please put the hood back up

Stolen - FE Heroes Fanfic (Kiran/Alfonse)

I got to thinking about Kiran and Alfonse being from separate worlds, and then this came about. Basically, I thought about what would happen if Kiran went back to his regular world and then couldn’t return to Askr. 

Normally I post anything longer than 1,000 words on AO3 (and this is 1200 words) - let me know if you want me to put it up there, as well. Please excuse any typos - I haven’t been good at catching them in my own writing lately. 


Kiran’s hand runs along Alfonse’s forehead, sweeping his blue hair across. The prince’s head is a comfortable weight against his thighs. From beneath his hood, Kiran studies the blue eyelashes pressed against pale skin. Alfonse is looking a little more gaunt than he did the last time. His forehead is cool beneath the hair, and for an instant fear grips Kiran’s chest tight in a familiar ache. How much time is left? Kiran forces a smile, even though Alfonse isn’t looking at him, and shifts the hair back across the other way.

Kiran glances down the couch, taking in the sight, committing it to memory. Their hands are twined together on Alfonse’s chest, which rises and falls, cool through the fabric. Alfonse is wearing a loose cotton shirt and pants borrowed from Kiran’s closet. It looks strange, but yet completely normal. If Kiran wanted to pretend, he could imagine that Alfonse will wear this all the time. He’s already grown more familiar with the un-protective garments. 

Through the windows one can hear the sounds of children playing in the street below, if one wants to. Kiran doesn’t want to. He ignores the low drone of the airplane in the sky and the shouts and squeals. Instead he listens to Alfonse’s breathing as if it’s the most important sound in the world, and tries to determine if he’s asleep, or still awake. 

Just as Kiran thinks the prince is on the edge of sleep, the cell phone beside him vibrates. It buzzes through Kiran’s body, fracturing what little pieces remain of his heart into a single, all-encompassing question. 

Always the question, when the alarm goes off - how much time is left? 

Alfonse stirs as Kiran reaches out and slaps the alarm into silence. The prince blinks and focuses, and then slides up onto his elbows, a soft, secret smile darting across his mouth. 

Kiran feels his cheeks heat up at the expression - he still can’t get used to seeing that look directed at him. The prince rises up into the cowl of his hood and presses a soft, cool kiss to his mouth, and Kiran’s blush deepens. His fingers go to the gold-dipped hairs near Alfonse’s jaw, and he melts into Alfonse’s mouth like there will never be enough time for them. 

It wasn’t always like this between them, but Kiran can’t place the exact moment he realized he was in love with him, and that the prince’s feelings were reciprocal. It just became reality, just as that fateful day Kiran had been in the middle of his math class, listening to his professor drone on about theorems and the existence of an imaginary number, and between one drowsy blink and the next he found himself tossed into a new world, familiar and yet completely foreign. 

“Were you watching me sleep?” Alfonse asks in that gentle voice that is only for Kiran. His hand snakes up into the cloak, cold fingers running along Kiran’s warm neck, eliciting a shiver. 

“Were you sleeping?" 

"No, just enjoying the cuddling." 

Kiran makes a face and gestures like he’s going to shove him off the couch. He could never actually do it, but Alfonse laughs anyway, and sits up. He slides against Kiran, bicep to bicep, hip to hip, hand to hand. Alfonse never talks about the events in Askr, since Kiran left, but Kiran can see the signs in his tired body.

Alfonse’s eyes go dark, hooded as he tries to disguise the pain from Kiran. "It’s nearly time,” he whispers. 

Kiran’s fingers go to the strings which will pull the hood closed around him. It’s so selfish, but he can’t keep the word from escaping from his lips. “No.”

They get nine hours from the moment Alfonse appears. Nine hours and a few precious minutes. It hurts Alfonse less if he goes right away, when the alarm goes off. But as much as Kiran hates to see him in pain, he’s desperate for a few more minutes. Especially this time. 

Alfonse takes hold of his hand and presses it to his chest. Through the shirt he feels Alfonse’s heart beating, slower and slower, and yet the seconds seem to be ticking away within the ribcage, faster and faster. 

“This is yours,” Alfonse says, in that old-fashioned way that is completely genuine. Nobody says it like that in the “real world”, but Kiran loves it. 

He pulls Alfonse to him, and the hood shifts off his head and flops to his shoulders. Kiran presses their chests together, hooking his chin over Alfonse’s shoulder and hanging onto him. How much time is left? he thinks, and then dashes the words from his mind. “You should go,” he says instead, strangled. 

“If I could stay, I would,” Alfonse says, cool cheek pressed against Kiran’s. “You know I’m working on a way, back in Askr." 

The country name sends a fresh wave of cold through both of them. It is Alfonse’s attachment to that country that draws him from Kiran, the cursed link between the prince’s blood and his homeland. Even the fact that Alfonse’s heart belongs to Kiran cannot keep him here, nor can it return Kiran to Askr. 

Kiran swallows, and Alfonse’s arms are tight around him, one finger digging into his spine, but he doesn’t mind. "Come back to me,” he says, like always. 

“I will.”

They sit in silence, and then Alfonse lets out a little pained noise, shoulders curving inward protectively as if struck by a savage blow. Kiran knows what that looks like. He’s seen Alfonse take mortal wounds again and again. 

Kiran pulls back, and stares right into those blue, narrowed eyes. “You should go,” he says, even though his heart is breaking. “Go, and take Br… Briedablik with you.” His voice cracks. 

Alfonse shakes his head vehemently. They both know why he’s sent back here, again and again. The summoning weapon sits on the table beside the couch, glowing faintly. It doesn’t belong here - but it calls Alfonse to him, for nine hours at a time. 

“I love you,” Alfonse says, though his eyes are narrowed. 

“I love you,” Kiran echoes. And he does. He knows what Breidablik’s absence is doing to Askr, what it is doing to Alfonse. Breidablik belongs in Askr - like Kiran’s heart. The weapon will turn the tide against Embla. 

Alfonse leans in, and their lips touch. 

Their last kiss, although Alfonse doesn’t know it. 

“I’m ready,” he whispers against Kiran’s mouth. Then Alfonse stands, always graceful despite the pain. 

Kiran draws in a deep breath, bracing for what he’s about to do. His eyes feel puffy and hot but he won’t let tears blur the view. He takes in Alfonse, those bright, loving eyes, and presses this vision into his memory. 

With trembling fingers he picks up Breidablik. He caresses the weapon, steadying his heart, and then looks once more at Alfonse. 

“Goodbye, Alfonse,” Kiran says. “Please don’t hate me.” Then quick as a lightning spell, he reaches out to take Alfonse’s hand. He presses Breidablik into Alfonse’s dry palm and curls the prince’s fingers around the grip. 

“Kiran–!” Alfonse shouts, trying to withdraw. 

Kiran has the upper hand, the element of surprise. He turns Breidablik toward the prince’s chest and pulls the trigger. 

The last thing he sees before Alfonse and Breidablik disappear is the anguish in Alfonse’s eyes. 

His legs tremble, and he falls to the floor, all his strength leaving him in a rush. Alfonse will prosper, and take back his kingdom from Embla. 

It’s what Kiran should have done ages ago. It’s the right thing. 

He only had to sacrifice his heart to do it. 

anonymous asked:

hi i jus wanna say that I actually had a dream one time where i was dan and i was w phil and he made flowers grow by touching things (they were all blue bc of his eyes) and he literally climbed a ladder and put stars in the sky. then i turned into myself and phil turned into my sister and i almost fell asleep in the back yard so @ updatedphan from twitter carried me to bed (but they were wearing red robes with the hoods up and i couldn't see their faces)

anon…please write a book…this is good…

Frat boy Michael walking up to you, his girlfriend, and turning you to face him instead of your friends so he can give you a long, lingering kiss and when everyone is staring he just smirks and pulls off his famous snap back and puts it on you because he thought it looked so much better on you, and it symbolized that you were his and no one should mess with you unless they want a piece of him and oh my god I want this so bad

I bet Michael is just sitting there, laughing at all of us freaking out over a piece of metal in his face.

008: “I love you a lot, but please stop trying to cook me dinner, you suck.”

“Come home early tonight, I found a recipe on Pinterest that I’m feeling pretty confident about” you mentioned finishing the last touches of your makeup putting the mascara cap back on, “it doesn’t look that difficult.” You shrugged your shoulders, “Plus, I feel bad for messing up your coming home dinner, let me make it up to you baby.” You smiled over at your boyfriend.

Calum immediately tensed up a few feet away, “I appreciate it babe, but you don’t have to do that.” He called out, throwing on a plain black tee, getting ready to go down to the studio, needing to record an idea for a song he’s been working on. “We can just order take out, or I can pick up something on my way home.” Calum offered, walking towards you in the bathroom, looking at his appearance in the mirror before reaching for his toothbrush, “I don’t want to put you in any unneeded stress.” When in reality he knew what the outcome of this dinner would be, you disappointed and heartbroken at your incapability of cooking him a nice meal, and him starving for food that he could actually eat without feeling sick. 

“No I promise it won’t” you reassured, convinced that you were going to cook your man an appealing dinner. “Calum, let me do this for you.” You pleaded, leaning your head on his shoulder as he brushed his teeth.

Sighing, Calum nodded his head, not knowing how to say no to you, never wanting to hurt your feelings, “Alright. I’ll make sure I’m home by dinner.” He leaned down, giving you a quick kiss before walking back into your room to grab his wallet and keys. He was ready to go but before leaving he decided to poke his head back in the bathroom doorway, “Are you sure you don’t want me to just grab something on my way back from the studio?”

All it took was a glare from you for him to know that he was going to lose this battle. Holding his hands up in defeat, Calum muttered, “Ok. I’ll see you later babe. I love you.”

“I love you too.”


With the noise of the front door shutting you knew that Calum had made it back home. Perfect timing- you thought- almost finished with dinner.

Calum slowly and hesitantly walked into your shared kitchen, not knowing what to expect considering last time you forgot to put the lid back on the blender, leaving a splattered mess all over the walls and floor. “How’s it going?” he questioned, walking over to your working figure by the stove, smiling to himself at the apron you were wearing, knowing that even if this turned out bad, you were still so damn cute and all his.

“It’s actually going really well. It’s almost finished.” You replied, enthusiastically, noticing that the timer on the stove showed only 3 more minutes before your hard work over that last hour and a half would be completed, not wanting to wait a minute longer to see Calum’s reaction.

15 minutes later and the two of you were both seated at your dining table, both with a plate full of what was supposed to look like lasagna.

“You try it first.” You smiled nervously at Calum, the anticipation killing you, not wanting to waste one more minute.

Calum inwardly gulped before stabbing the food on his plate with a fork, bringing it up to his mouth to taste. Chewing slowly, forcing a smile, his suspicions were verified; however, once again he didn’t know how he was going to break the news to your overly excited, proud, accomplished face.

“Soooo. How is it? Do you like it?” you questioned fast, “And tell me the truth, I can handle it.” You promised.

Calum finished his mouthful, before putting the fork down and reaching for your hand across the table, “Baby girl you know that I love you, but please stop trying to cook me dinner, it’s just not your thing.” He answered, hating to let you down, but there was no way that he was going to be able to lie to your face.

Slumping your shoulders, disappointment painted on your face, “I really thought that this time would be different.” You sighed.

Calum hated seeing you so upset, the frown imprinted on your face made his heart ache, “Come here.” Calum whispered, pulling your body over to him, patting his lap for you to sit, before wrapping his arms around your sideways figure. “Everyone has something they’re not good at, cooking just isn’t for you love.” Calum admitted kissing the spot under your chin meeting your neck before looking back up, “Doesn’t mean I love you any less.”

“I know.” You whispered, leaning down to kiss Calum’s plump, awaiting lips before looking down at the ‘lasagna’.

“Do you want to try it?” Calum chuckled, motioning towards his plate, noticing you staring at it, in wonderment of what you could have done wrong this time.

“I probably should, shouldn’t I?” you replied, using Calum’s fork to try it for yourself. You didn’t even take two bites before leaning over to grab the napkin and spitting it out. “How the hell did you manage to actually eat that?”  You choked, amazed at Calum’s ability in actually forcing the food down his throat.

“Trust me it was hard, but I did it for you.” Calum laughed, rubbing your back trying to sooth your coughing figure, reaching over to grab his glass of water for you to drink.

“Well.” You said, finally calming down, “You want to go to McDonald’s?”

“Is that even a question?” Calum scoffed, motioning for you to get out of his lap, ready for some chicken nuggets.