to prognosticate for a while, most likely considering the best options for the content of the warning. “I will tell him that I have information on the movements of ‘Shiro’, and that he is orchestrating the event today through an unsuspecting Terasaka. I will tell him to be on guard regarding danger to the students and the threat posed to him by Shiro and Itona. Should I mention the allergen that has been used against him?”

Nagisa took a moment to think. He raised his hands, signing ‘Yes’.

“Very well. I’ll dispatch the text message.” Her avatar stilled, very briefly. “Done. I’ll let you know if he makes any reply. You should return to your exercises.”

He sighed, some of his tension dissipating. With Korosensei forewarned, it was very unlikely that anything serious would go wrong. The man was more than intelligent enough to think of a thousand contingencies given their tip and the time available to him.

Clumsily, Nagisa saluted his AI overlord, and resumed his work.

---

Their warning to Korosensei had yielded a quick response: a text reading ‘Thank you for the warning, Ritsu-san.’ He didn’t ask about the origin of the information, but that was no guarantee that he wouldn’t later.

Nagisa spent his time flailing with a particular emphasis on his hands, since they were currently his best option for communicating. Ritsu noticed his focus and cut it short not an hour after the dispensation of their warning. “Nagisa,” She explained, patiently. “Garbled speech will alarm people far more than a bit of shakiness, and also most people don’t know sign language. Improving your speech is clearly your biggest priority at this point.”

He sighed, conceding the point. He kept silent for several moments, consideringly, and then started babbling out the set of rules that had been affectionately nicknamed the ‘Tentaclauses’ by the recruits who’d had them drummed into their heads. Ritsu’s software had evidently progressed enough by that point for her to recognise it, because she giggled at him, evidently amused.

Once he was half-way through his second iteration of the regulations in question, Ritsu interrupted, saying “Nagisa, there’s a much more fun way we could be doing this.”

Her avatar looked suspiciously mischievous. He eyed her warily, and then jolted in alarm as his phone suddenly started blaring out quite familiar music. It only took a few bars for him to realise that the words had been omitted.

‘I’m not sure now is the time for karaoke’, he suggested to her, knowing that any complaint in this was likely very much a lost cause. Ritsu adored strong-arming people into karaoke – it harked back to her early years as an AI deeply enamoured with music.

“Nagisa-kuuun,” She crooned at him, the volume of the music abating slightly as she spoke. “There has never been a better time for karaoke. I’ll start you off!”

Without further ado, she sprang into ‘singing’, which was really her just playing her voice singing the lyrics at a slightly lower volume than typical. Nagisa rolled his eyes at her, quite aware that there was no talking to Ritsu when karaoke was involved. It was really no surprise that their faction had ended up as the most musically-focused in space.

He opened his mouth, resigned to his fate, and started garbling the words of Senbonzakura in time with his AI overlord. She gave him two approving thumbs-up, and the volume soared.

Naturally, karaoke ended up being stupidly helpful for his recovery.

---

End chapter.

Notes: Korosensei is tricky, but I like writing the tentacles. Ritsu is a vocaloid at heart and adores music. ‘Senbonzakura’ is a vocaloid song by ‘Hatsune Miku’, who incidentally shares a voice actress with Ritsu. The song in question also has a Ritsu version in the Assassination Classroom soundtrack. I prefer it to the original.

Next chapter should feature Nagisa’s reintroduction to the world, and incidentally lots of related adjustment issues. Some beans may also be spilled. We’ll see.

Thank you to everyone who liked/commented/reblogged.

[skaiheda-fic]

Skaiheda: Second Look

What?! Another snippet from Skaiheda? It’s a miracle!

You guys have been so amazing and supporting throughout this process, so here’s an extra bonus snippet from Skaiheda in honor of @clexaweek2017‘s Canon Divergent theme day!

For those of you who don’t know: Here’s our summary:

Lexa Woods, a guard on the Ark, never expected to fall so deeply in love with Clarke Griffin, a prisoner in solitary. When the 100 are deployed to Earth, Lexa becomes a stowaway, swearing an oath to protect her love when they reach the ground. Before they can really gather their bearings on Earth together, they are separated, and think each other dead, until their fates collide once more, and Clarke is taken to meet the mysterious Grounder Commander.

In this excerpt, Clarke and Lexa have gotten closer as Clarke continues to await her 18th birthday in prison. After receiving a few sticks of graphite as a gift from Lexa, Clarke begins to draw on the walls of her cell. She draws what she cannot explain yet. But then again, a picture is worth a thousand words.

It takes a long while for Clarke to even touch the fragile sticks of graphite. And when she finally does, she feels how the black carbon crumbles so easily beneath her fingers. She wonders morbidly if her father is out there in the black abyss disintegrating and crumbling just as easily in the freezing void.

When she eventually gets the courage to pick up the graphite stick and drag it across the metal wall of her cell, the only thing she can think to draw is her father. It doesn’t even take effort on Clarke’s part. Every feature of Jake that she can remember - his kind eyes aged with wrinkles, the way his hair flopped to the side with a tilt of his head, the way his outreached hand calls to Clarke as it had all her life - comes alive on the rough metal canvas.

She finishes the drawing within hours. It is to scale, almost too lifelike for Clarke’s liking. She’s terrified that one day all those details about her father will evaporate, and so she’s driven to immortalize him somewhere, anywhere, even if it’s just in the corner of a prison cell. It hurts terribly every time she looks at her father, but she savors the ache. Her chest has been far too hallow as of late, even when it dulls in Lexa’s presence.

On really bad days, she curls up underneath her father’s portrait, her hand reaching to graze over the sketch of his outstretched hand, trying desperately to draw on the comfort he gave so willingly in life. Sometimes Lexa finds her like this, and almost every time she sits down next to Clarke. She barely touches her, and if she does it’s just a quick graze across the back of Clarke’s hand. But she sits close enough for Clarke to find comfort in her presence. Sometimes she stays for only a few minutes. Sometimes she stays for hours. Some days they talk, other days they sit in comfortable silence. But always, Lexa never fails to bring Clarke a sense of serenity even in her grief.

Lexa doesn’t know who the man on her wall is. Clarke hasn’t told her. It’s not just the pain that keeps her from telling Lexa. A part of her is fearful that should she start to talk about her dad, it would be far too easy to let slip the terrible secret that got her father floated and her locked up. Nonetheless, it claws at her, especially when she can feel Lexa’s presence strong and solid beside her. She yearns to lean in and rest her weight onto those padded shoulders, to unburden herself onto this girl with sad eyes and quiet strength that just begs for Clarke to trust her. She resists, though not without difficulty.

Lexa is nothing if not persistent in her own discreet way. After Clarke insists on multiple occasions that she really must stop bringing her little treats and presents, Lexa just nods and comes in the next day proffering another tiny square of synthetic chocolate. It nearly drives Clarke insane. Her own life may very well be damned, but she sure as hell is not going to drag Lexa down with her. Nonetheless, Lexa persisted, and Clarke relented. She likes to reason that because no one else came to her cell but Lexa, the likelihood of anyone discovering Lexa’s acts by the time she reaches Clarke’s cell is unlikely. It definitely isn’t because of the little flutter of her heart when she sees the brunette’s soft smile and bashful look each time she presents her spoils.

Clarke doesn’t stop drawing. Thanks to a seemingly endless supply of graphite pencils, she begins to fill the walls with her sketches. In the beginning, there’s not much rhyme or reason to her sketches. Whatever pops into her head at the right moment ends up somewhere in her cell - the view she had of earth from her old room window, a few carved pieces from her chest set back home, her interpretations of the Amazon forest before the bombs - they all end up on the walls and floor of her cell. Her drawings eventually develops a trend of portraying whatever is occupying her mind, a trend that seems poised to get her in trouble.

At first Clarke denies it. I mean, that pair of eyes she just sketched could belong to anyone really. Yes, not everyone can pull of that soul-piercing gaze, but it certainly could belong to more than one person, right? But as more and more sketches of a wry smile from full lips, a cascade of wavy hair, and a guard uniform with a distinctly feminine figure appear in scattered patches across her walls, Clarke just altogether stops reasoning her way out of this.

A pair of intertwined hands appears on the wall above her cot. Long slender fingers of one hand are gracefully linked with a slighter hand, and Clarke can’t deny where the inspiration comes from. Clarke finds it strange how little Lexa touches her. At first, she assumed the girl was giving her space while she grieved. But she’s noticed that whenever Lexa does indulge and brushes up against her skin, her eyes flash with guilt. It’s a bit tragic really, because it is the exact opposite for Clarke. In the brevity of a second, Lexa’s touch conveys safety and comfort in a way that Clarke has been starved for these past few weeks. Clarke wishes that she could just reach over one of these days and finally make that drawing a reality, but the fearful look in Lexa’s eyes anytime their touch lingers makes her push it down.

One day, it’s no longer just patches of Lexa that pop up on Clarke’s wall of wonders. Again, it only takes a few hours, but before Clarke knows it, Lexa in all her quiet glory appears on her wall right next to the entwined hands. Clarke manages to capture that effortless resilience in Lexa. Her face is set in that rigid, almost infuriatingly calm expression, and yet the softness of her lips, her hands, and her eyes are preserved in detailed strokes of graphite. And that hair - those glorious brown waves pealing down her shoulders in an almost uncharacteristically soft manner that contradicts the militant padded uniform it splays across...

Clarke is so caught up in getting Lexa just right that she barely react to her cell door opening. It’s only when she turns around to find Lexa frozen at the entrance staring at herself does Clarke realize she’s been caught in the action. The brunette’s body is tense as if she were poised to either run inside to Clarke or flee away.

“Uh...” Clarke stammers, mentally kicking herself because there is absolutely no reason to be embarrassed by her situation. None at all. No reason. “It’s not finished yet.”

And it’s true, the sketch isn’t finished yet. Clarke isn’t quite done adding the details of wavy braided hair, she hasn’t quite gotten the shading right around the neck, and she’s not sure she’s captured the brilliant shine in those wide eyes. But none of that is enough to cover up the very obvious fact that Clarke has drawn a very large, very lifelike, very flattering portrait of Lexa all from memory. If Clarke isn’t the shade of a tomato right now, she is certainly close.

Lexa is staring at her, projecting intense emotions Clarke can’t quite decipher. But she thinks that behind her stoic facade she can read the hints of disbelief, of curiosity, and maybe - Clarke hopes - of joy. It lessens the excruciating embarrassment that is flooding her cheeks.

“Oh that’s - I mean it’s - um,” Lexa struggles, her cheeks starting to look awfully rosy under the harsh fluorescent light. “It looks great, Clarke.” Her eyes have been trained on anything but Clarke, but she lifts them to lock with Clarke’s eyes as a bashful smile graces her lips. “You’re very talented.”

Clarke feels like her heart is about to beat out of her chest after all the rush of embarrassment - and now excitement - she feels. The adrenaline urges her to fidget, which only makes it all the more difficult to remain in this standstill with Lexa.

“Um, do you want...to come in? Clarke suggests, twiddling her thumbs in nervous anticipation. “You can be my model?” She tries to lighten the air around them and prays that it will work. Her whole body seems to sag in relief when Lexa gives her the slightest nod, her mouth still holding that wry smile. Lexa stays long after Clarke finishes applying to final touches.

[lillotte17]

General Lavellan AU for the Time Travel Baby Anon! Better late than never, right?? >_>

@feynites for Uthvir/Squish/Lavellan mentions

Aili is coming to the end of what has proven to be a very long and trying day.

She climbs up out of one of the discreet entrances to the sewers in the Lower City, covered in bruises and slime, and drenched in foul-smelling water. Weary, down to the very marrow of her bones. But at least this section of the tunnels has been cleared of demons, and the new wards that the General had wanted laid down have be successfully put into place.

There is some satisfaction to be found in that; a sense of pride that does not fade even when she is met with a cold gust wind hurling a flurry of snowflakes directly into her face.

She wraps her arms around herself and shivers, rubbing at her sleeves with a touch of magic in an effort to dry the thin material of her shirt a little. It doesn’t help much. Things will be better as soon as she can change into a fox, and have a nice layer of fur to keep her warm.

But that will have to wait until she gets up onto the rooftops.

She hastily ducks into a nearby alleyway, it’s very late, but she would rather not run the risk of someone seeing her if she can possibly help it. This is mainly a warehouse district, so anyone else wandering around at this time of night probably wants to avoid being seen as much as she does, but she would rather be safe than sorry. There are a lot of wards laid out around the buildings to protect precious goods, but she knows where the merchants tend to set them, and they aren’t likely to be an issue once she is up on the roofs anyway. But she does have to get there first.

A few blocks down from where she started, she knows of a storehouse for various imported pottery and fresh clay that has an awning low enough for her to pull herself up from the street. She is more than two thirds of the way towards her intended destination, picking her way carefully over a few large crates that have already been divested of their previous cargo, when she is blinded by a sudden flash of light. Startled, her fingers lose their purchase, and she finds herself falling backwards, her elbow smashing painfully into the smooth stone of the street. After a low hiss of pain and several muttered curse words, she shifts into a fox and tucks herself into the shadows, hoping that the burst of magic was someone else in the vicinity setting off an alarm, and not something she has managed to trip herself.

For a minute or so, there is nothing but silence and snowfall.

And then she hears it; a thin, high keening sound, muffled by one of the crates. She might mistake it for a stray cat, or some other small lost house pet, that had somehow succeeded in trapping itself beneath a stack of boxes, but there is a palpable aura of grief permeating the air. And a thick, cloying fear, intense enough that she could almost swear she could taste it in the back of her throat.  

Aili pads out of her hiding place on nimble paws, sniffing cautiously until she thinks she has located the box the noise is emanating from. There is a strange acrid smell lingering in the air, almost enough to scorch the inside of her delicate nose, but beneath that, there is a definite scent of…person.

Quickly and quietly as she can, she shifts back into the shape of an elf and begins to move the crates away from the one that seems to be occupied. Not as easy a task as she might have hoped, as it turns out. Although they are empty, the boxes themselves are large and sturdy, and not even the frequent exercise of lugging Uthvir out of danger has built up her upper body strength to the point where this is an easy task. And she was tired to begin with.

Still, she manages. Perhaps spurred on by adrenaline, or concern, or genuine empathy for the poor little creature trapped in the dark. She is fairly certain that there is really only one thing it could be, and it is doubtlessly going to cause her no small amount of trouble, but that doesn’t mean she has the heart to simply abandon it to its fate.

Sure enough, when Aili finally pulls the lid off the crate, she is met with a startled, hiccupping gasp, and a pair of wide green eyes. He is a bit hard to make out at first, a little smudge of olive skin and dark hair nestled in a pile of wood shavings. Long and lean, and without any sort of injury or defect that she can immediately discern; she wonders what in the world could have caused someone to abandon him out in the snow.

A baby, thrown away with the garbage.  

For a moment, they both simply regard one another, the little boy’s gaze boring into her with an intensity that she does not tend to associate with babies, black brows furrowing in an expression of obvious misgiving. She did not think a child so young would be capable of suspicion, but perhaps, given the circumstances, it is not so strange. He cannot have learned much of love or trust if his caretakers were callous enough to dump him in the warehouse district.  In the dark. And the cold.

A great swell of fury rises up in her. Surely, this was not his parents’ only option. There are plenty of elves who would have taken him in, even knowing the risks. He could have been left in the Upper City, were some high-ranking follower might have found him. He could have been left in a tavern somewhere, sheltered and warm. …They could have at least left him a blanket.

Unless…it was not their intention that he survive.

Aili shakes the thought away, as it is far too horrible to even imagine, before reaching into the crate to scoop the child up into the relative warmth and safety of her arms.

He makes a startled squawk at the sudden movement, visibly recoiling from her outstretched hands. The fear around him sharpens again, and she hastily pulls away. She frowns, puzzled. Uncertain if the child is afraid because she is a stranger, or if his treatment before now has been so terrible that he is actually petrified of being held.  

Very slowly, she reaches one arm into the crate, extending a single finger and tracing soft patterns along the skin of his arm. He flinches slightly, at first, but slowly seems to relax a little when it becomes apparent that she is not going to grab him again. Then he fixes her with the same penetrating gaze as before, though perhaps with a trace of pensiveness, now. She heaves a weary sigh.

“I know I don’t smell very good,” she whispers in what she hopes comes off as a soothing tone, “but coming with me has to be better than spending the night in an old shipping crate, hm?”

They sit together for a few minutes, the baby still contemplating her with an air of great solemnity as she hums to him in a low voice, slowly moving her touch until she is brushing fingers across his chest. Over the plump curve of his cheek. Into the dark sweep of his hair. He no longer seems dismayed by the contact, but he does not lose the tension in his limbs, and there is a lingering wisp of anxiety curling around him.

Sooner or later, she will have to take him, regardless of his protests. The snow does not accumulate in the streets, of course, but that doesn’t stop it from blanketing the discarded crates, or an abandoned child, or her, for that matter. There is not much call for weather regulation in this part of the city, as no one lives here, and the individual warehouses are kept at the appropriate temperature for whatever they might be storing. Already she can feel the stiffness settling into her clothing, the numbness in her bare toes and the tips of her ears. She can only imagine how cold it must be as a small naked child without even the aid of magic to keep him warm.

As if on cue, the baby shivers and glances around, as though just now noticing the state of the weather. His face scrunches in a look of consternation before letting out a deep breath and burbling something at her. The sound seems to take him by surprise, as he makes another soft squeal of dismay, glancing down at his limbs and flailing them a bit. Wriggling as if trying to get somewhere without much success.

“Are you cold, little one?” Aili wonders, “I admire your determination, but if you plan on getting anywhere, I think you’re going to need some help.”

She holds her hands out to him, in offering this time, waiting to see if he will shy away again.  

He blinks at her. Gurgles something reluctant, before twisting his face into a look of utter frustration. The behavior seems a bit strange for such a young baby, but there is something undeniably endearing about his apparent orneriness as well. He huffs at her, petulant, and Aili does her best not to giggle.

Finally, he extends his hands back towards her, making a grasping motion that is clear in its meaning: ‘Pick me up.’

Aili beams at him as she complies.  

He grumbles a bit when she takes a moment to snuggle him, but she finds that she cannot help herself. Sullen or not, he is still a baby, and an uncommonly adorable one at that, though she might be slightly biased in his favor. She plants a kiss on his brow, and he puts his little chubby hands over her mouth in an obvious objection.

She snorts in amusement, grinning down at him and kissing at his fingers instead. Which earns her even more disgruntled babbling as he hastily moves his hands away from her mouth. What a strange little thing.

She loosens the ties on her tunic enough to tuck him into it, though the fit is a bit snugger than she would like. She does not envy him the smell that must be pervasive in there, but he only makes another low burble of dissatisfaction before settling in and accepting his lot. At least he is a quiet baby, she hates to think what might have happened if one of the Peacekeepers had come upon her has she was making this little discovery.

The thought stills her, and she takes a moment to actually consider the situation she has now found herself in.

It’s the middle of the night, she can’t just waltz into one of the Great Leaders’ palaces and hand him off to the first person she sees and expect to go skipping home afterwards. Cruelty towards a child is a very serious offense. There will be an investigation. Questions. Where did she find him? What was she doing out there so late?

And they will know if she lies. And she will be…punished.

Aili is a low-ranking servant. A nobody. An easy scapegoat. Many high-ranking followers would be content with blaming the entire incident on her and calling it a day. It certainly isn’t like Ghilan’nain is going to get worked up over the loss of one person under her ‘protection’.

She cannot do it. Outside of the risk to her own life, she would be risking the carefully laid groundwork that the resistance has been setting down for decades. And it would put other people at risk as well. Her friends, the General, and Dorian, and Squish… Uthvir…

She shakes her head.

Well…wherever she ends up taking him, they can’t stay here. And it would probably be best for everyone if she changed into something that didn’t stink of the sewers. And the baby could probably do with something to eat and a nice warm bath after his ordeal.

Back to her living quarters it is, then.

It takes her nearly twice as long as it normally would to get back to her little room, since she was not about to risk jumping from rooftop to rooftop with a baby in tow. She also tried to stick to as many of the back alleys and less-traversed areas of the district as she could, in the hopes of avoiding anyone who might be out for a late-night stroll, or just getting up to cover the early morning shift of their duties. Which, unsurprisingly, slowed her down considerably. But it is worth it if no one saw her roaming around covered in muck with a very suspicious lump under her tunic.

She ducks into her parents’ rooms to quickly gather some provisions, relieved for once that they are both out attending to their duties. Her father tends to keep all manner of goods hoarded away, in order to look after whatever strange little beasts he can smuggle away from Ghilan’nain’s laboratories. The failures are either executed out of hand or picked apart in search of flaws, usually while still very much alive, and Adhamh has never been able to bear the sight of suffering. Most of his brood tend to be young, so there are plenty of things that could easily be converted into some essential supplies for infant care.  

The baby blinks up at his new surroundings curiously when she finally settles him down in a nest of blankets on her bed. There is not much to see in her cramped little quarters, but she and Uthvir had made a small decoration from discarded pieces of pretty glass and beads rescued from the incinerator in June’s tower that she keeps hanging near the window so it catches the light. She twirls it gently and the child’s eyes latch onto it in apparent fascination. She smiles down at him and heaves a sigh of mingled satisfaction and relief.

Safe.

For now, anyway.

Quick as she can, and with at least one eye trained on her little guest to make sure he does not roll off the bed or attempt to eat something not intended for consumption, Aili strips off her dirty clothes and does her level best to scrub herself free of the sewers with nothing but a wash basin and a simple bar of soap. It takes a bit of doing, as it always seems to, and her skin is pink from furious scouring by the time she is free of any unpleasant stench, but in the time she is clean and dressed in one of her night shirts, the baby seems to have grown bored with the makeshift mobile and started an inventory of all his limbs. He’s got one foot almost all the way up to his mouth and a look of befuddlement on his face, and she can’t help laughing at the sight.

“I think I can find something better for you to eat than toes,” she grins at him, daring to sneak a few fingers over and lightly tickle his belly before going to make up a bottle for him. Getting the proper formula for infants had not been an option, but there had been milk and bottles for nursing in her parents’ rooms. It is not ideal, but it will do well enough for a single night.

Aili sits down on the bed and pulls him back into her arms. He makes no fuss of it this time other than a look of mild concern, which she takes as a definite sign of progress. She shows him the bottle with a smile, sending a brief pulse of magic to her hand to warm it before offering it to him.

This is apparently the wrong thing to have done.

Fear bursts into the air around them as the babe makes a startled cry and begins a frantic bid to escape from her grasp. Aili finds herself at a complete loss, and it is all she can do to keep a hold on him so he does not end up toppling onto the floor. When it becomes apparent that getting away is not an option, the baby sags in her arms, dissolving into a hot mess of tears.

She moves him so that his head is resting on her shoulder, smoothing her hands down his back and murmuring words of comfort as he continues to wail into her shirt. He grabs a fistful of her hair, a great wave of grief rising up to mingle with his terror, and she does not know what else she can do to help him.

She starts singing.

The old lullabies her mother used to get her to sleep as a child. Silly songs about rabbits and cats and bumblebees. Soft songs about water and wind and ships sailing at night. Songs about trees and rain and sunlight. Songs about love.

Eventually he quiets, his sorrow mellowing to hiccups and the occasional sniffle. He looks tired when she cradles him in her lap again, pink-faced and yawning. She hesitantly lifts the bottle again, and he does not cry or flinch or push it away. He suckles at it as though on instinct, his eyes drooping slowly until he is finally claimed by sleep.

Aili stares down at his little face as he finally seems to relax, utterly at a loss.

He was not afraid of the bottle when she picked it up in her parents’ chambers, and he had not seemed remotely scared of it the second time she had offered it to him. What could have upset him? Had she moved too quickly? He does not seem to like sudden movements or a lot of touching, but while he had been wary of her holding him at first, it pales in comparison to the visceral reaction he had to a warm bottle of milk.

She pauses, considering.

Could it have been the spell she had used? Could it be that the people who had been looking after him had hurt him with magic as well as physical injury? Such a thing seemed too ghastly to even imagine, but…

But someone had left him alone in the snow. Left him to die.

Her heart aches, even as she feels a fresh wave of anger roiling in her gut. She can’t be sure if her theory is correct, and she would rather not test it and upset him again. He has already been through so much. Too much for someone so young.

She lays down on her bed, loosely curled around him, watching his face until she falls asleep.

~

She wakes a few hours later to the pale light of sunrise and the soft sounds of her little guest’s discomfort. She changes him and feeds him and sets up his nest of pillows and blankets again so she can put on fresh clothes. He lays there placidly enough, wide green eyes still peering around the room curiously.

On a whim, she turns and looks at the carvings she keeps on the top of her dresser. They are only made of scrap wood, but they are pretty enough in their way, and she is starting to build up quite the collection. Her father’s stag. Her mother’s barn owl. Her own pert eared little fox. The rough beginnings of a hawk, wings spread wide. And the oldest one; a crouching hare with long ears.

Aili palms the little creature, running her fingers over the smooth worn grain of the wood. She brings it over to show the baby, who reaches for it instantly. It is big enough that she doubts he could manage to choke on it, so she lets him take it, smiling down at him even as he regards the rabbit with a look of confusion.

“You remind me of someone I used to know, little man,” she tells him, running her fingers gently through the soft tuft of his dark hair, “He was always landing me in some sort of trouble, too.” The baby blinks up at her, the hare’s nose jammed half way into his mouth, and she sighs at him, lightly tugging it away. He can’t swallow it, but she probably shouldn’t let him try.

“What am I going to do with you?”

She…she cannot keep him herself. Not with her low standing and poor resources. This matter will undoubtedly be taken before the Evanuris themselves, who will squabble and bicker and pass him around to whichever of their followers seems the most suitable. Even if the term ‘most suitable’ really means ‘whoever is in favor right now’. Being good at political machinations is no indication of parental competency, not that being inept ever seems to stop some people from rising to prominence.

But what does she have to offer as a counterpoint? She is too young. Too lowly. Too unattached. The only people who really trust her judgement are her parents and the General’s ragtag group of miscreants.

The General. Now there is a thought. She will at least hear her out, and listen to her concerns about his dislike of touch and his sensitively to magic. She already has an adopted son of her own, after all. A foundling, just like her baby.

Aili swallows thickly, something unexpected and heavy lodging itself in her throat.

Her baby.

She shakes it away. Even the General could not convince Ghilan’nain to allow her to raise the child on her own. But Lavellan will look out for him, she can be certain of that. She will make sure that the parents who take him in are good, kind people. Uthvir and Squish and Haninan will keep an eye on him too, when they can. And maybe…maybe she will still be permitted to visit him every now and then.

She bundles him up in an absurd amount of blankets and tucks him into a deep basket. She lets him keep the hare, a token to remember her by. And then she takes a deep steadying breath, and heads out of her building in the direction of June’s tower.

It takes her the better part of the morning to get there. There is not anything overtly suspicious about a servant toting around a large basket, but she would prefer to avoid scrutiny just the same. Her cargo is mercifully quiet, and the few times she ducks into an alcove to check on him, he never seems to have managed anything worse than drooling on his toy rabbit.

She comes in through one of the servants’ entrances that Uthvir showed her. It can be a bit tricky to find her way through June’s ridiculous puzzle house, but she can usually find the meeting room the General favors, as well as Uthvir and Desire’s private rooms. She wishes she would run into one of her friends though. It feels like her heart is liable to beat its way straight out of her chest.

She comes to a junction of passageways and pauses. Weighing her options. Determining likely outcomes. She tucks herself into a little dark nook behind a statue and pulls the blankets away from her baby’s face. He looks up at her owlishly, glancing around at the strange new place she has brought him to, uncertainty permeating the air around him.

He reaches out and takes hold of her finger.

Resolution solidifies in her chest.

~

Uthvir answers the door when she knocks, looking half asleep and wholly surprised. She can’t exactly blame them, as this is neither the hour nor the place they would usually meet each other. She bustles her way into their room without so much as a greeting, too caught up in the flurry of her own feelings and choices.

This is utter madness.

They look like they are about to make some sort of joke about the state of her arrival, but something about her expression must still their tongue. They do quirk a brow at her, though. Expectant.

She holds the basket out to them, tears welling in her eyes.

“Please, help me.”

[shadows-of-almsivi]

What is the general consensus towards public displays of affection in Morrowind? And outside of romantic and non-sexual relationships, how much people touch each other while talking or spending time together. Is non-verbal intimacy encouraged or discouraged aside from romantic and sexual relationships?

I really shouldn’t encourage you, you know. All I can tell you is surely… But never mind. You’ve asked, and to be quite honest, I’m rather bored. Come, sit down. Let’s see if this wine is good enough to inspire me into rambling for you. I’ll answer briefly, first, quickly before I forget, and grant you details after until I’ve forgotten what I was meant to be telling you and you wish you’d never asked me, yes?

So… Public displays of affection, you said. Well, it depends mostly on how public it is, how influential you are, who they are, and just what it is you’re doing to them. By and large, however, we tend to be rather shocked by how open and blatant men are about such things, so I suppose by comparison the short answer must be “generally discouraged”.

Casual touch… Quite common, almost necessary. Relatively constant, really, though it varies from one mer to the next. I cannot have a pleasant conversation without it, else I feel almost personally slighted, though men in particular are so starved for touch they often either turn defensive or confusedly aroused.

And… What was the last–? Oh, yes. Non-verbal intimacy; Lords, quite definitively encouraged. Especially amongst House mer; it’s the form of intimacy hardest to observe, and therefore the hardest to leverage for blackmailing purposes. You know, perhaps it would be easiest for you to conceptualise Dunmeri culture when you remember how paranoid House noblemer are.

Are my answers to your satisfaction? Good. Now, if you’ll permit me, I’ll gladly talk your ears off for a moment or two. I see you’re still confused, and there is much context I can attempt to share with you.

Dunmer occupy a strange contradiction in the stereotypes held by outlanders (I should know; after all, I did exploit such odd impressions for all they were worth during my time in Cyrodiil). To many men, we are at once a grim, joyless people, devoid of love or warmth, and also a race of lascivious, lawless creatures obsessed with the indulgence of primal urges. I cannot account for either impression, although men are shockingly impetuous with their affections, as often careless with their embraces as they are shame-filled and furtive with their lust. I suppose for them, so in love with their own repressions yet so short-lived and urgent in their desires, we must seem alien, almost absurd, as I will forever find them absurd for their maddeningly-meandering courtships and brazenly public kissing. I would fancy we are slandered often simply out of jealousy of our culture, for Imperials surely must bind down their loins with steel and whalebone for all their stiff propriety. It must be so frustrating, this odd and masochistic cultural demand to appear bloodless and without ardour.

(As for the local Nords, I am yet to be convinced that their kind feels a lust for anything that is not battle, or mead, or self-aggrandising recounts of either of the two.)

The oddness of the ways of men now made clear, it goes without saying that Morrowind is a very different place, and a much more sensible one to minds like mine. The pleasure of one’s own sexuality is nothing to flee from nor dress up in elaborate pantomime in its seeking; if a mer desires another, and if it is socially permissible or professionally expedient for them to do so, there seems little reason not to get to the point as soon as possible. Within my youth, it was hardly uncommon to pass the Hlaalu administration compounds and overhear the satisfied moaning of political and economic agreements being settled. Even within the Temple, it was not completely unusual for at least one or two determined mer to gain a rank through such means. Rarely cause for gossip, unless some rivalry or family matter arose to add a touch of drama to the proceedings; then, of course, it would be the talk of the cornerclubs by nightfall.

But aside from this… I suppose, by the standards of men, Dunmer society must appear quite cold. We do not smile with the teeth, save to threaten; mostly, our smiles do not leave the eyes. A mother does not often hold her child outside the home, unless the child is very young or injured. Family may kiss each other’s cheeks at the door, though it is uncommon in houses without children; mostly this is done in the front hall. You will never see a pair of lovers greet each other with a kiss on any public street, nor see any married couple do the same no matter the length of their separation. The only exception to this I have ever known was a Redoran mer in Ald’Ruhn, who kissed her wife in the market plaza as she lay dying, having fallen beneath the wheel of a guar-cart; onlookers surrounding the couple turned their backs politely in silent understanding, shielding the mer’s imminent grief from passing eyes with their own bodies. Such compassion, extraordinarily beautiful; it draws my throat tight in memory of it even now.

I know, I know, I speak overmuch of kissing in particular. For all the years I have spent amongst men, I will never completely get over such nonsensical inversion as theirs, and I’ve never been permitted to vent my spleen on the subject. How to explain… We are a passionate yet stoic people, quite private in our emotions. We tend to jealously guard what is dearest to us. Sexual intimacy is notably casual for the most part, as I have told you. There are few taboos around the healthy expression of sexual urges, beyond the mostly-reasonable ones. But emotional intimacy… Emotional intimacy is rare and essential, and easily turned against you; it must be hidden as much as possible from the outside world, as one would hide a diamond from the eyes of a thief. This bond with another, kissing being perhaps the highest form of its expression, is not something that is fit for public viewing.  Does that make sense to you?

The mouth holds great symbolic importance to us; it is the vessel of poetry, of prayer, of power. We consume sustenance and recite our devotion, we speak our authority and confess our sins. To yield something so precious to another is an action of intense bonding and trust, and so must be done only away from prying eyes. To kiss your spouse in your own home is a reaffirmation of your love for them; to do so in public is to cheapen both them and yourself, to make a vulgar spectacle of your intimacy. Passersby will feel shame on your behalf, since you clearly possess none of your own. Outlanders, ignorant of our reverence for such an action, tend to make quite a nuisance of themselves in this way; in my youth, we often assumed them to be prideless deviants, debased at best, though there was an undercurrent of pity to our scorn: how lonely and desperate these short-lived creatures must be, that they would spill their deepest affections so easily and with anyone they sought to bed, and perhaps the local liquors simply went to their heads too quickly. Later, I would come to understand how inverted much of the world tends to be from what is familiar and sensible to me; I had to train myself to sell lies of passion with kisses that filled me with nauseous shame, and longed for the days in which I might have been naive enough to feel pity for these creatures…

Enough, enough of that. Let’s not spoil this pleasant warmth the wine has lent me. Let me say that I came to understand how men view kissing as seduction rather than affirmation, learned to use it thus, and leave it at that?

There are subtler gestures to share your affections, more acceptable to the possibility of public view. It has been said that Dunmeris is a language only half-spoken with words, the rest with the hands. This is rather apt, really, whether one means the rapid flurry of conversational gesticulations or the many instances of physical contact, both brief and lingering. (Our informal gestures are, perhaps, very similar to the signal-languages used amongst slaves before the Abolition, though few Dunmer of my age will admit to such an influence. It has also been theorised that the Dunmeri frequency of touch in casual conversation was once meant to conceal weapons searches, which… Well, it doesn’t hurt, certainly.)  I have always spoken much with my hands, though it is often unrecognised as the punctuation it truly is. I have seen Dunmer, attempting to speak in a friendly manner, have their touches misconstrued and be accused of pick-pocketing, which always breaks my heart.

Speech is vital, but is often not as important as what is not said. Touch without agenda is meant for closeness, especially amongst family, or those dear enough to be. You craft your love for them with your hands. Small variations of almost-identical actions carry whole worlds of altered meaning, which must be read in any number of other details unique to the mer in question; in this way, a particular touch between mer may mean completely different things, and so their right to the privacy of their emotions is maintained in polite obfuscation. The caressing of forearms, for example, serves both as apology or forgiveness for harsh words and as a gesture of friendship, a tighter clasping can mean either a stiffer formality or a great depth of emotion depending on how long it is held, and so on. Close companions and combat-bonded soldiers were often seen leaning upon one another in barrack common rooms and cornerclubs, hands resting affectionately on forearms and shoulders. You’d often see siblings or lovers at tables or in the market, their fingers loosely woven together at the tips. Templemer of particular closeness, such as my contemporaries and I were, spread our fondness for each other along necks and spines, or worked it into each other’s tired muscles after exhaustive ritual practice.

This is not to say that all touch was beyond judgement. Given enough privacy and drink, my friends and I would even– Well, I have always been more tactile than perhaps is wise, skating often more closely to the edges of honest propriety than one might expect of a thirdborn or a priest… I admit, I was not always above the gentle bending of such limitations, using my House and my station as my shield and cats-paw respectively. I am mortal after all, sera, and we were all young things once…

(If the private indiscretions of priests surprise you, I could tell you all manner of scandals surrounding the Imperial cults’ clergies. You’d be surprised how many of Zenithar’s shepherds harbor a taste for dice, and I recall a certain old priest of Arkay who was well-known around the taverns for his specialised methods of consoling grieving widows. Especially the prettier ones, preferably half his age.)

Whenever I think of the propriety of touch and the subtleties of non-verbal intimacy, I cannot help but think of my mother and father. I think of how their fingers would be always brushing the other’s whenever they walked together by the Odai of the evening. I think of how Mother’s hand would rest lightly at the hollow of Father’s spine whenever my siblings and I rushed past, and how I did not realise for years that Father’s back pained him. I think of the way Mother swept Father’s long and greying strip-mane into its loose braid each morning, as wordless and tender with familiarity as the looks they gave each other across the dinner table.

I remember how Mother’s strong fingers held my jaw as she proudly admired each new line inked into my face. I remember how Father’s broad hands held me close while I cried, gently stroking my hair. I remember every warm embrace and every kissed forehead, every favorite book tucked secretly into my travelling satchel with notes between the pages, every cup of tea and mended toy. And every word I never had a chance to…

…Well. I’ve spoken quite enough for you, I expect, and I seem to be out of wine. If you’ll excuse me, friend, I think I’d prefer to be alone for a time. Suddenly, I can’t say I feel like talking any longer.

[ceciditangxl-blog]

Stretch Your Wings

Some Gabriel and Castielle fluff because I can. 

Warning: Warm and fuzzy feelings ahead, enter at your own risk

Castielle felt like they had been battling the apocalypse forever. It seemed like every time they pushed back one world ending catastrophe, a new one rose to take its place. If she weren’t an angel, they would have begun to blend into each other in her head. 

The constant war on the never ending end times was exhausting all around, though Castielle was much better at hiding that than her human counterparts. It wasn’t so much the physical exhaustion that got her, that was easily recovered from, it was the mental and emotional strain that got her. 

It sounded selfish and vain, but the angel hadn’t had any time to take any kind of care of herself beyond the absolute necessities. Her wings, which currently sat folded against her back, were an complete disaster. She hadn’t had the chance to even try and maintain them since she had first led the charge into hell to rescue Dean. 

Just thinking about the state of her poor wings made Castielle depressed. Wings were a source of pride for angels, a direct link to their grace, to the very thing that made them angels. To have hers in such a state was shameful at best. 

Pulling herself from the rapidly spiralling train of thought, Castielle shakes her head. Sam and Dean were away on a hunt, which she assumed was going well as they hadn’t called on her yet, and they would not be back for a few days. She would be alone for that period of time, she figured she might as well make good use of it. 

She stood up from the armchair in the library she had been occupying for the last little while, and made her way to her bedroom. The light flicked on as she walked in. The room was sparsely decorated, Cas’s tastes were simple and minimalist. She dug through the dresser opposite the bed, looking for something more comfortable to wear in the place of her usual business casual attire. It would have been simple enough for her to simply change her clothes with a mere thought, but she had found that she enjoyed the motions of changing her clothing the human way. 

Once she was in a plain black tee and a pair of dark wash jeans, she left the room, turning the light off on her way out. She slipped on a pair of running shoes and made sure the bunker was locked up before leaving. She touched down in an empty field a few miles out from the bunker. It was a considerably large field, littered with wildflowers and fireflies. 

Castielle paused for a second to simply take in the scene in front of her, somewhere in the distance she could hear rushing water. For a moment she was reminded of heaven, back when she was still a fledgling, spending most of her time playing with Gabriel. An intense feeling of longing flashed through her at the thought of the archangel, but she shoved it down, determined not to let her grief ruin the night. 

She doubled check to make sure she was completely alone. Then she took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and willed her wings into physical form. At first they only appear in their smaller form, as she would normally have them do, but tonight she plans to indulge herself. She wills them to manifest at their true size, over double what they were now. 

She can feel them responding, stretching out, reaching for the edge of the forest that surrounded her. It felt as if a rope that had been tightly tied around her was unravelling. Being in a human vessel is restrictive, even claustrophobic at times, especially for long periods of time. She feels the tension leaving her, making it easier to breathe, even though she didn’t actually need to. The relief flooded her and for the barest of seconds she was overwhelmed by it. 

Her wings now stood at their full size, just over 16ft from tip to tip. It felt amazing to Cas, to feel the air against her wings, the grass brushing against the tips of her feathers. She rolled her shoulders and her neck, further releasing the pent up tension from her body. She reaches out with her grace, willing the winds to pick up, to which the oblige. Then she gathers herself and gives her wings a shake, feeling the wind rush through them. The air quickly became filled with hundreds of feathers, blanketing the field in black and drak blues and greens. 

It’s not a complete fix, but it feels a hell of a lot better than nothing. In fact she’s so engrossed in the feeling that she fails to notice that she is no longer alone. Somewhere at the edge of the woods, Gabriel stands, leaning against a tree as he watches Castielle stretch her wings in what appears to be a very long time. Even in the dark he can clearly see that she has been neglecting herself. He shook his head, not surprised in the least. Cas was always the first to sacrifice her needs where others were concerned, it came with the whole too much heart thing. 

He was only there because he had picked up on that brief flash of longing earlier, in fact he hadn’t even intended on staying, he was just going to pop in, make sure she was okay and quietly exit stage right. But after seeing the sad state she was in, those plans quickly changed. He sighed, moving from the cover of the trees and out into the open. 

He got exactly 6ft from her when she finally noticed him. She turned around, the shock evident on her face. “Gabriel?” She asked, a little in disbelief. It took her a second to process that he was really standing in front of her, very much alive and well. Then her expression became confused. “How are you here?” She asked. 

Gabriel simply shook his head. “We can play catch up later. How are you?” He questioned, eyes moving to her wings. 

Castielle opened her mouth to tell him that she was fine purely out of habit, but as she saw him eyeing her wings, she realized that she couldn’t get away with that lie this time. He could clearly see what bad shape she was in, so she might as well be honest about it. She swallowed harshly. “I have not had time to care for myself beyond the basics.” She says instead. 

“I can see that featherbrain.” He replied.

Cas is unsure what to say next, so she opts to press her lips together and not say anything at all. 

A sigh from Gabriel. “Well let’s take care of that then, before you run off to save the world again.”

Castielle nodded, still not sure what to say. She turns around, lowering herself down to sit on the grass. Gabriel follows suit, sitting cross legged behind the younger angel. It’s been so long since he’s groomed another angel’s wings that he’s worried he’s forgotten how to do it. His worries are quickly put to rest when his hands begin to move on instinct, innately knowing what to do. He starts by running his fingers through her feathers, gently pulling out the dead and loose ones. The wind had begun the process but a lot of them had become tangled and stuck in clumps. 

Castielle was admittedly anxious about the whole process, afraid that Gabriel would look down on her for letting herself get in this condition. But as each minute passed and he said nothing, she began to relax. The process was actually quite relaxing, and it made Castielle realize just how long it had been since she had actually socialized with another angel like this. Slowly her shoulders dropped, her posture becoming less and less stiff. She felt silly for doubting Gabriel, he had always been the kindest to her, before he had run off from heaven he had been her favourite. 

It took a while, but they were angels, patience was a part of the package, especially when things like centuries felt like nothing but the blink of an eye. Eventually the clumps of moulted feathers were gone, and Gabriel was able to move on to the next step. By this time it was close to sunrise, by neither of them paid that any attention, they weren’t expecting to be interrupted. Any human who may happen to stumble across them would only see a field littered in black feathers. 

Next Gabriel had to stimulate the oil glands to get back to work, and clear anything else that might be blocking them. An angel’s wings were almost living things, a living organism, a physical limb of their grace. As his fingers delicately massaged the tendons of her wings, he imagined that her wings were asleep, and as he worked he reached out with his own grace, encouraging them to wake up. 

Meanwhile Castielle was long lost in the feeling, which was heavenly, and that meant something coming from someone who was from heaven. As Gabriel’s grace, the pure essence of an archangel, touched hers she felt what humans called euphoria. It was pure, unadulterated bliss. She truly felt as if she were waking up after having been groggy and half asleep for so long. At some point Gabriel had begun to hum softly under his breath, a random yet soothing tune. Apparently after all this time Gabriel still knew how to tell exactly what Castielle needed, even when she herself did not know it. 

Once the glands had begun producing oils again, he paused to lean back, making a satisfied grunt. Cas couldn’t help but smile at the sound. Getting back to work, Gabriel once more ran his hands through the thick mass of sleek darkness, spreading the oils to the parched feathers. The difference was immediately noticeable. The feathers began to gleam, already looking healthier. It was during this process that Gabriel was reminded of how much he adored Castielle’s wings.

Even as a fledgling Cas had been special, right down to her wings. She was the only one with black wings, which unfortunately had led to a lot of bullying from the others, but he had always done his best to help the younger angel shake the comments off. He had always been convinced that her wings would be beautiful when they reached maturity, and he was pleased to find that he was correct. 

The rich black was accented by dark blues and greens, which blended in perfectly with each other, reflecting their respective colours when the light hit them just right. Gabriel had six, perfectly golden wings strapped to him, but they felt a bit lacking in comparison to the intricate beauty of Castielle’s. It took a bit, simply due to the sheer size of her wings, and how thick they were as well, but eventually Gabriel was satisfied with his work. He leaned back, but not before giving Cas a friendly pat on the back. 

“There you go Cassie, good as new.” He declared. 

It took Castielle a second to even register his words, having been so deep in the feeling of having her wings groomed. She shook her head, coming back to her senses. “Thanks Gabe, I think I really needed that.” She confessed. 

Gabriel laughed. “I’d have to agree, you really outta take better care of yourself kiddo.” 

“I’ll tell you what, you can save the world, and the Winchester’s asses, and I’ll sit around preening all day.” She teased. 

Gabriel smirked. “Cassie! Was that a joke? From you?” He poked at her, to which she rolled her eyes. “Good to see you haven’t become all work and no play.”

“That’s because there’s no such thing as work as long are you’re around.”

“Castielle! You wound me.” Gabriel said with mock hurt.

“And my point exactly.” She’s smiling though, she can’t help it, the archangel’s optimism is too infectious. 

“Hey featherbrain?”

“Yes Gabriel?”

“Wanna go for a flight? Stretch those wings out properly?”

A short pause. “I thought you’d never ask.

And with that the two took off into the air, soaring over the forest and confusing some early morning hikers who could’ve sworn they saw some very large birds. 

[theirstrangecircumstances]

The Strange Circumstances of Raymundo Rose Pt. 1

Ray yawned, stretching his arms above his head. The rare warm autumn afternoons were the best for a nap in the school’s field. The soccer team didn’t have practice that Friday so he had the field to himself. With the lazy heat and the cool breeze, Ray had little desire to head home where his mom would only nag at him to do his homework. Lying on the grass in the shade of the chipped brick wall was a much better idea.

He stared at the clouds, finding odd shapes and objects. One large and stretched cloud could have been a snake or a train but a movement distracted him, accompanied by hurried steps. Ray pushed himself up onto his elbows. Two figures jogged towards him, one of them short, like a small child, pulling another student along. Ray recognized Rei easily with his beautiful hair, and beautiful features, and beautiful eyes. They shared a few classes but never really spoke to one another. Rei was too pretty and made Ray question way too much about himself. They were questions Ray avoided.

There was no time to run away and pretend Ray didn’t see them. He was the only person in sight. Taking a deep breath to mentally prepare himself, Ray stood and ruffled his short brown hair, slouching slightly to show them just how much of a cool guy he was and not at all enchanted by Rei’s mere presence. “What’s up?” he asked when they stopped in front of him.

“Hello, Ray,” Rei said in his very melodious voice that certainly didn’t carry the music of angels. “I found him wandering around the front of the school and was pulled along.”

It took all of Ray’s strength to shift his eyes from Rei to look at the boy that held onto Rei’s hand—a totally non-envious position. The boy looked to be about seven with round cheeks framed by delicate locks. His head was covered almost entirely by a knitted cap, which made Ray feel hotter than he already did. Stranger still, however, was the boy’s brilliant eyes that stared at Ray with an intensity that made him fidget. His stern gaze was difficult to take seriously when it was on his child face. However, there was something very off about this boy, more off than can be considered normal. But since he couldn’t point it out he left it alone.

“You,” the boy suddenly said, pointed at Ray. “You don’t look occupied at the moment.”

Being addressed so aggressively did not improve the Ray’s impression of the boy, especially when the boy continued to cling onto Rei’s very beautiful hand.

“Hey! How would you know?”

The boy ignored his question completely and turned to the nearest school building, darting his head left and right as he scanned it. “Okay, that’s two. Just one more. One more.”

Rei looked over at Ray with an apologetic smile that made Ray forgive him anything. “Sorry,” he said. “I think this is a game. He said he needs to find three students and meet at the rendezvous point.”

“And where’s that?”

Rei shook his head. “I don’t know. Somewhere on school grounds, I imagine.”

The boy interrupted them with a cry. “We need just one more person!”

“Well,” Rei began. “If it would help, a friend of mine might still be here, up on the third floor of this building.” Rei pointed out the English building, very old and very dull, standing in front of them.

“The third floor?” the boy asked.

“Yes. If we enter from the left side, it should be the second door on the right.”

“Third floor, second room. Let’s go!”

Ray stayed where he was even as the boy began to drag Rei with him. It didn’t take long for the boy to realize that he was missing a playmate. When he spotted Ray the boy glared at him. “What are you doing? I will be late so let’s go!”

Ray followed, and it was not because Rei’s beautiful and soft hand was around his wrist, but because he wanted this game to be over soon.

They didn’t run into many people in the near-empty building. Most students hung out in the newer math and science buildings that had working drinking fountains all of the time, and clean floors and air conditioning. Ray had trouble running up the stairs, and felt death standing behind him when he nearly slipped. It was a marvel Rei, smaller and slim, was more agile and balanced.

The boy didn’t let them rest until they were in front of door if only for the second that it took for him to throw it open. The human chain dissolved as they entered and Ray missed the warmth around his wrist, his hand unconsciously reaching out. Then he realized and snatched his hand back and pretended to be more interested in who was in the room.

Ray frowned when he saw that it was only Shane leaning back in a chair, reading a book. Shane, the most popular boy in the school and his stupid blank face that most found it mysterious, was nothing but a poser. Black hair, observant eyes, and fit body, Ray couldn’t stand this pretty boy and how his name was always on everyone’s mouth, and how he was always hanging out with Rei and he was simply stupid.

Shane didn’t move, only shifted his eyes to see who had entered. He didn’t say anything, just waited for the others to explain.

The boy wasted no time in rushing forward and slammed his small hand on the desk. Shane, like the “cool” guy he pretended to be, didn’t react. “This is no time to be reading,” the boy exclaimed. “We’re in a hurry!”

Ray slinked forward to the boy. “Can’t we, you know, find someone else?” He spoke in a low voice but couldn't care less if Shane heard.

“There’s no time!” With fast movement he snatched the book—though meticulous in picking up the bookmark from the desk to save Shane’s place—and took hold of his hand to start running again. They were out the door and out of sight fast.

Rei laughed as he shrugged at Ray, beautiful eyes solely for Ray. “We’ve come this far.”

Coughing into his fist, Ray shrugged back. “Um, yeah, sure. Why not.”

Back down the stairs, out of the building, and along the school fence, they ran towards the far side. Ray recalled the dead end behind the math building. The dead end, however, wasn’t empty.

Beyond Shane’s irritating, flowing locks blowing in the wind without ever getting tangled were three others waiting for them. Squinting, Ray saw that it was actually four people. A child, suspiciously similar to the boy that was ordering them around, sat on top a person’s shoulders.

“NO!” the boy cried out as he came to a stop. “How? Why? I run faster than you!”

The child slouching over Midra’s head yawned and blinked down at him with tired eyes. “How should I know?” she said.

Ray looked between the two kids. They looked exactly the same, wearing similar clothes and cap, with the only difference being that the one on Midra’s shoulders sported shorter hair and looked on as if she were stuck between half sleep and boredom.

Beneath her, Midra examined them with a raised eyebrow. Ray shared a class with her before and knew just how dangerous she could be if provoked. She was a round girl and broad shoulder and fierce strength projected on her every movement. She wasn’t inherently violent, but Ray would never forget the brute strength behind her punch when a guy tried to look up her skirt. She was suspended for fracturing the guy’s arm.

Beside her stood Frida, tapping away on her phone with one hand and holding a bitten chocolate bar with the other. She was tall, taller than all of them, with oversized clothing hanging on her form. Ray knew she was part of the school’s dance team, but that was the extent of his knowledge.

Lastly was a small girl sitting cross-legged on the ground, scribbling with energy into a notebook. It was hard to see her face beneath her wild hair she kept in two low tails, and her large glasses. If Ray concentrated, he could hear her mutter to herself.

“Too bad there ain’t a prize,” Midra said as she lowered the little girl to the ground. Again, she looked at each of the boys with a smirk. “But I bet there’ll be more chances.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? What’s going on?” Ray said. He was nervous with the way Midra looked at him, ready for a fight he knew he would lose.

With a huff, the boy turned to them with his hands on his hips. “We have a race to see who can find the next three warriors first. It was a tie until today.”

“Excuse me,” Rei said with his kind voice. “I don’t understand what the game is, or what you mean by warriors.”

Nodding and straightening his back, the boy pointed his finger at Ray, who stood in the middle. “You three have been chosen to be the next era of Dragon-race Warriors who will fight along the Fairy-race Warriors.” He motioned at the other group and Ray thought he caught a dark glance from Midra but it was gone before Ray could make sure. “Together, you will quell the creatures of anguish that have escaped from their tomb to envelope the world in eternal agony and grief. You will be heroes that fight from the shadows and save the world.”

This was a grand speech and all, but Ray couldn’t accept is as truth coming from this boy. Before he could ask anything, the twin walked over to whisper something in the boy’s ear. It was a short message, but the boy’s face flushed and he cleared his throat. “It seems I haven’t introduced who we are. I am Rabbit Sweet, and this is my sister, Rabbit Charming.” They bowed, back to back, to both groups at once.

Then they stood straight and removed their caps in unison and Ray understood what was off about the children. First were the rabbit ears that sprang up from their heads, twitching in the air before becoming still. The boy, Rabbit Sweet, was completely white. His skin was a deathly pale, white hair falling over white eyelashes, as he stood in clothes in shades of white. And if this one was a white rabbit, Rabbit Charming was a black rabbit. The only other color on them lay in their vivid gold eyes, so stark and shining.

“These caps mask our looks,” Rabbit Sweet explained to them, including Frida and the other girl who were now paying attention. “It makes people think nothing of us and remember just as much once we’re out of sight.”

Ray was frozen by the sudden realization that his mind, somehow, never picked up. The two children stood out painstakingly so. Maybe they weren’t even human children. Not with those fluffy ears.

Midra was the first to respond by approaching Rabbit Charming and leaned forward to get a better look. “It’s all real, right? It’s real.”

“Yes,” Rabbit Charming said. “The three of you will become the Fairy-race Warriors.”

At the same time, the rabbit siblings turned to face one another and took a step back. They moved as one, raising their left hands over the ground. With an explosion of light, a rod rose from the ground and stretched to form a very ornate, small table with two little chests on top. One chest held an emblem of a dragon, while the other held a fairy.

Then the siblings stood aside for each group to see. Rabbit Sweet cleared his throat. “In here lie the gems that will give you the power to fight. Once you take one, hold it to your chest and--”

“Whoa whoa. Hold up.” Midra interrupted. With her arms crossed she looked over the rabbits and said, “I wanna talk to my team first.”

“Go ahead,” Rabbit Charming said to her brother’s dismay (“This is an important ceremony!” he said.).

Ray watched them huddle together, Midra waving at Rabbit Charming to join when she didn’t make a move to. They whispered for a few seconds, Frida giggling a bit, before they nodded in unison and broke up.

“Change of plans,” Rabbit Charming said with the same disinterested look. “Seeing as we came together first, they will receive a prize.” She motioned at them with her thumb as she looked at her brother. “They want first pick.”

From Rabbit Sweet’s falling shoulders, Ray could tell he was shocked. “First pick!” Rabbit Sweet exclaimed. “What do you mean first pick?”

“Whether they are Dragon or Fairy Warriors, of course.”

A wide grin spread on Frida’s face as she added, “And we want Dragon.”

Part 2 will be posted next week! 

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