#so I use what little time I’ve got while still in control to appropriately shelve my body

[castametric]

it has been noted at work that I am very good at moving and positioning patients, and that I seem to know instinctively what a stable position for an unconscious patient is and isn’t when moving them from floor to wheelchair, wheelchair to cot, cot to wheelchair, or any of these to ambulance stretcher. The reason for this is because when I stand up and stretch between the hours of 6am-about 10:30 am, I’m usually given about 5 seconds to put my body somewhere before I go completely dark. I’ve learned through this experience where an unconscious body can and cannot go without falling on the ground many times over.

[intangibly-here]

i miss you (more than anything)

zhongli x gn!reader

- scenario; 2.4k words - modern!au - fluff - jealousy

————————————————————

zhongli isn’t one for jealousy— usually.

title from mitski - francis forever.

requested by anon.

————————————————————

“an excellent choice, sir.”

again with the nicknames... 

slender fingers pick up a considerably stylized box, the smooth white a stark contrast to dark, glove-adorned palms. zhongli turns the box over in his hands, inspecting the various fine print explanations splayed along the edges of the plastic. now this is...

BANG!

clink. 

zhongli barely stifles a flinch at the sound of the door slamming, hinges squeaking and metal lock clicking into place with a whirlwind of motion. amber eyes flick up to the doorway, then back down to the polished counter.

five minutes late.

he sets the ice cube he’s handling into a wine glass after a brief pause, beginning to fashion up a flute of apple cider vinegar. the pattering of lively footsteps against tiled flooring rapidly grows nearer, clattering to a halt directly across the bar from where he stands. 

“hey there, mister zhongli! looking just about as boring as ever!”

hu tao plops into the cushioned chair, swiveling back and forth on the seat and leaning forward to watch him pour the concoction.

(it’s designated for customers of course— though that’s only usually. she happens to claim, to his exasperation, that she has “owner privileges”; whatever that could possibly mean when the place itself is meant to serve the needs of customers: that would include the spacing and chairs they may potentially desire when they enter the premises. unfortunately, he’s given up on understanding on her whims.)

from his position across the counter, zhongli absentmindedly spies the edge of a bright-red butterfly wing from underneath her outfit’s loose, flowing sleeves, the simple pendant string looped twice around her wrist. 

swallowtail. 

it’s the name (”like the butterfly, zhongli! the butterfly!”) of the establishment he’s currently employed at and is “run” by the granddaughter of a distant relative (though the bar is legally owned by said relative’s family). due to his— well, rather particular (per say) spending habits and a lack of mindfulness regarding the matter of what they liked to call savings (why would there be a need for these “savings”? he’d like to protest he’s traversed life well enough without them), he’d been pushed into putting the multitude of experience from past jobs into this one. 

and well, here he is now. 

chop. chop. 

two evenly-sliced apple slices tip over from against the blade of the knife and onto the wooden cutting board. fetching a sprig of mint from the small potted plant just below the rack of knives (growing lights and shelving did wonders in the spontaneous lighting of the nightclub), zhongli finished decorating the non-alcoholic drink of choice for the pseudo-proprietress. who knew what havoc she’d cheerfully throw herself into, archons forbid, if it were liquor. she’s already enough of a handful as it is. 

he sighs in resignation and slides the beverage over. the ice tinkles in the glass confines. he does have a favor to ask today after all. hu tao gives the drink a sniff, then puffs her cheeks in mock anger. 

“no alcohol? booooo, you’re such a rock.”

she takes a generous sip anyway. 

“so, what did you call me here for? not very zhongli-like for you to ask something of lil’ ol’ me. archons, have you been replaced?” 

she squints at him judgingly, then raises an eyebrow when he hesitates to answer.

“doesn’t look that way, old man.”

zhongli can feel the beginnings of a headache forming between his brows. he waves his hand dismissingly as if flicking away her babbling nonsense. 

“i have a favor to ask of you.”

“oh-ho?”

hu tao smirks playfully and pushes the half-finished drink aside, craning her neck forward. 

“what can i do for our esteemed mister zhongli, hm? hehe.”

zhongli clenches his fist under the edge of the woodwork in an effort to calm his raging annoyance. 

(it doesn’t help.)

he should just ask, shouldn’t he..?

“..i’ve been pondering this for a number of days now, but nothing quite appropriate for the occasion has happened to come to mind... do you happen to have any gift ideas for...”

he looks to the side to avoid eye contact and trails off, but hu tao immediately gets the memo. 

“ohhh..” her smile only grows wider, “this is for your daaaate—”

zhongli’s face flushes the slightest tinge of rosy pink and he hisses a sharp “shush!” through gritted teeth. and here he had thought she couldn’t get on his nerves beyond how she’d already acted thus far... 

the cheshire grin on her face still continues to climb. 

“well, you’ve definitely asked the right person! how about...”

some new polaroid film? is what she had proposed.

“it’s not some fancy-schmancy anniversary gift, no? just a date! a date! don’t worry yourself so much over it— no, don’t look at me like that. if you called me over to ask about it, you’re deeeefinitely losing hair over this— okay, okay, i got it! don’t kick me out! old man... sheesh. why don’t you get some more polaroid film and wrap it up all nice? useful and an excuse to take more pictures together! i know, i know, i’m a genius— mmph!”

he can still hear her voice bouncing around in his head (”can’t believe you’re getting rid of your boss, mister zhongli! didn’t take you for the rebellious type—”). zhongli brings his hand up to his temple and breathes out another sigh. it’s not like her idea was a terrible one; if anything, it were a wonderfully exquisite proposal— not that he would tell her. 

“i’d like to purchase this, if you would.”

he hands the box over to the shopkeep, who scans the package and rings up the bill. indiscreetly, he feels up the pocket of his jacket. thank the archons he remembered his wallet today. it would certainly be embarrassing to put this particular item on your tab. 

“sure thing, mister zhongli. i’m assuming this is a gift,” they eye him knowingly, “so would you like it wrapped up?” 

deja vu, his brain mutters, this is very much deja vu. he shuts it up promptly. 

“not this time, but you have my sincerest thanks for the offer. i’d like to wrap it myself.” he can feel his (generally..) expressionless face flaring up the faintest hint of pink and berates his mind once more. only when it comes to you...

acquiring the purchased item, zhongli dips his head in acknowledgement as he heads out. the plants hanging from baskets strung along the ceiling sway their leaves to and fro, nearly catching a wayward lock of his hair. he smooths the stray strand back.

“thank you once again, aether. let lumine know they can drop by for some tea again whenever they’d like for me, please.”

the bell hanging over the doorway tinkles when he pushes it open, and the bustle of the busy harbor seeps into the tranquility of the shop. aether nods and waves a hand at him in return, resting an arm on the cash register. 

“come again.”

-

while he’d imagined many ways your planned outing could play out, this was certainly not one of them. 

he’s approaching the meeting spot you two had decided on (right in front of the flowering quince tree near the park; its blooms resemble those of simpler, smaller silk flowers, and it happens to be quite the scenic location to wait) when he spies not only your stature, but another figure residing right besides you. 

who...?

as he steps closer, he can hear your laughter, the kind that he knows bubbles out of your chest and escapes your lips unconsciously. your amusement isn’t lost on your companion apparently, because they smirk teasingly, letting out a full-blown laugh of their own. 

“oh, zhongli, over here!”

your voice snaps him out of his meandering thoughts, and he stops fiddling with his earring (when did he start doing that?), continuing forward from where he’d paused in his observations of this newcomer. something starts to bloom in his chest, small and bittersweet. he’s not sure what to make of it. 

following your beckoning, zhongli finally makes his way to your side, mentally taking note of your.. friend? he doesn’t remember you mentioning anyone like this before though. surely he would remember your friends, no? 

his earring sways in the wind, white tassel fluttering cheerfully. 

“zhongli, this is my friend kaeya. i met him when i made that trip to mondstadt awhile back, remember that? oh, and kaeya, this is my boyfriend zhongli.”

(the little dragon curled up in his heart preens at your introduction of him, small and sweet.) 

ice blue meets molten gold when zhongli’s eyes dart up to make eye contact with this stranger. they squint at him, assessing, then dip into the makings of a playful twinkle. a hand reaches out for a handshake, which he returns in equal measure. interesting...

“he got a little lost touring liyue and i happened to see him here in the park. small world, huh? i know it was our day love, but do you mind if we take him around for today?”

zhongli smiles appeasingly, gentle and assuring as always. he can recognize the slightly nervous look on your face, one that’s a stark contrast to how energetic you’d looked just a few minutes ago. if kaeya’s company makes you happy and you’d like to take him around, then who is he to refuse your request? you two will have more time to spend with just the two of you later, he reasons with himself. accompanying your friend, and in turn his acquaintance, is nothing big.

(and no, it’s certainly not you calling him love that makes him cave.)

“of course we can.”

tugging at the string of his eyepatch, kaeya swiftly ties his hair back and adjusts the collar of his shirt. “so, where to first?”

zhongli takes your hand in his, squeezing softly. you squeeze back.

getting along together should come just fine.

-

he takes it back. 

he takes it all back. 

he’d accepted it at first because, well, this was your friend. he shouldn’t be controlling who you interact with nor who befriended you - that’s not up to him. it shouldn’t ever be. however—  with every passing moment that kaeya inched closer to you, taking up the entirety of your attention and bringing that bright, bright grin to your face—

(this was supposed to be your date. just the two of you. he hasn’t seen you in a month; surely he can feel a bit selfish, right?)

the three of you turn the corner to an intricately-themed restaurant and pause, where even zhongli looks appreciatively at the beautifully grown bamboo stalks lining the edges of its front walls. 

“wanmin restaurant,” kaeya reads, craning his neck up to gaze at the signboard. bold red calligraphy is sprawled across the rough-cut wood. “awfully simple name for such a stunning place, isn’t it?”

if he weren’t stewing in a pot of conflicted emotions, zhongli would surely inform him of how carefully selected this title was, how it represented more than just a name, how it hid at least several decades worth of effort and teachings— but as it is, he (really, of all people) has no patience for that at the moment. 

first tugging on the hem of your outfit, zhongli then takes you by the elbow and hastily leads you forward to the glass doors of the establishment. he grasps your hand in his as usual, but something must be off, because you twitch a little and look at him curiously. 

he turns his head away, lips pursed just the slightest.

“let us dine here for the time being. it is an appropriate time and place, after all.”

the sun shines brightly in the clear sky as if illuminating his words.

kaeya raises an eyebrow, singular eye looking on inquisitively and arms crossed, then moves further ahead of you both once more. the corner of his mouth dips in a clear show of mirth. bowing with one arm held at the waist, one not unalike a formality from a server, he looks straight into zhongli’s eyes and holds the door open for entrance. 

“that sounds like an excellent idea. well, if you would.”

-

“thanks for the tour around you two.”

kaeya hums his thanks with a cheerful lilt to his voice as you all stand under the porchlight of zhongli’s house. 

(it’s not the largest abode, but it’s cozy and sweet, and it’s definitely enough for the both of you whenever you decide to stay over. tonight is one of those nights, and they may as well become more frequent after the trip you took abroad.) 

his car keys reflect the glow of the bulb, swinging around his finger in loops. they clink noisily, metal against metal, and he grabs them all at once, halfway through another turn. in his car sits a box of treasure-themed artifacts, likely old and had found its way into your hands somehow. zhongli knows you’d been meaning to give them to someone, but he hadn’t known it were kaeya— either way, the artifacts that’d been laying on his shelves for weeks were now handed off. 

ruffling your hair, kaeya pulls you in for a brief hug; although zhongli can feel the bitter pang in his chest, he stays where he stands, keeps it still and small. he can wait. 

that said, the moment kaeya drives off, he’s hauling you into the house and curling up on the couch, pulling you onto his lap and tugging you into his arms. the long thought over gift sits patiently on the counter. it’s waited the entirety of today; it can wait another. 

right now, he needs you. 

your body sinks against his, relaxing from the lively, though exhausting, day. slumped against his chest, he burrows his head in the crook of your shoulder and cuddles you, nuzzling into your neck. finally, you’re home. home with him. 

it’s warm...

“..it was our day...”

you shift your head at his mumbling, lifting his chin to presumably look at his expression. your attention is his now. not kaeya’s. not anyone else’s. just his. 

(his eyes are soft and droopy, smudged red making them look especially mellow in the dim lighting, and lips pushed into the slightest pout. he knows what you’re seeing when you gaze at him fondly, and you can almost see the puppy eyes he sports. how unusual of him.)  

“someone’s a little jealous here, hmmm?” 

you drag out the syllables teasingly, and from lips that are pressing kisses against your skin, he responds a little muffled—

“perhaps.”

[youreacowgirllikeme]

White Lie

note: this plot entered my head and refused to leave, so here we go. Enjoy

words: 2.7 k

warning: swearing, smut (unprotected sex)

“Bliss!” you thought, taking in the unique smell of the bookstore. The last few weeks had been crazy, work keeping you on your toes even on the weekends. This was your first free day in over a month, and what was better than spending it at your favorite place in town.

You loved aimlessly browsing the dozens of shelves for something new to read, your favorite pastime since childhood. You were still contemplating about the kind of lecture you were looking for when a bright red book spine caught your attention. You had always been a person who could be easily attracted by a pretty, colorful cover, so your hand instinctively surged forward to grab the book out of the shelf. But before you could get a hold on it, another hand got in your way, blocking yours and snatching the volume right under your nose.

You were about to complain to whoever had the audacity to get between you and a book, when you looked up at the stranger.

“He’s so tall.” Was the first thing that came to your mind, followed almost instantly by “And hot.” You could feel yourself starting to get slightly flustered, your initial anger forgotten.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, I didn’t think anyone else besides me could be that interested in the medias influence on the US’s political relationship with China.” The stranger said. He had a smooth, deep voice, the kind of voice you could easily imagine yourself listing to for hours. You stared at him, your usually quick brain a bit overwhelmed with your body’s visceral reaction to the mans presence .

“Political relationship with China?” you repeated, confused and sounding like the biggest idiot ever to your own ears.

“Yes, because that’s what this is about.” The man turned the book around so you could look at the cover. “You’re aware that you’re in the politics section?” He added, slower, like he was talking to a child.

You tried to collect yourself, you usually prided yourself on your quick-wittedness and you didn’t like how nervous this stranger was making you at all. You didn’t know what it was about him, maybe his imposing figure or his intense gaze, but he was intimidating.

“Oh, yes, I was searching for a similar looking book.” You lied quickly. “My mistake.”

Turning around to another shelf with some new arrivals, you grabbed the first red-spined book that caught your eyes.

“Here. That’s the one I actually want.” You replied, showing the random book to the man. He mustered the cover and a small smirk settled over his face.

“The Hellfire Club, huh? You’re a fan of political thrillers?” he asked, a hint of amusement in his voice.

“Of course, huge fan. I’ve read all of the authors works, been really looking forward to this one. I heard it’s set in New York.” In reality, you didn’t have the slightest clue what this book was about, and even less why you were lying to this random guy about it. Did you just want him off your back, or did you want to impress him, engage him in conversation? He was fascinating and for some reason you felt like this conversation was spinning a bit out of your control.

The man raised his eyebrows at you, looking like he could sense your nervousness.

“It’s a decent book, I guess. But I heard the author is a real prick.” He gave you an almost conspiratorial wink. “I have to go now, but enjoy it. New York is definitely a fascinating city.” He turned around and left in the direction of the checkout.

You opened the book, looking inside to find out who this guy was having such a low opinion about. There was a small picture of the author in there, and as you studied it you felt like you might get sick.

It was the stranger from moments before. Jake Tapper. You had lied to Jake Tapper. You groaned internally, why the hell hadn’t you recognize him?

Yes, you didn’t watch his shows, too little time. But he was something like a celebrity, and you blatantly told him absolute bullshit about his own book in an attempt to appear cleverer than you were. How had this guy been able to unsettle you that way?

“The damn Capitol is literally on the cover, you idiot.” You whispered to yourself, absolutely mortified. You had to go after him and clear this up or you would never rest again.

But as your eyes scanned the bookstore, he was already making his way out, disappearing onto the crowded street.

+++

Two weeks later, you still couldn’t think about the encounter without being totally embarrassed. You had bought the book, and of course it wasn’t set in New York. But it was a fascinating read, you weren’t able to put it away for the whole weekend, finishing it only three days after you purchased it.

At the same time, you weren’t able to stop thinking about Jake Tapper either. Even in the brief moment you shared with him, he had managed to leave a lasting expression, and your thoughts were circling around his dark eyes and deep voice more often than you’d care to admit.

The sound of an incoming email disturbed your thoughts, and as you checked, it your heart did a little jump in your chest. It was the newsletter from your favorite bookstore, announcing an event with no one else than Jake Tapper himself, signing copies of his latest political thriller The Hellfire Club.

Without even thinking about it twice, you signed yourself up for the event. You had to see him again, try to explain yourself and get some closure about the situation, or those thoughts of him would probably haunt you forever.

+++

You’ve been anxiously waiting in line for thirty minutes now, and finally it was your turn. As soon as the man’s eyes landed on you, he raised his eyebrows and a smug smile settled over his face

“And so, we meet again. I sincerely hope the lack of New York content wasn’t too much of a disappointment.”

So he remembered you. Great.

“Ok, I deserve that.” You murmured, embarrassed by the whole situation. You started to regret even coming here, but now you had to get it over with.

“I just came to, well, apologize, I guess. And prove that I’m not an idiot.” Why were you blabbering like that? This man’s scrutiny made you so nervous, his attentive gaze was fixed on you while you were struggling to explain the situation.

“I loved the book, by the way, great style and the storyline was very captivating. Even without New York.” You added, a weak attempt at a joke. To your total surprise, he chuckled, a sound that made you even more agitated. By now, you were sure that your face was the color of a fire truck.

“I’m glad you enjoyed it.” Jake replied. “And no hard feelings about what happened. Maybe I should let my next novel play in New York in reference to our encounter. Also, I am at a bit of a disadvantage here, you know my name but haven’t told me yours.”

You quickly introduced yourself, and he reached over the desk to take the book you held in your hand. When you didn’t let go immediately, his hand stopped, and he looked at you with a puzzled expression. His fingers were brushing against yours, a fact that obviously overwhelmed your brain as you weren’t able to move a muscle to hand over the book.

Touching him made a spark went through you, and from the way Jakes eyes slightly darkened, you could tell that he had felt it as well. You stared into each other’s eyes for seconds until someone in line behind you coughed, and you snapped out of your frenzy.

“I assumed you want me to sign your copy.” Jake mumbled, still holding onto your book.

“Yes, of course. I’m sorry.” You replied hastily, handing him the volume and internally cursing your body for the nervous, awkward way it behaved in front of this man.

Jake grabbed a pen, signing the front page and scribbling a note into the bottom right corner. He handed it back to you, and you opened to read what he had written. It was a row of numbers, and before you could make sense of it, he spoke again.

“That’s my number. I would love to hear some more of your potential book ideas, if you’d be interested. Maybe over dinner, or some drinks?” His voice was smooth, but there was a hint of insecurity, like the smallest crack in his façade.

Was he asking you out? Quick, you told yourself, say something.

“Uhm, yeah, sounds good.” Wow, great response. Pulling yourself together, you added “I’d love to.”

“Great. I’m looking forward to hearing from you, Y/N. Now, I’m sorry, but I think there are some more readers who demand my attention.” Jake said, pointing to the waiting people behind you. “I’ll see you around?”

“Absolutely!” you burst out, your own voice sounding terribly loud to your own ears, and without saying goodbye, you turned around and fled the bookstore.

+++

Back at home, you tried to make sense of everything that had happened. First of all, you had, one more time, acted like a train wreck in front of Jake Tapper. And secondly, it obviously hadn’t bothered him too much, because he had really asked you out.

What brought the next problem, what was an appropriate time to call him? Your head went through every possible option, from phoning him right now to never contacting him again to save yourself from further embarrassment. After some back and forth, you decided to wait another day, that gave you enough time to think about what to say to him.

+++

“Hello, Jake Tapper speaking.”

Hearing his voice was enough to make your own go slightly shrill with nervousness.

“Uhm, hi, this is Y/N, from the bookstore yesterday, you remember?”

“Of course I remember.” Jake replied, “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I was wondering, if the offer still stands, I’d love to have dinner with you somewhere.” You were proud that you managed to keep your voice steady despite your fluttering nerves.

“Absolutely, whenever your free. How does Saturday sound?”

+++

It was Saturday, and the restaurant you had agreed on was packed with people. The food was great, and the company even more so. After a glass of wine, your initial anxiety had eased down a bit, allowing you to engage in some actual conversation with Jake. He was as fascinating as you had expected, and you found yourself dreamily staring at his eyes and the way they lit up when he was talking about something he was especially passionate about.

You discovered your shared love for books, and the bookstore you had met in in particular, it was Jake’s favorite as well.

“How is it that I have never seen you there before?” you asked.

Jake shrugged, leaning back into his chair.

“Unfortunately, I don’t have much time to go there, and when I do its usually first thing in the morning when they open up. But I buy a book every time. And I’m glad we finally ran into each other.” He leaned towards you again, focusing his eyes on you in a way that made your body heat up.

“I’m glad you even wanted to see me again after that awful first impression.” You mumbled, it was still uncomfortable to talk about that. But Jake just chuckled softly, reaching out to grab your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours. For a moment, the soft stroking of his thumb against your skin was everything you could focus on.

“It definitely wasn’t awful, far from it actually. And please don’t assume I wasn’t nervous as well, you are gorgeous and were browsing the politics section of the bookstore. I just had to talk to you.”his voice was dropping a bit as he pressed his thumb down against a sensitive spot on your palm, making you gasp slightly.

Somehow, the knowledge that you had made the Jake Tapper nervous gave your ego a slight boost.

"Well, you didn’t show it, but I’m glad I’m not the only one who felt that way.” You said, squeezing Jakes hand and, in a moment of bravery, began to slide your bare foot slowly against his leg. His sharp intake of breath told you that it had the intended effect on him.

“So you buy a book every time you’re in the store.” You continued, trying to appear unfazed while still keeping contact under the table. “Your bookshelf must be impressive.”

“I have quite the collection.” Jake replied, his voice a low growl now. His pupils were blown, making his eyes appear dark and almost hungry.

With a quick move, he reached under the table to where your foot had almost reached the inside of his tight and grabed your ankle in a strong grip. A tingling sensation went from where was was touching you all the way up to your core and you clenched your legs together.

„Careful, Y/N. Don’t tease me.“ Jake pressed out in a slightly stained voice.

The tension between the two of you was almost palpable by now.

“I’d just love to see your bookshelf, Jake.” you whispered, biting your lip. You wanted this man, and from the way he was watching you, you could tell that the desire was definitely mutual.

+++

One hurried bill and speedy car ride later, you found yourself pressed against Jake Tappers bookshelf by the man himself. Your hands were tangled in his hair as he was kissing you, his own fingers nestling with the buttons of your jeans. Your shirt already lay discarded on the floor along with his own, and the bare skin of his chest felt amazing where it was pressed against yours.

You groaned when Jake moved his lips to your jaw, kissing down your neck and softly biting into the junction of your shoulder. He slid your jeans down your hips, and you hastily stepped out of them before doing the same to his trousers, leaving the both of you in only your underwear.

When you grinded your core against his boxer-clad erection, he roughly grabbed your ass and pulled you over to the sofa.

"Enough with the damn teasing.“ he growled into your ear, pushing you down onto the soft cushions.

“Jake, please.” You whimpered as he unclasped our bra with one hand and pinched one of your bared nipples with the other.

You could barely think straight anymore, aching for his touch, your panties already slick with need. He pulled them down your legs, his fingers leaving a burning trail where they were brushing over your skin.

“Fuck, you’re soaked.” He whispered when his fingers finally found their way between your tights. He circled your clit, but the soft pressure he applied wasn’t enough for you.

“Please.” You repeated, your voice only a breathy moan by now. “I need more.”

Jake softly swore under his breath, retreating his fingers before standing up and getting rid of his underwear. He took a moment to look down at you, taking in your naked body, splayed out on his couch, your legs spread.

The intensity of his gaze made you squirm and bite your lip in anticipation, he looked like he wanted to devour you.

“Look at you, all needy and ready for me. You are gorgeous, Y/N.” Jake said in a stained voice, before moving to lie on top of you, claiming your lips in a bruising kiss. His erecrion teased your entrance, his hands grabbing your thighs with a hard grip as he slowly entered you. You groaned into his mouth as he filled you until he bottomed out.

With a nudge of your pelvis, you encouraged him to start moving. His pace was slow at first, but he increased his speed as you raked your nails across his back and spurred him on with whispers of his name and pleads to go faster, harder.

“You feel so good, fucking amazing.” Jake growled, one of his hands grabbing a fist of your hair while the other one squeezed your ass, his nails digging into your skin, creating just the right amount of pain to drive you crazy.

You wrapped your legs around his hips and he groaned against your skin as he deepened his thrusts, driving you closer and closer to your climax.

His hard, relentless gaze never left yours as he was fucking you and being the focus of his unwavering attention gave you a heady feeling.

When he told you to come, it almost sounded like a command, and you clenched around him as you reached your peak. He followed you after a few more thrusts, holding you tightly as he came inside you.

“Wow.” You whispered, pressing your forehead against Jakes. He stroked your hair, eyes still settled on you, and it felt as if he could see your every thought.

“That was incredible.” you continued, and Jake hummed in agreement before pulling out and rolling off you. He still watched you with the same unreadable expression for a moment, before he spoke out.

“I want to be honest, Y/N. I hope tonight wasn’t a one-time thing for you.”

Your heartrate that had just slowed down a bit sped up again, a broad, happy smile settling over your face.

“That depends.” You replied.

Jake arched an eyebrow at you. “And on what exactly?”

“How impressive the content of your bookshelf really is.”

[scattered-shadows]

A year after the events of Past-Present-Future, Lee Mirae, Choi San, and Jeong Yunho receive a mysterious envelope containing photos and notes about the deaths of several individuals. The deeper they go into the case, they find that the entertainment industry hides a very dark secret.

Group: ATEEZ Pairing: Yunho/OC Genres: It’s a little bit of: adventure, romance, mystery, crime, fantasy, action. Things to note: It also features mentions of other idols/artists: Junhong (Zelo), Dean, Chanyeol, etc. Superpowers AU if it wasn’t obvious as well. Featuring Enhypen. 

T/W: Themes of death, violence, demons, cults, blood, use of weapons and/or firearms, use of drugs (both recreational and medical), implied/referenced assault, implied/referenced suicide

A/N: The main conflict is a reimagining of an actual long-running theory. This is also a remaking of a previous fic I wrote before on Ao3 that will now be under the new super powers au. (if you know, you know). This work is pure fiction and does not bear a direct reflection of the idols in the story. Please let me know if you would like to be included in the tag list.

A/A/N: Introducing Enhypen. hehet! Also, this hasn’t been edited as much. Shoutout to people I’ve been talking to about this, or at least bits of this. haha. Enjoy.

Masterlist

Two

San and Hongjoong stood across the street from the large boutique, the word Montague on display above in gold set against a black background with a gold border. It looked similar to the displays on toy stores overseas, mannequins holding handbags that San knew probably cost millions. He made sure to dress appropriately in the hopes of passing off as a model, as Mirae figured they would likely only entertain those who worked in fashion. Hongjoong was conveniently dressed like a designer, but an armed one. “So, this is where we’re supposed to go, huh?” Hongjoong asked. 

“Mhmm. We have to pretend like we work in fashion, people that work in that kind of place can be very snooty. We need to move like we can afford everything in there,” San explained, in the hopes of assuring himself. 

“Well, let’s get to it, we need to be back by dinner, at least Mirae says so,” Hongjoong nodded. 

They crossed the street, San gripping the handle of the door and pulling it open. The interior of the boutique was, as expected, just as fancy-looking as the outside. A black crystal chandelier hung over their heads with the mirrored tile ceilings. The racks of clothing and shelves to display shoes were in a matte black. The mannequins in the middle of the room looked like they were made out of silver and gold. “Wow,” San looked almost in awe of the place. 

“Those suits probably cost an arm and a leg,” Hongjoong muttered as they looked around. 

“Hello, how may I help you gentlemen?” 

They turned around. Behind them was a man dressed all in black, his hair slicked back. “We’re looking for your manager, I’m Kim Hongjoong of Hong Atelier and I’d like to discuss a possible collaboration with your founder, or designer,” He blurted out. 

“Oh, you’re looking for Madame Seo,” The man replied. San sensed that there was something off about the way he said her name. “Will you follow me, she’s in her office,” He walked off further down the boutique and up a staircase illuminated with small spotlights above their heads against matte black walls. 

“Rather dark in here, isn’t it?” San quipped as they were led down a hall with leopard-print floors. 

“Madame Seo prefers it that way. The daylight doesn’t do much for the fabrics, at least that’s what she says,” The man replied, having heard him. He stopped in front of a red door and opened it. “You can wait here while I inform Madame Seo. Make yourselves comfortable, she’ll be with you in a moment.”

Hongjoong and San stepped inside the leopard print themed room, looking even more puzzled at the change of motif in this part of the store. “Quick of you to say something to that guy,” San sat down on the couch, eyes still scanning the room in the hopes of finding anything out of the ordinary. 

“It comes with what I used to do,” Hongjoong shrugged, moving around the room to look around. “I see Mirae’s been doing very well,” He muttered. 

“She is, she has been for a while now,” San reached for the remote on the side table to turn the television on. “You miss her?” 

“I don’t know, but it feels weird to be meeting again outside the padded walls of the sanitarium I came from,” Hongjoong felt the walls, the leopard-printed wallpaper under his fingertips. 

The program on the television went black and the sound of the program going static filled the room. San stood up, dropping the remote control. The screen began to show surveillance images of the two of them, before it changed to what looked like an information screen. “They know who we are,” His expression dropped. Hongjoong froze in his place. 

The screen went to black again, before more static came on. “I’m good with faces, you have been warned. Don’t snoop around where you’re not supposed to,” said the words that were appearing on the screen. 

“Time to go,” San and Hongjoong raced for the door, the former already reaching into his coat for his harpoon gun. As they opened it, they saw the employee, pointing a gun at them. 

“We ran your faces, we know who you are,” The man said, gesturing for them to move back into the room. “There’s no Hong Atelier, but there is that sanitarium, right?” He turned to Hongjoong. “As for you? Offshore accounts here and there, taking jobs for lowlife gangs and jealous wives, and you were involved in the Kang mob, both of you are,” He glanced at San. “So, tell us why you’re here.” 

“You must be that full of yourself to also refer to yourself in third person,” San said through gritted teeth. 

“Oh I’m not alone, I’m never alone,” There was a coldness in the employee’s voice. “At least both of you have each other when you die, Madame Seo isn’t fond of people lying.” 

“Lying? That’s rich coming from someone who only has this as a front,” Hongjoong spoke this time. 

The employee chuckled. “Oh, believing in that drivel those conspiracy theorists cooked up, are we?” 

“She hasn’t denied those and we’re here to find that out.”

San could feel the frustration coming over him. Hongjoong, however, remained calm. “If you’re going to keep that gun pointed at us, you may as well pull the trigger, we know too much now,” He said. 

“Good idea,” and just before the employee pulled the trigger, he fell to the floor, blood seeping out from his mouth and from his stomach. The blade that came out from Hongjoong’s sleeve was now dripping with blood. 

“There’s going to be more of them, probably,” San peeked outside, the two of them stepping over the body. The other doors along the hall remained closed. 

They looked back at the room they were coming from one more time, seeing if there was anything else they missed, until they saw something glinting on the floor. A puddle appeared to be forming from the employee Hongjoong stabbed. It was a puddle of black liquid. “What the- Is this grease?” Hongjoong bent down to look at the puddle closely. “Where’s the test tubes? Did you bring some?” 

“Oh yeah, I have one here,” San took out one test tube from his coat pocket and bent down to scoop some of the liquid. “I have a feeling we won’t be let out,” He looked up at the empty hall. 

They rushed down the hall and sprinted down the stairs, suddenly hearing screeches and cocked guns coming from behind them. San and Hongjoong skidded to a halt when a few more employees appeared at the landing of the staircase and into the main boutique. All of them were holding weapons. San quickly brandished his harpoon, eyes suddenly glowing as he kicked and punched several out of the way while Hongjoong sliced through the employees behind them with the blades in his sleeves. “This would be easier with my rapier,” He muttered, snapping the necks of some but his eyes widened when he saw how red their eyes were. It was as if they were glowing. 

Splatters of black liquid hit their faces and staining their clothes as they fought their way through the boutique. Hongjoong pushed the mannequins over in an attempt to block the rest from attacking them while San did the same with the clothes racks in the middle of the store. From under the racks and the mannequins was a compartment that they saw had small packets of what looked like light gold powder. San snatched a few while Hongjoong hopped over to the front desk, grabbing whatever files he could get his hands on. “So much for taking the direct approach,” He fired his harpoon through a few, the blades as his eyes glowed, stunning each one of them. 

The two of them returned to the fray, fighting their way through the store and disarming the employees who were still standing, using their weapons against them. Hongjoong nearly dodged one and as one was about to open fire at them, the next thing he realized was that they were both outside the store, the two of them on the sidewalk, with the doors slamming shut. “...What just happened?” San spoke, stunned at how they ended up on the sidewalk, getting back up on their feet. He looked down, feeling a kind of nausea sink in. 

“I-I don’t know,” Hongjoong was just as stunned as he got up, sliding the blades back in place in his sleeves. He looked down at his hands, noticing some unusual glow, that soon spread up to his arms and all over his body. San stared at him, seeing the unusual static glow. “...What’s happening to me?” 

“I don’t know either, but maybe this was what Junhong hyung meant when he said you may or may not have powers, let’s go!” The two of them ran across the street and into the car. 

~ 

Yunho approached the front desk of Kang Tower. It had been a year since he last set foot in the building, noticing how much had changed in a span of 12 months. From the minimalist Japanese-themed interiors last year, the changes he figured Yeosang made now made everything about the place in the art deco style, the walls and marble floors having geometric shapes for patterns, crystal chandeliers above their heads. The interior seemed to be a stark contrast to how it looked outside. 

He stopped in front of the information board, figuring out what floor Yeosang was probably on. He could always teleport if he couldn’t find him where he first stopped. As soon as Yunho figured out the likely place, he rushed into a shadowy hall where he disappeared, reappearing in a dark hallway that he quickly realized was Yeosang’s penthouse. Just like the design of the interior of the whole building, Yeosang’s penthouse was decorated in the same art deco manner. 

“Kang Yeosang?” Yunho called out as he walked further down the hall, the chandelier above illuminating the entire area. He looked around, creeping into the very bare yet equally opulent-looking kitchen. He was not there. 

Yunho went into a shadowy part of the hall again, reappearing in what looked like an empty conference room. From the looks of how everything seemed to be set up, he figured that a meeting was going to be taking place. The doors opened and in came the mutant himself, his hair now dyed black and was slightly shorter than his previous blonde hairstyle. Yeosang stopped in his tracks upon seeing Yunho and turned to the group of businessmen behind him. “Gentlemen, if you don’t mind waiting a while, I will have a word with this man over there,” He gestured to the taller. 

The group of businessmen nodded, dispersing into the hall, likely going to the waiting area. Yeosang closed the door behind him and Yunho sat down on one of the chairs. “It’s been a while, Yeosang, we need to talk,” He said. 

“By all means, I assume you didn’t just come here because you wanted to hang out anyways,” Yeosang sat down on the nearest chair. “Having trouble, Yunho?” 

“Well, not really, I’m personally not in trouble, but there are other people that would be once you tell me what I’m going to ask,” Yunho said. 

“Then ask.” 

“Madame Seo. Do you know her?” Yunho noticed Yeosang’s expression stiffen at the question. He said nothing. “Kang Yeosang, I need you to tell me what you know about her, how you know her, all of that.” 

Yeosang broke into a small smile. “Jeong Yunho, are you really going to tell me all about that conspiracy theory going all over the internet? That’s old news.” 

“Nothing’s confirmed, nothing’s denied either, I might as well find the truth out for myself,” Yunho was quick to match up to him. “I mean, Mirae-” 

“Ah, Mirae,” Yeosang cut him off. “She knows, huh?” 

“Would you rather she be the one asking you this?” Yunho raised a brow, making Yeosang’s smug expression fall. “I can see the way you look at her, the way you speak to her, you know. It doesn’t take a genius to figure that out.” 

“Oh, that tactic, huh?” Yeosang chuckled. “Yunho, you’re a new immortal, you haven’t lived as long as I have...yet, to know that this kind of interrogation has already been done to me before. It gets old, if you pardon the pun.” 

“Then tell me what you know about Madame Seo,” Yunho pressed on. “Or how you know her if you do know her.” 

“She’s a hostess,” Yeosang replied. “That’s all she is.” 

“Oh yeah? So she doesn’t own a clothing brand called Montague?” 

“It’s possible the Seo that owns Montague is a different one, you know,” Yeosang pointed out. “But seeing as I can tell you plan on using your Mirae on me again in asking, Madame Seo is a hostess, that just so happens to own a clothing brand.” 

“A high-end clothing brand,” Yunho corrected him. “You must pay her a lot for her to put up that expensive a brand, that coincidentally hardly anyone knows about.” 

“Oh I’m not her only client, and that was years ago, I haven’t been paying for the services of her girls in a while,” Yeosang scoffed. 

“Are any of those girls actresses? Aspiring actresses? Singers?” Yunho asked. 

“You think I was personally asking for their services on me?” Yeosang couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “To answer your question, no I wasn’t, I could tell the difference between a regular worker there and someone who was forced to do all those things.” 

Yunho nodded. “Just when we thought you were coming around, we find out about this. What else do you know about her?” 

Yeosang stared at him. “She was a hostess to me, that’s that. However, she does have a hold on many powerful people in this country.”

“What is she holding over their heads?” 

Yeosang smiled. “Time’s up, I’m afraid, I have a meeting with those businessmen and they would not appreciate being kept waiting.” 

Yunho got up, feeling frustrated. “Alright, fine. But I wonder what hold she has on you,” He eyed the shorter male before leaving. As soon as he stepped out, the crowd of businessmen flocked inside the room. He didn’t want to leave just yet, he knew there were still some things he could find out even without Yeosang telling him. It wouldn’t make sense if Madame Seo knew he was a mutant and was using it against him. Yunho figured that Yeosang didn’t really care if anyone else outside their circle knew as no one would believe them anyway. 

He approached the dark part of the hall and in a second, reappeared in another room in the building. Yeosang’s office. Yunho felt a tinge of relief upon noticing the nameplate on the desk. For an elaborately decorated building, Yeosang’s office was a little less opulent-looking but remained in the art deco style. Yunho figured if there was anything he could find, Yeosang’s

office would be the most likely place. There were plaques on the walls, showing the successes of the Kang Organization, some of them the deals that were made. 

Yunho froze when he heard footsteps heading in the direction of the office. From the silhouette that was shown from the frosted window, it was an office clerk, Yeosang’s executive secretary. He hid on the side of the desk by the window when the secretary opened the door. The footsteps got louder, the clinking of her heels echoing throughout the office. 

“Yes, Mr. Kang, I will be there with your proposal,” She said to someone, opening the drawers on the side nearest to Yunho, making him shift even more to keep himself hidden. “Yes? Oh, the Montague file? It’s just here, Mr. Kang.” He perked up when he heard the name of the brand. Yunho listened carefully. “Montague, Montague, and the Kang Entertainment deal, yes it’s all here, Mr. Kang,” The secretary spoke again, and a shuffling of paper later and the door closed again. 

Yunho got up to his feet, his lips pursed in frustration. He quietly looked into the drawers of Yeosang’s desk until he came across a photo of Mirae, taken at Sky Sushi by possibly one of the event’s photographers. It reminded him of his previous assertion, and at this point he didn’t even care to get jealous. Yunho looked through the rest of his drawers, finding neatly stacked and filed papers. “Where are the Montague and Kang Entertainment files,” He muttered as he looked through the stacks for any indication of at least one of the two before searching the bigger drawers at the bottom and the wooden file cabinet in another part of the room. 

In a sea of black leather folders, Yunho stopped at one of them that had a label “MTG” in gold. He quietly took it out from under the stack and opened it. It was a document detailing his financial stake in Montague. He looked at the date it was all signed. It was in the same year that the actress whose husband left her for Madame Seo was killed. Yunho closed the folder and looked through the files again for any mention of Kang Entertainment. 

Yunho searched another one of the bigger drawers, looking through the labels of the files when he stopped upon seeing a black leather folder labeled “Kang Entertainment.” Before he could open the file, he heard footsteps from the same secretary again. Yunho closed the drawers, one of them closing with a slight thud, that made the secretary walk faster. Taking the files, he went into the dark corner and vanished. 

~ 

Mirae pulled over across the street from Kang Entertainment. She made sure to look a little more presentable, knowing that she was going to do. She wasn’t even sure what she would find in that place, possibly full of celebrities and the people that practically work for them. This was just like Hyuk’s workplace, only she didn’t know anyone, and she wasn’t sure if there were mutants among them either. She ran across the street, past a group of fans that were staring at the doors, possibly to wait for any idols to come out. 

“I’m here and I’m going in,” She said to the communicator to Junhong. 

“Good luck. I put you in their appointment system, they should have your alias written down,” Junhong said before they hung up. 

Figuring out the other entrance, she stepped inside and approached the front desk. “Hello, I’d like to speak to the CEO? I’m Cha Jihyun of Entrepreneur Magazine and I was supposed to interview him today,” She said the rehearsed coverup she had. 

The concierge nodded, looking through a monitor. “Ah yes, Cha Jihyun. The executive offices are through the hall on the left, you can make your way there,” They gestured to the corner. 

“Thank you,” Mirae exhaled in relief as she walked off, eyeing every detail of the place she was in. There were framed photos of their artists and posters of movies and dramas of the actors they had. 

The farther she went into the company, she passed by a training room where three boys seemed to be dancing, music blasting from their speakers, possibly for their comeback. One boy was wearing a bright red, the other one was wearing orange, and the boy in glasses was wearing a vivid purple. In the corner of the practice room, Mirae saw more movie posters that included the names and faces of the victims. “Hello,” Someone said behind her, making her turn around. 

“Oh hello,” Mirae bowed. Four boys dressed in green, pink, a faded blue, and yellow were standing in front of her, all of them holding bubble tea and ice cream. 

“Are you looking for someone?” The boy in yellow and wearing round glasses said. “Are we getting interviewed today?” 

“Oh no, no, I was just passing by. You must be a new group,” Mirae sensed something unusual about them. 

“Yes we are, we just debuted last year,” The boy in the faded blue hoodie with matching jogging pants replied. 

“Ah, I see,” Mirae nodded, unable to shake off the unusual feeling she was getting from all of them, especially the boy wearing pink and the blonde boy wearing green. “Well, good luck in your career, I should be going now,” She stepped back, bowing to greet them one more time before turning around to walk down the hall that led to the CEO’s office. 

“Please interview us next time!” She heard them say from a distance. Mirae could sense the lingering stares from the four boys the more she walked towards the door. 

As she finally stopped in front of the door that had the CEO’s name on it with a woman who was his secretary, seated behind her desk nearby. “Cha Jihyun of Entrepreneur Magazine?” She said. 

“That’s me,” Mirae raised her hand. 

“Please go inside the office, he is currently in a meeting and he’ll be with you shortly,” The woman gestured to the door. Mirae bowed in thanks before entering. 

Once she was inside, she took in her surroundings. The CEO’s office was very spacious, very modern-looking, with three tall shelves of figurines and plaques of the agency’s achievements and sales. Mirae sat down at the very end of the couch, closest to the desk. Everything she would want to know would likely be in that computer, she figured, eyeing the laptop and the monitor on the desk. 

The door opened again, and to her surprise, in came the four boys. “Our CEO said to keep you company,” The boy in yellow spoke as he sat down next to her, while the boy in pink leaned against the desk in front of her. “We’re very close to him, we’re like his sons,” He mused. 

“Oh, I would’ve thought you were all back to practicing or something,” Mirae eyed them. “With what you’re all wearing.” 

“Oh this?” The boy in pink giggled, while the boys in blue and green exchanged knowing looks, a smirk creeping up on the face of the boy wearing green. “We were recording a video for our fans!” 

“Oh, we’ve been very silly, we should introduce ourselves, right?” The boy in yellow glanced at his colleagues, who nodded. “I’m Jungwon.” 

“Sunoo,” said the boy in pink. 

“Jay,” said the boy in green.

“And I’m Sunghoon,” said the boy in blue. 

“For a rookie group, you all certainly don’t act like it,” Mirae glanced at each of them, acknowledging their introductions. The boys only chuckled in response. 

“You have a very pretty neck,” Jay suddenly said.

“...Thanks,” Mirae stared at him for a moment. “I guess.” 

“I mean it,” Jay sat down on her other side. “A very pretty neck.” 

“Shouldn’t you be flirting with girls your own age? Or younger?” Mirae sensed that Jungwon, Sunghoon, and Sunoo were also looking at her the same way Jay was at that moment. They were looking at her rather … hungrily. 

“Age is but a number, and a state of mind,” Jungwon muttered, also staring at her neck. 

“We can’t date anyway, at least for a few years,” Sunghoon chimed in. 

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re all acting like vampires,” Mirae watched them closely. 

“It’s also our concept,” Sunoo giggled, Sunghoon smirking from where he stood. 

“Ah,” Mirae remained calm, figuring them out. “It’s funny you should mention my neck because, people from this agency were murdered, with marks on their wrists and necks…” She studied their faces for any change in reaction. If she wasn’t hearing things, she would’ve sworn she heard Jungwon hiss. 

“Their blood must’ve tasted good,” Sunghoon shuddered. 

“In that case, you wouldn’t want mine,” Mirae stood up, understanding completely what she was into. 

That made Jay and Jungwon stand up, the four boys walking up to her. “We won’t know if we don’t try,” Sunghoon reached for her hand and turned it over to look at her wrist. “All that running through your veins, I haven’t had my meal yet.” 

“You probably should,” Mirae snatched her hand back, her eyes widening when their faces had twisted and changed completely. 

Their eyes turned red and fangs grew out from their teeth. “We will,” Sunoo giggled again. 

[jae-writes-fanfiction]

Oooooo girl I love these prompts!!! For a wild one hows about Robb Stark with genre3 trope2 and locashion7????

A Promise to the Moon

Robb Stark x Reader - 3873 Words - More Freaky Fics

Notes: This is a a dark fic, a Gothic Romance!AU in the style of Jane Eyre, Wuthering Heights, it features references and occasional quotes from both. I also emulated the writing style (prose and exposition heavy).

The requested prompts were: haunted house/ghost story, memento mori, and a secluded castle/manor. The ghost elements got lost as I wrote it- sorry!

Warnings: a toxic/icky relationship with controlling/possessive behavior (just like the ones in the afformentipmed novels), the word “fuck” is used once, light smut, dated health methods like leeches and bloodletting, major character death. There is no happy ending, Enjoy Responsibly ❤️

- - -

“Let the wind come shake me down! /Deliver me closer to the ground/ I made a promise to the moon.” -Jason Webley

The newspaper advertisement had asked for educated persons of age to apply for the position in person. The grand Winterfell Estate sat desolate among the moors, fog-covered bogs and copses of sickly forests mottled the land and turned the beautiful countryside into a crypt.

The owner and solicitor, a Mister Stark, had requested a tutor for his troubled little sister the estate’s only current inhabitant.

The locket around your neck held your mother’s portrait and served as your only reminder of the life you once lived. Lost in a strange and new place you relied on its familiar weight for comfort.

As you approached the Estate you noticed their family name was carved into the arch above the wooden door. It announced you as an intruder, and your locket confirmed you as an outsider. It made you miss the place you once called home.

The Housekeeper was more than amiable and the child, Arya as you learned she was called, was a verifiable genius. You knew instantly she would benefit from one-on-one specialized instruction. As for Mister Stark, he had yet to appear around the estate- the Housekeeper herself interviewed and appointed you to the position.

The work itself was exhausting and after a week of it, you were desperate for a brief moment of solitude. Arya was never satiated, her thirst for life and adventure outpaced any sort of book work and left you aching from chasing her around.

It was past midnight, the moon already hidden in the vast inky sky when you slunk into the sitting room. You lit the lamps and settled in with one of the many tomes that adorned the room. The pages felt brittle under your fingertips and you turned them ceaselessly.

An accented voice pulled you from the book’s pages, the shock made you snap the book closed harder than you would’ve liked.

“Now what’s a decent sort like you doing out of bed at this hour?”

A man leaned against the entryway, a smile on his face that made you feel exposed and downright sinful. The dark brown of his eyes was mirrored in the curls of his hair which were highlighted with light licks of a scandalous silver that seemed to sparkle under the sparse candlelight.

He smirked and it felt like you were falling through the floor. You could see luggage behind him in the hallway and you wondered why the Housekeeper hadn’t been alerted- and why you hadn’t been warned of such a distinguished intrusion.

“Certainly Sir, you know I cannot answer that,” you said shortly.

You rose quickly, shelved the book, and turned to leave. It was late and the entire situation was highly improper- yet he blocked your path a cheeky grin on his face.

“Have I frightened you?” He taunted you with a wolfish grin, and you felt your face grow hot.

“I am not frightened,” you lied smoothly, “I just wish to retire for the evening.”

He laughed openly seeing right through you. He stepped aside anyway but caught your wrist as you passed. You froze instantly and trembled as he brought your knuckles to his lips. “Goodnight then,” he spoke with a smirk the strange concoction of trepidation and intrigue evident as you pulled away and ran from the room.

It wasn’t until you were secure in your room, your hands clasped over your thundering heart, that you realized he must’ve been your employer whose portrait hung in the very hallway you just ran through.

You struggled to fall asleep, staring up at the ceiling until you thought shapes were starting to appear in the darkness. Yet you must’ve as the next thing you remembered was a burst of light and a loud noise waking you up.

“Oh me!” The Housekeeper wailed, as she announced herself in your chambers the next morning. You winced as she threw open the damask drapes, the sunlight almost blinding.

“I need you to keep Arya on her best behavior today,” she started ranting pulling your clothes out for the day in a flurry, “Mister Stark has returned and the entire west wing must be prepared immediately so I cannot manage the little miss!”

Typically the staff was prepared to assemble his rooms at a moment's notice. The estate’s Master was known to appear and disappear for any length of time at will.

You let the Housekeeper prepare you, and lead you to the same sitting room for your formal introduction. As you entered the room Robb eyed you hungrily and you knew the setting was chosen intentionally.

Embarrassment washed over you as the previous night’s run-in resurfaced in your mind. The only thing you could do was make a heaven out of hell, so you bolstered what confidence you could. No matter how charming and handsome he might be, he wouldn’t win the satisfaction of seeing your unease.

The Housekeeper cleared her throat and shuffled forward, “may I introduce-“

“Mister Stark,” you said smartly cutting her off and gliding forward. You could feel her ire at your break in tradition but knew this was the best way to regain some control over the situation. You smiled coyly and shook his hand with as much indifference as you could muster despite the anticipatory anxiety building in your body.

“Robb, please,” he insisted lightly. He watched you like a cat might watch a mouse and you felt a shiver course through your body as he openly looked over it.

“Is this proper enough an introduction?” The sarcastic lilt to his voice matched his devilish smirk, and you had to admit it was a good look for him.

“You’ll have to forgive me I’m often wary of new faces,” you said sitting across from him, “especially those belonging to nefariously enigmatic gentlemen.”

Robb laughed openly, and in a manic burst of motion took your hand in his. Your heart raced at his slight touch and you tried your best to suppress the smile on your face.

“And how do you find Winterfell? Is she fitting for such a roguish bachelor?”

Your smile faltered briefly, “the estate is beyond magnificent but, I can’t help feeling as if her halls ought to have more life within them.”

Robb nodded to the Housekeeper who still lingered in the doorway, “I do believe that is the first honest answer I’ve ever been given on the subject.”

“It would seem so Sir,” she chirped dutifully.

“Well perhaps I shall extend my stay,” he said a wicked smile spreading across his face as he turned his gaze back to you, “and see what other truths you might impart upon me.”

The Housekeeper made a small disgruntled noise in protest before leaving to summon Arya into the sitting room to formally receive her brother. Apparently, you weren’t the only one to gain her disapproval.

Within the short moment, Robb stood and crossed to stand over you. You titled your face towards him unconsciously, his face close enough to feel his breath on yours as he spoke.

”You intrigue me, ” he said, desire palpable in his voice, ”I will not suffer to let you go again when I wish to become better acquainted.”

You could feel the underlying threat in his words but the temptation to close the space between you eclipsed whatever caution lived in your mind.

You couldn’t explain what drew you to him, despite your better judgment. The only comfort you had was knowing how similarly affected he was by you. Your breath hitched in your throat as he suddenly backed away.

Arya bounded into the room not a moment later, the now frazzled Housekeeper rushing behind her trying to contain the girl. You smiled as they appeared, thankful for the distraction.

The next week was filled with similar close calls filled with double entendres, lingering touches, and companionship like you had never known before. After a month had passed in such a manner it was clear why he was staying- and the house dared to dream that for once he might stay forever.

Like most dreams, it was better left ignored. On another night you strolled under the moonlight along the estate’s often forgotten terraces. Robb held you by the waist as you walked, his grip lower and harsher than would’ve been deemed appropriate. Occasionally, the moon peaked out to reveal a scandalous state of undress on your part, the casual clothes betraying the growing familiarity between you two.

“Winterfell is stunning under the stars, is it not?” Robb glanced at you while speaking and you thought he also looked magnificent highlighted by the cosmos.

You nodded in agreement looking out over the estate’s grounds and gardens.

"You must have become in some degree attached to the house?"

“To a degree,” you answered wryly.

"Arya seems to have become quite attached to you, and I’m willing to wager you to her as well,” Robb continued.

You hummed in agreement, “I believe there is a mutual attachment forming. She’s an extraordinary child."

Robb stopped walking suddenly and turned you harshly in his arms to face him. All traces of levity had melted from his face, replaced with a drastic seriousness you hadn’t expected. “And you would be sorry to part with them?”

You ran your hand over his reassuringly. “I think some part of me will be here always.”

Robb kept a level expression as he continued, waiting to gauge your reaction as he spoke. “Then it is indeed regrettable that Arya must attend a finishing school next year.”

You froze beside him, “next spring?”

Robb nodded solemnly, “I’ve talked it over with her nursemaid and the Housekeeper they both agree you’ve done wonders for her mind but- the decorum benefiting a lady of our station is not something a tutor can impart.”

He paused and spoke then as if he was reassuring himself of the decision, instead of revealing it to you. “So yes, it is imperative she attends a finishing school.”

“Then I must inquire toward other positions,” you mused suddenly afraid the ground under your feet might fall away beneath you.

“Would you be grieved to leave then? I know some schools might permit a lady’s maid to accompany her,” Robb shrugged, “it is the least I could do.”

You tensed and bit your lip, “for her sake I might be able but it is so far away...”

“From what?”

“From you!” You spoke headlessly, finally voicing the thoughts and desires that had grown within you.

“Then I must ask you,” he said hoarsely as if he was unsure for the first time, “forsake neither Arya nor the estate itself, pass through the rest of your life here.”

Your silence unnerved him and you wondered what joke he was playing at. He was by the designation of your employment your superior, he had occasionally offered you crumbs of affection and attention- yet you felt he must know your feelings towards him- and that this was some cruel joke on your behalf.

“Do you doubt me,” he asked when you didn’t answer.

"Entirely,” you said without hesitation. He was too unknown for certainty, too reckless and listless for dependence.

He scoffed openly at your response, "so you have no faith in me?"

"Not a whit."

“Then you shall be convinced,” he hissed gesturing wildly, “have I not treated you as my equal? Have I not entertained your thoughts and whims as I might a dearest friend? Have I not watched you like a man possessed? You strange, you almost unearthly thing,” he gripped your arm tracing the length of it with frenzied kisses, “you will be mine. I shall not suffer your absence in my life!”

You shuddered, a peculiar sob racking through your body as he entreated you.

“I- I cannot answer this,” you cried tearing yourself away, “I cannot choose between my heart and my mind. I cannot see how you love me but rather desire to possess me- and for what love I hold for you, I cannot yet resign my fate so quickly.”

He turned away from you harshly, familiar darkness returning to his eyes. “Then think on these things,” he demanded before stalking away, “I cannot remain here for you to torture me so!”

You could not retreat to your rooms and drop into the soothing arms of sleep, your mind was twisted and confused. What kind of a man manipulated your emotions as a declaration of love? Moreover, what kind of man could confuse love and possession so easily? Your thoughts remained dower as the sleepless night raced on.

As you joined Arya and the Housekeeper for breakfast the next morning you were disheartened to learn Robb had left again.

Two months passed without a word from Rob to you or any persons in his household. Although the grand estate was filled with other employees and your charge- his absence left you strangely cold. But perhaps that was the changing air drifting in from the study’s open window.

“Arya please,” you sighed, “finish the recitation and we can move on for the day.” You rubbed a hand over your temple, your patience growing thin with the young mistresses.

“I don’t want to keep reading boring old books! I want to go outside!” Arya whined as she dramatically closed and pushed the book away from her.

The poor thing had been acting out lately, and it was wearing you down. You sighed and tried to sound as encouraging as possible, “Arya as soon as we finish here I’ll have the Housekeeper scrounge up your play clothes.”

Arya huffed and pushed the stack of books off her desk and onto the floor before crossing her arms belligerently, “I won’t do it!”

“Is that any way to talk to your tutor?”

You looked over at the interruption, Robb leaned against the doorframe with a smile on his face that made you feel as if you were seeing the sun for the first time in days.

Arya shrieked excitedly at the sight of her brother and bolted from her chair to wrap her arms around him as much as she could. She babbled in great run-on-sentences trying to condense the last month without him into whatever fragment of time she currently had.

He listened politely, the entire time his eyes never left yours. “Arya, it is clear to me that you’ll have no capacity for more studies today,” he said, finally looking at his sister, “why don’t you take the dogs and see what you can discover outside?”

Arya howled and ran from the room, you could hear her rapid footfalls and exaggerated cries rousing the Housekeeper and kennel master to her aid.

Then it was just you and Robb. You stood rapidly and all but threw yourself into his arms. You moved without thinking, unsure if you could survive another second apart. He pulled you flush against him, his strong grip threatened to bruise your hips and you didn’t care. You rested your hands against his chest, unable to hide the smile on your face before you kissed him.

“I suppose this means you haven’t been preparing to completely divorce yourself from the estate,” Robb joked dryly.

“No,” you said a little dejectedly, “how could I, knowing you’re out in the world somewhere.”

You looked away from him suddenly overwhelmed, “It was like I couldn’t breathe like my life-my very soul was separated from me.”

You tried to step away but Robb didn’t relinquish his hold on your waist and moved a hand to keep yours on his chest.

“You’ve absolutely ruined me,” he hissed tightening the grip on your wrist, “do you think I wanted to come back? Do you think I want to be here right now?”

“Let go of me,” you gasped struggling against him your face heated with indignation.

For a second the confidence and malice in Robb’s voice faltered, “stay- do not leave me where I cannot find you!”

“But I didn’t go anywhere,” you insisted, “I’ve been right here doing what I was hired to do.” You were trembling, no longer trying to escape his embrace yet not entirely afraid.

Robb laughed darkly and kissed the top of your head, “you’ve bewitched me body and soul, like some heathen wretch. You pulled me back here. You command me when I have no desire to be commanded.”

He moved to grip your jaw and turn your face to look up into his, the image was striking. You looked spent, as if he’d taken you- your body warm and trembling against him, your breaths shallow and rushed.

“If you left this room I would find you,” he whispered his voice low and heady, sending a shiver down your spine. “If you tried to leave this house I’d track you down.”

“Sir, you forget yourself,” you said lowly. Your voice threatening to break as your body responded wantonly.

“Do I?” He laughed darkly and moved to kiss down the column of your neck pulling phantom moans from your lips. His breath fell warm on your neck and you shuddered as his hand released your jaw and traveled to rest at the base of your neck.

You heard him kick the door closed behind you and a new spark of excitement and fear spread through your body.

The slight pressure at the base of your neck made you ache deliciously. You didn’t stop the strangled moan that fell from your lips as his grip tightened and you chose to put whatever doubts you had away for the moment. You wanted it to be you and him without context or strings to complicate what you were about to do.

Robb released you only to tear at your clothes, his hands running harshly over each flash of newly exposed skin until the locket around your neck was the only thing you wore. You wantonly returned the favor scraping your nails across his broad shoulders, savoring each groan that slipped from his lips.

You pressed yourself against him, your bodies skin-to-skin as the tension grew. Each touch was dizzying as if your bodies had been molded to respond to each other. His mouth claimed yours again before biting his way down your neck and you moaned as they bloomed into warm bruises.

“Robb please,” you begged your body no longer content with lingering touches and harsh passes of lips and teeth. You said his name like it was the only prayer you ever learned- the only one that mattered.

Almost tenderly he laid you down across one of the study’s couches. His fingers softly traced the side of your body as if for that second he was truly in awe of your form. He ducked his head to kiss your chest, your locket falling back against your shoulder sending a flash of light across your body.

You impatiently reached and pulled him over you, weaving a hand through his hair as you moved him into a searing kiss. You felt him against you and you desperately hooked one of your legs around his hip urging him forward until nothing separated you.

You lay trembling under him, your grip on his shoulders the only real thing in the world until a ferocious rapping started at the closed door. You both froze hoping whoever it was would move on, instead, you could hear the Housekeeper muttering to herself as the knocking continued.

Finally, she called through the door, “Lady Arya has requested your presence for tea.”

Robb swore and pushed away from you hastily donning his clothes.

“Fuck,” you mumbled grasping wildly to cover yourself as Robb stormed from the room shouting at the Housekeeper the entire time.

Without looking at you she slid into the room, keeping herself turned away as you redressed.

“I do not apologize for the intrusion given the improper extenuating circumstances,” she said tersely, “but we will be taking tea alone as soon as you’re no longer... indisposed.”

“I see no reason why we should take tea alone,” you protested, “Arya would certainly fear something was amiss given our absence.”

She spun to face you her face still composed into a stern line, “it is precisely for Arya’s sake that I am concerned.” You had never heard her voice like that before and suddenly you felt like you were a child again being scolded at primary school without companions to defend you.

It was a trap; that was the only thing you were certain of as you sat across the wisened Housekeeper a pristine tea set between you.

“You are aware Mister Stark is our employer,” she said with a terse smile.

“Yes Ma’am I do.”

The older woman across from you pursed her lips and took a measured sip of her tea. “This has happened before,” she started quietly, “you don’t know what you’re getting into. He is too stern for grace, an unreclaimed creature.”

“He's more myself than I am,” you whispered harshly unable to meet the Housekeeper’s eyes.

“You will ruin this house if you stay,” she hissed reaching across the table to grip your arm. “There will be no going back if you give into him, think of Arya...”

You remembered the darkness behind his eyes, the harsh grip of his hands on your hips, and knew she was just as correct as you were- despite that you could feel the familiar tug in your heart that connected you and knew you couldn’t leave.

Of course, she had seen this passion play before. The ending was known to her, it was written on the estate’s walls plainly for everyone but you and your charge who hoped beyond measure for the happy ending that would not be coming.

Robb spent the next thirteen months within the claustrophobic walls of his grand estate, his venomous temper directed at everyone when they felt too restrictive. But he couldn’t fathom leaving with you there and unclaimed, unwatched, and unprotected.

Your frenzied romance and rushed engagement distracted you to no end. By the time you realized something was wrong your face refused to hold any color, and your entire body ached with pain and fever. The first time he left the estate grounds was to fetch your doctor. But, in essence, it was too late.

“Robb,” you called reaching for him. You struggled to breathe and the contented sigh on your lips disfigured itself into a ghastly groan that made your lover weep.

Your locket dangled from his hands like a rosary and you wondered if that strange blasphemous reverence played a part in this destruction.

Neither the leeches placed along the curve of your hip nor the soft drops of blood let from your arm could prevent the advancing cold that spread in your veins and eventually closed your eyes.

Your strangled coughs stopped, the air in your lungs ran cold and your blood stopped running altogether. The thin red lines flowing from your lips and skin dried and all at once, the bloody affair was over. There was no fanfare, the world didn’t end. Winterfell and her Master remained as they had for the last forty years and would for forty more without you. Nestled into the sparse and desolate countryside your ghost couldn’t even be tempted forth for comfort.

[pandawritesmanythings]

Loki x Reader (Medieval AU)

Chapter Summary: You need to ask questions, but talking with Loki is surprisingly pleasant...

Warnings: Mentions of natural disasters.

Word Count: 1,919k

A/N: I love writing these two chatting TvT. Thank you guys so much for the support! Y’all are awesome!

Masterlist

-

It was the meeting time with Loki.

This was going to be something else, wasn't it?

In all honesty, you had been looking forward to discussing the book with him, but there were more pressing matters in your hands and right now you really weren't in the mood for a pointless discussion.

Sigyn had come by late at night, a piece of paper on her hand. She had memorized as many points about the meeting she could have and written them down for you. You profusely thanked her and then proceeded to spend the rest of the night sleepless because of what you had read.

You wanted to confirm it with Loki though. Two accounts are more trustworthy than one, after all. And you wondered... Did he trust you enough to tell you?

After eating breakfast with the queen and some of the other ladies of the court, you made your way towards the library, Steve hot in your trail. 

He had yet to confront you about leaving yesterday unannounced and without supervision, but there was a chance he actually didn't know about it. Until he gave any other indication you weren't about to open your mouth.

He, in fact, quietly escorted you to the library and didn't say much. Which honestly weirded you out a little, but you decided to let it slide.

"Hey." He called when you were about to enter. "Call if you need me, alright?"

It felt like there was something else he wanted to say but... "I will. I promise." You smiled, trying to ease the obvious tension he had.

The library was enormous. You took a moment to actually look at it in detail. The columns of marble extended floors above until they stopped at the dome-shaped high ceiling. The ceiling was also painted with depictions of the royal family generation by generation enjoying the knowledge found in the books. They all seemed to be resting on top of clouds, some with books on their laps, others with scrolls on their hands. Paintings of the most delicate nature. 

But despite the architectural beauty, the most incredible thing was the number of books and scrolls that the room held. The shelves were so high they almost reached the roof. And as far as you could see, there was no space in any of the shelves to fit any new books. That probably was why the wall on the far back seemed to be draped with fabric instead of there being an actual wall. 

"They're remodeling and extending it to the room next door," Loki spoke suddenly, making you gasp in surprise.

"My prince. I- Please do not scare me like that!"

He let out a hum of a laugh, but judging by the hand curled over his mouth he probably was far more amused than he let on. "Well, I hate to keep disappointing you so I figured I might as well keep you on your toes."

Oh, how I want to slap that smirk off your face.

You took in a deep breath. "Fair. But please refrain from making my heart stop next time." You said as you rounded him and took your usual spot by the window.

"Well, I shall make no promises." He smirked as he walked towards you and sat at an appropriate distance on the same window seat.

You clutched the book in your hands in front of you and showed it to him with a proud smile.

He raised an eyebrow playfully, "So I guess you managed to accomplish my commission?"

"I asked you not to underestimate me, right?"

You both began discussing the three first chapters of the book, which still ended up amazing him the fact that you were on chapter 10 already. He almost didn't believe it, but when you began referring to future chapters... Well, he had no other choice but to believe you.

"I find that writing tragedy, be it fiction or not, is a way to let out your own pain." You said without really thinking.

"You think?" He asked, leaning a bit forward, interested in what you were saying.

"Well, of course. For example, the writer of this story is telling someone else's, but how can you explain the level of detail and emotion that is in there? I do not think anyone that hasn't felt despair before could have written this..." Your hand glided the carved cover of the book. There was something almost magical about it, sadly ethereal... Even if magic wasn't something that was truly real...

"What else is the world but a balance of sadness and joy? You feel each's highs and lows when the other feeling is present. You can't have one without the other, just like you can't have light without the dark." Loki said looking out the window in thought.

"Who said that?" You asked with curiosity.

"Me. Just now." He deadpanned you.

You let out a small laugh, which shook your shoulders. "Sorry, that was stupid."

He laughed back, his eyes back to looking out at the sea. "No, it's fine. It was just a thought."

"So you are a poet?" You asked.

"What I am varies from moment to moment."

"So who are you right now?"

"Who would you like me to be?" He turned to you. Was it just your imagination, or did his eyes look brighter with the light that was coming through the window?

You took a moment to find your answer "I think I'd like to know Loki."

He seemed momentarily taken aback by your request. "Alright. What would you like to know about him?"

You hummed and looked down at the book in your lap, an idea suddenly popping onto your head, "At what age did you begin to read on your own?" You asked and settled onto the couches, hugging your book.

"Heh..." He breathed out a laugh, "I would guess... About 6 years old. By then I had told mother I didn't want her to read to me anymore, and I began looking for books on my own. You?"

"Aww, father read to me until I was ten. I always liked how calm he was when he read out stories. And it seemed to calm us both down. But I began reading on my own at 5." You got lost in the memory. "Sometimes we still read together, when we're too stressed out."

"Sounds peaceful."

"It was... I'm afraid I can't really do that anymore."

You really couldn't, not only because of the physical distance but ever since Morgan had been born she and Pepper had taken most of his free time. Which you understood, after all, Morgan was his little girl, and Pepper was his wife. It still didn't make it any less hard to have so little time with your dad. 

"What of your brother?" 

"You shall meet him soon." You suddenly perked up by the mention of Peter. "He and his mentor, Doctor Stephen Strange should be arriving between today and tomorrow."

"I believe you mentioned it in the throne room."

"I just hope passage is favorable." Your brow furrowed in concern, "What I said about disaster season, I meant it."

"I've heard some of the border cities with Asgard also receive some damage due to it. Is it truly that bad?" He asked. "I haven't seen much information on the matter."

"It's not good. That much is very true. Of course, is not like getting a tsunami but..." You raised an eyebrow at him teasingly.

Loki chuckled at that. "How do you know that?"

"I've been to council meetings before, silver-tongue. I've heard things."

Asgard had a phenomenon. A natural phenomenon that was exclusive to them. Every five years, on an almost exact date, a tsunami, the size of a four-story building would rush into the coast.

Hence, why the castle and a large part of the city were on a hill.

"I thought we could keep up the act." He playfully smirked.

"That only works with the common folk, silver-tongue," You replied, "The glitter of Asgard doesn't shine as bright up close."

"That's not the impression you gave me when you were gawking at the library." He raised an eyebrow, playfully.

Your eyes widened, but you tried to control your expression, instead, you ended up smiling shyly. "Well, there are some good things here. I will acknowledge it."

"Hmm. Glad you do." He looked around a hint of nostalgia dancing in his eyes. "It is the most beautiful place in the palace."

"I agree. Not even the throne room is this intricate."

"What of the library back at Midgard?"

"It is also a beautiful place, however, beauty is in the eye of the beholder. I love the place, but you have to see it for yourself." You replied.

"Then, it will be a pleasure to visit your home soon."

Was it the smirk? The way his shoulders were relaxed? Or the spark in his eyes which made your stomach flip? Or was it the fact that you had referred to a future where the two of you were together?

"You think I'll just end up going with you, princess?"

"I believe you won't be able to resist my charm." You playfully fanned yourself with the book and batted your eyelashes.

"I'm sorry to disappoint."

"Again? Oh, Odinson. You are becoming predictable." You loved to tease him. And you loved the way the corner of his eyes would crinkle when he smirked back at you.

Loved?

You ended up giggling, while he tried to hide his smile by looking down at his book and flipping pages.

"But, about my brother, he and I have always been close. He came into my life when I was eight years old. He was a newborn at the time." You returned to his previous question.

"At the time?"

"Well... yes. Father adopted both Peter and me."

Did tome stop?

Did time stop at that moment for Loki Odinson?

It might as well have. You were adopted. And you knew. And you seemed to be alright with it. And your father and brother loved you. Did you understand? What if he...

"... since he owed them, we couldn't possibly leave their son all alone, my father agreed to raise him. Both his uncle and aunt were quite grateful. She still pays him visits often, and Peter and I visit his uncle's grave every..." You noticed his far off look, "Loki? Are you all alright?

"Yes. Of course."

He was closing off. You could sense it, the way he said those words, it was as if the wall you had been working to tear was rebuilding itself.

"Look, I know that being adopted technically means that my little sister Morgan should be the heir to the throne, but please do not go running off. If you go propose to my little sister I will drop you from a cliff." You nudged him.

The absurd comment seemed to take him off guard, at least enough to make him chuckle in amazement at your statement.

It was at that moment when you suddenly remembered. What you had set out to ask him but ended up forgetting from diving into an easy conversation with him.

"Loki?"

"Yes?" He was smiling, but you could tell he understood something was going on from your tone.

"I need to ask you something."

"I'll see if I have an answer." He sat straight, hands resting on his knees.

"Are the Jotuns really invading Midgard?"

-

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[bad-at-names-and-faces]

The One with the Wind and Sky

chapter 32

chapter index

It was Tuesday morning.  Despite the sun, Inga felt a sharp chill in the air as she opened her window.  She shivered a bit as she washed and changed into a dress appropriate for the weather.  After dressing, she took a deep breath, left her room, and walked to the study. 

“Inga!” Frederick greeted her cheerfully. “Are you helping today?” 

“Inga?” her mother asked in confusion.

“Yes, I thought you might like some extra help.”

“Well, thank you,” her mother replied, handing her a stack of letters.

Frederick gave her a sideways glance, which she pretended to ignore.  They got through everything very quickly, with no conversation aside from the occasional discussion of who should get a particular letter. 

“That’s everything for now, I think,” their mother told them when it wasn’t quite lunch time, “Can you come to the meeting with Corona this afternoon?  Your father will be at the trade guild meeting.”

“Do we get a choice of meeting?” Frederick laughed. “The trade guilds usually serve better food.”

The Queen glared at him.  “Not today.” 

“I’ll be there,” Inga piped in.  

Frederick nodded and got up, mumbling something about finding Anton and Peder for a ride, and letting the door slam after him.  

Inga remained sitting across the desk from her mother. She didn’t want to be rude and run out with barely a comment like her brother had just done.  He could get away with that, but she couldn’t, not today, at least. She needed to prove that she wasn’t still upset.   

“I didn’t mean to pry yesterday,” her mother told her.  “I don’t want you to feel like you can’t talk to me.”

Talking with her mother was exactly what Inga wasn’t ready to do.  Perhaps later.  She nodded and maintained eye contact, doing her best to stay calm and composed.

“You don’t have to come to the meeting this afternoon, you know.”

“I’d rather come, but thank you,” Inga said as she stood up, doing her best to hide any hint of emotion.  “I’ll see you in two hours.”

***

“You’re up early,” Hilde commented as she sat down by her brother, who was staring out the window of the breakfast room.  His food was untouched.

“Am I?  The sun rises so early here, you know.”

“That’s in the summer,” she corrected, “Sunrise is a half hour later here than in Corona now.  I checked the almanac before we left.”

“Really?”

“Yes,” she said, rolling her eyes, then looked around the room to confirm that they were alone.  “Now, since you’ve dragged me along on this trip over a month earlier than planned, will you let me know if there's anything going on? My maid keeps asking me questions.”

Henry flushed. “What?  You haven’t… have you been telling her?   I mean, what have you been telling her exactly?” 

“Relax, I just ask her enough questions to get an idea of the general gossip.  I swear I haven’t been the source of anything, why would I want to do that? Besides, she only asks me about you because your valet never tells her anything interesting. I have better things to do.  But...  Do you know what they’re saying about you today?”

“Today?  Were they saying things before?”

“Nothing any of us do is really private, you know that, don’t you? Of course they were talking. To be fair, I’ve never heard any interesting gossip about you except for the morning after the coronation ball. They talk about me, too, though apparently the only interesting thing about me is my clothing, so I give them that.  And they talk about her…” Henry looked up wide eyed. 

“Fine, tell me.”

“It seems, when you went missing for a little while after we first arrived, you met up with a girl in the marketplace.  My maid told me she saw this herself."

“Oh,” he mumbled, “I guess I forgot that there were people around.”

Hilde raised her eyebrow.  "So, she saw something? Because some staff here heard the same whispers in the marketplace, about the foreign prince flirting with the first girl he met. As usual, your valet has nothing interesting to tell about you."

“I was in the market yesterday, and I suppose it could be called flirting.”

“That’s an odd answer, especially given last night at dinner...”

“You already talked to me about that.”

“And I would have talked to you more if I’d heard about what happened in the market!”

“Fine, you’re going to tell me  I’m exposing her to gossip, I get it.”

“So Inga was in the market?  You could have said so when I asked and saved me a lot of trouble.”

“Oh, I thought that was what they were saying.”

“No, actually, so now half of Arendelle thinks you’re a terrible flirt.  Nevermind that, are you going to tell me what’s going on with you two?”

“I don’t know.”

“Is she not interested, then?”

“That would make things simple.”

“You sure are cryptic this morning.”

“If there’s something to share, you’ll be the first to know.”

“You promise?”

“On second thought, no.”

***

Inga arrived at the room for the meeting a few minutes early, and saw Frederick arriving as she got to the door.  

“How was your ride?”

“Good.  Did you have lunch? You hardly ate last night.” 

“I ate,” she replied, leaving out that she had only grabbed a piece of toast with a bit of jam. 

“Oh,” Frederick interrupted before she needed to think of something else to say, “I ran into Elizabeth on my way here.  She says Lars isn’t feeling well, so I guess he won’t be at the meeting this afternoon.”

“That’s too bad.” Inga forced herself to stay calm.  She remembered the encounter with Lars that weekend, and what she’d learned about him.  Had Lars become too curious?  “Did she say anything else?”

“No,” Frederick replied, smirking a little, “but I guess if it was something in the food, you’re safe.”

Inga sighed, remembering that Margit Nilsen had seemed uneasy yesterday.  Perhaps she would take her up on the offer of talking later.  “Is anyone inside yet?” she asked Frederick to change the subject.

“Pretty much everyone else from Corona,” he told her.  “Do you want to head on in?”

“Let’s go,” she said, breathing to calm herself.  

Everyone in the room stood when she entered. She caught Hilde’s gaze first, then looked over to Henry, who looked back, blinking.  Was he nervous? There was nothing they needed to say to each other this afternoon, which was good, because there was nothing she would want to say in front of other people.

Their mother arrived soon after, and the meeting began. Inga sat quietly, gazing at the books on the shelves immediately behind whoever was speaking at the moment.  She kept count of the times her eyes accidentally met Henry’s: six.  

At one point, an official letter from Corona was passed around. She read it over, trying not to let herself be distracted by the differences between the King’s handwriting and his grandson’s.  She wondered whether the King knew any details about why this shuffle of diplomatic personnel was happening, or was simply signing off on instructions from his daughter the Crown Princess.

At some point, Ambassador Meyer had mentioned that he would make a decision about which of the three men he would hire by the end of the week.  No one was quite sure when Arendelle would have a location selected for a new consulate, and Inga felt almost ready to flip the table in spite of protocol when they realized that their questions were best discussed with Lars in person.  

The business for the day was concluded.  Everyone got up.  Inga simply stood by her seat, unable to decide where to go.  There were no more meetings for the day, and nothing that needed to be done. 

“Inga?” Frederick asked, pulling her back to the present. 

“What?”

“I asked if you wanted to get dinner with us.  I was going to take them to Hudson’s Hearth.”

She looked around.  Her mother had left, as had Ambassador Meyer.  Kai was directing a young servant to clean up the room and get the furniture back to a better arrangement.  Henry and Hilde were standing behind Frederick, looking at her expectantly.

“Oh, yes, of course,” she replied, following behind as they left.

***

Wednesday morning wasn’t quite as cold as Tuesday morning had been, but there was still a slight chill in the air.  Dinner had been frustratingly uneventful.  Inga couldn’t help but notice that Henry had been nearly as silent as she was through most of it, and Frederick explained many details of Arendelle to Hilde.  

But that was last night.  Inga hadn’t made any promises about helping anyone today.  She was awake and dressed so that she could possibly go riding later, feeling somewhat restless.  She picked up the book on her bed stand, and the letter from Henry fell out.  There was no point in writing back right now, was there?  Except, yes, there could be a point.  Did he know where the garden was?  Well, he could figure that out.  Having written a quick note which she stuck in her pocket, she went to her dresser, opened the top drawer, moved aside a few things, and placed Henry’s most recent letter on top of the other letters from him.  She leafed through them idly, coming to the photograph at the bottom of the stack, picked it up, and looked at it.  The formal portrait looked almost like a stranger, having all of his features, but none of the spark of seeing him in person. She still wasn’t sure what had come over her the other night.  She couldn’t exactly say that she regretted her behavior, but at the same time, she wished she felt more in control of herself.  As she looked at his picture, she wondered what Henry actually thought of the photo she’d sent him. His photo went back to the bottom of the stack of letters, and she carefully closed the drawer.  

 Inga quickly made her way down to the guest rooms, suddenly panicking when she realized she wasn’t sure which one was his. She really had no excuse for being here if someone asked.  Suddenly, a nearby door opened, and Inga stood to the side.

“Of course, Your Highness,” she heard a lady’s maid saying as she closed the door.  “Oh, excuse me, Miss,” the young woman gasped as she nearly bumped into Inga.

“Don’t worry about it,” Inga replied.

The maid nodded and went on her way.  After a moment, Inga looked at the door the woman had come out of, and guessed that it was Hilde’s room.  She decided she’d take the chance that the door next to it was Henry’s room, and slipped her note underneath, trying to head away quickly and quietly.  

As she turned the corner, Inga stopped again as she heard a door opening, but the giggling and footsteps told her it was from the nursery.  She turned around to see her sister Sofia running toward her.

“Where are you going?” Inga asked, trying to sound stern, barely hiding a laugh.

“Inga!  Hi!  We’re going out to the garden, but I forgot my sweater.  Do you want to come?”

Inga nodded and followed along.  

Nanny was already in the garden with the younger children.  Marie was fussing over the baby, and their little brother Karl was off finding things to climb on. Inga sat down next to Marie and the baby, and tried her best to simply enjoy the moment in the autumn sunlight.

***

“Come down, Karl!” Sofia shouted, repeating Nanny’s admonishment from a moment earlier.  Inga watched as her youngest brother found a way up the side of the wall, almost like a mountain goat. He giggled at every shout to come down, and climbed higher.

“I think that’s enough now,” Inga laughed as he started standing on the top of the wall.  She climbed up to the top, realizing too late that she had no plan for getting back down.  Still, she was glad she was up there with her baby brother, though he wasn’t quite a baby anymore, was he?  The other side of the wall went straight down to the rocks below along the fjord. She scooted over next to little Karl, and grabbed him as he walked over to her.  He settled into her lap, and she decided spending a few minutes looking at the view wouldn’t hurt.  She could figure out the next step later. 

Sofia had gone over to Marie and Baby Linne while Nanny ran off to find Kai. Marie was suggesting all sorts of games which weren’t quite appropriate for such a young baby, and Sofia was making slightly less awful suggestions.  Inga didn’t want to turn around, since she’d have to start thinking about how high up they were, so she kept staring off in the distance, one arm tightly around her little brother, and the other gripping the edge of the wall behind her.

She heard some commotion behind her, and heard Anton and Peder shouting juvenile insults at each other.  Peder shouted something especially crude, and there was a thud of bodies hitting each other, and Anton laughing.  Letting out a sigh, Inga turned around as much as she felt she could safely do, spotting Anton standing near her sisters.  

“Shouldn’t you be with your tutors?” she shouted.  “If you have so much energy, come help us down here.”

“Sorry, Inga,” Anton shouted back, “I’m too busy laughing at Peder.”

“Laugh at him another time, help me out here!”

“Oh, fine.  Peder, get up off the ground and make sure you didn’t actually hurt that fellow from Corona.”

Inga swallowed nervously, turning back around to out over the fjord. She was so focused on her siblings that she had forgotten about her note.  She hadn’t given an exact time. 

“Okay, Inga,” Anton called from down below,  “I’ll climb up, take Karl, and then you climb down and I’ll hand him to you.”

“Sure, why not?” she laughed nervously. She wondered if leaving her room this morning had been a good idea.

She glanced quickly down behind her and saw Anton’s red hair.  He quickly got to the top and sat beside her, facing back toward the castle.  Karl giggled as he saw his brother, and Inga handed him over. She exhaled in relief, and started her way back down to the ground, thankful that she had dressed for riding, at least, so no one below would get a show.

As her feet touched the ground, she let go over the stones and tried to brush the dirt off, shaking the tunic, glad that it wasn’t a light color. She still needed to help with Karl, but now she wished Frederick were here, since he was the only one of them really tall enough for this task.  Where was he this morning?  Probably talking to the Admiral, if he wasn’t with the twins.

“Anton, please be safe, at least with Karl!” she called back up.  Their little brother thought it was delightful being dangled down from the top of the wall.  Inga caught his feet, and as Anton let go the little boy grabbed her around the neck, causing her to stumble.

She gave Karl a kiss on the cheek and set him down.  Anton walked along the top of the wall until he could jump to the tree.  

“You’re just giving him more ideas, you know!” Inga shouted.

“Oh, hello, Kai!” Peder shouted behind her.  Inga turned around to see Nanny picking up the baby and scolding the sisters for playing whatever game they had been playing.  She walked over to Nanny and took the baby off her hands so that she could chase after Karl before he got into more trouble.  

As she held baby Linne, she realized that she hadn’t seen the baby nurse all morning, and was wondering when she would get back, since the smell was rather bad.  Nanny was coming back with Karl, her hand gripping his wrist very firmly. 

“Your Highness,” she heard Kai’s voice behind her, “do you need any help?”

“Yes, thank you, Kai, if you could,” she answered before turning around, “where is-” 

Kai was standing a few feet behind her, but facing away, and had been speaking to Henry, who was sitting on the ground a short distance away.  He looked over and smiled. 

“Thank you, I’m fine,” Henry replied to Kai as he got up. 

Kai nodded, and looked to Inga.  “Your Highness?”

“Thank you, I’m fine,” she responded without thinking, her eyes locked on Henry.

Kai nodded and left.  

“Were you here this whole time?” she asked.

“Sorry,” he began, “I got your note, and I came out to find you, and then, well, I didn’t say anything because you were up on the wall and I was afraid you might be startled…”

“So you were the one my brother ran into?” she laughed.

“Um, yes,” he mumbled, looking at his feet.  

They stood silently, still several feet apart. 

The baby squirmed, and Inga remembered she had meant to ask Kai about the location of the nurse. “I… I need to go,” she mumbled.

Henry frowned.  “I’ll get out of your way.”

“Oh, no!” Inga replied, flustered again. “Please don’t go. I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just… the baby, um… she doesn’t smell very good right now, and I was going to go ask Nanny to take over.” 

As if on cue, the baby nurse came over, apologizing for having slept so long that morning. Inga told her not to worry, and thanked her. 

“So, um, you sent me a note?” he stammered.

“Of course,” she said.  She looked around.  When she wrote the note, she had hoped the garden might be empty. “It’s getting a bit crowded here.”

“I suppose it is, but-”

She grabbed his hand and led him to the door in the wall that led down to the fjord.  The wind was blowing in from the north, and she saw Henry shiver a bit as he walked down to the rocks with her.  It hadn’t rained recently, so the rocks were dry.  She let go of his hand and sat down on the largest rock.  Henry stood where she left him looking confused. 

“Are you going to come over here? I won’t bite.”

He raised an eyebrow and smirked. 

“Well, do you want to know how I send letters or don’t you?”

“Oh!” he laughed, coming over.  “I really had absolutely no idea why you brought me here.”

She felt very conscious of how small the rock actually was as he sat down. Her hands were clenched in her lap. The air was chilly down here by the fjord, and he was warm. It wasn’t so bad.

“So…” he hemmed after he had been there a moment. 

Inga swallowed.  “Gale?” 

Henry grabbed her hand as the wind whipped around them. He looked at her with his mouth slightly open, like he wanted to ask a question.

“No, I don’t have any letters,” Inga declared.  A second gust swept more directly around Henry, who tightened his grip on her hand.  “Yes, that’s him, you already know it is… so can you get his letters to me?” Henry was staring at her now, and she tried to ignore it, but a leaf hit her in the face.  “No, I didn’t exactly tell my aunt.  If she tells you to stop… Fine, thank you.”

The air was suddenly calm again.

Inga let out a long breath and looked at Henry again.  “There, it’s all settled.”

“What’s settled?”  He was staring wide eyed.

“Your letters won’t take two weeks to get to me any more.”

“How?” 

“That was the wind spirit,” Inga explained, “You just ask, like I did, except you should probably be more respectful.”

“I…” he stammered.  “I suppose this explains a lot.”

“Probably best if you don’t tell anyone, though.”

He nodded, looking out.  She felt his grip on her hand loosen a bit, but he didn’t let go.

“Sorry I didn’t warn you,” she said, running her thumb along the side of his hand, “but it’s not like it would have made that much sense.”

“You’re not much for giving warnings, are you?” he smiled.

“Oh, right.”  She could feel the blood rushing to her face.  She looked away, then quickly looked back again.  He was still looking at her.

“I’m pretty sure we’re both awake this time,” he laughed.

“I…yes? Of course...” Of course what? She looked into his eyes. 

Henry's free hand reached over to her cheek and she turned toward him, interlacing her fingers with his other hand. As their lips met, she felt his hands move around her waist, and moved her hands under his coat.  She hadn’t realized her fingers were starting to feel cold until then. She wasn’t sure how much time had passed when they stopped, both breathing heavily, noses touching. 

“So…” he breathed. 

Inga rested her head on his shoulder, her hands still under his jacket.  She wasn’t sure what to say. This was comfortable, and she wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to move, though they would eventually have to.  “I’m hungry,” she muttered, wondering why she was saying this before she even finished speaking.

“Um…” he sat up a little, smirking. “Actually, I am, too.  I didn’t really eat breakfast this morning.”

***

Frederick had spent the entire morning down at the harbor talking with the Admiral.  The Admiral was preparing to sail to Bergen that afternoon, leaving Frederick on his own for lunch.  He wasn’t sure where anyone was, so he went to the castle kitchen.  Coming in from the outside, he forgot that he now needed to duck on the last step down, and hit his head on the beam overhead, letting out a scream.

As he stood rubbing his head, he heard others in the kitchen, so he carefully ducked down and walked in.

“Hi, Frederick,” Inga laughed nervously, quickly finishing tying off her hair in a loose braid. “Did you hit your head again?”

“What makes you think I did?” he chuckled. As he looked around for what he wanted to eat, he noticed Henry standing at the other end of the table.  “Henry?  Good, I told you you should feel free to come down here if you’re hungry, I’m glad to see you did.”

“Um, yes, thanks,” Henry mumbled, walking back toward Inga to pick up the half eaten sandwich sitting next to her.

“Were you talking to the Admiral this morning?” Inga asked.

“Yes,” Frederick answered while he reached for the food he wanted, “and he’s heading to Bergen this afternoon.” 

He stood eating, watching the other two finishing their sandwiches.   Henry seemed a little too focused on his sandwich, and Inga wasn’t usually the type to fiddle with her hair in public.  He wasn’t sure why they were acting oddly.   His sister might think she was hiding something, but she wasn’t.

He heard something coming from the hallway inside, and looked toward the door behind his sister and Henry. It creaked open, startling the two, and Frederick saw their mother come in.

“Mother!” he called. “Are you joining us for lunch?”

Their mother stood for a moment looking somewhat perplexed at the group in front of her.  “Thank you, Frederick, I think I will. Could you get something for me?”  Frederick quickly put something together for her.

“Hello,” Inga greeted, trying to sound less awkward than she had clearly been the last several minutes. As their mother walked to the opposite side of the table from her.  Frederick set down a plate with a sandwich. “How was your morning?” 

“Oh, fine. ” their mother replied with a smile, “I met with the council.  Nothing actually got settled with anything they were talking about.”

“Do they ever settle anything?” Frederick groaned.

“Certainly not today, and one duke was trying to impress me by quoting a book he’d obviously never read.  Not that I’ve had time to read it, but Inga would have been helpful.”

"I think I know who you're talking about,” Inga sighed with exasperation, turning to Henry.  “Ever since Karl was born he’s acted like we named him in honor of that man and thinks we’ll be impressed if he drops his name. I’d like to go back and change my brother’s name if I could just to avoid it.  I’ve asked that duke enough questions, I know for sure he’s never read anything beyond the local newspaper, let alone anything on economics.”

“Have you read Mill?” Henry asked, looking at Inga.  

Their mother startled slightly, not having paid full attention to who was sitting at the table. 

“I meant to, actually, earlier this summer.  I’ve…  I should find my copy,” she smiled a little.  “Have you read Ricardo?”

“I liked Ricardo more,” Henry declared, looking like he was seeking Inga’s approval. 

Frederick wasn’t sure if he should leave the conversation wherever it was going, or if he should begin some other topic with his mother, but Kai entered at that moment.

“Your Majesty?”

“Yes, Kai?”

“His Highness has told me he will not be attending the dinner with the Belgian Ambassador. Is there anyone else you would like to attend?”

“Oh,” their mother sighed.  “Inga, Frederick?”

“Um, sure,” Inga replied.  Frederick thought she looked a little uncertain about their mother’s invitation.

“I can be there,” Frederick said immediately.

She smiled, “Kai, we’ll be there at six.”

After the steward left, she finished the sandwich Frederick had made her as they sat silently. "Thank you," she said as she stood up, "I should go find your father now. I'll see you this evening."

“I should get going,” Henry said, “I promised Hilde we’d go on a ride this afternoon.”

“We have several hours, would you like company?” Frederick asked.

"If it's not an imposition," Henry replied. 

"None at all," Frederick laughed, "and besides, it looks like Inga is already dressed for riding."

***

It was late afternoon when they got back, with a little over an hour to get ready for dinner.  Inga bathed and dressed, trying to get her hair arranged as best she could.  There was still half an hour until dinner, but she had nothing to keep her in her room.

Walking down the hallway, she saw Elizabeth looking at the family portrait painted when Inga was nine.  

“Elizabeth?” she called out.

“Oh, Inga, hello,” Elizabeth responded. “You look well.”

“Thanks, I kind of have to, dinner with some Belgians tonight.  How are you?”

“I don’t want to take up your time if you’re in a hurry,” Elizabeth responded apologetically.

Inga frowned, realizing she had made it sound like she was brushing her off.  “I’m not in a hurry at all.  What’s wrong?”

“I feel like I should ask you that question.  You seem fine this evening, and I don’t want to pry, but, I know there was something upsetting you the other night, after the ball.”

“It’s… it’s complicated,” Inga sighed. “There are a lot of things we don't want to know about the people we love."

“I don’t know if that’s really true,” Elizabeth protested, “though… I think Lars isn’t telling me something, and I wish he would tell me.  He was talking with his mother after dinner Monday night, and he’s seemed upset ever since. He was talking to your father this morning, and he went out for a ride, but he’s not back yet.”

“Oh,” was all Inga managed to say.  Lars knew the truth now.  She wondered why they hadn’t met him on their ride, but perhaps they went a different way. She hoped he hadn’t gone too far.

“I… I should probably get going.  Mrs. Nilsen told me to meet her for dinner soon.”

***

It was Thursday.  Walking along the corridor, she heard Ambassador Meyer’s voice coming through his door.  Her childhood instincts to listen in on foreign visitors got the best of her, and she slowed down for a moment on hearing him mention the royal orders from Corona.

“You’ll train him, of course.”

She heard a muffled “yes, Sir” from Lars, and hurried on her way, not actually interested in the conversation, but glad to know that Lars was well enough today.  She continued on her way to the study, hoping to find her mother.

Entering the study without knocking, she saw her mother was alone. 

“Good morning,” Inga said, walking in.

“Good morning,” her mother replied, watching her closely.

“How are you today?” Inga asked coolly,  expecting some small talk about the dinner the night before. 

“I'm fine," her mother replied, pausing and looking down at the papers in front of her. "Do you know that the ship from Corona is leaving tomorrow?"

"No," Inga said, her throat tightening a little. 

"They're leaving one of the candidates here for training, I don't remember which. I think they're going to England next. Their emissary told me all of this earlier this morning."

"That's good to know," Inga replied, shifting uneasily, finding it suddenly hard to focus.

"Here," her mother quickly changed the subject, handing her a large stack of letters. "Why don't you start on these?"

***

Inga walked across the courtyard. She had the entire afternoon to herself, but couldn't decide what she wanted to do. As she passed by the stables, she saw her father stepping out, wiping his hands. She stopped, he saw her and walked over.

"Hello," she mumbled.

"How are you?" he asked, stopping a few feet away. 

"I'm fine," she answered, hesitating a little. "I'm sorry, by the way, for everything I said to you."

She looked him directly in the eye, and it felt painful.

"You already apologized," he reminded her, "but thank you."

Inga swallowed hard and took a strong breath.  “How are you?”

“Fine,” he answered, “I won’t hold you up if you’re meeting people in town.”

“I’m not really sure what I’m doing right now,” she said with a nervous laugh, trying her best not to avoid crying in this public place.  Her father stepped forward hesitantly.  Inga stepped forward, and leaned in as he hugged her tightly.

“You’ll be fine,” he told her.  

“Maybe,” she replied as she stepped back, “but probably.”

“Good,” he smiled, “now, go have lunch.” 

***

Inga turned the corner to her room and saw Henry standing there.  

“Hi,” he smiled.  

“Hi,” she replied, biting her lip a bit. “I heard you’re leaving tomorrow?”

“Yes.”  He looked at his feet, one hand fumbling in his coat pocket. “I’ll write to you, I promise.”

“I know,” she beamed.

He pulled his hand out of his coat pocket, holding onto something small.  “I wanted to give you this.”

“I still have the photo you gave me before,” she blurted out. 

“No, this is… um, here.” He pushed the envelope into her hand.  

She opened it up and saw a small pencil drawing that looked almost exactly like the photograph she’d sent him, but it was only of her.  She blinked, staring at it. Her nose wasn’t quite right, but she liked his version better than the real thing. It was beautiful, and he’d made it for her. She couldn’t think of what to say.

“You don’t have to keep it if you don’t like it,” he added quickly.

“Why?  No… I mean, I do like it, but, what is it? I mean, I know what it is, but-”

“I drew it on the way here,” he said.  “Or, well, I started drawing it.  I won’t show you the ones that didn’t work.  I hope it’s not… I don’t know-” 

“I love it,” she interrupted.  “Thank you.” Inga couldn’t help but hug him. She could hear him gasp a little from the force she hit him with, but soon he held her close, as well.  As they pulled away, she saw him smile a little less shyly, and there was a definite gleam in his eye. 

***

Inga sat at the harbor early Friday morning, watching the ship from Corona sail away toward the open sea, heading for England next.  They had been up before dawn loading the ship, and Inga had barely managed to get up when it was first light out, so her goodbyes with Henry had to be awkwardly public.  Now, she hugged her legs and sighed, listening to the bustle of the morning business picking up behind her.  

“Inga?” She heard Elizabeth call out behind her.

“Oh, hello,” Inga smiled, stretching her legs to hang over the ledge where she was sitting. “What are you up to this morning?”

Elizabeth looked up. “Lars was up early to meet with the Ambassador and to train his replacement. I saw the ship being loaded, and I thought I might come take a look.  How are you?”

“I’m fine,” she said, “would you like to join me?”

“I don’t think I can get up there,” Elizabeth admitted.

“That’s not a problem,” Inga said, lowering herself down to the quay.  “Were you going anywhere?”

“Not in particular.  So, you’ve been well?” 

“I… I think so,” Inga replied honestly.  “How is everything with…” she couldn’t manage to finish her question, but looked meaningfully at Elizabeth.

“Better, I think.  He had fallen asleep by the time I was done with dinner the other night, and since then he’s been up early and working. I suppose he’ll tell me what was going on when he’s ready.”

Inga could only nod in agreement as they walked along.

“They were talking about trying to get over there before winter,” Elizabeth said after a moment. “If we sail to England next month, we could take a steamship over.”

“So soon?  You wouldn’t even be here for Christmas, you know.”

“I know, but Lars has decided it’s imperative to have the post filled now.” 

Inga frowned, but it wasn’t her place to interfere.  “I’m sorry you’ll be missing it.”

“I am too,” Elizabeth said, touching Inga’s arm. “You have to promise to write. I’ll write you, if you don’t mind, of course.”

“Yes, please,” Inga said. “And, please promise you won’t stop writing me, even if it takes longer to reply sometimes. It’s always disappointing when someone stops writing.”

“Of course,” Elizabeth exclaimed.  “But for now, it’s a beautiful day.  Let’s enjoy it.”

[turtletotem]

Morph

For the “transformation” prompt, an Animorphs AU! I gave up on getting it all finished today, so part two will follow soon.

Charles and his friends had been through a lot of awful stuff, since the night they found a crashed spaceship and a dying alien. The night they learned their world was under attack, and received from the dying alien's hands their only weapon against the invaders—the power to morph. Morphing gave them the ability to take animal forms that were a thousand times more dangerous than their fragile human bodies, forms that hid their true identities from the Yeerks and let them absorb unbearable damage that would simply vanish when they de-morphed. Since that night, they had all endured amounts of pain, terror, guilt, and strain that probably should have killed them.

It hadn't killed them yet, but it had warped all of them—sometimes a little, sometimes a lot. Charles's sister Raven had once cared too much about having the best hair and the most fashionable clothes, about being pretty and popular; now she was a fierce, unstoppable fighter whose bloodthirst scared them all, even if they wouldn't say it. Erik, who had always been sharp and steely, was ruthless and pragmatic to a fault, now—except how could it be a fault if it kept them alive, kept the human race alive and free?

And Hank… poor Hank suffered more than any of them, trapped in morph as a gorilla. Barring a miracle, he would never be human again. If only he'd been in a smaller, less exotic morph, the day that he couldn't get to safety until long after the two-hour deadline, perhaps he could have still been among people in some way—someone's dog, a wild bird, something. Instead he had to remain entirely hidden, entirely dependent on the rest of them for everything. And any wounds he sustained in battle had to heal the hard way.

As for Charles himself, he had nightmares all the time now, flashbacks—not so much to the terrible things they'd endured, but the terrible things they'd done. All the bloodshed and suffering, the lies and secrets. Was it worth it, if they succeeded? What about if they failed?

All of which made it very easy to forget that morphing could also be fun.

Charles's claws clicked over the floor of the candy shop, a tiny noise to go with his tiny mouse body. Mice were nervous, hypervigilant little creatures, but Charles was an old hand at controlling the little rodent's instincts. Mouse morph had turned out to be almost as useful as his tiger battle-morph, if for very different situations.

It was also sort of neat. Charles couldn't say exactly why he enjoyed being so small, making his way through a world grown suddenly massive around him. Chairlegs like redwood trees, jellybean containers like granaries, expanses of black-and-white tile like the surface of an alien world. It made him think of a dollhouse, except that was exactly backwards. It was as if he was the doll.

Outside the shop, he knew Erik would be getting impatient. More accurately, he would be getting worried, and masking it with impatience. It had taken Charles longer than he expected to get into the building; he supposed he should have expected that a candy store would be fortified against mice. Mice with human intelligence, however, were not so easily stopped, and Charles had finally made it inside, tick-tick-ticking across the whimsical tiles toward the security system keypad on the wall.

Up, up the enormous furniture, claws scrabbling and nose twitching at the tantalizing scents of candied fruit, peanut butter and sugar, sugar, sugar—No, no time for a snack. Charles pulled his attention back to the keypad, which he could just barely reach by climbing the display of licorice behind the cash register. It had taken three weeks of surveillance to get the code, and Charles had repeated the numbers until he heard them in his dreams. Now he typed them in, throwing the weight of his entire body against the buttons.

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. And—boop, the security system disengaged.

<You're clear,> he called to Erik.

Within a minute, the lock on the front door turned and the door opened. Erik was terrific at anything machinery-related, including lockpicking, and that had come in handy just as often as mouse morph.

"Took you long enough," Erik muttered as he crossed the shop. "Are you all right?"

<Of course I am.> Charles crawled into Erik's extended hand, snuffling instinctively at his fingers, which smelled like Cheet-os.

"Of course you are." Erik rolled his eyes. "Are you going to demorph?"

<No. I've still got an hour and a half, and I'll have to reset the alarm when we're done, and go out the same way I got in.>

Erik grunted and slipped Charles into the front pocket of his jacket, over his heart. Charles could feel it thudding gently behind him. It was silly for him to enjoy that so much, but he did.

They slipped into the shop's back office. Charles had wondered if they would need to look for false drawer-bottoms, hidden safes—but no, the candy shop owner kept the paperwork for his activities with The Sharing right in his normal file cabinet, in a folder marked The Sharing.

"My mother's gonna kill this guy if she ever realizes how careless he is," Erik said lightly, pulling out the folder and turning on the nearby lamp so they could see what it contained.

<Not your mother,> Charles corrected.

Erik didn't reply, and Charles didn't push it. The woman everyone thought of as Edie Lehnsherr was a high-ranking member of The Sharing, the "community engagement" organization the Yeerks used as a front to gather hosts. Erik's mother was a Controller, a prisoner somewhere inside her own brain while a Yeerk lived her life. Cooked in her kitchen. Volunteered at her synogogue. Kissed her son on the forehead. If joking about "Edie's" ruthlessness against her subordinates kept Erik from losing his mind, Charles wasn't going to stop him.

"Here," Erik said after a minute. "That's what we need, right there." He took out his phone and took pictures of the pages. The pictures would be deleted later, once the information on them was memorized; they'd all adjusted their phone settings to prevent anything entering 'the cloud.' They couldn't be too careful.

<Anything else interesting?>

Erik flipped through the rest of the folder, taking one or two more pictures, but there really wasn't much they didn't already know. The candy shop owner was pretty new to The Sharing, and his Yeerk wasn't especially high-ranking.

<He might have more later,> Charles said.

"I was just thinking that," Erik said, a hint of excitement in his voice. "The guy shouldn't be able to tell we were ever here. As long as he doesn't change the alarm code, we can come back…"

But on their way out of the office, that all went wrong. In the dark shop, glancing over his shoulder, Erik ran right into a display.

A dozen different kinds of candy cascaded to the floor with a sound like an avalanche. Jars shattered, shelves flipped, boxes tumbled, and Erik's foot slipped on a bag of gummy bears. He fell hard, managing to turn so as not to crush Charles in his pocket.

<Are you all right?>

"Are you all right?" Erik asked at the same time. He sat up, surveyed the damage, and started swearing. "Do you remember what all this looked like? Can we put it back together?"

Charles crawled from Erik's pocket onto his shoulder, and surveyed the damage with a mouse's superior night vision. <Too many things are broken. We could work all night and he'd still know someone was here.>

More swearing. "Fine. Fine. Okay, then. This is what we're doing."

Erik crouched down and began scooping candy into his jacket.

<Erik… are you stealing candy?>

"Yep. Gosh, this poor guy. Some idiot kids broke in and robbed his candy store. Stuff like that happens. No reason to think they went anywhere near his file cabinet, though, right? Idiot kids stealing candy don't care about The Sharing's secrets."

Charles couldn't help laughing. <I'll help. You need to take enough of a haul that no one will question the story.>

He hopped off Erik's shoulder onto the floor and demorphed. Only when he was standing barefoot on black-and-white tile did he remember that neither of them had brought any clothes for him. He had planned to stay a mouse.

"Well, you're not gonna be able to carry much," Erik said dryly, looking him up and down.

Charles knew he had to be blushing. This wasn't exactly the circumstances under which he'd imagined Erik would first see him naked. Not that it was appropriate to think about that anyway. Erik could never feel that way toward him.

"Chilly in here, isn't it," Erik said with a smirk, and Charles gasped in outrage and turned away, covering his chest.

Erik snickered, and returned to filling his pockets with taffy and gumballs. "Get that bucket over there, start filling it up."

Charles dashed over to the bucket of lollipops, pulled out the styrofoam filler that kept them upright, and started sweeping chocolates, gummies and packages of Pop Rocks into it. The display cases under the cash register were full of chocolate truffles—was it locked?

Another horrible avalanche crash, and Charles jumped out of his skin, whirling around.

Erik grinned at him from the wreckage of a second display. "Verisimilitude."

Charles rolled his eyes. "Come help me get the truffle case open. They're my favorite; if we're going to steal candy I want truffles."

Erik, cramming packs of jellybeans from the second display down his shirt, joined him at the truffle case. He poked thoughtfully at the lock, then reached for a huge novelty lollipop. "Stand back—"

"Don't you dare!" Charles swatted the lollipop out of his hand. "You'll get glass in the truffles!"

"Oh my gosh, say that again. Come on, say it again, you sound so adorable when you say 'truffles' with that accent—"

"Shut up! Just open the lock!"

Erik squeezed past him to the cash register and pulled a key off a nail. "There. All the truffles your heart could desire."

Charles opened the case, grabbed one of the cardboard boxes used by the cashiers, and filled it to the brim with every flavor of truffle, stopping to sample his favorites. "Mmm!"

"Hedonist. You have chocolate on your nose," Erik said, grinning, and stepped forward to wipe it with his thumb.

For a silent, inexplicable moment, they stood there together, Charles's pulse pounding and his mouth full of chocolate, Erik's sleeve brushing his bare shoulder.

"We should go," Erik said, turning away abruptly. "We'll have to set off the alarm, for ver—versim—what I said before. Idiot kids would only have time to grab so much before they ran for it."

"I've got to morph again," Charles said. "Can't run out there like this."

"Back in my pocket you go, then."

They re-armed the security system, put mouse-Charles in the hood of Erik's jacket—all his pockets were full—and Erik went out the door, carrying the bucket and truffle box. The alarm went off behind them as soon as the door opened.

Mission accomplished.

[vcg73]

Witch!Kurt #43: Reconnoiter

Burt Hummel eagerly offered his home as the coven’s headquarters when Kurt called him to explain that they were ready to move forward. 

Though Kurt had made the call with the intention of convincing his family to leave town for a few days, just to be safe, his father insisted.

“Are you kidding? I was one of the people who fell hardest for Blaine’s fake charm and let that punk sink his claws into my son!” Burt protested hotly when Kurt attempted to tell him that leaving would be safer. “I didn’t listen when my step-son tried to tell me that he thought it was hinky that neither he or Carole were invited to that big hoohaw at Dalton, and that he didn’t understand why you’d agreed to marry someone you weren’t sure you trusted enough to date anymore. I didn’t pay any attention when kids you knew and loved started disappearing, dying, or becoming walking store mannequins. Blaine attacked this town, a town I’ve lived in and loved all my life, and he attacked my family. I’m damned well going to stick this one out with you, Kurt. End of discussion.”

“Dad, this…”

Burt cut him off. “No buts. This is your fight? That makes it my fight. And even if all I’m really equipped to do in this whole witchcraft game is supply house room to the band, I’d still rather do that than to be shut out and left wondering what’s happening. Besides, you’ve all warded this place strongly enough to make Fort Knox look like a piggy bank. Where would I possibly be safer?”

Kurt, remembering how badly Blaine’s magically charged charms had shaken the once solid father-son relationship, not to mention the harm he’d done to Finn, and by extension Carole, could not find it in his heart to argue. His coven had the power to move Burt Hummel out of harm’s way, whether he wanted to go or not, but he and his dad had worked hard these last few months to build and solidify that old bond into something even stronger, to respect and be honest with one another. Kurt had to trust that his dad could take care of himself, just as Burt was doing for him.

A vague part of him feeling amusement over his father’s continued habit of referring to his coven as ‘the band’, Kurt said in a deliberately meek tone, “Dad, I was just going to say that this is really generous of you, and that I think you’re right. I don’t think you’re to blame for what happened, but you do have a stake in this and if it makes you feel better to have us at the house, and to be in on the planning with us, then we’ll come. Thank you.”

“Oh,” Burt said, the righteous indignation fading to sheepish humor as he said, “Sorry. You’re welcome. Uh, when do you think you’ll be here?”

“Next week. Spring Break got delayed after all those storms shut everything down over the winter,” Kurt explained. “We decided that would be the best time. Lima high schools should have already had their Spring Break, so now would be the perfect time to look them over.”

And while this was not how most college students would want to spend their break, converging on a quiet little town in the middle of Ohio to play the role of magical exterminators, not one person in Kurt’s coven had balked at his suggestion. On the contrary, they had all agreed with enthusiasm that surprised him a little. Even with all the help they had given over the past six months, their support still occasionally caught him off guard.

“Great, we’ll be ready for you,” Burt said, sounding far more pleased than most men would at the prospect of having their home overrun by seven additional ‘kids’ and two more cat people.

~*~*~*~*~

A week later, having all arranged to miss a few days of work and other activities, the coven arrived in Lima, backpacks, duffels, sleeping bags, and suitcases in hand. Even those who had the option of staying somewhere less crowded had packed like they really were headed out on vacation somewhere. It made Kurt smile to hear them arguing over who would stay where, and what things they might do while in Ohio.

“Carole and I discussed it with the boys and we decided we’d put most of you down in the basement,” Burt Hummel said above the din of many chattering voices, bringing them to a halt as everyone looked at him. “It’s all finished up, with lights and carpeting and plenty of room.”

The family had spent the past few months renovating the previously unfinished space into a rec room, but then Burt and Carole had discussed it and decided instead to turn it into a new living space for Fam. The basement was large and well insulated, but it had been lacking the comforts of carpet, good lighting, and the finishing of an adjunct room that had been piped by the previous owner for an additional bathroom but never completed. Finishing it up had been a labor of love, and a way for Finn and Sam to feel useful and to have some control in their lives again, as well as a chance to bond anew with the grateful parents.

Kurt had given his Dad the idea for the project during a Skype, pointing out that Sam had once been quite a good handy-man, and knowing how much he himself had loved having the basement of the first Hummel home for his own during high school. It was neither safe nor practical for Sam and Finn to be out on their own for now, but at 22 years of age it also wasn’t fair for them to be living in a small upstairs bedroom under Burt and Carole’s very noses.

“You finished it?” he said, perking up with interest. “Nobody told me! How did it come out? What kind of carpet did you end up choosing? Did you use the privacy screens I suggested to block the laundry area off from the bedroom, or did you actually have to build a new wall?”

Grinning at his son’s eager questions, Burt gave into his impulse to give the bright-eyed young man another hug. No matter how good Kurt’s adult life in New York was, Burt never quite got over missing his little boy. And when Kurt was like this, clasping his hands and bouncing with enthusiasm, he became that little boy again. “Why don’t you come see for yourself?” he asked jovially, leading the way to a closed door next to the kitchen.

Burt, Kurt, Adam, and the rest of the curious coven trooped down a set of wide wooden steps, the latter making appropriate noises of appreciation when Burt flicked a wall switch and led them into a well lit space with a pull-out sofa bed, a couple of comfy looking lounge chairs, and a TV. The floor had been covered in thick, dark blue Berber carpeting, with the center living area covered with an additional wide area rug of tightly woven black and gray that matched the contrasting black and gray walls. It was a surprisingly sophisticated look for something that was to belong, in part, to Finn Hudson.

“This is very chic,” Adam said, not quite able to disguise the astonishment in his voice that told Kurt he had been thinking along the same lines. Adam did not know his new brothers-in-law (For he had come to think of Sam Evans as another of Kurt’s brothers.) very well yet, but he had already noted a distinct leaning toward ‘frat boy’ in both of them.

“It is,” Kurt agreed, looking around with interest and peeping into the laundry area, which had indeed been separated from the rest of the basement by a newly added wall and floored with tightly packed ceramic tiles.

The new laundry room had a door that made it accessible through the garage, so people would not be required to tromp through Fam’s private space to wash their clothes. Behind the laundry area lay the now-finished bathroom, and Kurt gave it an approving nod. They had sacrificed a little bit of bedroom space to expand the room, giving it a row of handsome wooden cabinets beneath the new sink, a glass-paneled shower, tile flooring, a new toilet and several shelves along the wall that were liberally stacked with towels, soaps, and various other hygiene products. There was a large cabinet mirror over the sink, a laundry hamper next to the shower, and even a cute little black iron rack with several reading selections next to the toilet.

Kurt noted that final addition with amusement, recalling his brother’s habit, a very annoying one when they had been sharing a bathroom, of spending what felt like ages reading through magazines while conducting his ‘morning business’. Undoubtedly, this touch had been Carole’s.

“This looks amazing. I have to admit, I was expecting a lot of beige, and way more football and rock posters on the walls,” he said with a smile.

“Maybe we’ll add some,” said Finn, coming downstairs to join the others and giving Kurt a friendly embrace. “We still have to move my old drum-kit out of the garage and put it in here. Mom couldn’t bear to give it away after I died. And Sam wants to put a rack on one wall for his guitars. Burt brought a contractor buddy of his in here to put an extra layer of sound-proofing in the walls before they were sealed and painted.”

Burt raised an eyebrow at his son and said, “George Moore. Same friend I got to help me sound proof our old basement into someplace you could sing your face off at five o’clock every morning, while you were trying on every outfit you owned and dolling up your skin and hair for two hours before school.”

Everyone laughed at Kurt’s acknowledging blush. Maybe Finn had not been the only one with irritating habits in those days.

Sam took over the shared body to say, “We’re gonna put a boss stereo system along that back wall by the dressers, and maybe a computer desk, and I want some bookcases with a reading lamp.”

The switch in control between one man and the other was also a lot faster and easier now than it had been when they were initially merged, and all those listening were interested to realize that they had no difficulty in knowing who was speaking.

Kurt looked at him curiously. He never remembered either of these two having a particular interest in books before.

Reading the question in his eyes correctly, Sam shrugged. “I always liked stories, but I used to feel like it was too much of a bother to decipher all the text to read much. Got a lot of Graphic novels and audio books instead. I mean, I could do it, but it felt too much like homework, y’know?” At Kurt’s nod, he grinned. “We discovered a side benefit of sharing a body. Whatever rewiring of our brains that was required to live this way had some perks. I still have dyslexia, but when Finn is in control I can sort of read through his eyes, and the letters don’t get all messed up. Kind of weird, but it works!”

Finn chimed in. “It makes me like reading for fun a lot more, knowing that I can help Sam do it. English Lit was pretty much the only school subject I always got perfect grades in, so it’s no big deal. Oh, and we’ve discovered that if we concentrate hard, we can do this.”

He lifted his hands, scrunched his brow, and made a shoving motion with his palms out, resulting in the chair he was looking at scooting a couple of feet away.

The witches in the room looked at him with slack-jawed surprise. Sam was a Standard, and since it was his body that Finn’s mind and soul were sharing, no one had expected Finn’s latent magic to translate to this new existence. Sam jumped back in. “This part works no matter who’s in control.”

In demonstration, he stuck his tongue out slightly and frowned hard at the remote control on the little coffee table they had set up next to the couch. It twitched a few inches closer.

“How is that possible?” Kurt asked, looking around the group.

Brittany stepped forward, cocking her head like a curious puppy as she narrowed her eyes and looked Fam over with Sight. “They’re merging,” she said in a vaguely detached tone. “Still Finn and Sam, but Fam is becoming real. At first you were in sort of a disassociative identity situation, with one body but two personalities, and one person had to be fully in control to do anything. Now you’ve adapted to be more like conjoined twins instead. Individual people who happen to share one body, and that body is starting to adapt to both your abilities. Magic comes from the soul, as much as the body. After all, there are plenty of Standards with magical parents, and plenty of witches with no magic in their family trees. Where did they get that if it wasn’t just a natural facet of who they are?”

“So that means even though I’m in a different body, I’m still me, and I’m still a witch.” Finn said. “And that being in here gave Sam a magic transfusion, so now he has it too.”

Brittany nodded. “I think it’s like reincarnation. Different body but you still have echoes of your past life. The power will probably never be strong unless you’re really angry. That might give it a boost, like it did the day you confronted Blaine. But even a little magic can be fun.”

Fam grinned back, clearly liking the idea of being able to move things with their mind, even if it was only ever enough to tug a remote control closer without getting up. “Cool,” they said.

Shaking his head at this, Burt just sighed and picked up his original thread. “Finn and Sam haven’t officially moved down yet, so I figured that as long as nobody minds the occasional clatter of washer/dryer, or the need to share a bed, we can toss a couple of air mattresses down there and fit most of you comfortably. There are still the two upstairs bedrooms for any spillover, particularly if the cat-folk don’t mind shrinking down to a more compact size.”

There were no protests to this idea, and it was quickly decided that all of the girls, plus L.T., would bunk down in the basement room, while Kurt and Adam, along with cat sized Elliott and Sebastian, would stay in Kurt’s old room, and Johnny would bunk in with Fam.

At least, officially that’s how it would be. Kurt knew his friends too well to think that they wouldn’t all end up migrating downstairs to have a gigantic slumber party at least a couple of times. Judging by the amusement dancing in his father’s eyes, he knew it too.  

Food would not be an issue with Brittany and Dani available to conjure up meals, and everyone could pop back home whenever they needed to with a little boost from Santana or Elliott. Even with two and a half bathrooms, the household would be overwhelmed if more than a dozen people were attempting to take turns using them every day.

Altogether it was a good arrangement, and Kurt was happy to have one less thing to worry about.

~*~*~*~*~

The Familiars, it had been decided, would take the first crack at confronting Blaine. Kurt recognized the wisdom of not revealing his hand before it was time, and while Blaine certainly knew Sebastian “Oh, no way in hell am I missing out on this!” Smythe, he had never laid eyes on human Tubbington before; Tubbington having been intentionally stealthy the day he went to check on Blaine and David at ‘Between the Sheets’. While Blaine had met Elliott a couple of times, he would certainly never suspect a black cat of being his ex’s best friend. Kurt had recently been reminded that Familiars had a natural immunity to Wild magic. Therefore, the cats would be the safest advance party to send.

“I want to go too,” Adam said, much to the surprise of his husband.

“Are you sure?”

He nodded. “I won’t be startled by him this time. I think coming up on him so suddenly, like a jump-scare in a film, is what flipped me the last time. I want a chance to see him, and get used to seeing him. If I still can’t deal with that, then I’ll have to stay here when the time comes.”

Adam did not like the idea of being safely tucked out of the way when Kurt went face to face with their enemy, but it was a logical precaution and a generously selfless one. 

Kurt recognized this, knowing that Adam was facing up to the fact that he could become more of a hindrance than a help if his PTSD were to take over during a fight. He kissed him softly and consented to his plan by saying, “You’ll need to disguise yourself before you go.”

“Awe-some hand-bag,” Santana sing-songed, making them both smile.

Sebastian snorted. “And who would carry him? I’m not the man-purse type, thanks. Wouldn’t you rather just change your face and be a stranger? Or do you need us to set up a glamour for that?”

Adam met Kurt’s eyes and said, “That might be necessary. I’ve been practicing my Transmogrification skills a great deal of late, in the event they might be needed, but I’ve always been better at mimicking objects than people.”

“Pretty much the opposite of me,” Johnny said, idly mimicking each of them as he looked around the room, then returning to his own brown-eyed, brown-haired, sharp-featured appearance. “I can do an object if I really concentrate and don’t have to hold it very long, but I have trouble with the weight ratio. People are a snap.”

Adam explained to the puzzled-looking Burt and Carole, “He means that when I transform into an object, I automatically adjust my mass and weight, so it doesn’t matter how large or small the object appears. That’s why no one realized that my body had been secretly disguised as a wall poster while my soul was sent to the Void. To change only my face is harder. Like balancing on tiptoe, juggling oranges, and singing an aria all at the same time. It’s possible, but it doesn’t leave much concentration for other things.”

“Fine, an object it is. We don’t want to put any undue pressure on Adam and there’s no point in making up a fake identity for somebody that Blaine is only going to see for five minutes,” Tubbington said firmly, drawing a grateful look from Kurt. “This is just a test mission to see how things stand, so let’s keep it simple. Adam, make yourself into a pendant so you can get a good look and I’ll take you in myself. Sebastian can carry Elliott.”

“And if you open up your rapport with Kurt, he can see and hear through you,” Brittany added cheerfully.

Every person in the room turned to stare at her.

“Oh. Did you not know that?” she said, eyes innocent. “He couldn’t do it before, or maybe just a little, but I’ll bet he can do it easily now that you’re Joined. Since Kurt has high Potential and a strong gift for Sight, he should be able to see through Adam’s eyes.”

Santana looked at her curiously. “Can you see through my eyes?”

Brittany smiled. “Sure!” she chirped. “I don’t, because it’s not polite if you don’t ask first, but I could.”

Intrigued, she said, “Could I?”

Brittany considered that. She and Santana had never gone through a formal Joining ceremony, but they were as close as any two people, witches or not, could be in spite of it. “Probably not for more than a few seconds,” she said at last. “You have Sight, but it isn’t very strong. I can’t use your Talents for force-fields or transportation either, because I don’t have those even in Potential. Adam and Kurt have Sight in almost the same Potential, plus they experienced the temporary sharing of powers that come with being Joined. The emotional link should do the rest.”

“How does it work?” Kurt asked. “The piggy-backing of Sight.”

Brittany tore her gaze away from her girlfriend’s, then simply reached out the same way she had on the first day Kurt had learned of magic, and touched his temple. “Like that.”

Kurt blinked, finding himself the sudden possessor of instinctive knowledge, just as he had been when she taught him to See his own magical Potential. “Oh. Wow, that’s all?”

“Pretty simple, once you have the power,” she said with a shrug. “You have enough that you might be able to do that with any of us if we were to ground and form a bonding circle, like when you went into the Void, but definitely with Adam. You’ll have to close your eyes though.”

“Do you mind?” Kurt asked, eyes shining with eagerness to try this new bit of magic.

Adam shook his head, equally intrigued. Brittany S. Pierce continued to confound him at times. She seemed so simple, so innocent, and he would find himself lulled into trust of that surface image, only to be suddenly reminded that just beneath it lay a virtual treasure trove of knowledge and magical experience. Sometimes he wondered how much of her gifts were natural, and how much had been conferred through her link with Lord Tubbington, who had likely granted her the inherited experience of several lifetimes as a witch’s Familiar. Nine lives was no joke when it came to cat folk.

Kurt closed his eyes, frowning as he searched for the thread of emotion that always connected the two of them, linked to it, and concentrated. It was a peculiar feeling, trying to activate one’s Sight without actually using your eyes, and he struggled to keep them closed when every instinct told him to open his eyes and see what Adam was doing.

Adam, for his part, turned on his own Sight and walked about the room. He turned his back to his husband and picked up a random object. “Can you see what I’m holding?”

“I think … oh, this is weird,” Kurt said. “You’re holding that beat up old bunny rabbit that Monica sleeps with. I can see it, but it’s like I’m looking at it through a slightly warped piece of glass.” Adam turned to look at him, smiling proudly, and Kurt gasped a little. He broke his concentration and blinked to reorient his eyesight as he opened his eyes and looked at Brittany.

She smiled. “You looked better than the way you normally see yourself, right?” He nodded. “It’s because you were seeing yourself through Adam’s eyes, riding his emotional connection to you.”

Kurt blushed suddenly, looking proud and a little bit awe-struck. “Wow. I suddenly understand why you like to say that I’m beautiful. Want to try it?”

Adam nodded eagerly. Kurt repeated his performance, picking up one of Dani’s favorite necklaces from where it was sitting on a dresser. Adam identified the jewelry with no difficulty, then made a choked sound of surprise when Kurt turned and looked at him. 

“Bugger. Apparently my mirror has been doing me a disservice,” he quipped, making a joke of it but clearly startled by the strong, gorgeous, noble man who stood in his place. Him, but also more than him. He swallowed, knowing that he would remember this moment for the rest of his life, and that he would spend his life doing his very best to live up to the person that Kurt believed him to be. “I can’t wait until you see your dodgy ex the way that I do.”

Allowing the charged moment to fade, Kurt laughed with him. “I suspect he won’t look too good through any of our eyes these days. Let’s go find out.”

THE END

[feferipeixes]

Mother Knows Best (1/5)

Answering an oddly familiar summons, Alcor finds himself face-to-face with none other than his own mother. Sure, she died years ago and reincarnated as someone completely different, but it's a little hard for Alcor to see past who she once was. As time goes on, however, he starts to wonder if maybe she really has changed -- and maybe, just maybe, if things could be better between them this time.

Here’s my entry for the 5th annual @transcendence-au ficathon! Based on the prompt “Dipper and his mother have a talk” from the awesome @toothpastecanyon! As you can see, I took it in a bit of a different direction :)

(See the most updated version on AO3!)

===

Chapter 1: Summoned

It was a clean summoning, one of the smoothest he'd felt in a while. No incorrect symbols on the circle. Plain candles, flames lapping at the wick, fresh from the box. Flawless Latin that sang across the Mindscape to bring him forth, instead of the grating mispronunciations he'd gotten more and more accustomed to as the years passed and there was almost no one left who even knew that Latin was a language.

Why then, Alcor wondered, did this summoning feel so off? Why was there a bitter edge to the call that triggered his fight or flight response in a way that a sad group of cultists hadn't managed to do in decades? And why did it feel so familiar?

The structure of a room pulled itself together around him, and with a pop he was there. By the blue light of the candles, he noticed that the room he’d been summoned to was actually quite small -- most likely a bedroom, given the bed tucked in the corner. He couldn’t help but notice the walls coated in boy band posters -- his mind jumped right to Mabel, filling his brain with a fuzzy sadness that wasn’t appropriate for a summoning.

That sadness evaporated pretty quickly when he saw the pro-nat hate speech on the posters hidden beneath them. He had a few guesses as to how this was going to go. Might as well get on with it.

"W̞̦̙̬̪̻̳H͖̦̲̟̻̖O̯͡ ̨̻̻̫̜͔̗͇D̛͔̣A̹͚͢R̞E͇̻͎̰S ̭͇͚͔T̹̣͔̦͎̝O̧ ̛̥̦̥̼̗S̢̳U͇M̦̘̺̰̲M̻̥̳̫̝̟O̩̗̥̦N͞ ͉͖̪̰͚̖A̙̣̠̫̬̗̰L̸̲C̭̠̖̣͚O͕͇͇͍̲͍R͖͕̞̲̣ ̷͔̙T̠̘͢H͔̼͉E̠̩͇̖͔̕ ̴D͉͙R҉̳͓̯̼̺E̢̘̬̱̠A͓̰̗͇̪͚M̜͎̟͇͍̱̺B̟̦̱̪̕E̲̘̯̙̜͘N̵͈̜̝D͏͈͓E̝͇̺̹R̛̝̱̳̭?͖̖͔̩̙͉̟" he roared.

The only person in the room was a young woman -- couldn't have been more than 25 -- who practically jumped out of her skin at the sound of his voice. She had mousy brown hair (she’d considered dyeing it many, many times, but always chickened out in the stylist’s chair) and stunning green eyes (contacts -- her eyes were really brown but she figured if her eyesight was poor enough that she needed contacts she might as well be adventurous), was dressed in a plain t-shirt and jeans (all of her nice clothes were in the wash), and had a tilted cross on a necklace tucked underneath her shirt.

"It's, uh," she stammered, "my name is Arielle, and…"

"That's your first mistake, kid," Alcor cut in. "Never tell a demon your real name. Not that it matters too much to me since I already know it, but if you get any other lesser demon in here? Forget about it, they'd love to use that against you."

Arielle's aura flickered anxiously, and she drew her arms close to her chest. "Y-yeah? Why's that?"

Alcor flipped over so he was lying on his back in midair, his head upside down from her perspective. "True names are powerful. If you know someone’s true name, you have access to who they really are. It’s the best way to control someone without literally owning their soul.”

“Owning… their soul?”

He rolled his eyes. “You’re kidding me. You don’t know what a soul is?”

She frowned. “I know what a soul is. But I didn’t think you could control someone with their soul.”

“Oh, you totally can! Well, you can’t. I can, ‘cause I’m a demon and all. It’s kind of our specialty.” He uncrossed his arms and let them dangle beneath him. “But enough about that. Why don’t you tell me what someone like you is doing summoning a demon? Last I heard, the New Canaan Methodist Church wasn’t too fond of my folk.”

She practically seized up in shock. “What?”

He rolled over onto his front, leaning on some invisible plane with his elbows, and let a wide grin spread across his face. “I just couldn’t help but notice what a nice necklace you’re wearing. The NCMC and I aren’t the closest of friends, you know. I’ve got some hilarious stories I could tell you -- wow, where to begin…”

“Hang on, what?” she cut in, and then slapped her hands to her mouth, apparently in shock at the fact that she’d just spoken back to a demon.

Alcor flipped over into a seated position. “No storytime?”

“No, I just…” She reached under her top and pulled out the necklace. “Did you look through my shirt? That’s very rude.”

Alcor spluttered and turned pink. “What? No! I mean I guess I technically did, but not like that! I just wanted to see what was on your necklace.” He cowed under the furious glare she was giving him. “Hey, I’m asking the questions here! Regardless of where the necklace was, you’re still a New Canaanite!”

She deflated a little, but the irritated look didn’t leave her face. “I’m… I’m not, okay? Not anymore.”

He cocked his head curiously, the pink tinge slowly dissipating from his cheeks. “Anymore?”

She sighed, and looked away. “This is all my parents’ stuff, okay? It’s not my fault they’re Canaanites! They tried to make me go along with their hateful garbage, but I didn’t really believe, so I left. They didn’t like that, and they forced me to keep wearing the necklace ‘as protection’. They literally glued the clasp together -- I can’t take it off. So I hide it under my clothes. Happy?”

Alcor frowned. She… was lying to him.

At least about the parents thing -- he could sense her parents in the next room, could practically smell the unconditional love radiating off of them, nauseatingly sweet to his delicate nose. He had a hard time believing that the kind of people who smelled like that would glue an extremist group’s iconography to their child.

But… maybe they weren’t her real parents. If she left the NCMC, she might’ve been forced to leave the community too. It sort of held up as a story. And besides, he didn’t want to ditch this summoning just yet. He needed to know why he was sure he’d met her before.

“Alright, I’ll bite,” he said finally. “What do you want?”

She looked surprised for a moment, and then nodded. “I want you to go to the local chapter of the New Canaan Methodist Church. In the back room, where they keep the picket signs, there’s a warded chest. The chapter leader stole something important from me. I want you to get it back.”

He narrowed his eyes, and peered through space. As he did so, his wings went translucent, and an image of the room in question appeared over them. Alcor saw the chest -- it was surrounded by binding circles and wards, but nothing that he wouldn’t be able to handle. With effort, he peeked into the chest -- why did it have so many wards around it? -- and did a double take when he saw what was inside.

“Really? You summoned a demon to fetch a stuffed animal for you?”

She scowled. “It’s important to me and I want it back! I’ve got payment. You can have my memories of first grade. You like memories, right?”

Alcor scratched his chin. He did like memories, and the ones he could see dancing in her skull seemed particularly juicy. Besides, the stuffed animal thing reminded him of Mabel again. But this couldn’t be her. He’d know, wouldn’t he?

“Alright.” He reached toward her, blue flame dancing on his hand. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”

Her eyes lit up in a brilliant display of hope and gratitude. “Thank you so much,” she said. Her aura changed -- greed pulsating through it so vibrantly that it felt like she was screaming into his eyeballs -- and she smiled. “Finally, I’ll get her away from that monster.”

Alcor’s face twitched. Her voice called out to him through the recesses of his mind.

Thank the stars I’ve got you away from that monster!

He jerked his hand back before she could grab it. "No," he breathed. "That's how I know you. That's who you are. You almost tricked me. How dare you."

Her smile faltered, and she took a step back. "Uh, what?"

He clenched his fists, and black void rippled across his body. "How Ḑ̛̜͇̱̟͈̺̩̭̪̳̖̦̹̹̣̩̉ͣ́̂̌͋̉͗͒ͯͪ̓̒̎͜͞Ạ̸̟̹̼̫̭̫̙͔͖̙̝̲̳̺̭̺̃̑̆ͣͪ͆͑͋͑͒ͪͫͭ͗͒͝R̐̈́̂͞͡҉̦̭̖̬̮̜̞E̡ͯ̊ͦ͆̀̐͆ͤ͊̽ͯ̅̄̐͗̊͌̽̇͜͠҉͉̯̯͈͈͓̮̥̫̠͉̞̣̼͔ you!" he screeched, sending a shockwave through the air that knocked knocked items off their shelves and whipped her hair up into a tangled mess. "I wasn't good enough for you before, and now you want my help?"

She gibbered under the gaze of the incensed demon. "What? This is the first time I've summoned you!"

"Oh sure, just pretend like you don't even know me anymore! Hah, not like it's the first time you've ever done that!"

"I don't know what you're talking about, I swear!"

He waved his hand dismissively. "Can it -- I've had enough. The deal's off, Mom!"

With that, he vanished, leaving behind a very confused summoner. He tessered to the Mystery Shack, to Mabel and Henry’s old room, and stood there fuming for a minute. Then, he pulled his arm back, balled his hand into a fist, and punched the wall so hard that a big chunk of it flew out into the woods.

His breaths gradually slowed, becoming longer and deeper, the better to draw unnecessary air into his fake lungs, because he enjoyed the taste of it -- enjoyed the game -- because it helped ground him and distract him from the fact that he was capable of punching through a wall at a moment’s notice. That -- he began to realize, as his thoughts slowed down too -- may not have been the best idea. At least no one had seen him lose his temper like that.

“Um.”

Alcor turned around so quickly that he may have skipped over the “turning” part entirely. Willow was standing in the hall, just outside the door to the room, holding a teapot in one hand and her inhaler in the other.

“Everything okay, Uncle Dipper?” she asked, sounding more concerned than nervous. She did not step into the room.

Alcor looked down. “Everything’s fine, now.” He grimaced. “But I’d love a cup of tea, if you’re offering.”

She shrugged. “Well, I guess I’m offering now.” Alcor started to move forward, and she wagged a finger at him. “If, that is, you fix the wall you just destroyed.”

He smiled weakly, and let his hand ignite into flame. “That’s the best offer I’ve heard all day. Deal.”

Willow shook his hand, and walked off toward the kitchen. Alcor started to follow, and then paused. He looked back at the hole he’d just punched in the wall and sucked in a deep breath.

That sure was a soul he’d never expected to see again. After all he’d been through, he thought she’d be smart enough to keep away. And yet she had the gall to summon him like nothing had ever happened. Like she’d done nothing wrong.

Like she wasn’t Anna Pines. Like she wasn’t his mother.

He snapped his fingers, and the hole in the wall fixed itself. He squeezed his eyes shut for a minute, and then headed off to the kitchen.

---

The circle was drawn. The candles were set. The sacrifice -- a can of Pitt Cola -- was ready. It was to be a flawless summoning.

The only problem was the unwilling demon.

“Mabel, are you sure this is a good idea?” Dipper asked.

“Yeah, bro-bro, it’ll be great!” Mabel replied in a singsong voice while fiddling with a book of matches. “You said it yourself, Mr. Knows-Everythingpants -- if we do this, then you can be physical for a bit!”

Dipper bit his fingernails -- nails that he couldn’t help but notice were getting longer every day and starting to look a little more like claws than human nails. “That’s not the problem.”

Mabel looked at her brother and rested a hand on her hip. “You’re worried about how they’re going to react?”

He nodded. “They’re our parents. What if they don’t… what if they’re scared of me?”

“Yeah, they are our parents, and that’s why I think it’s gonna go great! They think you’re dead, Dipdops -- they’re gonna be so happy to see that you’re still alive after all!”

Dipper frowned. “I don’t think it’s that easy -”

“Too bad!” Mabel chirped, cutting him off. Having lit the last candle, she pricked her finger and let a drop of blood fall into the circle. “Come on out!”

“Ack!” Dipper let out a squeak as the air twisted around him and he was yanked out of the Mindscape. He felt the atoms rushing around him -- actual, physical matter, collecting on his body and forming a tangible shell. Then he was deposited above the circle, only a few feet away from where he started, but now very much real.

He gaped, the sensations of reality overpowering him for a moment. “Oh my stars, it worked,” he breathed. “I’m actually here, I can feel the air around me, oh wow, I forgot how good this feels!” He let out a little cackle and stretched like he’d been cooped up in a box for weeks.

Mabel grinned. “And you dared to doubt me!” She jumped into the circle with him and gave him a massive hug.

“Mabel, stoppppp,” he whined playfully. “You can already hug me even when I’m not physical.”

“I got excited!” she said, giggling. “But I know a couple of people who can’t hug you normally! Come on, let’s go!” She tugged on his hand and tried to pull him out of the circle.

“Wait…”

“Nuh-uh, broski! You gotta do this, no weaseling out of it! How much time does that can of soda get you?”

He glanced at his wrist, as if he were wearing a watch. “Twenty minutes, I think. But…”

“That’s barely any time! If you’re going to have a heartfelt reunion with your parents, it’s gotta be now!”

He slumped. “Okay. I’ll… I’ll do it.”

She brightened, which was impressive given how excited she’d already appeared. “Yay! Let’s go, they’ll be so excited to see you!”

Dipper had his doubts, but he let himself be pulled from the circle. Mabel skipped out of the room, down the hall, and up to their parents’ closed bedroom door. She knocked three times on the door as Dipper started chewing his nails again.

“Mabel, is that you?” came a groggy-sounding voice from the room.

“Yeah, Mom!” she sang. “I know it’s late, but I’ve got someone here you should see!”

“Can it wait until the morning? Your father and I aren’t exactly prepared to meet anyone right now.”

“Oh, don’t worry, you already know him!” She opened the door and rushed in, pulling Dipper by the hand with her. “Tada!” she announced.

The room was dark, but for the light from the hallway, and the glow of Dipper’s eyes. “Mabel, sweetie,” replied the voice, “it’s 2am. You can show us your new stuffed animals in the morning.”

There was a click, and the lamp beside the bed switched on, revealing their parents. Their father still seemed to be asleep, but their mom was sitting up in bed, a nightmask resting on her forehead, sleepily rubbing her eyes. When she finished and finally took in the scene in front of her, her entire body froze up, every muscle screaming in obvious terror.

“Hi Mom,” Dipper offered nervously, giving a little wave.

Mabel, oblivious to her mother’s body language, beamed at him. “Here he is! In the flesh! Uhh, well, sort of…”

“Mabel?” their mother asked, voice shaking worse than an action figure in a blender. “Wh-wh-wh-what wh-what is that?”

Mabel frowned. “It’s Dipper! I told you he was still alive!”

“I know I look a little different,” Dipper started, “but…”

Their mom seemed to break past her paralysis, and started shaking her husband vigorously. “Mark. Mark! Wake up, wake up!”

“Yeah, this isn’t going well,” Dipper muttered under his breath. Mabel glared at him.

“What is it, Anna?” their father asked. He opened his eyes, took in the sight in front of him, and then jumped about a foot into the air. “Demon!” he yelled. “There’s a demon in here!”

“Dad, it’s just Dipper, calm down!” Mabel yelled back. “I told you he was a demon now!”

Their father grabbed his phone off the bedside table and started pawing frantically at it. “What do we do, Anna? There’s a demon in here! What do we do what do we do what do we do -”

“Quit gibbering, Mark!” their mother spat. “They feed on fear!”

“Mom, Dad, please, I’m not going to hurt you…” Dipper said lamely.

Their father turned sheet white. His mouth flapped open and shut wordlessly, and then he managed to croak, “Dipper?”

Mabel glanced at her brother, grinning again. “Yes! It’s him!”

“No, it’s not!” their mother yelled. “Stop it, Mabel, and -- Mark, will you quit it!”

“I can’t,” he moaned, “that- that’s the demon that killed Dipper, and it’s here to get the rest of us, I knew this was going to happen!”

Their mother glared daggers at him, and then gestured frantically at Mabel. “Get over here now,” she ordered. “Get away from it!”

Dipper shivered -- despite the fact that he was a demon now, his mother’s angry voice still intimidated him. “I- I can explain everything, I promise!”

“It’s lying, Mabel -- do as I say and get over here!”

Mabel half turned to Dipper, looking as shocked as if she’d seen a flying saucer. “Dipper, I didn’t think they’d act like this, I…”

She let out a squeak as her mother wrapped her arms around her stomach and yanked her backwards. “There you go, sweetheart, thank the stars I’ve got you away from that monster!”

“Let go of me!” Mabel shrieked. She tried to squirm her way out of her mother’s grasp, but it was too strong. “Dipper!”

“Mabel!” Dipper cried. He shot forward, and -

There was a popping noise, and the summons expired.

Dipper was still in his parents’ room, but he could tell by the sudden lack of sensation that he was no longer corporeal, and that once again only Mabel could see him. He watched his parents’ faces twist from fear and anger into utter relief; watched how they held Mabel close and said how worried they’d been; watched Mabel’s apologetic look as she glanced back at him.

It didn’t matter. He knew it would happen. There was nothing he could’ve said to make that first meeting go better. He floated through the wall to his bedroom, collapsed above his bed, and let the little yellow tears on his pillow speak for themselves.

(AO3 link)

[kalluun-patangaroa]

Waking up to a new morning...

The Observer, Sunday 15 September 2002

Written by Amy Raphael

After the booze, coke, crack and smack, Suede's Brett Anderson is back in the land of the living with renewed optimism and a new album 

Brett Anderson grew up hanging around car parks, drinking lukewarm cans of Special Brew and taking acid. Occasionally, he caught the train from Hayward's Heath to Brighton, less than half an hour away, but still a world away. He would buy punk records and, perhaps, a Nagasaki Nightmare patch to sew on to his red ski jacket.

His mother, who died in 1989, was an aspiring artist; his father was mostly unemployed and obsessed with classical music. He wanted his son to be a classical pianist, but Brett had other ideas. Lost in suburban adolescence, he was drawn to the Smiths, to Morrissey's melancholic lyrics, his eccentric persona. He wanted to be a pop star; he would be a pop star. He had no doubt.

Anderson moved to London in the late 1980s, living in a small flat in Notting Hill. He studied architecture at the London School of Economics, but only while he got a band together. Here he met Justine Frischmann and, with old school friend Mat Osman, formed Suede in the early Nineties as an antidote to grunge and anodyne pop.

Anderson borrowed Bowie's Seventies glamour and a little of his Anthony Newley-style vocals. He looked to the Walker Brothers's extravagant, string-laden productions and appropriated Mick Jagger's sexual flamboyance for his stage show. Yet Suede were totally original, unlike anything else at the time. Dressed in secondhand suits and with casually held cigarettes as a prop, Anderson wanted to write pop songs with an edge; sleazy, druggy, urban vignettes which would sit uncomfortably in the saccharine-tinged charts.

Like his lyrics, Anderson was brash, cocky, confident. He talked of being 'a bisexual man who's never had a homosexual experience', realising it was an interesting quote, even if he knew he would probably always lose his heart to the prettiest of girls.

When I first met him, in the spring of 1993, Suede were enjoying their second year of press hysteria, of being endlessly hailed as the best new band in Britain. Fiddling with his Bryan Ferry fringe, Anderson asserted: 'I am a ridiculous fan of Suede. I do sit at home and listen to us. I do enjoy our music.'

He talked about performing 'Metal Mickey', the band's second single, on Top of the Pops. 'When I was growing up, Top of the Pops was the greatest thing, after tea on a Thursday night... brilliant! You get a ridiculous sense of history doing it. It was a milestone in my life; it somehow validated my life, which is pathetic really.'

By rights, Suede should have been not only the best band in Britain but also the biggest. Yet it did not happen that way. During the recording of the second album, the brilliant Dog Man Star, guitarist Bernard Butler walked out. It was as though Johnny Marr had left the Smiths before completing Meat Is Murder. The band could have given up, but they did not; they went on to make Coming Up, which went straight to the top of the album charts. Then, three years ago, disaster struck during the recording of Suede's fourth album, Head Music. Anderson was in trouble: the pale adolescent who had swigged Special Brew in desolate car parks was now a pop star addicted to crack.

Brett Anderson sits in a battered leather Sixties chair in the living-room of his four- storey west London home sipping a mug of black coffee. He has lived here for three or four years, moving into the street just as Peter Mandelson was moving out. The living-room is immaculate: books, CDs and records are neatly stacked on shelves, probably in alphabetical order.

Anderson's 6ft frame is as angular as ever but more toned than before, the detail of his muscles showing through a tight black T-shirt. Gone is the jumble-sale chic of the early Nineties; he now pops into Harvey Nichols.

He appears to have lost none of his self-assurance but, a decade on from his bold entrance into the world of pop, Anderson has mellowed, grown-up. By his own admission, he is still highly strung and admits he is probably as skinny as a 17-year-old at almost 35 because of nervous energy. But he no longer refuses to listen to new bands in case they are better than Suede; he praises the Streets, the Vines and the Flaming Lips.

This healthy, relaxed person who enjoys the odd mug of strong black coffee is a recent incarnation. At some point in the late Nineties, Anderson lost himself. He became part of one his songs and ended up a drug addict.

He talks about his new regime: swimming, eating well, hardly touching alcohol. No drugs. Did he give everything up at once? 'It was kind of gradual... giving up drugs is a strange thing, because you can't just do it straight away. You stop for a bit then it bleeds into your life again. It takes great willpower to stop suddenly.'

He sighs and looks into the distance. 'I got sick of it really. I felt as though I'd outgrown it. It wasn't something I kept wanting to put myself through and I was turning into an absolute tit. Incapable of having a relationship, incapable of going out and behaving like a normal human being. Constantly paranoid...'

The drug odyssey started with cocaine, but soon it was not enough. 'Cocaine is child's play. After a while, it didn't give me enough of a buzz, so I got into crack. I was a crack addict for ages, I was a smack addict for ages...'

Another deep sigh. 'It's part of my past, really. I'm not far enough away to be talking about it. It's only recently I've been able to say the word "crack".'

When Head Music was being recorded, he says he wasn't really there. He would turn up but his mind was not focused. The album went to number one but it was not up to Suede's standards; as Anderson acknowledges, it was 'flashy, bombastic; an extreme version of the band'.

He laughs, happier to talk about the good times. 'Last year, when I decided not to destroy myself any more, I kind of disappeared off to the countryside with a huge amount of books, a guitar and a typewriter... and wondered what the outcome would be.'

He spent six months alone. It was a revelation to discover that he could spend time by himself. 'I think a lot of people are shit scared of being on their own. Me too. From the age of 14 to 30, I jumped from bed to bed in fear of being alone. Being in the cottage in the middle in Surrey, I learned that if one day everything fucks up, I could actually go and live on my own. It's a total option.'

For a long time, Anderson had avoided reading books, worried that his lyric writing would be affected by other people's use of language. Last year, he decided it was time to fill his head with some new information. Although he had been told for years that his imagery was reminiscent of J.G. Ballard, he read the author for the first time in the cottage - and was flattered. He read Ian McEwan's back catalogue and challenging books such as Michel Houellebecq's Atomised.

Despite his self-imposed exile, it still took Anderson a long time to perfect Suede's fifth album, the self-consciously celebratory A New Morning. The band tried to make an 'electronic folk' album by working with producer Tony Hoffer, who had impressed with his work on Beck's Midnight Vultures. However, unable to make an understated album, they eventually called in their old friend Stephen Street, the Smiths producer.

Yet more trouble was ahead. Anderson says Suede have faced many 'big dramas' over the past decade - Frischmann left the band early on to form Elastica and soon after ended her relationship with Anderson, moving in with Britpop's golden boy, Damon Albarn; Bernard Butler walked out with little warning; the drugs took control - but still the band were not prepared for keyboard player Neil Codling's exit. He was forced to leave in the middle of recording A New Morning suffering from chronic fatigue syndrome.

Anderson says he was furious when Codling left.'He couldn't help it, I know, but I did feel aggrieved. I felt let down. But more at the universe than at Neil. I tend not to show how I feel about these things in public. It's like when Bernard first left, I was devastated. I felt as though that original line-up was really special. And we will never know what might have been.'

At times, Anderson sounds as though he has had an epiphany in the past year. He smiles. 'Well, you only need to listen to A New Morning to realise that. The title is very much a metaphor. It's a very optimistic record; the first single is called "Positivity", for God's sake. It's a talismanic song for the album. It's a good pop single, but we've haven't gone for a Disney kitsch, happy, clappy, neon thing.'

He looks serious for a moment. 'For me, the album is about the sense that you can only experience real happiness if you've experienced real sadness.'

Has he had therapy? His whole body shakes with a strange, high-pitched laughter. 'No! No! But I am happier now. I feel more comfortable with myself. I feel as though I'm due some happiness. I've just started going out with someone I really like. I've made an album which is intimate and warm. I don't any more have the need to be talked about constantly, that adolescent need for constant pampering...'

A swig of the lukewarm coffee and a wry smile. 'And, best of all, I don't feel like a troubled, paranoid tit any more.'

A New Morning is released on 30 September

[bangchanshehe]

Andromeda pt. 8

You were no one, a goody-two-shoes who always played by the rules. When you decided to change yourself and live a little more dangerously you got caught up in Taemin’s trap. He had no use for you and no desire to have you. You were a toy and a time killer. But, he just so happened to have a lot of time and you happened to be his new favorite play thing.

word count: 3.65k

You rushed out of the office and ran straight to your room. You stood with your back against your closed door and you held your chest as you tried to get a handle on your heart rate. Your heart felt like it was ready to beat out of your chest and you smiled to yourself and slowly lifted your hand to feel your lips. The same lips that were just pressed against Taemin. You couldn’t believe that, that had just actually happened. And to top it off you couldn’t believe that you actually had half a thought to go back to his office and finish what he’d started. But you wiped the thought away from your mind thinking that if he kicked you out for your own safety then you knew better then to do anything rash.

You steadied your breathing and gathered yourself before you went back out to face the rest of the world. You pulled back the door and were ready to step out when Taemin’s figure blocked the door way, making you freeze in place. You stood in your place and looked up to him anxious.

“Here” he said quietly handing you a credit card and keys.

You looked up at him softly, and smiled. It was nice to have someone offer to pay for your necessities and hand over the keys to their luxury car.

“Thank you!” you spoke up and he smiled down at you “you don’t have to though, I’ve got enough money and I can get an uber”

Taemin growled at the sound of the possibility “I’d rather go with you than let you get in another man’s car” he confessed quietly unaware that you could hear what he was saying.

“Then come with me?!” you said shyly

It was Taemin’s turn to freeze now as he looked away from you as if he was calculating something in his mind. He slowly started to smile and then he looked back down at you sheepishly.

“If we go together then people are going to see you and me as a couple.” Slowly his smile started to fade “are you ready for that?” he asked

You nervously laughed at his childishness and shook your head. “Aren’t we dating though?”

The smile on Taemin’s face was almost instantaneously happy again and he smiled at you as if you had just told him the best news in the world. “No, you’re my mate…so technically were not dating” he answered quickly

“So then what am i supposed to introduce you as to people?” you were genuinely curious and struggled to find the answer.

His mouth parted as if he was ready to blurt out whatever answer he had for you, but a moment’s hesitation cut him off. He scanned your face as if he was trying to recognize how you would feel at the sound of what he was about to tell you. You squinted your eyes at him now nervous for whatever he had to say.

“Well…” he started and stopped to clear his throat “I think the most appropriate way to introduce me would be as your husband.”

You slightly choked and looked at him like he was absolutely crazy “my husband?!” you asked dumbfounded “we haven’t even gone on a single date!”

“But we’re soulmates, so I think that naturally were at that stage and we’re past all of the boring dating stuff!” he replied partially pouty

You took a moment to really process what he’d told you and you knew that he was right. The two of you weren’t in a normal relationship were everything had to be taken slowly. You two were already one hundred percent in this because of your fate with each other. And if you were being completely honest the more time that you spent with Taemin and the more you got to know him the thought of spending the rest of your life with him didn’t make you sick to your stomach anymore. In fact you hadn’t felt this excited or right with anyone. Not even Minho!

“Okay… then if you’re my husband then shouldn’t I have a ring?” you asked him to see how far he would take it

“Do you want a ring?” he asked you seriously but you could see his lips curving into a smile

“Well, I mean yeah if I get married then I want to have a wedding ring!” you explained

He shook his head and showed a smile “Give me a minute and then we can go together”

You hummed and watched as he quickly disappeared right before your eyes. You waited and not even seconds later he was standing in front of you once again. He held a small ring box and kept it close to his face as he admired what was inside of it. You watched as his features changed from awe to love and finally to nervousness. He picked up your arm and took the ring out of the box and slowly slid it down on your finger.

Your jaw dropped as you finally laid your eyes on the ring. It wasn’t big but it wasn’t small either. It was silver with three diamonds in the middle. The center diamond was slightly larger than the rest of the immaculately cut jewels. It was in great shape but you could tell just by looking at it that its style was vintage. Rings like these weren’t made anymore. This ring had a story and belonged to someone special. You looked over its every feature carefully and then smiled up at Taemin.

“Do you like it?” he asked you softly

“Do I li-“ you scoffed “It’s so beautiful!” you whispered and you couldn’t help but love the way the ring looked placed on your hand. Your whole life you had imagined what your ring would look like, but this was perfect.

“It was my mother’s” Taemin confessed cutting off your thought process.

Your eyes widened and you felt sorry for Taemin. He had lived a long and painful life watching everyone that he ever knew and loved die as his remained the same. You couldn’t even begin to understand the heartache of that happening. And then it dawned on you that as you and he continued you eventually would be turned too. Meaning you would have to go through the same horrors that he did.

“I’m sorry” you muttered

He raised his hand and ran it over the top of your head “come on, let’s go get you some food I bet you’re hungry!”

The two of you were quiet the entire duration of the car ride, but nothing was awkward. Instead it was comfortable and you used the time to really look at Taemin and notice how attractive he is. It was like now that you suddenly had shared an actual intimate moment with each other you saw him as a completely different person. He no longer seemed edgy and mysterious, but soft and caring. His features used to mean nothing to you in comparison to Minho but now that you could see him he seemed like the most handsome man in the world.

When the two of you arrived to the store you hopped out and couldn’t help but notice the nostalgic and unsure look on Taemin’s face.

“When was the last time that you went to a grocery store?” you asked him with a wide smile

Taemin scoffed and bumped his shoulder into yours playfully. “About 70 years ago” he confessed with a smile

You pretended to be shocked and showed him your best overly surprised face, and in return he ruffled your hair with his hands wearing a wicked grin.

You entered the store and grabbed a cart and instantaneously Taemin started to freeze up. You were slightly concerned that Taemin agreed to come with you and risked himself being around so many people. You looked at his face and he didn’t seem wild or out of control and he didn’t seemed to be in pain. He just seemed uncomfortable doing such a human activity. You pulled to cart close to you and navigated it with one hand while you held onto Taemin’s hand with the other. Taemin’s shock for your skinship surprised him and whatever was wracking his brain was long gone.

You shopped around and one by one checked off everything on your list making your cart fill up quickly. Taemin scanned what all was in your cart and picked through some of your things with a smirk on his face.

“I forgot that humans require so much stuff.” He said nonchalantly

“I’m getting supplies so I can clean the house, you guys don’t have any and I’m slightly concerned with when it was last cleaned” you said curtly as you looked for the last isle you needed to visit.

Taemin just nodded his head in understanding and followed you around. You turned own the isle that you were looking for and headed straight for the ramen section. You neared the shelves and tensed as you came closer and closer to college boys who were standing as if they were debating what pack to buy and you stopped your cart. As quickly as possibly you stepped close and reached for your favorite brand that happened to be sitting on the top shelf. You didn’t look at the boys but knew that they were watching you as your shirt started to ride up and expose your stomach. You returned to the cart hearing the boys whispering about you behind your back and took the risk of looking up to see how Taemin was handling it.

You were expecting for him to be in full on psycho mate mode, but instead you were face to face with a man who looked like he was completely filled with lust for you. You had swallowed not knowing how to handle such an obvious look from him and licked your lips nervously. Taemin stood there and watched you squirm with pleasure knowing that you knew how he felt. He allowed for you to struggle until he finally pulled you into his chest by the collar of your shirt and placed a kiss on your lips. You pulled back from him shocked that he would kiss you like that in such a public place and shyly stepped away from him covering your mouth and your blush.

Taemin didn’t say anything but smirked at you and took your hand once more as he pushed the cart towards the front cashiers. You trailed behind his tall frame like a love-sick puppy with wide yes and a slight smile spread across your lips.

He unloaded the cart for you once you were ready to check out and paid while you watched him in amazement. You felt like a real married couple still in your honeymoon phase. You looked down at your ring and smiled to yourself imagining that it was real. If married life or even just a simple relationship with Taemin would be like this, him constantly caring and looking out for you, then you could live happily. It felt good to be the one being taken care of instead of hustling and bustling for once.  

“will you hand me that?” Taemin asked as he pointed towards your tampon box that you tried to hide as much as possible out of embarrassment.

You nodded your head and reached into the cart cursing yourself for trying to sneak home tampons like a child instead of just coming out to get them when you needed them.

“here” you said handing him the box

He took the box from your hand and as he was grabbing the box from you his fingers skimmed over yours. By now you were used to how cool his skin was but you were startled when a current ran through you by his chilly touch. You gasped and looked up into his eyes and he was smiling at you.

“there’s no need to be shy” he said in a whisper making you feel like you were completely safe and felt like you had nothing to worry about “in fact it’s something that we need to talk about”

You were curious as to why the two of you needed to talk about your menstrual cycle and you cocked your head at him. He chuckled and continued to check out while you were baffled and left hanging in the midst of your curiosity. You had never had to have the period talk with anyone other than your mother and your friends in grade school, let alone with a guy. You began to run the conversation over in your head when it dawned on you…. he had to discuss it because it would bother him! all of the blood would be disgusting and gross to him! It was like a lightbulb went off in your head and your suspicions went away. All you had to do was advocate for your good hygiene and cleanliness.

The checker was done scanning all of your items and your eyes widened when you saw how quickly the total cost of your grocery trip was. You pulled out your card and were ready to swipe away a chunk of your paycheck when Taemin quickly pulled out his own and swiped his instead. You were shocked that he would do something for you that was so…expensive and you couldn’t find the words to ask him why and thank him. instead he ignored you and signed his signature on the key pad as if he hadn’t just dropped such a tight wad of cash.

“thank you” you whispered to him

He finally turned his head to look at you and he gave you a handsome soft smile. One that seemed entirely genuine and completely innocent. As if he didn’t feel obligated to pay for your things but he truly wanted to do this for you and take care of you. You smiled back at him softly and as the bagger put all of the groceries back in your cart Taemin reached for your hand and brought it up to his lips so he could put a delicate kiss on your ring finger just below your new ring. You smiled shyly at his sweet display of affection and tucked your chin trying your best to hide your blush.

Taemin finished paying for your things and quickly put his wallet back in his pocket and pushed the cart away from the store. You followed behind him and began to think about what you would make when you got home. You smiled as you laughed in your mind thinking that you’d never have to watch out for another calorie or carb again since Taemin was stuck with you forever and decided to make pasta and garlic bread for dinner.

“What are you thinking about that has you smiling like that?” Taemin asked with a smile on his face too.

“dinner” you answered honestly

“ahhh, and here I thought you were gonna say it was me who you were thinking about!” Taemin said sarcastically as if he were offended

“Well you’ve got a part of my thoughts too” you answered softly

“Oh? Care to elaborate?” He said with a cheeky grin

You sighed and rolled your eyes “I was thinking that since you’re stuck with me forever I could get really really fat and never have to worry about dieting again”

Taemin just chuckled at you and popped the trunk to the car and handed you the keys “here go wait in the car while I put these in the trunk”

You gladly took the keys from him and took your seat since you got a free pass from putting groceries in the car, your least favorite part of the whole grocery shopping experience. It was only about ten seconds that Taemin took before he sat next to you. You looked at him confused as to why he was already done when there were so many groceries and all of a sudden you remembered. Vampire strength. Right.  The car purred to life and your speed racer was on the highway and sending the two of you back home.

The ten minute car ride had you on the edge of your seat and you silently prayed that your eggs wouldn’t have broken. Taemin whipped into the parking garage and once he was parked he turned to look at you.

“What do you want for dinner?” he asked

“Are you going to cook for me?” you asked slightly impressed

Taemin laughed and cleared his throat to become more serious “no, I’m not a very good cook but I can get all of your ingredients out for you”

“oh, then I’m having pasta” you answered

Taemin nodded his head once and in the blink of an eye he was gone. One second he was by your side and the next you could hear the trunk closing and the front door opening. Your head whipped around trying your best to follow him with your eyes but he was impossibly fast. You tried your best to shake off your amazement and walked inside of the house. You quietly trailed behind his path into the kitchen and you gasped when you found all of the groceries put away with pasta out and water on the stove heating up to a boil. Taemin was standing in the kitchen and leaning up against the counter tops and watched you with a knowing smile. You smiled back at him and then began to pull out the rest of the ingredients that you would need for your bread and your pasta sauce.

You quietly cut up vegetables and bread and prepared the rest of your food in time for the water to boil and the pasta ready to cook.  All in under ten minutes you had a plate in front of you with food that you could cry for. It felt like forever since you had had a meal and you sat down at the dining room table with a glowing smile and began to shovel the food in your mouth. You put your fork down once you were done with your meal and after a minute of rest took the empty plate and washed it in the sink.

You sighed once you were done in the kitchen and finally checked your phone for the first time today. Surprise, surprise no messages or notifications the world went on without you. But when your eyes finally caught the time your eyes went wide. No wonder you were tired with it being nearly 9 o’clock. By the time you took a shower and got ready for bed it would be already past your usual bed time. You stood up quickly and went to find Taemin wherever he was. You entered the kitchen but he was nowhere to be found. You immediately turned for the direction of his office as you began to call his name. In no time he found you instead of you having to search for him any longer.

“Hey I just wanted to thank you for the groceries and helping me with dinner. And I also wanted to let you know that I’m going to my room for the night”

“It was my pleasure” he said shyly

You smiled and waved goodbye and started to walk towards your bedroom. But instead of Taemin zooming past you he walked you all the way to your door and you felt awkward about his obvious presence right behind you. You walked slowly and Taemin just kindly walked behind you like a gentleman. When you got to your door you turned to face him once more and smiled before you turned the knob to your door. When you turned to walk inside you froze in your place and gasped.

You no longer had a room to yourself. Now you had two pairs of slippers in your room a second night stand with Taemin’s books and his phone. You walked towards the closet and found his shoes and clothes neatly pushed to one side separating his from your belongings. You couldn’t believe that he had actually done all of this in the time that you ate. You walked into the bathroom and low and behold a toothbrush and his hair products were on the opposite side of the sink of yours.

“Taemin…. What?...why?” you couldn’t ask a single question because you had too many of them running through your head.

“I know things seem like they are moving quickly, and they are. But, for me being with you is set in stone and there’s nothing else that I would rather do. So I figured that us living in the same room with each other would be the next best step before I claim you” he answered your questions

“oh okay” you said not really sure about what was going on but figured that it made sense

You didn’t really have any bad vibes from taemin moving in the same room with you but you knew it would be just slightly less freedom for you and a little less restraint from you and him making the final decision to finally claim you. So far Taemin had good abilities to step away from you when he knew that things were getting too dangerous, but you completely lacked that voice in the back of your head to give you a red flag. What would happen if you took things past the point of no return? What if you didn’t stop and Taemin didn’t stop you either? You didn’t know if you were confident enough in yourself that you wouldn’t be a vampire’s official mate in a few days or tomorrow or even tonight.

NEXT PART

[hollygopossumlovesj2]

Come Back Down, Part 18

(Picture found from Google search. I take no credit for this pic.)

Word Count: 4,218

Warnings: Cussing and illness; I’m gonna call this a solid~Teen and up audience. The next chapter will move more quickly than this one but there are clues in this one for the next one. So... yeah.

Summary: Jensen and Y/N travel to Texas to spend the holiday with the Ackles. The parent’s are blissfully unaware of the trouble following Y/N.

A/N: Hey guys, I’m not dead like you probably thought I was. I’m just another anxious opossum that likes to write when I can. I’m not sure any of you would still like to read this but I kind of have to finish it for myself. Anyhow, I hope there’s still someone out there that wants to read this crap.

Come Back Down Master List

Hollygopossum’s Master List

Come Back Down Part 18

 After I had driven down from Vancouver to pick up Y/N, it had been a fairly quiet trip. I had borrowed Jared’s transport plane to avoid possible large crowds of people rushing home for the holidays for the rest of the trip. It was honestly the best for both of us. What, with her habit of telling people exactly what she thought and avoiding being flooded for pictures and signatures, it was a good plan. Not that I minded that she didn’t hesitate to speak her mind or the fans attention most of the time, it’s just that I was in a hurry to get home.

 The trip was perfect, except for the bit of indigestion the coffee I’d consumed earlier had created. I’d just taken to cramming down chalky tums every five minutes. If I alternated that with some Ativan and the occasional Pepto, who could blame me around the holidays?

 I couldn’t believe that it was nearly Thanksgiving already. It had actually aligned with the time frame of our visit if I added a few days onto the end of our trip. It had been a no brainer to stay and it sent Mom over the moon.

 The rental car had been ready as promised when we landed at the airport, a little inconspicuous black Lexus because I didn’t like to attract attention. I just wanted to get to my parent’s house and have a traditional, laidback holiday with them. Plus, I was excited about spending it with Y/N for the first time since we… well, you know.

 Yes, everything had been going fine up until that point, until I crouched down to slide into the low seat of the rental car. (By low, I mean how do people not get road rash on their ass driving these pretentious fucking roller skates?!) There was a blinding, sharp pain that caught me completely off guard and made me drop harder into the seat than I’d intended.

 The impact pushed an involuntary grunt out of my lungs as I dropped heavily into the seat. Undoubtedly, I had earned her full focus and concern that I’d been trying to avoid. However, I didn’t get to see her face because I was doubled over so hard that my forehead was on the steering wheel. I felt the weight of her hand sliding smooth circles intended to comfort even though she could have no idea what was wrong.

 “Jensen? Can I do something for you? Do I need to-.” I must’ve looked like a wreck as I felt the flop sweat beading up at my temples and the top of my lips. In an effort to keep her from panicking, I wiped the inner part of the sleeve covering my forearm as inconspicuously as possible. Despite my covert efforts, she sounded like she was on her way to being well and truly panicked. And that was just unacceptable.

 “M’okay. Jus’ a stomach cramp. I think I pulled a muscle in the last stunt I did.” It was a lie, but I knew she was already stressed about leaving her home and her animals. I had asked a few of the local PD to keep an eye on the place, and Mike was solidly keeping things under control. However, if you had a stalker, there’s no way you wouldn’t be stressed out, too.

 Besides, selfishly, I couldn’t afford any setbacks and I wouldn’t let something as trivial as a stomach ache get in the way of my plans.

 Unfortunately, the truth was, I’ve been feeling a little nauseated on and off for the better part of the week. I just didn’t take it seriously because my anxiety kicked up bouts of nausea all the time. Now, this pain was new and I grit my teeth together as it resonated for a couple of minutes before backing off to a dull ache.

 There was such a big contrast between having the sharp pain cramping my stomach and the red, hot poker stabbing into my side that seemed to change with every passing moment.

 I sat up slowly, taking even breaths and making a conscious effort to unlock my jaw before I put the car into reverse to back out without even turning to look at her. “Sorry. I’m fine. Must’ve just twisted funny.”

 I could feel her eyes watching me carefully, taking in all of the situation before she responded with an entirely unconvinced, “Okay.”

 ^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^

 “Well, honey, would you look at this? Our son is home for the first time this year!” Despite the sarcastic jab, Mom beamed at us when we walked through the door before I found myself in her rib crushing embrace. By now the pain had mostly eased off to only when I moved a certain way.

 The house smelled of cinnamon candles just like I knew it would, a sharp feeling of nostalgia making my eyes wet. My mom loved Christmas and kept some decorations up year round. Candles that were red and green in color could be found scattered artfully around the house, and mostly on the mantle in the living room. It wasn’t anything tacky like multicolored string lights and candy canes, but the nativity stayed on display right next to the fire place.

 I’d often wondered if it was entirely appropriate to put Mary and Baby Jesus next to an open fire. Or it could be that I’d spent way too much time on the show. Maybe I was the only one in the family that continually associated fire with hell and demons.

 “And you, don’t you hang back behind him like some blushing maid. We all know better, sweetie.” Y/N’s mock offense was funny before she too was wrapped in mom’s embrace.

 Even though I know Y/N had never asked her to, Mom had always taken it upon herself to watch out for her after her parents had died. Y/N’s mom had been her best friend so the sentiment wasn’t unfounded. She always got an invitation for every family gathering, even third cousin christenings. Most Christmas mornings, I would find her down on the couch in her pajamas practically wrapped around a fresh cup of coffee. She was always here, except for the years with that assbag boyfriend that had kept her away from us.

 “And he made you carry your own bags? Jensen Ross Ackles, I know I taught you better!” She grabbed the bags that Y/N had insisted on hobbling inside herself and gave me a stern look with her hands on her hips. I immediately felt like I was 5 years old again. “I swear.”

 “But, momma, she…” I felt obligated to voice the truth, but she wasn’t hearing any of it and I got distracted by Y/N’s gleeful laugh at my misfortunes.

 “Best you just do as your told son.” My father patted my shoulder before brushing past to hug Y/N and I wondered who the favorite child really was. I couldn’t help being a little pouty, even though I’d never ever voice it. I hadn’t seen them in months and yet here they were showering her with attention.

 “Oh, baby, you pull that bottom lip back in.” Mom grabbed my lip and tugged like she’d done a million times when I was growing up. “No one likes a pouter. Why don’t you take your things and get settled in. Dinner’ll be ready in about an hour. Your daddy is making bbq ribs.”

 I trudged up the stairs with all four bags while Y/N hobbled up the steps one at a time. She was still having trouble with that leg and recently she’d stopped wearing her brace at all. I often wondered if something else was going on but hadn’t the balls to ask just yet.

 I dropped the bags on my bed and surveyed the room. My old double sized bed sat in the middle of what could only be described as a shrine. All of my sports trophies were scattered on shelves with certificates of achievement and a few mementos from my younger years. There were some framed pictures sprinkled in that I recognized too.

 “Hey,” she leaned into my side, taking in the room right along with me for the first time since my parents had moved. “Sorry I got you in trouble.”

 I looked down to see her sheepish expression, flush still present on her cheeks and felt all the tension leave in one breath. I wrapped my arm over her shoulders to pull her closer and kissed the top of her head. “Don’t worry about it. They just haven’t seen you in a while.”

 “Yeah, I guess.”

 “I don’t think I can sleep in here.”

 “What, that awkward 90s poster getting to you? Because, I gotta be honest, I probably won’t be able to either because I won’t be able to stop mentally making fun of you.”

 “Hey, it was my first poster! I was excited!”

 “Those frosted tips, wow. You looked like a Zack from Saved by the Bell wanna be.”

 “Hey,” I pointed a finger at her, “You can’t talk shit about Zack, he was the epitome of cool back then.”

 “Uh huh. Whatever you say, darlin.” I looked down and could see the teasing smile on her face and relaxed again.

 “You’re terrible.”

 She turned in my arms and stood on the tips of her toes to kiss my lips. “Yes and you love me.” As she rested back onto her heels she winced. I couldn’t resist pulling her closer to me by her hips.

 “You gonna tell me what’s going on with you?”

 “Nothing’s going on with me. I’m fine.” She smiled again and I knew it was a lie because her eyes were trained on my old Dallas Cowboys bedspread. “Hey, do you think your parents would mind if I showered the plane germs off?”

 “Yes, they have a strict non-cleanliness policy. You can only shower once a week.” I deadpanned and loved her answering eye brow lift. “Of course they won’t mind. Go ahead. Knowing mom, she’s already got fresh towels and those little guest soaps on the counter.”

 “Awesome.” She reluctantly let go of me and grabbed a bag before disappearing down the hall. I waited for the telltale click of the bathroom door before I sat down on my bed with a heavy sigh.

 She hadn’t even given me the first hard time after the disagreement in her barn. She hadn’t even wasted any time before she asked Mike to stay and look after things. For that, I was grateful, because it made the arrangements that I had to make easier when I didn’t feel like I was dragging her along for the ride.

 I was extremely happy to have her here, surrounded by people I trusted implicitly. She was always happy to see my parents. I knew nothing bad would happen to her while we were here.

 ^*^*^*^*^*^*^

 Before I knew it, we had finished dinner, of which I had eaten carefully because my stomach still hadn’t calmed down since the incident when I got into the rental. If I sat mostly still, the nausea and dull ache were tolerable.

 “It’s good to have Y/N back here.” My father commented quietly from his seat at the old oak heirloom dining room table. We were having a cup of coffee while Mom and Y/N washed dishes and put away left overs. The next time when my Mom cooked, it would be Dad’s responsibility, but tonight Dad had grilled out for everyone. I’d always admired my parents balanced relationship. It wasn’t always that way in Texas.

 “Yeah, it really is.” I had to admit that I was enjoying having her back here with me. I’d always enjoyed the way my family and Y/N had interacted in the past, and this visit was no different. Mom and Dad knew things were different between us, but had yet to comment or treat her differently.

 For instance, at the dinner table, my Mom had taken to filling up Y/N’s plate with food rather than letting her dish out her own because she knew that Y/N wouldn’t eat much if she didn’t. It was a throw back to when her parents had died and my parents had done everything they could think of to help.

 The cleanup was always a point of contention between my mother and Y/N. Mom would insist she have a seat and that she would handle it. It was usually said in an intimidating enough tone that even I would’ve backed down immediately. But not Y/N.

 There was a scandalized, “Donna!” heard from Y/N over the hum of the dishwasher and the sink running, followed by loud giggles.

 “Well, that sounds suspicious.” My father remarked, throwing an analyzing gaze in their direction.

 I held in a laugh as my stomach felt too tight, but smiled. “Yes it does.”

 “Maybe we should check on how things are going…” I knew he wasn’t concerned; it was more like he didn’t want to miss out on the fun. I stood up as normally as I could manage, but it seemed that my father’s parental scrutiny picked up that there was a problem immediately. “You okay, son?”

 “Yeah. I’m just cramped and sore from traveling in that little toy Jared calls a plane.” I put my acting skills to use and smiled like everything was fine. He too scrutinized me with the same care that Y/N had done in the car.

 He’d eventually nodded, “Okay, well let’s go and stop whatever fool thing they’ll want to get us involved in. Remember the time your Mom and Y/N wrangled us into wine tasting a few Thanksgivings ago?”

 “How could I forget? Mom and Y/N got borderline smashed and disappeared.”

 “Yeah, they were feeding the palate cleansing crackers to the ducks at the pond.” He was shaking his head fondly, “And it wasn’t borderline anything, they were smashed. They kept getting samples of the Rosé from different staff.”

 I gave him an exaggerated look of worry, “We better get in there. I’m not carrying either one of their butts back to the car this year.”

 ^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^

 That night, with Y/N sleeping peacefully snuggled up on my shoulder, a stabbing pain jerked me from a deep sleep. This time, it didn’t let up and I felt lightening sharp pain spark in my stomach and saliva flooded my mouth as I tried to orientate myself.

 Oh, parents house.

 I was going to throw up.

 I tried to be as quiet and careful as possible as I slid out of the bed and made an unsteady beeline for the hall bathroom. It was down to the second when I slammed down on my knees and involuntarily lost my dad’s ribs in his incredible, family heirloom, special BBQ sauce. I was just thankful that I hadn’t bit it in the hall way and puked all over myself like a 5-year-old.

 I heaved until nothing was left, and then dry heaved some more. By the time I was done, I was light headed and covered in sweat with a fine shakiness set up in my bones. My stomach felt like it was flipped inside out and my throat was raw. I rested my aching head on the cold toilet lid after I flushed, trying to catch my breath and for the room to stop spinning. I waited for the pain in my gut to stop pounding like a damn beacon.

 God, the cold toilet seat felt good. I seriously considered just camping out. I mean, if the toilet was nice and cold, it stood to reason that the floor that was beckoning me would also be. It was so incredibly tempting because I had just barfed up my entire stomach contents and I felt exhausted. But, that would signal that something was wrong and there was no need to panic over a stomach bug or food poisoning.

 It was possible the grilled chicken sandwich I’d snuck from set had gone bad. (To be fair, we didn’t really have to sneak anything from set. The crew loved us to the point of getting away with murder.) It only took a few hours for food poisoning to kick in. I’d have to call Jared to check on him since he’d eaten the same kind of sandwich. What else could it be?

 I took a moment to brush my teeth and collect myself before I crept back into the room. I then swapped out my boxers and left my t shirt off. By then, the sweat was cooling on my skin that caused goosebumps to pop up. The slight shiver I’d developed didn’t make my stomach feel any better, but even then it was better than being overly hot like before.

 She was undisturbed and peaceful, and I was loathing to disrupt her. She had enough on her plate that didn’t involve me being sick. So, I laid there counting her eye lashes until I finally fell asleep.

 ^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^

 The next morning, I woke up before Y/N and took a quick shower, hoping to look better than I felt. The nausea was still there, but I hadn’t thrown up since last night. No, what was really concerning was the pale faced guy with rosy cheeks that had stared back from the mirror. That, and the pain in my abdomen that had kicked it up a notch.

 “Hey.” She greeted me with a smile when I entered the bedroom to hand her a cup of coffee, defiled just the way she liked it.

 “Hey, sweetheart, did you sleep okay?” I held my most disarming smile long enough for her to take the coffee so that I could curl up next to her and rest my forehead against her neck.

 “Yeah, I did. Did you?”

 Nothing sounded like she was suspicious and there was no reason to make her worry. “I did.”

 It was quiet for a moment while she sipped at her coffee and hummed in approval. I tucked in closer, throwing my leg over hers and wrapping an arm carefully around her waist. It felt fucking fantastic snuggled up next to her. For the first time I questioned coming home. If we’d stayed in Wyoming it would’ve been easy to convince her to stay in bed for most of the day. Without a confirmed illness my parents would drag us out to be social.

 She had downed at least half of the warm, aromatic brew before she hummed a bit more emphatically. “Mmmm, your parents make the best coffee. Do you think I can weasel the brand out of them?”

 “Dad grows and roasts his own coffee beans, but I bet you could talk him out of a bag. Maybe one could make its way into your stocking. You’ll have to talk to Santa about that one.” The pain and tightness was fading a little and I found I could finally take a deep breath as she laughed.

 “So, what’s on the agenda today, love?” She slid her arm over my shoulder to rub my back in slow, calming movements. “You’re awfully warm… are you okay?”

 “Love, huh? I like it.” I let the warmth the pet name brought me settle in my chest before I attempted to move like a bomb would go off in my belly if I didn’t go a certain way. I shifted to sit on the edge of the bed, struggling and hoping she couldn’t tell. “I’m fine, just did a few errands for Mom. You know how she can be.”

 “Yeah, I guess.”

 She was definitely suspicious, but I wasn’t gonna give her a chance to examine her theories in any sort of detail. “I’m gonna head downstairs to see if they need anything else. I’ll see you when you get that cute ass out of bed.”

 I was up and out of there before she could say a word, but I nearly ruined the perfect getaway by losing my balance. Luckily the wall had been there to catch my clumsy ass and I just bruised my elbow. Who does that, I mean, really?

 When I found my mother, she was wiping down the counters. She was obsessed with keeping the kitchen spotless. I’d been able to distract her long enough to ask if there was anything I could do to help.

 So, that’s how I ended up pulling ten boxes of Christmas crap out of the attic and a couple more from the garage. It was ridiculous how much my mother loved Christmas. It is an all year type of celebration. She leaves as much out as Mackenzie would allow before becoming personally offended. I believe her favorite phrase when she was 16, was to the effect of us being a bunch of rednecks. To which Mom replied, “Maybe I am a redneck and proud of it! Now get your behind over here and help your brother string the popcorn and cranberries.” Oh, man had she been grumpy and unpleasant to work with.

  My childhood was always filled with fantastic, traditional Christmases, and they really hadn’t stopped when I became an adult. She always had a way of making everything about Christmas magical right down to the personalized stockings on the mantle, to notes in said stockings that told us her hopes for our lives and how proud she was of us.

 Once I was done hauling some of the boxes in, I had worked myself back into sweating profusely and the abdomen below my belly button was starting to feel like a hot poker was stabbing me over and over in rhythmic pulses.

 Then, it was my mother’s turn to fawn and question my health. ‘Are you feeling okay?’

 “M’fine.” I grumbled as I grabbed a lemon-lime Gatorade from the fridge before I attempted to stand up straight like the proud Texan I am. All it did was make her give me that look. The look that said I better spill or she’ll have my precious nuts in a vice.

 “I’ve known you best your whole life, son. Since you were in the womb of my belly,” I had to cringe here because, gross. “I know when something’s wrong Jensen Ross. You had better fess up or I’ll…”

 Apparently not feeling well made me a tad bit suicidal, “You’ll what, show her my old, embarrassing pictures? Nice try, but she’s seen them all!” I couldn’t help smiling in triumph.

 “That may be true, but I am still your mother and I have my ways.” Her hands were reaching out to touch my forehead and if she made contact the charade would be over instantly.

 I backed a step away, “Everything is fine, momma.”

 We were in the stare down of my life and she was pulling out the tearful eyes and deeply concerned face only reserved for manipulation.

 Surprisingly, she was the one to cave first, “what are you doing with Y/N? You were just filing for divorce a month ago. Don’t you think this might be moving fast?”

 This. This I could answer with all the honesty I had left. “Momma, we’ve been moving towards this since her parents died that Summer. I think I… Mom, she’s my favorite person. She always knows what to do when I fall apart. She’s been filling in the holes to my marriage for years.”

 “Are you telling me you-?!” I could tell she had taken that whole statement the wrong way, but it was better to keep her distracted from the obvious. I wanted for Y/N, Mom and Dad to have the best holiday. A visit to the ER for a stomach virus? That was just stupid and I didn’t want to be viewed as a pathogenic mess on the holidays.

 “No, I’m talking the best friend part that Danneel was supposed to be. The part that puts me first and that I put her first. The part that doesn’t run away when I get a bad cold or have a metaphorical bump in the road. She’s the one I should’ve seen before. And, before you go jumping on that, I thought I loved her, Mom. I, fuck… I didn’t plan on getting a divorce and you know the last person I would’ve wanted to disappoint would be you. We never cheated, Mom.” Ugh, the fever I didn’t realize I had was making my eyes water like a pushed button.

 “Oh, honey, I didn’t mean to make you upset.” The thought of my mother actually believing that I might’ve cheated was seared in my brain and left me caught off guard. So, when she leaned in for a hug, I didn’t resist and the impact of a firm hug from my mother cued up the best acting I’d done. Ever.

 I held in the grunt of pain created by just the small bit of pressure applied to my abdomen. With my face tucked against her neck, she couldn’t see me go red in the face.

 “You are a little warm, baby. Keep an eye on that, okay?” She patted my back in what would normally be a comfort but sent shock waves through my entire body. Like my nerves were too sensitive and on freakin fire.

 “I will, Mom.”

Tagging Forever’s: (I know I haven’t written in a while. So, if you would like for me to take you off the list just let me know.) @perpetualabsurdity, @maileann, @daydreamingintheimpala, @gecko9596, @gemini75eeyore, @jotink78, @dancingalone21, @winchesterprincessbride, @sandlee44, @exploratiionist, @arryn-nyx, @littledarlinhavefaithinme, @tiffanycaruso, @boredoutofmymindstuff, @feelmyroarrrr, @raeganr99, @ruprecht0420, @anokhi07, @letsgetyourdeanon, @sis-tafics, @jensen-gal, @theoneandonlysaucymo, @27bmm, @callmesatansprincess, @hbenth, @atc74, @ryansgirl5509, @mysteriouslyme82, @notnaturalanahi, @keepcalmandcarryondean, @sea040561, @just-another-busy-fangirl, @spn67-sister, @uniquewerewolfsuit, @ria132love, @mrswhozeewhatsis, @pretty-fortune, @butiaintgonnaloveem, @justanotherdeangirl, @weasleywinchester, @easelweasel, @akshi8278, @tas898, @mandymoiselle1970, @pansexualmeteorite, @wheresthekillswitch

Tagging CBD Only: @melissaj616, @katrena7, @deansdirtyduchess, @anticipate1003, @jellersquad, @jalove-wecallhimdean, @shamelesslydean

[randomnoteforfuturereference]

It’s the Little Things: III

ForFutureReference

Words: 1525

Summary:  It’s common knowledge that Dex has a multitude of skills tucked away. That doesn’t mean there aren’t times when he brings out a skill that catches Nursey off-guard. Especially when Dex helps Nursey with said skill.

Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | …

Author’s Note: Now on AO3 you prefer. Another round of thanks for my beta @kleeklutch!

“DON’T COME IN!”

When someone screams that statement upon your entry into a room, and that scream is coupled with a view of their hunched back turned to you, initial instincts tend to kick into full gear with an appropriate immediate response.

Well with Dex being that someone, my Pavlovian response manifests in a… strong shout as I clap my hand over my eyes, reverse course back up the stairs, and punctuate my retreat with the slamming of the door.

As I lean against the opposite wall and take a breather, my heart rate slows and vision clears enough to open my thoughts for contemplation. By contemplation, I mean a reevaluation of Dex’s… habits. In all honesty, I’m not sure which  is more surprising: that it took this long for me to come across him polishing his lobster, that he’s actually doing it in the first place… or that he was outside his bungalow to do it. I mean, it’s not my place to assume… but one can’t help but wonder.

“Nurse?” comes out a sheepish call. A moment later, the door opens a smidge, and a red-faced Dex pokes his head out. “You there?”

Despite him looking right at me, I answer, “Nope?”

He doesn’t call me out on my sarcasm, but simply opens the door in full to state, “You can come in now.”

Despite all rationality screaming at me to forget laundry, go back to my room, and allow the awkward to diffuse to an appropriate level, I take a couple steadying breaths and follow Dex into the depths.

“Yo, Poindexter, we have socks for a reason,” I lecture upon reaching the bottom of the stairs. “Next time you want some alone time, please—“

Words die on my tongue and my steps falter as my eyes fall on where Dex had been.

Sitting there is small wooden bookcase.

When I look back at him, he just glances off to the side and mutters, “You have too many damn books for the provided shelf. Thought something should be done before there’s another accident or some shit.” Despite his words, he fails to incorporate the usual edge to them.

As I approach the bookcase, and despite knowing what the answer will be, I ask, “Where’d you buy it?”

Dex’s response doesn’t disappoint: “I didn’t.”

Just to be sure… “Where’d you borrow it?”

He shuffles on the spot and fiddles with with his pockets. “I didn’t.”

Damn…

It’s common knowledge in the Haus that Dex can work with wood, and not in a euphemistic sort of way. The little sanctuaries that he made is testament to that. Not to mention the seamless installing of a replacement banister segment within a week of the… incident. On that note, Chowder’s damage control — involving a lot of puppy eyes at Bitty coupled with some pointing at my injured arm — ensured that the fixing costs were covered and the incident wasn’t immortalized as a tweet.

Still, I thought that skillset was just relegated to keeping the Haus functional. Like when he also fixed the frame to Chowder’s window.

The sight before me is a testament to a couple facts. And not just that the wood he was handling minutes prior is still not a euphemism.

“So where did you do this?” I ask. I’m not sure how long it takes to make furniture, but there’s no way he could have done this within the hour I was gone, and there’s no way he could have everything here without alerting someone.  

“Samwell’s shop class,” Dex states with a shrug. “It’s free for students to use, so it’s a waste not to take advantage of it. Once I got the sections done, I brought them here to assemble.”

Okay, so the putting-together part was done here, which I am pretty impressed about… and is not a reflection of past experiences with IKEA. But I digress.

In any case, Dex’s comment that the pieces were done in a shop class confirms to me that the thing doesn’t consist of a cheap prefabricated kit. Speaking of which…

“Where'd you get the wood?” I punctuate my question by rapping my knuckles on the mirrored finish. Yeah, there’s no way in hell this is plywood or any other cheap substitute — I may not be versed in the trades, but I also didn’t grow up surrounded by the finer things in life without picking up the ability to recognize quality when I see it — and I’m trying to wrap my mind around the idea of penny-pinching Poindexter splurging on what’s clearly high-end hardwood for a bookcase.

A bookcase that’s for me.

I’m saved from dwelling on any possible implications by Dex’s answer: “Uncle had to cut down an old maple. When he went down to New York couple weekends ago, made sense to ask if he had pieces to spare.” Another shrug as if requesting some material to make furniture for someone is no biggie. “So… what do you think?”

Upon closer inspection, the main thing that’s obvious is that there are no screws. Instead the whole thing is held together with trapezoidal joints like a three-dimensional jigsaw. All joints are so secure that they don’t budge at all when I rock the bookcase a bit. An exhale of clear relief from Dex hints that he expected my test, and it keeps me from feeling guilty for doing that in front of him.

As I run my fingers along the joints and wonder how Dex fit it all together so seamlessly, I come across the carvings.

They are easy to miss at first glance, and the bird’s eye patterning of the wood itself serves as an effective masking. At just the right angle though, the light makes the shallow designs pop out. All across the surface, lines crisscross and wind around to form elaborate imagery. Interwoven knots repeating on the front of the shelves and border. Angular mazes forming a perimeter for the side panels, with the middle of the panels occupied by divers stylized beasts.

Despite all these designs, one element sticks out over the rest:

Leaves.

Leaves drifting off a twisting tree to swirl in a clockwise spiral around a sun on the right side panel. Leaves drifting off a seaweed frond to swirl in a counterclockwise spiral around a moon on the left side panel. Leaves attached to the knotwork like the entire front has been overtaken by a vine. Leaves even carved into the back paneling despite the fact that they’ll be obscured by any books.

Despite the fact that Dex still views a lot of Samwell’s artists, sans Lardo, with hefty suspicion — okay, even I’ll admit that their stuff can get pretty fucking weird — this piece demonstrates that he’s capable of more than a little artistic creativity. That little tidbit is something I could mull over. However, I choose to mull over something else as I close my eyes and feel the texture of the delicate grooves:

He really did make this for me.

How long did he work on these alone? Part of me wonders if he actually finished the structural part a while ago and made the designs someplace else. I have a feeling his artistry isn’t something he likes showing off, and I don’t know what to make of the fact that it’s me whom he’s showing it to.

In the end, what do I think?

“I think it’s beautiful.”

Which is the truth. It’s also the simplest answer that allows me to bypass the ever-tangled bramble that constitutes the subject of William Poindexter.

I can barely hear Dex’s murmured response as I stand back up, but what I catch sounds like something along the lines of, “I’m glad you think so.”

“I also think that I’ve never been more glad to have my initial instincts proven wrong.”

For fuck’s sake, Nurse. I immediately regret what I say, my regret is codified as Dex’s expression goes from a scrunched-up confused scowl to eyes widening in realization, and I steel myself for the coming storm.

Instead of the expected angry tirade or demand that I depart back for the surface world, I get laughter.

As the laughs continue, my regret is replaced by mild irritation. “Chill, Poindexter.” Despite that irritation however, the corners of my mouth twitch. Dex has a nice laugh.

“I…” he wheezes while doubled over, “I can’t believe you thought I was fucking jacking it!”

“Yo, you weren’t standing where I was!” I bark while throwing up my hands. “Not my fault it looks like you have a literal furniture fetish.”

In the wake of my pronouncement, the laughter dies and silence is ready to blanket the room.

That is… if not for the fact that a voice, neither mine nor Dex’s, cuts in: “Uh…” Shit.

Both Dex and I whip our heads upwards to behold Chowder frozen at the top of the stairs. “I’m… just… gonna come back for my laundry… later,” he mutters before holding up a double thumbs-up, slowly backing out, pivoting on his heels, and hurrying away.

As we look back at each other, Dex finally finishes playing the role of a fish gasping for air and regains his voice in true Dex style: “What.”

Fortunately, I have an eloquent reply of my own:

“What?”

Continue onto Part IV

[spellbindingbeefcake]

Required Reading ~ Otis & Wally

Wally goes to the library to look for some reading material. He finds Otis and they discuss what they know and don’t know.

Wally tapped the bell of the front desk and looked around. He had really missed New Rome's library. It was filled with books from every genre, from every school of thought and practice. It made sense that it had the largest collection of magic texts he'd yet to come by. Circe spoke so proudly of her few dozen spellbooks, but they were nothing compared to the mass of knowledge that the Roman library had. When he saw the librarian come up to meet him, Wally smiled. "Hi! I was wondering if you could help me find a book?'

Otis was stacking books in the "Music and Arts" section of the library when he heard the front desk bell ring. He paused what he was doing and walked down a row of shelves. When he turned down the aisle he was surprised to see who was standing there. "Hey Wally! What book are you looking for?"

Wally tapped his hands flat on the counter. "How ya doing? It's Otis, right?" The man had almost forgotten the guy he met during the festival. "I need some spell books. I wanted to find a book on like, rituals and doing altars." He remembered after a moment that Otis was knew to camp. "But if you don't know it's okay. I know you're still finding your way around camp and all."

"Yes sir, Otis I am." He laughed and motioned for Wally to follow him. "I may be new to camp, but I know my way around these books." Otis lead the other boy down a few isles and toward a shelf full of old books, some of which had very worn bindings. "If you don't mind me asking, what exactly are you looking for these books for."

"Glad I remembered. Would'a been embarrassing to forget. Did you have a good time at the festival, dude?" Wally went around the counter and started to follow behind. "Do you like your job? I never thought about working at a library." He looked around the shelves and pointed to a few of the Halloween decorations that had been set up. "Halloween. I was planning on doing a small spell for the holiday, and the next full moon."

"I've been working at libraries since I was young, I love it." Otis said, before pulling out a book and tucking it between his arms. "I know a few spell books in here for Halloween. Back in New Orleans there was a lot of lore about these books being connected to voodoo magic," he said, pulling out a second book from another spot, "but obviously for most people it really is just a legend to get people into the Halloween spirit. How long have you been spell casting? I've tried but could never get the hang of it. As a son of Nemesis, I pretty much got cursed with not having any special abilities or affinities."

Wally nodded his head and pointed at Otis. "That's where your from; I should'a guessed. Your accent is super thick. That's not a surprise, there's a lot of magical energy down there in Louisiana." He kept looking around, not really paying attention to what books Otis was taking out from the shelves. "Since I was young, a bit before I came to Camp Half-Blood. Around when I was ten, so around twelve years." He smirked and shrugged at Otis. "Eh, magic is a little tricky. I know there are some demigods who aren't my siblings that can do, but others never can. But Nemesis, her kids don't really have any physical powers, do they?"

Otis looked at Wally as he searched around the shelves, realizing he hadn't paid the least attention to set of tomes he'd pulled. "Apparently the famous Marie Laveau had an affinity for magic, but I don't share that gift. I do like to think I have a superb sense of right and wrong, but I'd attribute that to just having morals in general. Mind showing me what you can do?"

Wally nodded quickly. "Oh I remember that! When I was at Camp Half-Blood and learning about people - famous people who were actually real witches and wizards, she was one of them, along with Marilyn Monroe. But Marilyn was more into beautification magic." He smirked, tipping his head to the side while Otis talked. "Morals or not, I bet you'd make a great judge." He looked at Otis and folded his arms. "What do you wanna see? I'm rather very good at transformation magic. Would you be interested in a fine pair of cat ears?"

"A pair of cat ears? I'm sure I could wear them well. A judge though?" Otis laughed at the thought. "I'm sure I'd serve my mother proud, though I can't say that would please me. The Goddess of Retribution likes to put her morals on hold the moment someone wrongs her..."

Wally chuckled and eyed Otis for a moment. "Yeah? Most people get so angry at me when I do something to them, they look ready to burst." He started to look again at some of the books. "She's a goddess, and like all our godly parents they think they're above some laws that even they try to govern. But hey, that's the life we live in. You're still learning about all that." He took a look at one of the books in Otis' hand. "This looks interesting."

Otis handed the book to Wally. "It's supposedly a spell book for reanimating deceased animals. Basically zombie pets, it's one of my favorite legends. I've never seen it work though, so I question it's validity. It also has a spell for summoning a loup garou, though it doesn't let you control the bloodthirsty beast yourself so you run the risk of getting mauled to death." Otis grinned while he said it, enjoying the opportunity to teach another person about all the myths he grew up with. "There's a lot of blood magic in it, which is typical of Cajun culture. Magic always has it's penalties."

Wally laughed and turned the book around, looking at the back and then he started to flip through the pages. "This is pretty cool. I've never tried resurrection, but bringing back your old pets seems really creepy - which is good, considering the season! But if New Rome has it here, it must have some validity to it." Wally frowned and scrunched his eyebrows together. "Loup Garou? That's the uh," he scratched his head. "Mexican monster?" Wally huffed and nodded. "Believe me, I know that."

"The loup garou is a werewolf legend from New Orleans." Otis said. "The rougarou hunts down Catholics who break Lent, and if a Catholic breaks lent seven years in a row, they then become a rougarou themselves. Or you tell your kids they'll be eaten by the loup garou if they don't stop being brats. By the way, what are you doing for Halloween? You said you wanted a spell to coincide with the season, but what do you have planned?"

"Aww, the lycans. That's cool, very festive for the Catholics. It must be just an urban legend though, right? I didn't think Catholics believed in werewolves." Wally took the book from Otis, the one on animal resurrection and tucked it under his arm. He wouldn't use the spells in it, but they could give him some extra knowledge. "I was actually planning on going as Captain America. I don't know if I mentioned it when we met but I've been pretty much out of commission for the past few months, missed some pretty cool stuff. I missed them revealing the poster for Infinity Wars. I missed Spider-Man: Homecoming. Sadly I didn't miss Justice League."

"You're going where? Trick or Treating? Not be rude, but aren't you a bit old?" Otis said, chuckling. "I haven't paid much attention to superhero movies. The idea in them that one person is the good guy just because they're able-bodied, attractive white men doesn't sit well with me." Otis noticed Wally had placed a few books under his arm. "You ready to go check out?"

Wally laughed and shook his head. "You don't need to trick or treat if you dress up. It's in the spirit of Halloween - and Samhain, which I'll also be celebrating." The blonde took another book off the shelves that seemed interesting. He smiled at the man's comment and wondered what an appropriate response would be. "I mean, they have black people in those movies too. Falcon is one of the coolest. I think you should rewatch these films." He nodded. "Yup, all ready."

Otis lead Wally to the register and started scanning his books. "I haven't dressed up for Halloween in years." He thought back to the last time he actually celebrated Halloween. He dressed up in a homemade rougarou costume and won the costume competition at his stepfathers Halloween party. "Well, if you want company, I don't have any plans this year. Let me know, you know where to find me!" He said, waving his hand around the building.

Wally scoffed and gave Otis this look of disappointment. "That should change. Halloween is a wonderful day. I won't get into the details now, but you should really try and get into the spirit. You still got a little more than a week." He smiled at Otis and nodded. "Maybe I'll take you up on that offer. But this is the twenty-first century, so I'll just give you my number, okay?" Wally cupped his hands together and squeezed, purple light shining through the crevices of his fingers. When he reopened them, a little scroll was in his palm. He dropped it in front of Otis and then took his books. "I'll have the returned on time, if any of the animals I summon back from the dead don't eat them first."

Otis grabbed the scroll in front of him and opened it to find Wally's number. "Just be careful not to get the books damaged by reincarnated animals, if and when you decide to make the necessary sacrifice in the first place to summon them." Otis watched the boy leave the library and went back to work himself.

[dankdesert-blog1]

Unturned Hack

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