#they are mischievous schoolchildren

[indndwnshead]

Amalgamation: Bonus - You + Maknae line

Pairing: Min Yoongi x (f) Reader

Chapter tags: developing relationship, meeting the little bros, surprisingly wise but still baby-est jungkook

Series summary:

Now that you are a permanent fixture in Min Yoongi's life, it's inevitable that you meet the rest of BTS.

Each encounter with the rest of the group becomes a unique thread in the tapestry of life, gradually integrating disparate elements into a harmonious whole and seamlessly weaving into the fabric of your joined world.

A/N: A bonus chapter to celebrate Yoongi's birthday, ft the maknae line. HAPPY BIRTHDAY OUR DEAREST DARLING, OUR YOONIVERSE <3

---

Masterlist. Previous Chapter. Next Chapter.

Also read on: AO3

---

It had become a familiar sight to see you around the agency building, whether it was accompanying Yoongi or hanging out with the other members of BTS. On this particular Tuesday afternoon, you found yourself wandering the hallway outside of Yoongi's studio, feeling a little down after he had to cancel your plans last minute due to a sudden request from the musician he was collaborating with.

As you stood there contemplating your next move, Jungkook suddenly appeared beside you, his eyes bright and mischievous. "Hey, _____, what's wrong?" he asked, noticing the slight downturn of your lips.

You sighed softly. "Oh, it's nothing, Kookie. Just a little disappointed that Yoongi couldn't hang out today."

Jungkook's face immediately lit up with a grin. "Well, how about this? I know a vendor that sells the best hotteok in town. It'll definitely cheer you up! And, remember that promise you made to take me to the movies? I think today's the perfect day to cash in on it!"

Your eyes widened in surprise at Jungkook's suggestion, but you couldn't help but smile at his infectious enthusiasm. "Hotteok and a movie, huh? Sounds like a plan!"

With a mischievous glint in his eye, Jungkook led you to a part of the building you’ve never been in before. He open a door to a room filled with costumes, excitement palpable as he prepared for the adventure ahead. "Time to get creative!" he exclaimed, gesturing for you to join him in selecting disguises.

After donning your 'disguise,' Jungkook led you out of the building through the back entrance, the two of you giggling like schoolchildren escaping your least favorite subject as you embarked on your impromptu outing.

—

Meanwhile, back at the studio, Yoongi couldn't shake off a nagging worry as he tried to focus on his work. Your text message about hanging out with just Jungkook only added to his concern. Thoughts of worst-case scenarios, like paparazzi or overzealous fans, raced through his mind, making it difficult to concentrate.

His anxiety only eased when BTS's manager forwarded him pictures taken by one of Big Hit's bodyguards, who had secretly followed Jungkook and you since you left HYBE's building. The images showed you both laughing and enjoying yourselves, seemingly oblivious to the discreet surveillance. A smile tugged at Yoongi's lips as he admired your adorable disguises in the photos.

He quickly texted the manager back, asking him to contact the theatre where he knew Jungkook often went. Remembering the movie you had mentioned Jungkook booking tickets for, Yoongi instructed the manager to secure the theatre for your scheduled showtime and the ones before and after yours, just to be safe.

Relieved when the manager confirmed the arrangements, Yoongi refocused on his work, determined to finish up before nightfall so he could welcome you and Jungkook home with a sense of relief and peace of mind

—

Meanwhile, as you and Jungkook indulged in hotteok and laughter, you marveled at the simple joy of the moment. The warmth of the hotteok and the company of your friend lifted your spirits, filling the air with infectious laughter and carefree chatter.

"How's the hotteok?" Jungkook asked, a playful twinkle in his eye.

With a grin, you gave him a thumbs up. "Amazing! You'll have to share more of these vendors with me, Kook-ah."

Jungkook chuckled, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Why spoil the fun? I'll take you to my secret places myself too," he replied with a grin.

After indulging in your cravings, Jungkook led you to a nearby cinema where he had already booked the tickets. As you both entered the surprisingly empty VIP lounge, you couldn't help but express your surprise. "I didn't expect it to be this empty," you remarked aloud.

Jungkook gave a nonchalant shrug, but a faint frown betrayed his thoughts. "This is where Jiminie hyung, Taehyungie hyung, and I usually go," he explained.

You chose a seat in the corner of the room, strategically positioned so you faced the entrance while Jungkook sat opposite you, away from the view. It was a precautionary measure; while not everyone would recognize you, Jungkook's international fame made him more easily recognizable.

"So, how's everything with Yoongi-hyung?" Jungkook's suddenly asked in a gentle voice, his eyes holding a genuine concern as he leaned in slightly, as if to share a private moment with you.

Feeling a soft tug at your heart, you let out a soft sigh, allowing yourself to open up about the worries that had been weighing on your mind. "It's good, really good," you began, your voice a gentle whisper amidst the quiet hum of the studio. "But sometimes I worry about him, you know? He works so hard, and I just want to make sure he's taking care of himself."

With a reassuring nod, Jungkook offered a comforting smile that reached his eyes. "I get it. Hyung has always been a workaholic, and we used to worry about him a lot too," he confessed, his tone soft yet reassuring. "But he knows his own limits now, so we just let him be."

Your heart softened at his understanding, feeling a sense of kinship in his words. "I know," you murmured, a hint of longing in your voice. "But sometimes I can’t help but worry, especially when he gets lost in his work for days on end."

Jungkook's playful grin appeared, a mischievous glint dancing in his eyes as he leaned in closer. "Well, if it ever comes to that, I'll be more than ready to break his studio door down for you," he teased, his voice laced with playful determination.

A soft laugh bubbled from your lips at the mental image, a warmth spreading through your chest at his playful offer. "As much as I appreciate the gesture, I don’t want him to feel annoyed by my worrying," you confessed, your voice tinged with concern. "He already has enough on his plate to deal with."

"Hey, don't say that," he interjected gently, his eyes meeting yours with unwavering sincerity. "He's lucky to have you looking out for him, noona." A playful glint returned to his eyes, a hint of mischief dancing in their depths. "And let me tell you, the first time you went away to shoot overseas, hyung was like a moody teenager all over again. Reminded me of our early debut years a little."

Amusement flickered in your eyes at the image he painted, a soft smile gracing your lips. "Was it really that bad?"

Jungkook chuckled softly, a fondness evident in his voice as he reminisced. "Oh, it was worse," he admitted, a playful twinkle in his eyes. "He was glued to his phone, hoping for a message from you. We could always tell when he got one because there would be this small smile on his face."

A faint blush dusted your cheeks at the revelation, a warmth spreading through your chest at the thought of Yoongi's fondness for you. "You know," Jungkook continued, his voice taking on a sincere tone, "Hyung has mellowed out a lot over the years, but I never thought I'd see him like this."

"Like what?" you asked softly, curiosity lacing your words as you met Jungkook's gaze.

"In love," he replied simply, his eyes holding a depth of emotion that spoke volumes. "And it's a beautiful thing."

A shy smile tugged at your lips, touched by Jungkook's heartfelt words. "You don't think I'm too far below his level?" you asked hesitantly, a hint of insecurity creeping into your voice. "I mean, I'm just an unknown actress compared to you guys."

Jungkook's eyes softened, a gentle reassurance shining in their depths as he reached out to offer you comfort. "Noona, you're not just an unknown actress," he said earnestly, his voice filled with warmth and sincerity. "You're someone who makes hyung happy, and that's all that matters to us. Yoongi-hyung knows what he wants in life, and he's always been the type to go after what he wants. He chose you, noona. That means he's sure of you, and he wants you to stay."

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, moved by Jungkook's heartfelt words. "Thank you, Kookie," you whispered softly, feeling a weight lift from your shoulders as his words filled you with a sense of belonging. "That means more than you know."

A gentle smile graced Jungkook's lips, his eyes reflecting a silent understanding that seemed to bridge the gap between you. In that moment, as the warmth of his presence enveloped you, you couldn't help but feel a sense of ease wash over you.

You weren't sure what had prompted you to share your feelings with him. Perhaps it was the fact that he was the closest to you in age, or maybe it was the ease with which he listened, his comforting presence feeling like a balm to your worries. Whatever the reason, talking to him felt natural, as though you were confiding in a trusted friend.

As you exchanged words, memories of the anecdotes Yoongi had shared about Jungkook and the rest of the members raising him as the youngest flooded your mind. You couldn't help but marvel at how well Jungkook had grown, thanks to the guidance and support of his older brothers. It was evident in moments like these, where his wisdom and empathy shone through, that he had truly blossomed into someone remarkable.

The sound of approaching footsteps jolted you out of your conversation with Jungkook, causing you to tense up instinctively. However, your anxiety melted away when familiar faces rounded the corner, their presence bringing a sense of comfort and familiarity.

With his signature eye smile, Jimin greeted you both warmly, while Tae's distinctive mop of hair made him easily recognizable from a distance. Jungkook's face lit up with delight as he ran to them, enveloping both guys in a tight hug. "Jiminie! Taehyungie! What are you doing here?"

Jimin and Tae exchanged a secretive glance over Jungkook's head, a mischievous twinkle in their eyes. "Let's just say we heard some interesting things from a certain someone," Jimin replied with a sly grin, refusing to elaborate further.

You raised an eyebrow at their cryptic response, but before you could inquire further, Tae flashed you a charming smile that could disarm anyone. "Hey, Cherie," he greeted you warmly, taking a seat next to you.

"Hey, Tae," you replied, unable to shake off the feeling that something was amiss.

Sensing your curiosity, Tae leaned in slightly, his expression earnest. "Don't worry about it," he reassured you softly.

"So, how's your day been going?" Tae asked, his voice soft yet filled with genuine interest.

You couldn't help but smile at his genuine concern. "It's been good, just a little unexpected twist in plans," you replied, casting a glance at Jungkook, who was still engaged in an animated conversation with Jimin.

Understandingly, Tae nodded, his eyes reflecting a profound empathy. "Well, sometimes those twists lead to the best adventures."

Before you could respond, Jimin rejoined the conversation with his trademark charm, shifting the topic to your day's events. Jungkook, with the enthusiasm of the youngest sibling, eagerly filled them in on the impromptu hotteok adventure, the movie escapade, and the plan to have dinner at Yoongi's later tonight.

Jimin listened attentively, his grin never fading as he absorbed every detail. "Sounds like you guys had a blast," he remarked with a playful tone, "Prepare to have more fun as we two join this plan of yours."

—

When you and the boys returned to Yoongi's apartment after the movie, you were greeted by the comforting sight of Yoongi waiting for you, a warm smile on his face. He had food delivered so all of you could enjoy a cozy night in together, and you couldn't help but feel overwhelmed with love and gratitude for this relatively new part of your life.

As the night wore on and a few rounds of drinks were had, you were a little more than tipsy and had been clinging to Yoongi more openly than usual. One of his arms seemed permanently glued around your body, and Jimin couldn't help but playfully complain about your newfound PDA.

"You guys are being disgustingly sweet now," Jimin teased, his eyes sparkling with amusement.

Yoongi chuckled in response, "Blame it on her, she’s a clingy drunk," he said, but he pulled you even closer, pressing a tender kiss to your temple. You playfully swatted him away, fully aware of the fake gagging noises Jungkook made in the background.

“I am not!” you denied vehemently, only to snuggle closer to your boyfriend immediately after, trying to find your comfy spot.

Tae couldn't hold back his laughter, adding a light-hearted touch to the moment.

Later, when you had drifted off to sleep in Yoongi's embrace on the couch, Tae seized the opportunity to initiate a heart-to-heart conversation among the guys. "I just wanted to say, hyung, that I'm really happy for you. It's amazing to see how Cherie has brought out this new side of you."

“Love looks good on you, hyung,” Jungkook chimed in with a playful grin.

Jimin sighed wistfully, “Out of all of us, who would have ever thought you would be the first hyung?” He glanced at the way Yoongi’s eyes were trained on your sleeping face, a genuine smile breaking out on his own. “Kookie is right; love indeed looks good on you, Hyung. And thank God, Cherie’s genuinely a good person.”

Yoongi listened intently, feeling a swell of love and gratitude for their support. He looked down at your sleeping figure, a shy smile on his face. "She’s the missing piece I never thought I needed."

Jungkook suddenly slammed his glass down, taking the room’s full attention. He narrowed his eyes and pointed at Yoongi with a knowing smile on his lips, “Don’t think I didn’t recognize the men following us around and the empty movie theatre.”

Jimin and Tae burst into laughter.

“Ah, yeah, that’s how I found out, actually,” Jimin admitted to Jungkook. “I overheard our manager instructing the staff to rent out our usual theater.”

Taehyung nodded, “I asked around with the cordi noonas; they were pissed that you had stolen a few pieces for you and Cherie. Jiminie and I figured the theatre was for you guys.”

“And the one making the request must be none other than our resident lover boy,” Jimin added, a twinkle and amusement in his eyes as he sent Yoongi a knowing look.

“She doesn’t need to know,” Yoongi said, his lips forming the all too familiar self-reassured smile.

[billpottsismygf]

Just rewatched Space Babies and it's even better the second time around. I liked it before, but I appreciate its campness a lot more now and I've got sort of used to the CGI mouths on the babies. I actually found the babies quite adorable this time, as well as Ruby and the Doctor's reactions to them.

It even got me to cry not once, but twice! First at the "no one grows up wrong" conversation and then at the climax with the Doctor rescuing the Bogeyman and Ruby hugging Jocelyn. There's a really strong emotional core to the story, despite its silly exterior, which is something I've always loved RTD for.

Ncuti Gatwa is just electric as the Doctor. I've loved him from the moment he stepped out the side of David Tennant, but the more I see him the more I think he's going to be a legendary Doctor. He has such a very particular energy. It's all his own, but it's also so completely the Doctor. At certain moments, his off the wall bonkersness will remind me of Tom Baker or David Tennant, but most of the time it's just pure Ncuti Gatwa and I absolutely love it.

His mischievous moments, like when Ruby gets gunk in her hair or when he frightens the space babies, are especially enjoyable. I love when the Doctor is mischievous! I can't think of any modern Doctors who have really embodied that so well. It's giving me William Hartnell giggling at every single thing that happens, but in completely his own way. I just love him very much. What truly brilliant casting. I can already tell he's going to be rocketing up my list of favourite Doctors. He's already my favourite since Twelve (who is my number 1), and I suspect he might eclipse, or at least level with, Ten as well.

His dynamic with Ruby is also so good. He and Millie Gibson have great chemistry and I love when the Doctor/Companion relationship is so clearly best friends energy. It's a different kind of best friend energy than, say, Ten/Fourteen and Donna. These two are much more like naughty schoolchildren who the teacher keeps having to tell off, which is definitely in part due to their age, but also just the way they're playing it.

Anyway, despite some issues here and there, I am now feeling very optimistic about this new era of the show!

[songbirdseung]

prada / en- all members

you as the 8th member / different scenario per member

Heeseung

The Prada fashion show after party in Milan was a glamorous affair, with celebrities, fashion icons, and music sensations from around the world gathered under the glittering lights of an upscale venue. ENHYPEN had been invited to the exclusive event, a testament to their growing global popularity.

As the night progressed, Heeseung and Y/N found themselves at the bar, sipping on cocktails and engaging in lively conversations. The music thumped in the background, and the party was in full swing. Heeseung's charming smile and Y/N's radiant presence drew attention from fellow partygoers, and they soon found themselves in a circle of new acquaintances.

The drinks flowed freely, and the atmosphere grew more relaxed. Heeseung and Y/N continued to enjoy themselves, their laughter filling the air as they shared stories and jokes with their newfound friends. The alcohol began to take its toll, and their cheeks flushed with the telltale signs of the 'Asian flush.'

Amidst the laughter and the lively chatter, Heeseung leaned in closer to Y/N, his voice slightly slurred. "You know," he said with a mischievous grin, "I think the fashion world might not be ready for us."

Y/N giggled in response, her own words carrying a playful edge. "I agree, Heeseung. We'd steal the spotlight wherever we go!"

Their banter continued, becoming more animated as the night wore on. It wasn't long before their playful antics caught the eye of those around them. Cameras and smartphones were discreetly pointed in their direction, capturing the candid moments of Heeseung and Y/N's tipsy camaraderie.

As the party began to wind down, Heeseung and Y/N decided it was time to make their exit. They linked arms and stumbled out of the venue, still giggling like mischievous schoolchildren. The cool Milan air hit them, and they both gasped, sobering up slightly as they tried to navigate their way back to their hotel.

Despite their attempts to keep a low profile, the fans who had attended the fashion show recognized the pair. Social media was abuzz with cute and funny posts of Heeseung and Y/N, their flushed faces and laughter captured in the videos that fans had taken discreetly.

One fan posted a video with the caption, "Heeseung and Y/N bringing the party vibes to Milan! 🎉💃🍹 #AsianFlushGoals." Another fan tweeted, "Heeseung and Y/N leaving the Prada party like they just won the night! 😂🥂 #MilanAdventures."

Heeseung and Y/N were oblivious to the online buzz they were creating as they navigated the streets of Milan, their faces still flushed with merriment. They knew that they had just shared a memorable and fun-filled night, and the laughter they had shared under the Milanese moonlight would be a cherished memory for years to come.

Jay

Milan's iconic Prada store was abuzz with excitement as ENHYPEN, the global K-pop sensation, graced the city as ambassadors for the renowned fashion brand. Fans from all over the world had gathered outside the store, hoping to catch a glimpse of their favorite idols and show their support.

Jay and Y/N, both known for their impeccable fashion sense, were especially excited about their visit. They were dressed in stylish Prada ensembles that turned heads as they made their way to the store entrance. The fans, respectful of their boundaries, kept a safe distance while keeping their cameras ready to capture every moment.

As Jay and Y/N approached the entrance, Y/N couldn't help but smile at the dedicated fans who had come to see them. She waved and greeted them warmly, "Hello, everyone! Thank you for coming to see us. We're so happy to be here in Milan with Prada!"

The fans cheered and snapped photos, their excitement palpable. Y/N's graciousness endeared her even more to the crowd. Jay, standing beside her, also acknowledged the fans with a friendly nod and a wave.

Once inside the Prada store, the fans continued to observe from a distance, respecting the privacy of the idols as they explored the latest collections. Jay and Y/N moved through the racks of designer clothing, their laughter and animated discussions filling the air.

The fans couldn't help but notice how close Jay and Y/N seemed to be. They shopped together with an easy familiarity, exchanging opinions on fashion pieces and playfully teasing each other about their choices. Jay's arm was draped casually over Y/N's shoulder as they browsed, creating an affectionate and stylish image.

Eager to share their admiration for the idols, the fans discreetly took videos and photos, capturing moments of Jay and Y/N's shopping adventure. They were impressed not only by the idols' fashion sense but also by their genuine friendship and camaraderie.

One fan posted a video on social media with the caption, "Jay and Y/N taking over Prada like the fashion icons they are! 💫✨ #PradaAmbassadors #MilanFashion." Another fan shared a photo of the pair trying on sunglasses, writing, "Jay and Y/N looking effortlessly cool and adorable at the same time. We stan this fashionable ship! 💖🕶️ #ENHYPEN."

Jake

The Prada fashion show red carpet was a dazzling affair, with camera flashes illuminating the night as celebrities and fashion icons from around the world made their grand entrance. ENHYPEN, the global K-pop sensation, was no exception.

As the members of ENHYPEN made their way down the red carpet, the cameras clicked incessantly, capturing their stylish ensembles and charismatic presence. Y/N, a multi-talented member of the group and known for her stunning beauty, was particularly radiant that evening. Her elegant Prada outfit highlighted her grace and sophistication.

Amidst the commotion, Y/N was briefly separated from the group and was directed by the photographers to pose for solo shots. The fans, who were present to support ENHYPEN, couldn't help but notice Jake's admiring gaze as he watched Y/N from a distance.

Jake had always been close to Y/N, and their friendship was a special bond within the group. He admired not only her beauty but also her talent and warm personality. As Y/N posed for the solo shots, Jake couldn't hide his smile and the look of genuine admiration in his eyes.

Eagle-eyed fans in the crowd noticed Jake's reactions, and their hearts melted at the sight of his affectionate gaze. They quickly captured the moments on their smartphones and began sharing them on social media. Posts with captions like "Jake's heart eyes for Y/N on the red carpet!" and "Jake, are you in love?" started flooding Twitter and Instagram.

As Y/N rejoined the group after her solo shots, ENHYPEN stood together for group photos. The fans, who had been eagerly waiting for this moment, started chanting the names of their favorite members. Amid the chants, some fans began shouting for Jake to stand next to Y/N.

"Jake and Y/N! Jake and Y/N!" they cheered, their voices ringing through the night air.

The photographers, sensing the fans' enthusiasm, decided to honor their request. Jake, with a sheepish but happy grin, moved closer to Y/N, and they stood side by side for the group photos. The fans erupted in cheers and applause, capturing the heartwarming moment on their cameras.

Sunghoon

The anticipation in the air was palpable as ENHYPEN took their seats in the front row of the Prada fashion show. Sunghoon, in particular, was unusually fidgety as he eagerly waited for the show to begin.

As the lights dimmed and the music started, the models began strutting down the runway in Prada's stunning creations. But Sunghoon's attention was elsewhere. He couldn't help but steal glances at Y/N, who was seated beside him. Her grace and beauty had always captivated him, and tonight, she looked more breathtaking than ever.

Throughout the moments leading up to the show, Sunghoon couldn't resist the urge to subtly nudge Y/N, asking her to sit next to him. He tried to be discreet about it, but the other members weren't fooled. They exchanged knowing looks and amused smirks as Sunghoon persisted.

Jake leaned over and whispered teasingly to Sunghoon, "Sunghoon, you've got a crush on Y/N, don't you?"

Sunghoon's eyes widened, and he blushed furiously. He stammered, "N-No, I don't! I just… wanted to talk to her about the show, that's all."

Sunoo, who was sitting on Y/N's other side, chimed in with a playful grin. "Oh, Sunghoon, don't be shy. It's okay to have a crush."

The members' teasing continued, with Ni-Ki and Jungwon joining in on the fun. They whispered conspiratorially, pretending to be discreet but knowing full well that their antics were drawing attention.

Meanwhile, Prada's official accounts and HYBE's social media team were busy capturing moments from the front row. They posted a video of the members in their stylish Prada outfits, but the video had no sound. The fans, however, were quick to notice something interesting – they could read the members' lips.

Fans started sharing clips of the video with subtitles, revealing Sunghoon's playful attempts to get Y/N to sit closer. The captions read, "Sunghoon wants Y/N by his side, and we're here for it!" and "The not-so-secret crush is real!"

As the Prada fashion show continued, fans couldn't help but celebrate the endearing interactions between Sunghoon and Y/N. Their playful banter and Sunghoon's subtle attempts to get closer to his crush added an extra layer of excitement to the event.

Sunoo

The fans had gathered in droves, eagerly waiting for a glimpse of their favorite idols and the chance to capture the perfect shot on their cameras and smartphones.

Y/N, known for her stunning beauty and charisma, was a particular magnet for attention. As she gracefully posed for photos and interviews, the fans couldn't get enough. Cameras flashed relentlessly, and the sound of excited cheers filled the air.

Sunoo, always quick to notice the fans' reactions, couldn't resist the opportunity for some playful teasing. He decided to have a little fun and block the fans' view of Y/N.

With a mischievous grin, Sunoo stepped forward, extending his arms as if to shield Y/N from the cameras and fans. He playfully declared, "Y/N is mine, everyone! Back off!"

The fans, caught off guard by Sunoo's unexpected declaration, burst into laughter. Sunoo's confident and playful attitude had taken them by surprise, and they couldn't help but find it endearing.

Y/N, standing beside Sunoo, chuckled at his antics. She leaned in and whispered, "You're such a charmer, Sunoo."

Sunoo winked at her and replied, "Just doing my duty, Y/N."

The fans, who had managed to capture Sunoo's playful moment on camera, quickly shared the videos and photos on social media. Their captions ranged from "Sunoo the Protector" to "Sunoo's declaration of love for Y/N." It was all in good fun, and the fans appreciated the light-heartedness of the moment.

As the red carpet event continued, Sunoo couldn't help but bask in the laughter and positivity his playful teasing had generated.

Jungwon

The luxurious hotel room was a whirlwind of activity as ENHYPEN prepared for their attendance at the Prada fashion show, where they were invited as ambassadors. Stylists, makeup artists, and hairdressers bustled about, ensuring the members looked their absolute best for the prestigious event.

Y/N, seated in front of a well-lit makeup mirror, was in the midst of her transformation. The makeup artist carefully applied makeup, enhancing her natural beauty, while the hairstylist worked on her hair, creating an elegant yet effortless look.

Jungwon, who was sitting nearby, couldn't help but watch in awe as Y/N underwent her makeover. He leaned closer, whispering compliments to her. "Wow, Y/N, you look stunning. Prada should consider making you their new muse."

Y/N blushed at the praise, a soft smile gracing her lips. "Thank you, Jungwon. You're too kind."

The other members, who were also getting ready in the room, couldn't help but notice Jungwon's admiration for Y/N. They exchanged playful glances and knowing smiles, deciding to join in on the fun.

Sunghoon, with a teasing grin, pretended to gasp dramatically. "Jungwon, are you sure you're not secretly in love with Y/N?"

Jake chimed in, "Yeah, Jungwon, you're looking at her like she's the most beautiful person in the world."

Jungwon's face turned several shades of red as he stammered, "N-No, it's not like that! I'm just appreciating her beauty as a fellow member."

Jay added with a sly wink, "Well, Jungwon, I've heard that sometimes friendships can turn into something more."

Y/N, who had been blushing throughout the playful banter, couldn't help but giggle at the members' antics. She looked at Jungwon and said, "Don't worry, Jungwon. I appreciate the compliments, and I'm just glad to have such wonderful friends."

Ni-ki

The Prada fashion show had been an incredible experience, and the members of ENHYPEN had watched the event from the front row with awe. The stunning designs, the elegant models, and the electrifying atmosphere had left them all deeply impressed.

As the show concluded, the members joined the other celebrities and fashion designers in taking pictures and engaging in short, friendly conversations. Ni-Ki and Y/N, in particular, drew attention from the fashion industry luminaries.

One renowned fashion designer approached them, a smile on his face. "You two have such a striking presence," he said. "Have you ever considered modeling? You would be perfect for the runway."

Y/N blushed at the compliment, and Ni-Ki, ever humble, replied, "Thank you so much. We're musicians, but we appreciate the compliment."

As they continued mingling, more celebrities and designers echoed similar sentiments, suggesting that Ni-Ki and Y/N should explore modeling opportunities in the future. The members of ENHYPEN couldn't help but feel proud of their fellow members' effortless charm and style.

Back in their hotel room, the rest of the members couldn't resist poking fun at Ni-Ki and Y/N. Sunghoon raised an eyebrow with a mischievous grin. "So, Ni-Ki and Y/N, should we start calling you 'models' now?"

Jake joined in with a playful laugh. "Yeah, I can see it now. 'ENHYPEN: K-pop idols turned fashion icons.'"

Jay added, "I guess we'll have to hire personal stylists and photographers for them."

Ni-Ki and Y/N exchanged amused glances before breaking into laughter. Y/N playfully retorted, "Well, if we ever become models, we'll expect all of you to be our biggest fans!"

Jungwon chimed in with a teasing tone, "We'll be at all your fashion shows, front row, of course!"

[tornadoyoungiron]

TRAINTOBER | Day 22 - Top Hat

Some kids make fun of Sir Topham Hatt IV's hat. Thomas and Percy discuss plans.

~~~

“Why do you wear that hat?” 

Sir Topham Hatt turned to look down and saw a group of schoolchildren gathered on the platform as they waited for their train to school.

“Ah yes well it looks rather dashing don’t you think?” Sir Topham blustered but one of the little girls laughed.

“No it looks stupid,” she sneered.

“Nobody wears top hats anymore!” Her friend jeered and they all laughed at him.

On the inside, the Railway Controller felt disheartened and deeply hurt. He went to scold the children but they had turned and ran off as they saw Thomas slowly coming onto the platform with their train.

“Is something wrong sir?” Thomas asked as he saw the disheartened look on the Controller’s face. “Sir?”

He didn’t get a response however as the man turned his heel and walked back into his office without another word.

Thomas frowned. He gazed back at the platform at the bunch of kids that were gathered in a group and were giggling to themselves, their gaze towards the man’s office.

~~~ 

“Some kids bullied Sir Topham Hatt this morning, the stationmaster saw them,” Thomas informed Percy as he returned to Ffarqhar station. 

“Snotty little animals,” Percy scoffed. “What should we do?”

“I’m not sure, but I think my driver has a few ideas,” Thomas grinned. “We should get the Fat Controller in on it too, I think he’ll enjoy it!”

Percy sniggered to himself and the two tank engines tittered to themselves mischievously.

~~~

Later that day when the children returned from school, they were met with a surprise. Everyone at the station was now wearing top hats, even the woman.

“Stacy look! Everyone’s wearing top hats now!”

“That’s stupid! Why is everyone being stupid!” The girl huffed and went to exit the train. She was stopped by the guard.

“Sorry ma’am, you’re only allowed on the platform’s while wearing Top Hats,” The guard politely informed them as she held a stack of hats out to them.

“I’m not wearing that!” Stacy scoffed but the boy behind her instantly grabbed one and put it on his head delighted. 

“Speak for yourself, this is cool!” He cried and practically leapt off the train with a childish giggle. His friends followed suit until Stacy was the only one left, standing there with a sour look on her face. 

“This is stupid,” she scoffed but hesitantly took it and followed her friend out on to the platform. 

The group of children were all gandering around at the milling travellers on the station.

“It’s like we’ve travelled back in time!” A boy shrilly exclaimed as he trembled with excitement.

“Haha maybe you have!” Came the booming voice of Sir Topham Hatt. 

The kids turned to look at the man who had a jolly grin on his face. The kids looked guilty now.

“We’re sorry for making fun of your hat sir,” Stacy conceded and the man chuckled. 

“That’s alright young one,” he chortled. “But make sure that it doesn’t happen to me or to anyone else, alright?”

“Yes sir!” They chorused.

Over on the tracks, a blue E2 tank engine and a little green saddle tank exchanged a glance with their controller who winked at them and they both giggled among themselves.

~~~

[cloudyzues]

Prompt: magic

@wolfstarmicrofic Word count: 538

It was the first time that Remus Lupin had ever felt so alive. He had been friends with Sirius Black for years, but it was only recently that he had come to realize that his feelings for the other man went beyond mere friendship.

It had been a magical evening, one that had started with a walk under the stars and ended with Remus and Sirius standing close to each other, their eyes locked in an intense gaze. Remus had leaned in and kissed Sirius, tentative at first, but then with increasing passion. He felt like he was floating on air, his heart full of joy and his body humming with desire.

As they parted, Sirius looked at him with wonder in his eyes. "Remus, I had no idea. I mean, I hoped, but I never thought…"

"I know," Remus said, feeling the heat rise in his cheeks. "I've been such a fool, Sirius. I should have told you ages ago."

Sirius grinned at him. "Well, you're making up for it now, my love." He reached for Remus' hand, and they walked back to Hogwarts, their fingers intertwined.

The castle was quiet as they made their way to the Gryffindor common room, and Remus felt like he was in a dream. He had been so worried that Sirius would reject him, but now he felt like he had everything he had ever wanted.

As they reached the portrait of the Fat Lady, Sirius turned to him with a mischievous glint in his eye. "You know, Moony, we should celebrate. Why don't we sneak into the kitchen and raid the pantry?"

Remus laughed. "Are you sure that's a good idea? We could get caught."

Sirius just grinned at him. "Oh, come on, where's your sense of adventure?"

With a shrug, Remus followed Sirius as they made their way to the kitchen, giggling like schoolchildren. Once there, they found an assortment of cakes and pastries, and they sat on the floor, stuffing their faces and chatting about everything and nothing.

It was during this conversation that Sirius mentioned that he had always wanted to learn how to fly without a broomstick. Remus raised an eyebrow. "You mean like levitating?"

Sirius nodded eagerly. "Exactly! I've heard that some wizards can do it, but I've never been able to figure it out."

Remus thought for a moment. "Well, I do know a few tricks. Maybe I could show you?"

Sirius' eyes lit up. "Really? That would be amazing, Moony!"

They spent the rest of the night experimenting with different spells, laughing and joking and feeling like there was nothing they couldn't do. Remus had never felt so free, so unburdened by the weight of his condition. With Sirius by his side, he felt like he could conquer the world.

As the night wore on, they finally collapsed onto the floor, exhausted but exhilarated. Sirius turned to him, his eyes shining in the moonlight. "Remus, I just want you to know…you mean everything to me. I've loved you for so long, and I never thought I'd have the chance to tell you."

Remus felt a lump form in his throat. "Sirius, I love you too. You make me feel like I'm magic."

Sirius leaned in and kissed him, softly at first, but then with increasing passion. They wrapped their arms around each other, lost in the moment, lost in the magic of their love.

And as they lay there, Remus knew that he had finally found his home

[thefearandwonder]

Psychopunk: Only Cancer is Immortal

Chapter 8 Excerpt:

Trip offered her a thin smile. “You wouldn’t be the first person to mistrust PRISMA – some people in Syndicate even think the whole corporation’s central leadership is an elaborate deepfake meant to cover up a fairy cabal.”

“A what the fuck?”

“Fairies are spirits that live in computers. Most of the ones that live alongside us in Syndicate are helpful spirits, but some can be mischievous. My mother was a gijutsu-miko, she used to do exorcisms for people who got malicious fairies in their heads.”

Trip remembered his mother especially by the simple circle tattoos on her hands, the inked lines on her finger bones and chin, and the way her flowing sleeves would flicker the candles in a given room. The thought made his heart ache. He had not considered her for years.

“I remember,” he said, feeling far away from that dingy bus ride. “I remember one time when she had to connect her mind to a fisherman’s. He was an old man with legacy tech from the twenty-odds, and it was blackwalled, too – nothing going in or out, so his onboard fairies had turned strange. He’d take the jellyfish from his catch and just… throw them at schoolchildren while shouting in a language no one understood. Only happened once or twice in town, but it was enough to get the gijutsu-miko involved. She had to stay connected with him for a full day, and the only way she got him to comply was by drugging his bukubuku tea with valium. Eventually she got the fairy to stop believing in its own existence, but that took the old man’s oldest friend out of his head; he no longer hallucinated the fairy in his episodes and felt empty. A few weeks later he tied a tire to his neck and threw himself off of his boat into the harbor. My mother said she’d never use the ‘solipsistic hallucination’ ever again on a fairy.”

Mote’s eyes were wide and her face was as flat as it was mute. “… um, what?”

“Sorry. Uh… Gijutsu-miko are important in Syndicate. They go by many names, depending on the culture. Broadly, they’re just called psychopunks.”

“No offense to your culture or anything,” said Mote. “But the more you talk about it the more ratdick insane you sound.”

[whitepolaris]

Robert the Doll

by Scott A. Johnson

A child of ten awakens in the middle of the night and finds one of his favorite toys, a stuffed doll, staring at him form the foot of his bed. There is something unnatural about its glassy eyes, its expressionless face. It sits piercing the child with its gaze, somehow threatening. For no reason he can understand, the child is paralyzed with fear.

Across the house, the child's mother is awakened by her son's screams and sounds of furniture being overturned. Rushing panic-stricken to his room, she finds the door locked. On the other side of the door, she can hear the sounds of chaos and giggling, broken only by the screams of her son calling out to her. When at least she wrenches the door open, she finds her son still huddled in his bed, his room wrecked, and the doll sitting at the foot of his bed. "Robert did it," says the boy in a frightened whisper.

Friend or Foe?

It's not uncommon for children to have imaginary friends. Often a mischievous child will blame some wrongdoing on a spectral presence or a favorite doll, a claim parents usually attribute to an overactive imagination. But what happens when the doll begins to torment the child and terrorize anyone else who lives in the house? Such is the strange case of Robert, the evil doll of Key West, Florida.

A well-off man named Thomas Otto and his wife built the structure known now as the Artist House in 1898. By many accounts they were abusive to their servants. One serving girl who'd been badly mistreated and was apparently versed in the arts of voodoo gave their son, Robert Eugene Otto (called Gene by his friends), a straw doll that stood about three feet tall and was dressed in a crisp sailor suit; in a finishing touch, the doll clutched a stuffed lion.

The doll would be Gene's companion and friend throughout his childhood. Gene gave it his first name, Robert, and took him along everywhere. It is said that Gene's parents often heard him upstairs talking to the doll and answering in an entirely different voice.

Strange mishaps began to occur as misfortunes befell the family, and always Gene would appear, holding the doll and proclaiming, "Robert did it." While to outside eyes the spilled paint or uprooted shrubbery would be the work of a rambunctious child, close friends of the family agreed that it was in fact the doll that was somehow to blame. Many claimed to hear giggling coming from the doll or to have a caught glimpse of him running up the steps or staring out the turret-room window.

When his parents died and Gene inherited, he discovered Robert again in the attic. Almost from the moment Gene laid eyes on him again, he could feel Robert's influence. His wife found the doll unsettling, insisting she'd seen the expression on its face change-but Gene would hear none of it. When his wife locked the doll back in the attic, Gene flew in a rage, shouting that Robert needed a room of his own where he could see the street. It wasn't long before Gene's sanity came into question.

After a number of inexplicable occurrences, Gene decided to put Robert back in the attic. Robert, it seemed, had other plans. Dinner guests could hear something walking back and forth in the attic, even though no one was up there. Several times, demonic giggling interrupted a quiet evening.

Even the other residents of Key West knew about Robert and his evil habits. More than once it was reported that the doll watched passersby and mocked schoolchildren from the window of the turret room. On one occasion, Gene insisted that Robert was in the attic and was surprised to find him in the rocking chair by the turret-room window. He grabbed the doll and took it back to the attic, only to find it reseated in the rocking chair when he came back down.

When Gene Otto died in 1972, many locals thought that Robert's misdeeds would cease. Evil, however, never dies. Robert waited patiently until another family bought the house. When the ten-year-old daughter found Robert in the attic, she claimed him for her own. In the process, she unleased hell, and the girl swore to her parents that the doll had tortured her. Now, more than thirty years later, the still traumatized woman steadfastly claims that the doll was alive and wanted to kill her.

While evil doll stories aren't uncommon, the case of Robert is unique in that so many people claim to have witnessed his shenanigans firsthand. Visitors report they have seen his expression change into a menacing smirk, and a plumber once fled from the house swearing that he heard the doll giggle.

Robert isn't the only restless soul associated with the Artist House. When Robert was finally removed, it is said that Anne, Gene Otto's late wife, took up residence in the turret room to guard against the little monster's return.

Robert as Museum Piece

Today, Robert lives comfortably in a glass case at Key West's Fort East Martello Museum. Visitors are welcome to see him, though taking pictures has proven to be difficult. Cameras tend to stop working when pointed at the doll, only to resume normal function outside the museum walls. The Artist House too, is open to the public, having been turned into a bed and breakfast. Visitors who stay in either the turret or attic rooms often report strange occurrences and sounds, as though someone is pacing the floor or watching them while they sleep. The staff just smiles and nods, knowing that it's actually Anne standing guard.

Robert, still dressed in his white sailor suit and clutching his stuffed lion, has also reportedly pulled pranks aplenty on those who care for him. A museum employee once cleaned Robert and left for the evening, locking the doors behind him and shutting off the lights. When he arrived the next day, several lights, including the one near Robert's case, were on. Also, Robert positioned differently than when the employee last saw him; stranger still, the bottoms of Robert's shoes were coated in fresh dust as though he'd been walking around the museum. More than once, employees have reported hearing a sound of someone tapping on glass as they pass Robert's case. When they turned to look, Robert's hand was pressed against the glass.

Though Robert receives visitors year-round, the museum staff recommends that you introduce yourself during the month of October, when Robert is taken from the Martello Museum and housed in the historic Custom House a few blocks down. October is said to be the time is most active, and the employees leave a bag of peppermints in his case to cajole him into behaving. They swear that many of the candies are gone the next morning.

[pocketgalaxies]

audio: matt describing an ominous city of undead dwarves

[bradshawsbaby]

A Glimpse of Them

Pairings: Rooster x Wife!Reader, Goose x Carole, Maverick x Penny

Author’s Note: Inspired by this absolutely precious Anon request, as well as my great love for the iconic Goose and Carole Bradshaw.

Warnings: Super fluffy fluff, as well as a little bit of angst that comes from missing the people you love.

From the very beginning, Maverick knew that you and Bradley were meant to be.

How?

Because every time he looked at the two of you, he saw them.

It caught him off guard, the first time it happened. You were all at the beach, enjoying a barbeque Penny was hosting at The Hard Deck. Mav was helping her at the grill when he heard a loud shriek behind him. Turning, he immediately spotted Bradley chasing you across the sand as you laughed and tried to duck out of his hold. It wasn’t long, however, before he managed to catch you and sling you over his shoulder, victoriously carrying you towards the water as you pounded playfully on his back.

“Goose Bradshaw, you put me down this instant!” Carole shrieked, smacking her boyfriend’s back as he swung her around with a big grin plastered across his face.

“Do you hear something, Mav?” Goose asked, turning left and right and cupping his ear with a look of mock confusion on his face.

“Mav, you tell him to put me down right now!” Carole demanded, her cheeks turning red as she hung over Goose’s shoulder.

From his spot on his beach chair, Maverick couldn’t help but grin at his friend and his friend’s girl. One month, and Goose was already a goner for Carole.

“I don’t know, Goose, I think I hear something, but I can’t quite put my finger on it,” Mav laughed, sliding his Aviators back on.

“Oh, you two idiots!” Carole groaned, pounding on Goose’s back some more.

“Must be the sun getting to me,” Goose grinned mischievously, tightening his hold on Carole’s waist. “Better go cool off.”

“Nicholas Bradshaw, don’t even think about it!” Carole squealed, letting out a yelp as Goose took off towards the water, submerging them both in an instant.

“You big idiot!” Carole cried, though she was laughing hysterically as she wiped the salt water out of her eyes.

“I think you mean stud, honey,” Goose smirked, pulling her into his arms and kissing her soundly.

“Yeah, yeah,” Carole smiled, wrapping her arms around him and kissing him back.

Maverick blinked and suddenly Goose and Carole were gone. Instead, it was you and Rooster laughing like a couple of schoolchildren on the beach, Rooster tugging playfully on your wet ponytail and kissing you tenderly.

“Pete, you alright?” Penny asked, resting a hand on his back as she followed his gaze.

“Yeah,” Mav nodded, shaking his head slightly. “Just remembering something, that’s all,” he told her with a smile.

After that day, Maverick saw glimpses of his dearest friends in you and Rooster all the time.

He saw Goose in the way Rooster gazed at you when you weren’t looking, like his whole world was wrapped up in you and you alone. Goose had always looked at Carole that way.

He saw Carole in the way you rested against Rooster, your head on his shoulder and your hand slipped inside his, like you never wanted to let him go. Carole had been the same way with Goose.

Whenever Rooster returned home from a mission, Maverick always kept his eyes on you, watching for your reaction. The way you would throw your arms open wide and call out his name, a smile made of pure sunshine lighting up your face, made him recall the reunions he got to witness between Goose and Carole whenever they made their way home. Rooster held you in the same way that Goose had held Carole, like he would never let you go, even if the world was crumbling around you.

The first time Maverick saw the two of you at the piano together, he’d had to step outside for a minute, too overcome with emotion to remain in the bar. It was no great surprise to hear Rooster singing “Great Balls of Fire,” as he’d heard him sing it many times as he was growing up, but when he pulled you down onto his lap and pressed a kiss to your shoulder, he looked so much like his father that Mav could have sworn it was Goose in the room that night. And when you threw your head back and laughed with careless abandon, gazing at Rooster with complete adoration in your eyes, it was like he was getting to see Carole again after so many years. It took his breath away, how much he missed his friends.

But it also brought him comfort, knowing how happy Goose and Carole would be to know that their son had found someone to love, someone who loved him just as much in return.

He shed a tear when Bradley texted him a picture of the two of you on vacation in the Bahamas. It was a candid shot, one that looked as if it had been snapped almost accidentally. Bradley’s head was turned so that he was gazing down at you, your hand resting on his chest and your mouth open in laughter. It was the looks in both your eyes that made him see Goose and Carole. The two of them had never been good at posing for photographs. One was always looking at the other, one was always making the other laugh. Both of them were always gazing at each other with that look of unguarded, unadulterated love.

Maverick printed that picture that Bradley sent him and hung it right beside a similar shot of Goose and Carole from their honeymoon.

When you and Bradley got engaged, Maverick felt Goose and Carole’s presence there that night, celebrating with you all.

“Mav, isn’t it beautiful?” you asked, holding up your engagement ring for him to see.

“Mav, isn’t it beautiful?” Carole beamed, her face split with a giant smile as she held up the engagement ring Goose had slipped on her finger just hours before.

“It’s beautiful, Carole,” Mav grinned, slapping Goose on the shoulder in congratulations.

“It’s beautiful, kid,” Mav smiled, slapping Rooster on the shoulder in congratulations.

When he walked you down the aisle on your wedding day, your eyes aglow as they rested on your groom, Maverick couldn’t help but remember the sight of Carole on her wedding day, that megawatt smile of hers turned all the way up as she glided down the aisle on her father’s arm.

Rooster’s bright smile, and the light sheen of tears glistening in his eyes as he looked back at you, were identical to his father’s as he had gazed at his mother.

God, Rooster looked so much like Goose.

Maverick’s heart throbbed with memory the day that you and Bradley told him you were expecting your first child.

“You’re going to be a great-uncle, Mav,” Rooster chuckled, clapping him on the shoulder as he glowed with pride and slipped his hand inside yours.

“A great great-uncle!” you added, the three of you laughing as you leaned over to hug him.

“You’re going to be an uncle, Mav! How do you like that?” Goose grinned, clapping him on the shoulder as he wrapped his other arm around Carole.

“The best uncle there is!” Carole smiled, wrapping her arms around Maverick and giving him a big hug.

Rooster was the picture of his father the night you went into labor, prepared as anything but also as frantic as could be.

“I’m going to be a father, Mav,” he kept saying over and over again when he called to let him know that the two of you were at the hospital. “I’m going to be a father.”

“I’m going to be a father, Mav,” Goose murmured into the payphone, running his fingers through his hair. “I’m going to be a father! Oh my God, I gotta go,” he exclaimed, slamming the phone down as Mav chuckled.

“You’re going to be a great father,” Mav assured Rooster, smiling through the phone.

And he was. You both were incredible parents.

Every time you brought Nick to the base to visit everyone, every time you and your son were there to greet Rooster at his homecomings, every time Rooster lifted your little boy into his arms or sat him up on his shoulders, Maverick saw glimpses of the past. Glimpses of all that had been.

The day you both told him that you had started calling your son Goose, he hadn’t been able to say anything. Emotion clogging his throat, he’d just pulled the two of you into his arms and held on tightly.

You both had known exactly what he meant. Words weren’t needed.

As Maverick watched your family grow, he thought often of his beloved friends. They would have loved to see the life you and Bradley were creating. They would have been so proud of the man their son had become. They would have loved you and treated you like their own daughter. They would have adored doting on their grandchildren.

There wasn’t a day that went by that Maverick didn’t miss Goose and Carole. But when he looked at you and Bradley, he caught a glimpse of them.

And that was enough until he could see them again.

[siriuslyobsessedwith]

Why Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger Never Abandon Their Surnames

They fight; they bicker; they flirt; they court; they marry. It’s not ancient history, but it is surely a tale many have seen play out before, the fire of anger and past pain forging a flame of love and devotion and life-long passion. This is how it goes for war heroine Hermione Granger and ex-Death Eater Draco Malfoy. Unfortunately, due to their shared fame (or infamy) all of this plays out on the public stage.

People send her death threats, accusations, Howlers, most of which he intercepts and destroys before they ever reach her. She still knows, but she humors his shielding of her from reality, pretending she doesn’t instinctively, intuitively know the content of these messages.

But people send him things too, accusing him of slumming it and betraying his lineage and calling his all sorts of terrible and disgusting names. For the first time, Draco Malfoy learns that names are not only sources of power, pride, prestige. Names are also weapons that can turn against you in a moment. But the names he’s called don’t hurt him, don’t wound him or cause him to doubt. They make him a little proud, because every horrible letter her receives is physical proof that he is, for once in his life, doing the right thing.

Now, Hermione has always known the power of names in the Wizarding, since the very minute she heard a pompous blond boy toss his name with such confidence and bravado she knew it must mean something. She learned new names, felt their sting and swore to build a stronger shield against them. She learned to bear cruel names with pride, to throw them back in the face of her attackers. Most of all, she learned how names mean very little unless they come from someone you love.

Once the initial shock of their courting and subsequent engagement wanes, they must only deal with whispers. Whispers they are both accustomed too, so it simply because a point of hilarity, when they see mouths covering hands and sneers barely covered with the turn of a head. They pretend to whisper cruel things too, instead sharing critiques of each other’s writing or discussing the latest scientific discoveries. Together, they get to be above it all. For the first time, they have a partner who is all to familiar with how loud the whispers can become.

The first slip up occurs when Draco is giving an interview to Witch Weekly about Malfoy Enterprises (and of course his engagement), and in response to a question about how he feels about sullying the Pureblood line—which is of course more delicately phrased—he quips, “I’m more worried about sullying the Granger line, thank you.”

And thus begin the rumors. Will Draco Malfoy really not require his wife to fall into line with centuries of Pureblood wives? Will she even have to change her name? What bearing could an insignificant Muggle lineage have in comparison to centuries of breeding?

He doesn’t tell her about the interview, hopes irrationally that she won’t find it. He’s not an idiot, and he knows she’ll hear about it from someone, but he worried all the same. Did it sound dismissive, like he didn’t want her in his family?

Of course, he worries too much. He comes home to dimmed lights, candles, and a lingerie-clad fiancée holding his favorite brownies with the words “Welcome to the Granger line” iced on top. His heart swells, because no matter how many times she has insisted she’s forgave him years ago, this feels like a promise, like something she can’t take back.

Throughout their courting, their fighting, their flirting, they have always, ALWAYS been Malfoy and Granger. Yes, Draco and Hermione read their heads in moments of sincerity, when anger flares, in formal settings. But Granger is a term of endearment, a word reclaimed from their schoolchildren days, a tease. Malfoy, also reclaimed, is said with such love and such joy that it sounds nothing at all like it used to.

When they say their vows, they call each other Draco and Hermione. When they make their own secret promises, they are Granger and Malfoy.

Their marriage certificate says Draco and Hermione Malfoy. She is addressed as Mrs. Malfoy at work. But she is rarely, if ever, Mrs. Malfoy at home. She is forever and always Granger.

Perhaps it is a reclaiming of their past, or proof that you really can move on. It is a testament to their impossible love, like the matching scars they bear: we have overcome something terrible, and we healed each other enough to look back on it maybe not fondly, but certainly not with pain.

Granger and Malfoy are their own personal whispers that they love to hear. Their children will grow up hearing their parents call each other these names, and they will learn that they mean “I love you” and “you idiot” and “you’re an arse” and “quit being such a swot” all wrapped up into one. Their friends will hear it and shake their heads, not quite understanding but content to know that it makes them happy.

It’s proof that they are of the same mind. After all, they never had the conversations, never needed to. Or maybe they did, in their own secret understated mischievous way.

“You know,” she quipped one day, clutching a coffee mug in the early morning sun, “I won’t be Granger for much longer.”

All he remembers is having a visceral, powerful reaction of “absolutely not” through every fiber of his being. He strode over to her, slid his hands to the small of her back, stared deep into her wide, shocked, surprised eyes. She’s surprised by his suddenness, his intensity. Her eyes ask a question.

“No. You won’t ever stop being Granger. Not to me. Granger is mine.” He’s smirking, knowing his possessiveness will bring on false anger. But he doesn’t see it. He just sees love and adoration and happiness.

“Alright then. I guess Malfoy is mine too.”

The last thought he has before she kisses him senseless in the morning sunshine is, “how in the world did I deserve this witch?”

And so the Granger and Malfoy lines were entwined and preserved and immortalized, if only within their own little family.

[mae-gi-writes]

And You Should Live | Changmin/Q [Part Two]

Athlete Changmin au! In which you and Changmin teach each other how to live again.

Genre: angst, tearjerker, fluff

Part One | Part Two

--

The few months that the ex-athlete spends confined in hospital are definitely some of the most challenging weeks you've had by far. It takes patience and acceptance of his new body, of the way that he is now going to live his life, and it's easier said than done. A psychiatrist checks up on him every week but his complaints are verbal and abusive, not one to hide his discontentment. There is no sign of his father, though his mother drops in once a week at most to bring some spare clothes and wheedle a few responses out of him, in vain.

He cries the first time he sees himself in the mirror, hair all dishevelled, stubble forming over his chin, skin all grey and pale from months of no sunshine. And you stand behind him that day, heart breaking in tine with his as the pained sobs falling from his mouth bounced throughout the room. He cries without relent this time as your hands tighten their grip on the handles of his wheelchair, helpless to his pain and desperate to somehow make it right in any way possible.

The next day, you bustle in with a comb, some shaving cream and a pair of scissors. 

“No,” is Changmin’s reaction, as with everything you’ve once introduced to him. You’re now used to his reticence and instead shove his hands away from you, a measley attempt to stop your advances. Instead, you threaten to attach his arms at his sides if he doesn’t cooperate and with a few more grumbles under his breath, he settles back against his pillow like a sulky child. 

“I can’t believe this,” he mumbles through closed lips as you dabble some shaving cream over his face. Mind you, you’ve definitely never done this on a man before and so you dip your head closer to his face, teeth nibbling onto your lower lip as you focus on spreading the cream evenly across his jawline.

"I swear, Y/N, if you cut me--”

“Oh shush,” you wave his protests away before drawing out the razor you’ve slipped into your pocket. Then, you gingerly lean down once more to slowly slide the device at the edge of his jaw. 

Feeling his orbs on your face, you can’t help but spare him a quick glance only for your eyes. They’re dark maroon, so dark you can barely make out his pupils from his irises, and they reflect an intensity that somehow makes your insides squirm and your heart to speed up--

“Ouch!” he cries out and you jump back in surprise, eyes flying wide open with panic, “fuck! Did I hurt you?!” You dab at his skin in search of a cut, “shit, I’m so sorry--”

Changmin’s giggle bursts through his mouth and it takes you a few seconds to realize that he’s only pulling your leg. Your hands drop to your sides in growing annoyance, “you!--”

“Sorry, it was all too obvious that you’ve never did this before,” Changmin’s eyes crinkle up into crescents. It might be the first time you’ve seen him laugh with such purity, and you can’t help but stare at the dimple forming on his cheeks, at the way his whole face lights up like a Christmas tree.

And then, you blink and let out an exasperated sigh before you shove his shoulder, “you’re such a dick,” you mutter as you resume shaving him. 

“Sorry,” he keeps on giggling, “you should’ve seen your face.”

"Keep that up and I’ll make sure you have no hair left on your scalp.”

You decide to move on to his hair a few days later just as he is being wheeled back in by the said psychiatrist. You bow to him, cheeks involuntarily rising when his gaze meets yours, a tender smile dancing across his lips.

“Haven’t seen you in a while, Y/N,” he says.

“You’re the one who’s always busy, Sangyeon,” you grin back.

“Ah yeah. Especially during exams season. A lot of students drop by,” Sangyeon nods at Changmin, “well, I’ve leave you two to it then. Maybe we can catch up over coffee sometime Y/N.” 

“That’d be great!” 

You don’t realize that you’ve still got a stupid smile on your face until Changmin lets out a snort, “you look ridiculous.” 

Scowling back at him, you lift the scissors up threateningly, “keep talking and I will make you bald, Changmin.” 

" You like him? He's such a dork," Changmin continues without relent as you wheel him to the washroom, " And you know what? He smells really bad if he doesn't wear perfume."

"And how would you, of all people, know that?" your fingers comb back his hair to tie it up into sections, eyes clashing with his in the bathroom mirror.

"Because I smelt him once when he came from the gym."

" That's just how humans work," you retort with a Scoff," also, I don't think you should be the one to talk, considering you were an athlete."

"That's different! I was training!"

" You're not denying the fact that you smell bad too though, without deodorant."

"Oh yeah?" He sniffs, "well I ain't got any deodorant now. Smell me, go on."

His statement is so outrageously crazy that you burst out laughing and soon enough he joins in so that you giggle like two schoolchildren sharing mischievous secrets. Ruffling your fingers through his hair and combing it through with water, your fingers proceed to measure how much hair to chip off.

" can I trust you with that?" doubt coats Changmin's voice.

You scoff in return as a large clump cascades down his shoulders and makes him yelp, " Don't worry, I won't murder you. If that's what you were thinking about."

" Well I can't help but think about that now."

The blossoming friendship is inevitable. After all, you were almost the same age and had fallen into a complicity, having spent so much time together. So much so tha the man would outrightly refuse anyone else's help albeit the fact that you had only told him good things about your colleagues.

When his discharge came around - a little too soon for your liking if you were being honest with yourself- he'd requested for your presence on the evening before his departure, where you had brought along some cookies that your little brother had made the night before.

"I can't eat that," Changmin crinkles his nose, acting exactly like one of those pompous arrogant kids that had more money in their wallet than they had brains.

You push it towards him nevertheless, "just try it."

" I told you, I can't eat that."

" Why not?"

"Because-" his words die halfway through his throat in realization and it dawns on you that it's probably something to do with his previous diet.

But you don't have time to find a proper response before his hand snatches one cookie up and shoves it in his mouth, head turned away to avoid your concerned gaze.

" It's good," is his response after a beat of silence, and you smile.

"So what do you plan on doing when you get home?" you lean your head onto your palm, a soft yawn falling from your mouth.

" Haven't figured that out yet. Probably lie around feeling sorry for myself," he shrugs nonchalantly, but you know it's far from that, " smoke up. I never got the chance to try. Might as well start now."

You find yourself rolling your eyes at him. Then, out of the blue, he suddenly catches you off guard.

" You always ask me about myself. But now that I think about it," he tilts his head sideway. curious," I don't know much about you. Actually, I don't know you at all."

That's it. That's the moment your heart constricts and your throat closes up so that you choke on air. You don't look at him, quickly finding interest in the mold growing at the corner of the room while you mutter out that there is nothing to tell.

You know he's not dumb enough to fall for your lie, because he repeats the question, a glowing glint of curiosity in his eye.

So you tell him. In the simplest words possible, you tell him. About how normal you are, really normal. About your average grades, your small group of friends, your family of five that you cherish with all your heart. And about the scars that line up your thighs like a row of soldiers, the time where you had almost given your life away due to the unexplainable sadness consuming you from the inside.

When you're done you can barely look at him. Your hands find comfort in the folds of your white nurse pants and suddenly you can feel the scars glowing with heat, searing hot against your now sweaty palms.

It's still as fragile as ice to be talking about this memory in particular, and you're not even sure why you've suddenly divulged it all to the man sitting before you.

"That explains a lot."

Your eyes flutter up to his, surprised at his statement.

His gaze is strong as he holds yours, " about the way you care about people... about me."

" I know what it's like," comes your mumble," to suffer in silence."

A comfortable silence fills the gap in the room and despite the chilly coldness of the walls, your cheeks feel warm, entire body suddenly bathed in heat as a result of Changmin's subtle compliment.

Which is why you almost yelp when heat engulfs your hand. Blinking down just in time to feel Changmin's fingers give yours a gentle squeeze, your heart suddenly grows twice-fold through your chest.

" Thank you," you look up at him as he murmurs and you swore his face has never seemed so gentle.

"You don't -" your throat runs dry, " there's no need to thank me. It's not something to be thankful for."

"Oh don't go all poetic on me," Changmin rolls his eyes though his hand, you notice, makes no move to retract.

Not that you mind.

" You'll still visit," you chew on the inside of your cheek as gently, Oh so gently, his thumb starts a slow brush against your knuckles, "right?"

His orbs crinkle into a soft smile when you peek at his face, " Missing me already? Y/N, you used to hate my guts."

You mutter that you still do, which earns you a playful shove before another round of laughter ensues. And then he’s pulling you into his chest in a hug that leaves your insides tingling and your body suddenly erupting as if a troop of butterflies have decided to make their way from the top of your head down to the tip of your toes. And though you know that tomorrow will never be the same, you try to hold on to the warmth blossoming over your heart and the delicious fuzzy scramble inside your stomach that makes smiling a little easier.

He tucks your head underneath his chin, hands coming up to stroke your back in comforting circles. It’s a friendly hug, no doubt, one that is as innocent as the baby born a few seconds ago in the adjacent room. Yet, you wonder whether Changmin can hear how fast, how hard your heart is beating at this very instant.

You pull back slowly after a moment while averting your gaze, your hands still entangled together like a flurry of mixed-up jigsaw puzzles that somehow fit so right. 

"Here," taking your hand in his before motioning towards the pen attached to his medical clipboard, you watch as he scribbles a bunch of numbers," Now you have my number. So you have no excuse."

"Is that a threat?" you can't help but smile.

He grins back, dimple showing, " if that's what it takes to make you talk to me."

-♡-

Your shifts at the hospital without Changmin are void and empty now that he's gone. The first time you walk in to see an unfamiliar face in the space that Changmin was supposed to be, something almost akin to pain twists inside your chest and you swivel around almost instantly, excusing yourself as bile crawls up your throat.

It's normal, this is what hospital life is about. You constantly meet people, bond with them, only to have them walk out the door as abruptly as they had come.

And yet, there's a sense of haunted expectation that follows you around Wherever you go, as if you're bound to eventually bump into the said man at any moment. Sometimes, you catch yourself getting glimpses of his face amongst the crowd. One might have his nose, or the same undercut he sports ( the result of yours truly 's doing) or even the same tonal inflection that gathers your hopes up, only for it to deflate once you realize it's not him. It never is.

You cave in one night as you gaze at the array of numbers that will bring you to his voice, deciding on impulse as your fingers fly across the keyboard.

"Hello?"

His voice is deeper than in your memories, rough, like he's just awoken.

Your fingers tighten onto the device, "Hey. Remember me?"

You hear a sharp intake of breath, "It took you this long to call?” he accuses and you can already picture the narrow-eyed stare he throws you, that some glower that you always laugh at instead of being offended.

That becomes your new normal, calling him day and night and in-between shifts. Sometimes he’d send you messages during the day, little highlights of what he does. He tells you about how his parents are literally breathing down his neck every second of the day, how his rehab sessions are getting harder and harder that he almost wishes he could give it all up. He doesn’t mention going out or meeting friends, and something inside you can’t help but twist in concern at his dismissive tone. 

"How about prosthetics?” you ask unsurely, fearful that he’ll retract back into his shell the moment you mention it.

And you’re right. He’s quiet for a few long seconds that pass by like an eternity. So you hurriedly add, “you don’t have to answer that. It’s not my problem after all--”

“I have,” he cuts you off, “spoken to my physiotherapist about it.” 

Your chest gives a small lurch of anticipation, unconsciously pressing the device closer to your ear, “what did he say?” 

“He thinks I still need a little bit more strength. I used to train everyday, so all my muscles were suddenly atrophied the first few months I spent in hospital,” Changmin replied as he shifted on the other end of the receiver, “but if I keep it up, he said he’d send in a request for me to be on the waiting list.” 

“That’s wonderful Changmin!” Hope flared through your chest and warmed your heart as though you’ve just drank a cup of warm tea, the grin on your face almost as bright as the sun itself, “oh that’s good news! Maybe you’ll be able to walk again! Maybe--” 

“It’s not that easy,” Changmin hurriedly says in response and is it your imagination or does he sound a little...embarrassed? “I mean, even with the prosthetics, he said it would take some time for my own body to adjust.” 

While you haven’t seen his face for so long, there is a sense of comfort that washes over you whenever you speak to the said ex-athlete. It’s like this silent cord of communication that comes to life whenever you talk and laugh and giggle about life in general. You find yourself craving for his phone calls every day, your heart dropping in disappointment when he tells your that he’s too busy, only to flutter in exhilaration whenever you see his name flashing across your phone screen. It’s bad, that your happiness depends on a young man who’s clearly already starting to build his own life away from you, away from those damned hospital walls that everyone hates so much, but while your mind keeps on reminding you that maybe it would be wiser to take a step back, your heart aches to hear Changmin’s soft alto, if that’s the only thing that will soothe over the pain of his absence.

"So now that you’re out of the hospital, you don’t even visit?” you once tell him off. It’s true, that he has not dropped by once over the past five months after being discharged. 

Guilt resonates in his voice when he answers, “sorry, Y/N. I’ve-- I’ve been busy. And my parents--you know, they’re not that keen for me to go around by myself yet.” 

You tut at him but decide to let it go. The only memory you have of his parents is the one conversation that haunts you till this day forth. You can’t imagine how it must feel to live in a home where the ones who supposedly love you the most are the ones who believe you’ve lot your ability to walk just to spite them.

October slowly moves in to November, before November falls right into December, who trickles in with the gift of snowfall. You catch yourself gazing out of the window at the slowly drifting snowflakes more often times than not, the sense of melancholy bringing you back to your school days whenever you spot young children playing in the yard. Patients come and go, ones that you get along with, ones that are still a pain in the butt up until they’re getting discharged. Soon, you count the days till your internship is going to be over and dread slowly fills you at the prospect of having to go back to school, to go back to the life of book and spending countless hours cooped up in the library. 

Your friends throw a party on the eve of Christmas, but when you invite Changmin to come along, he is quick to dismiss your invitation with an excuse that he’ll feel like the butt of a joke and besides, who wants to sit there and watch all of you have fun on the skating rink? 

“But I’ll stay with you,” your protests are drowned out by him adamantly shaking his head, the shadow on his face evident even in the pixelated screen of the video call. 

“No way,” his jaw clenches, “no way. I’m not going out there just so that people can feel sorry for me.” 

“Okay,” you pause, “but Changmin, we haven’t seen each other since you got discharged. What happened to us meeting each other often and keeping in touch?” 

“We are keeping in touch,” he protests even when his eyes slide away from the screen.

You shake your head with a sigh, “fine. Be that way. I’m just trying here, but that’s not a one-way street,” and you cut the call before waiting for his answer.

Mood ruined, you are clearly not in your right state of mind the moment you show up at the skating rink. Still, you make an effort. And with your friends’ naked excitement and jovial cheerfulness, it’s hard to keep sulking in a corner. The lights hanging over the trees adorning the skating rink are twinkling red and gold and shimmering green, bouncing off the ice and creating such a magical atmosphere that it is hard to keep the grin from breaking across your face. 

Until Chanhee, one of the mutual friends that had tagged along, tugs you away to give you a gift. You blink down at it, confused as to why this young m decked with numerous admirers --  was giving you a gift as though you knew each other.

He seems to read what’s on your mind, for he quickly lifts his hands in surrender, “It’s from Changmin. The one from the track team?”

The name clogs up the back of your throat. Changmin?

“You--” Your mind reels in shock. You blink, “you know him?” 

“Not really. He just dropped by, said to give this to you.” 

"What?" You swivel around to scan the perimeter, "where? Where is he?"

"He's not here--"

But you are already halfway across the rink, striding with such purposeful speed that no one has decency to stop you as you hurry, legs burning with effort, until you turn on the corner of the road.

Nothing.

Your chest heaves. He was here, you know he was. He just doesn't want to see you.

That thought alone makes your heart ache.

When you get back home to finally open his present that night, your breath catches in your throat the moment you open the box to see a pair of earrings, simple yet elegant musical notes dangling from their hangers. They are beautiful, exquisitely so. It makes your heart pound, your stomach blossom with a troop of butterflies as you wonder at the thought of Changmin picking out a pair of earrings especially for you. That idea alone makes heat flare through your face.

A card had fallen out of the gift wrap and you gingerly pick it up from the floor, eyes scanning the words scrawled on the inside:

"Since you've been a good listener to me, I thought of gifting your ears. Thank you for these past few months. I'm sorry for not having the courage to face you yet. I'm sorry.

Love,

Changmin."

Tears sting the corner of your ears and you brush them away hastily with the back of your hand, his voice resonating through his words with such a vivid picture that your heart aches at the prospect of having just missed him. If you had been a few seconds early, he might’ve still been around and maybe, just maybe, you’d have the chance to catch a glimpse of his face, to allow yourself to gaze at those deep brown eyes that -- once foreign -- felt like falling into a galaxy of stars in the world that defines Changmin. 

As if upon mere reflex, you don’t even think twice before dialling his number.

He picks up after the second ring. 

“You,” there is so much restrained emotion in your voice that it feels clogged coming out of your mouth, “I don’t get it. We haven’t seen each other for six months. That’s almost half a year. What happened to ‘let’s stay in touch and that you’ll visit?’ “ 

It’s not fair for him to fall victim to the built-up frustration swimming in your stomach for months. But your mouth is like a dam that suddenly bursts and the words come rushing out of you faster than you can blink. 

“You can’t just walk into my life and walk out of it as if the time spent in hospital meant nothing to you. If that’s the case, then why even bother answering my calls then? Why not just cut me off altogether? It’s not fair Changmin,” you swallow thickly, “It’s not fair. You’re not the one that gets to choose when we see each other, or when we don’t.” 

There’s a pause where you catch your breath, and when he speaks next, his voice is rough, laced with remorse, “I’m sorry, Y/N.” 

You breathe out shakily, “why?” Your nose feels stuffed and you’re pretty certain it’s glowing red, “do you not want to see me? Is that it? Why don’t you just say so--”

“I do want to see you, Y/N. Just--Just not--” he chokes on the last word, “not now.” 

“Why?” 

The silence that follows hangs between you both like a bubble threatening to pop, held with a string of tension so high you feel goosebumps explode across the back of your arms. 

And then, just when you think that he is too much of a coward to actually say something in his defence, his alto resonates through the receiver:

“Do you trust me?” 

Your mind pauses. You digest his words. Do you? 

It takes a moment of hesitation for you to murmur your agreement.

“Then, please don’t question whatever’s happening, whatever I’m doing right now,” he inhales, exhales softly, before repeating, “please.” 

And you’re not really sure why, or how, you still have faith in this relationship of yours that you’re not even sure where to classify it. You just nod and murmur out, “okay,” all that while silent tears are paving trails down your cheeks to dribble along your chin. 

You just hope that whatever his reason is, he better have a damn good one.

-♡-

You wait. 

And wait. 

You keep waiting.

The new year comes and goes by without much excitement. February is a spring breeze filled with valentine cards and balloons popping up at every corner of the street. March is wet and full of rain showers, so much so that there is not one day you don’t come home soaked to the bone and shaking like a dog. 

After your argument on Christmas eve, you decide to do what’s best for you, which is protect your heart at all costs. Tossing away the hope that maybe there might be something akin to romance blossoming between the two of you, you focus instead on the new semester as well as the troubles and stress that come along with it. Through it all, you keep a constant stream of chatter between you and the said young man, whom you’ve learnt has taken up French lessons online to stimulate his brain and now can fully move around in his wheelchair without any assistance. 

“Look,” Changmin said once when he’d swivelled the camera around to show you how he’d managed to get himself into the garden, “I barely had any energy in my arms when I first left the hospital. Now, it’s as easy as walking.” 

The smile on his face was as pure as sunshine and your gut felt weird knowing that you were in the same city and yet could not, for whatever of his personal reasons, see him face to face. 

The physicality of him is a void in your life you had patched up with a flurry of activities to keep your mind busy. Whenever you catch yourself daydreaming of the possible what ifs surrounding this young man, you’d throw yourself head first into any activity -- literally anything -- to keep your mind off; accompanying your mother to the grocery store for instance, or helping your dad mow the lawn. Maybe it’s just a coping mechanism until you crash headfirst into a wall and realize that running away from your problems isn’t going to cut it. But for now, you’d accept this gladly as your fate. 

The most you get of him is through video call, not that this can compare to actually seeing him physically in real life. But hey, you’re taking what you can get at this point. It makes you grow closer to each other, communicating every day about everything and anything. Though the physical distance has never seemed so huge, you can’t help but feel like these past few months you feel like you’ve grown even closer to the man in the wheelchair on the other side of the screen, heart warming and cheeks flushing deep red whenever you catch yourself wistfully daydreaming of encountering Changmin again after so long.

You’re not even sure where the time goes but no sooner are you done with your final semester of University that a year has passed. A year since you’ve met Changmin, a year since your internship that seems to have opened your eyes to see the world in a whole different perspective, as if you’ve been blind up until now.

A whole year and you still haven’t seen nor hide or hair of the said young man.

That ultimately changes one day.

You’re to attend the Children’s Day event at the hospital which you’ve interned at that day. Decked in a pair of loose khaki pants and a white shirt, you’ve tied your hair up in a bun for the occasion and trudge to the hospital doors with your worn-out, red converse. 

That’s when you hear a voice. You hear him, calling out your name.

You freeze for a moment, mind going in a mental frenzy as you try to hold yourself together. This has happened all too many times to count, where you’d turn around so fast expecting to see Changmin’s dimpled smile greet you-- only to end up grinning at a random passerby instead.

But then his voice resonates louder, stronger. Curling through the air and shattering through reality like a bass drum: 

“Y/N.” 

Slowly, like you’re teetering on the edge of a cliff, you turn around. Your eyes settle across a familiar face, features that you’ve endlessly traced god knows how many times in your dreams and almost on instinct, a scream dies at the back of your throat while you stumble back in shock, blinking furtively and trying to make sense of the reality before you.

Because there, with that same dimpled smile and those brown eyes curved into crescents, sits Changmin.

“Wha--” you don’t know what to say, precisely why you stop yourself mid-way through a sentence. You’re not really sure if you’re dreaming or not, thumb instantly pressing down against one of your fingers in case this might be a dream.

But the sting is all too real and you can’t help sucking in a breath, stunned into silence.

You gawk. He stares back evenly, a lingering smile dancing on his lips.

Changmin, your mind screams. Changmin. 

He’s here. Right here within an arm’s touch. 

You don’t think. You can’t even breathe for a second. 

Your feet stumble, as if attracted to him like a magnet. Heart beating in the back of your throat. 

“You--” your throat is clogged as if you can barely breathe and in response the young man only chuckles, the laughter resonating through your ears and reminding you of all the reasons why you’ve held on so tightly to him for all these months. Tears gather at the corner of your eyes and you don’t even bother to stop them cascading down your cheeks. Instead, you take your time to analyze his face, to trace the contour of his lips an the edge of his nose with your maroon orbs like a parched woman taking a first sip for the very first time.

When Changmin speaks next, his alto is a soft murmur, “surprise?”

“You--You--” you want to say something, anything. But the only words that manage to make it out are, “You’re here.” 

“Yeah,” he replies softly, “I’m here.” 

The urge to hug him suddenly overtakes your body and you move forward as if on instinct, until he stops you with a lift of his hands. 

“I can explain,” his eyes flutter down for a moment, before going back up to meet your brown orbs, “why I never asked to meet up, why it seemed like I never wanted to see you.” 

Confusion flits across your face, causing Changmin to let out another chuckle, more nervous this time, before his hands went to press down onto the handles on each side.

And then slowly, as if you are staring at some kind of miracle of some sort, you see him lift himself up on his legs. 

And then he stands. On his legs.

He’s standing. 

Changmin is standing. 

A breath escapes the back of your throat. Your heart almost drops to your stomach. What?

“Wha--” orbs flickering back and forth between his legs and his face, your brain goes into overdrive at the sight before you, “How?”

The Changmin, who had almost given up on life the moment he was wheeled inside the hospitals. Changmin, who had tossed any help away as though they were only nuisances in his life.

This Changmin was now standing before you on his own two feet and grinning from ear to ear as if he’d never been happier in his entire life.

“Prosthetics,” he explains then, even though you’ve already managed to put two and two together, “I didn’t want you to see me...in such a state. I wanted to make sure I could walk, by the time I saw you again,” he bites down onto his lower lip, “so it took a little more time than expected. That--” he inhales shakily, closing his eyes for a second, before gazing straight into yours with such an intensity it makes your heart stutter, “that was the promise I made myself.”

“But--how--That must’ve--” you can’t seem to find coherence in the tangled knot of thoughts in your brain, “that must’ve hurt--”

“You said so yourself,” he murmurs, taking a shaky step towards you. Then another, and another. Until he’s now just at arm’s reach, “that I need to start living.”

“I--” you swallow thickly, “I--Changmin, I don’t know what to say--”

“Then don’t say anything,” his hands come up to cup your face, “just kiss me.” 

And his mouth is claiming yours before you can even respond, moving with such an intensity that your surprised gasp is drowned out by the sensation of warmth blossoming over your chest. He kisses you with an almost desperate need , mouth moving at a pace that leaves your thoughts dizzy, your breaths uneven and your chest tight with fluttering butterflies while his hands find purchase at your waist to pull you even closer, so close you can feel his hard frame against your curves. 

Your eyes flutter open when you part momentarily, lips still hovering over each other and foreheads pressed. Gazing up into those dark pupils of his, so tender and intense at the same time, a sob echoes through the back of your throat without meaning to before you bury your face into his neck in a mixture of shame and embarrassment of being seen in such a weak, shaken-up state. 

You feel his hand rub comforting circles over your back in a gesture of comfort, of reassurance. That only makes you sob a little harder, clutching onto him with a feline’s grip as if you fear he might vanish the second you blink.

“Y/N,” Changmin’s soft alto reaches your ears, “Y/N, it’s okay.”

It is only when his legs shake that you take it as a hint that he shouldn’t be standing too much. Wiping away your tears with the back of your hand, you quickly help him back into his chair as you’re met with another of his wide grins that takes years off his age, “sorry,” he says, “I’m not really supposed to stand for too long. It’s only until recently that I managed to stand on my own.” 

“And yet you were showing off,” you remark with a roll of your eyes.

“I wanted our first kiss to be a good one." 

Something about his abrupt confession has you redden down to the tips of your toes, heat tingling like electricity down your back while his hand grasps yours to tug you closer. You look down at him and wonder where all the pain has gone, for it seems like Changmin's voice is free from the tension, the earlier pain that had deeply etched grooves onto his features.

But it's not there anymore. His expression ie clear, pure joy glistening through his eyes. You wonder briefly what changed and you can't help but ask, not even bothered by the cold nipping at your fingers.

His eyes soften at your words as his thumb traces random circles over your knuckles, "nothing changed. I just decided that I wouldn't be that person who spends his days being depressed and sad all the time."

"Does it hurt?" You motion towards his legs, "how did you even do it? I know of patients who did the same treatment. It's not easy, you have to go through rehab--"

"Which I did. I took all the pamphlets you gave me, signed up for counselling and physiotherapy. Went everyday until I had blisters along my thighs. It was hard, I almost gave up," he shakes his head, the memory causing his face twist in a slight grimace, "but I wanted to show you. I wanted to show you that I could do it. Y/N, I don't think I've ever been that desperate before. You know that one race you want to win? It felt like that. Like my life depended on it."

His eyes are so intense it makes your breath catch in your throat. Your entire chest constricts. He continues:

"I just wanted to prove to you that I was capable of doing something like that. And along the way, I guess I just felt like...like all this, this felt like living."

And it is. Gone is the weight that bears down on his shoulders. Changmin looks like he's finally breathing again, like he set himself free from the cage of his own mind.

Pride swells within you. It's amazing how far he's come from the broken mess he once was and tears prick ay the corner of your eyes.

Softly, he tugs you down onto his lap and you don't even fight it, allowing your body to give in to the warmth emanating from his chest and the feeling of his face so close to yours.

H pushes away a strand of hair from your forehead, curling it behind your ear. His maroon orbs meet yours, warm and swimming with affection, "I missed you," he murmurs huskily, causing a flurry of tingles down your spine.

"I--" your eyebrows knit together as all the time spent alone comes rushing back to you, "I missed you too."

His thumb rub circles over your cheek, "I’m sorry, I didn't want to hurt you."

"No, it's fine," you pause, hands tightening over his shirt, "I can understand."

"I didn't want to disappoint you--”

"I know.” 

“--And I didn’t want you thinking I was a coward. Or pathetic.” 

“I know, Changmin.” 

A sigh escapes his lips before he buries his face into your neck, breathing in your scent. You shiver in response and heat flushes through your neck upon feeling his lips ghost over your skin, "Am I forgiven then?" He murmurs.

"I guess you are--" the words die halfway up your throat when he presses the softest peck against your pulse point. Breath quickening, your body instinctively tenses as you ask, "what are you doing?"

"Nothing,” you don’t have to see his grin to know it’s there, imprinted on his face. But at this very moment, not even an inch of your brain cares, arms wrapping around his neck to pull him as close as you can. Changmin takes a shaky inhale at your touch as his own hands flutter down your back, the softest of caresses up and down your spine as you hold each other in the coldness of the hospital parking lot. 

"I’m not letting you go again,” the murmur falls past your lips before you can stop them, but you don’t even have time to ponder over the cheesiness of your statement that Changmin’s arms wind so tight around your middle that you are pulled close, his hard frame against your curves. 

You swallow, eyes locking in silent conversation, though it’s not quite silent since the love shining through his maroon orbs is as clear as crystal water. 

He nudges his nose against yours, “I could say the same for you.” 

You smile as he steals another kiss from your lips, not caring that your bodies are freezing, not even thinking about how ridiculous you must look sitting on his lap in the middle of the hospital parking lot.

All you know is that Changmin-- breathing and alive and filled with so much life and energy and hope -- has made his way back to you. And that you’re not about to let go. 

[waveypedia]

Sunny Afternoon

Rymin Week Day 1: Childhood

2 4 5 6 7

Ao3

~

Ryan’s older sisters (before they deemed themselves too old and cool to talk to their little brother and the friend that was always attached at his hip) claimed making shapes out of clouds is a childhood rite of passage. Lying in the grass on a sunny afternoon, belly aching with laughter, Min finds he’s inclined to agree with them.

He and Ryan lie flat on their backs, the wild grass tickling their exposed cheeks and ankles, hands intertwined between them. Fluffy white clouds float slowly through the blue sky, breezing gently past as Ryan and Min shape them into characters and tales. The air is rife with the joyous, infectious laughter that accompanies such a comfortable spring afternoon.

Ryan raises his free arm, pointing. “That one looks like a guitar.”

“You think every cloud looks like a guitar,” Min chuckles good-naturedly. “Have some creativity.”

“Hey, I’m only telling you what I see,” Ryan retorts, grinning. “Maybe it’s a sign. Maybe the universe is trying to tell us my parents should buy me a guitar.”

Min huffs out a laugh. “I’m not the one you need to convince.”

“Hmm.” Ryan turns away, gazing at the sky. “It’ll happen someday, though. I’m gonna get a guitar, and you’ll play your mini-synth, and we’ll perform concerts together!”

Min glances to the side, where, in his bag is abandoned next to Ryan’s, his mini-synth waits. “Until then, you can always sing,” he offers.”

“Pfft, I’ll sing anyway,” Ryan says, waving a hand, carefree and exuberant. “I just want to play as soon as possible.”

Min reclines, tucking his elbows behind his head. “You’ll get it eventually. You never give up when you set your mind to something.”

Ryan glances away, the slightest hint of pink tinging his cheeks. “But you’ll help me convince my parents, won’t you? They like you.”

“I’ll do my best,” Min promises, the epitome of seriousness. “We should work out a business plan.”

Ryan rolls over to face Min, propping his head up on the palm of his hand. “Like what? I’m just gonna… play the guitar.”

“Like what your practice schedule will be, and how you’ll take care of it,” Min says, tapping his fingers. “That’s what my parents had me do for viola.”

“I’m just gonna practice all the time,” Ryan promises seriously. “I’ll become a master at guitar.”

“You’ll need to be a bit more specific,” Min warns. “But I’ll help you with that. When we’re done, you’ll stand a much better chance!”

“Thanks, Min!” Ryan rolls over to tackle his best friend in a hug. Startled, Min lets out a squawk of surprise and rolls away, shaking with quiet laughter. Ryan wraps his arms around Min and starts tickling his sides, which only makes him laugh harder. “You’re the best!”

“You’re the worst,” Min wheezes out between peals of involuntary laughter. He finally shakes Ryan off and rolls away, crouching with his fingers wiggling threateningly.

Ryan backs up and pulls himself into a kneeling position, defensive except for his face-splitting grin. As always, he’s the first in motion, leaping towards Min with his hands outstretched and a face rife with amusement. Min rolls with him, laughing.

They tussle for a few minutes, giggling like the schoolchildren they are, until Min accidentally knocks Ryan’s glasses off of his head. They slip away from each other while Ryan finds his glasses and Min stands up to brush strands of grass off his clothes. Inexplicably, Min finds himself missing the warmth of Ryan’s easy, thoughtless touches.

The moment is over as soon as it began, with Ryan grinning at him behind his newly repositioned glasses. Min forgets the thought as soon as Ryan scoots over to him and lies down at his side, attention once again drawn to the sky. Min sits down, engrossed with his friend and their game.

Ryan turns to him with a toothy grin. “Well, Min? It’s your turn. Do you see any good clouds?”

“Hm.” Min leans back, resting his weight on his wrists. His fingers subconsciously knot among the strands of grass. After a moment of deliberation, he raises a hand. “That one looks like a bell, don’t you think?”

Ryan twists to see where Min’s pointing. “A bell? I don’t see it.”

“Like the kinds you find at hotels,” Min explains. “A… concierge bell, I think they’re called?”

Ryan scrunches up his nose, deep in thought. “Oh, yeah! I guess it kind of does.” He flops down on his back and scrutinizes the remaining clouds. “Huh, I think that one looks like a cat.”

Min smiles gently, content. “Yeah, I think you’re right.” He breaks out into a giggle. “And that one looks like a giant caterpillar!”

“Heh, cat, caterpillar,” Ryan chuckles. “Maybe the cat will eat the caterpillar!”

Min rolls his eyes good-naturedly. “Hey, use your eyes. The caterpillar cloud is way bigger than the cat cloud.”

“So?” Ryan hums, crossing his arms with mirthful petulance. “All that means is the cat is the underdog. I bet they could do it if they tried.”

Min snorts. “That’s pretty unrealistic, but I guess so is a caterpillar bigger than a cat.”

“Yes!” Ryan pumps his fist up and down with far too much enthusiasm than the situation requires, but Min only finds it endearing. Ryan laughs with euphoria, and Min finds himself giggling along. Ryan’s laugh has always been infectious.

“Fine, you win,” Min says with faux petulance, letting his back slide back down onto the grass. “Like this would ever happen in real life.”

Ryan grins. “It would be a great album concept.”

“Maybe,” Min hums. “You should start writing those down for when we can produce albums.”

“You say that like I don’t already have a notebook filled with song lyrics,” Ryan hmphs, crossing his arms. “Please, Min! It’s like you don’t know me at all.”

Min snorts. “But are they any good?”

“Maaaaaaaaybe,” Ryan sing-songs, turning to face Min with a mischievous grin. “You’ll just have to read them.”

Min beams. “As soon as you’ll show them to me.”

Ryan laughs in triumph and jumps up, running up and down the hill. His loose jacket flutters behind him in the wind like a cinematic cape. From his place on the ground, Min watches him fondly, smiling.

After they’re all tuckered out, Min and Ryan retreat to the top of the hill. The afternoon is slipping away, and the first hints of sunset’s gold are starting to bleed into the sky. The clouds they so excitedly played with, once a puffy white, darken into greys and oranges and pinks.

Ryan and Min sit shoulder to shoulder, their knees pulled up to their chests, to watch the sunset. The sun glows a brilliant golden, illuminating the sky in peals of pink and orange.

It’s beautiful, that much is undeniable. Min has always loved the soft, gradual fade of day into night and night into day.

He likes them all the more for how many sunsets he’s watched with Ryan. Ryan has always loved watching the explosion of vibrant colors across the sky. He and Ryan have watched countless sunsets together, at the end of their playdates and joint family outings. They always make an effort to find each other as the sun goes down.

Without realizing it, Min breaks his gaze from the sunset to Ryan’s face. His soft skin is illuminated with the fiery glow of the sun, fading yet incandescent. Ryan’s lips are slightly parted in an expression of wonder Min is all too familiar with, and his eyes are similarly wide and shining. It never goes away when watching the sunset, even after every one of their ten years.

Ryan is beautiful, Min realizes. He always wears his heart on his sleeve, but here, enraptured by the beauty of nature and in the company of his closest friend, he’s open in a way he rarely lets himself be. Min could bask in their companionship forever, and let the coveted sunset slip by.

Ryan suddenly glances back at Min. The moment is broken, except it still feels just as comfortable and awe-inspiring as it did before Ryan noticed him. Ryan offers him a small smile, and Min returns it in kind.

After a moment, they both return to watching the sunset, but they lean closer. Their shoulders brush.

“We need to go home soon,” Min says softly, not taking his eyes off of the setting sun. “It’s almost dinnertime.”

Ryan hums discontentedly and drops his head onto Min’s shoulder. Min’s face heats up, although he’s not sure why.

“Awwwww, Miiiiiiiin,” Ryan groans, half-jokingly. “Can’t we stay out here a little longer?”

Min hesitates for a moment, then sighs, standing up and brushing bits of grass and dirt off of his pants. “No, sorry. As cool as that would be… you know how my parents get.”

“Yeah, I do.” Ryan shakes his head, half to himself, then forces a laugh. “I love going to dinner at your house, Min. Your parents are so nice!” Min shakes his head, laughing. “Yeah, well, your family is always so fun and energetic. It’s rad!”

“Haha, yeah.” Ryan turns away. “I’m sure my parents will be happy to have you over for dinner.”

Min turns and offers a hand to Ryan, who gratefully takes it and lets Min pull him to his feet with a grunt. “Same with mine. It’s so nice that our families are such good friends.”

Ryan smiles. “Yeah! It’s like we were  made to be best friends! Just like we were made to be musicians together!”

Min’s responding smile is soft and affectionate. “I’m sure we would have found each other eventually.”

“Yeah, but we wouldn’t have known each other  now ,” Ryan rebukes. His serious expression softens into something fond. “I like spending time with you now.”

Min grins back. “Me too.” He offers Ryan his hand, and his friend gleefully takes it without a second thought. Their hands are grubby and dirty from playing in the grass all afternoon, but neither seem to mind.

The walk back to their houses (well, Ryan’s house, since it’s closer) is spent mostly in comfortable silence. Min and Ryan are chattiest in each other’s company (which is saying something, since Ryan’s fairly talkative on his quietest days) but occasionally they lapse into a silent rhythm, fully enjoying each other’s presence.

At the edge of Ryan’s house, Ryan gives Min a quick, tight hug, too fast for Min to really process it before it’s over. Ryan peels away and sprints down his driveway, turning to wave enthusiastically to Min and nearly tripping over a potted plant in his haste.

Min giggles and waves back. For some reason, after the door shuts and Ryan’s disappeared from view, he lingers at the foot of Ryan’s driveway. His hands rest in his pockets, with his weight balanced on the balls of his feet as if about to turn away. Inexplicably, he can’t quite manage to leave just yet. He remains as if in a trace, staring after his friend.

A car drives by, and Min jolts. Glancing at the sun dipping precariously below the horizon, he spins on his heel and begins the walk back towards home.

Ryan does everything big, with presence and style. He’s always flashy and energetic. Min knows well how much Ryan would love to spend their after-school afternoons parading around the neighborhood, serenading anyone who would care to listen. And they do, sometimes, when Ryan can rope Min along. But it’s always been the quiet afternoons, the ones that are just him and Ryan, that Min enjoys the most.

As Min makes his way down the street, smiling softly to himself, Ryan watches him from his window. The sibling Ryan shares his room with is still kicking a ball around outside, thankfully, and isn’t present to tease Ryan for tracking his friend down the street.

Ryan likes the exciting afternoons, sure, loves spending his entire day in a whirlwind of activity. But as long as his time is spent with Min, he’s content.

All they both want to do is enjoy these seemingly endless sunny afternoons in each other’s company.

Min is too realistic and Ryan too ambitious to claim these days will last forever. Yet during this stretch of childhood, sometimes it seems like they’ll go on like this every single day, playing on the hill behind the school.

Neither of them find an issue with it.

~

woooo happy rymin week! my lovely friend sae is the mastermind behind this whole project, so i've been watching from the sidelines and helping for a couple months now. it's so exciting to see this event come to fruition! to everyone who's participated so far or plans on participating, thank you so much for your contribution!!

i was intending to have every day done before the week began, but as always, that didn't seem to happen lol. i'm not sure if i'll get all of them done in time, but i have a lot of exciting wips and ideas i'd really love to post! i'm interested to see what you all think!

this is just some cute little fluff. i love ryan and min as kids they're just so sweet.

because ryan and min are so musically inclined, i'll be titling each chapter with a song lyric or title from a song i feel fits the theme or vibe (i know, very predictable of me and my many song lyric-titled fics skfhfksdf). today's song is from sunny afternoon from red velvet! the whole russian roulette album really encapsulates rymin fluff in an established relationship i think

i'm pretty new to writing infinity train so i don't think i have the best handle on the characters' voices yet. if you have any tips please tell me! i'm sure i'll improve while writing all the fics for this week. i'm excited!

if you ever wanna talk infinity train, writing, these amazing characters, or really anything hmu here on my tumblr or twitter! haha. thank you for reading, and please leave a kudos/comment if you enjoyed it!

@ryminweek

[solohux]

Okay weird prompt but see what you think, no pressure — contrary to popular fanon Techie is in fact Hux’s older brother. Everyone believes it’s the other way around because Techie isn’t some high ranked officer in the FO but he did that on purpose not wanting the paperwork or responsibility. He’s officially a middling warrant officer buried deep in Finalizer’s Engineering department and people who realise this WO-Hux and General Hux are related think Armitage is ashamed of him....

Unlike his brother, Warrant Officer Hux prefers to keep to himself. He’s a timid, reserved engineer who likes nothing more than to hide in the bowels of his department with nothing but the thrum of the Finalizer’s engines to keep him company. He listens to them as though they’re great beasts, each sound like a unique roar or creak, and only Techie knows what they mean. After all, General Hux wouldn’t trust anyone else to tinker with the engines like Techie does.

Like every other day, Techie rises out of bed early and adorns his overalls, brushing his fingers through his hair before grabbing a baked cereal bar and heading down to the Engineering decks before most of the other officers are awake. If he can avoid social interactions with his fellow officers then he absolutely will.

But today, he’s followed to his work station by two whispering officers—two men. They converse quietly with each other before chuckling and giggling like mischievous schoolchildren, sending worried pangs of discomfort through Techie’s belly.

Even when he stops to pick up his tool belt from storage, the officers stop and then carry on when Techie sets off again.

“Can I…uh…help?” Techie says, pulling his sleeves down over his hands, clutching his favourite spanner tightly in his grip.

“It’s Hux, right?”

“Uh,” Techie pauses, unnerved by the man’s mocking tone. No one ever calls him by his surname, especially not a random lieutenant. “It’s Techie, really.”

“Okay,” the other one says. “But you’re General Hux’s little brother, right?”

“No, I’m—”

“We think you are,” the officers step closer, and one kicks over a nearby stool which startles the timid little tech. “You’re the shamed brother of General Hux. The great General Hux. That’s why he keeps you hidden down here, right? Hidden in the shadows where his officers can’t see you, you snivelling fool.”

The other officer shouts, “A disgrace to the Hux name!”

Techie’s chest aches at the venom of their words, hurt by the insinuation that his beloved brother could ever be anything but proud of him. He thinks of their father, of his constant need to insult both of his sons with his mean words.

‘Sticks and stones may break my bones but Armitage will protect me from mean words,’ five year old Armie says, grabbing Techie’s hands. ‘Say it.’

‘Armie,’ ten year old Techie sniffles but smiles as his little brother tries but fails to pull him up from the dirt.

‘Say it, Tiernan!’ Armie stomps his feet, giving up on trying to make Techie stand so throws himself into his arms instead, hugging him tightly. ‘I don’t ever wanna see you sad. I’ll always protect you, ‘kay?’

“Hey!” One of the officers pushes Techie’s shoulder, jolting him out of his memory with a panicked cry. “We’re gonna get rid of you as the fuckin’ embarrassment of the Hux legacy. Brendol will be turning in his grave at the thought of his firstborn son being weighed down by the likes of you.”

“If only Brendol had a grave to turn in,” a voice comes, one clipped in accent and so familiar that it makes Techie’s heart lift.

Both of the bullying officers turn, saluting immediately, “General Hux, sir!”

Armitage looks like the image of authority in his greatcoat and cap, clearly unamused by his officer’s behaviours. He scowls at them, regarding them with his signature cold stare.

“I’d be interested to hear your excuses for harassing my older brother,” Armitage says, stepping past the two quivering men to stand beside Techie.

“O-older brother?” One of them stutters, both of them looking shocked.

“Indeed,” Armitage raises an eyebrow. “Five years older. I wouldn’t be who I am today without my older brother to support me. But what did you call him? An ‘embarrassment’, hm?”

“Sir,” one officer begs, taking off his cap. “Please. We were only…”

“Only insulting the General’s brother and the finest engineer that the Order has to offer,” Armitage scolds. Techie resists the urge to take hold of his brother’s hand. “And you know, I’ve suddenly changed my mind. I’m not interested in your excuses. Your behaviour will not be tolerated or even spoken of again. Away with them. To the brig.”

From seemingly nowhere, four stormtroopers appear and restrain the men, using violence to knock them to the ground and subdue them, but Techie sees none of it. Armitage has already wrapped his arm around his shoulders is leading him away, asking about how his night off went and if he’s up-to-date with their favourite holodrama.

Techie doesn’t know where he’d be without his little brother’s love.

[fireflyhwufanficwriter]

My thoughts on Dr. Stone’s Chapter 199 (“Superalloys”)

My thoughts after reading Chapter 199:

01. Suika looks powerful in her chapter art armor! :D Her bare feet look funny, though XD

02. Are we REALLY sure we want Dr. Xeno awake?? I’m on Ginro’s side here!

03. Poor Kohaku... now there are THREE scientists in the “party,” which means more confusing scientific words XD

04. Or maybe we should say FOUR scientists? After all, Suika did work on her own for years to make revival fluid (even longer than Senku did); she’s curious about what Dr. Xeno just showed them; AND she’s using her own scientific terminology as well... “electricity’s zap-zaps” :D

05. Making a Geiger counter in the stone world... :O Granted, I have no idea how complicated it is to make them in the modern era, but still!

06. I wonder if Dr. Xeno’s comments encouraged any Dr. Stone-reading schoolchildren to make their own Geiger counters from lighters? :O Safety first! :O

07. Kohaku and Chrome worked together to transport the ores the (mini) power team found! :)

08. Ilemenite ore, molybdenite, chrome ore, pyrochlore ore, nickel ore... I wonder what colors they all are? And from the size of those crates in relation to Gen, they found a LOT of each! :O

09. The Perseus returns! But... it’s all rusted... will there be enough iron left for them to use? And they showed us what the kingdom of science used to salvage it - round floatation devices! I wonder if the balloons were filled with a specific type of gas, or if they just used plain old air for them?

10. Poor Kaseki... :( Reunited with his beloved ship, only for everybody else to immediately tear it to pieces... XD

11. Senku really knows how to hype Kaseki up! :D

12. Smashing rocks once again... must be nostalgic for Kohaku; she looks mischievous XD

13. Don’t worry, Suika, Dr. Xeno doesn’t mean Chrome the human! He’ll be just fine! :)

14. Kohaku and Suika (and everybody else) were excited to know what they were going to use the stainless steel for... but it was just for canned food XD That’s still really useful too, I suppose :D

15. Interesting how a small frame shows that Tsukasa got four animals, and Hyoga got three - like showing us in a subtle way that Tsukasa is the superior of the two :D

16. Adding zirconium and tantalum... food cans... 3,700 years?! This isn’t foreshadowing, is it? :O

17. Ooh, stainless knives for making sashimi! :D (Speaking of sashimi, I’ll be eating some today, mmm! :P)

18. Kohaku’s excited about what’s possible because of stainless steel! :)

19. Do we REALLY have to revive the rest of Dr. Xeno’s crew? They were horrible to the kingdom of science! I don’t like them :(

20. A fatal toxin... that Dr. Xeno will be in charge of... That’s not good... :O

21. I like Chrome’s insight and Kohaku’s declaration! :)

22. So many people celebrating the founding of Superalloy City! :D

23. This chapter showed more about their aims and their ways to get there... the necessary work of the scientist of darkness and the guidance of the scientist of light. I know this isn’t going to happen, but after Senku and the others leave, Dr. Xeno could just revive Stanley and try to take over Superalloy City... Also, I looked something up and spoiled myself a little bit for something that will apparently happen in Chapter 206. Oops... :O But it wasn’t a huge spoiler, so no worries! Anyway, on to the next chapter... Chapter 200! I wonder if there will be special, colorful art in that chapter to commemorate the milestone? :D

https   ://   firefly-hwufanficwriterrrrr   .   tumblr   .   com   /   MyDrStoneEpisodeMangaThoughts

[rouiyan]

𝘋𝘌𝘈𝘙𝘓𝘠 𝘋𝘌𝘗𝘈𝘙𝘛𝘌𝘋 [ 𝘭.𝘫𝘯 ]

⧏ the third volume of rouiyan’s debut series, till death do us part ⧐

synopsis: “prince jeno looks for the man in the moon, he wonders if he's looking right back at him.”

✧ prince!lee jeno x crown princess!reader ✧ royalty au

✧ genres : angst ✧ word count : 5.0k ✧ disclaimers : childhood trauma, mental/emotional parental abuse, depictions of drowning, violence in the form of attempted assassination/murder, blood, gory scenes

✧ author’s note — i had this finished and drafted on sunday. i proofread it, fucking hated it, and deleted it. here's the much better version that was finished at 3:27 a.m.

read volume two here: overcast skies and those who die.

prince jeno is seated at the head of the dining hall among an array of immediate family, distant family, advisors and any other official that is deemed trustworthy enough to attend the second prince's fifth birthday. his seat is raised so that he's able to reach the table but even then, his short stature makes it seem as if his parents and sibling are still towering over him, still. instead of smiling over the platters of food that are all catered towards his taste, he's glowering and persistent, if anything, to return the gaze of anyone but his own reflection in the porcelain plate.

he looks up, for the briefest of seconds, and his mother is relieved, also for the briefest of seconds in the belief that he was to say something of importance, perhaps a 'thank you for coming,' would be the most appropriate for his age. she's disappointed to note that jeno's eyes are held in distaste on the boy seven seats down from him, smiling and talking to himself, or rather the food he's chasing around the plate with his fork. his mother is disappointed, to say the least, that jeno cannot get past that thick little head of his and be prince-like in any way. 

she wouldn't be surprised if it was in relation to the events that occurred a little over a fortnight ago.

jeno peaked his head into the throne room and, noting that it was empty, turned back to look at his friend since birth, na jaemin. "what do we do now?" jeno's shy his friend's height by a quarter of an inch, not that height matters all that much when you're only four years of age. jaemin looked into the prince's eyes, "we go in," he said with a mischievous glint. 

the kids were tiptoeing, for the dramatics, there really wasn't anyone who could notice them with the rest of both their families caught up in the schematics of a new trade war. the two of them excluded for obvious reasons, their age. prince jaemin at the age of four was already used to dominating in all aspects of royalty. jeno supposed that being the sole heir of the throne had its fair share of benefits, maybe not fair, definitely unfair. the two were friends because of family ties and if not for family ties, jeno wasn't sure he'd ever like to talk to the likes of jaemin, the royalty of royalty.

jeno's nose scrunches each time some adult would comment that he was 'cute' and jaemin 'handsome.' he wonders why his status as second prince would make him look different in any way. even now, looking over at jaemin's side profile, he doesn't think of him as any more 'handsome' than 'cute.' resolutely, his eyebrows knit as the two boys round up on the two elevated thrones at the back end of the extensive room. jeno peers at jaemin behind him for affirmation to do the deed. he only nods encouragingly.

taking a deep breath, jeno takes a step upwards, two, and looks back at jaemin again. he's a step below him now. three steps later and they’re at the platform on which the two royal seats are built into. jeno pads carefully to the more elaborate of the two effigies on the left. his steps were silent on the woven rug and he's reminded of his bare feet, he'd learned a great deal long ago in his etiquette of royalty lessons how hefty of an offense bare feet on the royal rug is, much less the trouble he was to make not a minute after. 

jeno checks but notes that jaemin's face was drawn in much more michievy than playfulness. he nods with the same look on his face and jeno doesn't think twice when he sits atop the throne, his father's throne. the room, from this angle, is spectacular. the vast carvings in the ceilings all seem to point to this exact spot, the way the murals trace up stories from the door and ending at the spot before him. the skylight that pours down light on this seat and this seat only. jeno wonders what it would be like to be sitting here on a daily, to have the room filled from front to back with advisors advising him and congressmen addressing to him and all his royal subjects addressing him as your majesty instead of just your highness.

the second prince is so caught up in the way the light cascades down, the way it reflects, the way it bends around the gold leaf pillars, that he doesn't notice jaemin mouthing at him, then whispering urgently to him, then screaming silently into his face. before he can even register the past seconds he's lost to the vastness of the throne room, his father, the king himself, is advancing towards him. he's advancing fast, angry, furious, at why his son would dare commit such heinous act, such disrespect towards his power. 

the king's throne is not a simple chair, not in any kingdom, nor is it just a symbol of the highest achievable royal. the throne represents the generations that built the most formidable lands in all the world, the ancestry that raised the most capable of rulers, the most honest of men and women. the throne, passed down from heir to heir, is the one thing that defines the history of the kingdom, the one thing that serves as the source of vitality for the one individual with enough power to sentence death, the king. and lee jeno, second prince of the southern kingdom, was certainly not the king. 

the true king now stood before his son, a yearning passion in his eyes to slit his throat right then and there. "now," the king's voice reverberates and ricochets off the walls in ways that jeno's four-year-old squeak toy of a voice could not. his tone increases in mockery as he speaks, "do you suppose i bow to you now? is that right, son?" jeno can't will himself to move his head for a nod, he simply cannot. his father's hands are behind his back, pleasant in stature, but his demeanor emanates a daunting power. when his son is silent, he reiterates, "are you my king?" 

jeno can't will himself to speak, he simply cannot. the king’s hands are drawn from behind his back, they unsheath dagger from his hip. it's brought to the prince's right ear. "must i remind you," the point of the knife is pressing into the lower tip of his lobe. "a man, unfit for the title of king, but found on the king's throne, is punishable by death." jeno winces now, the only thing he can offer in response as the knife threatens to cut deeper. as his father threatens to cut deeper. "but the death is a gift, is it not?" the king talks leisurely, as if his words were not directed in threat to his son, but to a class of schoolchildren.

but the king does not take disrespect lightly, and in his eyes you will find the rich amber color of muddy hatred. a textbook definition is rehearsed, "for a man, one who has beheld the sight of this very room from that very spot, assuming the rightful place of the most relevant man, he ought to have achieved everything to think he deserves the honor. everything except death, of course." a textbook definition, yet, the king's son is quivering before him, blood running down a cheek, the side of his neck, the ruffles of his pressed white shirt. jeno cannot speak, he cannot move, he believes he's losing his sight as well, maybe even his ability to think.

his father place two hands on the armrests on either side of his throne and leans so his face is mere millimeters away from his son's. the king lowers his voice for only him to hear, "now, son, is that not what you were taught?" 

he is met with silence.

 "IS THAT NOT WHAT YOU WERE TAUGHT?"

the prince might as well be dead. 

it is the first, but not the last, time that prince jeno is thrown into the dungeons. not to die, but to barely live on the remnants of the pig trough and horse feed. the prince sleeps most the time, on the stone cold floor, in the middle of the winter, but when he wakes, he is a fitful of coughs and vomit. and when he has enough energy to sit up and stare through the barred window, to the left of his cell, he thinks of jaemin. jaemin playing in the fields, jaemin dining in the long halls, jaemin bathing in a rosewater bath, jaemin sleeping in his four-poster canopied bed.

prince jeno is four, almost five, when he conjures his belief that friends lie, they manipulate, they will never stand up for you if it means getting into trouble as well. friends are not companions, there is no such thing as a companion. there is no one to trust. at least, that's what the bleak ceilings of his cage tell him. they whisper it into his ear, his cut ear that's now crusted with dried blood. they whisper it when he sleeps, when he wakes, when he isn't aware of who he is anymore. and they chant it, lowly, and hauntingly, when he's willing to listen. it's all he hears for the sixteen days he spends in his lone company. the sixteen days before he is snatched up by a royal guard to get cleaned and dressed for his fifth birthday celebration.  

"the coal we mine. our lives on the line." the crowd chants. the crowd, the townspeople, the poor and the wealthy alike, they all chant. "the coal we mine. our lives on the line." prince jeno wants to cover his ears though he knows that's not princely of him. "the coal we mine. our lives on the line." he sees his father's arm, waving to the people, a little ways ahead on the grand horse-drawn carriage. the wood is painted a deep black, the embellishments are leafed in gold, and the upholstered seats draped in dark velvet. "the coal we mine. our lives on the line." jeno himself sits atop a black friesian horse, the mane glints in the piercing sunlight. his brother is beside him yet, as the concession draws away from the hundreds that line the streets on a dreary sunday morning and into the grounds of the palace, doyoung yanks his own friesian ahead of him.

the thundering choruses of the people wane in the departure of the royalty and the prince and his family are slowly trickling into the crowd that rests under umbrellaed lawns. they're dressed to their best, and their eyes pleasantly flick between the members of the royal family before them, in best efforts to conceal whatever judgements they have. the king dismounts first, and moves to greet his visitors, guests, from all over the region and of royal ancestry. the queen is next and doyoung and jeno himself are intended to follow suit. 

but it's the moment prince jeno's eyes rake upon the boy, the retched boy whose title ranks crown prince na jaemin, that he wrenches the reigns of his horse in such an unrestrained, unbridled way that the horse rises instinctively onto its hind legs. prince jeno's fall through air is neither graceful nor a sight for sore eyes. his delicate, six-year-old spine is thrust into an arch. his neck, his upright neck, is flung into a curve. his arms, lean though feeble, can only thrash in protest and a learned helplessness ensues immediately afterwards. his small hands grasp the thin twines of nothing. his eyes, the deep brown that shines honey in the sunlight at the exact angle at which he his forced from the earth, they meet his mother's. 

he had figured his death was imminent, and he had figured it'd be at the hand of his parents.

a shoulder, then an arm, the back, the legs, the heels, and finally, his head clunks onto the trodden turf. a horse crosses over his fallen body. there are people hovering about him in an instant. words that are no longer up for his comprehension are tossed his way. a hand is felt on his shoulder, the one he landed on, the one he can no longer feel. black spots begin to cloud his vision, his hold on reality is starting to become grainier as the seconds tick. 

the last image he is able to put together is the face of his mother. stone cold, void of sympathy, void of warmth, void of motherly affection, but congested, not with blood, but with apathy. when he wakes, and thinks of the scene, he can only hope it was a vicarious conjurance of the bleeding gape in his skull.

when he wakes, he is three weeks ahead of when he'd fallen. the memories of this period all blur together for the jeno in adulthood, he swears he can never remember much of it. but if he did, he would recall a girl by his side, of similar age. if he did, he would recall the girl's fingers carefully renewing his soiled bandages every six hours. he'd remember the way she smiled, called his name, kept him company. he'd remember the sympathy, warmth, affection that emanated from your every word, action, mannerism. if he remembered the happenings after his fall from grace, he'd remember the one who healed him, resurrected him. 

he would remember y/n, his first friend, companion, love. 

the air of the sea bites with salt, and offers little refreshment during the hours of daylight. it's in the evening when the skies clear, when the stars begin to show, aligning themselves like golden eyelets on a black satin fabric. prince jeno isn't nearly as tall as the grasses that spurt from the ground, in every direction and covering every viable piece of land. the stares up at the stalks as he walks, the ends flitting with the wind, bending down to tickle his forehead and over its back, motions repeating like one of a giant mass or swaying crowd.

he doesn't dare enter the fields, the prospect of becoming lost all too prominent even before stepping in, but the prince stands right in front of the first rows of tall grass, imagining what was beyond, what he would see when they crossed. at the simple age of seven, he'd already become accustomed to letting his thoughts rampage in his mind over voicing them aloud. voicing them aloud would do him now good, perhaps it was because a child's thought were nearly never as gentlemanly as his mother hoped him to voice, as his father expected of him.

prince jeno is seized by the back of his collar with his father's iron-tight fist. he's dragged, little feet barely reaching the floor as his neck is caught up within the confines of his cotton shirt. he's coughing and having a hard time breathing when he's thrown back into the carriage with a shove and a thud for a landing. his brother sits in front of him, posture straight, the bends of his pant knees clean, and a stern look adorning his face. jeno thinks of clawing the older's face with his finger, the inside of his nails laden with dirt, just to smother his perfect side profile he adores so much. jeno can only think.

the horses are set on a run again and as the family rattles along the unused path, further up the mid-sized hill they were crossing, the view just beyond those grasses come into view. a clean-cut, seaside cottage with shutters of cream and siding of beiges. the roofing, by the looks of it, was made by a thick thatch, though the chimney that stands tall upon it is tiled in white brick. the cottage is set on the shore in such a way that the sands of the beach it opens up to ride as high as the parkway permits and the ocean itself, the glittering ocean, emits the most lovely sea breeze. it's mint green with touches of turquoise and as you draw near, the sandy grounds gradually dissolve into bottomless depths. 

jeno thinks what it would feel like to be caught in a current and be swept into the middle of the glittering ocean. he wonders what it would feel like to be surrounded by nothing but the suffocating salts of the water and the beating of the sun's rays. jeno would like to know if it was better than being surrounded by his family. he hates the way his brother's face is still a pristine clean surface and the way his mother's legs are crossed pretentiously, for absolutely no one to see, and how his father can never see past his set furrowed brows.

the carriage stops before the cottage and it's enough to see it from afar but up close, the prince doubts anything could compare. it's small and quaint in the way he supposes most people's homes are and the air of the inside holds the bordered between musty and a tang of sea salt. jeno's four-year-old mind has yet to wrap its head around the concepts of familiarity and succor in tangible objects but the way that dusts settles on the kitchen counter, the edge of the bathtub, the posts of his bed frame, are oddly comforting in a way he could never describe. perhaps it's the simple fact that the dust will sit for awhile before being swept away, they get the chance to. jeno's four-year-old mind fails to notice that he finds solace in the four walls of his designated bedroom that he can see with one sight, the end of the hall visible from one end to another, the kitchen adjacent to the dining room. he fails to notice how he feels most at home in a home and not in a godforsaken palace. 

midnight strikes on the unaware prince as he ventures out the back end of the cottage, towards the lining of the beach. the screened storm door is left unhinged in his wake, flapping open and shut in correspondence with each gust of nightly wind. prince jeno's bare feet leave the shallowest of rifts in the soft sands, the sand itself blowing over and evening out the rupture in mere seconds. the midsummer humidity allows the boy to don only a pair of swimming trunks as he wades in the cool water, jumping as the tides roll in and kicking up at the pebbles that dig into the soles of his feet. gingerly, he braves himself for the chill that is inevitable when he lays himself gently on his back. the little prince shivers.

jeno names the stars in his head, he draws constellations, drones on about the zodiac signs he's learned of and makes up ones of his own. he conjures images of mythical creatures in his mind as he feels the water, now lukewarm and adjusted, lap over his bare torso. prince jeno looks for the man in the moon, he wonders if he's looking right back at him.

the moon draws its waters with force when the clock strikes one. it pushes them to shore, in the direction of the cottage, in the direction of the adrift prince. the first of the waves, slosh gently into him, sending him in unison with the fluctuation. the second only hits as high as the sides of his cheekbones but the third is strong, it submerges him. 

prince jeno no longer has to wonder what it would feel like to be caught in a current and be swept into the middle of the glittering ocean. like to be surrounded by nothing but the suffocating salts and the little moonlight that dwindles between the undulating water above him. it flits and when in darkness, the boy finds difficulty to decide which way is up, he's afraid he can only fall further downwards. that is the only thing he is afraid of. even when briny droplets begin to line the inner surfaces of his windpipes, even when the thrashes still, no longer supported by his weakened limbs, even when his vision spots, his eyelids shut, his ears clogged. prince jeno is afraid he can only fall further downwards. 

the sun is the next thing jeno sees, quite off-putting after having been under the sheets for the previous day and a half. it seems that though he's fully awaken at this point in time, his legs are not, his arms are not, and sure enough, every other part of his body reverberates in the only way the numbness of paralysis would give. prince jeno is not paralyzed but he hasn't been washed, fed, not even a sip of water has passed his lips since he was washed ashore and collected by a royal guard. 

he lays still for another minute or so, which may as well have been fifteen, forty, and hour, he isn't sure and he has no way to be sure but once he feels the slightest twitch of a toe, he's up and moving. moving to the kitchen, the source of all sounds he hears, of laughter, banter, spoons clinking in ceramic bowls. jeno's moving until he is not, but rather than the kitchen, he's in a fairly inaccessible hallway and at a foot of set of steps that spiral beneath the earth. prince jeno is seven and he is curious.

the biting brass of the stairwell against his sock-clad feet is silent but frigid to the touch, the rails, equally as brass, are ornate in detail with excess knobs and spindles for effect. it only comes in full picture when prince jeno reaches the bottom where a brass door is set, completing the sight. pupils shaking, he places a hand on the handle, then two, and pushes it open. 

the dust that rests in the room is certainly not something he finds comfort in. the thickness of it becomes suffocating the more he treads within and it isn't until he reaches the back end of the room, where a little barred window is perched, does he understand the purpose of the room. there's an underlying rumor that passes within the confines of the room, by the way of an apparition, a lost soul, a deceased soul. 

the prince shivers, he is standing in a cage, and he runs before it can encapsulate him once more.

panting, he is on the landing, in the obscure hallway, to the door to the right, the one straight ahead, until he's in the kitchen, voice quavering, "there is a dungeon, brother! there is a dungeon beneath us!" the kitschy tiling is starting to marble before his eyes as they brim with tears. they turn to look at the helpless boy of seven years, in pajamas, the scar on his left ankle showing, his hair upturned, eyes blown wide. 

bemused, it's rather his father who turns to look at him and speaks with a voice that could only denote belittlement, "ahh, yes, the one for the unruly children."

prince doyoung laughs because he is not an unruly child. prince jeno does not laugh because although he is not an unruly child, he is also not the crown prince. 

✧ PRESENT

second prince, lee jeno, draws himself straight, emerging from the black marbled carriage drawn by horses of black mane, he sets his sights on the scene that unfolds before him. the southern castle is fortified in pitch black; black footbridges, posterns, battlements, towers and pinnacles, and all that meets the eye upon first glance. in the moment, the moonlight is cascading down between passing clouds, reflecting across the rounds of the turrets like thick coils of smog. the castle itself, though, serves as a looming presence that rests above a barren forest which is then, set behind a pathed field of low blown and weeded grass. there’s a noticeable wind that courses through the hallowed glade, gurgling the water of the well he’d just passed and ruffling the dried leaves off their branches. jeno’s spirits dissipate as the stems of browned flowers uproot themselves, undulating with the chorus of the wind and wafting a fetid scent.

the prince is accompanied, on either side, by his guards dressed in black and gold accents, he himself, wearing an ensemble of white in contrast. there is no one to guide him home. 

it’s awfully difficult for jeno to forget the reason he is here in the first place, as much as he'd like.

he stands there, that night, his features casting lengthened shadows on the wall behind him, basked in the flickering light of a single candle. crown prince doyoung sits across from him. 

"i suppose the time has come for me to congratulate my younger brother." jeno wonders why he cannot take him with an ounce of sincerity.

"i hope that you have not called me, on such short notice, to give your feigned-hearted felicitations." jeno supposes it's because of the excessive mockery with which his brother speaks that he cannot bring himself to feel particularly fond for. the older clears his throat in an attempt to hide his incoming smile, "and why might you think my heart be feigned?"

scoffing, it's the second prince's turn to push forth mockery, "do you believe us brothers to be close? to be compassionate with each other?" his brother remains silent at that but his face is still drawn in amusement. jeno continues, "i do not believe i am in need of your congratulations on my marriage."

the smirk on his face only seems to grow, jeno could say his anger grows with it. sneering and in full anticipation of the younger's response, prince doyoung quips, "then i suppose i am to offer congratulations on the grounds that you have claimed a throne," jeno's face returns taut, "albeit not from your own will, or even your own silver blood, but congratulations on the throne, nonetheless."

it's years later and jeno can only think of grappling the stiff neck of his brother within the hold of his hands and juicing his blood in such a way that his veins run dry. jeno can only think of throwing him in the cell of their vacation villa, he can only think of slitting his ears. he can only think.

the room is gathered in silence. jeno pushes forth with his speech, "and i would like to thank the whole of this room on the basis of my livelihood, i could not have gone so far, done so much, grown to such lengths, without the support of my kingdom. now, it seems it is in my hands to recover the losses of the northern kingdom, their deceased king in reference-" he is cut off by the king.

"an unfortunate circumstance, might i add." jeno's father laughs, he laughs. his mother begins to hide a chuckle behind her hand, and the advisors and officials in the room all seem to share the same enjoyment. 

his brother. his brother is laughing as well. the room is sprung in gaiety and jeno can only allow his body to run autopilot as he processes the revelations, a sick feud between kings. one that, if not for your loving presence, he would be partaking in, willingly. but instead the world has the gall to mock him, rightfully so, for years of his life have been spent with the same thoughts plaguing his mind. 

"but, oh! our dear jeno, whom we'd never have thought more of, charming the wits out of a lass with golden blood!" his mother has removed her hand, no longer feeling the need of propriety, and exclaiming her heartfelt sins with pronounced fervor. by then, jeno's blood is already set to boiling, flames flickering and erupting in his irises but he has enough composure to soothe himself with thoughts of you. as it so happens, that is the extent of his composure.

"you never know, next perhaps, will be the princess herself." he gives it five seconds.

jeno launches himself at his father across the table, knife in hand, lodging the apparatus into the old man's abdomen with sleazy aim. jeno pulls his posture upright, now atop the table, gravy smothering the satin lining of his slacks. his eyes are in pursuit of his father's but the others in the room have eyes only for him. he attempts a kick to the damned git, when he's thrust back forcefully by a swarm of arms and trepidatious glowers. he responds in a fit of anger, as if his previous outburst had only served as a preamble, hand gripping the head of a bottle of wine as he crouches. with practiced stealth, he pummels the glass in such a way that sharp edges are formed and he storms again, the intent of death in his eyes. 

as the swish of a tranquilizing dart slits open air, lee jeno can see his father, the crimson substance leaking inside out. he can see the spray of wine red liquor as it sails without direction. he can see the scarlet veins in his brother's eyes, the scarlet rims of his mother's. and, when his eyes fall shut and he feels his knees hit the rufescent tablecloth, all he can see is you, drenched in red.

read volume four: and when i fall.

copyright © 2020 rouiyan all rights reserved.

✧ end note — not much happens in this one, admittedly, but jeno's childhood and upbringing is something i really needed to touch on and this version really fleshes it out nicely. the original one that i scrapped felt super rushed, and though i developed more into the forefront storyline, i started to hate the use of a linear plotline for this piece because the main ideas on which it was built upon sounded so feeble when put in context of only the 'present.' but enough of me rambling, i love you, good day. <3

[dragons-bones]

FFXIV: A Drop of Birch

A/N: Surprise pre-FFXIV Write fic! Because getting Ehll Tou to Satisfaction IV inspired me. :3

RATING: T WORD COUNT: 2232 WARNINGS: Mild spoilers for Ehll Tou’s custom deliveries story. Cross-posted to AO3!

--

Aymeric heard the door to his office creak open and someone slip inside before closing the heavy oak behind themself with a barely perceptible thunk. Sure footsteps quietly padded on the thick carpeting—his parliamentary office was more richly furnished than his office at the Congregation, though it was a third of the size—before whomever it was that his gauntlet of aides had let by sat in one of the plush chairs on the opposite side of his desk.

There were only three individuals in the whole of Ishgard allowed into the Lord Speaker’s office without even a warning knock, and two of them were supposed to be busy with new Temple Knight recruits today.

He smiled, still primarily focused on the proposed trade bill in front of him even with such a beloved distraction now in reach. “I will be with you in just a moment, Synnove,” he said.

His ladylove hummed in amused acknowledgment, and he heard the creak of leather as she crossed her legs and settled back into her chair.

After a few more notations made on the document to pass along to his aides, Aymeric set his pen aside and sat up straight from the ungainly slouch into which he had fallen while working, rolling his neck and shoulders to stretch out his stiff muscles. He rubbed his forehead, then drew his hand down his face; he had been at this since before dawn, with only short breaks for midmorning coffee and lunch. Setting his gaze on Synnove, however, he felt his weariness melt away and a familiar, fondly besotted smile grow upon his lips.

Synnove returned the look with a wide, delighted grin of her own, her emerald eyes gleaming with adoration and a not inconsiderable amount of mischief. Her dark brown hair was done up in the crown braids she favored whenever she did some sort of manual labor, from baking to repairing the roof, and the heavy leather vest over a white work shirt with the sleeves rolled up was a familiar sight whenever his lady was assisting in the Firmament. No carbuncles accompanied her at the moment, but she had a jar of some dark substance—syrup?—held balanced atop her knee, the pads of her fingers soundlessly tapping against the glass.

“To what do I owe the pleasure, my love?” said Aymeric, balancing his chin in his palm. “You look like the coeurl who’s gotten the cream.”

“I didn’t want to wait for you to get home tonight,” said Synnove, batting her eyelashes, and held up the jar. Her expression turned fully mischievous, her lips curving in a manner he most often saw on Galette’s face, and the twins’ when they emulated their elder sister. His lady continued, her tone taking a turn for the gleefully smug: “A student of mine completed her first lesson in cooking, and with flying colors. I’m rather keen to show off her success.”

He laughed softly, curious despite knowing that look of catlike satisfaction meant she had something up her sleeve. “Well, far be it from me to turn down the opportunity to taste test. Birch syrup, I presume?”

“How else to best test the patience and attention to detail of a would-be culinarian in the Ishgardian tradition?” Synnove drawled, leaning forward to perch on the edge of her seat, and set the jar down—on the edge of his desk closest to herself.

Aymeric smirked, raising his eyebrows at her. Synnove’s smug grin deepened.

He rose out of his own chair just enough to lean forward, reaching for the jar, when, almost faster than he could see, Synnove lunged towards him. She attacked him with fast, pecking kisses, the first on the apple of his cheek below his left eye, then the bridge of his nose, then the tip, his forehead, his right cheek, the corner of his mouth—

He returned her assault with his own, raining down a barrage of kisses, some hard and smacking, others the barest brush of lips against skin before it was on to the next target. At some point they both gave into deep, raucous laughter, the depths of their mirth forcing them to cease their kisses. Their skirmish finally ended with the pair of them leaning into one another, bent over the middle of the desk: Synnove’s arms around his shoulders, her face in his hair, and Aymeric’s face in her neck and his arms wrapped about her waist. The pair of them snickered and cackled like devious schoolchildren as they attempted to catch their breaths.

Three loud, banging knocks came on his door, and the unamused voice of his chief of staff, Norlaise, rang through the wood: “You have a meeting with the Commons’ Speaker about the trade bill in twenty minutes! Behave!”

Aymeric raised his head and called out over Synnove’s shoulder, “I know, Norlaise!”

One final, crashing knock for emphasis, and stillness settled on the office.

“I wasn’t going to start anything,” Synnove finally muttered into his hair after a short pause. “We aren’t that bad.”

“Yes, Synnove, we are,” Aymeric said with a ruefully unrepentant grin, and kissed the hinge of her jaw while running a hand up and down her spine in luxurious strokes. “Now, share that birch syrup with me and whatever nefarious scheme is rattling around that magnificent mind of yours related to it.”

Synnove let out a grumbling sigh and nuzzled the crown of his head, before they both pulled away—his back twinged only a little as he straightened his spine—and exchanged a final chaste kiss. They retook their seats, with Aymeric picking up the syrup jar as he did, while Synnove pulled her chair closer so that she was able to rest her crossed arms on the desk. She propped her chin on her arms, watching him with a sharp gaze as he in turn held the jar up, examining its contents with a critical eye.

Birch syrup was a much more laborious process than producing its maple cousin, requiring roughly double the sap, a lower cooking temperature, and a longer evaporation time. Aymeric’s mother had been raised in the Eastern Highlands and a tradition of her family and that of the villages on their land had been producing birch syrup during the spring thaw. Lady Gwenaëlle had kept to the tradition even after coming to Ishgard to marry the Viscount de Borel, and Aymeric had been her attentive assistant as a small boy and adolescent when sugaring season was nigh, faithfully absorbing all that she had taught.

Which meant just as Synnove was a snob about the traditional foods she had learned to prepare from her Aunt Angharad, so, too, was Aymeric a snob about those culinary staples he had learned from his mama. Especially birch syrup.

The color on this batch was excellent: the deep, dark mahogany of a proper, long simmer. He tilted the jar back and forth slowly, catching the light from the windows, and raised his eyebrows as he did. It was important to filter the syrup to remove any fine particles or bits of crystallized sugar, and this jar was beautifully clear and free of anything discernible to the naked eye. Most first-time syrup makers could become impatient at this stage, with the end in sight; certainly, his first attempt had not been as wonderfully pure and smooth as what normally graced the Borel table.

But far more important than the appearance was the taste.

Aymeric unscrewed the lid with a deft twist of his wrist and set it aside. Next, he retrieved a clean spoon from the tea service tray haphazardly pushed to the side of his desk, and, conscious of Synnove green-eyed gaze upon him, dipped the utensil into the syrup to lightly coat it. He pulled it from the jar, and popped the bowl into his mouth.

Aymeric groaned softly, eyes falling shut.

Having grown up on birch syrup, he found maple to be cloyingly sweet. Maple’s unique flavor was still lovely, but he had to consume it in very small amounts, else the sugar would make his teeth ache and it would take three rounds of brushing before he was satisfied that he had cleaned it all away. Birch syrup was less overtly sweet, and more complex besides in a way that was difficult to describe: like caramel, or molasses, and almost spicy. His da had always called it ‘minerally,’ or even bittersweet, depending on the batch; Lucia had once said her first taste had reminded her of a balsamic.

This jar was just as good as anything Mama had made; the same depth of flavor exploding and then lingering on his tongue, the same smoothness of a syrup that had been exceptionally well cared for as it simmered and evaporated. No taste of scorching or feel of crystallization at all. And…was that a hint of wintergreen? He knew freshly snapped black birch twigs smelled strongly of wintergreen, but if the sap retained that property even after cooking down…

Aymeric slowly opened his eyes. “That,” he said, breathless, “is wonderful.”

Synnove’s grin was sly and devious as he dipped his spoon back into the jar for another taste. (It was his syrup now, thank you, he was allowed to ‘double dip,’ as Rereha would put it.) “I thought so, too,” she said. “So did Arvide and Hautdilong.”

He paused, spoon still in his mouth and mind going blank for a heartbeat. He blinked once, and stared at his lady.

His lady grinned wider.

Aymeric pulled the spoon free, rolling around the dollop of syrup in mouth on his tongue to savor it even as every warning flag he could think of went up in his mind about Synnove’s intentions. He swallowed at last and said, tone even through sheer force of will, “Ehll Tou made this batch?”

“She did indeed,” said Synnove, pride suffusing her as she sat upright. “We originally acquired the sap from Anna, but Ehll Tou took one sniff and decided she wanted to gather her own. She even knew of a copse of mixed birches not far from Anyx Trine she told us had always smelled delicious when she and her cousins played outside the tower. She near vibrated out of her scales waiting to gather enough sap after Arvide and I showed her how to tap the trees.”

“How long did that take?” said Aymeric, honestly curious, dipping his spoon once more for a third taste of dragon-made syrup.

Synnove tilted her head as she thought. “About…two days, give or take. It was a larger copse than we thought, and we tapped fifteen trees. Ehll Tou was so excited to begin that we had to convince her having access to a proper kitchen in Ishgard would make evaporating the sap less of a hassle than doing so in Tailfeather or over a campfire in Anyx Trine.”

He didn’t bother to hide his grin at that. The dragonet had endeared herself to many of his open-minded countrymen and women with her enthusiasm for learning and throwing herself headlong into every task she undertook. Still, that a Dravanian would be so enamored with the idea of cooking was an idea that would take getting used to, even as enchanting as it was.

“She insisted on doing everything herself,” his lady continued, leaning back in her chair and lacing her fingers across her stomach, “from building the fire in the stove to pouring the sap into the various pots we found for her. She kept the heat steady, she brushed down the sides of the pots regularly to keep any lingering syrup from burning, she transferred the reductions into various smaller pots, and she filtered the syrup three times before she was satisfied it was fit for sharing.”

Aymeric shook his head, fascinated and astonished and awed all at once. “Sewing her own scarf and hat, and making her own syrup, as perfect as anything produced by the finest chefs in Ishgard,” he said. “She’s truly a remarkable individual, and that persistence will serve her well in bridging the divide between man and dragon.”

There was a very peculiar, familiar gleam in Synnove’s eyes as she sat up, vibrating with excitement. She opened her mouth—

Aymeric pointed his spoon at her and said, in the strict tones of the Lord Commander, “We are still not adopting her.”

“Aymeric!” His ladylove’s voice was pure affronted whining.

“No.”

“But—”

He would not yield to the affectation of her huge, sad eyes (oh, Galette had inherited that expression honestly!), and if he let her make the argument at all, she would take the bit between her teeth and charge off with the idea so that he was caught up in her whirlwind. “She is her own person and clearly considered of age enough to travel on her own into the lands of men at her leisure and without censure from her elders, despite their apparent displeasure at her sharing men’s culture with her peers. Never mind Gullinbursti would likely take umbrage with someone, even a Warrior of Light, attempting to lay claim to one of his hatchlings!”

Synnove crossed arms and slid down in her seat in a full-body sulk, a sullen pout on her face. “How dare you be logical,” she grumbled.

“On this matter, someone has to be,” said Aymeric, wry but fond.

Synnove sulked harder.