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crow-summoner · 3 years

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Darklina Week Day 2: Role Reversal

Sun Summoner!Darkling and Shadow Summoner!Alina

Alina, a cartographer for the Ravken Army, undertakes a dangerous mission to stay by her only friend’s side. They must cross the Forge, a hellscape of intense heat and unrelenting light that has torn their country in two. Nothing can survive the Forge for long. Nothing but the monsters that call it home. Alina thinks she and Mal will make it as long as they’re together, but when their mission falls to pieces, Alina discovers something shocking about herself. She can banish light. Her powers draw the attention of the Golden General, a military leader who scares and intrigues Alina in equal measure. One thing’s for sure. Alina can’t go back to life of a mouse, and the General’s her best option to fight for something more. Can Alina save her world, or will she die trying?

Or, an AU where light powers aren’t necessarily good, and shadow powers get to be heroic. Content warning for some volcra expy related gore and some canon-consistent sprinkles of Malina at the beginning. There’s plenty of Darkles after that, now with extra sparkles.

Story under the jump

The Forge

Alina sits at the inn window, adding the last buttery yellow lines to her painting. For being such a blight against their nation, the Forge made a lovely landscape. She dons her fabrikator sunglasses, and turning her back to the unrelenting sunlight, she lifts her tented mirror up to compare her painting to the real thing. Her superior officers would kill her if they knew what she was using their equipment for, but the Forge is too bright to look at directly. Her superiors may not appreciate art, but if she’s going to risk her life for more supplies, she wants to leave a memorial for herself.

“It looks too much like a vacation spot,” Mal says, dragging up a chair so he can sit next to her. He’s already wearing his glasses and darkened veil, which will supposedly keep the Forge from boiling their eyes out and trap moisture near their faces. Alina would be happier if more than army issued fashion stood between her and certain death.

“You make a pretty bride, you know that?” Alina says instead of responding to the criticism. There were enough horrors in the Forge. She wanted make something pleasant. She places her canvas between the shelf and the wall, hoping that someone working at the inn will find it.

Mal huffs. “You wouldn’t say that if you saw the bags under my eyes. Don’t know how people sleep around here.”

Alina supposes people can get used to anything, even perpetual daylight. She secures her mirror and knives to her belt and dons her veil and gloves. She shimmies down the narrow walkway as if showing off the latest fashion. “What do you think?”

Mal makes a show of considering it, rubbing his chin under the veil. “I think the sveta will be too smitten to eat you.”

Alina tilts her head in mock coyness. “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s said to me.” She leaves it unspoken that she wishes someone else was smitten with her.

“Come on,” Mal says, taking her by the arm. “I want to be on time for once.”

By the time they reach the skiff, Alina and Mal are five minutes late. Thankfully, Alexei, her fellow cartographer, covered for her.

“You owe me,” he says, shoving her maps into her hands.

“I’ll bake you a cake,” Alina promises.

“You already owe me twelve cakes!”

“Then I’ll name my first born after you.”

Alexei snorts. “Like any of us are going to live long enough to have kids. We’re all going to be beef jerky in a few hours.”

“Squeak. Squeak, Alexei.” It’s the code their cartographers have for when Alexei’s boundless optimism is bringing them down.

Normally, Alexei would grumble but acquiesce. Today, he just stares at the skiff. “Do you really think the sveta are real?”

Alina shrugs. “What else could eat our men out there?” Admittedly, invisible creatures made of light sounded farfetched, but she’s seen the battle scars. Other soldiers had claw mark scars across their chest and spots where something inhuman had taken a bite out of them. The light could blister, burn and tan flesh, but it couldn’t do that.

“I dunno. Maybe him,” Alexei said, eyeing the golden carriage in the distance. “The Geldling.”

Alina quickly hushes him. General Kirigan tolerates others calling him the Golden General, but he does not take kindly to the Geldling. Sure, the epitaph was based on an old Kerch word for gold, but gelding is also what one did to a prized horse to keep it docile. It was as good as saying their leader is a ballless pet, and everyone knows it.

Sure enough, one of the heartrenders lifts his veil and glares at them. He might have been handsome once, but his sour expression makes the lines on his face hard.

“Captain Herring may be rough, but he’s not a cannibal.” Alina hopes this is enough to cover over their mistake. The heartrender doesn’t look convinced, but he doesn’t fight them either. That suited Alina well enough.

“Watch what you say,” she whispers to Alexei. “We have to depend on these people to survive. Don’t make them mad.”

Alexei nods. “Sorry.”

Thankfully, the rest of their time at the dock goes smoothly. Soon, all the soldiers and Girsha gather inside the metal skiff, ready to take off. A tidemaker hoses them all down, making Alina feel like a drenched rat, but the water is important in such a hot place.

Alina makes sure to stand by Mal, gripping his arm for support as the skiff slides along the sand. There’s enough space to move around, but something about the lack of windows makes the room feel unbearably tight. It’s like one big coffin.

Squeak, squeak, Alina tells herself. No one’s going to die today.

The skiff rattles as they pass over marker zero. They’re officially in the Forge. The panels in the side of the skiff slide up. Rows of dark nets allow squallers to force air out without letting the light in. They’ll have to use the tinted mirrors along the sides of the skiff to direct it.

Alina fans herself, wishing the nets could ease the heat. She was drenched just minutes ago, but her uniform’s now bone dry. Sure, the tidemakers periodically release a mist from their fancy containers and push it around the cabin, but that’s like giving a starving man a single bite.

“I bet I can sweat more than you,” Mal jokes, and she’s sure it’s to help distract her. Even the dumbest man in their unit wouldn’t brag about that.

“No way. Sweat more than that heartrender over there, and you have a deal,” she whispers back. It was a hard challenge. The heartrender already smelled like he’d bathed in nothing but used socks for years.

Mal leans back in shock. “Yikes. Are you trying to kill me? I can’t beat that.”

Alexei sniffs beside them, rubbing under his veil. “My lids are scraping my eyeballs.”

Alina reaches over and slaps his hand the way she used to do with the younger kids at the orphanage. “Then stop picking at them.”

Alexei mumbles. He’s a good cartographer, but he also comes from money, and that didn’t always make for a good soldier. Alina wonders if she should have erased his name instead of Ruby’s. This mission called for two cartographers, and Ruby could withstand discomfort better than he could, but Alina wasn’t thinking rationally. Mal was going to go into the Forge by himself, and Alina needed to remove someone so she could forge her own name on the mission papers. Mal wouldn’t give Alexei a second glance, but Ruby had red hair and a slim figure. Alina couldn’t risk Mal having “glad we’re still alive” sex with her after the mission. It was petty, childish even, but Alina couldn’t help herself. If they all survive the skiff, she’ll woman up and tell Mal how she feels. Lord knows hanging in this middle ground wasn’t doing either of them any favors.

The skiff shakes, and Alexei grabs the walls. “Saints! It’s the sveta.”

The squaller at the helm shushes him. “Just a bump. Don’t call attention to us.”

Alexei’s shoulders slump, but he retakes his position behind the squaller without another word.

Alina can’t help but lean around her squaller to peak in her mirror. She’d heard about calcified roots surviving the Forge long after the crops perished. The real thing must be prettier than the paintings. Instead of a root, Alina finds the fragments of a skull and the front of a skiff.

She steps back, her stomach sinking into her boots. It’s one thing to know the odds, but it’s another to stare the evidence in the face. Better men than them have failed to cross.

The crew stand in silence as the skiff passes the first marker. Alina gives her squaller the proper directions and distances, and soon they pass the second marker. The third. The fourth. Alina allows herself to hope. Just eleven more and they’re home free.

She scratches her arm, and flakes of dry skin come off. No wonder the skiff regulars look like leather. She’d rather go AWOL than do this again. Then again, she didn’t have be here this time either. She has no one to blame but herself.

The skiff rumbles and tilts. It’s just another bump, she assures herself, but something raps against the ceiling. The heartrenders tense up, and the squallers shift their positions.

Oh, no.

She checks on Mal just to be sure, but he’s clutching his gun tight, his head tilted up. It’s the same stance he took when he found that rabbit in a barren forest or when he was about to catch her during hide and seek. He’s sighted something, only this time, that something is stronger than them.

The squaller at the helm brings the skiff to a stop and signals for the shooters and heartrenders to take position. All the non-combat staff – cartographers included – must gather at the center. Alina takes out her knife and her tented mirror, praying she won’t have to use them.

“Protect yourselves if you must,” the squaller whispers, “but don’t get in anyone’s way.”

Alina’s never felt more useless in her life.

The skiff continues to shake, harder this time. Something whines above them. Something answers it’s call from somewhere in front of them. Another whine sounds from behind the skiff. From all sides. How many of them are out there? At least a dozen given the sheer number of cries. No one dares make a sound. The sveta are fierce, but they’re just as blind as a human in the Forge. Maybe if they don’t hear anything, they’ll get bored and hunt elsewhere.

The ceiling dents in with a clank, knocking the skiff to the right. One of the soldiers jumps at the sound, aiming where it came from. The squaller at the helm blows him away, but not in time. The shot blows a hole in the ceiling, letting the light in. The beam hits a tidemaker’s shoulders, carving a smoking black line through her kefta. She screams, tearing off the cloth to expose a blistering gash. A healer pulls her to the side as one her friends tries to stifle her screams with a damp cloth, but it’s too late. The sveta cries draw closer.

Something claws a large hole through the ceiling, the soldiers scrambling to avoid the new beams. Some squallers attempt to blow up a tarp to cover the open areas, but it stops in thin air. No. Not thin air. The tarp drapes over something Alina can’t see with her naked eye. Under the plastic, she can make out its large, pointed wings and snout.

“Blast it,” the squaller at the helm shouts, and the soldiers open fire on the creature. It whines, batting away the tarp, and then it’s gone.

For a moment, no one makes a move. The cabin is utterly silent. Then something flashes across Alina’s mirror, and the next thing she knows, the soldier beside her explodes in a splash of red. On the other side of the skiff, a healer’s hand disappears. He draws back, clutching his now bloody stump as one of the creatures screeches in triumph.

Alina backs up, though there’s nowhere left to go. Oh, saints. She should have never come here. She begs every saint she can think of to forgive whatever sin brought her to this horrible moment. Shooting her fellow man in combat. Wishing harm to the girls Mal so much as looked at. Disregarding Ana Kuya’s rules at every turn. Whatever it was, she repented. Just please don’t let her die at some monster’s hand.

The durasts burst dust in the air. It makes their own people cough, but it helps make the sveta more visible.

BAM!

Another chunk of ceiling caves in, forcing the crew to huddle along the perimeter to escape the light. Not all of them were quick enough. Several soldiers blister and peel, crying as the sveta tear off chunks of flesh from their bodies.

Alina can only stare. It’s too late for prayers. Too late to run. She should have talked Mal into fleeing while she had the chance, and now ... Alina holds out her mirror, a new hope setting in. They might not make it out, but she can at least die by Mal’s side. He has to know how she feels.

Alina slowly shifts through the chaos, dodging shots and beams of light. She finds him by the helm, taking deep breaths as he aims and shoots. Something heavy hits the floor, gurgling. Of course. Leave it to Mal to find the creatures without a mirror.

She shines her mirror in the direction the creature fell, hoping to avoid tripping its body, but to her surprise, she can just make out the sheen of its skin. The colors change as she tilts the mirror, first blue, then pink and maybe green. All the colors of the rainbow. It reminds her of looking through a prism. Not invisible then. The sveta are just reflective.

Alina giggles. Ana Kuya would be so proud of her, committing to her education even as she’s about to die. She keeps giggling over and over, knowing that if she stops, she’ll have to cry. There are just so many bodies around her. They used to be people, and now they’re meat.

Someone grabs her wrist, and a shot of energy courses through her, quieting the hysteria. Mal drags her beside him.

“I’m sorry,” she says, but he’s busy readying his next shot. “I lo – ” She doesn’t get any further. Another soldier’s bullet ricochets off the wall and hits Mal in the shoulder. He doubles over, his gun clattering to the floor.

Alina drops her mirror, pressing a palm against the wound. The blood seeps from between her fingers no matter how hard she tries to stop the flow.

Mal slides to the floor, Alina crouching beside him. The light streams against them, burning her chest and his back. The pain means nothing compared to the loss.

“No. Not like this,” she says, covering Mal’s body with her own.

The pain in her back only lasts a second. It occurs to her that this is not a good thing. It means her nerves have been eaten away, but she’s glad to do it if it means Mal can live.

Something rumbles in the pit of her stomach. She feels like she’s going to burst, and she doesn’t have the strength to fight it.

All around her, the creatures cry and flap their wings erratically. She doesn’t have time think about it as the world goes dark, sinking her into a deep oblivion.

*****************************

Alina wakes, draped over someone’s shoulder, face buried in the red cloth of his kefta. She only lifts her head for one moment, but the light’s unbearable.

The light?

“Mal,” Alina shouts. She wiggles to free herself from the Grisha’s grip. The sveta will come back at any moment. She has to find Mal. Protect him. Where is he?

But they’re not on the skiff anymore. They’re back at the dock, the skiff a shredded husk. People rush every which way, some tending to the wounded and some salvaging the cargo from the hold. Mal could be anywhere among them. Then Alina catches sight of the ground. Oh, saints! So many people lay unmoving on the dock, and Grisha and First Army soldiers keep dragging out more. All these people she trained with. Ate with. Sung bawdy songs with when they’d all had too much kvas. Dead. They can’t all be gone. Right? Right?

Alina kicks at the Grisha. She needs to see for herself who made it out. Mal better be among them. Of course, he would be. He was the best tracker Ravka’s ever seen. He’d always find his way back home. Home to her.

The Grisha swears at her, trying to stop her feet with one arm. “Be still.” She recognizes him. The heartrender that had sneered at Alexei’s comment earlier. Alina drives a fist in the heartrender’s back. If Grisha like him had done more they wouldn’t be in the situation. He did it on purpose, didn’t he? He let their soldiers die because someone spoke against his leader. His pride meant more than the supplies they’d get from West Ravka. More than human life.

“Fine.” With a huff, the Grisha drops her flat on her butt, sand puffing in her face. She’s coughing too much to fight him off when the heartrender takes her by her bicep and drags her towards the camp. Another heartrender takes her other arm, his grip gentler than his coworker’s.

“Was that necessary, Ivan?” The second heartrender asked.

Ivan only grunts “Fedyor” as a warning in response. Fedyor shakes his head with what Alina would call fondness if she thought anyone could be fond of something as sour as Ivan.

“Where’s Mal?” Alina asks Fedyor, but he only lifts a brow. Of course, he wouldn’t recognize the name of a common solider. There were so many of them, and Grisha only concerned themselves with their own. “The boy I was with on the skiff.”

“Ah. Him,” Fedyor says. “The First Army tends to their own wounded. He’s in their care.”

Alina knows what that means. He’s laying outside the infirmary tent, waiting for his turn to have an undertrained medic pour alcohol in his wounds then pack them with mustard plaster. If he’s lucky, they’ll still have enough bandages for him to get his own. Having to use the scraps from old uniforms inevitably led to infection, and without supplies from the west, the camp outpost could not provide the steady diet of alcohol needed to survive that misery. Mal is popular, though. She’s sure someone will be willing to sacrifice their stash for his comfort.

Then it occurs to her that she’s not doing the same thing. She’d been horribly burned by the light, and yet her back doesn’t ache. Someone must have removed her jacket while Alina was unconscious, but her undershirt is scorched where the light hit it. Her chest is unusually red, but it’s not blistering or charred. The worst she can say is that she feels like she’s been awake for days.

“Why would someone heal me?” She’s heard it a thousand times before. Healers were too rare to waste on common soldiers. They were for Grisha and those wealthy enough to be a priority. She is neither, and yet when she looks up at Fedyor, he’s gazing down at her with some feeling she dares not define. It was the same look the Grisha gave the golden carriage when it barreled into the encampment. The same look the peasants near Keramzin gave the bones of Saint Felix on his day of worship. If she didn’t know better, she’d call it reverence.

They stare at each other for what feels like an eternity when he finally says, “We survived.” Alina doesn’t know what she has to do with that. It was luck. Pure and simple. But then Fedyor closes his eyes and whispers, “Thank you.”

A chill runs through Alina despite the heat. She looks at the tents, the people running around them, anywhere and everywhere but at Fedyor and that look, full of expectations she can never fill. They’ve long since passed the First Army section, but they’re now leaving the main Grisha area, heading up the northmost path. There’s nothing there except for the single yellow tent towering over the rest of the encampment.

Alina pulls back, but it does nothing to stop the heartrenders. “What does the General want with me?”

“Just answer his questions, so we call all get on with our day,” Ivan says.

“I don’t know anything! Let go of me!” She turns to look back at the First Army camp, too far away for anyone to see her let alone help. Not that they could do anything if they wanted to. No one says no to the General.

Fedyor grips the back of her neck, and her whole body turns to puddy. The heartrenders lean into her, holding her upright because her knees can no longer bear her weight. She’s too relaxed to move at all.

Ivan sniffs. “You weren’t supposed to do that for anyone but me.”

Fedyor grins. “Sorry, luv. Desperate times and all that.”

They march her straight into the lion’s den.

She doesn’t know what she expected to see. A jeweled throne and a menagerie of exotic animals like the ones she’d seen in the illustrated book of fairy tales back at the orphanage? Enemy soldiers kept in cages and chained otkazat’sya serving the Grisha like the Fjerdan pamphlet a traveler tried to give them before Ana Kuya kicked them off the duke’s property? But this place resembled the main tent for the First Army. Soldiers clustered together around a round table. A large map hung from a board, thread and pegs marking paths, places and interesting parties. And yet the General’s tent was larger than theirs, made of bulletproof core cloth while they had to make do with spun cotten. They must not need to ration oil either given the number of lamps lit, and the gathered Grisha shone like banners in their blue, red and purple keftas. No olive drab for them.

Most of the room turned to face them when the heartrenders dragged Alina in. Some now look at her with open curiosity and others with incredulous expressions. Soft mummers pass through the crowd until someone raises their hand, and the whole lot fall silent. Saints, Alina never heard a tent so quiet before. Even during lights out, at least one person snored.

Without needing to be told, the Grisha step back, parting down the center to make a path. A lone man strides forward, his telltale yellow kefta billowing around him. Notes of silver, white and gold weave through it, enough thread to stitch three tents of this size together, but he’s not wearing the jewelry she’d expect from his high rank, and his clothes are core cloth like any other Grisha. She’s never seen a high officer without any silk on, no matter how impractical it might be. After all, most never saw battle. Not like this one had.

The Golden General is younger than she’d expected given what others said about him. She’d seen a shriveled man with boney hands covered in warts in her mind’s eye, but this man barely had a decade on her, and his warm blonde hair and fair, flawless complexion were pleasing on the eyes. Too pleasing. Even the most beautiful boy back home had some freckle or ruddiness to his skin, but the General’s looks almost painted on. It’s eerie, and yet she can’t look away. He’s like the very embodiment of the light, except there’s a coldness in his gaze and calm comportment.

He may be light, but he’s not warmth.

That right, she tells herself. Ana Kuya warned her about such things before. One of the orphans she’d grown up with saw a gold coin glittering in some bushes under a hill. He’d climbed down for it, only to be rolled by some travelers. They took the buttons from his coat and the boots from his feet. He came home with nothing but his pants and a gash on his forehead. Ana Kuya warned them all then: not all that’s gold glitters. Sometimes, it burns instead. Gold tempts the desperate, but Alina is not blind. The General only looked like a man. He can boil someone’s insides. Make their flesh rot from their bone as if they were already dead. Burn them with a glance. And here he is, looking straight at her.

The General stops a few feet away and clasps his hands behind his back. He looks her over, and she doesn’t know whether to be scared or grateful that she can’t read what conclusions he’s drawn. He nods at the heartrenders, and Fedyor rubs the back of Alina’s neck. Her limbs come back to life, panic rising from her core. She wants to run, but there’s no point.

The General stares at her, impassive, and then finally: “Is it true?”

For a moment, Alina believes the absurd. He’s read her thoughts and knows what she said about him being a monster. Then it occurs to her that he’s talking about the skiff. She closes her eyes. What does he want her to say? She was unconscious for most of what went down, and she can barely remember what she was present for. Flashes of her coworker’s blood and blistering arms intrude behind her closed lids, forcing them open again. Maybe it’s best she can’t remember.

She must have taken too long to answer because the General speaks again. “Is it true that you can banish the light?”

All Alina can do is blink. This has to be a joke, but the General’s expression is serious, and everyone around them is leaning in with anticipation. She knows better than to laugh in their faces and question their intelligence, so she makes do by stuttering, “No one can do that.” It takes a moment, but she remembers to add a quick “sir.” She’s not used to being around anyone important.

She braces herself for him to yell at her the way the generals in their army do, but he merely nods. “Then what did happen?”

Alina struggles for an answer. She tries to tell him that she doesn’t know how the sveta got in, or how their ship made it, but no matter what she says, she keeps returning to those burning soldiers. The General frowns, and she knows she needs to come up with something – anything – to appease him.

The General raises a hand to silence her, and when he speaks, his tone is smooth and calm. “It must have been scary out there. It’s one thing to read about the attacks, but it’s another to live it.”

Alina hadn’t expecting any sympathy, so she just nods.

“You must be exhausted.” When Alina nods again, the General continues. “It’s hard to make sense of anything when you hurt so much. I could help with that if you’ll let me.” He gestures beside him, inviting her closer.

He may have asked for permission, but Alina isn’t sure she really has a choice. Still, he’s been nothing but polite so far. She has nothing to lose by playing along.

Alina slowly closes the gap between them, and the closer she gets, the closer she wants to get. It’s like he’s a magnet, and she’s loose filigree coming together for the first time. She feels the warmth now, not in his continence, but all around him. It doesn’t burn. It doesn’t tingle. It numbs the heaviness of her limbs and banishes the panic that’s haunted her since the skiff penetrated the Forge. Before she knows it, Alina’s pressed up against the General. She’s vaguely aware that it’s not appropriate to stand so close to a superior, and it’s definitely not safe to be within biting distance of a monster, but it feels right. She doesn’t want to be anywhere else.

The General doesn’t seem to mind either, staring deep into her eyes like he’s trapped, too. Her reflection stares back at her in his eyes. They’re just so bright and shiny. She has a hard time placing the color. It reminds her of one of the duke’s vases. The blown glass was iridescent and shimmered with every color around it. She and Mal had argued for years over what color it really was. He said purple. She said green. They finally settled things with a good arm wrestle. Green won, of course. Alina decides that the General’s eyes are green, too.

“May I?” He asks, and though she can’t see where he’s pointing, she answers his unspoken request, sliding her hand in his. His palms are rough from life on the road, but they’re warm, and his grip os gentler than Fedyor’s had been. She could hold his hand and stare into his eyes forever.

“What happened?” The General asks in a voice softer than silks.

The words spill out of Alina on their own. She tells him about forging her name on the staff list. The attack. Shielding Mal. The sveta descending on them, and then – “All I could look at was him, but I could feel the light getting sucked away. Everything went black, and then I woke up on the docks.”

The General says nothing, but his eyes briefly narrow. It’s not a threat as far as Alina can tell. Whatever she said seemed to confirm something for him. The General pushes up her sleeve with his free hand, never breaking her gaze. She doesn’t fight it. She’s curious, too. Something happened back on that skiff. It’s there lurking there in the back of her brain, begging to be revealed. She knows once it’s free, it can never be caged again. The thought simultaneously thrills her and makes her shiver.

The General trails one finger up her arm. Something inside her responds to act, rejoices in it. His finger stops and curls around her forearm. She notes that the nail on his thumb is longer than the others. Sharp. He drives that nail into her flesh, and it’s like a thousand arms stream out of her at once.

Darkness surrounds them, putting out the lights. No, the lamps are still on. She can feel their flames licking at the shadows just as easily as she can feel the General’s grip on her arm. All around them, the Grisha shout. She can’t see them so much as she feels where they are in the dark. It the strangest sensation, and yet it feels like home. Everything is darkness.

Everything but him.

The General glows, smiling down at her. A true lamp would illuminate the world around them, but there he stands, the sole bright spot in the blackness. Standing together, it feels like they’re the only two people in the world. Then the General lets go of her arm and the darkness withers, fading into the ground or retreating under Alina’s skin to fight another day.

Alina clutches her chest, suddenly empty inside. Her head swivels every which way, desperate to find that surety again, but it’s gone. The aches have returned, magnified tenfold. She can barely keep herself upright, and soon, she’s on her knees, her head swimming.

“A shadow summoner,” some squaller says, and it’s as if a dam broke in Alina’s mind. She stares at her rough, ruddy hands. They’re not the hands of a hero, and yet it’s true. It’s all true. She can banish the light. She saved the skiff from the Forge.

She’s … Grisha.

Alina frowns, remembering what Mal said when that Grisha girl made eyes at him from the General’s carriage. He doesn’t tumble witches. Alina was glad to hear it then. It meant less competition for her, and she and Mal had exchanged plenty of digs at the Grisha over the years. Surely, he wouldn’t think she’s like the rest of them just because she has powers. She didn’t grow up coddled and self-important like the rest of them. That had to count for something. He knew her. The real her. He wouldn’t be scared of her because of her shadows.

No matter how hard Alina tries, she can’t bring herself to believe it.

The General holds out his hand. Alina stares up at him, sure she should bat it away. She’s not one of his Grisha. She’s a mapmaker and an orphan and Mal’s best friend. But that may not be true anymore, and she’d be a fool to burn any bridges.

She takes his hand, letting the General lift her to her feet. He pulls her close again, so close she can feel his breath against her face. She should let go, but she clings to his hand like it’s the last safe ledge in a rockslide. He gives her a knowing smirk, and she wants to wipe it off his stupid face. She’s had a rough day. She would have clung to literally anybody, but then the General leans in, and she feels that warmth again. His lips brush her ear as he whispers, “You and I are going to change the world.”

Notes:

Whoo! This is my first Grishaverse fanfic. It may be a little late, but it’s here. One shot for now, but I might be interested in continuing this in the future. Hope you enjoyed!

#shadow and bone #grisha trilogy #darklinadaily #darklinaweek2021 #the darkling #alina starkov #darklina

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ahkaraii · 3 years

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tov postgame drabblefic (3343 words)

“Raven?! Hey, Raven!”

Raven turns to smile at the little shrimp—who’s really more a jumbo shrimp now, with all the acne that comes with puberty—and waves. “Heya, Boss-man!"

Karol’s embrace draws a startled ‘oof!’ out of him, his blastia-heart creaking against his ribs. “You’re in town!” Karol exclaims. “And you didn’t say?!”

“I just got here, kiddo,” Raven says, patting Karol’s back—it used to be a pat on his head, but his head’s just about level with Raven’s now. “Damn, you’re getting tall!”

“You should’a said you were coming,” Karol grouses into his neck. “I’ve got a client I’m already late for across town.”

“Aww, that’s awright. I’ve got some time-sensitive stuff to get ta, too. We can join up after! Brave Vesperia’s still at the same place, yeah?”

“West corner across Saggitarius, yup!” Karol beams. “See you for dinner, then?”

“I’ll whip you up a Sashimi,” Raven promises.

“That’s a promise, pops!” Karol says, and dashes off. Raven scratches his messy hair and abruptly feels very self conscious about it. It’s just a casual nickname, old man, he don't mean naught by it. Relax.

After a fast-tracked meeting with Harry results in a tussle — poking gentle fun at the boy’s attempt at a beard earns him a “Your ass is grass, old man!!” and a surprisingly competent sword duel ensues — the young Master is turning into a proper Don, now — Raven subtly lets Harry disarm him and sprawls on the floor, dramatically defeated.

“Ohhh, these old bones!” Raven mimics being out of breath. “You’ve finally bested me, Master Harry. Do with my ass what you will.”

“Ugh! You’re so disgusting!” Harry is actually out of breath, so he still needs a bit more practice, but it’s leagues better than he was just a year ago. “A duel is an honourable exchange between men! Stop desecrating it with your jokes!”

“I don’t joke with my ass,” Raven says in his Serious Voice, enjoying Harry’s startled look before he dons his jester’s grin again. “Anywho, this old man’s got places to be, so! Toodles!”

“Wait! Raven! What the hell did you come here for!” Harry’s baritone is quite impressive when he gets proper angry. “Did you just come here to waste my time!”

“Never intentionally,” Raven promises. He’d dropped Flynn’s wax-sealed letter on Harry’s desk during their fight, and points to it as he nimbly leaps up to his usual open window. “There’s your homework, Master Harry! I’ll come by to collect it tomorrow at dawn, ‘kay?”

He leapfrogs out in time to hear Harry’s yelps of protest. “When did you put that there! God damnit, Raven!”

Raven’s grinning as he parkours his way away from Altosk’s headquarters and towards Brave Vesperia’s. If he sharply detours into Saggitarius tavern to catch up with the ladies (and the latest, juiciest gossip — who knew Heliord’s newest guild ambassador was trafficking drugs and possibly underage escorts? he did, now), then that’s just Raven being Raven, right? Karol’ll understand.

“I almost thought you wouldn’t come,” Karol says faux-lightly, when Raven finally makes it back a few minutes past midnight.

Aww, shit.

“Heeey, I promised, didn’t I? Business just stretched out a little.” Raven dithers at Karol’s knowing stare. “C’mon, you still up for a good ol’ Raven’s Special Sashimi?”

“Fish isn’t really fresh by midnight anymore,” Karol says drolly. “Unless you wanna go fishing at this hour?”

They’d only get sewer trash in Dahngrest’s polluted rivers, and the next best thing’s thirty minutes out, at the very least. “Ehhh—how bout a Beef Bowl?” Raven says. “Surely you got some cured meats in your pantry. C’mon!! I’ll teach you!”

“Aw, okay. I am pretty hungry.” Karol’s so easy to please, it’s both heartwarming and kind of sad. “I’ve tried making it before but I can never get mine to taste like yours did.”

“’S all in the seasoning, kiddo. Here, watch the master and learn!”

It’s well past two when they finally call it a night, bellies full and hearts warm; it’s solely because of this that Karol succeeds in wrestling a promise out of Raven that they’d talk more in the morning. See, Raven’s got orders to pick up Harry’s response to Flynn’s letter and hussle back to the Empire ASAP, but even he doesn’t have to heart to deny Karol this simple thing.

Ever since Brave Vesperia saved the world by ruining it, everyone’s been struggling to adapt to life without blastia and Raven’s somehow found himself smack in the middle between the two remaining powers: the Empire and the Guild Union. Former member of both and trusted by all due to his role in stopping the Adephagos, Raven’s got the privilege of being messenger boy between the leaders in lieu of formal meetings, due to the fact that a lack of blastia has made travel…immensely more time consuming.

He’s worn down all the possible routes between Dahngrest and Zaphias for over a decade; the presence or absence of blastia has not really affected Raven’s efficiency and timeliness, which, naturally, has made him an attractive player for both sides. It just sucks that this means he’s always on the go, never really spending much time in one place or another. The first six months couldn’t be helped, it was imperative that everyone get their shit together and master the essentials necessary in order to provide basic living to their respective citizens: barrier blastia had to be replaced with rotating squads of knights and guildsfolk trained to fight; food previously preserved by blastia now had to be kept refrigerated with imported Zophier ice, dominated by the Empire, which had to be kept from melting with salt from Weasand mines, dominated by Guilds; everyone had to coordinate and organise to secure trade routes and avoid conflict, etc, etc.

The next six months after that were peace talks and negotiations between what was quickly becoming independent kingdoms in separate countries. Sea travel had slowed the fuck down overnight, because blastia-fueled engines had become obsolete and everyone now had to rely on wind power, so every passing day each country was slowly but surely becoming more and more isolated from each other, and therefore gradually but surely more hostile.

Emperor Ioder ruled over the continent of Ilyccia with his aristocracy of nobles and meritocracy of knights, struggling to keep the Empire’s global standing while lacking the technology to enforce it; Tolbyccia was pretty much owned by Altosk, ostensibly headed by Harry, who was presently overrun with infighting due to the fact that the Union was composed of many, many guilds all clamouring for leadership, if not democracy; East Desier was dominated by the strong-spirited Palestralle guild and its current leader, Natz, whose militant-minded navy had quickly expanded toward West Hyponia now that the Union’s presence was months away by treacherous sea; East Hyponia was an oddly peaceful blend of both Guild and Empire, unique in its joint origin and therefore vocally neutral, though that was quickly becoming contested, and, hence, required Raven-the-Pageboy’s timely arrival to avoid it becoming a full out war. Ugh.

The Schwann part of him that still lived felt heavy resignation at the inevitability of violence—the first one to fall would be Raven, he knew, as no messenger could truly remain neutral in a tug of war between such powerful masters—but the more upbeat part of him was like, stop sweating the small stuff and just go with the flow. Shit always resolves itself one way or another, right?

Right?

“You leaving already?” Karol mumbles into his pillow when Raven rises at dawn; kid’s no longer the type to sleep deeply, it seems.

“Just visiting the young Master to collect his response letter for Flynn,” Raven promises quietly. “Go back to sleep, Karol. I’ll be back to make you breakfast before I’m gone.”

Karol eyes him tiredly but he manages a wan smile. “Okay, pops. I trust you.”

Raven feels goosebumps up his arm. Stupid blastia heart runs too damn cold. He heads out at a jog to warm himself up, since Dahngrest runs both chilly and damp at this hour.

Raven no longer sneaks into Altosk’s headquarters like he did when the Don was alive and Harry was a boy; for one, Don is no longer alive to vouch for his slipperiness and for another, Raven represents the Empire here as much as he represents the Guilds in Zaphias, and no one tolerates his antics as they did before, not with the threat of conflict so close to the horizon. He walks in through the front door and waves at all the folks waiting in line—Pecan, Cactus, Lima and good ol’ Walt; all familiar faces turning sour, as usual—and knocks politely on Harry’s door.

“Master Harry,” he sing-songs. “It is I, Raven the Great, come ‘round at last!”

“It’s been barely ten fucking hours,” Harry’s pissed off voice rings loud and clear through the door.

“Shall I come back at noon, then?” Raven asks diplomatically.

An explosive sigh. “No,” Harry mutters. “Get in here. And call Cactus in, too, would you?”

“You heard the Young Master,” Raven says, nodding at the aptly-named mercenary, with his spiked up armour and sharpened teeth.

“You don’t order us around anymore, traitor,” the prickly fellow spits and shoves past him, to whom Raven mockingly bows to as he passes.

Saviour of the world or not, it's no secret now Raven was a triple agent. The official story Harry graciously gave him is that the Don always knew about Raven’s split loyalty (which is true, probably) and trusted him anyway (which is true, too), so Harry and Altosk will continue to trust him as well (which is flattering, but increasingly doubtful). Harry's a good kid shoved into a position of leadership he's not very well suited for, but even Raven can't deny he's trying and doing better every day.

“Cutlass Cactus, I want you to deliver this to Sirena of Siren’s Fang as soon as possible,” Harry says shortly, handing the man a wax-sealed letter. “Wait for a response, but I await it at most a fortnight.”

“Understood, young Master,” Cactus says, thumping his chest at the honour. He takes the letter, glares at Raven, and makes his way out.

“As for you,” Harry says, “I have a question to ask you before I hand this reply over. A serious one.”

Raven feels his age and more. “Yeah?”

“Ioder is a good man. His dog Flynn is, too. I know this personally.”

There is no question here yet, and there are a fair amount of insults between the compliments, but Raven knows the heart of Harry, and he means well.

“Yeah,” he says quietly. “They are.”

“But,” Harry continues, coldly. “Two kind heads on a hydra do not make it any less a monster.”

Raven hides a grimace by scratching at his sideburns. “The same can be said of the Guilds,” he says lightly. “Or of any organization grown large enough.”

“Stop twisting my metaphors,” Harry says shortly. “The question I wanted to ask is: what do you think the Empire's end goal is?”

And what is the Guild’s end goal, Schwann wants to counter, when the Guilds’ very existence rose out of violent rejection of the Empire? Raven, for his part, takes a deep breath and exhales it out as a thoughtful hum.

“I think the Empire was built to protect and manage blastia,” Raven muses. “And I think the Guilds were built to reject the Empire’ monopoly of them. But, well, there ain’t no blastia left, so… the Empire wants to micromanage what remains. And the Guilds do, too. Yeah?”

“So there can be no peace?” Harry concludes, tiredly.

“Harry,” Raven says, firmly. “Your grandfather, the Don, united the Guilds back when they were just a bunch of rowdy, armed assholes. Y’know how he did it?”

“By fighting the Empire?” Harry says dully.

“By uniting against a common enemy,” Raven insists. “By uniting against a common threat. The Empire is no longer the enemy—hell, think of the Empire as yet another guild. It’s just a group of rowdy, armed assholes. But you and they got a common enemy now, too.”

Harry looks at him sharply. “The Adephagos is no more,” he says, carefully, “right?”

“Not the Adephagos,” Raven says. “The lack of blastia. The lack of technology. The lack of creature comforts all of us got real used to. That’s our enemy now; the thing we all gotta pitch in together to fix.” Raven bows low to Harry, as low as he would to the Don. “I beg you, young Master: do not war with the Empire. Not now. See them as a business partner, instead.”

“Business, huh,” Harry says heavily, and then flicks his sealed letter in Raven’s direction, who catches it just before it smacks him in the face. “All right. Tell your Master we can’t afford a war, anyway.”

Something uncoils in Raven's chest. “You are my only Master, Harry,” he says, cheekily. Just like Flynn is his only Commandant, now.

“Ugh, the way you say it, you make it sound so gross,” Harry complains. “Get the fuck out of my room, old man. And call in Lima!”

Raven sends him a lazy salute and hops his way out, placing the important letter in his robe’s inner breast pocket. His heart blastia emits a small barrier shield of its own, using his life-force; this letter will remain pristine come rain, sleet, or snow, as long as he still lives.

“You’re up, Lima bean,” Raven chirps.

“You call me that again and I’ll break more than just your nuts,” Lima snarls, spits in his direction, and stomps off.

“And we used to have such fun together,” Raven laments. “What happened to us, O expert in nuts, Pecan, my man?”

“Careful, Raven,” the aforementioned Pecan murmurs. “Your jests are no longer in good taste.”

“Your fruit cocktail, on the other hand,” Raven says. “Mmhmm. Top notch, as always.”

Pecan gives him a wry smile. “I saw you buttering up Madam Teal and her girls, last night. They talk about Heliord?”

“Oh, you know me: promise me a free night of drinks and I’ll spill my guts,” Raven winks suggestively.

“Hmm…your costs run too high these days,” Pecan declines politely. “You’ll drink me out of business.”

Raven feels a mild pang of loss; he and the third-waiter-from-the-right Pecan used to be pretty tight. Schwann thinks it’s just how things go. Suck it up, buttercup.

“Next time I’m in town I’ll do you one free, fer old times’ sake,” Raven compromises. “Lemme know what info you want and I’ll get it for ya fer a Mabo Curry and a Don’s Special. Within reason, ‘course.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Black Bird,” Pecan murmurs. “But I’ll be waiting for you.”

Raven walks home with a heavy heart and on lighter feet. He makes a quick detour to the fish market, already bustling with a freshly caught haul; he haggles reliable ol' Fin for a kilogram of merflesh and charms Romelle out of a bottle of soy sauce and pays full price for a sack of white rice before finally making it back to Brave Vesperia’s HQ, just in time to catch Karol in the kitchen about to make morning coffee.

“Raven!” Karol’s smile is brilliant, and very welcome. “You’re back!”

“I promised you my world famous sashimi, didn’t I?” Raven says. “Can't have you saying this old man’s a liar!"

“I’d never,” Karol says honestly, and that, more than anything, is what makes Raven want to noogie Karol and maybe cry into his hair or something likewise unmanful. He settles for making that kid the most delicious dish of fish a Weekend Chef is capable of, and if he finds himself also making Karol his special Pork Stew to eat later, he tells himself it’s ‘cause the boy’s a growing man and not because Raven’s a sap at heart.

“So where ya off to now, Raven?” Karol asks, after they’re done eating and making the kitchen less of a mess. “If, um, you can tell me, that is.”

“Atherum,” Raven says honestly. “Flynn said his girl Sodia’d be there to collect whatever response Harry might have on the new moon, so, there I'll be.”

“The new moon?” Karol stares at him. “But that’s in no time at all!”

Raven gives him a wan smile. “Don’tcha worry, kiddo. I always get ta where I need to in time.”

“We should call Ba’ul,” Karol insists. “You’ll never make it otherwise!”

Raven doesn’t have the heart to tell Karol that it probably doesn’t matter how fast or slow his response arrives; in the end, it’s Harry actions from now on that will be his real response, regardless of what his letter says.

“Judith darlin’ probably has better things to do than be an old man’s cab,” Raven says lightly. “I’ll jes' hop on a merchant ship headed toward Atherum tonight; should make it just in time, if the weather stays fair. This time o’ year, the northern wind’s in our favour.”

“But what if merfish ambush you!” Karol protests. “Or if a storm’s brewing—“

“Tempest!” Raven sing-songs, flicking his hand. “Aw, man, I miss being able ta call up storms willy-nilly. That made me feel God-like, it did.”

Karol frowns at the interruption, but then his face turns thoughtful. “Can’t you still, though? Your blastia’s powered by your life-force, right? So your arts should still be working just fine.”

“Shavin’ a year or two off my life fer a light show is a bit too vapid, even by my standards,” Raven says sardonically. “Plus, I ain’t keen on folks realising blastia’s still useable if you use a human fer a battery.”

He can very easily see it happening in the future: folks trafficking humans for energy. Or, fuck, claiming prisoners of war for it—hell of a good reason to go to war, really, if it’s to dehumanize the ingredients you need to fuel your creature comforts. You justify your atrocities by framing it as necessary or even righteous; Alexei and Schwann used to do that all the time, no brainer. Honestly, this fear is one of the many reasons he’s made Rita promise not to share that part of Hermes’ research, despite the fact that human-powered blastia could solve a lot of the world’s present problems. Schwann’s too jaded to avoid thinking of all the ways it can go terribly wrong, and Raven’s too fucking tired of the parasite that is his heart to think of its more beneficial applications.

“People’ll find out eventually,” Karol insists, at once innocent and wise beyond his years. “Desperation breeds creativity, right? You should tell people about it so they know the risks involved, before someone invents it and says it’s a cure-all or something.”

“Ehhhhh,” Raven drawls. “I’ll think about it.”

He most definitely will not.

Karol drops it, thankfully, but then picks up the old tangent of, “I still say I should call Ba’ul for you. I’ve got the whistle and I was thinking of asking Judy to fly me over to Yumanju, anyway, since my next job’s over there. We could drop you off real quick, no worries.”

“The spa?” Raven perks up. The idea of running off to relax there after all this nonstop political bullshit is extremely appealing. “Really?”

“Really really,” Karol says, smiling knowingly. “So, you wanna come with?”

“Boy, do I,” Raven says excitedly. “Okay, kiddo, you’ve convinced this old man to defect to Brave Vesperia once again.”

“You never left, pops,” Karol says without hesitation, which warms the cockles of ol' Raven's heart. “C’mon, then, let’s head to the usual clearing. Ba’ul’ll show up within fifteen minutes after I call for him.”

“Wait wait wait! We should get Judy a gift first,” Raven insists. “The lady’s coming all the way over here for our sorry hides, we gotta say thanks proper-like!”

Karol blinks. “That’s a good idea! What d’you think she’d like?”

“I know just the thing,” Raven winks. “C’mon, kiddo, we got places to be!”

#karaii fic #tales of vesperia #still figuring out my raven voice and such #i wondered what the boy was doing after the game and here we are #=noodle shrugs= dunno where i was going with this

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khuns · 4 years

Text

who else is there to love but you; a khunbaam au

He tastes like Baam has always thought of and more, lips slotting into Baam’s the way he has slotted himself into the space between Baam’s heartbeats, and Baam isn’t sure if he ever wants Khun to pull away.

“Come on, Baam, it’s our graduation. It’s the last time any of us are gonna have time to travel before we settle into jobs and fall victim to the monotony of everyday li-“

A snort crackles through the speaker, and Hatz’s voice rings clear, “Speak for yourself, Isu. Some of us still can’t find jobs-“

A jostle over the phone, then: “-anyway, as I was saying, it’s just one last hurrah before we officially start adulting. Please just say yes, Baam, nearly everyone else has agreed-“

Baam sighs and sets down his pencil. It’s literally the week of finals; every time he rubs his eyes he sees syntax trees tattooed on the inside of his eyelids. How does Isu expect him to make big decisions when his entire brain is clouded with theta roles?

He opens his mouth, about to ask Isu to please just ask him when he gets back to their dorm room because his brain really can’t handle thinking about budgeting and accommodations, but Isu’s sly voice beats him to the punch. “Khun’s coming.”

Baam lets his head drop into his hands and groans.

Damn Shibisu.

The first time Baam meets Khun, Baam is splayed out on his stomach on Hatz’s kitchen floor, honey dripping from his hair.

The laughter on his tongue dies out; Isu stops flinging flour at where Hatz is crouched, taking cover.

Baam watches in dismay as the most beautiful man he’s ever seen in his life stands at Hatz’s doorway, mouth pressed into a thin line and eyes as hard as flint. The man’s fingers are still curled around the door handle as he surveys the mess before a clipped, “Hatz.”

He feels Hatz tensing up from where he’s knelt beside Baam, hands braced against the fine dusting of flour on the floor.

“I’ll make sure the kitchen is spotless,” Hatz bites out, tone frosty.

Baam’s eyes meet the man’s through a slow tangle of honey, and he can’t help the shiver that runs down his spine. Even backlit and haloed in the artificial hallway light, he reminds Baam of someone royal, hair pulled away from cheekbones high and regal and bangs barely covering eyes cool as glass.

An eternity stretches before the man breaks eye contact with him and makes out a curt nod, “Make sure you do.”

And then he’s gone, door locking behind him with a neat click.

Isu is the first to break the silence- “Fuck, Hatz, when you called to tell me your new roommate was an ass you didn’t say he was a beautiful one-“

“Shut the fuck up, he’s a royal pain in the ass, that’s why I called you to come over- “

“His eyes, Hatz, did you see them-“

“I hardly feel the need to look into the eyes of someone who pisses me off from day one-“

“You ask me to come over and make cookies for you, but you just neglect to mention how beautiful-“

“You saw for yourself, he’s so fucking pretentious - look, Isu, if you’ve done quite enough salivating over my arse of a roommate, do you mind helping your poor roommate up?”

Isu squeaks and slides through the flour to Baam’s side, “You alright?”

“Yeah,” Baam says. “Yeah, no, I’m alright.”

As Isu helps Baam pick himself off the floor and sends him into the bathroom to rinse out his hair, all Baam can think about is the man’s cool blue eyes and the way the image keeps sending his heart back up his throat.

It’s ten in the morning after his last final and Baam barely has time to stuff his duffel in the trunk when Rak calls shotgun.

It sets off a squabble between Hatz and Isu about who should drive and devolves into an argument over whether Rak can navigate (he cannot) and when Isu will even let anyone else drive his precious car (never).

There is a soft huff of amusement from where Khun is leaning on the side of the car, hands fiddling through what looks like a GPS, and Khun looks up at Baam, grinning. “We’ll never set off at this rate.”

“We’ll have to spend the first night back in our dorms and leave tomorrow instead,” Baam returns, biting back a smile. Khun laughs at that, his eyes sparkling through his bangs and curved into crescent moons, and Baam has to tamp down a familiar flare in his chest.

Keep it under control, he tells himself. It’s just a weeklong road trip, after which Khun will move somewhere in the big city for a job at his father’s company and Baam will move back home, despairing over what little job prospects a linguistics major brings. Useless crushes are just that, useless.

He watches as Khun pushes off from the side of the car and tosses the GPS to Isu. “Keyed in a place for lunch,” Khun grins as Isu squawks and fumbles to catch it, “Now you won’t need either of those two idiots up front.”

Hatz splutters indignantly and the rest of them just laugh, scrambling to get into the car so they can finally, finally get on their way and maybe get a decent cup of coffee.

(Rak, much to his disgruntlement, is relegated to the backseat, sandwiched between Khun and Baam.)

The second time Baam meets Khun, Baam neither is on the floor nor has any sticky substance in his hair (thankfully).

He knocks on Hatz’s door, ready to deliver Hatz’s notebook from where Hatz left it in Baam and Isu’s dorm room during an earlier study session.

(A ‘study session’, Baam has learnt, is just an excuse for Isu to bother his best friend into coming over to their room so they can talk about everything other than homework. Not that Baam minds, of course - conversations between Hatz and Isu flow like water, stories from their shared childhood spilling out as they try their best to embarrass each other in front of Baam.)

There’s a click as the door unlocks and Baam’s mouth opens, ready to remind Hatz that even though they only live just a few floors above him, it’s best not to leave his Physics notes behind ever again for Isu to doodle senselessly on, but when the door swings open, it’s Blue Eyes.

Oh.

“Looking for Hatz?” The man prompts, after a beat of silence. “He’s in the shower.”

Baam flushes and makes the conscious effort to shut his jaw. He holds Hatz’s notes out to Blue Eyes, “Hatz left this in my room earlier, could I leave this with you please?”

Blue Eyes raises an eyebrow at the dick drawn in Sharpie on Hatz’s notebook cover. He looks back up at Baam.

“It wasn’t me,” Baam blurts, suddenly anxious to inform Blue Eyes that no, he wasn’t the one childish enough to draw dicks onto other people’s notes. “My roommate and Hatz, they’re pretty close, I guess it’s their thing-“

He’s not sure why words are just tumbling out of his mouth, but Blue Eyes just snorts, corner of his mouth turning up in amusement. He takes the notebook from Baam and nods, “I’ll leave it on his desk.”

“Thank you...” Baam trails off, because for the life of him he absolutely cannot remember what Hatz has called his roommate other than ‘The Royal Ass’ and ‘That Fucking Asshole’. Neither of which, Baam is sure, Blue Eyes would like to be called.

“Thank you,” he manages, and turns to hightail it out of there before he embarrasses himself for the third time in a night.

“Hold on,” Blue Eyes says, and he waits until Baam fully turns back around to meet his gaze. “Who should I say left this for him?”

“I’m Baam.” Baam pauses, then tacks on, “From the twenty-fifth floor.”

“Alright, Baam-from-the-twenty-fifth-floor,” Blue Eyes says, and grins. “I’m Khun.”

Khun, Baam repeats all the way back up to his room, Khun. He tucks the name into the pocket of his cheek the way a child savours hard candy - Khun. Khun, Khun, Khun.

(Baam makes it all the way to the lift lobby before he realises that Khun has in fact cracked a dad joke, and when he tells Isu this Isu can’t seem to stop cackling.)

They stop for lunch at a cute diner at the edge of the city. The lights are dim and the booth seats are cracked, stuffing leaking out from where legs have over the years worn the leather down, but the food is warm and the coffee is strong and that’s all that matters.

“More coffee?” The sole waiter nudges Isu’s coffee cup with the jug.

Isu nods. Might as well, if he’s going to be driving for the rest of the day.

He takes a sip and leans back. Rak and Khun are arguing over routes, phones opened to Google Maps and fingers jabbing at the highways. Baam is listening intently to the road talk, slowly pulling the pickles out from his sandwich and setting them in a pile on the edge of his plate, ready for Khun to pick at later.

Isu smiles softly to himself as Rak leans over him to holler at Hatz. He’s glad they cobbled together this trip - it seems the perfect way to end four years of living together before they disperse and are only able to meet on weekends, or worse, every couple of months.

He’ll miss them, of course - if there’s one thing the university did right, it was their random roommate pairings freshman year. Isu’s heard horror stories of roommates going out partying and coming back to puke on rugs, but Baam clicked with him on all sorts of levels, from cleanliness to sleep schedules to taste in films, and it was only natural they applied to continue living together all four years.

And Hatz, despite his deep loathing of Khun during their first month rooming together, quickly warmed up to him too; they were both quiet and studious, were complete night owls and were quite alright with Isu coming to blabber their ears off every once in a while.

(Hatz also strenuously denies this, but after The Physics Lab Incident halfway through the first semester freshman year, Isu is pretty sure Hatz would follow Khun to the ends of the earth and back. And Hatz’s loyalty is hard-earned; he would know.)

Rak was a lucky happenstance in their second year, a constantly sexiled sophomore from across the hallway who more often than not ended up sleeping on their couch. When Isu found out Rak could make a mean beef stew, well? Isu adopted him into their little family straight away.

“What do you guys think?” Khun turns to his left, spearing a pickle off of Baam’s plate. Baam hums his approval and Isu shrugs. He hasn’t really been listening, but he trusts that Khun’s come up with a good route. If anything was weird, Rak and Baam would have pointed it out anyway.

“Doesn’t matter to me where we go,” Hatz says around a full mouth of fries, “As long as we make it to the hotel tonight.”

“Alright then,” Isu says, brushing crumbs off his shirt, “Where has the Great Rak and Khun planned to bring us next?”

“The Museum of Turtles.”

Rak is grinning so broadly Isu can’t help himself - he laughs.

The third time Baam meets Khun, it’s for dinner with Hatz and Isu.

They’re crowded around a table heavy with pizza Hatz must have grabbed on the way back from class. It’s somewhat towards the middle of their first semester - Khun and Hatz must be getting pretty close if Hatz has invited him to eat with them. So much for Hatz’s obstinate declaration that he’d never be friends with someone “that stuck-up”.

“-completely winded because as I said, I fell on my fucking back, and the crazy girl goes, “Oh my god, you’re looking up my skirt!” Like, I’m the one you knocked over literally half a second ago and you’re accusing me of looking at your ugly ass?! How fucking ridiculous is that?” Hatz waves his slice of pizza in the air, pepperoni somehow clinging to the cheese by sheer force of will.

Baam winces in sympathy. He’s not sure what he would have done in Hatz’s place. Maybe die.

“Then Khun - bless Khun - leans over from his bench and says- oh man, I think you better tell this part-“

Khun huffs and wipes his mouth. He sets his half-eaten slice back down, eyes sparkling with mirth, and continues, “So I’m quietly working on this stupid Physics lab sheet when I hear this idiot fall flat on his ass behind me and when I turn around to laugh at him-“

There’s something that resembles a protest from Hatz but it’s covered by Isu’s guffaw.

“-his lab partner looks like she’s about to scream bloody murder to the whole class so I lean over and - see, ordinarily I’d just laugh at Hatz and turn back but this was the girl who looks down on Hatz because she saw that his textbook was second-hand, and more importantly, she insulted my earrings once-“

“Your earrings! How dare she!” Isu is cackling even louder.

“Right?” Khun smirks, and Baam thinks his heart skips a beat, “Anyway, I lean over and I go, “Oh, sweetheart, you’ve fallen again,” and Hatz is on the floor looking at me like I’m some kind of fool instead of his damn roommate trying to get him out of trouble, so I have to tack on, “Sorry, my boyfriend is such a klutz, he’s always bumping into things. And don’t worry about him looking anywhere at you, he’s not interested.” The look on both their faces, priceless-“

“Boyfriend!” Isu howls, pounding the table, “Straight-as-an-arrow Hatz! Boyfriend!”

Hatz grins, “Whatever, you idiot, you missed the best part - then Khun says to her, “Not that there’s much to see anyway!” Oh man, her face must have been some seven shades of purple-” This sets all of them off and as their laughter dies down Baam is pretty sure if he laughs anymore his cheeks might just split in half.

But through his bangs he sees Khun looking, looking at him, and he instantly flushes. He reaches for another slice of pizza, just for his hands to have something to do, but he brushes against something cool and sees Khun retracting his own hand. Khun gestures for him to go ahead, eyes fixed on him.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, then as an afterthought, “Thanks.”

Khun’s smile is absolutely blinding.

Baam hums happily, flicking through photos from the museum exhibit. They were nearly kicked out for being completely obnoxious, yes, but he got the absolute best photos and he knows Isu has more.

“We’re nearly there,” Rak says from where he’s finally wrangled shotgun. Sure enough, Isu turns into the gravel driveway of a small hotel.

Hatz is the first to tumble out of the car, stretching and nearly knocking Baam in the face. It’s been quite a ride from the museum to the hotel, including a boisterous karaoke session, and Baam can’t wait to check in and dump their stuff so they can grab dinner.

“Bad news, y’all,” Isu says, not even ten minutes later. “They have two rooms, but they’re all big beds instead of those individual ones. Hatz and I can take one - we shared beds during sleepovers - but two of y’all have to take a bed and someone has to take the cot.”

Rak, of course, lays claim on the cot instantly. “I kick in my sleep,” he points out, and everyone groans. He does.

Baam nods, but realises with a sinking feeling-

“That leaves Baam with Khun, then,” Isu says, satisfied. He shoots Baam a barely-veiled triumphant look as he hands him a key card and Baam can’t help but flush. This is a terrible, terrible idea, and Isu is a terrible, terrible friend.

He nearly groans in despair when they finally head to the rooms - even with the bed taking up most of the space, it looks barely big enough for two.

Khun clears his throat.

“I can take the floor,” Baam blurts. He doesn’t want to make Khun uncomfortable. With his luck, there’d be some sort of accident in the night and... he’d rather just take the floor and nap in the car tomorrow.

Khun glances sharply at him. “Don’t be silly, you’re going to ache all over tomorrow. We’ll just, you know, set boundaries.”

Baam thinks about the photo Isu once took of him starfishing all over his own bed and clinging to his pillow like a lifeline. Boundaries. “Um,” he says. “Um.”

“Fantastic.” Khun says, already dropping his duffel on one side of the bed.

Fantastic.

Khun eventually loses track of the number of times he meets Baam. It seems like he’s always there whenever Isu comes downstairs to go bother Hatz, or whenever Hatz pulls them all outside for dinner.

(Not that Khun minds, of course - Baam is... interesting. Khun refuses to explore why.)

He ends up seeing Baam outside of the dorm too, sometimes waving to each other across the street between classes. It’s not until Hatz pulls all their schedules together to find a time to go cake-shopping for Isu’s birthday that Khun realises they share a lunch time most days.

Baam volunteers to get the cake the day before Isu’s birthday, since Hatz has classes until late. Which doesn’t quite make sense to Khun, since they agreed on hiding the cake from Isu in Hatz’s and Khun’s room anyway, so he makes an executive decision to join him.

He leans against the wall, picking at his nails, until he hears shuffling from inside the classroom. A few minutes later, Baam emerges from his Phonology class, scarf tucked messily around his neck.

He raises his hand in a half-wave, and waits for Baam to make his way over.

“Heard from Hatz you’re going to pick Isu’s cake out and thought I’d come with,” Khun says in lieu of greeting, and Baam beams at him.

“Great! We can put it in your fridge right after.”

“Exactly why I came,” Khun returns easily, but it seems like the wrong thing to say - the light in Baam’s eyes shutters a little, but before Khun can think about what he said, Baam’s hitched his backpack a little higher and takes the lead out of the linguistics building, waving goodbye at the security guard.

Huh.

He scrambles to catch up, long legs bringing him back up to speed with Baam easily. “I’m thinking chocolate?”

“Isu only ever eats chocolate cake,” Baam informs him, and flashes him a smile. “The only time I ever get to eat a full slice is when I get strawberry or some other fruit flavour.”

“Strawberry? Good taste,” Khun offers, and Baam’s beam returns.

If Khun waits by the exit of Baam’s phonology class the next week just to see that beam again, well, that’s nobody’s business but his own.

Time melts into months, and Khun and Baam’s weekly lunches melt into nearly daily lunches.

Sometimes Khun stops by the linguistics building to wait for Baam to end class; sometimes Baam finds himself waiting outside their agreed-upon dining hall before Khun shows up, waving goodbye to one friend or another.

Khun’s relatively popular, Baam thinks, until Khun corrects him one day with a, “No, it’s just that business majors have to network a lot. I expect we’ll either end up being employed by each other or buying up each other’s businesses ten years down the road.” He laughs at the mildly terrified look on Baam’s face.

Baam tells Khun about the calculus class he’s been forced to take for his math requirement, and Khun gripes about having to take a Physics class to fulfill his science requirements even though he’s a business major. Conversation flows easier than Baam expects, and the more he talks to Khun the smoother it flows.

He learns about how Khun is a business major because he’s expected to take over the family business. He learns about how Khun is interested in a Computer Science minor because he’s convinced the future of the world lies in tech, and Khun learns how Baam might be taking a Psychology minor because he just wants to learn more about the people around him.

Baam learns how Khun talks with his hands, long fingers swirling and jabbing as he maunders around his point. He learns how Khun’s laughs runs from derisive chuckles to laughter as bright as moonlight on icicles. He learns how Khun would rather carry around a hair tie than have to go to the barber’s every two months, and Khun learns, after an incident where his hair tie snaps and he can’t lean forward without getting hair in his soup, that Baam has taken to carrying a spare one around for him.

Baam learns how Khun takes his iced coffee with milk but no sugar, and Khun learns about how Baam’s favourite boba order is lychee green tea. Baam learns about the way Khun doesn’t really believe in dating for fun, not since he watched his sister run away from home with a boy and come back, badly bruised and begging to be loved again as though her family would have ever given up on her the same way that boy did. And Khun learns Baam is a hopeless romantic, and laughs at the way Baam flushes while admitting he believes in love at first sight.

They talk and talk, and as November melts away and Khun introduces Baam to someone as his best friend, Baam grins and feels as though he’s known Khun all his life.

(“It seems as though,” Isu remarks to Hatz one day, “instead of Khun-and-Hatz and Isu-and-Baam, we’ve become Isu-and-Hatz and Khun-and-Baam.”

Hatz throws a pen at his head. “We’ve always been Hatz-and-Isu, you fool. Ever since I saved you on the playground-“

“Don’t think I didn’t notice you swapped the order of our names, you bitch!“)

They’re settling in for the night, Hatz and Isu on the bed and Rak on the fold-out cot.

Rak is tapping away on his phone, setting his multitude of alarms for the next morning, but Hatz doesn’t bother. He’s sure Isu will shake him awake somehow.

He wrestles a good amount of blanket away from Isu’s octopus grasp, and gets ready to close his eyes when Isu suddenly says, “We really need an intervention.”

Hatz frowns. Did he take too much blanket?

“About Khun and Baam.”

Oh. Isu kicks all the covers off in his sleep anyway.

“Khun prides himself on how perceptive he is,” Isu is saying, “But it’s really stupid how he hasn’t cottoned on about Baam.”

Rak bursts out laughing. “We’ve has this conversation before, yes.”

“It’s so slow burn it feels like one of those frog-in-hot-water kind of stories, you know? One of them makes a move, but the other thinks it’s just bros being bros, one of them slips up but the other blames it on fucking Mercury in retrograde or whatever-“

Hatz snorts, “Pretty sure neither of them believe in astrology-“

“Point is, they practically orbit around each other and everyone, everyone, sees that but them. I mean, have you seen the way Baam picks food he doesn’t like off of his meals and Khun just straight up swipes it off of his plate, no questions? Who does that? Every time I swipe food from Rak he threatens to kill me-“

“It’s because you swipe the food I like, you stupid turtle-“

“Anyway, I pointed it out to Baam once and you know what he said? You know what he said?” Isu rubs his hand across his face. “He blinked and said he didn’t even notice! He doesn’t even remember when they started doing it! Khun does the exact same thing and you know how he hates people touching his food! I tried picking carrots off of Khun’s plate last month because I know he always sets his carrots aside and he fucking hit me so hard with his fork I bruised!”

Hatz hears the slight whine in Isu’s voice and finds himself suddenly unable to hold bubbles of laughter in. It’s ridiculous, it really is, four years of Khun being the absolute softest for Baam and Baam not noticing, and he hears Rak’s low rumble of laughter from Isu’s other side.

“The worst thing,” Isu says over their laughter, “is that you know Khun’s the type of person to not do anything if it might put his friendships in danger. Bet you he thinks Baam doesn’t like him like that.” That sobers them up pretty quickly.

“And you know what the absolute kicker is?” Isu’s voice is quieter now, as Hatz’s and Rak’s laughter die down. “Baam won’t do anything about it because - and I know this for a fact - the fool thinks the same.”

Rak groans and rolls over. “We really need to do something before everyone moves home, huh.”

“Damn right we do.”

(They don’t manage to figure out any sort of concrete plan before Rak drops asleep, but Hatz and Isu agree in the vaguest sort of way that Something Must Be Done, Even If We Don’t Know What.)

When their very first set of finals are over, Isu insists on dragging everyone out for drinks.

They find themselves in a small, dimly-lit pub a short walk away from their dorm, teeming with college students temporarily freed from the shackles and chains of higher education. It’s loud and it feels like there are too many people than there should be on a snowy weekday night, but Isu snags them a table and leaves them there to guard it while he goes to grab their first round.

Khun leans across the table, “How were your finals?”

“Glad they’re over,” Hatz says, unwinding his scarf. “I never want to see a physics formula again. How were yours?”

Khun shrugs. “Same about that physics requirement, I suppose. But we’re taking statistics together next semester, right?”

Baam looks up. “Which professor? I’m taking statistics too.” He’d like to take a class with friends, he thinks, and a small flame blooms in his chest at the thought. Friends.

Cheesy as it is, he’s glad he’s come out of his freshman semester with a group of friends to call his own.

“-Yoo, I think,” Hatz is saying, “The Monday and Wednesday morning one.”

“Neat,” Baam grins. “The three of us can study together then?”

“I leave to get drinks and you’re already plotting to take a class without me?” Isu plops a tray down on their table, sounding more amused than affronted.

“You’re the engineering major,” Hatz points out, but Isu waves him away.

“Enough school talk,” Isu says, and raises an eyebrow. “Let’s talk about more fun things.”

Isu’s idea of fun things, apparently, includes a list of get-to-know-you questions, and he grills each and every one of them as if he’s about to have a final on the details of his friends’ lives.

“-past relationships in three words, go.”

Hatz winces, “She… wanted… fencer?“ Isu groans at Hatz’s poor summary, then gestures for Baam.

“Um,” Baam says. “She… wanted better.” Not technically true, he thinks, but that’s as clean as he can get to describing Rachel without prying open a can of worms he had trouble closing in the first place.

Isu pats his hand in sympathy, “One of those, huh? One of my exes dumped me because he had his sights on something higher too. I’ll go for the other one then… his gay experiment.”

Hatz hisses at that, and drains the rest of his beer. “Deserved every last punch I gave him.”

Isu laughs, light and hollow and carefully wiped of emotion, and the sound, emptier than the thud of Hatz’s glass on the table, rings in Baam’s ears. He’s glad Hatz was there to dole out the hits all those years ago, because tipsy on three whole glasses of beers, he’s ready to go out and start a new fight himself.

Isu gestures for Khun’s turn, but Khun’s eyes are on Baam. His gaze has a sort of scrutinising air, as though he’s trying to figure something out, and Baam feels his scowl disappear and a tremble run under his skin.

“I don’t believe in dating,” Khun says, after a measure of silence, and Baam’s heart gives a soft thud from where it has sunk somewhere near the floor.

He isn’t sure why he’s disappointed; he’s known about it ever since Khun told him about his sister, of course, and he’s not even sure what he’s hoping for - they’re great friends and it’s already more than Baam could ask for. Khun is kind and smart and pays attention to the people around him and he has a sort of determined dedication that Baam has never quite figured out how to instil in himself. And even if Khun was up for dating, Baam thinks, he’d be too many leagues above Baam; just in the time they’ve been sat down, there have been countless looks thrown at their table, soft giggles about the boy with the messy blue ponytail and eyes like sapphires, quiet and not-so-quiet whispers daring each other to go up and talk to him.

None of them have, though. It’s just something about the way Khun’s eyes have never wandered from their table that has kept everyone away.

“-couldn’t press charges against him,” Khun is saying. The napkin between his fingers has been torn to shreds, and Baam wants nothing more than to be able to curl his hand around Khun’s in comfort without the tug in his heart begging for more.

He keeps his hands to himself.

“Well, I thought I was the most miserable story, but fuck,” Isu says, and stands up. “I’m going to get another round.”

He comes back with a tray full of soju bottles, and they end up drinking all the way through Isu’s list of silly questions.

They learn that Hatz would name his hypothetical bunny General McHoppers, and that Khun would rather fight a duck-sized horse than a horse-sized duck. Baam can’t remember if they decided on hot dogs being tacos or sandwiches on their way out of the pub, but somewhere along the way his gloves have been fumbled onto his hands and his beanie jammed onto his head.

Isu has his arm around Hatz, talking a mile a minute about how the flat earth theory could theoretically be true while Hatz is struggling to support his weight. Baam could laugh at the way Isu’s stumbling, but come to think of it, he isn’t so sure about the structural integrity of his own legs.

He feels an arm slide around his waist and a laugh, low and breathy in his ear. He shivers at the sound and the way it feels so achingly close he could just turn and- he decides to blame it on the wind chill.

“You’re a lightweight,” Khun accuses. There’s a ribbon of a laugh in his voice and Baam mutters out a stubborn, “I’m not,” that goes unheeded.

“So when are you coming back?” Khun asks, voice light and conversational. “We can probably do something together before winter break is over and the next semester starts.”

Baam squints at him, as though it will make Khun’s voice amplify through the cotton wool of his brain. “Mm not leaving for break,” he says carefully. “Staying here.”

Maybe taking phonology was a good idea, Baam thinks. Makes his enunciation clearer and all that. Maybe Khun will stop thinking he’s drunk and unhand him.

Khun just snorts, and if anything, his hold on Baam gets tighter. His voice is tinged with amusement as he leans closer, lips brushing Baam’s ear. “You are drunk,” Khun informs him, “and you’re saying all your thoughts out loud.”

Baam flushes and immediately clams up. That’s enough thinking and thoughts for tonight, he decides, and is rewarded with a silver peal of Khun’s laughter.

Khun tosses and turns.

There’s no reason why he can’t sleep - the curtains are drawn and Baam’s breathing is even and quiet. He can only imagine the storm coming from Rak just next door.

Khun groans quietly. This is the worst time for his insomnia to act up - they’re planning to go to an amusement park tomorrow and damn if he’s going to be tired through all the fun.

He gropes blindly about until he finds his phone. Isu and Baam sent photos from the museum earlier; he might as well use this time to go through them and save them.

He thumbs through them quickly. Most of them are shots of Rak staring open-mouthed at the exhibits, but there are some silly shots of them looking absolutely ridiculous.

There’s a mirror shot with all of them crouching in front of four huge turtle shells, with Rak standing in the middle, cackling his head off about them finally being “turtles”. Isu’s holding the phone and yelling at them to stop squirming and to please align themselves so they all show up at the correct angle in the mirror or god so help me, my arms are gonna fucking fall off. The photo is slightly blurry with his efforts and Khun can almost hear Hatz’s helpless giggles ringing through the photo.

His thumb stills.

Picture-Baam’s arm is half-raised, fingers coming up to brush away his bangs, and picture-Khun’s arm is slung over his shoulders. PIcture-Baam’s eyes are crinkled up, mid-laugh, smile bright and golden as sunflowers and not quite as radiant as Khun knows it is in real life, but radiant all the same.

And picture-Khun is looking at him, smile soft and head slightly bowed, eyes brimming an emotion Khun does not yet know how to describe.

His thumb swipes to save the photo before he realises it, and there is a flash of an idea about setting it as his wallpaper before he is distracted by a sleepy snuffle. By the light of his phone he sees Baam spread out on his side of the bed, face-down on his pillow.

Khun frowns. There’s no way that’s good for respiration.

He reaches over and gently tugs on the pillow, enough so that Baam has to shifts his head to accommodate for the change but not enough that it wakes him up. He waits until Baam resettles, head tilted and eyelashes brushing his cheek. His mouth is slightly open, lips soft and parted, and Khun is dimly aware of the urge to brush Baam’s hair away from where it is falling across his face.

Beautiful.

The word springs, unbidden, to his mind and he freezes.

Baam. Baam, with the biggest heart of anyone he knows. Baam, with his thoughtful smile and easy laugh and the quiet way in which he lights up the room.

Baam, with the way he finishes Khun’s sentences and laughs at all of Khun’s stupid puns, with the way he understands Khun without either of them having to exchange a word, with the way his loyalty to his friends is fierce and burns with the heat of a thousand suns. Baam, with the way he fits, just right, into Khun’s side, like two hands made to hold.

Baam, with all his kindness and his constancy and his optimism and all of his warmth.

Baam, his best friend.

Khun breathes out shakily, puts his phone down, knots his fingers together, and wills himself to go to sleep.

Baam yanks his chair out from his desk. He’s sopping wet and his bangs keep dripping in his eyes and his goddamn bag is soaked and he feels that awful discomfort of clothes sticking to his skin and really, all he wants to do is take a warm shower and curl into his bed and forget this day ever happened.

“Your mood,” Isu remarks from his bed, “seems to be absolutely foul.”

“You think?” Baam snarls.

Isu blinks, then shuts his laptop. “Wanna talk about it?”

Got caught in the rain, he wants to say. Got called out in class to answer a question about the reading I didn’t do. Got leered at by some creep on the street. But everything is stuck on the top of his tongue, dwarfed by a bigger truth threatening to slip out.

Got stood up for lunch by Khun again.

“Whenever you’re ready, I’ll be here to listen,” Isu says, voice soft and gaze even softer.

Just like that, Baam feels the angry knot in his chest loosen, gently unwound by the unquestioning kindness in Isu’s voice. He lets his backpack tumble to his chair, then sinks, wet clothes and all, onto the floor.

He opens his mouth, intending to apologise for snapping at Isu, but all that slips out is a sob.

Immediately Isu is on his knees, hugging him tight and cradling Baam’s head. Baam tries to bat him off, tries to say through a nose full of snot, I’m getting your clothes drenched with rainwater, but Isu just swipes Baam’s bangs away from his forehead and hugs him again.

“Go take a warm shower,” Isu says, “I’ll make tea, and you can tell me what happened.”

Baam nods, and Isu herds him off the floor and into their bathroom.

He tries to get his shit together in the shower, and emerges ten minutes later, red-eyed and sniffly-nosed, to Isu’s promised cup of tea. It takes five minutes for him to gloss through the shit-show that was class, then another five for him to meander around the topic of Khun.

Isu leans back, finally. “You were meant to meet Khun for lunch, but he stood you up and you’re upset because it’s the second time this week he’s done it without warning.”

“I mean... yes, but now that you put it like that, it sounds like such a stupid reason to be upset, I sound so stupidly clingy-“ Baam falters.

“Do you know why he didn’t show up?”

Baam looks down at the chip in his mug. It fits the shape of his fingernail exactly, almost as if he could have, at one point, dug his fingernails in so deep he chipped the mug himself.

“Yeah,” Baam says at last, “He was meeting his partner for their marketing project.”

“The marketing genius? The one he’s been nattering on about for the past two weeks?”

Baam swallows the bitter taste in his mouth that really has no reason to be there. There’s an uncomfortable knot in his throat, and he sighs. “The first time, I waited twenty minutes before I called and he picked up and apologised for losing track of time because he was talking to her. Which is fine, you know, we all do it.”

“And this time?”

“Called a couple times but he didn’t even pick up the phone. And it was raining, so I thought he might have been trying to wait out the rain and lost battery or something, or maybe something important popped up, so I ran through the rain to the business building to look for him, but he was just standing in the lobby of the building talking to his project partner and laughing with her and-“ Suddenly there’s a lump in his throat that he can’t speak around, and he falls silent.

It’s so stupid, he thinks. He’s acting like a spoilt child, crying because he doesn’t have someone’s undivided attention. It’s so, so stupid that he thought he had a monopoly on Khun’s time, that he thought he was so important that-

“It sounds,” Isu says carefully, “like you’re upset that he didn’t respect your time, and that he temporarily held time with his project partner in higher regard than time with you. Combined with the rest of your day, it’s understandable that it’d be a last straw.” He’s squinting at Baam, as though he doesn’t expect to be right, as though he expects there to be something more but can’t quite put his finger on what it is.

Baam nods at him anyway, but there’s an unsavoury, wiggling feeling at the bottom of his stomach that laughs at that.

If it wasn’t Khun, you wouldn’t have minded as much, it taunts him. If it was Hatz, you’d have just brushed it off as his scatterbrain and just waited out the rain. But it was something about seeing Khun with that girl that made you so upset you had to run home in the rain, wasn’t it? I think you’re-

“You’re jealous,” Isu says, slight incredulity colouring his tone as he arrives as the same conclusion. He rocks back in his chair slightly, and repeats, “My god, you’re jealous.”

Baam chokes. He briefly considers denying Isu’s scarily accurate mind-reading, but his head is so, so heavy, and there’s a tiny bloom of relief now that the nasty knot in his throat has finally been given a name.

He lets his head hit the table, and his question comes out more like a smothered whine. “How do I make it stop?”

He feels Isu’s fingers tap along the table as he works out the answer to Baam’s question.

“You’re acting like you’ve just got your heart broken,” Isu says, after a while. “I think that should tell you something.”

“I’m not in love with him,” Baam says, protest dulled and muffled. “I’m not.”

Isu remains silent.

“I’m not,” Baam insists. “He’s my best friend.”

He waits for the familiar bloom of pride he gets whenever Khun introduces him to someone as his best friend, but the words ‘best friend’ no longer taste like they used to.

“He’s my best friend,” he says again. As the words leave his mouth, Baam no longer quite knows who it is that he’s insisting to.

(Khun knocks on his door that night to apologise. Baam takes a deep breath and they both ignore his red eyes and pretend nothing ever happened.)

Baam shifts. It’s warm under the blanket and really, if someone could turn that fucking alarm off and let him sleep a couple more minutes, it’d be great.

There’s a slight shift behind him, and a small whine comes from the crook of his neck.

Baam freezes, suddenly more awake. There’s a heavy, warm sort of weight around his waist and a cool press against his calves. He doesn’t dare open his eyes to see what they might be.

This can’t be happening, he tells himself, then nearly laughs aloud. Of course it’s a dream, Baam thinks. His unconscious must have lifted something out of all the things he’s never allowed himself to consider, much less daydream about, and stuffed them all into a dream-

Lips brush the back of his neck and Baam’s mind stops working.

He’s sure his heart is thumping loud enough to wake Khun up, but Khun just mumbles against his neck again, whispers of a breath making Baam’s hair stand on end. “The alarm-“

He feels Khun still. Stars burn and burst and civilisations rise and fall in the spaces between Baam’s heartbeats. He can almost hear the cogs in Khun’s brain turning, and he’s so busy trying to keep his heart still and his breathing even that he thinks he imagines the barest press of lips on the back of his neck before Khun pulls away.

He nearly whimpers at the loss of contact, but Khun has already shut off the infernal alarm and is shaking him awake, hand warm against his shoulder.

Khun’s voice is rough with sleep and something else as he tells Baam to get up and get dressed for breakfast. Baam tries not to think about it.

Isu is convinced Baam just needs to go out more and meet people that don’t live with him and are not Khun.

Baam disagrees.

He doesn’t understand why Isu is squeezed onto his bed next to him, flicking through Tinder and showing him faces that frankly, look nothing close to Khun’s. “I’m not interested in dating anyone,” Baam mutters for the fourth time.

“You’re not interested in dating anyone that isn’t Khun,” Isu corrects. He swipes left a couple times, then frowns. “How about this one?”

Baam groans, and shoves him lightly. “Get off my bed, Isu, your bed is literally three feet away.”

“You can’t see faces on this screen from three feet away-“

“I don’t want to-“

“Listen, Baam, you want to get over Khun? Go on some dates. Seven billion people on this earth and you think that blue shrimp is The One?”

“I don’t think he’s anything, he’s just my best friend-“ Baam falters under Isu’s withering look. He has to admit that even to himself, his repeated denials have sounded particularly pathetic as of late.

“You’re not fooling anyone,” Isu says finally, setting his phone down. “I’ve seen the way you look at him, and frankly? It reminds me of the way I used to look at Hatz.”

Baam’s eyes widen. “Hatz?! But-“

Isu waves him away. “Briefly thought I fancied him way back in ninth grade. Had a whole dramatic little crisis about pining after my straight best friend too, it was a nightmare for my mum.”

“And then what happened?” Baam’s voice is smaller than he intends.

Isu snorts, tipping his head back and letting it hit the wall, “Then I went on a date with someone else and realised that I was an absolute fool and Hatz wasn’t all that great, that’s what happened. My mum’s theory is that since there wasn’t anyone else in the picture, my brain went for the only one who would show me affection. Which was really stupid, because something in me already knew that even if Hatz and I were soulmates, we’re in no way relationship material, you know? It just took me a little nudge to better figure out what I wanted in a relationship and realise that Hatz wasn’t it.” He chances a look at Baam, and exhales a shaky laugh, looking back up at the ceiling. “Don’t tell him, though, don’t want to get his ego to get more inflated than it already is.”

Baam looks up at him. He sees how Isu’s biting his lip and avoiding his gaze, and he sees how Isu’s sharing a part of himself that he’s never told anyone, how Isu’s just really and sincerely trying to help. “I’d never.”

And so he agrees. He agrees to let Isu set him up on dates and he agrees to sit down and figure out what it is he wants. Because it can’t be - and it shouldn’t be - Khun. It can’t be Khun and his smart quips and his messy bangs and the way he smiles at Baam like Baam’s the only thing in his world and the way that makes Baam’s heart skip a beat every time.

(Khun catches him, one day, stumbling out the dorm, running late to a date with some girl named Endorsi? Androssi? “Where you headed? Wanna get dinner?”

“Maybe later,” Baam mumbles, distracted and looking at everywhere else but Khun, “I’m late to a… to a date.”

Then he slips away, like sand between Khun’s fingers, and Khun tells himself for the rest of the day that the hollow feeling in his chest is because his professor only gave him an A- on that marketing project that he and Yuri slaved away over.)

“If I have to go on another rollercoaster, I’m going to throw up,” Isu warns the group. He’s bent over heaving, hands on his knees, and his glare just makes Hatz laugh even harder.

Khun chuckles and takes pity on him. “You all go on ahead, I’ll take this one and get us snacks. We’ll meet you at the exit of the next coaster.”

It takes all of two seconds for Hatz and Rak to cheer and haul Baam off to the next one.

“You didn’t want to get on another one too, huh?” Isu whispers conspiratorially, bumping his shoulder against Khun’s.

Khun snorts, “I can handle a couple more-“

“Liar!” Isu sings, and winds his arm around Khun’s shoulders. Khun bats him off, laughing, and they head over to the nearest concession stand.

Isu orders them hotdogs, but the churros in the display case catches Khun’s eye. A vague memory of Baam mentioning churros flashes in Khun’s mind and he makes a quick decision.

“And a churro,” Khun tacks on, then fishes out his wallet.

Isu eyes him. “Hungry?”

Khun shakes his head. “Baam likes churros, he hasn’t had them in a while.”

Isu just looks at him strangely, then turns to collect their orders from the operator.

Khun frowns. Should he have gotten all of them churros? Hatz doesn’t like sugary things, though-

As they walk back, foil-wrapped hotdogs and churro in hand, he hears Isu whistle quietly. He bumps his hip against Khun’s, and nods over to their right. “Look at that guy.”

Khun glances up, trying to keep the mini hotdog-churro mountain in his hand from toppling. The guy in question has short silver hair barely covered by a backwards cap and eyes red as a snake’s. The flimsy white tank top he has on leaves little to the imagination, and from the way he looks positively sculpted, Khun can see why Isu singled him out.

“Right Baam’s type, isn’t he?” Isu says, and Khun nearly drops the churro.

“Baam-“ he splutters, trying to salvage the churro from where it’s clamped in the turn of his wrist. “Baam’s type?”

“Yeah. You think he’s Baam’s type?”

“I don’t know, he’s only ever dated girls-“

“You’re his best friend and you never once asked? Also, he’s only had one girlfriend, but I set him up with all genders-“

“You set him up?!”

“For the whole of freshman spring, you fool, did you never catch on?”

“He’s never mentioned it-“

“That’s because he wasn’t interested in any of them, and I tried my best, mind you-“

“And that’s Baam’s type?” Khun twists slightly to look back at the man.

Isu bites his lip, grinning, and Khun has a strange feeling Isu’s just making it up in his head.

“He isn’t, is he?” Khun says, and ignores the way his heart lifts slightly.

“You’ll just have to ask,” Isu sings, and Khun groans.

Before he can think too much about why he even wants to find out in the first place, they see a brown blur barrelling towards them, and Khun has to take a step back to avoid being ran over by Rak.

Hatz and Baam are slower to head towards them, still talking about the animatronics in their last ride. Isu hands Hatz his hotdog, and Khun is about to tell Baam that hey, the concession stand was selling churros and I remember you mentioned a while ago-

“The animatronics were really cool, Khun, you should have seen it. You would have liked them.” Baam’s eyes are shining, soft muted gold, and Khun finds himself smiling softly back.

“I’ll go with you next time,” Khun promises, and is rewarded with Baam’s breathless beam.

(“Gross,” Hatz mutters, mouth full of mustard. Isu isn’t sure if he’s talking about the way Khun and Baam can’t stop looking at each other or if it’s the obscene amount of mustard he slathered onto Hatz’s hotdog as a joke.)

As it turns out, Baam gets along with all the people Isu sets him up with like a house on fire.

Not in the way Isu expects, of course. Baam finds out that Wangnan was forced to do it by his friends too, and they spend an hour commiserating over meddling friends with good intentions before realising they share their sociolinguistics class and move on to commiserating over that too. Ehwa is slightly clumsy with her words, but is completely endearing, and when she admits to Baam that she’s not really looking for a relationship because she’s still hung up over an ex, Baam finds himself equal parts relieved and sympathetic. Urek confesses that his main motive for downloading the app is to convince people to join his school’s flailing LGBTQ club, but it backfires when they realise they attend different colleges. Baam laughs and agrees to attend some of Urek’s club events anyway.

He ends up great friends with all of them, and with the flow and ebb of the semester, ends up spending less time in his dorm than usual.

“Getting popular, huh,” Khun says one day, as Baam taps out a reply to Ehwa that absolutely yes, he‘d love to hear about the new boy she’s been seeing. Baam hums distractedly in response, and sets his phone down when Khun sighs.

“You’ve been spending a lot of time out of the dorm,” Khun tries again.

Baam blinks. “Some of my friends living in different residence halls.”

“You’ve been spending less time with us,” Khun clarifies. Baam wishes he could see Khun’s eyes to figure out what he’s thinking, but Khun’s frowning down at his nails.

“You jealous?” The words slip out of his mouth before he can help it, and he nearly laughs at their irony.

Khun glances sharply at him, full force of a blue stare wiping away Baam’s smile. He’s looking straight at Baam with a seriousness that they’ve never shared in their nearly-two semesters of friendship, and there follows a moment of silence so loud that it echoes in Baam’s ears and with each beat of his heart Baam knows that Isu is wrong, Isu is wrong, Isu is wrong and that there will never be anyone for him but Khun.

Suddenly Khun blinks and he’s pouting, lower lip jutting out in petulance. “So what if I am?”

(When Hatz walks in, he says Baam laughed so loudly he could hear him all the way from the lift.)

Rak eyes Baam’s hotdog. He’s long since finished his, but Baam’s been stuck, starry-eyed, on the churro Khun bought for him, and Rak grumbles to himself that if Baam doesn’t get started on that hotdog soon he’ll rip it out of Baam’s hands and inhale it himself.

“Baam? Is that you?”

An unfamiliar man is standing behind them, head cocked to the side and unzipped hoodie barely clinging onto his biceps. Rak winces as Isu grabs his shoulder and whispers, “It’s him!”

Before Rak can ask Isu what he’s talking about, Baam has burst into a smile - “Urek!”

“Baam, baby, I knew it was you!”

Rak blinks. Baby?

He wants to ask Isu about this strange man with silver hair, but everyone’s mouth hangs open as Urek envelopes Baam in a bone-crushing hug and lifts him off the ground.

“Thought I wasn’t going to see you again, not with my club leaving for our trip two days before your finals ended, but I’m so glad to see you, babe-“

Isu issues a faint squeak as Urek plants a loud smack on Baam’s forehead, and clutches Rak’s shoulder even tighter.

Rak turns to Isu. “Explain,” he demands, under his breath.

“I thought he looked familiar when I saw him just now, fuck- I set up him with Baam ages ago, back in freshman spring, I thought nothing came of it since Baam talks about him like he’s just a friend but-“

“But babe?” Rak hisses. Khun isn’t going to like this, he thinks. He’s going to go into one of his infamous sulks and Baam’s going to be the only one who can pull him out of it, and good fucking luck to whoever gets the job of explaining to Baam why Khun was sulking in the first place.

“So you gonna introduce me to your friends, Baam?” The man says, slinging his arm around Baam and smiling genially at everyone. Baam’s smile is so wide it nearly cracks his face in half, and Rak wonders faintly how Khun is faring.

“Everyone, this is Urek, he goes to the college uptown. Urek, these are my best friends Hatz, Isu, Rak and... where’s Khun?”

Rak pauses as everyone turns to look around. He swears Khun was right beside Hatz half a second ago, but there’s absolutely no trace of him now. Half of Rak is relieved that he’s not on the other end of one of Khun’s patented glares, but the other half of him knows Khun well enough that he can smell the Brood building just right round the corner.

He sighs, and gently disentangles Isu’s arm from his. “He mentioned something about needing to run to the washroom, I’ll go see if he’s there.”

Rak waves a friendly goodbye at Urek, and as he walks away to search for a flash of blue hair, he hears a sly, “Oh, Khun? Your Khun?” and Baam’s flustered spluttering.

Ah.

He spots a messy blue flash a little ways down from them, and hurries over before Khun can see him.

“So,” Rak says by way of greeting. He clamps a hand on Khun’s shoulder as Khun turns, blue eyes flashing in surprise, “Our mighty Khun has run away.”

“I’m not running from anything,” Khun mutters, turning away again, “I just... saw this really interesting... thing and came over to look at it.”

“Terribly fascinating, these... uh,” Rak follows Khu’s gaze, “these trash cans.”

“They... they might talk.”

“Talking trash cans.” Rak is unimpressed, and he makes sure to let it into his tone.

He crosses his arms and lets Khun avoid his gaze for a few more seconds. Khun’ll start talking soon, Rak knows - he hates awkwardness, especially when they’re centred around him.

“He’s… he does seem close to Baam, isn’t he?” Khun says, eventually. He still hasn’t taken his eyes off the trash cans, and Rak briefly considers tossing Khun into one.

“I don’t know, you tell me. You’re his best best friend.”

There’s a flash of a wince before Khun’s cool mask is back. “He hasn’t told me anything about that guy.”

Rak waits.

“He’d… he’d tell me if they were dating, wouldn’t he?” Khun’s eyebrows are furrowed. “Why hasn’t he said anything about being someone’s… someone’s babe?”

Khun spits out the last word with so much disgust that Rak nearly laughs. “You’re an idiot,” Rak chooses to say instead.

He waits for Khun to look up before continuing, “You’re an idiot and lest you forget, you're his best friend-“

“Just his best friend-“

“-and what that means is that if he hasn’t told you anything about this guy giving him pet names, it probably isn’t significant enough to him and he hasn’t feel the need to mention it. To you or to any of us. Whoever Urek is, he doesn’t mean anything to Baam other than a friend, and you, of all people, shouldn’t worry that Baam is keeping anything from us. He’s your best friend, Khun. Trust him.”

Khun lowers his head, worrying a fingernail between his teeth. They remain silent for a moment, until Rak finally processes what Khun has said.

“Just his best friend?” Rak tries not to smile too widely. “You looking to be something more, then?”

Khun freezes slightly, then lets out a laugh that is far too cheery. “Course not.”

Rak isn’t as smart or perceptive as Isu is, he knows, but he likes to think that after more than two years of friendship, he can read Khun pretty well too. He kicks lightly at the trash cans, and offers quietly, “I know his friendship is valuable to you - I know all of our friendships are - but I don’t know if you see the way Baam looks at you sometimes. There’s… there’s something different there. There’s something there that Hatz doesn’t have with Isu. And I know you’re afraid of losing him, and you’re afraid taking the chance that one day he might leave you behind but… for what my opinion is worth, I think Baam might be a chance worth taking.”

He watches Khun take one breath, two, three. Khun’s hands are balled up into fists and Rak can see the cogs turning as Khun processes and reprocesses what Rak is presenting to him.

When Khun speaks, his voice is small. “The way Baam looks at me?”

“You’ve been walking around him with your eyes closed, haven’t you - he looks at you the same way you look at him.”

Khun’s mouth opens, as if in denial, and Rak huffs. “He looks at you like if you were to hypothetically be more than best friends with him… he looks at you as if he might like that.”

Khun shuts his mouth. He stays lost in thought for a while, and Rak feels an itch on the back of his neck like someone is watching him. He suddenly remembers the way they have left Baam and Hatz and Isu standing, waiting for them, and curses. “Come on, they’re looking for you. Should I tell them you were jealous that someone called Baam baby or should I tell them you were entranced by talking trash cans?”

Khun flushes and turns to walk away from said trash cans, tossing Rak two fingers.

Rak just cackles.

The first snow of sophomore year falls on a Tuesday.

Baam wakes up to a flurry of white outside his window, and as he trudges through the ankle-high slush and the snowflakes that threaten to glue his eyelashes together, he realises he forgot to bring gloves.

Ah, well. He’ll just suffer, then.

His phone buzzes with non-stop texts from Hatz and Isu all throughout his second lecture of the day, and he fumbles to set it on Do Not Disturb when his TA starts glancing over at him.

Best Roommate Ever: snowing!!!! Fencing Champion: snowball fight in the park, 2pm Best Roommate Ever: bring it on bro I’m not scared of you Fencing Champion: yeah, not scared of me keeping my winning streak alive Alligator Overlord: get ready to get SMUSHED, cowards, the Great Rak is coming Khun: good lord, y’all couldn’t wait until classes were over?

Baam bites back a grin, heart oddly warm, and he finds himself unable to sit still for the remainder of the lecture. He ends up counting down the minutes to the end of class, and as soon as it hits 1.45pm he tosses his notes into his bag and his scarf around his neck.

He is the first one out of the building, and nearly blows by the person leaning by the entrance. The person reaches forward and tugs on his backpack, and Baam turns around, startled, only to come face to face with Khun.

“Woah there,” Khun laughs, arms reaching out to steady him. “In a rush?”

Baam grins in response. “Left my gloves at the dorm, thought I’d go grab them before meeting everyone for the snowball fight. Wanna come with?”

Khun raises an eyebrow, and produces Baam’s gloves from his own pocket and holds them up to Baam.

“Absolute hero,” Baam beams, and he tries to tamp down the wonderful sort of warmth curling out from his heart all the way down to his toes. “How’d you know?”

Khun shrugs. “You always forget your gloves. Thought I’d just let myself in and check if you did.”

He hands Baam his gloves, and wait for him to put them on before they begin the cold and slippery trek to the park.

Isu and Hatz are already there, wrapped in beanies and scarves and long winter coats.

“Get ready to get wrecked, losers!” Isu calls out, waving to them.

“Where’s Rak?”

“Rak’s here,” comes Rak’s voice, somewhere near Baam’s feet. He’s lying on his back, limbs spread out and tongue sticking out. “Mm trying to catch snowflakes.”

Baam just laughs, and helps him up. There are already multiple groups spread across the grass, flinging snowballs at each other with peals of laughter carrying in the wind.

“We’re thinking a three versus two game,” Isu offers, now that Rak is back on his feet. “How do we want to split?”

They decide on rock, paper, scissors, and by some feat of magic (“Manipulation,” Hatz insists), Khun emerges on top.

“You get first pick,” Hatz tells him, “but the other side gets the third person.”

Khun twists to look at Baam. “How’s your aim?”

“Terrible,” Baam answers honestly, and Khun grins with far too much delight.

“Great. I want Baam.”

“No cheating,” Hatz warns. “Just the both of you.”

Khun bumps his shoulder against Baam’s and grins at him, eyes sparkling with mischief, “Always been us, hasn’t it?”

And when Baam laughs, full and delighted, Khun swings, hidden snowball hitting Hatz right between the eyes.

(Baam dreams about us sometimes. He dreams of an us, a universe in which Khun is ice and he is fire, and they burn together in an endless firework instead of melting into a tepid puddle.

He dreams of a Khun that hurtles through space and time, and of a Baam that will rip rifts into the fabric of the universe if it means he can follow wherever Khun goes.

He dreams of a Baam that spins illusions out of thin air in a circus for those without a home, and a Khun that tells the future and flips cards and is the flip side of his card, the way people are in the best sort of love stories.

He dreams of a Khun that wraps his hand around Baam’s and tips their foreheads together in soft moonlight, and of a Baam that is brave enough to rest his head against Khun’s heart, finally brave enough to dance with him to the quiet song that is three o’clock.

He dreams of a Baam that charges into battle, cloaked in red, sword drawn and burning with the rage of a thousand souls, and of a Khun that grits his teeth and charges in right behind him.

He tells Isu about the latest of his strange dreams one day, and Isu just laughs.

“Of course he would,” Isu says, picking up his book again. “Khun looks at you as if he’d follow you around anywhere.”)

“Come on, eat faster, we’re gonna miss good spots for the fireworks!”

“What good spots?” Khun snorts. “In case you forget, fireworks are in the sky. Anywhere’s a good spot.”

Rak levels Khun a glare, and brandishes a fry in his face. “Not if the only place left is under an awning and all our views are blocked. Remember junior year?”

Everyone groans at the memory and starts eating slightly faster - they waited for the fireworks to signal the end of the pride parade, but when the fireworks started and they finally clambered outside of the coffee shop they were waiting in, all they could see was the red underbelly of an awning that desperately needed a clean.

“So,” Baam says, “Urek asks if we want to meet his club for lunch tomorrow.”

There is instant reaction around the table - Rak drops a fry on the ground and squawks, and Isu chokes on his soda. Hatz has to thump him hard on the back before Isu inhales, red-faced. He flashes a grin at Baam, “Why don’t you ask Khun?”

Khun looks up from where he is staring daggers at the table, and frowns. Why me? He wants to ask, but Baam has already turned to him, eyes hopeful and fingers poised over his keyboard.

He swallows hard. As much as he doesn’t like Urek (Which doesn’t make sense, by the way, a small voice in his head tells him primly. Urek’s been nothing but friendly to you.) he doesn’t want to be the one to deny Baam anything. “If you want to, sure.”

Hatz huffs in annoyance, and Khun shoots him a look. What’s with all his friends today, he wants to demand. First with Isu joking about Baam’s type, then Rak being uncharacteristically insightful about things Khun doesn’t want to think about, and now Hatz? But he sees an opening to get answers, and he goes in for the kill.

He turns to Baam, and slaps on a smirk. “So he’s your type, huh?”

Baam’s mouth hangs open, a faint blush painting his cheeks. “He’s- what- he-” Baam flaps his hands in Khun’s direction. “What made you think that?”

Khun affects a casual shrug. “Looked like you were pretty pleased to see him.”

“He’s a friend from uptown,” Baam says. “Nothing like my type.”

“And what would that be?” Khun says, then makes the mistake of looking into Baam’s eyes. Like honey, he thinks, dazed, the kind that is sweet and sticky and impossible to ever escape once you’ve fallen in.

He nearly misses Baam’s nonchalant answer, delivered as if he’d rehearsed in his mind a thousand times before. “You know, kind, smart, resourceful. Takes the time to get to know me. Same sense of humour. Always knows what to say. Remembers the small details about me, stuff like that.”

There’s a snort from the other end of the table that sounds suspiciously like sounds a lot like Khun, but the tips of Baam’s ears are red as he breaks eye contact with Khun and he’s pouting so fiercely at Isu that Khun’s mind nearly goes blank at how… how cute it is.

But Rak is growling at them about how if they don’t finish eating in five minutes he’s going to head out to see the fireworks without them, and so Khun’s mind shuts up pretty quickly.

(They manage to find a good spot, of course. Not many awnings in amusement parks.)

The first firework to go up is red, and the crowd oohs and aahs as their video cameras capture the peony bursting into a thousand tiny stars. The next one is a yellow brocade, and as the golden stars fade away, Khun can’t help but think that it doesn’t quite match the golden of Baam’s eyes.

Baam.

He turns to his side, shoulder brushing Baam’s, and is stunned to see Baam already looking at him.

Baam blinks rapidly at having been caught, and Khun can see a small flush making its way up his face in the dim light. Khun’s eyes unconsciously trail down, a small part of his mind wondering, wandering-

Khun finds himself leaning in, and his eyes dart back up to Baam’s, suddenly closer than they’ve ever been. They are full of… hesitance, Khun thinks. Hesitance and a quiet sort of yearning and something that resembles hopefulness that makes Khun’s heart flip in a peculiar sort of way.

He opens his mouth, but under the bursts of the fireworks and the thunder of his own heartbeat, he finds that for the first time in his life he cannot think of anything to say to his best friend.

He doesn’t know how long they stay like this, encased in all the things Khun doesn’t know how to put into words, a frozen bubble of their own, but all too soon the lights are flickering back on in the park and everyone is cheering for the fireworks display. There is a resigned sort of smile on Baam’s face as he raises his hands to join the applause, and Khun notices too late that Baam never pulled away.

“They were beautiful, weren’t they, Khun!” Hatz is saying, and Khun snaps away, shoulders jolting away from Baam’s and mouth fumbling through a yes, of course, of course.

When Khun is five, his sister tells him about her first boyfriend. What kind of person do you want to date in ten years, Khun? Khun thinks about it, and tells her, with all the gravity a five-year-old can muster, someone who eats all my carrots so I don’t have to. His sister bursts out laughing, then hauls him onto her lap. My boyfriend is tall and smart and handsome, she says, tickling his sides. Will you be tall and smart and handsome too? But he’s wriggling around too much to answer, answering shrieks of laughter echoing down the hallway.

When Khun is eight, he comes back from school with a backpack full of chocolates on Valentine’s Day, and when his mother laughs and asks him who he got them all from, he shrugs. Here and there, he tells her, and he hands her the stack of letters he gets along with them for her perusal. You didn’t open any of them, she says, but he has already wandered off. He ends up stuffing some chocolate into his sister’s jacket pocket, and when she disappears that night he wonders if she ever finds them.

When Khun is ten, his sister comes back home, bruised and empty. She sometimes forgets the motions she needs to go through to love herself again, Khun’s mother tells him, so he needs to love her extra until she remembers. He hears - he can still hear - the quiet, trembling way she tries to rebuild herself and when he climbs into her bed to hug her and pepper her forehead with kisses the same way their mum does, he tells her it’s okay to cry, and he tells himself that he will never let someone consume him the way that monster has consumed her, because even at the age of ten Khun has come to learn that sometimes the wounds that hurt the most are the ones that don’t show scars.

When Khun is fourteen, Novick gets a crush for the first time. He tells Khun all about her after school one day, and Khun nods politely in all the right places while trying to solve a rubix cube. How do you know? Khun asks, hands fiddling with his cube. How do you know you like her? Novick flops over onto his bed and sighs. Can’t get her out of my mind, Novick says. I can’t stop wanting to make her smile.

When Khun is seventeen, Dan applies to the same college his partner does. You’ll regret it, Khun and Novick tell him. Think about what college is best for your education, not who’s going to go there, but Dan just laughs. It’s a reach school anyway, he says. He might not make it in. But he’s test-savvy, and he does, and when it comes down to the decision between Khun’s school and theirs, Dan chooses them. Don’t sacrifice your future for someone you might not even remember down the road, it doesn’t make sense, Novick tells him, and tosses a pen at his head. Love isn’t supposed to make sense anyway, Dan grins, and that’s that.

When Khun is eighteen, he comes back to Dan and Novick for the summer with one name on his tongue. He tells them all about Baam and the way Baam’s eyes sparkle when he’s excited and the way he hates pickles and the way he laughs at all the bad jokes everyone else groans at. He talks about Baam until Novick swipes him on the head and laughs. You talk about him so much it’s insane. You in love, bro? And Khun remembers the flames that burned his sister, the way love ate and ate and ate away at her until she had to build herself again, and he bites his tongue and shakes his head, insistent. I’m not.

When Khun is twenty two, alone in a hotel room crowded with his own thoughts at two am while his best friend lingers outside, he calls Dan and Novick. They hear the worry of fingernail between his teeth, and they ask him what’s wrong, Khun, what’s wrong, and joke about how they’ll help him hide the body. He takes a deep breath, and whispers, I think I’m in love with him.

And just like that, the dam breaks.

He tells them about the way he cannot stop thinking about Baam - the way he has never stopped thinking about Baam since the day they met - and the way he’d do anything to make Baam smile. He tells them about the way Baam’s eyes shine a soft, subdued gold when he’s thoughtful and a fierce, flashing gold when he gets worked up, and the way Khun has tried his best but has never quite figured out if it’s the gold of dusk or dawn. He tells them about the way something inside him aches when Baam looks away, the way Khun’s hands itch to hold his every time they touch.

He tells them about the way Baam eats his carrots (Novick laughs) and the way Baam has a stupid sweet tooth that can only be satisfied with copious amounts of chocolate and the way he walked forty blocks once just to find the sort of chocolate Baam likes because he knew that Baam’s beam at the end of it would be worth it. He tells them about the way Baam looked, under the dim light of the fireworks, the way Baam looked at him, hopeful and yearning and sad all at once, and the way Khun wanted nothing more than to kiss him in that moment. He tells them about what Rak said, about the way Baam looks at him, and the way he looks at Baam and how the past few years suddenly clicked and made sense.

He tells them about the way he’s discovered that Baam has dismantled him, piece by piece, and has diffused through him so thoroughly that everywhere he looks, it just echoes Baam, Baam, Baam, and as a tear rolls down his cheek he tells them about the way it doesn’t make sense, because he’s told himself that nobody is supposed to cut through him like this.

Love isn’t supposed to make sense, Dan says. Now go, go and tell him.

“Hey.”

“Hey yourself,” Baam looks up. He watches as Khun emerges from the shadows, hair almost pearlescent in the sharp moonlight. His hands are stuffed in his pockets, and he looks almost nervous waiting for Baam to allow him to sit.

Baam shifts, and he settles down next to where Baam is sitting on the curb, hugging his legs and chin on his knees. The curb is narrow, and Khun is nearly totally pressed up against Baam by the time he’s fully sat down, adopting the same pose Baam is.

Baam swallows. He feels the warmth of Khun’s leg through his own jeans, and the dangerous brush of Khun’s hand on his.

“Nice night.” Khun comments.

Baam hums in response. It is - the stars have all come out in this dark distance between them and the city, and the only things Baam can hear is the song of the cicadas and the low buzz from the neon sign outside the hotel.

“What brings you outside at 3am?”

Everything, Baam thinks. You. Me. What I want us to be but daren’t ask for.

The way I keep replaying that moment under the fireworks in my head. The way that when I close my eyes, I keep seeing the way you looked at me, keep feeling the brush of your shoulder against mine, but knowing it doesn’t mean the same thing to you as it does to me. The way that even if it did, you’d never act on it, and oh, the way I wish you would.

“Too stuffy,” Baam says instead.

“Me too,” Khun says, and his voice is so close, so close to Baam’s ear that he’s sure if he just turns his head a fraction Khun’s lips will be there. “Too many thoughts for one small room, you know?”

Baam swallows again, and stays still.

“Baam,” Khun murmurs. His voice sounds slightly strangled and all sorts of breathless, and it takes everything in Baam not to shiver in response.

“Baam, look at me, please.”

And so Baam does, because he never can resist when it is Khun asking. He turns, and he sees the way the moonlight dances between Khun’s eyelashes, the way it brushes Khun’s cheeks and makes him glow, makes him look so ethereal that it makes Baam’s chest hurt.

He sees the way Khun’s eyes are soft and open and willing Baam to understand, but fierce and determined and brilliant all at once. They shine, and Baam’s breath stutters.

He wants to look away, wants to pry himself away from the trainwreck of a memory he knows he’s going to form, the memory he knows will replay in his mind’s eye over and over again when he lays down to sleep at night.

But Khun is beautiful, and Baam cannot take his eyes off of him.

Beautiful. Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful.

And suddenly Khun is leaning over, hand warm on Baam’s jaw, eyes questioning, pleading, and Baam feels himself melt into Khun, carried by the ache of want he has hauling around by himself the past four years.

Khun tastes like iced coffee, like sunlight glinting off of fresh snow. He tastes like the crackle of lightning, like a multitude of city lights, like the sound of snowballs skimming across a frozen pond. He tastes like Baam has always thought of and more, lips slotting into Baam’s the way he has slotted himself into the space between Baam’s heartbeats, and Baam isn’t sure if he ever wants Khun to pull away.

And when they do break apart, it is with the feeling that everything in the world has snapped into place, brighter, clearer, right.

“I’m sorry it’s taken me this long,” Khun murmurs. “But I’m here now, and I don’t think I ever want to leave.”

====

anyway i just graduated and now i miss my friends and i don’t know what to do with my life what’s up with y’all

#tower of god #tog #khunbaam #khunbam #vivi writes #what's up folks i haven't written a full fic in close to two years #anyway i'm not posting this on ao3 firstly bc . i don't have an ao3 acc #if anyone could help that would be very helpful #used the morpheme help twice! i'm never going to write 15k words ever again #chopped some too bc i was so scared this wasnt gonna fit in the tumblr character count #catch my old fandom references LOL #but also if you know where the title is from high five ayeeeee jj lin ballad king #除了爱你还能爱谁 is a masterpiece and none of you can tell me otherwise

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mcustorm · 4 years

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45 M/M Gay Movies, Ranked

The other day I bit the bullet and decided to watch Brokeback Mountain for the first time. All I knew about that movie was that it was basically the CMBYN of yesteryear and somebody got killed with a tire iron. Anyways, so I finish the movie and realize that I’ve seen a *lot* of gay movies, especially in the last couple of years. So here are my rankings according to nothing but my personal preference. I won’t write about all of them, but you can ask about something if I leave it out.

I wish I could give you a rubric for this. The reality is, there are some radically different movies on this list with different tones and intentions. There’s buddy comedies, tearjerkers, small indie features, big theater releases. So trying to rank them all is TUFF.

The Way He Looks - Such a beautiful coming-of-age movie. Maybe the 2nd one I saw on this list? Perfect length, perfect characterization, simple yet compelling, clever. And nothing feels better than reaching a happy ending (for once, because some of these movies’ endings-- SHEESH) that’s been earned. It just hasn’t been topped.

2. God’s Own Country

3. Pride

4. Kanarie - Yea, we don’t talk about this movie enough. It’s one of the most recent that I’ve seen. Beautiful. The way that it references apartheid and the war to reflect the protagonist’s feelings? Flawless.

5. Jongens - The first movie that I saw on this list, gets many a bonus point for that.

6. Moonlight - Yes, I am black. Yes, I understand this movie may be too low. Moonlight kind of scares me. In general, there’s not nearly enough discourse surrounding this one for me. But while it’s not exactly a popcorn-muncher, to me it’s the most personal movie on the list. When I look at Chiron and all that he’s been through, I can’t help but draw parallels to my own story up to this point. It holds a mirror up to me in a way that no other movie on this list does. That makes me uncomfortable.

But it is so poetic. Have you guys seen the script for this? The directing, the SOUNDTRACK, the acting. Phenomenal.

7. Weekend

8. Call Me By Your Name - Yes, I am aware of people’s beef with this one. Yes, I understand a lot of people may feel this one is overrated. While I do think this one gets worse on rewatch, the truth is, it’s not really *that* overrated because hot take: most (meaning over half) of the movies on this list range somewhere from “just okay” to “painstakingly bad”.

It’s the score, the cinematography, the subtext in most all of the dialogue, the acting, the way that you can smell the apricots through the fucking screen. People who say this movie is a vacation ad are fucking CORRECT. One of my biggest gripes however is that it’s too fucking long. And uh, that age difference...

And Armie Hammer’s a weirdo...

9. Dating Amber* - Dating Amber has one of those “Duh” premises that sounds like it could’ve been done like 30 times before yet I can’t think of any other examples of it. So what you’d think would be a wacky premise actually turns out to be a frankly poignant movie with an emotional story arc for the main two characters.

10. Hello Stranger: The Movie* - This movie, which is the first sequel (sorta) on the list, frankly had no business being as good as it was. Even though the web series is required viewing, I felt the movie fixed like all of the series’ issues: pacing, lack of compelling drama, the awkward quarantine format. The drama and stakes are there without us having to visit Angst City. And the theme and the ending reprise is HEAT.

11. Uncle Frank* - Uncle Frank is like The Help of gay movies. Like The Help, it’s *overall* a short, sweet and fluffy movie set decades ago. Like The Help, you’ll still come out of it feeling pretty good even though it has some dark moments. Also like The Help, you’ll wonder after the fact if the central white girl absolutely needed to be so...well, central for this story to be told. Bonus points for Paul Bettany and Character Actress Margo Martindale.

12. Brokeback Mountain - Tragic.

13. Moffie - Set during the South African border war, same as Kanarie. You even hear the word “moffie” throughout Kanarie. Anyways, this is a war movie for the gays, and a very intense watch. I liked that it was a much more realistic view of what a soldier endured during that period, and of course on the flip side I thought it was more thorough in its depiction of the rampant racism. I gotta find a good book on this era.

14. A Moment In the Reeds

15. Get Real - Maybe the most out of place movie on the list. I need to rewatch it. I do recall absolutely loving the score, however. Like, I fucks with this:

youtube

16. Freier Fall - When I finished Brokeback I was like, “Wait, wasn’t that just Free Fall with extra steps?” And yea, it kinda is. But even discount Brokeback is still pretty good.

17. Beautiful Thing - There are few things to like about this one, the relationship between the two guys, the mother’s love for her son even though it’s not all rainbows, that nice little final scene. I did not care for the dark-skinned woman being portrayed as, you know, the drug abusing, school dropout, gossipy, butt of jokes neighbor. But that guy really looks like Tom Holland tho.

18. Love, Simon - It’s at this point that I move from “Yea, that movie is good, you should watch it!” to “Look, you may like it, you may not.”

19. The 10 Year Plan - This movie is so fucking cheesy that there was cheddar coming though my speakers. But when I think of “Hallmark/Lifetime, but for the gays” this is the crown jewel. There’s some other movies on this list that could’ve taken some notes.

20. The Christmas Setup* - The trend of fluffy-white-gay-cable-network-movie continues and in good form. It’s not deep. It’s not really thought provoking. It’s cute. Fran Drescher is there. You should watch it.

21. Giant Little Ones

22. Hidden Kisses

23. Alex Strangelove - In a unique twist, the emotional core of this one is arguably between Alex and his girlfriend. All that ends up happening, however, is we the viewer keep wanting more Alex/Elliott scenes; those are the most electric in the whole movie. The end result is a hot yet endearing mess.

24. Fair Haven

25. The Thing About Harry - Freeform’s attempt at making a cheesy rom-com for the gays. It’s...okay. I personally feel like the main character’s friend is highkey trifling but it’s whatever.

26. Your Name Engraved Herein* - So I guess I’ve decided I officially hate angst. I mean, I get how it’s often necessary to tell an effective story, but I’m just not here for 2 hour indie angst fests that get passed off as “high art” anymore. I cannot do it. Somehow this is Brokeback’s fault...there just has to be a better way to tell gay stories in the 2020′s. Anyways, the last song was fuego.

27. The Perfect Wedding - Easily the most bizarre movie on this list. It’s so bad, I liked it a lot.

28. Naz and Maalik - The first half of the movie with the two leads just riffing is some pretty great stuff. The back half starts throwing plot developments that are just less than interesting.

29. My Best Friend

30. The Curiosity of Chance

31. Being 17 - Boring. Angsty.

32. And Then We Danced

33. Center of My World - Has some of the most trifling characters EVER. I was so angry. This movie for me has *0* rewatchability.

34. Just Friends

35. 4th Man Out - This movie was basically “a bro/Hangover-style movie, but for the gays.” I absolutely love the intention, but the execution was a little shoddy. One day we’re gonna get a flawless movie that nails what this movie was going for. I hope we remember this movie whenever that day comes.

36. Latter Days - So fucking preachy.

37. GBF - Another bizarre one, but at least this movie gets how wacky it is.

38. Beach Rats

39. Shelter - I’ve noticed a lot of people like this one. To that I say...yikes. Remember that scene from Family Guy where Peter says he doesn’t care for The Godfather? I did not care for Shelter. It insists upon itself (not really, but still).

40. Handsome Devil

41. Esteros - It’s at this point of the list that we shift from “Movies that are the definition of ‘ight’ “ to “These movies are bad. Bad. BAAAAAD.”

42. Monster Pies

43. Were the World Mine - I couldn’t even finish it. Wanna watch a better musical? Go watch Kanarie. Wanna watch a better Shakespeare adaptation? The Lion King is the movie for you, or even fucking She’s the Man.

44. North Sea Texas - So boring. I actually think this one may need a rewatch, because I swear it shouldn’t have been as terrible as it was.

45. Salvation Army - I have no idea what this movie was going for. I understand that it is autobiographical, however...it simultaneously barely has any plot or character developments. This one has shades of Beach Rats, but it’s significantly worse, and I didn’t even like Beach Rats that much.

So that’s it, thanks if you made it down this far. I guess I’ll update the list as I inevitably watch more of these. I would love movie recommendations!

#lgbtcinema #the way he looks #cmbyn #love simon #thanks for reading #thanks profusely to the gif-makers #i couldn't finish maurice...i'm so sorry #half of these are breaking glass or wolfe #argue with yo mama

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newstfionline · 3 years

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Wednesday, May 19, 2021

Changed by pandemic, many workers won’t return to old jobs (AP) There’s a wild card in the push to return to post-pandemic life: Many workers don’t want to go back to the jobs they once had. Layoffs and lockdowns, combined with enhanced unemployment benefits and stimulus checks, gave many Americans the time and the financial cushion to rethink their careers. Their former employers are hiring again — and some, like Uber and McDonald’s, are offering higher pay—but workers remain hesitant. Employers and business groups argue that the $300-per-week federal unemployment supplement gives recipients less incentive to look for work. But Heidi Shierholz, a senior economist who researches low- and middle-income workers with the Economic Policy Institute, said health concerns and child care responsibilities seem to be the main reasons holding workers back. In April, she said, at least 25% of U.S. schools weren’t offering in-person learning, forcing many parents to stay home. And health concerns could gain new urgency for some workers now that the U.S. Centers for Disease Control and Prevention has said fully vaccinated people can stop wearing masks in most settings. Some workers say the pandemic helped them prioritize their mental and physical health. And in a tight labor market, some workers are also finding that if they hold out, they might get a better job than the one they left.

Unhealthy Dose of Litigation (CNN) It’s not personal, it’s just business. Tell that to tens of thousands of individuals sued by hospitals for ‘medical debt’ they have no way of ever paying. Community Health Systems, Inc. (CHS) is one of America’s largest hospital chains. A CNN investigation found that since March 2020, company-owned hospitals filed at least 19,000 lawsuits against their patients over allegedly unpaid medical bills, even as other hospitals around the country have curtailed similar lawsuits during the pandemic. CHS’s 84 hospitals are concentrated in the South, but stretch across 16 states from Alaska to Key West, Florida. The hospitals have sued patients for as little as $201 and as much as $162,000. Most defendants didn’t hire a lawyer or fight the lawsuits, and judges often rendered a default judgment in the hospital’s favor. Attorney’s fees and interest are often tacked on. Once a court rules against a defendant, a hospital can proceed to put a lien on the defendant’s house or garnish part of their wages. Many garnishments were against people working for low-wage employers like Walmart. A researcher who has studied hospital lawsuits said that it’s typical for hospitals that sue patients to only make a tiny fraction of their revenue from those lawsuits. “It’s not keeping the lights on for the hospitals—they don’t need to be doing this,” she said. “But for the patients... They’re choosing between medical care and food.”

Argentina Halts Beef Exports for 30 Days to Contain Prices (Bloomberg) Argentina’s government is limiting exports of beef, a staple in the country, in the latest unorthodox move to try to contain runaway inflation that’s approaching 50% annually. President Alberto Fernandez told a key beef export association that they won’t be allowed to sell the product abroad for 30 days, according to a Production Ministry statement released late Monday. “The president expressed his concern over the sustained growth in domestic beef prices over the last few months,” according to the statement. The country’s beef exports in 2020 amounted to roughly $3 billion, but the government may be more focused on the political cost of falling domestic consumption.

Spain Turns to Corruption Rehab for Officials Who Can’t Stop Stealing (NYT) Carlos Alburquerque isn’t your typical rehab candidate. He’s a 75-year-old grandfather living in Córdoba, a city in southern Spain. He was a town notary before he retired in 2015. He hasn’t touched drugs or alcohol in years. But his isn’t your typical rehab program: It’s an 11-month boot camp to reform corrupt Spanish officials and “reinsert” them into mainstream society. “Repairing the damage is what is left for me in this life,” said Mr. Alburquerque, who is serving a four-year prison sentence for stealing around 400,000 euros, nearly a half a million dollars, in his work drawing up contracts and deeds. That such a program exists in Spain may say much about the country’s belief in second chances as it does about how corruption has captured the public imagination here. Flip open a newspaper or turn on the radio: You will hear of schemes, scandals and skulduggery which almost always lead back to the public purse. According to Ángel Luis Ortiz, a former judge who now runs Spain’s prisons, the boom-bust cycles of Spain’s economy had led it to a long history of fraudsters and betrayals of public trust, he said. But at least, corruption rates in Spain were no worse than in other European nations, Mr. Ortiz said, just 5 percent of all crimes.

Russia’s northernmost base projects its power across Arctic (AP) During the Cold War, Russia’s Nagurskoye airbase was little more than a runway, a weather station and a communications outpost in the Franz Josef Land archipelago. It was a remote and desolate home mostly for polar bears, where temperatures plunge in winter to minus-42 Celsius (43 degrees below zero Fahrenheit) and the snow only disappears from August to mid-September. Now, Russia’s northernmost military base is bristling with missiles and radar and its extended runway can handle all types of aircraft, including nuclear-capable strategic bombers, projecting Moscow’s power and influence across the Arctic amid intensifying international competition for the region’s vast resources. Russia has sought to assert its influence over wide areas of the Arctic in competition with the United States, Canada, Denmark and Norway as shrinking polar ice from the warming planet offers new opportunities for resources and shipping routes. China also has shown an increasing interest in the region, believed to hold up to one-fourth of the Earth’s undiscovered oil and gas.

Cyclone kills 19 in India, heavy rains lash parts of Gujarat state (Reuters) A cyclone on India’s west coast has killed at least 19 people and damaged infrastructure and agriculture, while heavy rains continued to lash some regions even as weather officials said on Tuesday that the storm’s intensity had weakened. The cyclone Tauktae, which made landfall in the western state of Gujarat late on Monday, has hit power supply in 2,400 villages in the state as a thousand electricity pylons were damaged, Chief Minister Vijay Rupani said in a media address. Nearly 160 roads have been destroyed, 40,000 trees uprooted and several houses damaged, Rupani added.

India reports record day of virus deaths as cases level off (AP) India’s total virus cases since the pandemic began swept past 25 million on Tuesday as the country registered more than 260,000 new cases and a record 4,329 fatalities in the past 24 hours. The numbers continue a trend of falling cases after infections dipped below 300,000 for the first time in weeks on Monday. Active cases in the country also decreased by more than 165,000 on Tuesday—the biggest dip in weeks. But deaths have continued to rise and hospitals are still swamped by patients. Infections in India have surged since February in a disastrous turn blamed on more contagious variants as well as government decisions to allow massive crowds to gather for religious festivals and political rallies.

In Gaza, grief and destruction (Washington Post) In a conflict already marked by harrowing scenes of tragedy, one image stood out. Rescuers in Gaza City on Sunday pulled out Suzy Eshkuntana, a 6-year-old, from the rubble of a building that had once been her home, but which was flattened by Israeli airstrikes. She was covered in dust but alive. Her mother and all four of her siblings were dead. It’s not clear why the Eshkuntanas’ home was brought crashing down. Israeli authorities told reporters that they had targeted a network of tunnels used by Hamas militants that may have run beneath the area where the family lived. “The collapse of the tunnel system,” Reuters reported, “caused the houses above to collapse and led to unintended civilian casualties, the military said.” In Israel’s telling, there are many more “unintended” casualties in Gaza. According to local Health Ministry officials, the death toll in Gaza climbed to 212 people, including 61 children and 36 women, as fighting entered its second week. Gaza is one of the most densely populated areas in the world, home to some 2.1 million people, the majority of whom are classified as refugees by the United Nations. That’s a legacy of the displacements that followed Israel’s creation in 1948 and the 1967 Arab-Israeli War. Children make up about half of Gaza’s population. The territory has been under Israeli blockade since 2007, after Hamas took power following a rift within the Palestinian Authority. “Living conditions in Gaza are bleak: 95 percent of the population does not have access to clean water, according to [the United Nations], and electricity shortages periodically bring life to a halt,” my colleagues reported. “The territory has one of the highest unemployment rates in the world, World Bank statistics show, and the United Nations estimates that roughly 80 percent of the population relies on international aid to survive and access basic services.”

The New Arab Street: Online, Global and Growing (NYT) The video traveled at 4G speed, leapfrogging across international borders, social media platforms and social justice movements: a young Palestinian woman in the East Jerusalem neighborhood of Sheikh Jarrah, shouting in furious English at a Jewish man, “You are stealing my house!” “If I don’t steal it, someone else will steal it,” he retorts. Within days—as Israel bombed the coastal territory of Gaza, Palestinian militants there launched rockets at Israel, and Arab and Jewish mobs faced off in Israeli cities—the video had rocketed from young Palestinians’ social media feeds into the Arab diaspora, then lit up the internet, kindling outrage around the world. It used to be that when Palestinians were under fire, protests would follow in the streets of Arab cities. That potential for combustion forced Middle Eastern and Western leaders to keep a wary eye on the temperature of what was called the “Arab street.” This time, a week into an Israeli bombing campaign that has killed 212 Palestinians in Gaza, the reaction from Arab capitals has been muted and protests small and scattered. Instead, solidarity with the Palestinians has shifted online and gone global, a virtual Arab street that has the potential to have a wider impact than the ones in Middle Eastern cities. The online protesters have linked arms with popular movements for minority rights such as Black Lives Matter, seeking to reclaim the narrative from the mainstream media and picking up support in Western countries that have reflexively supported Israel.

Ransomware hits AXA units in Asia, Irish healthcare (AP) The Thai affiliate of Paris-based insurance company AXA said Tuesday it is investigating a ransomware attack by Russian-speaking cybercriminals that has affected operations in Thailand, Malaysia, Hong Kong and the Philippines. Meanwhile, a cyberattack on a public health provider in New Zealand took down information systems across five hospitals, forcing staff to cancel some elective surgeries and creating all sorts of other problems. It was unclear if the event was linked to a cyberattack that has nearly paralyzed Ireland’s national healthcare IT systems. The Irish government’s decision not to pay the criminals means hospitals won’t have access to patient records—and must resort mostly to handwritten notes—until painstaking efforts are complete to restore thousands of computer servers from backups.

The Places Ranked Best for Expats in 2021 (Bloomberg) Taiwan, Mexico and Costa Rica have been ranked as the top spots to live and work abroad in 2021, based on their cost of living, ease of settling in and overall quality of life. The U.S. was ranked only 34th out of 59 places, largely because of how expats viewed quality of life in America, according to a new survey published Tuesday. Taiwan topped the charts for the third year in a row in the survey of 12,420 expats conducted by InterNations, a Munich-based expat network with about 4 million members. The top 10: Taiwan, Mexico, Costa Rica, Malaysia, Portugal, New Zealand, Australia, Ecuador, Canada, Vietnam.

#headlines #news

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herkawaiinovels · 4 years

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MTL Booklist Review Part 1

Novels from my Ridibooks bookshelf.

Warning: spoilers ahead!

(From left to right, top to bottom)

1. [Favorite] I Raised the Beast Well - This is the second series from the same author that I’ve read and I think I’ve noticed a pattern. It’s like this: the ML wants to do it with the FL but is being patient. His patience is so blatantly written and for me, as a reader, it is just frustrating to draw it out for how many chapters. This one I don’t mind so much because I am a bit invested in the couple. UPDATE: Volume 3 redeemed this series and turned it into a favorite. Book 3 is so good. I will forgive this series’ shortcomings and I think I will give the novel below (from the same author) another try.

2. [Recommended] The Marquess is only Affectionate to Her - From the same author as above. I do like the couple but one scene really turned me off. It was when the ML was being so affectionate to the FL and kept confessing ‘I love you’ multiple times and the FL was just like “...” Say what? One thing I really dislike about c-novels is how the ML is usually overly pampering while the FL is just cold and unfeeling. It’s not the case for this one, but I want at least both of them to be have the same level of affection towards each other. UPDATE: Just like the novel above, the last volume saved this one.

3. [On Hold/Did Not Finish] Overprotected Lady - This novel gives the same vibe as ‘For Now, Let’s Get Married’ (described below). I don’t dislike the FL or ML. It is about a high-ranking knight’s daughter, who, due to circumstances in her childhood, becomes overly protected by the people around her. She can’t go out the house without permission, doesn’t attend social events, etc. But, she has a hobby of carving, and consequently, her carvings possess divine power. She becomes entangled with the Archduke, the Crown Prince, the Pope, and the neighboring kingdom’s young and promising academy arts teacher.

4. [Favorite] Moonlight Library - THIS AUTHOR MAN. SHE IS SO GOOD. She is probably my favorite Korean author at the moment (other than the author of Lucia). I’ve read two of her works and both of them are on my top favorite k-novels. I am so excited about the upcoming publication of her next work! Anyways, her novels have pretty similar tropes: contract marriage, angst (”I can’t love you”), strong and smart FL, and overly pampering ML. Trust me on this one! The smut is also so well-written.

5. [Favorite] Shu’s Lady - What can I say? I’m a sucker for the contract marriage trope. This one is about how a knight’s daughter dies protecting the transmigrated Saintess. She goes back in time and this time volunteers to be the Marquess’ wife instead of becoming a lady-in-waiting for the Saintess. In her first life, due to an oracle, the temple was recruiting a ‘sacrifice’ but that sacrifice turned out to be becoming the Marquess’ wife. The FL, being poor and also wanting to prevent the death of her guardian, volunteers for this role. Anyways, she tells herself not to fall in love with the Marquess, since in her first life, the Marquess couple ended up divorcing as he was rumored to be in love with the Saintess.

6. [On Hold] The Tyrant’s Guardian is the Wicked Witch - Currently on volume 1. The ML starts out as a child so I am kind of iffy about any romantic development that would happen between him and the 200-year-old transmigrated FL. That’s like grooming!!! Why did I buy this again?

7. [Recommended] Ever Ever After - Pretty solid. Though it takes a while for the revenge part to happen, the development in between, especially the FL’s growth, was worth the watch. Also, its pretty great to see Clint regret his old flirtatious ways HAHAHA

8. [On Hold, Recommended] Living as the Villainess Queen - From the same author of Lucia. This one, I am waiting to be published/completed.

9. [Favorite] Daisy - From my favorite author, the author of Moonlight Library. It’s so good. Read this author’s works guys. I made a post about this on Novel Updates.

10. [On Hold, Recommended] Under the Oak Tree - I am currently on the beginning of the 1st side story. All I remember is the pain. The couple is so pitiful, especially at the end of the first arc. All I remember is the pain, the various misunderstandings, and especially the angst. Just...please be happy. And please, please take out the trash father ASAP author. Will wait for this to be completed before reading.

11. [Did Not Finish] The Villainess Wants to be a Sidekick - Was not invested enough in the ML and FL by the 2nd volume. It had an interesting premise - very similar to Side Story, which I dearly love - but why did the story go that way? It was an instant-buy for me because of the plot, but the execution wasn’t my taste.

12. [On Hold/Did Not Finish] For Now, Let’s Get Married - I will perhaps continue reading it someday. I don’t have a problem with the FL/ML. They are both decent. The plot reminded me of The Evil Lady Will Change manhwa, that’s why I bought it. The FL, for some circumstances, married the ML who was known as the monstrous duke of the South. At first she thought the ML wanted nothing to do with her, because he kept avoiding her and didn’t even want an official marriage ceremony. Little did she know, it’s because of a family curse he has.

13. [Recommended] History at the Library - A nice, short read. It’s a fluffy and sweet novel with the right amount of angst. Plus, it involves contract dating and cohabitation!

14. [Did Not Finish, Maybe Recommended] I Will Escape the Flower of Trials - I really thought I would like this. The main pairing is the villainess and the pitiful 2nd lead of the original novel. Again, similar to my beloved Side Story. So why... I even made a whole glossary for the various office position terms. So why...why FL...why don’t you let the ML pamper you. This is a cider type of novel.

15. [Favorite] Evil Cinderella Needs a Villain - This one has contract dating, cohabitation, and a bit of angst. I love the parallels between the leads (FL is a former villainess trying to live kindly in her 2nd life).

16. [On Hold/Did Not Finish, Average] I am the Ex-Girlfriend of a Soldier - It’s pretty fun. I think I got busy so I wasn’t able to finish reading it, but now I seem to have no motivation to pick it up again. Maybe I’ll read it once the translations are complete.

17. [To Read] The Villain’s Saviour - I read a little bit...maybe I’ll read it someday, when the story in the manhwa engages me again.

18. [Did Not Finish, Average] Trying to Find a Lover for my Fiancee - The premise is pretty interesting, the FL remembers that her current life was from a novel, and that her character ends up unhappily married to the emperor in the future. However, when she remembered this fact, it was already too late, because their engagement was already finalized. So she goes on to find a replacement lover for him. So what was my beef with this series? Well, firstly, I fell in love with the second ML. Secondly, I couldn’t really understand the appeal of the ML. And thirdly, I felt like the FL needed to mature a bit more before she could start a relationship with the ML.

19. [On Hold/Did Not Finish] I Raised an Obsessive Servant - Maybe it was too dark for me? The FL was really quite traumatized by her first death, and throughout the whole series, she had multiple other brushes with death, making her thoughts a bit dark. I think she really needed therapy. Unfortunately, the middle ages didn’t have such a thing.

20. [Favorite] Materialistic Princess - This one is so much fun! The series reminds me of Little-Miss-Not-So-Sidekick with how much fun the story and leads are.

21. [Average, Maybe Recommended] I am the Villainess - Hmm...I think these cider types of novels just aren’t my taste. I know some people who really love them though. But at least I was able to finish this one. The plot is like this: while in the temple, Natalie gets a revelation that her life was a book and she was the villainess. She tries her best to distance herself from the heroine, but no matter how much she tries, she couldn’t stop the development leading to her doom. My main beef? Not enough fluffy scenes.

#Featured

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toosicktoocare · 4 years

Note

ooh, an It fic idea if u want: maybe the losers come home after their first semester of college and kind of like. the memory loss has started but isn't solidified yet, so things are a little awkward, like seeing a friend you haven't seen in 5 years instead of one semester. and because they haven't seen each other in so long, they decide to go to bill's while his parents are away. richie doesn't want to ruin the holiday by telling them he's incredibly sore and running a fever, so he doesn't :)

Love the prompt @taylortut!

BEV

BEV -- WHAT’S UP LOSERS! I’m coming to Derry over Christmas break! Will you all be there? I feel like I haven’t seen you all in YEARS!

Big Bill-- I will be. If everyone’s up to it, we can meet at my house? My parents won’t be back until late Christmas day.

Ben (is getting kinda hot??)-- I was thinking about dropping by for a few days.

Mikey Mike-- Yep.

Stan the Man-- If everyone else shows up, I can be there. Mini reunion?

Eddie Spaghetti-- I, unfortunately, don’t have a choice. Mother’s orders.

A soft, high-pitched beeping pulls Richie’s focus from his phone to the thermometer he plucks from his mouth. After he woke up feeling questionably sore and heavy, with a headache that could give his hangovers a run for their money, he made a surprisingly adult decision to swing by a drugstore on his way out of the city to pick up some Ibuprofen and a thermometer.

According to the two-dollar device, he’s sporting an annoying fever of 100 degrees Fahrenheit. He shrugs and dumps two pills into his palm, dry swallowing them with a wince.

Richie is the superior friend-- Eddie, did your mom not tell you that she extended a personal invitation to me?

A low sigh slips past Richie’s lips as he tosses his phone onto the passenger seat and swaps his car into drive. It’s just a small fever, he tells himself. He’ll be fine.

*****

Richie’s drive is a rough blur of chills, random bursts of heat that have him swerving as he tugs uncomfortably at his coat collar, and aches that squeeze at his bones. By the time he pulls into Bill’s driveway, he’s completely exhausted. His head is pounding at the temples, and the chills have picked back up. He turns his car off and drops his head onto his steering wheel, arms wrapped tightly around himself. He musters up a groan as his eyes flutter closed, but a light knock on his window has him shooting up with an impressive string of curses.

Stan’s peering into his window with a frown and a slight tilt of the head, and Richie smiles and opens his door. His muscles protest when he slips out of his beat up truck, but he smiles through it.

“Stan the Man,” Richie breathes out. The icy, snowy wind feels like burning needles against his skin, and he can’t suppress the sharp shiver that shoots up his spine to his shoulders.

“Hey, Richie. You okay? You look pale-- even for you.”

Richie waves off Stan’s quiet concern. “Long drive after a week filled with little to no sleep and too many finals, but enough about me,” he draws out dramatically. “How are you? How’s the whole math engineering study stuff going?” A strong gust of wind billows past the two, and Richie hisses, crossing his arms tightly around himself.

“It’s fine,” Stan says with a light laugh before he wraps an arm around Richie’s shoulders. “Let’s get inside.”

“You’ve always been the smart one,” Richie breathes out through chattering teeth. He leans into Stan’s warmth. “It’s cold as fuck out here.”

Stan hesitates when the two reach the door. His hand hovers in front of the doorbell, and Richie steps away from him with a shrug.

“Fuck it,” he says, and Stan laughs as Richie opens the door and steps inside, with Stan close behind him.

They follow the sound of quiet chatter to the living room, where Bill, Eddie, Mike, Ben, and Beverly are sitting around a fire.

“Richie! Stan!” Beverly’s out of her seat and running toward them before Richie can utter a word. She wraps her arms around both of them, and Richie can’t help but laugh as red curls smack him in the face.

“Ah, Beverly, you look as beautiful as ever.”

Beverly pulls away from the two and punches Richie in the shoulder. “Shut up, loser.” Her voice is fond, and Richie smiles and pretends that the punch didn’t hurt way worse than it should have.

“Come on, “ Beverly tugs Richie’s coat off and hangs it on the rack beside the one Stan is hanging up. “We are swapping Uni war stories.”

There’s a brief moment where Richie locks his eyes to his long, heavy coat, missing the added warmth it provided. Without it, he’s feeling chilled through, and he crosses his arms and grits his teeth before following Beverly and Stan toward the others.

The next few minutes pass in a surprisingly awkward exchange of hugs and back pats despite everyone only being separated for a few months. Richie waggles his brows at Ben’s taller, leaner form, grabs at Mike’s beefed up triceps, throws both arms around Bill, and pauses with Eddie. The two share a silent conversation before Richie pulls Eddie into a tight hug. He chases Eddie’s warmth for as long as comfortably possible before Eddie pulls away with a soft smile.

“So, Richie,” Ben draws out when everyone’s seated once more. “Theater major?” There’s a smugness to Ben’s tone that Richie arches his brows at.

“It’s my specialty.”

“Acting?” Mike asks, and Stan scoffs.

“No, being dramatic.”

“At least I’m not majoring in creative writing.” Richie deflects, pushing the attention toward Bill only because he can physically feel his face growing hotter by the second, and he’s mentally cursing leaving his thermometer with his bag in the car. He sinks back against the couch, and he can almost hear his muscles sigh in brief relief. He crosses his arms over his chest once more, fingers digging into his arms, and he tries really hard to follow the conversation despite the pain gnawing at his head and bones.

For what feels like hours, the seven chat about Uni, about fuzzy memories, about how it feels to be back at Derry after...

Richie smiles when something funny is said, offers input when he finds it necessary, but as the night drags on, his headache worsens. Despite the fire and the heat on, he’s ice cold, and his muscles are painfully stiff from suppressing chills that threaten to take over. He feels like shit, and he’s beginning to think that he can’t even blame this on a rough finals week, not with a spiking fever.

He doesn’t want to say anything, though. He doesn’t want to ruin this time. It took at least an hour for everyone to get over the initial awkwardness, and he doesn’t want this old feeling of friends to end.

“You guys should spend the night.” Bill finally says after another hour, and Richie breathes out a low sigh.

“Wish I could, but I promised my parents I would come home at some point today.” Richie lies with ease.

“That sucks,” Ben says.

“Will you come back tomorrow?” Bill asks, and Richie nods as he gets to his feet. He has no idea if he will even be able to get out of bed tomorrow, but no one needs to know that right now. If anything, he can just lie to them tomorrow if he’s too sick to pry himself from bed.

“I’ll walk you out,” Beverly gets to her feet, but Richie waves her off with a wide smile.

“No way-- it’s way too cold out. I’ll be a-okay, so you guys just carry on.” He manages out a weak accent at that last bit and says his goodbyes before turning quickly on his heel. The longer he’s standing, the less sure he is that he can remain standing. He walks down the hall in long strides, shrugs his coat on, then slips out the door as quickly as he can.

The wind takes his breath away, and now that he’s away from everyone, he doesn’t bother trying to stop the shivers that begin to uncontrollably wrack his body. He struggles to get his key into the lock, but when he does, he all but throws himself into his truck, anything to get out of the wind.

His teeth are chattering hard while he reaches a shaking hand around the dark to find the thermometer. He needs to know what he’s potentially dealing with, so he presses the on button and shoves the tip of the device under his tongue. He leans his head back and closes his eyes while he waits. When the thermometer starts beeping, he pries his eyes open, gaze darting toward the door when it opens.

Eddie’s faster than Richie. He snags the thermometer from Richie’s mouth, and Bill crowds in behind Eddie.

“103.5 degrees, Richie! What the hell? Stan said you looked a little sick, but this bad?”

Richie winces at Eddie’s shouting. Fuck. “I didn’t want to ruin all of this,” Richie mutters, defeat lacing his tone. Fucking fuck.

“You’re not r-ruining anything, Richie.”

Richie frowns at the small stutter, but he doesn’t say anything as Bill steps forward and presses a palm to his cheek.

“How do you feel?”

“Terrible,” Richie admits, looking away from the sharp gaze Eddie shoots him. “It’s fine, though,” he starts, reaching for his door handle. “I’ll just go home and sleep this off--”

“Of you could stay here.”

Beverly, Mike, Ben, and Stan appear behind Bill and Eddie, and Richie realizes he’s officially outnumbered.

“I’m probably contagious.”

“Probably,” Eddie spits out. “And with a fever that high, you won’t even make it home.”

Richie wants to argue with that, but Eddie and Bill are working out sleeping arrangements between themselves while Stan and Mike help Richie back out of the car. Beverly grabs his bags, and the seven hurry back into the house. Richie’s uneasy on his feet, but Mike’s gotten stronger thanks to a few years of football, so he’s able to lean most of his weight on Mike.

“I’m really sorry,” Richie mutters as he’s led into Bill’s room. There are people tugging off his jacket, and someone’s easing him onto the bed while another person is working on his shoes. “I’m really dizzy,” he adds. The room’s spinning, and he’s shaking.

“Richie?”

There’s a hand on his burning cheek, and he blinks around swimming vision to see Eddie watching him with wide, worried eyes.

“Have you taken anything for the fever?”

“A couple of Ibuprofen,” Richie manages. “Before I left for Derry.”

He doesn’t see who leaves to retrieve more medicine, but soon he’s taken two more pills with blessedly cool water, and he’s being helped under the covers. He can’t stop shaking, no matter how tightly he pulls the covers around him.

“I’m really cold,” he chatters, teeth clacking together. He feels like complete and utter shit.

“Just give us one second, okay?”

Richie hums and presses Bill’s blankets to his heated face. He’s almost drifting off when he feels the bed dipping in different directions. He pries his eyes open to see everyone but Eddie crawling onto the bed. Eddie’s setting up blankets on the floor beside the bed.

“What are you guys doing?”

“We will probably all end up sick anyway,” Ben says nonchalantly.

“Yeah, and we don’t want you to suffer alone.” Beverly adds.

Richie pulls his gaze to see Eddie getting comfortable on the floor.

“Sorry,” Eddie mutters, and Richie shakes his head.

“You guys don’t want this-- whatever this is,” Richie mumbles. “It’s the worst.”

“We’ll be fine,” Bill says.

After a few moments of adjusting, everyone has a spot that’s comfortable. Richie’s curled around Stan, with Beverly pressed to his back. His leg is close to the edge of the bed, and Eddie’s hand is resting on his ankle. Ben is tucked behind Beverly, and Mike and Bill are both squeezed in behind Stan. It’s a tight fit, but it’s warm, comfortable, and Richie smiles despite feeling like shit.

“I’ve really missed you guys,” he whispers before drifting off to sleep.

#it #Stephen King's IT #sickfic #writing #my writing #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #bill denbrough #ben hanscom #beverly marsh #mike hanlon #stan uris #college au #sick!richie #whump #sick character #christmas fic #sorta lol

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gumnut-logic · 4 years

Text

The Hero (Part Eight)

Title: The Hero

Sequel/companion piece to The Joker

Author: Gumnut

3 - 6 Dec 2019

Fandom: Thunderbirds Are Go 2015/ Thunderbirds TOS

Rating: Teen

Summary: Thunderbird Two, with Virgil and Gordon aboard, is hijacked and stolen. With Virgil injured, it is up to Gordon to save his brother and his ‘bird. Sequel/companion piece to ‘The Joker’. Gordon is far more than he seems.

Word count: 3298

Spoilers & warnings: Violence, WASP!Gordon, Military!Scott, whump, language.

Timeline: Sequel/companion piece to ‘The Joker’.

Author’s note: For @corbyinoz because she has written some magnificent Virgil and Gordon fics and is a great inspiration. Thank you for all your wonderful words.

It started with ‘The Joker’. I got interested in WASP!Gordon and decided to explore his side of the story. Then PLOT happened. Now I have no idea what is going on.

This one is full of plot necessities and was a pain to write. I hope to get back to the emotion and action in the next part. There may be one or two more chapters, depends on how it writes and as we have proven repeatedly that I have no control over anything. This is officially my second longest TAG fic so far :D

Unfortunately there will likely be a little delay before Chapter Nine as I have to write my TAG Secret Santa fic (which I finally have a plot for) as it has a deadline and I’m back at work in a couple of days. Thank you all so much for your patience and your wonderful support. You guys are just awesome ::hugs you all::

Many, many thanks to @vegetacide and @scribbles97 for putting up with my crazy.

Disclaimer: Mine? You’ve got to be kidding. Money? Don’t have any, don’t bother.

-o-o-o-

“Think with your head, not your heart.”

Virgil spun where he stood, narrowly avoiding the punch Kyrano launched at him. “I’m not having any trouble with my heart right now, Kyrano. More avoiding having my head handed to me.” Another spin and the world suddenly tipped sideways as the older man caught him and threw him to the ground. All the air in his body was expelled in a giant rush.

Kyrano stood over him as he gasped at the ceiling. “You have far too much heart.”

“I am what I am and I’m not ashamed of it.”

“What if you are the weakness?”

“I don’t see it as weakness.” He was finally able to draw breath again, his lungs fighting for it. “Everyone has their place in this world.” He threw himself to his feet, rolled his shoulders and set in form best he could.

Kyrano eyed him across the practise mat. “They do. Yet you have chosen to place yourself on the front line. You do not belong there.”

“This is not a war. We save people.”

“It is a war nonetheless and you are vulnerable.”

“Then teach me to defend myself.”

The Malay was quiet a moment, his eyes assessing. He moved into form.

“Then shield your heart.”

-o-o-o-

Gordon stared at the man who had hurt his family so much over so many years. A flick of his hand and he immobilised the hoverchair and stood up. “Bela Gaat.”

The Hood smiled at him. “Gordon Tracy, my little brother’s protege.” A snort. “Aren’t you supposed to avenge him and take me down?”

Calm. He could not afford anger here.

“Aww, I don’t know, boss. He is kinda cute.”

Gordon spun to find the second guard morphing into Havoc. Her smile was just as charming as every other smile in the room.

“He isn’t worth your time, m’dear. More guppy than shark apparently.” He turned to the prisoner. “Isn’t that right, Kyrano.”

His mentor had gone completely silent, his eyes lasering holes in the bald man from the other side of the glass.

“Time to go, dear brother.”

“No!” It was like the syllable had been dragged across knives.

“Excuse me?” Something flickered in the bastard’s eyes and Kyrano visibly flinched, his expression turning to steel. “You are my greatest weapon, dear brother. I am never, ever letting you go.

Gordon connected the dots in his head, a realisation that was both a relief and a terror. Decisions cascaded and within a split second he was in form and his fist was in the Hood’s face.

Perfect teeth disintegrated and scattered across the room. A knee came up and jammed the man’s intestines into his spine. A flip of a wrist, and despite his body screaming in protest, Gordon took the curse of a man down in one fell swoop.

Knee in the man’s back, he pulled his fist back for the killing blow.

“Kill me and he dies.” It was spat out with blood and another tooth.

It caused him to hesitate just that split second.

A grapple wrapped around his waist and yanked, digging a spike into his side. He yelled as Havoc wrestled him off the prone man, flinging him across the room to collide with the wall and crumple in a heap beneath it.

The world blurred a moment.

Kyrano was standing in his cell staring at him, green eyes completely lost.

There was an explosion and the ceiling fell in.

“Your duty as his daughter was to protect him.”

“Shut it, Kyrano, I don’t need your lame ass philosophy. Give me a hand and make yourself useful.”

“Some daughters are better than others, I guess.”

“I told you to shut it.”

“Fortunately, I do not take my orders from you.”

Gordon attempted to push himself up from the floor and almost whited out from the pain. A crash of something against the door shook the wall.

Kyrano stepped out of the haze of floating concrete dust, his eyes fogged by more than grief. “I’m sorry, Mister Gordon.” Agony flickered across his expression. “So sorry.” He drew back his arm as Gordon struggled to get out of reach.

The door burst open, Tracys and GDF piling through.

Relief flickered across that fatherly face before it was stolen by something else.

A grapple whipped out of the haze and caught the man, yanking him up through the ceiling to the hovering craft above.

Gordon stared as the ship spun and shot away.

It wasn’t until John reached him, yelling for medical assistance, that he realised he had forgotten to breathe.

-o-o-o-

Shock set in.

Virgil floundered with the rest of his family as the realisation of what Kyrano was suffering sunk in and, amongst injury and hurt, they struggled to get back on their feet.

They were able to track him.

Intermittently.

Eos followed that signature as it darted across the globe, the information sent to John until it disappeared somewhere in Malaysia, interference stealing it away.

That didn’t stop the argument from starting in Gordon’s hospital room.

“I’m going home.” His brother’s words were final.

“You are injured.”

“State the obvious, Virgil. I don’t see you volunteering to stay at the hospital.”

“My injuries are older.”

“By a matter of days and you’ve had surgery.”

“You have a busted cheekbone, broken ribs and a hole in your side. How the hell do you expect to take on Kyrano in that state?”

“I have to speak to him.”

“He is going to kill you. The Hood said something about a treatment. If he is controlling Kyrano with this thing in his head, the loopholes keeping us alive are likely going to be fixed. You are no match for him Gordon.”

“Speak for yourself.”

“Gordon, please.” Virgil was their last ditch effort. Scott had been dragged yelling from his brother’s hospital room. Expelled for both his own health and that of the entire floor. Doctor Harris had been spitting chips. Virgil was pretty sure she was still ranting at him for endangering himself and his brothers.

Next stop was to save the eldest.

But first Gordon. He placed his hand on his brother’s arm. “We don’t even know if that is what he will do.”

“He’ll return as soon as possible. I can guarantee it. It is what I would do. Strike while we are down and the Island is vulnerable.”

“But Scott has contacted Brains and security is being upgraded. Kayo is already there.”

That had been rather spectacular in itself. Scott hadn’t even had a chance to yell at her, she had just disappeared. John traced her to a plane hire business and then to the Island.

Virgil had had to field Scott’s rant.

His eldest brother was beside himself. There was worry on all fronts, rogue operatives only one of them. He was on comms to Brains almost every five minutes, concerned about Brains himself and Grandma who was still on the Island. Scott agreed that it was likely there would be another strike. Evacuation was not an option any brother was willing to consider, so security and defence were the only remaining strategy.

Security against one of their own security officers who could literally waltz in at any time, undetected.

Aunt Val was another worry. Her concern involved troops and gunships, but none of the brothers had any faith left and certainly did not want unknowns on their island.

Hell, the GDF had a suspect in their care and yet again, he had escaped.

Scott pleaded no confidence and to her chagrin, Aunt Val had to bow to the accusation.

Virgil had no doubt that some heads were going to roll over this. Colonel Casey had given her word and her team had been unable to deliver...again. It was not a viable recipe for a successful command. Their aunt had her own fires to put out.

Of course, with Gordon demanding to go, there was no way Alan was leaving him to face this alone. Hell, Virgil wanted to go himself, not because he felt he would be much help in any actual fight, just that Kayo should not have to face this alone either.

She needed her family with her.

Kyrano was her father and the possibility existed that this may end badly for either side.

She needed their support.

John was still Earthside and the number of profane words in other languages he had muttered in the last day made his position clear. The communications specialist was already beefing up security via Eos. The AI was a random element they had up their sleeve and could be a game changer.

So there was no way John was hiding on the mainland.

And that was what it became, a cry that they shouldn’t hide. That Tracy Island was their home and regardless of their state of health, they needed to be there.

How could Virgil deny Gordon what felt so right?

“It will be okay.” Gordon’s voice was parched.

Even now, injured and facing the unknown, his brother was still attempting to protect him.

Virgil sighed. “I want you to be okay.”

“I’ll be okay once we have him home and safe.”

Virgil’s fingers spasmed around his brother’s arm. They didn’t know if that was even possible.

Gordon must have picked up on the thought because Virgil found himself pinned by those eyes so much like his own.

“We have to try.”

He held that gaze a moment before looking away. Quiet. “I know.”

So Alan took Two in hand and they went home.

Not knowing who might already be on that Island waiting for them.

Regardless, it felt good to see the familiar peaks and the caldera as Two banked to land on her runway.

Grandma greeted them, her hug clinging to him.

And he faced another futile argument. “Please, Grandma.”

As predicted, she shook her head. “I’m not leaving the Island, Virgil, so save your breath. This is a fight for our family.”

If he hugged her harder than usual, it was for his own reassurance.

“You be careful of those ribs, young man.”

A sigh. “Not my first set of broken ribs, Grandma. I know what I’m doing.”

She caught his eyes. “Not my first fight either, Virgil.”

She wasn’t wrong.

He kissed her hair.

And clung a moment longer.

-o-o-o-

Gordon followed Virgil up to his room. Both men were holding their sides, as if in parody of each other.

The aquanaut did not feel like laughing.

Kyrano had played them and taken them all down.

He grit his teeth.

So much anger. It roiled inside him. Anger at the Hood, at Havoc, but mostly at himself.

Why hadn’t he seen it? Kyrano was right. Of all the people on this planet, they were the ones he trusted, the people who knew him the most and Gordon, despite the Hood’s sneer, was his protege, his frickin’ padawan. He knew the philosophy Kyrano held dear, he knew how the man worked.

Kyrano had trusted him with his everything.

And he had failed to see. Failed to hear his cry for help.

He sighed and Virgil turned to look at him, worry in his gaze.

“I’m fine. Do you remember where you saw it last?”

Virgil didn’t answer. Instead he opened the door to his bedroom.

It all hit them in the face.

Books lay scattered all over the floor. The desk chair on its side.

A smear of blood on the window sill.

Gordon swallowed and straightened. Virgil’s eyes tracked across the room before he shuffled over to the bed and sat down. He closed his eyes and Gordon frowned.

“Virg?”

His brother raised a hand. “Give me a minute.”

The silence was deafening.

Virgil groaned as he levered himself off the bed and staggered around the foot, lowering himself to his knees. “Ow.” But he came up a moment later a tiny object between his fingers.

“Got it.”

-o-o-o-

The Thunderduck was still in the pool restricting One from being launched.

Alan used Two’s grabs to drag it out and secure it in the hangars.

Brains crawled all over it.

Virgil tried to do the same, but Grandma hauled him off it with a glare and Scott reinforced it with an order.

That order became an argument involving abdominal surgery, stitches and who the hell had medical command.

John slammed them both down and sent them to their rooms. Literally.

Grandma backed that one up wielding a wooden spoon.

It wasn’t International Rescue’s command team’s greatest moment.

But then nothing was going particularly well, in any case.

They beefed up security. They launched drones to patrol the Island. They even deployed the storm shutters, closing the massive metal shields designed to protect the villa from the force of a category five cyclone.

They were prepared.

But nothing happened.

The signature did not reappear on any scanner, no matter the sensitivity. It was just gone.

Had they lost the one advantage they had? Was Kyrano already here? His ability to foil their sensors had long bothered Brains. The engineer had spoken to Kyrano about it, but the security specialist had never been forthcoming. Even Scott had never received an answer, but it hadn’t been a worry, it had been to their advantage because Kyrano was on their side.

Or so they thought.

Now he was a massive hole in their security and a possible death threat.

Brains was not happy.

Kayo was livid.

Their sister was a silently screaming presence on the Island. She moved like she always did, a cat slinking from room to room, but she trailed pain.

Virgil attempted to corner her, but she shook him off.

He worried.

So he hounded her.

It wasn’t a technique he would usually employ, but she wouldn’t speak to him and he knew her too well.

She was hurting so much.

It came to a head three metres from the northwest sensor array on the other side of the island.

He had followed her. He wasn’t up to a great hike, but it was her fifth lap. She hadn’t eaten all day. She was pale and far too focussed.

And he was worried.

“What the hell do you want from me, Virgil?”

He didn’t answer immediately, just stood there, arm wrapped around his side, no doubt looking pathetic.

He straightened his shoulders anyway. “I want you to give yourself a break.”

Her lips thinned to invisibility and she spun, returning to her march to the array.

He followed, if a little slower.

She was running a diagnostic of the system when he caught up. She did not acknowledge him.

“It is not your fault.”

She ignored him, but the anger flickered across her expression anyway.

He ran through a list of platitudes and reassurance, but came up empty on what else to say. He couldn’t guarantee anything, he couldn’t say everything would be all right. He had nothing.

He could only be there.

Even if it required him to follow her around the entire Island. He shifted where he stood and flinched as his ribs reminded him exactly why that was such a stupid idea.

Her motions were efficient and sharp as usual. If he hadn’t been watching her so closely, he wouldn’t have seen it.

As it was, part of him hardly believed it.

The rest of him just broke into little pieces.

A single tear leaked out of her determined eyes and he was beside her before she could wipe it away, his arms wrapping around her before he could think.

She tensed a moment, and he thought she was going to push him off, but a small sound and she fell into his embrace, her head dropping to his chest.

She didn’t shake, didn’t hug him back, her fingers lying softly on his shirt, nails fine points pressing through his clothes into his skin.

He stroked her hair.

Little more than breath. “I’m sorry, Kay.”

She mumbled something he didn’t hear properly and her arms slid around him, her grip desperate and a little painful.

He didn’t flinch.

He just held her.

-o-o-o-

The days wore on and still nothing happened.

The tension on the Island increased, tempers frayed and the underlying anxiety eroded everyone. Sure the time gave them the space to heal and regroup, but the threat hung over them like a hammer about to pound them into the ground.

And International Rescue could not stay frozen forever.

Brains examined the ‘pill’ and, to their horror, discovered it to be almost exactly the same as the one removed from Virgil’s oesophagus. Gordon watched his brother as Brains ran through the details and saw him pale.

Gordon’s simmering anger burned hotter.

Because the pill bomb had yet to encounter the stomach acid that would erode it, Brains was able to use microtools to drain it of its fuel and examine the detail of its design.

Brains worked out how it was being cloaked.

The engineer gasped out loud. The science that followed bewildered Gordon, but Virgil’s eyes widened and there was a shared moment of admiration between the two engineers.

There was something about parrying signals rather than reflecting and a metaphor involving swords. Gordon just stared at the both of them. “Yes, but where does that get us?”

Scott, standing beside him, echoed the question.

“If we know how it works, we can work out a way defeat it.” Virgil’s voice held hope. “We could find Kyrano. This has to be why he left it here.”

For a moment, Gordon’s spirits lifted just a little. It was a step in the right direction.

But then Brains’ expression fell. “Oh no.”

“What?” The word fell from Gordon’s lips unconsidered.

“The c-cloak has the s-same signature that Kyrano was carrying ar-round in his h-head.”

Gordon stared at the engineer. A blink. “You think he has one of these in his skull?” Despite himself, Gordon’s voice rose at the end of the question. Virgil’s hand landed on his arm.

This time he shook it off.

Brains straightened and turned to face Gordon head on. “I-I c-can only say that the s-signature is the s-same. A-anything else is p-pure sp-peculation.”

Gordon straightened his spine. “But it is a possibility.”

The brown eyes of their resident genius were apologetic. “A-anything is p-possible.”

Kill me and he dies.

Gordon looked away a moment. Scott shifted where he stood.

“He wanted to end this.” Virgil’s parched voice broke the sudden silence. “He tried to shove that down my throat so he could end it. He wanted to blow himself up as much as he was being driven to do the same to us. If he had a bomb in his head, don’t you think he would have found a way to set that off rather than kill all of us?”

Silence ate the question.

“The Hood said ‘Kill me and he dies’. What if it requires a trigger?”

The silence crept in again.

“This is all speculation.” Scott’s voice cut in and ended the discussion. “Brains, I want John and Eos in on this. We need to find a way to locate that signature again. We can’t sit here waiting for an attack forever. We need to find him.” A pause as his brother swallowed. “We need to save him.”

Save him.

Brains nodded and went back to his equipment.

Scott rounded on his two brothers. “We will save him.”

Virgil looked up, but his expression was neutral.

Gordon straightened. “Yes, we will.”

How was the only remaining question.

Until two days later when that signature reappeared on their sensors.

-o-o-o-

End Part Eight.

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #virgil tracy #thunderbirds fanfiction #scott tracy #kayo kyrano #gordon tracy #the joker and the hero

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avidbeader · 6 years

Text

Voltron Jaith/Sheith fic: Unexpected (M)

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

AO3

And this is the last chapter! Thanks to everyone who’s liked/reblogged/commented on this little side venture.

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

Keith is in a place he never imagined he’d return to.

He’s walking down the Garrison halls, following Commander Holt and Shiro as they bring each other up to speed. Pidge and her mom are behind him, with the rest of their group and those soldiers that helped them trailing behind. At least Lance’s sister managed to divide him from their swarm of a family, explaining the need for a debrief.

Hunk’s family is still out there, missing. Keith makes a mental note to check in on him soon.

Keith figures Adam is somewhere in the Garrison, biding his time until he can talk to Shiro. His hands tighten reflexively into fists, remembering how hurt Shiro had been over their breakup. They’d been together a long time, ever since they were cadets and flight partners…

Flight partners. Adam was a pilot as well as a teacher. One of the best ones in the Garrison at the time.

Suddenly Keith is sure that Adam is not in the Garrison anymore.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Keith feels eyes on him as the debriefing begins.

He’s already uncomfortable, wearing a Garrison uniform for the first time in many years. He never liked the stiff edges of the high collar or the combination of orange and beige. The uniform makes him feel like a kid again and it’s an effort at first to speak up, to remember he is the leader of Voltron.

He glances around at one point and realizes who’s staring at him. James—or Officer Griffin as he’s known now—is looking at him from his place on the other side of the room. Keith frowns at him, not sure why he’s getting the death-glare, but focuses back on the conversation when Hunk starts arguing about trying to rescue his family.

James snaps, “Hey, do paladins not understand the chain of command? Your CO said it was too dangerous.”

Keith is ready to smack him down and Shiro has stiffened beside him, but Sam cuts James off and redirects the conversation. Then Allura stands up as she offers a possibility; Keith has to remember that trick the next time he needs to make a point to this room full of people who are increasingly aware that their authority can’t help them in this situation.

It’s so different from working with Voltron, where the chain of command is fluid at best and everyone is used to voicing their thoughts or acting when they see a need. The Blades had been a bit more organized, with a specific operative in charge of a given mission, but everyone knew circumstances could change in an instant and was prepared to act on their own if need be.

Keith wonders what James would do mid-battle if the command center was taken down and he suddenly had no commanding officer. Or what his squadron would do if he were shot down.

And then he remembers the boy who apologized to him and reached out. He resolves to do what he can to make sure James never has to face either of those situations.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

They win.

Keith’s still not sure how they managed it. The team’s last desperate efforts to move the unknown robeast far enough into space to save Earth succeeded, but sent the lions spiraling back down to the planet at terminal velocity. Keith had been the first to be pulled from his lion, but the last to recover; by the time the doctors brought him out of a medically- induced coma, his mother and Kolivan had arrived in answer to Shiro’s summons.

His recovery takes a while, between the skull fracture, other broken bones, and internal injuries. Shiro visits every day, even if only for a few minutes, and the other paladins come as their own injuries permit. Kolivan stays long enough to establish a few Blades at the new headquarters of the coalition and Krolia makes it clear she’s staying for the duration.

Matt brings Pidge to visit. She rides in a hoverchair because her broken ankle is still healing, and the three of them are having fun trading stories about the others. Keith is still laughing over Lance’s “Tailor” moment in the sims when James comes to the door and hovers.

Pidge notices and elbows Matt. “We gotta get back before the nurses come looking for me. They’re supposed to scan my ankle and see what’s up with it this afternoon.”

Keith waves them goodbye, then beckons a little impatiently as James hesitates. “Come on, then.”

James looks back at the door. “Who was that guy?” His voice betrays more than a bit of interest.

“You didn’t recognize him? That’s Matt Holt, Pidge’s brother.”

James does a classic double-take back at the door, his mouth hanging open. “Wait, him? That shrimpy nerd?”

Keith smirks a little and responds in his driest tone. “Amazing what being kidnapped by aliens, thrown into a gladiator ring, rescued by rebels, and training with them to help overthrow an evil empire will do.”

James’ eyes narrow. After all the time they’ve known each other, he still has to pause in order to detect Keith’s sarcasm level. He looks Keith up and down.

“Funny, could say similar things about you. How did you get so beefed up compared to McLain?”

Keith shrugs. “I wound up going through a quantum abyss where time was slowed down. Gained two extra years on everyone else.” Seeing James’ eyebrows go up, Keith decides to muddy the waters even more. “And then there’s the fact that apparently three years went by in a few minutes when we managed to prevent all alternate realities from collapsing and destroying the entire universe.”

“Wait, what? Alternate realities? That’s actually a thing?”

Keith nods and James draws closer to sit at the foot of the bed.

“Like when someone makes a decision one way and that’s our reality, but when they make the opposite choice there’s a split and things happen differently? Infinite possibilities?”

Keith shrugs. “I don’t know exactly. We discovered one alternate reality where Allura’s people ended up being the bad guys. She had died ten thousand years before instead of being placed in cryosleep, and those Alteans enforced the peace by implanting mind-control devices in everyone who was against them.”

James shudders at that thought. “Okay, yeah, not a good place to visit.”

“It wasn’t. And it was weird; there was a version of Shiro there—he was a member of a resistance group—and it was the strangest thing. His hair was different, and his voice, but it was still him. Our Shiro had been missing for a while at that point, which made it even harder.”

James tilts his head and looks at Keith assessingly. His lips tighten, as if he’s made some kind of unpleasant discovery. “So, have you and Shiro made it official yet?”

Keith frowns and looks away, trying to ignore the spike in his heartbeat at those words. “What are you talking about?”

“You haven’t. Oh my god. You carry a torch for a dead man, follow him into space when it turns out he’s not so dead, even gain two years on him, and, from what I heard, took out a Galra commander up close and personal with your sword to protect him? And you haven’t told him how you feel? What’s it gonna take?”

Keith stares down at his hands, willing himself not to clutch the sheets or cover his reddening face. “It’s not like that.”

“It is totally like that! I mean,” James glances at the open door and lowers his voice. “The last time you and I had sex, you were pretending I was him the whole time.”

Is it possible to spontaneously combust from embarrassment and guilt? Keith almost wishes it were. He shakes his head, sure he’ll stutter if he tries to speak.

“You were. You said his name after. I heard you.”

That startles Keith’s voice out of him. “I didn’t… I didn’t mean to. God, James, I’m sorry.”

James reaches out with one hand, running it up and down Keith’s leg. “Apology accepted.”

Keith almost can’t breathe, the absolution is so unexpected. “But I hurt you!”

“Yeah, you did. But there’s no expiration date on an apology conversation.”

Keith smiles a little, hearing that old phrase, but James keeps going before he can say anything.

“And I’m sorry I didn’t talk to you faster. I wanted to go home and really think about what to say. Had it all planned out, with the best approach to get you to deal with your grief and everything. And then you apparently wrecked a sim and got thrown out before I could get back?” James’ voice lilts up in curiosity.

Now Keith clutches the sheets, remembering.

“I went to get some practice in and found a new program in the menu.” Keith swallows hard, remembering the grief and rage that had poured out of him at the time. “It was a rescue objective...with a target of Kerberos.”

James’ hand tightens on Keith’s leg. “Holy shit,” he breathes. “You saw that with no warning?”

Keith nods. “Smashed the menu display with my bare hand before I realized it.”

James lets go of Keith’s leg and holds his hand out. “I’m sorry I didn’t say something sooner.”

Keith accepts the apology by completing the handshake and goes back to twisting up the sheets. “Thanks. But I think it mostly worked out for the best anyway. If I’d still been in the Garrison when Shiro escaped, I doubt we’d have been able to find the Blue Lion before that first Galra ship arrived.”

James is about to reply when there’s a burst of bright light and the bed is filled with seventy-five kilos of cosmic wolf. He squirms up to lick Keith’s face, and Keith happily goes for the ears while James is whacked with a wagging tail.

“Shiro’s on the way, then?” Keith asks and the wolf gives that chirpy sort of growl that means assent rather than aggression.

James stands, holding his hands out to keep the wolf’s tail off him. “I better go.”

“You don’t have to,” Keith protests.

“Yeah, I do. You have something to tell Shiro. I’ll drop in again day after tomorrow. We’re in training all day tomorrow with the squadron for the new wave of MFEs.”

Keith smiles at James as the wolf settles on his legs. “Good luck with that.”

“Should be fine. No signs of anyone being a fancypants pilot in this bunch.”

“Hey, I can outfly anyone in this building...or what’s left of it.”

James’ expression turns fond. “Maybe once you’re healed up we can take a couple of the MFEs for a spin. See if you can find any room for improvement.”

“Only if you come for a ride in the Black Lion.”

“Deal.” James reaches out to shake on it and Keith tugs so he can slap James on the back with his free hand. James returns the embrace, ruffling Keith’s hair.

“Am I interrupting?” Shiro is standing in the door, looking a little curious.

“No sir, just saying goodbye for now.” James straightens and salutes.

“At ease, Griffin. I’ll see you at training tomorrow.”

James departs, but gives Keith a significant look as he does so. Keith gets the message: if he doesn’t talk to Shiro now, James is going to have ample opportunity to drop hints or otherwise make Keith’s life miserable.

Shiro comes to sit on the bed, patting the wolf with his prosthesis. “How are you feeling today?”

“Pretty good.” Keith reaches out and takes Shiro’s other hand. With one deep breath for courage, he begins. “I need to talk to you about something.”

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Two evenings later, James turns up at Keith’s door, bearing a plate of caramel brownies and praising Hunk for helping him sub some of the ingredients that are still scarce during a post-war recovery.

They’re still warm from the oven.

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

#voltron #jaith #but sheith endgame #avid writes

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ridiculousn3sswrites · 7 years

Text

Loved

*Thomas Jefferson x Reader

*Summary: “I can’t believe I ever loved you.”

*Warnings: Angst, cheating, swearing

*A/N: Another prompt that I really wanted to do so I put off everything else. THIS REALLY GOT OUT OF HAND IT’S ALMOST 5,000 WORDS

When you first met Thomas Jefferson, you were at one of Angelica’s speaking events with Eliza. You and Eliza were at a table in the back, sipping on your drinks as you chatted and waited for Angelica to get on stage. Thomas had walked up, his usual cockiness in place, and greeted Eliza. “Eliza, it’s nice to see you. Is that boyfriend of yours not here tonight?”

“Thomas,” she greeted, faking a smile as she turned to face the man. “Alexander had to work tonight, unfortunately. This is my friend (y/n). (Y/n), this is Thomas Jefferson.”

“It’s a pleasure,” Thomas told you with a smile.

“Likewise,” you replied with a small smile in return. Before Thomas could say anything else, Angelica walked onto stage.

“Looks like that’s my cue to leave,” Thomas said, taking a look back at the stage. His cool nature had turned into one of tension, not going unnoticed by neither you nor Eliza. “I hope you ladies have a wonderful night.”

“I wonder what Jefferson’s even doing here,” Eliza whispered to you as her sister started speaking.

“Why?” You asked, confused.

“He avoids Angelica at all costs if he can help it. Why would he come straight to an event that Angelica’s the main attraction for?” Eliza wondered.

“Why?” You asked again, Eliza’s explanation not helping at all.

“So, back in high school all of us went to some party. Thomas thought that he’d get in on Angelica, she wasn’t for it, he tried kissing her, and she decked him,” Eliza explained. “He’s been scared of her ever since.” You let out a low whistle at that, unable to believe that he’d even tried to make a move. You were still intimidated by Angelica, and you’d been friends with her and her sisters for years.

“So what’s the beef with him now?” You asked. Sure, it was easy to believe that Thomas was scared of Angelica, but for Eliza to not like him? That was an impressive feat.

“Oh, him and Alexander have a rivalry going on at work,” Eliza shrugged. “In Alex’s words, ‘he’s a pompous ass.’ Honestly, I don’t disagree. I’d stay away from him if I were you. It’s better not to know him.” You just nodded, focusing your attention back on Angelica.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

You tried to heed Eliza’s word, you really did, but sometimes things don’t happen as planned. You had run down to Alexander’s job, bringing him something he had forgotten at Eliza’s apartment. When you were leaving Alex’s office, you ran into Thomas, quite literally. “I’m so sorry!” You said, going to help pick up what he had dropped before realizing who it was.

“I should’ve been looking where I was going,” Thomas waved you off. He held out a hand to help you up, which you gladly took. A brief look of recognition flashed across Thomas’s face as you brushed yourself off. “You’re Eliza’s friend, right? (Y/n)?”

“Yeah,” you replied with a bright smile. “Thomas?” Thomas nodded.

“So, what’re you doing here?” Thomas asked, leaning against the wall. You rolled your eyes at his obvious flirtations, but something inside you decided to go along with it.

“I just needed to drop something off for Alex,” you replied. “So the two of you work together?”

“Unfortunately,” Thomas muttered. You smirked at his response, knowing how infuriating Alex could be if you weren’t used to him. “I should have figured that you’d know Alexander if you knew Eliza.”

“Of course, you don’t get one without the other,” you joked. The two of you talked for a few more minutes before Alexander’s office door opened.

“Oh, hey, (y/n), what’re you still doing here?” Alex asked when he noticed you still outside of his door. His look turned from one of curiosity to one of annoyance when he saw you were talking with Thomas. “Jefferson.”

“Hamilton,” Thomas responded, his manner turning cold. “I’ll see you around, (y/n). You know where to find me.” With a bright smile to you, Thomas turned on his heel and walked back down the way he had come. You watched as he went, the way he exuded confidence drawing you into him.

“Oh no. No, no, no, no, no,” Alexander immediately protested once he realized what just happened outside of his office. “I’m telling you, he’s no good. He’s a flirt.”

“If I recall correctly, weren’t you a major flirt before you and Eliza got together?” You questioned, turning back to Alex. Alexander said nothing, knowing you had him there. Instead of going for a cutting remark to deal the final blow, you decided to take pity on him. “Don’t worry, Alexander, I was just talking to the guy. It’s not like anything’s actually going on.”

“I hope you’re telling the truth,” Alex said, looking back into his office where the phone had started ringing. “I need to get back to work, tell Eliza I said hi and thanks for remembering my files.”

“Sure thing, Alex,” you told him, hugging him before he ran back into the office. Just as you were about to leave, Thomas came back down the hall, as if he had been waiting for Alex to go back into his office. He handed you a business card with a number hastily scribbled on the back.

“Call me, I’d like to get to know you,” he said, pressing the card into your palm. “Perhaps we could meet for dinner.”

You nodded, still somewhat taken aback by how quickly that had happened. Thomas smiled brightly, disappearing back down the hall. You were left there, staring at the card that held Thomas’s phone number. You shoved it in your pocket, figuring that you’d just forget about it and avoid him, like Alex and Eliza had told you.

You ended up calling because of course you did. Even though you’d only met Thomas twice, there was something about him that just drew you in. The call led to setting up a dinner date, the dinner date then led to another, and soon enough you and Thomas were officially seeing each other. Despite your friends’ warnings, you saw everything you wanted in Thomas. He was gentle, with a kind soul that few saw, not to mention a steady job. The relationship was everything you dreamed of when you were younger, except for the fact that he didn’t get along with your friends at all. Eliza, Lafayette, and Peggy were the only ones even slightly open to you dating Thomas, while all of the other guys and Angelica refused to let you bring him around them.

You learned how to navigate your social life with your romantic life, taking time to meet with your friends and with Thomas separately, but it was getting tiring. You spent nearly a year tip-toeing around your boyfriend’s and friends’ distaste for each other, and you decided something needed to be done. You planned your moves very carefully, waiting for the perfect opportunity to slip Thomas into your social life. It finally came when Alexander got a promotion at work and the group was meeting to celebrate. With everyone having hectic schedules, the group planned to meet up a week after Alex got the promotion. You knew it was a stretch, but you hoped the public setting would provide less of an opportunity for drama.

You proposed the idea to Thomas over dinner a few days before the group was supposed to meet. He was immediately opposed to it, insisting that it would be better if the both of you just stayed in at his apartment instead. Finally, after a bit of begging with puppy-dog eyes, you were able to convince him. Admittedly, you were a bit nervous to see how the group would react, especially since you didn’t tell them about your little plan, but you hoped they would try to make it work for your sake.

“You’re lucky I love you,” Thomas muttered, pressing a kiss to your lips before he was supposed to leave.

“I just really want this to work,” you told him with a soft smile as you leaned against your doorframe.

“I promise I’ll try,” Thomas replied. “I really need to get going. I love you.” Thomas pressed another sweet kiss to your lips, really getting ready to leave this time.

“I love you too,” you said, finally releasing his hand. “Text me when you get home safely.” Thomas agreed, and you closed the door behind him as he finally left. As you turned back to your apartment, you released a small squeal of excitement, looking forward to the possibility that your boyfriend and friends could work towards getting along.

Things went downhill almost immediately after you and Thomas showed up. Instead of the normal bar that you and your friends frequented, Eliza had picked out some slightly more upscale bar. Once again, you hoped that the location would prevent anything too dramatic from breaking out, and you were kind of right in that way. “Best behavior,” you reminded Thomas as you approached the bar, hand squeezing his slightly.

“I promise,” Thomas laughed. He opened the door for you, and as soon as you walked in you saw Eliza excitedly waving you over. Alexander was next to her, gesturing for you to join them. As soon as Thomas walked in and took your hand, you saw Alex’s expression immediately shift to one of annoyance. You took a breath, readying yourself for the storm that was undoubtedly already brewing.

“(Y/n)!” Eliza greeted you as you and Thomas walked up to the table. You went to hug her, and she didn’t release you before furiously whispering in your ear. “Why did you bring him? Alex and John are already ready to fight.”

“I thought they’d act civilly in public. I already put Thomas on his best behavior, he promised not to cause a scene,” you replied in a whisper as well. Eliza released you from the hug, eyeing Thomas suspiciously before taking your hand and putting you in the seat next to her. Thomas sat in between you and Lafayette, warmly greeting his friend. Even though it had only been a couple minutes, you were glad that apparently Alex was behaving himself as well. It wasn’t until the drinks had started flowing that things got tenser.

“I’m just saying, you need to admit when you’re wrong,” Alex started, downing the last of his drink. Somehow the topic of work was brought up, and then Alex and Thomas started in on each other. You heard from others that Thomas and Alex were constantly at each other’s throats, but you had never really seen it for yourself.

“Or you can admit when your ideas are ruinous,” Thomas replied through a forced smile. “I’m just surprised Washington brought you up to the Cabinet with the rest of us.”

“Thomas,” you warned, subtly gripping his hand under the table. Where Alex was bordering on drunk, Thomas had only had a couple drinks.

“I work harder than anyone in that office, maybe except for James,” Alexander argued, his voice rising. His face started to get a bit flushed, and you couldn’t tell if it was from anger or just the alcohol. “My ideas are what we need to bring the company forward, and Washington sees that.”

“Alexander,” Eliza tried to control his mouth. At this point, Lafayette and Hercules were shifting uncomfortably in their seats, neither of them drunk enough to deal with this. John and Angelica, on the other hand, looked ready to kill Thomas. Meanwhile, Peggy was shooting you and Eliza sympathetic looks.

“No, Eliza, let him speak,” Thomas waved her off. “He can’t even get the votes to implement anything.”

“It’s because you guys are too scared of taking risks!” Alex argued. “You know I’m right, you’re just too blind to see it!”

“We don’t need risks, Hamilton. We’re doing just fine the way the company is running,” Thomas replied, his voice at a dangerous low. That was the thing about Thomas: when he got really pissed off, he never yelled. You already knew where this was going, and it definitely wouldn’t end well.

“You know what,” you said, standing from your seat and dragging Thomas with you. “I think it’s time for Thomas and I to leave.” Everyone nodded, bidding you farewell as they realized what you were doing.

“Thanks for coming,” Alexander said as he hugged you. “But next time, leave the magenta-wearing asshole.” You just gave Alex a sad smile, knowing that he was right. It would have been better for everyone if you hadn’t tried making your friends and Thomas get along.

When you got back to your apartment, you weren’t even sure what to make of it. “What the hell was that, Thomas?! You promised me!”

“What? How was that my fault? Hamilton started attacking me,” Thomas argued.

“He was drunk, Thomas, he had an excuse! You were almost completely sober,” you countered. “I expected more from you.”

“(Y/n), I love you, I really do, but your friends are insufferable,” Thomas replied, keeping his voice even. He opened his arms, inviting you into his embrace.

“I just really wanted this to work, Thomas,” you huffed, taking the invitation and leaning into his chest. He wrapped his arms around you, and you felt the deep breath he took before speaking again.

“I didn’t want to do this, but I think tonight made it clear that I need to,” Thomas said. You looked up at him, confusion evident on your face. “You need to choose between me and your friends. It’s obvious that things’ll never be alright with them.”

“What?” You asked in disbelief, stepping back from him.

“It’s either me or your friends,” Thomas repeated. “You know I wouldn’t ask you to choose unless it was absolutely necessary.”

“I- you- you know I can’t choose. They’ve been with me ever since I moved to New York,” you sputtered, still in disbelief at his audacity to even ask that.

“I’m not asking you to choose now, but you’re going to have to choose eventually,” Thomas replied. He pressed a kiss to the top of your head. “I’ll give you some time to think about it.”

Thomas left, closing the door behind him. You were left in the middle of your living room, frozen in shock. You couldn’t choose between them, but you knew Thomas was right about one thing. While it killed you, you knew that your friends and Thomas would never get along. Tonight was a lesser fight, so how long was it until things got really bad? You were finally able to shake off some of the shock, getting ready for bed and wrapping yourself in a blanket before sitting on the couch. You had some thinking to do.

A few weeks had passed, and you took the time to completely think about what Thomas had said. You didn’t want to choose between your friends and your boyfriend, but with the way things were going, it seemed inevitable. The worst thing about this was that it wasn’t like you could actually get advice from your friends, so you were all on your own with this decision. But, you had finally made your decision.

You told Thomas that you were meeting with your friends and would be at his apartment later, and then left for the bar that you and your friends frequented. Your heart was pounding as you walked in and saw your friends, knowing that they’d be disappointed by what you were about to tell them. “Hey, guys,” you greeted them sheepishly, walking up to the table. They immediately noticed something was off.

“What’s wrong?” Herc demanded the second you walked up. “Did Thomas do something to you?”

“We’ll go over there right now and teach him a lesson,” John jumped in.

“I’m always ready to fight Jefferson, especially if he hurt you,” Alex added. Eliza just rolled her eyes at her boyfriend’s antics before turning serious.

“What’s wrong, (y/n)?” Eliza gently questioned, much different than the approach Herc had taken.

“So, you guys remember how bad things got when I tried bringing Thomas last time?” You asked, taking a seat. They all nodded, telling you to continue. “Well, when we got home, Thomas gave me an ultimatum.”

“No,” Eliza gasped.

“You didn’t,” Peggy continued.

“She better not have,” Angelica muttered.

“I’m sorry, guys, but Thomas means the world to me,” you tried to explain. Disappointment painted each of their faces, even Lafayette’s.

“(Y/n), you can’t,” Alex said. “He’s manipulating you.”

“Normally I would not agree since Thomas is my friend, but it seems like Alex is right,” Lafayette said. “It’s not a good thing for someone to make their partner choose between them and their friends.”

“I know, but I can’t lose him,” you told them. “I promise I’ll still text when I can, it’s just that I won’t be able to see you guys as much anymore.”

“I hope you know what you’re getting yourself into,” Angelica said. “You’ve been to enough of my talks to know what kind of behavior this is.”

“I know, Angelica, but he’s not abusing me,” you defended yourself. “I should really go.” With that, you stood and made your way out of the bar. You took the time to walk to Thomas’s building instead of taking a cab, needing the time to fully come to terms with what you had just done. Your heart felt heavy, but you really felt that you had made the right choice. No more than ten minutes later you found yourself going up the stairs to Thomas’s apartment. You let yourself in with the spare key he had given you, putting your purse down on the couch.

“Thomas?” You called out, confused by the darkness of the apartment. Whenever Thomas was home, he always had at least one light on other than the one in the room he was in. You turned on the living room light before heading down the hallway to where you saw his bedroom light on. “Babe?”

You could hear Thomas fumble around his room, coming out in a pair of sweatpants as he closed his door behind him. “(Y/n), I didn’t think you’d be here this early,” Thomas said, directing you back down the hall where you came. “I thought you said you needed to do something first?”

“Yeah,” you replied, eyeing him warily. “I just got done with that a lot sooner than I expected.”

“Well that’s good,” Thomas told you, a bright smile on his face. “Have you eaten yet? Let me get you something.” He was acting odd, eyes refusing to meet yours and smile not quite reaching his eyes. You looked back down the hall towards his closed bedroom, and when he immediately tensed, you knew what was going on.

“No, you don’t have to do that. I think I left something in your room last time I was here though, let me just go get it,” you said, going around him and making a beeline for his room. You ignored Thomas’s insistent protests, and you knew exactly why he was acting so shifty the second you opened the door. There, pulling on her dress, was a redhead you’d never seen before. You turned back to Thomas, eyes full of rage while he just looked sheepish.

“Listen, babe, it isn’t what it-”

“Fuck off,” you cut him off, storming past him. He followed you, trying to explain himself as you grabbed your purse from the couch. Just as you were about to leave, you pulled out your keyring and took off his spare, throwing the key at his chest before you stormed out of the apartment. You didn’t care to know where you were going, but eventually you found yourself back at the same bar you had spent countless nights at. You walked up to the bar, sitting on one of the stools. You ordered a whiskey, and when the bartender brought it, you downed it in one go, motioning for another.

You were a few drinks in, wallowing, when someone came up. “(Y/n)? You’re drinking that like it’s water,” they said, placing a hand on your shoulder. You turned and saw John standing behind you, concern evident on his face. It only grew when he saw your own face. “Shit, have you been crying? What happened?”

“Was I crying?” You asked, bringing a hand to wipe at your face. Sure enough, you found moisture there. “Damn, I didn’t even know.” You turned and motioned for the bartender to bring you another drink, but John stopped you.

“I think you’ve had enough. C’mon, let’s get you to the gang,” John told you. He helped you off the stool, bringing you back to the same table the group had been at earlier.

“(Y/n)? What happened?” Eliza asked as you two walked up, immediately getting up to fuss over you. Angelica and Peggy followed suit, the three of them taking you from John and sitting you in the middle of them.

“Uhm,” you fumbled, not sure what to say. If you said it, you’d actually have to process it, and that meant getting rid of the numb feeling the alcohol had left. You looked down at your hands, not wanting to be rid of the numbness.

“Take your time,” Herc told you, reaching out to place a hand on your shoulder. You took a deep breath before looking up, knowing you’d have to tell them sooner or later.

“Thomas cheated on me,” you said, deciding to just get it over with. Immediately, there was a pang in your heart as it hit you. You looked at your friends, and everyone had either a look of pity, anger, or a mixture of both.

“I’m actually going to kick his ass,” John said, starting to get up. He was immediately stopped by Angelica pulling him back into his seat. “What? It’s not like we all aren’t thinking it!”

“He’s not wrong,” Herc added. “He’s going to regret it.”

“As much as I would love to hit Jefferson again, we need to think of this rationally,” Angelica spoke up with a pointed look at the guys.

“Yeah, we can’t just rush to kicking someone’s ass,” Peggy said, her arm still around you. She then turned to you. “How about we get you home, get some takeout, and take your mind off of all of this?”

“I don’t wanna go home,” you said with a sniffle. This time you were aware of the tears leaking from the corners of your eyes. “There’s too much of him there.”

“Okay, so what about Laf and Herc’s place?” Eliza asked, shooting a look to the guys in question that said there was no room for argument.

“Of course, anything,” Laf immediately agreed. With a nod from you, everyone went into action. John went to go pay your tab and the table’s, Laf grabbed your things so you wouldn’t be too bothered, Alex called for takeout, and Herc and the girls went about getting you out of the bar and starting towards the apartment. As your heart was breaking, you knew that your friends would be there to help you pick up the pieces.

It had been well over a month since everything happened. For once, you listened to what everyone had to say about Thomas. You avoided him, ignored his countless calls and texts, and even stopped going to the coffee shop you and him used to frequent. You were learning to become yourself again, free of the chains Thomas had become. You were at home, making dinner while watching some bad reality show, when you heard a knock on the door. You figured it was John or Herc, coming to check in on you like they often did, so you immediately went to answer the door. When you looked through the peephole, your heart dropped as you saw the very man you’d been avoiding. You took a breath, considering just walking away and ignoring him. “(Y/n)? I know you’re home. I can hear the TV,” Thomas called through the door, knocking again. You let out a soft curse, opening the door. “What do you want?” You asked coldly, eyes narrowed at him. “I want to talk,” Thomas replied. He nodded towards the door. “Can I please come in?” “Yeah, I guess,” you said, stepping aside so he could walk inside. “Can you hurry though? I’ve got food cooking and I don’t want it to burn.” “Right, listen, I’m sorry,” Thomas told you as he took a step nearer. “I shouldn’t have done that. I ruined what we had and I’ll never forgive myself for that.” “Well, you’re right about one thing there,” you said with indifference, going back to the kitchen to check on your dinner. “You ruined what we had.” “Babe-“ “I’m not your babe,” you cut him off, not even bothering to look at him. “Please, I just need another chance. I can be the guy you need. I can be better,” Thomas practically pleaded. “I love you.” “No, you don’t get to do that, Thomas! You can’t just walk in here saying that and expect me to just forgive you,” you broke, raising your voice as you turned to face him. “I spent a year of my life thinking that you were my future. I ignored everything that my friends told me. Hell, I almost took that fucking ultimatum you gave me months ago! You’re the one that fucked up, and you don’t get to make it better!” “Why won’t you let me try?” Thomas demanded, his voice raising as he got visibly agitated. You could tell he thought he’d be able to waltz into your apartment, tell you sorry and that he loved you, and that you’d just run right back into his arms, his trap. “Because I’ve learned my worth,” you told him. “I’m better than I was with you, and I’m not going to let you drag me down anymore.” “I’m not trying to drag you down, do you honestly believe that?! You can’t blame me for where you fell short,” Thomas yelled. His eyes widened immediately after he said that, realizing that he definitely just lost whatever ground he had. You turned icy, a complete 180 from the burning fury you had been feeling minutes ago. “Get out of my apartment,” you demanded. “Listen, I didn’t me-“ “Get out, Thomas,” you repeated. He gave up, making his way back to your front door. As he opened the door, he turned back and tried speaking again. “I’m sor-“ “Sorry doesn’t make it better, Thomas,” you told him. You looked up, finally looking him in the eyes. “I can’t believe I ever loved you.” That was the final blow. Thomas’s jaw clenched, letting you know that he wanted to say something, but he just turned and left, slamming the door behind him. “What fucking bills does he pay here that he thinks he can just slam the door?” You muttered angrily as you finished making dinner. You just left it on the stove, not feeling like eating anymore. You don’t know what you were expecting to feel after finally telling Thomas off, but it definitely wasn’t this. You thought maybe you’d feel lighter, like a weight had been lifted off of your shoulders, but instead you just felt empty. You’d wasted a year of your life on that man, not to mention that fact that you’d almost jeopardized your friendships. But two things were certain: you came out of that mess better than you’d ever been, and you were never going back.

You called Eliza, needing your friends to help you sort out the mess that your emotions were. After explaining everything, your friends were at your apartment with pizza in less than an hour. As you sat, watching a bad comedy surrounded by your friends, you couldn’t believe that you had almost chosen someone over them. As odd as it sounded, you were glad that everything had worked itself out, bringing you back to the group that would never abandon you.

#thomas jefferson x reader #hamilton imagine #thomas jefferson imagine

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