#my dreams finally comes true T_T

[merakiui]

doctor: you have 2:39 minutes left to live.

me:

[noxtivagus]

tonight i think i've just been jamming to music

[nicngyu]

smau ; right place, wrong person.

one. this is awkward

pairing ; idol!beomgyu x gn!reader

summary ; in which a failed proposal at a txt send-off leads y/n to beomgyu, who can’t help but meddle a little bit.

written ; 1.06k words

author's note ; finally starting the actual story! i hope everything's well explained T_T

⤺previous ; masterlist ; next⤻

This was Y/N's most promising idea ever. What could be more romantic than asking your situationship to be your girlfriend at her favourite artist's meet and greet?

Though, maybe the ring was a bit excessive...

No. It was perfect. Yun liked things like this. When Yun and Y/n had watched countless proposals at BTS concerts, she said it was romantic. When they joked about this exact situation, Yun said it was beautiful: something she could only dream of.

So, of course, this was the best idea Y/n could ever come up with when it came to asking her out. A stroke of genius. The situation was perfect, especially after the conversations they had regarding their feelings for each other just a few days prior. 

It was the best way for their relationship to progress from the ambiguity that covered it through their dates and the countless time they had spent together. They knew Yun would say yes because they had spoken about getting together just a few days prior. It was guaranteed.

Y/n's hands ghosted over the ring in their pocket, anxious. Countless TXT fans gathered around them, presenting the artists with gifts and words they had prepared, full of excitement at the idea of finally meeting peopole they admired. Everyone was feeling a similar nervousness to Y/n, though for different reasons. Meeting someone you admire was a huge event, but asking someone you think you might be in love with to finally advance your relationship had its dramaticism, too. Publicly, nonetheless.

This could easily become a train wreck, and doubts swarmed Y/n's thoughts. But it was overshadowed by the certainty that Yun felt the same way. She was too nervous to ask, and was waiting for Y/n to do it first. The plan was sure to work out nicely.

But why was it that when Y/n offered the ring with a hopeful glint in their eyes and uttered the question, Yun stared at them, unmoving? Her expression had dropped, and she didn't accept it in a heartbeat like she had said she would. Instead, she seemed to be in a state of shock, her eyes wide and her mouth slightly open, unmoving. Maybe she was just so shocked she couldn't move. Maybe she was planning the perfect response. Maybe-

In the blink of an eye, she moved. This was definitely different from what Y/n had envisioned. She wasn't saying yes with a huge grin on her face. She wasn't kissing them, hugging them, nothing.

Okay, so it wasn't a good idea. At all. This proved to be especially true when the ring was ripped from Y/n's fingertips and she was gone.

If this were a cartoon, her outline would be seen flashing next to Y/n, where her figure had been a few seconds prior. Y/n was convinced they had never seen Yun move that fast. Stunned, they were forced to watch helplessly, their heart sinking further with each passing second.

Because there she was, in front of Yeonjun, with the ring y/n had bought. This was definitely the last outcome Y/n could have predicted.

A giggle. That flirty smile she had sent Y/N so many times. Not aimed at themself this time. It was all aimed at Choi Yeonjun, who was smiling, too.

People were starting to stare, to whisper. This is awkward.

Choi Yeonjun just stole my girlfriend.

In a poor attempt to recover, Y/n muttered, "will you be my girlfriend, instead?" with their eyes still trained on Yun's back as she conversed with the idol. They turned to observe whatever fangirl stood next to them, hoping they'd joke about it or at least refrain from embarrassing them further. 

It was a matter of timing, really. Because it wasn't a fan girl. Or a fan. At all. That was probably the furthest from an accurate description they could have given.

An amused smile played on his face, and strands of his brunette hair fell before his eyesight, eyes twinkling with a hint of mischief.

"I'm not sure i fit that role, but I'll see what i can do," he muttered with a bashful smile.

Huh.

The man in front of them looked strangely similar to Beomgyu. Choi Beomgyu. TXT member Beomgyu. What an uncanny resemblance. And his voice sounded the same. The exact same. Y/n's heart opted to stop beating as they processed the striking resemblance, their mind struggling to keep up with this unexpected twist in their heart. This must have been a joke.

Thoughts began to rush back into Y/n's head. Y/n had to resist the urge to scream. What was happening right now?

Their eyes quickly darted around the room finding the TXT members interacting with fans. 1,2,3,4...there was 5, wasn't there? Then they turned back. His smile wasn't gone. It may have grown wider as he watched the realisation doom upon them. It took a lot of self-control to hold back his amused laughter.

Yes, there were 5 members in TXT, and there was one missing from the crowd. Because he was the one missing. He, Beomgyu, who was standing before them.

The whispers grew louder around them and their hands shook. What was going on right now? And he said....what-?

He pulled out a piece of paper reserved for unlucky fans without a photocard to sign from his pocket, his hands working quickly. He hadn't needed to use them throughout the event, but it seemed this fan definitely needed one.

Y/n's wide eyes barely registered this action before this piece of paper was placed in their hand, a scribble and a signature gracing its surface. He was an idol, after all, and he knew he couldn't spend too much time with one fan. Though, he also should have known better to not hand his phone number to any random person getting rejected at a send-off, either.

But something told him this was different.

The truth was, he had seen them around the HYBE building before. This was enough for him to conclude his decision wasn't one that would bring dire consequences. Only small ones. And be it for forming a new friendship or causing a little havoc, he was willing to face those.

He moved on and began to interact with others, hoping he was able to distract the Y/n from their embarrassment. Y/n's senses were scrambled with a whirlwind of emotions as they held the signed paper, eyes blinking as if to process the events.

taglist ; @serenityism00 @choppedballoondetective @starchasing-cryptid @lun4kazumii @xoxobela @calx-bdo open! send an ask or comment to be added :)

[japhan2024]

Whew, so here is the sequel to that one fic I wrote! I'm so glad I correctly predicted that the 'angry letter' wasn't such a big deal lmao and also that it was way more stressful for Anthony than for Ian.

Here is the link to part 1:

And here is a link to that one vine that suits this part of the story LMAO (it was shown to me by my former tumblr and irl bestie who I have sadly no contact with anymore T_T)

So here it goes...

"Ian, I'm so sorry, I feel so terrible".

"What do you mean?"

Anthony had to pinch himself every morning to check if he was truly awake or still in a blissful dream world. He and Ian were back together. And not only had they reconnected, but they had bought back Smosh! It was finally Anthony's and Ian's again. They had a great work schedule that they had set up themselves, and they also made it a point to just hang out together and enjoy life outside of Smosh. To be honest with himself, he loved the made-up time off-camera with Ian the most. They didn't have to go anywhere fancy: just chilling, just the two of them, was enough. How Anthony had gotten so lucky as to have that time with his again-best friend was beyond him.

And with great joy and happiness come great levels of stress and anxiety. Anthony knew himself well enough to acknowledge that he was freaking out even though he didn't have to. That his feelings did not care about any facts or numbers. They were raging inside him like a gut-wrenching scream - all the time. His nervous laughter, which everyone mistook for joy, pushed its way out over his lips like vomit. He hated that about himself. So easy to make laugh but so hard to actually make happy... there was only one person in the world who actually could do that second thing.

"Dude, it's okay, whatever it is, you're safe here, okay?"

The last couple of months, Anthony found himself yo-yoing between moments of true happiness and then paralyzing fear that it wasn't real or that it would go away again. And surely, one of the first few videos he and Ian did together already sent him spiraling again. What a ludicrous idea to show Ian his old diary.

"Anthony, you don't have to worry, okay?"

Ian's ability to make things alright had been both a blessing and a curse for their friendship in the past. He would focus so hard on the positive that Anthony would - temporarily - forget the bad stuff. So, on the one hand, Anthony really wanted Ian to know just how hurt he had been, all those years ago, and at the same time, he also wanted to gauge whether Ian had cared at all. He cared now, that was for sure. They had talked like never before. They had built an entirely new friendship on the ashes that lay beneath them. A stronger friendship, a more mature one, but he and Ian were still the same puzzle pieces that fit perfectly together. So perfectly, in fact, that making sketches together felt like no time had passed at all between Anthony leaving Smosh and present day. But some remnants of Anthony's hurt feelings remained, and he just wanted to have complete closure. The only way to do that - he'd thought - was to read his angry diary-entry to his friend that he loved so dearly. How cruel. He had seen the hurt in Ian's eyes. Of course Ian had cared. Even more than Anthony had hoped for. He had considered him a best friend for years longer than Anthony had done.

"I don't want to lose you again".

Right now, he didn't want to look Ian in the eye again. He'd been so dumb. One of his old bad habits was manifesting itself once again: he was begging. Just like he had begged his ex-fiancée to get back together, only to be rejected, just like he had begged Ian all those years ago to force their friendship back to where he'd thought it should be, even though neither of them had been ready at that time... now he was begging once again. At his best friend's doorstep, no less. Ian had let him in, of course, but he probably wanted to do other things right now than console Anthony in the midst of a breakdown just as they both had bought their channel, their company back...

But two soft and familiar hands placed themselves around Anthony's face and turned it upwards. And two of the brightest blue eyes in the world looked at him with love.

"... and I will NEVER, never let anything come between us, ever again."

~

"So that was weird, huh!" Anthony let out a high-pitched laugh. It was a few days later, and he was at Ian's place once more. Ian had invited him to a celebration, just the two of them. It was early in the evening, and they were sat in Ian's pool and drinking champagne.

"Dude, it was just the nerves. I know how your nerves get, "Ian replied. "I was still stressing about all of this too, you know, we are in uncharted territory right now."

"Yeah, you're right." Another nervous laugh. Anthony was relieved, though, that Ian didn't think he was crazy or unstable or anything. He looked at his best friend. He was so fond of the 'new Ian', the one who had done serious personal growth, who - off camera - had apologized to him for more than had been necessary, the one who Anthony could really rely on and trust more than anyone, even his own girlfriend. He also loved that Ian was still as goofy, or maybe goofier than before even. He laughed now, truly and from the heart.

"What're you laughing about?" Ian said in his playful tone.

"Oh, I am just happy. But for real Ian, I'm so happy. This is so nice. And damn this champagne is goood."

"You better not be peeing in my pool again!"

"I might."

Ian laughed loudly, a laugh Anthony knew was only reserved for him. He felt proud and giddy that he still had it, the ability to make his best friend break out in laughter.

"So, Anthony, it's time for something special."

Ian got out of the pool. Anthony couldn't help but notice how Ian's body looked so different than when they were younger. Obviously, he had undergone a transformation himself, but he rarely saw Ian without a sweater or a shirt. He looked good.

"Are you coming or what?"

Anthony quickly stopped staring and joined Ian at his outside lounge chairs. Ian looked like he was up to something.

"So, you just wait right there, okay?"

"Sure."

Ian disappeared into his villa. Now Anthony felt slightly anxious again, that inner scream fighting to resurface once more, but he held it in. And soon enough, Ian appeared again, with a bottle of whiskey and a box that looked like some old-timey book or something.

"Oh, I see, we're going to really celebrate!"

"Yea-he-hess", Ian replied with a smile as he poured Anthony a small glass of whiskey.

"Do you usually smoke cigars though?" Anthony had to ask.

"No, babeyy, this is only for the most special of occasions!" Ian looked at him with a mischievous smirk and handed Anthony one of the cigars.

Anthony was about to put it into his mouth when he said: "why is this weirdly sexual?They both laughed. Anthony loved that Ian was still into the same dumb humor as he was. "Shut up and put it in your mouth!" Ian joked as he lit Anthony's cigar. The moment truly was intimate, and as he locked eyes with his best friend, Anthony felt a different kind of nerves swell up inside him. His cheeks turned dark-red.

"Dude, you're not supposed to suck in so much at once!" It was already too late. An intense tingling took over Anthony's senses, even after he burst out laughing at Ian's remark and almost choked coughing. "Wow, this is some good stuff," he said in a throaty voice.

The whiskey and the cigars kept Ian and Anthony talking deep into the night. The LA skyline was beautiful as they looked at it from Ian's garden. They were still in the lounge chairs, but Ian sat down next to Anthony on his chair, so they were sharing one seat.

"Listen up," he said, "we could have done this for a try not to laugh type video or some shit. But in the spirit of our friendship, I'm showing you now." Ian showed Anthony his phone screen. It was memes. They both laughed hysterically at the first few.

Anthony replied: "Some of these are really old but so good, I didn't even remember them until you showed them to me."

"Listen up," Ian said again - the whiskey bottle was significantly advanced - "I have been curating the absolute shite out of this list for years. Only if I had to physically laugh, no nasal or just grinning, I had to really laugh, THEN I added it. And I curated it specifically for you."

"You haven't shown anyone this?" Anthony said incredulously.

"No bitch, who else would laugh as much at dick jokes except you and myself?"

They were no longer smoking or drinking. They were just laughing at the memes. Anthony couldn't think of anything better than this. It felt so much like old times, it was incredible to him. He felt so warm and appreciated. He felt so at home. As his eyes got heavier, he let his head rest on Ian's shoulder. Not two moments later, he was fast asleep.

[slayonehundredninetytwo]

Yes, I’m indeed Canadien (born and raised) :D

We do say “sorry” quite a lot. It’s a type of reflex, I don’t really know why. “Sorry” to us isn’t really an apology (unless we mean it as such)—typical we’re excusing ourselves for inconveniencing either another person or another thing. By that, yes, I mean we say sorry to inanimate objects when we bump into them. We also say “eh”, but where I’m from it’s less practiced. My mom says it often and I say it a few times here and there. It’s used as a way to add emphasis to a question or statement, as if doubling the fact that you’re looking for an answer. The closest example that (I think) some Americans use is “huh?” at the end of a question. Like “what a game yesterday, eh?” can become “wasn’t that a good game yesterday, huh?”. There are also PLENTY of misconceptions and stereotypes. Like for some reason people think we all live in igloos. I have never even set foot in an igloo, let alone lived in one (typically those are used for hunting trips in Nunavut with our indigenous people, waaaay up north). Another would be we do NOT, and I mean we do NOT say “aboot” or “oot”. I feel like that derived from the accents from the maritimes (the one coming to my mind would be the Newfoundland accent where half the time I can’t even properly follow what their saying—no hate to them, we love them). Another would be that we ride moose to school T_T I don’t even know how that became an idea—but let a dreamer dream, I guess. Finally, I don’t think this is a stereotype, but probably has been assumed more than once: despite us having two official language (English and French) only about 34% (if I’m doing my math correctly—you might have to search that one up for yourself) can actually carry a basic conversation in French. A bunch of people think everyone speaks both just by default, but that can’t be further from the truth. In fact, a bunch of my hockey teammates barely understand when I say a single sentence to them in French. Throw in some true Québec slang and they are doomed. It’s a bit sad, in all honesty. Anyway, that’s all I have off the top of my head (I’ve written a bit much I think 😅). What’re some of the Texan stereotypes that are either false or true for you? ❤️

I wish I could say that most texas stereotypes are t true but tbh they kinda are. most don’t apply to all of us ofc but there’s definitely mostly truth behind the stereotypes lmao. except most of the cowboy stuff is false and most of that happens elsewhere

🫶

[bokuaosubs]

Nice to meet you (Yamaguchi Yuan 1st blog)

It’s nice to meet you!

My name is Yamaguchi Yuan, I’m 18-years-old and I come from Hyogo Prefecture.

For this first time, I would like to introduce myself ♪

・ Name: Yamaguchi Yuan ・ Birthplace: Hyogo Prefecture ・ Favourite food: Onigiri and grilled cod roe ・ Food I dislike: Celery ・ Musical instruments I like: Oboe ♫ ・ My boom [something that has recently become a habit/particularly trendy to her]: Eating, sleeping, collecting different fragrances, watching soccer games

Recently, I have been visiting lots of shops that sell onigiri. If you have recommendations for any particular onigiri shops, please let me know ( ° ʖ °)

Have you seen the videos introducing the members of BokuAo? ( ˶°⌓°˶)

Despite being from Hyogo Prefecture, I didn’t know that Himeji Oden [Oden, a hot-pot dish eaten in Japanese homes, especially in the cold winter, paired with ginger soy sauce is called ‘Himeji Oden.’] existed ( T_T) It was really delicious, so next time I go there [presumably to Hyogo], I want to have Himeji Oden〜 (*´ч`*)

I was able to wear a sailor-like uniform, which I had dreamed of for quite a while, so I got excited and ended up taking lots of pictures~

During junior high school and high school, I used to think that uniforms (especially sailor-like ones) with blazers were SO cool, and I had always wanted to wear one. Thanks to this photoshoot, I finally got to wear one such uniform! I really enjoyed the shoot, and I found myself thinking that one more dream had come true (*^^*)

I’m still new to this world and sometimes I get really nervous and am unable to laugh properly, but I will do my best so that everyone will get to know me better and want to support me, so please lend me your support ^ – ^

Last but not least, I’ll post a photo I took on the day we shot the BokuAo member introduction video… ♡

That’s about it for now~ Thank you for reading all the way to the end (o^^o)

[TL by: yuzuiro]

[unluckilyimnot]

Chifuyu my beloved 💔💔 that one episode is gonna give me nightmares for a while…. I know it’s not real but still. The thought. Of chifuyu (spoiler alert if you haven’t seen episode 24 I think?). Being dead. *sobs* anyways…. Is there any possible chance that I could request fem!reader having a nightmare that chifuyu died and him comforting her T_T? if not no worries! But if you do— bless you soul omg…thank you for all your hard work! Have a good day!

I'm traumatized, I swear. I can't handle seeing characters being shoot in the head now 😭😭

I can totally do that ! Thank you so much for asking ♡ you're so sweet

Nightmare

Future!Chifuyu x f!reader - Hurt to comfort

Warnings: character death (obviously).

Words count: 661

English is not my first language so I'm sorry if there're any mistakes ♡

"...he's dead."

Your heart just stopped at those words. Chifuyu is what ?

It was a routine to get a phone call from the hospital to tell you that your boyfriend was there, hurt, and that you must come take him home. And you just naturally stop thinking that the worst could happen. But there you were, gripping hard on the counter of your kitchen while you start realizing. Tears coming to your eyes as you felt like throwing up : it's impossible. 

He promised you that he'll come back tonight too, he couldn't just do that to you ! Gasping for air, you choke on it as your knees pass out under your weight. Ugly tears ruining your makeup, you were now drowning in sadness so deep that you felt like you'll never get out of it. Denial hitting so hard, you start to repeat "no", over and over, like it would change what happened. Like they would say to you that it's a joke. 

Hitting your fist on the ground,

you opened your eyes suddenly, your breath short and a numb feeling all over your body, like waking up from a dream. Well, a nightmare. Your heart was beating so hard that you could feel it through all your chest. Blinking a few times, you let out a weak sigh while getting up on your arms. Checking your phone, it was 4 in the morning and there was no call from the hospital. Your heart starts to calm a bit, letting you catch your breath, realizing that nothing was true. You finally turn around to see Chifuyu, sleeping next to you, his black hair all over his face, alive. 

Tears came back to your eyes but in a good way this time, released that he was still there with you. Slipping into his arms to hear his heart, you try to not wake him up. But the light sleeper he is wake up with your arms wrapped tightly around him. Hearing your trembling wheeze worried him immediately. 

"Hey, what's wrong ?" He asks with a deep, sleepy voice, holding you back. You shake your head into his chest, letting him feel the wetness of his shirt. Taking your cheek in his hand, he was dead serious now. "Tell me, please, are you okay ?" Pushing away the tears from your cheek, he was begging you, not liking at all the sight of you crying. 

Closing your eyes, you tried to calm your tears before answering, "I had a nightmare..." Chifuyu flipped you on his chest, stroking your back to encourage you to continue. But you hide in his neck, scared to talk but also knowing well that he won't let you go like this - even more after seeing you crying. "You were dead. I've got a call from the hospital telling me this and I can't just imagine what I would do if it happens one day, I-" 

Getting your head up to face him, he smiles sweetly at you before kissing your nose, "I'm right here, breathing and all, you checked yourself." Pulling you closer for you to leave your forehead against his, his thumb on your waist, drawing patterns, was there to make you feel better. "I'm fine, and you are too. We'll get up together this morning and go to bed together after the day. I will always come back to you love," he kissed you, "always." 

Finally smiling at him, you take his face with both of your hands and kiss him back, slowly, happy to feel him holding you closer if it's even possible. "I love you so much," you whisper against his lips and he smiles at your words. Pecking your lips for the last time before turning around and leaving you on the mattress but in his arms, he said "I love you too, feel better ?" As you nod, he kissed you head, "let's go back to sleep then."

Nuzzling against him, you could definitely do that. 

There you go! I'm still not the best with angst, I hope you like it ♡

[redxblueihateloveyou]

Final stroke... more like me having a stroke. If Haru truly is standing in Sydney, that means we’re gonna have Harurinralia 2.0 with them all grown up returning there happy and with their mutual dream finally being a reality. I’m gonna need like 20 boxes of tissues for this, I’m gonna cry an ocean, if they’re gonna visit Lori and Russel again to show off their new uniform T_T FUCK HOW DID WE EVEN GET THERE, it was all fanfiction before. FUUUUCKK.

It’s also seriously true that the date of the first movie is the same as the date Harurinralia episode aired. I thought "there’s no way they did it’, when I saw someone wrote this, but I freaking checked and holy shit:

Kyoani, I’m dead. They just freaking decided to release the movie the day Rin and Haru found their future together. Now we all can officially celebrate September 17th as a Rinharu anniversary (not that we didn’t already xD).

Now about the endless possibilities, that are gonna kill me until the movie is out: willl they revisit their hotel? will they sleep in one bed again just like Rin predicted (for “a tradition” purpose of course lmao)? they will 100% make parallels to 2x12 and that’s gonna be the moment, I’ll die for real, goodbye. Nothing happened yet, but I’m already dead.

The whole trailer is focused on rinharu, I’m on the floor.

How to deal with this and all this info now, idk. This is l too much for my soul. 2 movies, god. I’m warning you all, I’m gonna read every spoiler that will come out in may from ppl who went to theaters lmao I’m sorry in advance.

And I’ve said it already, but... HARU LOOKS SO FREAKING HOT IN RED!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[lucyfloyenworkshop]

a Malleus Draconia’s Playlist

Basically its are the songs and musics that I am used to listen when I draw Malleus XD.

And I wanted to shared it with you, so....  :-)

Note: There is no specific orders of preference. I just separeted the “orchestral/with choir song/music” (the first and bigger one) from the “song with lyrics”

- Adrian Von Ziebler -  In fact almost all of his “Dark Fantasy” and “Emotional” music fit so well for Malleus, so it’s just some of my favorites:

• Path to Darkness

• Darkness Beloved

• Blackened Soul

• My Black Rose

- Era (Era ; The Mass)  -  

Enae Volare Mezzo

• Voxifera

• Sombre Day

- Kalifa -

• Lacrimosa (link to the male cover made by ZENRURA)

-Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart’s Requiem-

• Lacrimosa

• Dies Irea

- From Monster Hunter World Iceborne (for these two I didn’t found the composor T_T ) -

  • Alatreon theme

 • Fatalis theme

- Majora’s Mask music by Koji Kondo-

• The Final Hours

- Sleeping Beauty original score for the movie arranged by, based on - 

• Aurora's Return/Maleficent's Evil Spell

• Forbidden Mountain

• A Fairy Tale Come True

- Malleus’s theme songs -

• In Noctem (Into Darkeness) - Nicolas Hooper

• Once upon a dream : original song by Lana del Rey, male cover by Silver Virus     

[sukiglycerin]

dolce (sweetly, softly, gently)

* pairing: accompanist/violinist!katsuki bakugou x violinist!reader (gender neutral!) ft kamijirou

* genre: fluff, kinda angst, enemies to lovers, classical musician au hehe

* words: 9.5k (holy crap, this was a rollercoaster to write)

* warnings: swearing bc not only does bakugou exist, he is a prominent character, brief viola/second violinist jokes (reader’s words not mine), poor rosins being dropped :(

* a/n: SO this is very late for @prettysetterbaby​‘s v-day collab!! pls check out all the other talented writers involved >< jj is an ANGEL for putting up with me being late T_T  there’s some violin terminology in here but it’s fine if you don’t understand it! more notes at the end aha

* playlist (spotify in source link): violin sonata no.9, op.47 in a major “kreutzer” (beethoven) ; liebesfreud (kriesler) ; violin partita no.3 in e major (bach) ; duo concertante for 2 violins no.3 in d-sharp major, op.57 (beriot) ; clair de lune (debussy) ; duo for 2 violins in d-major, op.67, no.2 (spohr) ; 24 caprices op.1, no.24 in a minor (paganini)

* synopsis: being a soloist is not made easy by your new accompanist, bakugou. you step on each other’s toes when playing - but that’s alright, he’s just a pianist. you’re separated in your two worlds of musical instruments, until one day, you’re not. bakugou traverses over realms like a simple string crossing, and there’s a lot more he’s brought with him.

a double stop in violin is a technique in which two notes are played simultaneously. played correctly, one violin playing two notes should sound like two violins playing separate notes. if your life was a violin, you only needed double stops to play it. you'd perfected the art of being alone, playing the parts of two in your sad solo sonata. you were so, so sure you could compose and play for the whole orchestra - a symphony that would surely please the audience.

you were wrong. after all, a double stop has its limits as well, impossible to play with an interval of larger than a tenth. you were content with your double stops and playing by yourself. this was how you won countless competitions - what good would changing anything be?

you were born a soloist, or that's what your parents would say. you never followed the crowd, sticking to your own mind and doing what was true to you. you never worked well in an orchestra setting (and who knew what would become of you if you ever landed in second violin!). thus, you became a soloist, determined to keep the spotlight on you. it was you and your perfection that kept the eyes of the audience transfixed; you were desperate to keep their focus enraptured by every slight movement of your bow, every shift in finger position on the fingerboard. you wanted them to follow every dynamic and tempo change like their life depended on it, feel their emotion spark the moment your bow pressed a string. you were the only one on stage, an entertainer and an artist to the audience. you brought joy and sorrow through key changes and wonder through glissandos and held suspense with every tremolo. the audience was yours for an entire piece, for a story, for a lifetime.

oh, and there was the accompanist. what was his name again? batsugou? bakugou. the last part was a joke, of course. you'd never forget the man who ruined your first recital overseas.

katsuki bakugou was quickly made your accompanist after the previous one quit last minute and schedule clashes between any other potential candidates rendered them unable to travel with you. no one in their right mind would've come along on a plane to play a piano accompaniment for you. indeed, bakugou was not in his right mind. his name was prominent locally, an orchestral prodigy with the gift of perfect pitch since the tender age of thirteen. he never ventured internationally, though given the chance multiple times to do so. you could never understand why he never took any of the opportunities. you'd jump at any chance of expanding your musical horizons and performing for a larger audience, so it frustrated you to see someone with such potential to throw away possibly beneficial opportunities. not that you really paid much attention to him, anyway. bakugou was a pianist, and you were a violinist. you only cared about competition, not those with blessings you could only dream of achieving.

the months leading to your recital, bakugou had gone quiet. well, you didn't know him personally, so it was news of him that had gone practically radio silent. he was no longer featured in news articles or even pinned on bulletin boards for upcoming recitals. there were no updates from him on social media, too. not that you really paid attention, anyway. he was a prodigy, gifted naturally with talent, and you were a violinist.

an ambitious violinist, at that. you had dreams to perform anywhere out of the stifling air of japan. even to fly a short distance to south korea would be amazing, because it meant you'd be outside of japan. you worked towards this goal tirelessly. you dreamed of stepping on a plane, violin case in your right hand and your dreams in another, to fly to another country and perform. you wished to see the talent beyond your own bubble and feel the music resonate in an auditorium in a different way than it did in japan.

one day, that dream was realized. your violin case in one hand and dreams in another, you boarded the plane flying out of japan full of hope and the faith that good days were coming. while yes, you didn't expect to step out of that plane with anyone but your old accompanist, momo, bakugou's presence comforted you in the foreign atmosphere. for the first ten minutes, he said not a word to you but made it a point to speak to everyone else he could in what seemed like very convincingly fluent english. 

to which you finally mustered up the courage to say, in japanese, "i thought you didn't travel internationally."

his japanese voice was a comforting sound. "i don't. this is my first time out of japan."

you stared at him like he just said he ate babies for breakfast (which seemed just as astronomically insane as him never stepping foot out of japan). 

"but-" you stuttered. "your english is so good?"

"only because you can't understand it." 

to be fair, he had a point. you could only say the basics, like, "hi," "how are you?", "i'm fine, and you?," and the ever-so useful, "do you speak japanese? my english is not good." he appeared to never use any of these phrases, so he was a god in english compared to you. 

it was a miracle you navigated out of the airport with your luggage in hand and a general idea of how to get to the hotel you'd booked. you're not going to talk about the events in the hotel, though. sharing a bed with bakugou was a whole different story that consisted of him complaining about your phone usage at eleven pm and you complaining about his lack of sufficient english skills to be able to get the right hotel room (which he'd retort by saying "at least i speak english!").

the path to your first international competition was rocky, so understandably by the day of the performance, your metaphorical feet were sore and you only had water on your metaphorical mind. that is to say, you hadn't practiced with bakugou once until the day before the performance. said rehearsal was cut short due to misunderstandings as a result of bakugou's apparent not-so-fluency in english. you felt bad for him at this point.

and then you were up on stage, violin in one hand, bow in the other, and arms full of your childhood aspirations. also, definitely not prepared enough. you glanced once at bakugou before beginning and he looked confident enough. the lesson you learned that day was that looks can be deceiving. 

something you could remember quite clearly was the way the spotlight shined on the varnish of your instrument as you held it, propped between your chin and shoulder. you focused on this shine before taking a deep breath, closing your eyes, and praying muscle memory would take over and you'd play the piece faithfully to the score.

you liked to think your playing was accurate. you, the soloist, were the main focus of the piece. the accompaniment made the piece richer and fuller, complementing the violin beautifully while keeping attention on said violin. the thing was, bakugou, like you, played like a soloist. 

the performance was like a fight, and sadly not the graceful kind you'd see in a ballet. it was gory and a nuance to the ears, melodic tinkling of the piano becoming tears of a soldier dying in combat. at parts, you clashed by overshadowing the other by playing too loudly. sometimes it was you, and sometimes it was bakugou. it was a merciless game of tag; bakugou would be running to keep up with your playing; once achieving so, you were forced to start chasing after him. you can't exactly remember if he played well, though. for certain, he was not in sync with you, but you were mainly too preoccupied with your own playing to pay attention to his. listening to the recording of the performance, you were unable to evaluate his quality of playing properly, and thus, he remained your accompanist even when you returned to japan. 

(actually, the biggest reason he stayed your accompanist was because of your classical musician friends' nagging. they were all in complete awe that the famous soloist, katsuki bakugou, had offered to be your accompanist, and begged for an autograph. of course, you declined.)

you figured that like you, bakugou was a soloist. he wasn't fit to assist your playing, far more suited to his own solos to entrance the audience with only his playing. being a soloist, he played like one too - that's simply how things worked. this understanding of him, though, still couldn't stop you from harbouring a small grudge against him for ruining your international debut.

and then there was the man himself, all standoffish and rough in words and persona. obscenities had no hesitation coming (thrust!) from his mouth. he yelled brashly and frequently and it astonished you that he was a classical musician, as most of your friends of the classical music profession were typically on the quiet, softer spoken side. those that were extroverts were optimistically so, in far contrast to bakugou, who you'd expect from looks alone to be playing in some heavy metal band. it was scary to hear his renditions of debussy's dreamy, serendipitous pieces when over your earbuds, he was yelling at some guy named "shitty hair" on his phone. you were curious how he looked recording the piece.

you didn't typically communicate, though. conversation, which only ever existed during rehearsal, was a question from you and a clipped grunt in response. there was nothing else to your relation; he played his part, and you played yours. sometimes you did this simultaneously, but it was as if you were playing two completely different things. performance, according to your friends, was now stilted. this was partially the reason you stopped listening to recorded performances. it wasn’t even like you’d ever derived pleasure from listening to them - you only nitpicked your mistakes.

your old accompanist, momo, on the other hand, was an absolute angel. she was kind, polite, and skilled on the piano, fingers dancing over the keys like a graceful ballet. you fit well with her; each performance was like a delightful conversation between friends, pleasant on the ears and twinkling with joy and laughter. with her, every performance felt like something resembling victory, even if it wasn’t a competition. to you, winning the audience’s gaze was enough. 

then again, you didn't feel that you could judge quite yet. momo was your accompanist for years, and you could barely remember how the two of you sounded when you first started out. bakugou had been your accompanist for mere months (though it did feel much, much longer considering how frustrating he could be). you couldn't understand why he became your accompanist at all. 

opposites. it was an accurate representation of your relationship with bakugou. he was a pianist, you weren't. he was a prodigy, you weren't. he was blessed with talent, you weren't. there was nothing to talk to him about, obviously, because of these dividing factors.

the longer you knew him, the more your disdain for the man grew. at rehearsals, it always felt like your performances were about him, him, and him. he was the star piano player, of course. he hadn't volunteered to be your accompanist as a sense of "stepping down"; no, no, rather, he was flaunting his piano playing with a violin playing in the background. he played perfectly. for a soloist.

as time passed, these frustrations with him became more and more apparent. you became acutely aware of how his performance would outshine your own, and it sickened you. slowly, the quality of your own performances took a nosedive. if the piece was originally pianissimo, you'd take it up to piano (then, if bakugou increased his volume, forte). if the tempo was andante and he was playing moderato, you'd play allegro. it was a competition at this point - instigated by him, of course. you were just upping the ante, even if it meant sacrificing your own artistry.

a lot of people warned you of what would happen, but you ignored them. the fierce competition you felt between you and bakugou caused your own downfall as a musician. slowly, gigs stopped trickling in, like a faucet being shut off. you blamed this on bakugou. ("i was international before him. now, i can barely get a gig in musutafu! why does everyone think he's so great?" you had fumed over the phone to jirou, your old roommate from university. she asked you if you had even listened to him play.)

you were scrambling for places to perform at this point. (“fire him,” the very unhelpful hagakure told you. you didn’t know what you were thinking when you asked her, a violist in a local orchestra. it wasn’t like she ever got a solo.) you’d seriously considered doing so, but came up empty when looking for another accompanist. online forums and friends’ connections could only do so much. they were all either unavailable during rehearsal schedules or inadequate in terms of adapting to the music given. 

“you need to try working together with him,” jirou advised you one day over the phone. 

“yeah, say that to yourself and kaminari,” you muttered bitterly under your breath. kaminari was a guitarist in jirou’s band who hadn’t quite gotten along with jirou well. jirou made fun of the lightning bolt streak in his hair. when you first met them, all they did was bicker day and night; now, according to the other guitarist, tokoyami, they still did this, though on a smaller scale. 

she heard you. “well,” jirou said, slightly ticked off, “we get along better now. because of communication. look- i’m not saying you need to be best friends with bakugou or anything, but you need to talk to him about what’s working and what’s not. respect him as another musician, y’know?” 

“i’ll… try,” you said begrudgingly. 

you heard a muffled yell from the other side of the call. “kaminari, you idiot!” jirou called, voice a bit far. “what did i tell you about plugging in the amp? i said not to-” she cut herself off. “sorry, y/n, i need to go now. kaminari’s back to his normal antics.” she sighed, but it sounded more endeared than irritated. the call ended. 

respect bakugou as another musician. you could do that. bakugou was only a pianist. you were a violinist. he was your accompanist. he was to support your playing. you’d forever be separated from him, doing your own thing. he, certainly, couldn’t understand the woes of being a violinist. not the intonation nor the techniques; you were sure that if you handed him a violin on the spot, he wouldn’t be able to even hold the bow properly. the notion of bakugou, piano prodigy, struggling to make a decent sound on the violin with a bow clenched in an ungainly grip deeply amused you. 

these thoughts kept your relationship with bakugou afloat and restrained you from strangling him every time he stepped a toe out of line during rehearsals. ploddingly, with as minimal communication as you could manage, you tried to play with bakugou together, as a duet rather than as two soloists playing simultaneously. you swallowed your pride to play accurately to the music, patiently explaining any qualms you had with bakugou’s playing. 

eventually, you found yourself building up your performances to the quality they had once been with momo. it was still far from the pristine playing that led you to an international invite - but it was an improvement, and that was all that mattered to you. innately, you were slightly ashamed of the thoughts that allowed you to keep working with bakugou. they were thoughts that told of your superiority to him, because he was playing piano for you. that’s all he was; an accompaniment to you. you told yourself that having these thoughts on the inside was better than fighting with bakugou. 

somehow, along the strings of notes slurred together and shifts of fingers from one spot on a string to the next, you found yourself experiencing a strange joy gliding your bow against the strings of your violin. the rich sound of your instrument, withering and blooming with every stroke of vibrato you performed, fulfilled you unlike how it ever had before. up until now, you’d been playing for the audience, rather than yourself. the melody reverberating in the hollow body of your violin was never for your own ears to enjoy, it was for the audience’s satisfaction and listening pleasure. for it was their own enjoyment that won you competition after competition, playing with a blank face. on some occasions, you’d open your eyes during the applause to see some audience members crying, which ultimately confused you. how you were able to draw emotions from them with your playing when the music was unable to render you anything but indifferent? 

you knew it in yourself, though, that the happiness you felt was hollow. delightful notes supposed to boast joy and love echoed in the rehearsal room, falling flat on your ears.

you were a soloist, though. you couldn’t let thoughts like these get to you. you could only play, for both your pride and your audience. these woes were for you to shoulder, on top of the violin you held between your chin and collarbone. 

“you’re here early,” bakugou commented one day, opening the door to your shared rehearsal room. tucked under one arm was his folder of sheet music. he caught you in the middle of practicing one of the pieces for a gig - liebesfreud, by fritz kreisler. 

it was true. the morning sun basked the window sill and laminate flooring, warming the particular spots it shone through. you’d arrived an hour or so early. pleased by the bright nature of the morning, you pulled up the blinds. typically, you ran late, arriving ten minutes after bakugou’s text of “you’re late again, idiot” with a coffee and a bagel in your hands. those mornings, you were really grateful for having a case with backpack straps. if you hadn’t the time to eat your bagel on the way to rehearsal, it was cold and hard by the time you had a lunch break.

thankfully, today was not one of those days. whether it was the sun or the title of the piece (“love’s joy,” how wonderful), you’d woken up and decided that today, you’d have a warm and soft bagel for breakfast. you had a coupon for a free coffee and surprisingly, the commute to rehearsals was more punctual than usual. thus, you arrived an hour early, a smile on your face as you opened the door. you opened your case with extra care and rosined your bow with extra zest, humming a tune you heard playing on the radio. bakugou would’ve had a heart attack had he saw you then.

you ignored his entrance, only peeping one eye open at the man and nodding your head toward the piano as you continued on with the piece. you allowed yourself to become immersed in the music, following the soft pace bakugou set in his playing. closing your eyes, you saw the audience before you and felt your fingers sliding and pressing the strings. time flew while playing the piece; you’d barely noticed that the piece was nearing its end, playing its familiar melody one last time before opening your eyes. a glance at the rosin dusted in between the bridge and fingerboard of your violin satisfied you, like salt on caramel. you surely played just as sweet, smooth and saccharine like the gooey texture of a caramel confection. you relished in the sunlight streaming through into the room, ignoring the shuffling of papers behind you (from bakugou, no doubt). that was how you should play.

“something’s off,” you blearily opened your eyes to the sound of bakugou’s gruff voice. he was frowning, eyebrows furrowed in a not atypical manner. 

“what,” you said flatly. “it sounded fine to me. i didn’t mess up or anything.”

“no,” he replied, deep in thought, crimson eyes darkening a shade. “we don’t have proper… emotion in the music.”

“huh?” you felt a comical question mark rising out of your head. “i played it perfectly to score. it conveys the composer’s emotions to a t,” you said, getting annoyed with the pianist. your grip tightened on your violin’s neck.

“well- yeah,” he gritted his teeth. “but what about your emotions?”

“who cares about my emotions?” you said. “all that matters is that my playing is perfect. the audience feels the emotions, not me.” why else had you been plucked into violin lessons when you were five? surely not for your own enjoyment.

“idiot, that’s definitely not how it is.”

“it’s just violin playing!” you snapped. “it’s not complicated with- with emotions! it’s the same as anything else!”

“you’re wrong,” bakugou coldly answered.

“what would you understand?” you seethed. “you’re just a damn pianist. you follow my lead.”

he ignored your remarks. “why do you play a fucking instrument, then? why bother to enter competitions or recitals?”

“to win, like any other normal person!”

he let out a clipped, exasperated breath. “fuckin’ explains it, then.” he didn’t elaborate. dismissing the topic, he said, “whatever. play the piece from the top. actually try to look at me this time, so we can stay together. put more emphasis on the downbeat at the start.”

“it’s not like you even heard me play the beginning,” you retorted, but made sure to accent that note even more during the replay. pianists. they always were on their high horses.

something you looked forward to every year was the valentine’s recital. the organizers, an old couple, had known you since you were a child, and thus developed a soft spot for you. you were a shoo-in for the event, relied on to learn the music on a short deadline. last year, you played preludio, from bach’s partita for violin no. 3. this year, though, the catch was weird.

“the letter says it’s a violin duet?” you said to jirou while video calling her. “i don’t have a violinist on hand, just a pianist. it’s not like bakugou can suddenly master violin.”

jirou looked at you with a surprised expression. “you don’t know?”

you stared back at her. “know what?”

“he plays violin, too.”

“huh?” you must’ve misheard her. 

she nodded. “he’s pretty good, too. have you not seen the videos?”

“videos?" your eyes widened as you soon realized the implications of bakugou harbouring an aptitude for violin. "i’ve… i’ve got to go.”

“he’s as good as you, y/n,” jirou said with a knowing smile. you were quick to press the hang up button. 

five seconds into teenage bakugou’s rendition of one of paganini’s caprices, you exited youtube.

the next day, you kicked open the door to the practice room. 

“you,” you pointed a finger at bakugou, who sat at the piano midway through a piece. 

“what is it now, dumbass? you’re late again.”

“shut up,” you grumbled. “that’s beside the point. you- you play violin?!”

he shrugged, not avoiding your piercing gaze. “i’ve dabbled in it, yes.”

you shut the door behind you. “and why did you never tell me?!”

“tch. you never asked, did you?”

“you’re my accompanist, i should know these things!”

“you know i play piano, and that’s enough,” bakugou said stubbornly. “i only play piano with you.”

“not anymore.” setting your violin case down, you shuffled through the pocket that held your sheet music. flipping out a packet of sheet music, you thrust it in bakugou’s direction. “here.”

he grabbed the sheets from you, skimming the title. “duo for two violins in…. fuck,” he muttered. “why didn’t you just say no? who even is this from?”

“valentine’s recital. the pay’s good, bakugou, and we need it.”

“you need it,” he mumbled bitterly, holding the sheets out for you. “i don’t.”

“it’s not like i’m happy about it either. since when were you a violinist?”

“since when was it any of your damn business?”

"you're supposed to be my pianist! not anything else!"

you didn’t understand how he could be so musically inclined. you blinked, and your sight smeared, blurring the sight of your feet with the laminate flooring. this wasn't right, you thought as you felt a telltale heat creeping up you. why were you crying now? 

if there was one thing you prided yourself on, it was your violin playing. it seemed to be the only thing you were good at as a child when academics and athletics failed you. sure, you hated it at first (as most children did when their parents forced them to do something), but as time went on, the applause of the audience and the title of "winner" rewarded you enough. you were no prodigy, so you worked endlessly every day to prove yourself worthy. you never understood how you'd worked so hard only to be in the shadows of others so naturally gifted who surely would never understand how much you practiced to become better.

when it came to bakugou, he was never supposed to be better. he was your pianist, talented in a completely different musical realm than your own, so he could never be superior to you - and now he wasn't. he never was. here you were for the past year or so, looking like a fool in bakugou's eyes. on the days you struggled so hard with fourth finger vibrato, he was probably laughing at your inadequacy at violin. as easily as he played the violin, katsuki bakugou played you like a fool.

everything collided when you stepped out of the room, leaving a particular golden haired boy alone to stare at the sheet music you tossed him. your head throbbed with the groggy sensation of almost-tears and anger coursed through your veins.

you couldn't back out of the recital now. you couldn't. 

you couldn't stand to look back into the vermillion eyes of katsuki bakugou now. even more so now, you couldn't.

your solution?

"hey, what's up?" jirou's collected voice filled your ear, your phone pressed to it. 

"hey, kyo, i… kind of did a bad thing," you said, feeling jittery as you sought a commute home. you'd already made up your mind that your sorry-ass wouldn't be able to look bakugou back in the face for the rest of the day.

"...again?" she asked, tone concealing a hint of surprise. "don't tell me it was with bakugou. don't you usually practice now?"

"...usually, yes…" you sheepishly shuffled your feet, standing outside on the sidewalk. "i'll be resuming it again, 'course, when i get home…"

"why aren't you with bakugou right now?"

"that's… that's a long story," you laughed nervously. 

"i can wait," jirou coolly replied. "kaminari got his foot stuck in his guitar case - don't ask - so i have time." 

you considered asking about kaminari, then thought better of it.

"you know about the valentine's day recital they have every year? well, this year…" you recounted the events that led you to now, standing outside on the phone with jirou.

"where are you going to find a violinist?"

a silence found itself opportune as jirou waited for an answer. "i'm, uh, not…?" you said, deflecting the question back to jirou.

"well, you can't play both parts in the duet, can you? actually, don't answer that. i know you'd try. didn't you try that one time in-"

"what's done in uni stays in uni," you hushed her before she could recall that one time you tried to play a sonata with a recording of yourself. "aren't you going to tell me to try to make amends with bakugou?" 

"no," she said thoughtfully after a pause. "you've tried before, and it's not working for you. i don't think you should be forced to do something you obviously don't want to do. i just think," she continued, "you need to find someone to do the duet with, if you don't want to work with bakugou. but objectively, he's your best bet."

as jirou always was, she was right. you thanked her for her advice not before hearing a distraught kaminari shouting for jirou in the background, and then she ended the call.

you repeated her words in your head once you got home, sliding your bow back and forth on your small block of worn rosin. the score for the duet was spread next to you on the floor. it wasn't that you didn't want to work with bakugou. or was it? had you been that selfish all along, sabotaging other performances because you didn't like him? if even jirou had noticed it, had bakugou noticed it too? 

your sigh let out a thousand burdens piled up in your mind, blowing air out like dust accumulating on your tribulations. you picked up your violin and bow thoughtlessly, testing out the strings and plucking a couple with your left hand. 

was it really only you with the contempt for working with bakugou? you'd assumed mutual hatred with him after your international debut, but had it really been so? had you been the only one picking fights during the time you'd worked together? as you backtracked, your fingers slipped into a familiar position. you began a piece you knew positively by heart, an absolute favorite of yours for years. you played mindlessly, serenading yourself with familiar notes and string fingerings as you thought long and hard about bakugou. how much shit had you given bakugou? he hardly complained, too, but why? why hadn't he quit after you'd been so ceaselessly difficult with him?

why were you so angry at bakugou, a gifted prodigy since childhood? the answer found itself as the composition descended into an array of complicated fingerings and string changes, sounding like an incoherent chaos somehow strung together by the music. you pretended you didn't know the answer.

it was much, much easier to leave bakugou as just a pianist. respectable in his own field, and incomparable to you. it was too good to be true, obviously. all your life, you played to win, and couldn't allow anyone else to surpass you. violin was about winning, winning, winning. how were you supposed to cope when all those hours of practice were easily overcome by someone with innate talent?

the piece eased your tension with a fermata, drawing out your vibrato to think. bakugou's perfection infuriated you, you concluded. knowing this, though, didn't help with anything. you almost screeched the last note as the composition came to an end, unsettled by thoughts of bakugou. you really couldn't stand him.

in an attempt to distract yourself from your dilemma, you decided to start practicing the recital composition. you pulled out an old portable music stand, bending the parts into place and stacking it up. carefully, you placed the sheets on the stand and skimmed over the music, bringing your violin up to your collarbone.

your eyes followed one measure ahead of what you were playing as you sight-read the piece. ahead, ahead, was all you could think as your fingers fumbled the notes, eyes moving from the score to the fingerboard. bakugou was far from your mind as you caught up to the music, too preoccupied with the sharps and flats you'd forgotten and the time you had to keep. you were busied by the shifts and the repeat signs in the music over anything else. your priority lay here for the time being, after all. the sight-reading was almost enough to make you forget you only play one half to a duet. there was still still an emptiness that lurked between the rests and the redundant beats that even your stilted practice couldn't mask. you tried not to worry about that, though. 

time floated by as you repeated the piece over and over, playing for accuracy first. it wasn't enough, but you pretended it was. the metronome on your phone ticked away like time, endless and impatient, until you couldn't stand it anymore and packed away your violin. 

the proceeding day was filled with more of the same practicing, working on tweaking hesitations and polishing up your playing. it was kind of convenient, practicing at home rather than waking up early to practice with bakugou. you missed the bagel the most. 

you were definitely not playing your best, and it was clear by the way your bow occasionally screeched and how you fumbled the fingerings when you were particularly negligent. the piece just didn't sound right without the second part. (bakugou was definitely not the second part missing. not at all.)

by the third day you gave up and admitted to yourself that yes, bakugou was the second part missing. you were only a little bit miserable buying your usual bagel and coffee and rushing to rehearsals fifteen minutes late, aware that you'd be unable to eat it before practice. you were substantially less miserable than how you were the day previous, practicing alone.

you weren't surprised to see bakugou already there, sitting on the piano bench and tightening his bow hairs. he acknowledged you with a grunt as you set down your breakfast and beverage. 

"showed up, huh?" he said finally, voice rough. he stood up, setting his sheet music on a stand. you stared at him, awed by his nonchalance. he picked up his violin and bow (which, by the way, looked super expensive) and propped his violin up by his chin. it felt so foreign to see him in position to play violin, fingers already expertly in first position and wrist beautifully curved, yet it inexplicably clicked. the scene in front of you looked like he'd done this everyday, as it was always supposed to have been, his back confidently straight. his fingers arched over the fingerboard and his bow appeared mathematically parallel to the bridge, held delicately between his fingers. you'd never carefully watched him play piano (probably due to your distaste to him and lack of knowledge about the percussion instrument), but he made the violin look like an instrument of the gods. he hesitated, though, bow moving a centimeter then back. he frowned at your idle silence and turned back to you. "well? are we doing this duet or not?" 

"oh," you reacted intelligently. "yeah. yeah." it kicked in what you were doing by the time you'd started tuning your violin, first bowing your a string. after tuning your violin (with the help of a tuning fork and none from the perfect-pitched bastard bakugou, who appeared to be watching you with a triumphant gleam in his eyes as you struggled to tune your violin properly), you set your sheet music next to bakugou's.

"ready?" you asked, as if you'd been the one waiting for bakugou all this time.

"ask yourself that," he snorted. "i'll do the count." 

you nodded.

"one, two, three, f-"

"wait, wait," you said, squinting at your music. "isn't it supposed to be a bit slower than that?"

"it says allegro," bakugou said, tapping his foot. "need an italian lesson? lively, briskly."

"i know what allegro means," you gritted. "seems too fast, when paired with dolce."

"maybe for you," he smirked.

you narrowed your eyes at him. "and that means what, exactly?"

he opened his mouth to reply some smug, smart-ass answer, but you stopped him. 

"nevermind," you said. "do the count again, at the same tempo. i can do it."

you were bluffing, of course. since when was allegro this fast? you wondered as the opening notes sped by you in a musical blur. already familiar with the melody, you messed up dynamics the most. of crescendos and diminuendos? it wasn't like bakugou would notice, too preoccupied with his part.

the ending of the piece took your breath away, storming toward you in a whirlwind. adrenaline filled your veins as you raced to the last measure of the music, overcome by the tempo and the music. this time, full of energy and exhilaration, the piece felt complete. your and bakugou's sound surrounded the two of you, overflowing the room with a saccharine melody. it felt right simply standing beside him playing a two part piece, chest heaving from the piece's energy. you could only hear your breathing, a gentle encore to your playing.

"your playing is sloppy," bakugou said bluntly. he leaned over to your sheet music, starting to point at dynamic markings.

you swatted his hand away before he could say a word. "yeah, well, i just got the music three days ago," you interjected.

"you also had two of the three days off, so i'd say you're not doing enough." he glanced back down at your score. he pointed at a measure. "this is a crescendo, moron, why didn't you get much louder?"

"just- pay attention to your own music!" you said. "besides, it's dolce. i can get away with playing softer."

"that wasn't very dolce to me," he argued. "nothing sweet, soft, or gentle about that," he mumbled.

"i can be sweet, soft, and gentle if i want to!" you retorted. 

he raised a brow, as if a challenge, scarlet eyes glinting in the light. "tch. i'm sure you can, but your playing damn can't."

“it can, too! listen,” you said, impetuously raising your violin and bow again. you slowly started to play a d major scale, impatiently scrunching your nose and squeezing your eyes shut to concentrate on making the music soft and gentle, tampering with different degrees of vibrato and bow pressure.

“... that’s just piano,” bakugou said, moving to you as you bowed an a. your bow came to an abrupt halt, making an unpleasant squeal, as bakugou positioned himself behind you. you felt his body warmth radiating behind you as a sweet, homely scent wafted around you. he brought his arms around you, hands overlapping where you held your violin and bow.

“you need to be,” he murmured into your ear, gentle tone almost slurring the words together, "fragile when you play dolce." he angled your bow slightly, moving your hand. "bow closer to the fingerboard." the smooth baritone of his voice resonated within you, becoming lost within the violinist's embrace.

"most of all," he said, dropping an octave to an intimate tone, "you need to feel it. you can attempt to play it, but without feeling, it's fuckin’ meaningless."

"feeling?" you repeated blankly. “the audience’s, you mean.”

he stepped away, a gesture that made you breathless, and shook his head. he crossed his arms over his chest, unintentionally accentuating their volume. “your damn feelings. what do you feel when playing the piece?”

there’s a pause for perhaps a second too long, as you mulled over different answers in your head.

“tch.” his eyes don’t leave you, gaze a laser burning into you. “‘s what i thought. why do you play violin?”

you held your tongue from answering my parents. “to win. i play to win,” you stated.

“and that’s the damn problem,” bakugou said, releasing a breath of frustrated air. “you win to play.”

“that means…?” you were starting to get impatient with the man, who seemed to be stalling and dragging out your limited time. 

“you win competitions to play more.” 

you almost scoffed, but his words were plausible. “what’s the purpose in playing more if not to win?”

he made a scratching noise in his throat, cool demeanor shifting to that of the bakugou you knew. “l-l-” he coughed, “love.”

“love?” you repeated, the word a surprise to swallow.

he nodded, gagging on his reply. you couldn’t see bakugou as the romantic type - the same bakugou who called all of his friends demeaning nicknames and could barely say the word love out loud. he was explosive, maybe, and talented, sure - but acquainted with love? you pursed your lips at the stuttering man trying to advise you.

“whatever,” he dismissed, voice oddly hoarse. “just play it from the top. fix the dynamics.”

weeks passed in a blur, though bakugou’s advice was left unforgotten. it had, for the most part, faded from your mind but lingered like a ghost in an abandoned attic, stirring up dust in complete silence. it was valid criticism on bakugou’s part, but the problem was that it was criticism you couldn’t digest. it was a ghost that you could not rid of, whispering and lurking until your music played over it. 

four weeks before the performance, you had the piece almost entirely memorized other than a few flukes here and there. you managed most of your dynamics, playing in sync with bakugou by your side. three weeks and the piece was mostly smooth, foregoing all sheet music and practicing in the middle of the room with bakugou tapping out the tempo on the honeyed floor. any mistakes were recovered from quickly, and you were pleased to say that the amount of bakugou’s slip-ups equated to yours. at two weeks, though, he brought up the pest bugging your mind. 

“play with more emotion,” he sighed exasperatedly, letting out a huff as you played for him. “start on f sharp again.”

you’d tried time and time again, but the longer you’d replayed the same few measures (followed by his criticism for the nth time), the only emotion you felt was frustration. your bow would push too hard or your vibrato would lay on thick, immensely irritating bakugou. you didn’t know why he even tried. 

the air felt stale and the lights shone obnoxiously bright. the pads of your left hand fingers had hardened by now, indented with a pair of parallel lines from your unforgiving violin strings. you inhaled rosin dust and occasional bow hairs miserably dropped to the floor. your arms were tired, sore, and sick of playing; your ears painfully endured the same tune again and again, the originally fluid and sweet notes becoming high frequency static. 

“i can’t do this.” you were tempted to flop onto the ground, hopelessness pouring over you.

“you can,” bakugou insisted stubbornly. “you just need to try harder.”

“harder?” you would’ve snapped (and you were surprised your e string didn’t already by the repetitive motions on it) if you weren’t so exhausted from rehearsing. 

he nodded like it was obvious. “try harder.”

you shakily inhaled, trying to smooth your voice over. “i’m sorry i can’t be a prodigy like you.”

he stiffened, tense to the point of trembling. “whatever,” and it was a strained word pulled from his mouth. it was very atypical for him to give up like this, but you didn't care. you avoided his eyes as you restarted the piece, unable to bloom anything from it.

outside of your rehearsal time, you practiced. arguably, your solo rehearsals were more rigorous. you forced yourself to add emotion to the piece, sometimes playing for jirou. she agreed with bakugou (though was a great deal less irritating), stating that your playing was somewhat hollow. (you restrained yourself from knocking on the instrument and saying that yes, indeed, violins were hollow.)

"how… how do you get any emotions from playing?" you asked jirou at one point, watching one of her band's rehearsals. they were on a break, chatting idly and taking sips from their water bottles.

“well…” jirou started, glancing back at her band members. “i think about the feelings i want the audience to feel because of my songs. i think about how the song makes me feel, then i put that into how i play.”

“how do you…” you shifted uncomfortably, “know what to feel?”

she looked at you, taken aback, but replied easily. “you don’t. it just… happens.”

her response was vastly different than what you’d been taught a child. emotions? sure, there was perhaps a time where playing evoked a feeling in you, plucked something melodical from your heartstrings. it was when you were a child, though, so it was irrational and erratic, an outburst in the middle of your otherwise level playing. your violin teacher didn’t approve when you’d follow how the music made you feel. she said it made you stray too far from the original piece and would make you lose competitions. no matter how you pushed back against her, her advice haunted you over and over every time you got anything other than first place. 

your performance is the audience, she’d told you. you didn’t understand what she meant at first, but she made sure you did while practicing for your next rehearsals. the audience, she quipped with thin lips under her sharp eyes, is everything. if the audience wasn’t satisfied, your performance was worthless, no matter how well you played technically. you play for them and you win - it was that plain. there was nothing more than you wanted but to win, at the time. you wanted a trophy, a medal, a certificate stating that you were better than most. it was palpable evidence that you were good enough - for your parents, your peers, anyone. like that, you practiced, a servant for approval. you weren’t a prodigy, but you sure as hell would try to play like one. her advice worked for over a decade, soundly racking you up with countless awards that filled your otherwise desolate self-esteem.

you didn’t say anything else to jirou about it, instead thinking about the bits and pieces of human feeling you could extract in between your piece’s accidentals and eighth notes. perhaps there was a possibility, through the phrases of notes and dynamic markings, you’d find a word that said love. a renewed interest sparked itself when jirou’s band continued their rehearsals, finding yourself to be a normal audience member (maybe even crying at the end. maybe).

you returned home to practice, practice, practice, coercing any hidden message in the music to vibrate in your violin and echo around your room. you watched other renditions of the piece to find something you were missing, but imitating them didn’t seem right. this continued for the following weeks, hiding any potential development from bakugou (or trying to, at least). you knew you’d be disappointing him if you failed after trying so hard. it was only safe to play what you knew, secure in the written parts of the composition and keeping it at that. 

by the time the performance came around, you were glad bakugou never found out about your secret efforts. if he had, you knew he’d be sorely dispirited by your lack of tangible progress, your sound just as hollow as the soundbox of your violin. you failed, you knew, and as crestfallen as you were on that cold february morning, the show must go on.

the performances were held in an auditorium, warm compared to the snowy wonderland outside. it was typically couples comprising the audience, all romantic and pepped up in the spirit of valentine's day (white day was no different). some arrived early, finding seats in the empty auditorium and chatting amongst themselves (or sometimes making out, which made you want to throw your violin at them and gag). bakugou’s and your performance was last; it quite the heavy honor to play the finale to the recital. 

backstage was a vast contrast to the hushed atmosphere settled over the assemblage. hovering over the staff and performers for the day was a sense of panic, hurry, and hecticness. bits of rosin were scattered on the ground where you prepared for your rehearsal, some belonging to your block and others not. your pack of extra strings lay next to you on the sofa you sat on, arm resting on the side of the seat. similar to your violin's strings, spun tightly over pegs to be kept in place, you felt high-strung. the buzz of energetic excitement flitted in your head, knee bumping up and down and jerking your violin in the same motion. it was hard to calm when you tuned your violin to absolute perfection, relying on bakugou's perfect pitch to do so. the fine tuners on the end of your strings probably hadn't had a harder time in the years you'd owned your violin.

"you're shaking the entire sofa, idiot," bakugou deadpanned next to you. “some of us are trying to rosin our bow, unlike you.” he glanced at the floor, where amber shards of rosin lay amidst white dust (also made of rosin). 

“to be fair, most of those aren’t mine,” you pointed out. you reached into your violin case, finding the rectangular case of rosin and opening the top. "mine's only chipped in a couple corners, and the rest is just worn on the edges from my bow."

you leaned over to look at bakugou's rosin, two stubs in its case. "and i'm the one dropping my rosin?"

his ears turned a deep red, matching the velvet curtains on stage. "that's different," he muttered, putting the lid on his rosin and putting it away. 

"you ready?" you watched him swallow before speaking, not looking at you. you could hear one of the presenters speaking, introducing the first piece to be played (an ever-so romantic rendition of clair de lune), but the voices felt distant and muffled over the sound of your own nervous heart beating.

"yeah," he replied. he turned to look at you, scarlet eyes meeting your own. "what, you're not scared now, are you, dumbass?"

you gulped. "no… just excited," you said. in truth, you felt disappointed in yourself for being unable to find any emotion in your playing - thinking about the piece, you were devoid of anything but the measures and the notes. what was the piece trying to say in the white space between staff lines? after the clef at the beginning of the music, where did the emotions start and everything else end?

quiet notes, twinkling from the piano on stage, met your ears. you took a deep breath. how did they make you feel? 

…not very good, because this pianist was certainly a beat or two off tempo. a large hand on your knee startled you out of your trance. its warmth was surprisingly comforting. you followed the arm connecting to the hand to meet bakugou's concentrated face, eyebrows furrowed and nose scrunched. 

"don't shake your knee like that. also, why are you so damn cold?" he moved his hand away, leaving an imprint of heat on your knee. you hadn't noticed the physical manifestation of your nerves prior to bakugou's words.

you left his question unanswered, staring at your violin in your lap. you traced the patterns in wood, fingers following the shape of the f-hole and thumbing circles on your chin rest. how were you supposed to be able to pull living, breathing life in the form of emotions from an inanimate object? what sorcery were you supposed to manage to satisfy yourself and the audience?

you thought back to bakugou's words. what was it had he said you were supposed to be playing for? love, the irrational and sentimental flaw of life - somehow expressed from the symbols on a sheet of paper and through strings on hollow wood. what sort of miracle was bakugou creating with his music?

what was violin, if not just a task to do everyday? what was it, out of competitions and tests of skill? what was the sound reverberating within its vacant body, recording every shift of fingers on the fingerboard?

you looked past your violin to the rosin on the floor. friction, your violin teacher had explained to you. you put rosin on your bow so it creates friction with the strings, and thus creates sound. it was strange how friction caused the smooth sound of a violin. too much friction, added by pressure on the bow, made a creaky sound on the strings. without rosin, the bow would be too smooth on the string and make no noise at all. the happy medium of not too much and not too little created the familiar rich tone on the strings.  

a happy medium, you mused. in between too much friction and none at all. maybe that was how you were supposed to feel, in between trying too hard and not trying at all. that's what feelings were in the end, right? a natural human instinct, spurred by life. could you breathe life into the music?

the stage seemed almost too big for the two of you, spotlights centering you on the wide, wooden platform. the crowd's eyes were on you and your fellow violinist, some watching with drooping eyelids. they felt far, distant under the shadows. even so, the question still besieged you - would you please them?

you teared your eyes away to bakugou, who started the count. everything was silent until he nodded to you, your cue to start the piece. it felt too fast when you began but it was the same allegro you’d been practicing with. muscle memory took control now, your fingers finding their places easily. 

your fingers and bow took all your attention. everything else fell away - the lights, the crowd, the stage - until it was just you, your violin, and the music. you could practically see the score in your head, playing the notes you'd come to know so well. 

you heard your music echo and resound off the walls, but that's all it seemed to do. it touched everyone in the room, looking for a place to stay, and diminished in an empty space alone. it frustrated you that it wouldn't resonate - where was the love bakugou had so told you of? this auditorium was no different than your room, where sounds bounced off walls and landed nowhere. you weren't reaching anywhere or anyone, lacking emotion and any true substance. 

love - what was love if not a hindrance? how could bakugou expect so much out of you? love - had you ever felt it for the violin? dolce told you to play sweetly, softly, and gently, but what was sweet about the violin? what was so sweet about the imprints of strings on your fingers, fragmented rosin at your feet, and bruises on your neck from long hours of practice? what was gentle about the arduous replaying of the same measure, the ringing in your ears after playing to master a simple phrase? what was soft about the forte that rang in your head, the fortissimo that filled a performance and clouded your senses?

dolce filled you like an epiphany, euphoric in your eyes that finally opened and awakened. dolce was in bakugou's eyes, soft velvet like the crimson curtains onstage, downcast at his violin. dolce was in his sound as his bow skittered near the fingerboard, in his fingers sliding back and forth on his a string. dolce was in his grasp of his bow and violin, in the very essence he played the violin with. dolce contradicted everything you knew, reminding you of bakugou's soft hands over yours, guiding your fingers and bow. dolce was the morning light streaming into the practice room as you argued with bakugou over tempos and notes, the light glinting on shattered shards of rosin as you anxiously rosined your bow. dolce was the curve of your violin scroll, the bend of your fingers over your bow's frog. dolce was the white space in between staff lines on your sheet music and through half and whole notes. dolce was everything in between the rough of your violin experience, the laughter and smiling gone forgotten during sleepless practice sessions and violin evaluations.

what was dolce, if not a rebellion? what was it, if not a rebellion from the years of work and pain you'd endured in the name of musicality? what was it, if not laughing in the face of your violin instructors and the strict score you adhered to? 

when you opened your eyes to meet bakugou's, whose carmine eyes dripped with a burning passion and the essence of souls, you finally felt. it was the so-sought over love, scorching every note and stroke of your bow and bursting life in every movement, breath, and echo of your performance. it was exhilarating, living through every slur and chord you played. when you finally met his eyes he understood, a satisfied smile tugging on his lips as his gaze never left yours. this was it - this was dolce, humming sweetly, softly, and gently in your ears and reflecting in the audience's heart. this was dolce, making you realize that you never wanted to play violin alone again.

you picked up a rose that had landed at your feet at the end of your piece, holding it next to bakugou's confused face. in doing so, you reached your second epiphany of the day - perhaps the more important of the two. bakugou's eyes bloomed redder than the rose, deeper than the lowest note on a double bass, and maybe it was he that was the true dolce you were looking for.

notes!!

if you’re reading this, congrats !! this is my longest fic on my account (the record will be broken soon), so i really appreciate you reading this :> (spare a reblog, perhaps?)

first, explaining the playlist:

beethoven’s kreutzer - this was played in the anime, “your lie in april,” and i simply think it fits the “fight” reader and bakugou have. this was played at reader’s first international recital that did not go so well.

kreisler’s liebesfreud (love’s joy) is in the same series as his piece called liebesleid (love’s sorrow), also featured in “your lie in april.” i personally really like the piece. of all of these listed, i think you should listen to this one the most.

beriot’s duo concertante was the other contender for reader and bakugou’s duet piece! 

debussy’s clair de lune is simply a favorite of mine. it’s the first piece played at the valentine’s performance (and i like to imagine reader’s listened to bakugou’s recording of the piece)

spohr’s duo for 2 violins is the piece reader and bakugou play! it’s the second part of the duo in allegro, and i once tried to listen to it while following the sheet music. i was so confused every time i did so; i’d get lost and such, and figured my musicality was declining. nope. i was reading the wrong part. so, i started freaking out because oh god the dolce is in the first part, not the second, and thankfully, there’s a bit of dolce in the second part too! however, it did take me a while to decide whether to use the first part instead.

also, spohr invented the chinrest on the violin! crazy :D

paginini’s 24th caprice is considered the hardest out of all 24 caprices. imagine,,, teenage bakugou playing this,,, doing the left hand pizz and all T^T pain

there’s a lot i wish i could cover in this! a lot of reader’s own flaws (ahem, viola jokes) and development were something i couldn’t cover. bakugou’s arc as well! he had an arc a bit before this story takes place :)) tl;dr i’m very tempted to pick my violin up again and start playing

the frog of the bow does not, sadly, go ribbit. it’s the part violinists hold the bow by!

thank you for reading! i hope you enjoyed this :)

[willel]

Hi I just wanted to cry in your inbox because...Willel is coming. The Wonder Twins are COMING we are going to SEE them on our SCREEN. Will is going to protect El, El is going to protect everyone, Mike and Jonathan are going to try (and probably fail :/) to protect them both, they're going to be THE siblings ever and there will be hurt/comfort and subtle signs of affection and family fluff and once it's out I will be emotionally unavailable for 3-5 business days!!! T_T

I'm so excited 😭 I've been waiting forever and ever. All my fandom friends and irl friends and family are probably sick and tired of me complaining about all the missed opportunities to make Will and El close and it's finally coming and my heart is full and soaringgggg

The day can't be here soon enough. I'm gonna have to contain myself because I'm gonna watch the season with my mom and if she hears or sees me squee she's gonna make fun of me. Lol

Earlier I had the idea of something happening to them and Will would immediately try to cover El. And then Jonathan would immediately try to cover Will and El. LIKE, I NEED MY SIBLING STUFF PLEASE

The amount of gifsets I will make for every single second of their interactions are gonna be legendary.

It's gonna be a contest and I'm the winner. Well. I might have some competitors 👀 (I see you all) BUT I WILL COME OUT ON TOP. THIS IS MY MOMENT. MY DREAM COME TRUE. YOU CAN'T DEFEAT ME.

[flameohotwife]

kataang 19 for the ask fluff T_T

19. "You know, I think my parents would be proud if I brought you home."

This *also* turned super long, and a little sad in parts though I still think (hope) it's adequately fluffy. I am apparently incapable of ficlets at this point. I'm sorry! Read here or on ao3. Rated G. 3k words.

Katara was freezing. She had only been gone from the Southern Water Tribe for a year and already she had forgotten how cold it was there. They had decided to take a quick trip to Katara’s home to officially tell her father they were together after finalizing the Harmony Restoration Movement in Ba Sing Se, and were quickly approaching the South Pole on Appa. She wrapped her parka more tightly around her, shivering.

“Aang, don’t worry,” Katara comforted from the saddle. Even from this distance she could see his nervous fidgeting. He gave Appa instructions and climbed back to join her and Sokka and Suki. Toph had just recently found her first metalbending student, and was not about to leave Yu Dao to go to “a block of ice I can’t see or bend on.” So the two couples journeyed southward, with a lot of talk of “oogies” from Sokka, a lot of snippy comments about the thinness of tent walls from Katara, and a lot of unsure glances from Aang and Suki.

“Yeah, Aang,” Sokka chimed in as the airbender settled in next to his girlfriend. His girlfriend! It still felt strange to call her that. It seemed too informal for all that she meant to him, but anything more would sound ridiculous coming out of a thirteen-year-old’s mouth. “Don’t worry about the tribe. They already love you, remember? The kids are just going to want a bunch of rides down Appa’s tail again.”

“Oh! They haven’t gotten to see him fly, yet!” Katara added excitedly.

“Plus, you’re the Avatar,” Suki said, rolling her eyes. “You stopped the hundred-year war! If that doesn’t endear you to everyone, I don’t know what will.” Suki rubbed her arms over the green parka Katara had made her, looking down uncomfortably.

“You helped, too, Suki,” Katara reasoned, leaning over to place a hand on her friend’s arm. “And Dad already knows you’re together and definitely approves. You helped break him out of prison!”

Suki smiled back at her in thanks while Sokka wrapped an arm around his girlfriend proudly. “The truth is,” he started, “Katara and I couldn’t have picked better people to pair off with, and the Southern Water Tribe has been starved for happiness for a long time, now. Neither of you have anything to worry about. They’ll be proud to know you. I bet there’ll even be a feast!” He rubbed his belly with his free hand.

“But, I let all those warriors get captured… on the Day of Black Sun,” Aang said. He had kept his guilt over that day to himself for so long, but Katara knew. She knew it had hung heavy on his heart since the moment she found him crying on Appa, and she knew that he needed to clear that pain away.

“Aang, look at me,” she said, taking his face in her hands. “The Fire Nation knew we were coming that day, but you couldn’t have known that. None of us did. We trust you as the Avatar and we trust you as Aang—that hasn’t changed. Warriors are led into danger all the time. That’s what they train for. Nobody blames you.”

Aang took a deep, clarifying breath. He tried to remember what Guru Pathik had told him about accepting the bad things that have happened and forgiving himself. He had to keep the pools of his chakras flowing, and while this guilt hadn’t accumulated to the point of blocking his water chakra, he knew it could if he didn’t keep it in check. He released his breath, feeling much warmer and more confident than he had a moment ago, and smiled at Katara.

“Thank you, Katara.” The way he looked at her caused her breath to catch; she still wasn’t used to the pure, unadulterated devotion in his eyes. Her heart swelled with it, and she went in for a hug.

She expected Sokka to call out “Oogies!” but he just sat back with his girlfriend and rolled his eyes. Her brother was much more used to these displays of affection than she gave him credit for, anyway. She had hugged and touched and even kissed Aang on the cheek so many times throughout their journey to end the war, and he hadn’t batted an eye. Kissing seemed to be what brought the cries of protest out, but even those seemed half-hearted the more he was forced to witness it.

Katara felt that telltale swoop in her stomach as Appa started his descent, and separated from Aang, grinning widely. They were here! She could hardly contain her excitement, and Aang fed off of it. He would do anything to make her happy. He jumped back to Appa’s head to steer him towards the center of the village.

The children who had been outside playing all gathered together when they saw the large shape of Appa in the sky. Some of them even recognized him—shouts of “It’s the sky bison! It’s Aang! It’s the Avatar!” could be heard as the group approached. The ensuing ruckus drew adults out of their huts as well. Katara noticed there were more snow huts than tents, now, probably thanks to Pakku and the benders he’d brought from the North when he sought out her grandmother, who was just joining the throng of people. She saw her father’s face among the crowd, as well, and her heart soared.

She and Sokka were leaning over the edge of the saddle, waving to everyone and sporting wide, toothy grins when they finally landed. As soon as Appa’s feet touched the snow they both jumped down, rushing to greet their family. Aang and Suki hung back a moment, unsure of their place, until Hakoda pulled back from his children to open his arms to them, smiling.

“It’s so good to see you Aang, Suki,” he said, embracing them all in a group hug. His voice was warm and strong and he hoped it was welcoming, too. Whatever his feelings about his kids growing up and moving on, he wanted their partners to feel safe and loved and cared for here.

When they all pulled back—some a little teary eyed from the reunion—they saw Kanna and Pakku making their way over. Gran Gran was smiling in a way Katara wasn’t sure she had ever seen before. She looked so happy. So at peace. She had lived her entire life in the war and had been the one to tell Katara (and Sokka, when he would listen) the stories about the Avatar when they were younger. Katara supposed this all must be like a dream come true for her as well. She hugged each member of the group in turn.

“It’s good to see you again, young airbender,” she said to Aang, before turning to Suki and the others. “And it’s wonderful to meet you, Suki. Pakku tells me you’re quite the warrior, from what he could tell while you all were camped outside Ba Sing Se. I’m so proud of all of you for stopping this war.”

They seemed to remember the rest of the village was watching them, and Hakoda cleared his throat. The kids stopped playing on Appa’s tail to listen to their Chief.

“Everyone! Sokka and Katara are home and they’ve brought guests!” he started. His voice boomed powerfully across the ice. “I’d like you to meet Suki of the Kyoshi Warriors, and of course you all have met Avatar Aang and his bison already.” There was some applause and squeals from the children, and Aang blushed and waved. “I think this calls for a celebration. Let’s feast in the new council lodge tonight!”

“I told you,” Sokka whispered to Aang. Aang chuckled in return as the crowd cheered once more before returning to their business. Hakoda invited them all into his hut and they sat down in front of the fire with some tea, along with Gran Gran and Pakku.

“So, Dad, there’s actually a reason we came down here,” Katara opened once they were all settled on cushions around the low, circular table. She was sitting between Aang and Suki, and her father was directly across from her, flanked by Sokka and Gran Gran. Pakku sipped his tea observantly between Aang and Kanna. “Aang and I…” She grabbed his hand under the table. No matter how confident she was in their relationship, she’d never had to announce a new relationship to her family before. She felt sure she’d never have to, again. “We’re together, now.”

Hakoda smiled. Kanna beamed. Pakku looked like he had accidentally swallowed the bitter leaves of his tea, but Katara ignored him; he always looked that way.

Hakoda was the first to speak. “I figured this would happen eventually,” he said, laughing when both Aang and Katara looked somewhat shocked. “I’ve seen the way you two look at each other. And the way Katara was so protective of you, Aang, when you were in a coma...and her heartbreak when you left? I knew there was more than just friendship going on, even if Katara was too hard-headed to admit it.”

“Hey!” Katara protested.

“He’s not wrong,” Sokka spoke up. “You were the one who kept putting it off. Even after Aang kissed you at the Invasion…”

“You knew about that?!” Aang asked, flabbergasted.

“Toph told me,” he shrugged. “The subs were made of metal… she could feel it.” Sokka shuddered.

Both Aang and Katara were as red as tomato-carrots at this point, but Kanna actually laughed.

“Do you remember what I told you when you left the South Pole?” she asked, speaking to her grandchildren.

“Yeah, yeah, something about it being our destiny to help Aang, I think,” Sokka answered.

“You said…” Katara gasped, eyes wide. “You said our ‘destinies are intertwined with his.’” She looked at Aang, smiling. “I thought it was just about ending the war, but…”

“I also called him your boyfriend, that day, if you’ll remember,” Sokka pointed out. “You denied it then, but face it, Katara. You were already smitten from the day we met Aang.”

“Yeah,” she admitted. “I was.” The blush was even higher on her cheeks, now. Aang looked as though someone had just granted him his biggest wishes: a mixture of surprise and glee covered his face as he looked at her. He squeezed her hand under the table, not completely sure she was still real; that this wasn’t a dream. Katara had really liked him for as long as he’d liked her?

“It was the same for me and Suki,” Sokka continued on. “The moment she beat me...again... in that dojo on Kyoshi Island, I knew.”

“Awww, Sokka,” Suki cooed.

“I mean, any girl who can take down a Water Tribe warrior is girlfriend material, am I right?”

Everyone at the table exchanged glances before simultaneously rolling their eyes and laughing. It was so good to be around family again, Katara thought. But what was even better was that she still felt at home and comfortable—maybe even moreso—with Aang there by her side. She could see him at future family gatherings, see him as an adult, proudly holding their child at the Solstice Festival in the South, comfortably talking with everyone from the children to the elders. It filled her with warmth, and she pressed her shoulder into his as the conversation went on well into the afternoon.

That evening, after the feast, there was dancing. It was different from the dancing they had done before, in the Fire Nation and the Earth Kingdom. Katara and Sokka, along with the rest of the tribe spent much of the evening laughing and teaching Aang and Suki to dance in the Water Tribe way, readjusting their form, feeling the heavy beat of the drums; the qilaut.

At one point Aang and Katara stumbled outside for some air, clutching their stomachs which were beginning to ache from so much merriment. They sat back in a snowbank, arms around each other, watching the stars twinkling in silent chorus above them, taking comfort in each other’s presence.

“You know,” Aang said after a time, “I think my parents would be proud if I brought you home. Would’ve been proud, I guess. Gyatso, too. We could have celebrated and eaten fruit pies and sang and danced at the temples...” Katara looked up at him, expecting to see the grief and sadness etched in his face that was so often there when he spoke of his people, but he looked...wistful. Like he was perhaps picturing such a reunion, and her heart ached for all that he had lost. She had never even heard him mention his parents before. “Being here, around your family and your tribe… it’s been so wonderful, Katara.”

She wrapped her arms tighter around his waist, pulling him ever closer. She kept her sapphire eyes focused on the light flickering out from the lodge behind him, feeling like perhaps this next thought was too much, but she wanted to open it up to him. To be there for him in the same way he’s been there for her for so long. “We could visit the Air Temples,” she suggested, quietly. “I know the other Air Nomads are gone… and it might be… sadder. A lot less celebratory. But… I’d like to visit your home again now that the war’s over. I’d like to learn your dances. Learn about your people.”

They turned to each other then, both their eyes sparkling in the starlight. “I’d like that,” Aang whispered as a tear escaped him with a choked sob.

“Hey, Sweetie,” Katara comforted, reaching up to gently stroke his cheek. She realized that in the few months since the end of the war—probably actually since she’d broken him out of the iceberg—he hadn’t had the chance to really be. To reflect. To grieve. “It’s okay to be sad, you know? To miss them. You’re not alone though. I’m here. I’ll always be here.”

Aang clung to her then, letting his feelings flow. They listened to the sound of the drums inside, and she rocked him, whispering how strong he was, how amazing it was that he’d found a way to end the war that was still true to himself; to his people. How proud they would be. How proud she was.

Eventually, he lifted his head from her shoulder to kiss her slowly, tentatively. He was still mostly letting her take the lead in their physical relationship, but he couldn’t think of any other way to thank her then. No words seemed sufficient. His hesitance melted away the moment she moved her lips against his, though. His hands gripped her waist as best he could in their sitting position before moving to thread into her hair. He could feel his heart starting to beat just a little too fast. He felt lightheaded, but in a good way. He pulled back for a breath, and they both giggled. Kissing was still new, but something they both clearly enjoyed finally being able to do together.

“You called me ‘Sweetie,’” he said, realizing. She’d never called him anything other than Aang before. His heart fluttered.

“Is that okay? Sorry, I didn’t even realize…” Katara was pulling at her hair and looking anywhere but at Aang until he stopped her with another kiss, though it was much quicker this time.

“I loved it, Sweetie,” he teased back, but somehow it felt like the most natural thing in the world to call her.

“My mom used to call me that,” she admitted, shyly. “I don’t know why it just came out when I was talking to you…”

“Did I ever tell you what the guru told me about love?” Aang asked. Katara shook her head, confused. “He told me that ‘love is a form of energy,’ and that the airbenders’ love for me hasn’t left this world, but was reborn in new love.” He looked pointedly at her. “Our love.”

Katara took in a sharp breath. She felt at once shocked, humbled, and overflowing with pure, confident love. Sokka certainly wouldn’t believe it, but it made so much sense to her. The instant connection she had felt… the fierce need to protect him… her intense love for him that was as big as an entire nation. She couldn’t help but smile widely.

“Maybe...” Aang started. “Maybe your mom’s love for you was reborn, too.” It seemed like such an outrageous thing to say, but at the same time, like the most obvious thing in the world. The look in her eyes told him all he needed to know. She believed it, too. “I love you, Katara.”

“I love you too, Aang. So much.” She leaned in to kiss him again, feeling like nothing could quite top this feeling. They’d said ‘I love you’ so many times in so many ways; in small gestures, in touches, in roundabout ways, even before they’d been together. But this… this seemed much bigger.

Finally, they stood to return to the celebration. Surely people had noticed their absence by now, though they were thankfully still young enough to avoid any terribly embarrassing rumors. As they walked back to the hall, hand in hand, they shared a look before opening the door.

“Ready, Sweetie?” Aang asked, eyes shining with pure joy.

“Ready, Sweetie,” Katara responded confidently. She squeezed his hand before pulling him inside with her, already moving to the beat of the drums again. Their hearts were so full. Their lost loved ones were never truly gone from this world, and they would cherish that fact for the rest of their lives together. Even in their grief they were connected, and by their love they were healed. It was beautiful.

[noxtivagus]

hehe

[btsandvmin]

A Vmin throwback - 2019 (Part 1)

3 years I have been making this post now, and every year people keep saying Vmin is dead, less close or even fake. I usually say: Do you have eyes? 

Vmin surely proved you wrong this time and I think at this point their bond is hard to deny. This post has been really difficult to make, both because of the amount of moments and also because it’s more difficult to find good gifs for everything and I can’t include twitter videos in this type of post. Just know there was a lot of moments I had to skip.

2019 was the year of the pig, aka. the year of everyone born 1995. So in this year of Vmin of course they have given us plenty of moments to gush about. In fact despite the break we have gotten spoiled with a lot of really great Vmin moments. So without much further ado let’s get this started!

There is a lot more Vmin under the cut. You have been warned.

I will cheat a little and start with Taehyung’s birthday bomb, which wasn’t released until 2019. Vmin were very cute in it.

The first time I saw this I couldn’t believe it. Who looks at someone like that while they are feeding them?

The year started of with a lot of good Vmin selcas, but even though we might not have gotten many tweets in total what we did get was still great!

And don’t you all dare forget that Jimin posted this the day after Valentines!

Then admittedly we had nothing in terms of selcas for almost the rest of the year, but thankfully Jimin came through and tweeted for Taehyung’s birthday.

Something big they did this year was of course making songs! Jimin released Promise right at the end of 2018 and Tae (the best photographer) provided the cover photos.

One month later Tae released Scenery. But not without Jimin accidentally spoiling it first.

He was very apologetic about it.

They both supported each other a lot and gave us a lot of cute moments in relations to their songs.

Jimin even sang Scenery and basically just promoted and loved it a lot. But even that was nothing compared to what was to come... I am talking about Winter Bear of course, which Jimin loves so much and has promoted more than anything ever before.

He did three vlives in a row where he gushed about the song and promoted it, and even told us stories about him and Taehyung. 

He also mentioned how he wanted to keep the song and his friend (Taehyung) to himself. The name of the first Vlive was even Say hello to me, a line from the song. Basically Jimin is both supportive and possessive in regards to Taehyung.

He sang it constantly and told us he listened to it every night falling asleep to it and even dreaming about it. 

True love and support right there! He also gifted Tae the two bears he used on the cover.

Movin on let’s look at the Run episodes of this year, because as usual they provided us with tons of Vmin moments.

It’s actually kind of overwhelming so I had to skip a lot because right off the bat they just...

First Run episode of the year and we already were in for a great start! And who knew we would get to see Vmin hold hands for minutes? I mean, Vmin seems to just have glued their hands together this year.

Stick to my side might as well be the Vmin slogan of the year. :P

And Run just kept on giving…

Tae wants Jimin to be sexy. But not too sexy….

Of course they also took selcas we will never get to see…

And some we did get to see…

The Canada episodes truly blessed us.

We even got to see Vmin share a bed for the first (but not the last) time, even if I don’t have a pic included.

They don’t even have to be on the same team...

Or even win… They still somehow congratulate each other.

Wo do love Vmin on the same team though.

They have both just seemed really happy and carefree this year!

I don’t even know how many times Jimin has said I love you to Taehyung this year… But it’s a lot.

Actually we have seen Jimin trust Tae a little too much.

But let’s move on, because we have much more to go through. This year we actually got some really good vlive moment from Vmin (besides the ones for Winter Bear I mean.). It started with the Grammy vlive.

We had Vmin doing, something… In the Hobi birthday Vlive.

And not soon after we got the infamous Rkive Vlive. Showing us some of the weirdest Vmin behaviours yet.

The clinginess is a lot… I see why they might avoid Vlives alone, because they can’t even behave when they are with someone.

I already mentioned the Winter Bear vlives.

The year also ended well with some nice Vmin from Jin’s Bday Vlive.

We of course also had a comeback with Boy with Luv that Taehyung made sure to add some Vmin to right away.

And Vmin really made sure to make this their song. Love is nothing stronger...

We also can’t forget the Lights MV.

And then for the tour. Obviously we got a ton of Vmin moments.

Special shoutout to Hong Kong.

I mean tours are always good, but the amounts of hugs and happy Vmin.

Tae holding Jimin’s hand to comfort him in Brazil when Jimin was sick and couldn’t sing well.

We also got Tae comforting Jimin in London.

And with this sweet moment, that I was lucky enough to see live, let’s end this post. It’s too long anyways, and will likely crash for many of you. As you may know I started this post in late 2019 but had so much trouble making it as Tumblr didn’t want to save my changes. I tried to remake it several times and at some point just gave up.

Then, I realized that the post is too long anyway and I might as well just post what I had if it managed to save the end part. Meaning this text here. So basically all of this post except this ending part was written and put together years ago. I know it says part 1, but I am not sure there will be a part 2 considering the problem with long posts. Just know 2019 was a great year for Vmin (as every year is), and that I didn’t even get to include everything (note the absence of Bon Voyage for example).  But finally it is done! I am so glad it saved this part and the tags. T_T

Thank you for reading, liking and reblogging (if tumblr allows it), and sorry for the delay.  💜

[japhan2024]

💛Smoshblr December Asks Final Day💙

We‘ve done it! We’ve finally reached the end of this lil ask game and also the end of 2023! 🥳 Thank you so much for joining in on this, I truly appreciate it so much 🫶! I wish you a wonderful start into the new year and that all your hopes and dreams for 2024 will come true! ✨💞

But, since the year isn’t quite over yet, I thought this might be a nice time to reminisce a little bit. Therefore, the final question of the Smoshblr December Asks Game:

What are your favourite smosh-related memories of 2023? 💖

(no specific amount required for this one; and you can ofc also include older smosh memories, if you want to 🤗)

Stella!! I'm so gonna miss getting your asks every day in my inbox T_T thank you so much for making this month extra special and festive, it was absolutely wonderful waking up knowing there would be a new one waiting!!! <3

My favorite Smosh-related memory? Well, idk, I read a really great fanfic, but it was a bit out there, a bit too sentimental and unrealistic... it goes like this:

Friendship always wins

The sun scorched the suburbs of Sacramento. The neighborhood looked like if a stock photo had a heroine problem. Bored out of their minds, two sixth graders got grouped together for a school project.

"Here, let me draw some turds on the trash pile."

"I'll add flies."

"Hehehe, yeah that looks better."

The two kids, Ian and Anthony, connected through their shared humor, which ranged from Beavis and Butthead to Home Alone to Southpark, and to whatever was on the internet in that godforsaken time pre-2005.

The oldest one, Anthony, came from a broken home. He had to grow up fast and take care of his siblings and mom. The only times he could really be a kid and fuck around, was with his best friend Ian. Feeling nurtured by Ian's mom and dad, and constantly laughing at Ian's jokes, his happiness was there, with Ian. He could get through working hard, as long as he had Ian to go back to and have fun.

Their nerdy friend group were all into internet humor and Anthony came up with the idea of having a forum for them all to shitpost on and share their creations and collaborate.

But then he got sick. Really sick. He couldn't go to school, had to stay home for six months. He felt so isolated, not seeing his friends, most of all Ian. But Ian showed up at his house with a get well soon card. It was signed by everyone from his class. He could cry, he was so happy with this symbol of friendship. It kept him going the rest of the months. He put his time and energy into coding and learning how to do graphic design.

Smosh was born and it took off. First the website was just for them; Ian, Anthony, and their friends. It had stuff like articles, memes and videos. But soon the whole school was frequenting the site. News traveled outside the school even, and before they knew it, Smosh was an internet phenomenon. After they graduated, Ian and Anthony chose to keep the website going. Just for fun. And they got some money from merch they would distribute themselves.

One day, they saw that one of their videos was pirated and hosted on some new platform: YouTube. That gave them an idea: why not host all their videos there? It was free after all. Being at the right place at the right time, with the right kind of humor and the right kind of raw talent, Smosh was propelled to be one of the biggest YouTube channels there were. They even became the biggest one. However, with success also comes vultures, ready to take everything from you...

A company introduced themselves to Ian and Anthony and promised them the world: give Smosh to us, and you will only have to worry about making videos. We will take care of everything else. It sounded too good to be true. And sadly, it was. For even though at first, Ian and Anthony had more fun than ever, coming up with bigger and funnier videos than ever, they soon found out they were not in control anymore.

Anthony, who had always fought to stay in control of things; his family, his health, his whole life... it was very hard to see his creation being contorted and mutilated into something he didn't want it to be. And he grew to hate it. That hate spread everywhere, even towards his best friend, who kept trying to tell him "man, let's take the losses and be happy we have this job, we could have still been in Sacramento with nowhere to go."

But Anthony had had it.

"Ian, come with me, let's start a new channel, just the two of us."

"Anthony... I can't. It doesn't make any sense business wise. I know it's not ideal, but please, Anthony, stay?"

After years and years of putting his all into the company, Anthony couldn't do it anymore. He quit Smosh, and a shockwave went through the entire fandom that had built around it.

Smosh was still going. But you see, money and power got involved, and Ian and Anthony had lost sight of each other... they tried to hold on, you could see it clear as day, but they were ripped apart by the greed of the soulless company, which is a tautology, if you think about it.

Both guys were heartbroken. Still sneaking glances at each other, but not able to speak. Too much had happened between them.

And then the company went bankrupt and Smosh was in mortal danger. Ian, who had fought to keep the brand alive ever since Anthony left, fought as hard as he could to find someone to buy it, who wouldn't just sell it off for parts like an old car. Luckily, a YouTuber duo who knew Smosh from afar, stepped in and saved the day. Thanks to them and to Ian, Smosh survived. But was it really still Smosh? What was Smosh if it wasn't Ian and Anthony?

In the meantime, Anthony had rebooted his personal YouTube channel and through trial and error found success. Nothing like Smosh, of course, but impressive nonetheless.

Apart from each other, Ian and Anthony persevered. But they were still heartbroken and in need of something. That something was each other of course. And finally, years later, they met again. And they were both surprised. They had both healed and grown enough to see each other and talk freely, like adults. And they were surprised to see how well they still clicked.

It was like they were the same friends they had been all those years ago, but eve better. The slogan they had come up with all those years, finally rang true again, more than it had ever done. Friendship always wins.

And as they reconnected more and more, one faithful day, one of them said..

"what if we bought Smosh?"

And at that moment, their family was no longer broken, they were reunited and Anthony suddenly had a lot more 'kids' to take care of. But he was so happy, so happy to be with Ian again. He was finally fulfilled.

[bluewren]

14 Days of DA Lovers - Euphoric

Pairing: Sera x Taliesen Lavellan

@14daysdalovers

When I originally wrote Taliesen, she was with Sera but she had so much chemistry with Solas. I wanted to explore that. This was how I envision Taliesen and Sera getting back together, but can see so it causing so many problems for the two of them. I’m glad that they’re both very communicative at this point of DAI. T_T And I cried a little for them when I wrote this piece.

The morning sun creeps up over the mountains, its light slowly creeping into the Inquisitor’s giant room and soon into Sera’s eyes. Never had a sunrise been more beautiful to Sera’s eyes, peaceful enough to be enjoyed for a few minutes and then return back to sleep with a special someone she never thought would have wanted to keep her company.

Taliesen seems so peaceful, taking in little breaths as she dreams the morning away. Well deserved after their hard fought victory. Just one night after their year and a half of fighting ended, no more worrying about another hole in the sky and onto brighter things.

Sera brushes Inky’s bangs away from her sleeping eyes, it now felt so strange for those tattoos to no longer be there. The motion causes her to wake up.

“I hope you slept well,” Taliesen had a weak smile for her chosen bedfellow, still needing to shake off her morning yawn.

Sera had a small bit of shock at the suddenness of Inky waking up. She sighed, she hoped their moment together would have lasted a bit longer. 

“So what now?” she reluctantly asks. Sitting herself up on the bed post, ready to dress and leave if told to. 

“How about you stay?” Taliesen reaches out her hand to hold Sera there. “It’s what I want.”

“Just like that? Stay?” Sera was hesitant at the Inquisitor’s forwardness. Her own want was clear, but she couldn’t be certain of Inky’s. “I didn’t want to be one of your toys. We both deserve better than to have that.”

Before getting out of her bed sheets,Taliesen’s arms were high up in the air to leave her nerves from sleep.

“Who said it had to be just fun?” She wraps her dress shirt around herself for them to have a proper talk. “We both definitely felt that connection.”

“And what of Solas, he wasn’t that long ago,” Sera reminds Inky. Teeth grit, her fingers tucking around the fabric of their bed sheets, balling up her yearning with them. “Not a good idea to give away your heart again so soon.”

“Solas was special to me, that can’t be denied…” Taliesen takes a pause, her eyes flickering about the room looking for a way to organize her thoughts, yet her cluttered room of ancient trinkets, and tools didn’t have the words she needed.

“Always saw those looks you gave him,” Sera reveals, reminded of the bright side of Tali that wanted to explore ruins with Solas. “Never understand what you saw in him,” she admits, a grin formed when she thought Tali’s smile, “didn’t matter, just happy that someone made you smile when everyone else wanted to take so much from you.”

It was true, she still had lots to process after her breakup, things happening so suddenly and with none of his promised answers. No final night spent together working on their separate projects.

But her heart didn’t want to be waiting for moments that’ll never come to her.

She had a brash grin facing Sera, “but that shouldn’t stop us from enjoying ourselves.”

“Your head’s probably still busy, lots to think about, when someone just leaves like that.” Sera turns her eyes towards the sunrise, hoping that it’ll make words come easier. It didn’t, she sighs, “don’t want it to affect us, don’t want it to ruin what we had before.”

“Is it not worth taking a chance on us?” her brows pitch down, hoping for their spark doesn’t fade away. “Dunno that either,” Sera’s gaze defeatedly fell down towards the bed.

“There’s still so many things that I’m still working though but I’d rather not be with my thoughts alone,” she lets her head fall and rests on Sera’s lap, her weight feeling so supported by the other elf.

Even with everything Talisen had felt for Solas, every moment that he made easier, every wary night that Tali could be distracted with Solas. There was never enough room for forgetting and letting her world disappear as she felt when she was near Sera.

“I know it’ll likely not be fair for either of us,” she purses her lips to inhale, readying for a declaration to Sera, “but I want to be with you if you’re willing to let that happen.”

Sera giggles, “that honey tongue of yours is really something, yea?” She grins, letting her finger’s dance on her Inky’s shoulders. “Just whispering sweet whatevers into my ears and I come hopping to you. Not even worrying about what’s two steps in front of me.”

“I got really good at making lofty promises, those pesky nobles rubbed off on me,” Tali’s head with a teasing smile, looks up into Sera’s eyes.

“Pfft. Well that’s not good, innit?” Sera couldn’t help but laugh at the terrible comment that Inky made. “Can’t have that. Ought to clean that mouth of yours.”

Sera picks up Tali’s head off her lap to press a bruising kiss onto Tali’s lips. Even with the taste of barely awake breath and old wine, she couldn’t get enough of them. She wanted their kiss to last an eternity, so as not to have to be bothered by what happens when they finally let go.