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clockworkgraystairs · 4 years

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There is no such thing as vampires #1 || Jurdan AU

Jurdan Smut Week 2020 • DAY 2

The prompt was technically dagger play...it didn’t really worked that way but HEY more smut! (vampire smut cough)

@jurdannet @jurdannetrevels

Rating: E (no I don’t mean ‘everyone’)

Warnings: Explicit content, mentions of blood, some biting (it’s a vampire au c’mon), swear words (just in case)

Summary:

Behind me stands a tall, slender man dressed in black trousers and one of those puffy white shirts men always use in period TV dramas. Raven curls frame the sharp angles of his face and his pale skin resembles marble. I stare at him unsure if my eyes widen because of the scare or how good looking he is. Maybe both.

His lips curve as if he finds my reaction somehow satisfying.

Extra comments: Just because I’m extra af, I’ll leave you the ambience music videos I listened while writing this. In case you’d like to hear them while reading:

Rain in a forest at night - Haunted Mansion/rain/thunder/wind - Narnia Lullaby

Written for: @slightlyrebelliouswriter23 MA’AM AS ALWAYS THANK YOU FOR ALL THE HELP AND SUPPORT, FOR BETAING THIS UNENDING PIECE AND FOR HELPING ME CRAFTING THE IDEA FOR IT! ❤️

Part 1 || Part 2

Masterlist • AO3

“Please tell me again why are we doing this?” I ask for the third time, leaning to rest my head on my sister’s shoulder. We bounce as the uncomfortable van we travel in turns to a cobbled path, leading us deeper into the woods.

“Because,” Vivi hisses back. “Your little brother is currently in his Twilight-obsession phase, and he just broke up with his girlfriend so we’re trying to cheer him up!”

“He’s 9! And they lasted like, what? Four hours?”

In that moment, Oak turns violently from the front seat, scowling at me. “First of all Jude, we were together two full days ok? She was the love of my life and suddenly she’s not sure about us anymore? Now I shall never find love again! I might have to become a priest. I expect a little consideration.”

Vivi ruffles his hair affectionately. “We absolutely understand, your sister here doesn’t have an ounce of romance in her veins but of course she supports the cause.”

That said, he returns to his place. I bite my lip hard, trying not to laugh. Typical Oak. I love my brother I really do, even if half of the time I can’t understand his dramatic outbursts.

Sighing, I stare through the window, to the heavy clouds gathering on top of us. Great. We are probably far away from the highway by now, nothing more than trees, rocks and occasional wild animals around. For some reason, our father had thought that there was no better way of fixing a kid’s broken heart than going on a quest in search of legends and hidden castles.

The thing is that apparently, it works. Instead of an incessant whining about love being doomed, my brother spends the days throwing the most random facts about werewolves, vampires, ghosts and any impossible creature. To be honest, I don’t think wikipedia and the Twilight books are a reliable source, but if it makes Oak happy I could live a couple of days with it. And most importantly if I have to choose between this or spending the week back at home with my mother and twin sister going to tea parties for old ladies, well, the answer is very clear.

I remember reading a few books about myths when I was younger. When I turned fifteen, I developed a hard crush on Brad Pitt after I saw Interview with the Vampire, filling half of the walls in my room with posters of him. Even now ten years later, I actually enjoy talking about old folklore and legends, urban myths and stuff like that.

What bugs me, are the fraudulent morons who want to take advantage of Oak’s naive curiosity to engage us in the most ridiculous tours that were obviously a waste of money. So far, we’d entered three “museums” where most of the so-called relics were made of plastic, and a haunted house with special effects so poorly done, father had discreetly asked for his money back. Only another two of the places we visited were actually interesting, but since the guides spent most of the time flirting with Vivi or me, it had annoyed our father.

Now though, we are driving behind the car of an old couple who swore their ancestors owned a castle where true vampires had lived once. The sole mention of the word “castle” was enough to make Oak hang from our father’s sleeve begging to go.

I’m not going to lie, it is an intriguing idea. But I remain a little worried about how much money Madoc is ready to pay before he hurries his little son back to his fantasy books and videogames.

“Dad, did you know that vampires like to live in the woods because it allows them to make racing competitions without being interrupted?” Oak asks with enthusiasm.

Madoc gasps. “Do they? Is it because they’re so fast?”

Okay, he might be willing to pay more than I thought. Next to me, Vivi muffles a laugh and keeps taking pictures for her instagram, occasionally asking for my help.

Upon arriving at the castle I have to suppress a curse. This, now, is a real castle. Nothing like the pitiful buildings we’d visited before. It is huge, made of pure stone and a modest wooden bridge that connects the entrance with the spot where the cars park. A slight fog covers the sides of the castle giving it a creepier look.

A shiver goes down my back. I turn to find my family who are all equally gaping at the place in front of them. Oak is visibly shaking with excitement. Vivi shoots me an astonished look before taking my brother’s hand and following the couple across the bridge.

The first thought that pops into my mind is that this place must have been taken out from a movie. Or set up for one. Maybe this is one of those pranks for TV. There is no other explanation for the massive room we find behind the giant front gate. Every inch of the walls is covered by paintings, several images barely recognizable through the dust. Aged furniture rests under dust and spiderwebs, pointing out they haven’t been used in quite some time. The illumination doesn’t help either. Electric lights hang from a few spots on the walls, though not enough for the big space, which I suspect is the reason that long candles are lit up too.

My next thought is that I should’ve brought my sweater. The damn place is freezing.

“Phew, sorry about the dust!” The old man says, flashing an embarrassed smile to us. “We were not planning to have any visitors yet.”

“You said this is going to be a museum?” Madoc asks, carefully surveying the walls. Next to him, Vivi tightens her hold on my brother’s hand to prevent him from starting to run around. I swear his eyes are about to pop out of their sockets.

“It will indeed! This place has been in our family for generations, but since it’s hard to adapt it to modern technology it was abandoned.” He turns to Oak and winks. “Not to mention the creepy things that happen here all the time.”

His gaze widens. “What kind of things?”

“Well, some distant relatives used to try spending their vacations here. But after a couple of days they left in a big rush, claiming some strange force had commanded them to go away.” With a lower voice, he adds. “They also mentioned noises coming out from empty rooms and dark hallways. Steps. Shadows that followed them along the place.”

For a second everyone remains silent. The only noise I can hear is the wind outside and the start of a slight rain. Somehow my hands are even colder.

“The legend says,” The woman, whose name is Marrow if I remember it correctly, continues while taking one chandelier with her hand. “This was the hideout of ancient vampires, how many, we don’t know. But they didn’t appreciate people trying to live within their domains.”

“So why come here at all?” Vivi asks. “Isn’t it dangerous?”

“It might be.” She shrugs. “But that’s half of the fun, isn’t it?”

“We like to think we’ve found a safe way to open this castle to the public without taking any risks. We will use a part of it as a museum, to show some of the family relics. But be aware, no one is allowed to go further than the marked area.” He signals at the yellow tape stuck on the floor forming arrows.

“If you please...” Marrow says, motioning at the stairs where the markings start.

They get me for a moment, not gonna lie. The surroundings and the way they speak are creepy enough to make me doubt my beliefs for a second. I shake my head to clear those thoughts away and walk behind my family. There’s no such thing as vampires or haunted castles.

We go through passages. Madoc has to remind Oak to not touch anything, constantly. From what I see, he’s living his best day. Several counters line up side by side against the wall. Some of them contain jewelry, others weapons, old writing pens among other things. Most of them carry a family shield, although it’s too blurry to properly identify what it says.

The rain thickens outside and Marrow keeps talking. She tells the story of her so called ancestors, whose family were big enough to fill all the rooms in the castle. Elwen, Eldred… something like that, and his many wives had once lived here. Along with his abounding children. I see in Oak’s face the intention to ask about how that family arrangement worked but Vivi gives him a slight pull of his hair.

I would have thought our guides would try to keep a proud name for their so-called ancestors. But they don’t. In fact, she seems particularly interested in explaining how Eldred’s cruel and terrible nature brought him nothing but disgrace. His once prosperous castle and assets were gone little by little. He claimed he was under the effects of a curse, but no one dared believing him. At least not until people started disappearing.

I stop listening at some point, focusing my attention on the relics in front of me. I’ve always felt a significant attraction to weapons, but not the ordinary ones like guns or rifles. These ones though, such beautiful daggers and swords. I’d give a kidney just to hold one of them.

On the next shelf books pile one next to the other, the dust around them a clear sign of how long they’ve been unbothered. All except for one. The navy blue cover has almost no dust at all, yet it looks like it would fall apart with a gentle blow of wind. The title is partially gone, probably through time.

I turn my head to my family but they’re gone, probably to another corridor since I can still hear the muffled voice of Marrow and my brother. Would she care at all if I check out that book?

I bite my lip. As long as it doesn’t break it’s probably alright. Standing on the tip of my toes I reach for it.

“That is an excellent book.”

I shriek and whip around, my hand flies to my mouth trying to cover the embarrassing sound. The book falls open next to my feet.

His lips curve as if he finds my reaction somehow satisfying. “My personal favorite. Too bad the author was a poisonous bunch-backed toad.”

My mouth opens to apologize, but I only manage to let out a strangled. “Shit”

The stranger lifts an eyebrow and chuckles.

“Sorry, I- that wasn’t what I meant to say.” I stutter. I feel as if my heart has jumped to my throat. “I wasn’t trying to steal the book.”

“I did not say you were.” He answers, his voice is like velvet.

I nod and take a deep breath. “I came in with my family. Marrow is showing us the place.”

His dark eyes wander down my body, but not like one of those rude men on the streets. No. Something in his gaze feels feral, like an animal sizing up his prey. A strange urge to run pools in my stomach, yet at the same time my muscles seem to have forgotten how to do so.

He looks me in the eyes again and it’s all gone. I let go of the tension in my back and a breath I didn’t know I was holding. When he smiles again, I feel as if I could trust him. Why shouldn’t I?

“And are you enjoying the tour?” He bends to pick up the book I’d dropped before and puts it back on the shelf. His movements are fluid and carefree. I doubt I’ve ever seen such elegance in a simple action. It is unsettling as much as it is attractive. Then I realize I’m supposed to answer.

“Yes, this is amazing actually.” I look around and take in the aged stone of the walls and ceiling. In that corridor there’s only one electric lamp, the rest is only lightened by candles. I can see our shadows dancing along to the flames. “All of this really helps getting in the ‘mood’.”

“The mood?”

I look at him and notice his tilted head. “Yeah you know, the mood of enchanted castles and old legends. This is well put enough that a credulous person would believe any story. Marrow is pretty good at it too.” Motioning a hand to him I add. “They even have their own actor.”

A thunder roars outside. “I beg your pardon?”

I roll my eyes and flash him a smile. “You don’t really have to keep the charade with me. I’m not some schoolgirl.”

“Yet I managed to pull a scream out of you, didn’t I?” The way he says it feels as if he was talking about an entirely different subject. Heat creeps up my cheeks.

“That was… not the same.” I mumble. “I didn’t hear you approaching. That could scare the living hell out of anybody.”

“I have been told I am quite sneaky, I concede you that.” He nods. “Why don’t I give you the rest of the tour? As an apology, of course.”

He’s doing his job, I remind myself, he’s not flirting with you.

“You haven’t even told me your name.” I say. “If we’re roaming around a castle together I should at least know who’s guiding me.”

That sounded an awful lot like flirting. Dammit.

“Cardan, at your service madam.” The tone he uses feels like a caress, he bows his head in a way I’ve only seen in movies. He takes his role seriously. I almost chuckle, but the sound dies in my throat.

“Cardan.” I repeat, just for the pleasure of doing it. “My name is Jude.”

He straightens. “Delighted to meet your acquaintance.” He answers and offers me his arm. “Shall we, Jude?”

I can’t believe how far away my family has gone. Cardan and I walk through a couple of corridors and still there is no trace of them. Did we take that long talking?

He’s an excellent guide, I have to acknowledge that.

While Marrow uses a tone of suspense and mystery, Cardan has this melancholy in his voice that sounds as if he’s talking about a memory. It’s bewitching. He also drops the most ridiculous “facts” about the people on the paintings. I refrain myself from asking if inventing things is allowed for employees, because saying that the girl with the pearl necklace enjoyed to play on the beach while saying she was the Princess of the Sea, certainly sounds like it.

“If you bite your lip one more time, I am going to do it for you.”

My heart skips a bit and I let go of my lower lip. I hadn’t realized I was tugging it. It’s an unconscious habit. I turn to him and I find his gaze different, hungry. It sends a shiver down to a place I know it shouldn’t. He arches an eyebrow as though he notices it.

“Is that a thing vampires like to do?” I say, trying to lighten the mood. The last thing I want him to know is that for the last twenty minutes I’ve been listening to him speak wishing he put a different use to that wicked mouth of his.

His gaze doesn’t change. “It is a thing I would like to do.”

I am pretty sure my expression is giving me up by now. Knowing my traitorous body, I’m probably flushed, my mouth open in awe. Desire coils inside me.

At my lack of answer, he continues. “Why don’t I show you something vampires really like to do?”

He walks back without letting go of my hand. I notice he steps out from the marked section and into a forbidden corridor.

The sensation returns, the one that is telling me to run. The problem is that I don’t know whether to run away, or straight to it. My mind wants both and my body, only one.

“You’re going to the restricted area.” I’m partially surprised by how breathless my voice sounds. “You can’t go in there…”

Cardan pauses and a confused expression crosses his face. A second later, it returns to his charming and teasing smile. “Are you afraid?”

I am.

Yet, I don’t care. I walk into the shadows with him.

As we cross the passage darkened by the lack of chandeliers I tell myself this is a terrible, terrible idea. The way he devours my mouth the moment a door slams shut behind us, convinces me it is the best.

Cardan pushes me against the wall, the cold temperature of the stone goes through my clothes making me gasp. He takes the opportunity and kisses me harder, his tongue explores my mouth with such deliciousness I have to bite back a moan.

My fingers are tangled in his hair pulling him closer to me, if such a thing is even possible. His hands are everything but still. They roam intensely from my breasts, down my sides and finally to my rear, where he grabs me, pressing me against his pelvis. I hear him groan and the sound makes something clench inside me.

Before I can double-think about it, one of my hands lowers to rub his hardness, still hidden behind his trousers. His breath hitches. He pulls back a bit and whispers to my ear. “Needy little human.”

I frown a moment, something about his words not clicking inside my brain but whatever it is I forget it the moment he slides his cold hands under my jersey. I yelp at the sensation, not sure if what flutters down my back is a result of the temperature or the eagerness which he’s holding me with. When he reaches my bra I hesitate for a moment. Cardan pauses too and leans back to stare into my eyes.

“Do you want to stop?” His voice is throaty and charged with desire. Still, he doesn’t make a move, waiting for my answer.

An instinctive part of me knows this is something I shouldn’t be doing. But that’s definitely not any close to me wanting to stop. Without removing my eyes from his I take the hem of my jersey to pull it over my head. The piece of fabric hits the floor, but neither of us pays attention to it. Once again Cardan’s gaze roams me in that predatory way.

I don’t stagger this time.

When my bra falls to the floor too, I take his hand and guide it to my jean’s button. “Do I look like I want to stop?”

Without hesitation he yanks the button open and slides his hand inside to cup the apex of my thighs. The contrast of my warm skin against his coldness makes my hips buck. Cardan buries his other hand in my hair and tilts my head back. I can feel his lips nipping down my jaw and my neck. A moan escapes my lips as he swipes a finger along my heat. He hums in response, the vibrations of it against my neck makes my eyes roll back.

He continues his ministrations until he feels me wet enough to slide a finger inside, he curls and pulls out. Then back inside. My breath comes out in elaborated pants as he quickens his pace. My hands almost finish unbuttoning his shirt when he slides another finger through my folds, his movements turn fast and punishing. Wet sounds taint the silence around us. As pleasure takes full control of my body I cling to him like a life saver, trying to muffle my moans.

“Let go Jude, let go for me.” He breathes next to my ear. My back arches and I sob a curse, writhing down on his hand.

He slows down as I come back from my orgasm, but never stops. Despite the freezing surroundings a drop of sweat runs down my chest. My heart beats as if I just ran a marathon. Cardan’s lazy moves continue, frequently grazing that spot that makes me mewl.

I hear him sigh. “You smell so good.” He claims my mouth one more time and bites me hard enough to make me wince. His tongue caresses my lower lip and a warm throb expands through my veins. He freezes and pulls back, releasing me. I stare at him in confusion, or at least as much as I can manage giving my current state.

He pants a couple of times before looking up at me. There’s a fiercess in his eyes that would’ve been scary under normal situations, right now, it only makes me want him more. He swallows before finally speaking. “If we go further, I won’t be able to stop.” His voice is like sandpaper.

My body seems to work on its own account, as I move to cup his face between my hands. “I already told you.”

“Jude…” He warns me, but I interrupt him joining my lips to his.

“I want this.” I breathe into his mouth. Cardan lets out a defeated groan before pulling my body back against his. Either he’s been holding back or it is until that moment that I realize how strong he actually is. He kisses me like a starved man and I can feel my pulse rise once again.

Soon his shirt joins my other clothing. My fingers trace his chest and torso, marveled at the softness of his skin. I mimic him moments before and kiss his neck. A low sound that almost resembles a growl comes out from his throat. My hands travel lower.

Somehow I manage to free his raging erection from his trousers, closing my hand around him. He hisses and then tilts his hips up to my touch. I start pumping him with unsure movements before gaining confidence to do it harder, tighter. Now it’s his turn to curse. Even though it sounds like something taken out from a Shakespeare novel, it makes my core pulse.

Cardan grips the hem of my jeans strong enough that for a moment I fear he’d rip them away.

“Take these off.” He demands instead.

I’m not sure of how I manage to do it. My mind feels blurred with a mix of sensations. Disoriented, not sure about exactly how my body is doing all of that, and the bliss of knowing I’m enjoying every second of it.

Before the air hits my skin, Cardan lifts me from the ground. My legs circle his waist in a reflexive move. His lips quirk in approval. Then my back is once again pressed against the wall, making me arch in a failed attempt to avoid touching the cold stone. A sound leaves my mouth, though it is not clear if it’s a protest or a moan. I hear him chuckle in my ear and I turn my head, searching his lips.

His kiss is slower but still deep. I feel as if small electric sparks are tickling every single one of my nerves. More, I need more. Cardan holds me in place with his hips, letting his hands wander up and down my legs.

The tip of his shaft is grazing my core over the thin fabric of my remaining piece of clothing, with an aching slowness that is not enough to ease my thirst. More.

I might have said that out loud because Cardan’s hips grind faster against me. It feels so good. And yet, it’s not enough.

I whine his name like a plea.

He continues for a couple of torturing seconds before reaching between my thighs again. There’s no teasing now as he moves my panties aside and immediately sinks his fingers inside me, pumping in and out with a pace that has me gasping in no time. He murmurs something I can’t understand and lines himself up to my entrance.

With soft, deliberate movements he slides through my heat, letting me feel every inch of him until he’s completely filling me. Then he stills. My muscles twitch around him, trying to adjust to the invasion. The exquisiteness of it is making my head swoon.

Cardan grabs my jaw and locks his gaze with mine. I can imagine what he’s looking at. Hooded eyes and flushed skin, though he doesn’t let me think a lot about it as he starts to move. Slow at first, with careful strokes that quickly evolve into long and deep. My mouth falls open at the sensation and my eyes shut.

“I warned you.” I hear him pant. “That there was no coming back.”

A whimper escapes my lips. I’m not even sure I’m actually trying to say something. He doesn’t seem to care either and leans to whisper to my ear. “You are mine now, Jude.”

There is something in the way he says it, his words carrying some compelling implication I can’t fully catch. His lips trail down my neck and I want to answer. To tell him that I am, that after the way he’s taking me, how could it be otherwise?

That’s when I feel a sharp stinging pain on the base of my throat.

I cry out and try to shake it away but whatever it is won’t let me go. Cardan’s words echo at the back of my mind, Needy little human.

As if sensing my thoughts he grabs my thighs and opens them wider, he thrusts into me harder and faster. Everything mixes in sensation. Pain leaves as fast as it came, leaving behind it that throb in my veins I can’t really explain. It is more intense now, what I felt as warm now is scorching. My entire body feels like it’s on fire, I’ve never felt so exhilarated before in my life. I don’t want it to stop.

Cardan sucks on my neck again and I moan his name. Without realizing it, I’m on the brink of another orgasm. I only realize it because he groans when my legs start to shiver around him. I cling to his neck and his hair. If I’m pulling too hard I can’t really know. A familiar swirl comes up from my core to the rest of my body as I spasm around him. It takes me a moment to notice the broken moans and sobs I hear come from my own mouth.

He keeps going a little longer until his fingers tighten over my skin, surely leaving bruises on both thighs. Muffled moans ring against my skin as he comes, thrusting in a couple of times more before stilling. A warm sensation covers the place where we join together. His mouth lets go of my neck. I grunt and shiver.

He puts me down carefully, still holding my waist, which is good considering I don’t know if I’m able to stand by myself. I feel dizzy. Cardan lowers his lips to mine one more time. He’s slow and gentle as though he’s worried. There is a slightly metallic taste in his tongue but I don’t pay attention to it. I trace the fine features of his face with trembling fingers. Little by little my senses start to take in the surroundings, the cold.

The place rumbles with another crack of thunder.

“You have to go back.” Cardan says, barely pulling his lips apart. Go back. I frown, then images of my family crash in my mind. I look around searching for the door, there is something on the floor. I realize soon those are my clothes. Shit. The tour, Oak. How much time have I been gone?

I dress in a hurry, not really caring if I put on my jersey correctly. He does the same but with the calm an elegance he has.

Panic must be written in my face because he grabs my chin and turns me to him. “Hey. Calm down.” He soothes me. Then his tone changes, turns commanding. His eyes are darker too. “Listen to me. You are going to do exactly as I say, do you understand Jude?”

I want to ask why, but for some reason I only nod. Cardan grabs my hand and pulls me out of whatever room we were in. “You must follow this passage until you find a way to turn left. Then continue until you see a painting of a black snake then turn right, you cannot miss it or you will get lost. Walk straight, and you will be back to a safe area.”

“But-” I start. I don’t want to go alone. And I don’t understand why but I don’t want to separate from him either. Which is nonsense, I barely know him and still...

He interrupts me. “I cannot go with you, I have lost so much control already and I don’t think…”

“Cardan, I can’t-”

A growl echoes in his chest and he pulls me closer to him. While his voice is still hypnotizing it sounds threatening now. “You will not tell anybody about what you saw here. Now go if you intend to leave this place alive.”

Then he's gone. I can’t recall if I blinked or turned, because a moment before I could still touch him and now he vanished.

I take a deep breath and start walking. Focus. Go straight, then turn right. Or was it left?

All passages look the same, some spaces don’t even have a painting or anything at all to help me differentiate them. Sometimes I whip around, thinking I heard a familiar chuckle behind me. Distant rain is the only sound that is a constant companion, but even with it I’m able to hear an echo of every step I give. It unsettles me more with every minute that passes. Although I feel more in control of my body than before, my knees falter constantly and a sensation of tiredness slides over my mind.

I find the snake painting just as I’d started to think I would be trapped here forever.

It’s huge, and despite the years that have probably passed the scales still seem to shine. The head is painted in an angle that gives the illusion of the eyes following the person looking at it. It doesn’t help that the candle’s flames also make the snake look as if it’s moving. Stalking. Before noticing, I start hyperventilating. I shut my eyes close and turn away. Something is terribly wrong with me, I need to get out.

Turning right, I start running. I cover my ears fearing that if I don’t, I’ll start hearing the snake’s hiss behind me.

I cross an arch made with the same stone and stop right in my tracks upon realizing somehow I’m back at the room where we first arrived. I blink to adjust my eyes to the change of light, since here’s where all the electric lamps are. The room is empty though.

I’m not sure of what I am supposed to do now. Sit and wait? Go out to the car?

While I’m weighing my options, trying to choose any that doesn’t imply dropping myself on the floor to have a panic attack, I hear murmurs and steps getting closer.

“Jude!” My little brother yells and runs to me. Behind him, Vivi scans me like she’s trying to find something wrong. I straighten my back and put on my best calmed face.

“Where were you?” She demands. “We lost you hours ago! Are you ok? You look pale.”

Always such a mother hen, I sigh. “I’m fine. I fell behind and lost y’all. Then... I guessed it would be better to just… return here.”

I try not to frown at my last words, since I didn’t fully intend to say them. You will not tell anybody about what you saw here.

“Jude knows how to take care of herself.” My father adds. I could hug him, but we’re not exactly the affectionate type. So I just flash him a smile.

Vivi does not look convinced but still stands down. “I guess so. The weather did a mess with your hair though.” A flash of Cardan’s fingers pulling from it to gain access to my neck sends a shiver through my body. Had that really happened just minutes before?

Before I can answer, Marrow calls for us. We turn to find her standing next to a big set of paintings that apparently were covered with a curtain. “You cannot leave without meeting the royal family.”

The canvases are ordered to mimic a family tree. A man with a severe expression rests at the very top. Eldred, I assume. Just by looking at it I feel judged. I can’t imagine what was like to actually live with him. The pictures of his wives look all so different but under them, their sons do have resemblance to one another. A weird sensation tickles my fingers as my gaze continues travelling over the paintings. Finally, I get to the last one. Once more, I cover my mouth to avoid an undesired sound.

Staring back at me I see Cardan.

I don’t care if it’s a painting, there is no way I could not recognize those features. Those lips.

“A big family, I see.” Madoc’s words seem so far away.

Marrow hums in agreement. “The Greenbriars always felt proud of their vast offspring. Such attractive sons and daughters. It’s a shame the curse took most of their lives all those centuries ago.”

“Did he…” I start, without knowing how to continue.

She approaches me to look at the canvas. “Ah, young master Cardan. He was the last one of Eldred’s children.” Then a frown appears on her face. “There was a lot of controversy regarding his death. Some say he died because of the curse, some others say he was the curse. The books all have different versions.”

“That sounds creepy as fuck.” Vivi says.

“Creepy as fuck.” My brother mimics her, the thoughtful expression on his face makes him look ridiculous. We cackle as Vivi shouts Oak he’s not supposed to say bad words.

By the time we get out of the castle the rain has decreased to a drizzle.

Madoc carries Oak on his shoulders, listening to his non-stop squeals of excitement after visiting what he calls ‘a real vampire hideout’. This time, I don’t find the words to contradict him. Vivi is the first one to get to the car, shouting back some nonsense about the Greenbriars needing a protection hex.

The moment I step down from the bridge something shifts in my head and I feel as if I had just woken up.

Perhaps it is me who needs a protection spell after all.

Before closing the car’s door, I turn to the castle one more time. Marrow and her husband wave at us from the front gate.

A dull ache throbs on the base of my neck and my hand flies to the spot. I retrieve it and see blood staining my fingers.

My heart misses a beat when I lift my gaze to the upper windows, where a tall figure with white shirt and dark hair is looking right back.

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Tags: @slightlyrebelliouswriter23 @sweetlyvillainous @poeticbrownmermaid @aesthetics-11 @thesirenwashere @jurdanhell @nightbringer @b00kworm @mysweetvillain @thefolkofthefic @yafandomsdotnet @vanessa172003 @booksandothersecrets

If you wish to be tagged/untagged (or if I forgot to tag you like an utter idot) please let me know!

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baby-witch-eli · 3 years

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Quantifying my Craft

I found this lovely post by @breelandwalker, who I totally recommend checking out, and it inspired me. My cards and horoscopes have been pushing me to reflect on my goals lately so this is exactly what I needed right now! I decided I'd give it a go.

Broad Concepts

I like to follow western traditions; Celtic traditions in particular are near and dear to my heart. This is why I chose to focus my worship in the Celtic Pantheon, and I'm currently working on building a relationship with Brigid. I would consider myself an eclectic, although divination and nature magic are my two main areas of focus. While I like to ask others for advice while I learn, magic is something I prefer to practice on my own. I've only been practicing since late January, interestingly enough I started around Imbolc. So far I've found intentions are the most important aspect of witchcraft and it has helped me greatly to practice intention in all aspects of my life.

Working Space

I began constructing an altar to Brigid yesterday. Frustratingly enough, my mother is going to have me put away all my small little items and decorations tomorrow as we're trying to sell our house. We won't be moving for a few more months though. I'm hoping I'll be able to keep the altar up but I'll look into online altar options if needed. I already keep an online altar to myself on an app called #SelfCare that I would highly recommended.

Right now my altar to Brigid has a white candle in a green holder; a sailor's knot I wore around my wrist until it started to come undone; a silver bell for music and creativity; the first piece of pottery I ever painted; a picture book of the traveling I did around Michigan a few years ago; an empty journal I hope to fill with art and poems dedicated to her; and a beaker (cauldron stand-in) I dedicated by burning a sigil in that holds nineteen white rose petals and a whisker my cat lost. I'm charging a carnelian and working on a piece of fox, the spirit guide she sent me, embroidery to add to the altar. It's positioned on top of an organizer I have on my desk, which is pushed up against a window.

There's a spot under my porch I wanted to use for meditation but I discovered I'm too jumpy and distractible to meditate outdoors. I don't like having my eyes closed when out of the open and I have an exaggerated startle response. Instead, I find it better for me to meditate in the bath. Sitting in water at least ankle deep with the lights off, after everybody else has gone to sleep and when the moon can shine through the window, is the ideal place for me to sit and follow a guided meditation. I find meditations that take me on a journey through my astral space are the most effective.

Ideally, I'd like to be able to have my own space where I can freely spread my altars and workspaces throughout the house. I want to be able to fill it with plants and books and cards and candles. While I'm at home trying to avoid suspicion from my Christian family, I just have to make the most of what I have.

Tools

My first deck is on the #SelfCare app. I call it my "Familiar Deck" as that's the one I'm most connected with. It's brutally honest, which I love. My second favorite deck is the "blue-eyed" deck I use for my Daily Draw. Another brutally honest deck and one I find to be very accurate. When asking Brigid questions, I prefer to use the Yes/No deck. It gives you your answer and is also good at accurately conveying "secondary," not yes/no, messages. You'll notice all of them are online and that's because, once again, I live with my Christian family and must be covert.

I have a quite a few crystals as I, thankfully, was interested in collecting them when I was younger. The tumbled crystals I have are small and few; most of my crystals are raw. I keep forgetting to charge them when there's a full moon out. I'll have to set a reminder or something to that effect. At the very least, I'm happy that I don't have to bother with trying to obtain any without my parents becoming suspicious. One of these days, I'd love to start collecting rings and wear several. It's also silly little dream of mine to get an onyx pendulum someday.

As far as books go, I bought a beautiful journal I've dedicated as my grimoire. It's dark blue with shiny, gold space decals. I would love to collect witchy books but I don't have money and I couldn't get away with it while living at home. I hear there's an excellent discord that stores witchy books and I think it's something I'll look into. For now, my information comes from my internet research. Thankfully, I did debate for several years, so I know how to find sources from accurate cites, but it certainly takes a lot of work to find good information that way.

The Year

I’m interested in learning more about the Wheel of the Year and incorporating it into my practice. Imbolc is especially important to me, as I worship the goddess Brighid. I missed it this year but I hope to celebrate it in the future. I have yet to study the important of dates outside of astrology so I’ll have to make sure I study it more.

History of My Magic

Honestly, I’ve always felt a very strong pull towards magic. I was raised in a very religious family though so I was always afraid that answering the call would condemn me. I grew up reading as many fantasy stories as I could, connecting with any animal I was able to, and spending as much time in the woods or by water as I could. The woods and the water have always felt full of magic to me and inspired me to want to practice witchcraft. Ever since I was little, I’ve had a great fondness and affection for the moon and stars. I’ve also always felt very drawn to Celtic folklore, magic, and Irish culture. I have distant family ties to Ireland and even though it’s a relatively minor aspect of my heritage, it’s always felt the most important to me. Movies like Song of the Sea and Brendan and the Secret of Kells helped tighten my bond with it. I even started learning as much as I could about the Fae after some books I read piqued my interest. I’ve always been the kid who kept a firm belief in magic even after all my friends “outgrew” it.

It took me a long time to finally answer the call to magic. Like I said, I was raised in a religious household. My grandparents even accused me of being a witch when I went through my Harry Potter phase! It actually made me rather pleased. There were a few times I came very close to beginning practicing witchcraft but I shied away for fear of Hell. It wasn’t until I finally was able to distance myself from the church earlier this year that I decided to start practicing magic behind my parents’ back. I’m very glad I did.

Progress

I’ve only been practicing for a few months. I’ve been very busy with college so it’s been pretty lax so far. I’m trying to build some sort of consistency. The end of the semester is a bad time for that, for sure. I’ve really connected with astrology and tarot-reading. Learning about the symbolism of different bugs and animals has also been something I’ve honestly also done, so it’s nice to be able to incorporate that into my practice. Dragonflies have always been signs of good luck for me (or bad omens, as the one time I saw one dead was one my Grammy found in her garage; she showed it to me a month or so before she passed away from cancer).

Recently, I began meditation. I met my spirit animal, a brown-eyed fox, who I ended up learning was sent by the goddess Brighid to guide me. I contacted Brighid about twice and set up an altar for her. The first time I heard her speak to me was when she was telling me I don’t drink enough water (I haven’t met with her since I pulled an all-nighter for college and I’m sure she’s not particularly pleased with that). I’m hoping to get back into my meditative practice soon. I’ve also needed to meditate to ask about a crow or raven that my sister and I kept crossing paths with while going out to lunch together. I’m not sure if it’s a sign of something or if the Morrigan wants to contact me. I’ve also heard the name Cernunnos repeated in my head lately so I’ve wanted to look into him too. I didn’t think I’d have anything to do with deities after my experiences with Christianity but Brighid quickly changed my mind.

Final Notes

I actually started writing this post a week or so ago but life got crazy. I’m in the last few weeks of my Freshman year of college, so it’s hectic. Right now I’m staying at a cabin in the mountains over the weekend, so I’m hoping this will give me the chance I need to wind down and reconnect with Brighid and my higher self. I’m hoping to get a daily routine going for my practice over the next few weeks.

#green witch #baby witch #witch tarot #witch notes #witch life #witch journey

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winryofresembool · 4 years

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Things We Lost in the Fire, ch 23

aka Caleo uni au

Fic summary: Calypso starts studying at a new university, but to her annoyance her new flatmate is a loud mouthed mechanic who also likes to sneak his dog in whenever. But as she learns to know him better, she realizes they might have more in common than what she first thought. Eventually, even the darkest secrets come out…

Chapter summary: Halloween chapter, part 1.

A/N: This is the first part of possibly a long-ish Halloween 'arc' that is to come. I have to warn you that I only have 1 more chapter as a draft version and the said chapter is a mess and has caused me a lot of insecurities so... I'm not entirely sure how long it will take me to work through the issues that chapter has. I still hope I will have something to post next Friday! Please be patient with me, I promise I have every intention to continue and finish this story.

Thanks for all the lovely comments the previous chapter got! You guys are the best :) And keep them coming because that is literally the best reward I can get :)

Words: 3200+

Genre: romance & hurt/comfort

Warnings: none

previous chapter / AO3

...

“Hey Sunshine, you ready?” Leo asked her flatmate one November Friday as he was pulling his winter coat on in the hallway.

“In a minute!” Calypso yelled from her room. “Just… One final touch up!”

Leo checked his watch. “Okay, as long as it’s really a minute! You know Argo II isn’t waiting!”

“You do know that Argo II doesn’t have feelings, right? It’s a car,” his non-understanding flatmate argued.

“You better hope he didn’t hear that!” Leo protested. “He may just not turn on at all if you claim such things.”

“Oh my gods, Leo. Sometimes I wonder if you care about your machines more than people.”

Leo didn’t respond to that. To himself he mumbled. “At least I know how to fix them. And can’t hurt them.”

The flatmates were getting ready to leave for Jason and Piper’s late Halloween party. Most of the members of their friend group had been busy doing their own things on the real Halloween weekend but they had decided that they’d still want to have a small gathering at Jason and Piper’s house on a later date. Percy and Annabeth would be there, as well as Jason’s sister Thalia, her ‘friend’ Reyna, and Jason’s friend and a distant relative Nico. To Calypso Leo had told, that he had only met Nico a couple of times, because apparently Nico was a bit of a lonely soul and he wandered around the country doing who knows what. That fall, though, he had apparently met someone who had managed to keep him rooted to his home, so Leo suspected that there was a possibility that Nico really would show up this time.

Leo snapped out of his thoughts when Calypso’s door was pulled open, revealing the girl in her costume. His mouth opened involuntarily as he took her in. She was wearing a white chiton like dress with golden decorations around the neckline and accessories that matched the theme. Those included a golden headband and a belt, a bracelet made of real flowers, strappy leather sandals and since her own hair was short now, she had gotten a caramel colored wig that she had braided to one side, reminding Leo a lot of the hairstyle Calypso had had when she had moved in. She smiled at Leo shyly. “Well, what do you think?” She asked, lifting the hem of her dress slightly to show it off better.

“You’re… you’re…” Leo felt the words escape him again. With frustration he wondered how one person could do that to him. Leo Valdez never ran out of words.

“Calypso?” she tried to guess what he had wanted to say.

‘What?” He asked with confusion, unable to follow Calypso’s track of thoughts. In his mind he had answered her question ‘prettier than greek goddesses’ but he realized too late that she had meant that she was dressed up like the Calypso from the Greek mythology. “Oh, now I got it. Must have sniffed too much machine oil or something…Anyway, I see you have some self irony, dressing as your name sake.”

“That was kind of the point, Valdez. A girl named Calypso who studies Greek mythology? People comment on my name so often that I decided it’s time to make it clear that yes, I’m aware of that coincidence.”

“Ooh, the great revenge,” Leo chuckled. Suddenly he noticed that Calypso had turned more serious, her hands fiddling with her purse.

“Really, though, what do you think of this? I made this dress and these bracelets myself. And my mum gave me this before we moved here,” she pointed at her headband. “Apparently it’s something that’s been running in our family; my grandma wore it in her wedding picture and so on…”

“Oh… Well… that’s cool,” Leo said, mentally cursing the ‘error’ message on his brain. “You did a good job. I mean… I once saw a painting of Calypso in the Indianapolis Museum of Art and I think you look nothing like her… in a good way!”

“Aww, thank you.” Calypso seemed happily surprised about Leo’s comment, and he swore the expression made her even cuter. He also wondered if he should have a doctor check his heart because it seemed to do funny things in her presence...

“You’re welcome?” he replied stupidly.

“So, where is your costume?” Calypso asked curiously, apparently only now paying attention to the fact that he indeed wasn’t wearing one yet. “I thought you said we’re in a hurry.”

“I can’t drive in mine, it’s difficult to see from under it,” Leo explained, returning to his room to get a huge sports bag where he had packed his creation a bit earlier. He had spent several days making it and he was kind of proud of the final result. Although, seeing Calypso now, for a moment he still wondered if he had made a mistake with his costume choice, but it was too late to change his mind now. “I’ll put it on when we get there.” He gestured towards the bag.

“Okay,” Calypso nodded while changing her shoes into more fall suitable ones. “I’m looking forward to seeing what you have come up with.”

“Good, because it will blow your mind,” Leo claimed.

“I will refrain from forming any opinions before I see it,” Calypso noted, putting her keys into her pocket. “Now, come on, mister Mysterious, I hear Argo II isn’t very patient.”

Leo secretly loved it when Calypso attempted to joke back, and he grinned at her as he held the door open so she could leave first.

“Let’s go then, Sunshine.”

…

The drive to Jason and Piper took about 20 minutes so Leo and Calypso had a lot of time to talk about whatever came to their minds. At first Calypso gave Leo pretty short answers and he got worried that something was wrong between them again, but eventually Leo got her curious about the guests at the party that she hadn’t met yet.

“The Hunters are traveling a lot because of their competitions so I haven’t met Thalia that often. She’s a little bit scary, though. She has this edgy look going on and I’ve heard she is super strong; she’d ninja throw me on the floor before I’d have time to say Festus if given a chance. I’m trying very hard not to give her any reasons to do that.”

“Ouch. She sounds like something else,” Calypso said.

“She is,” Leo confirmed, almost getting chills only thinking about her. “She can be nice if you get to her good side, though.”

“Is it just me or does someone have a crush?” Calypso asked teasingly.

“What? No!” Leo exclaimed, glancing at Calypso’s reaction briefly. “Alright, maybe I used to have but that was when I didn’t know what was the best for me. But that was a long time ago. Besides, she’s totally dating someone even though they won’t admit it.” ‘And I wish I was dating someone else as well’, he thought, but left that unsaid.

“Oh? Will I get to meet that person today?” Calypso asked with curiosity.

“I think you will. From what I know Reyna’s always with Thalia. They claim they are only best friends but Jason has told me that they are keeping a low profile because it’s forbidden inside their team to date their teammates.”

“That sounds like a basis for a tragic love story,” Calypso said while staring out of the window with a dreamy expression. “I don’t even know these people but as a hopeless romantic I hope they will find some solution.”

Leo thought Calypso was very cute when she talked like that “Yeah. I hope.”

“So, do you know this Reyna personally?” she asked then, distracting Leo from his thoughts.

“You could say that,” Leo answered, trying to focus on the road instead of the girl next to him. “The team visits Waystation regularly because Jo and Emmie used to coach them back in the day and as a fellow Spanish speaker Reyna has always paid special attention to me. I swear, sometimes she treats me like I was his little brother…”

“Aww, that’s kind of sweet in my opinion. What is this team you were talking about, though? Did you say Hunters?”

“Oh, yep. The Artemis’ Hunters, named after the Greek goddess Artemis, naturally. It’s an archery group… Hey, is everything alright?”

Leo couldn’t help but notice that Calypso had shifted uncomfortably on her seat and adjusted her seatbelt a bit looser around her shoulder when he had said the name.

“Yeah. Don’t worry. I just… used to know someone who was in the Hunters as well, so I was surprised they have some connections here, that’s all.” Calypso turned her head to stare out of the window, sending Leo signals that he should drop the topic. He decided to push it a little bit further, though.

“You did? But you said ‘was’. Is she not in it anymore?”

“No,” Calypso shook her head, but didn’t elaborate.

“OK.” Leo sighed. A few moments earlier Calypso had been smiling and teasing him about some old crush and now she was acting cold again. Clearly the Hunters were a painful topic for her, but Leo couldn’t figure out why. Had something happened to the person Calypso had known? And why did she have to be so secretive? Leo wanted so badly to be able to help her and understand her, but when she was not opening up, it was very hard to do anything about it.

“Any guesses about what my costume may be?” He decided to change the topic. That seemed to cheer his flatmate up a bit.

Calypso closed her eyes while thinking, a tiny smile forming on her face. “Hmmm, I imagine it’s probably something flashy. But knowing you it could also be your work coveralls and working boots. I know how much you love those, after all.”

“It’s flashy, alright,” Leo said, his grin returning back to his face. “I’ll give you another hint: it’s a character from one of my favorite TV shows or movies.”

“You have a lot of those,” Calypso reminded him. “Ooh, now I know!! You’re Dalek! That’s why you would have a hard time seeing from under the costume.”

“No,” Leo shook his head, “But now that you say that, that would’ve been cool! Why didn’t you give me that idea earlier?”

“Because you already had an awesome idea? Or that’s at least the impression I got,” Calypso reminded him.

“Well, yeah. I still like my current idea. Maybe next time I’ll make a Dalek.” Leo had a goofy smile on his face as he imagined building a Dalek costume from the scratch.

“Sounds like a plan. So, will you reveal to me what you will be this time?” Calypso asked.

“Nah, you’ll see soon. Good things are worth waiting for, right?”

“Yeah, I guess so.” Calypso shrugged. “Although our opinions on what’s good tend to differ a bit based on our previous TV watching experiences.”

“Yeah, but that’s why it’s good we are flatmates. It’s good to broaden your horizons sometimes and learn about different things that other people like,” Leo pointed out.

“Maybe you’re right,” Calypso admitted. “But are you saying you have learned something from me? What could that be?”

“That olives taste bad? That sometimes Venusaur can be more useful than Charizard?”

“Not exactly what I was looking for, but I’ll take that.” Leo turned his head just enough to see a small smirk on Calypso’s face.

“I was just messing with you because I think you secretly like it,” Leo said with a grin. “But really, you have taught me a lot. That we shouldn’t let fears control the direction of our life. That Greek mythology is actually pretty fascinating even if tía Callida made it sound boring as hell, and we should all learn to understand different cultures better. And, you know? There’s no way we can know every single thing about someone else so we just need to learn to trust and give them a benefit of the doubt sometimes. And finally, I shouldn’t underestimate your Mario Kart skills.”

Calypso snorted at the last part. “Sometimes you do surprise me, Repair Boy. That was a good answer.”

“I can feel my reputation as the Bad Boy Supreme getting shattered to pieces. What about me, though? Have I taught you something?” Leo asked. If he was honest to himself, he didn’t want to know because what could he possibly teach to a smart girl like her?

“You taught me that chilis are evil and you should never eat them the way I did,” Calypso replied, and Leo was fully prepared for more teasing. But it never came.

“You have also shown me sometimes persistency can be a very good thing – otherwise we probably wouldn’t be friends now. We also shouldn’t judge a book by the cover – I’m just saying that when I first saw you I was kind of prejudiced… but since learning to know you better I realized I was wrong. And remember that time when Jo and Georgina were visiting us and you came home a bit late? Jo told me some stories about you before you arrived and that made me understand how far hard work can sometimes take us. You’ve come a long way… and while there are always things we can work on and improve, I think it’s important to be proud of the things we have already achieved, even when looking ahead.”

“Wow… those are some really nice things you just said there…” Leo stumbled to find the right words. Especially the last point had hit him hard because he had had a very hard time with his self esteem recently. He still didn’t know if he would be allowed to retake his lab test – and more importantly, if he was even capable of trying. That was just the tip of the iceberg; it definitely wouldn’t be the only time he would have to face his fear during his studies and later on in the work life, and he would eventually have to make the difficult decision whether it was worth going through. He did want to get over his fear, but with her own issues on her mind, he hadn’t wanted to ask her to help until the situation was better.

“Hey,” Calypso squeezed his knee gently and Leo was afraid he’d accidentally brake so fast they’d crash somewhere. Thankfully he managed to contain himself. “I know I nag and tease you sometimes, but I hope you know despite that I actually care about you and respect you for the things you do. I’m… glad you’re my flatmate.”

Leo was very thankful that it was dark in the car because he was positive that he was redder than a chili pepper. After swallowing hard, he managed to croak: “Yeah. Thanks. You’re pretty neat too.” “Pretty neat?” Calypso asked, cocking her eyebrow.

“Argh, sorry, you can’t expect a guy to be able to think straight after you tell them something like that!” Leo exclaimed. “But, uh, I mean, I think the same way. That it’s nice that you’re my flatmate.”

“Glad we have that established.” Calypso smiled at him. Again Leo wondered what it was about that smile that made his heart go crazy. He had had a couple of short term girlfriends before Calypso had moved in and even though he had liked them, there was something different about how Calypso made him feel. But now that Leo thought about it, he realized that for example Khione, his first girlfriend (who had turned out to be quite an ice queen in the end) had had a smile that had never quite reached her eyes and made him wonder what was truly going on in that head of hers. His second girlfriend, Echo, had been a sweet girl but something about her smile had said that she’d rather be free of relationship bonds. Leo thought that he had probably sensed that from pretty early on because it had been a smaller shock for him than his first break up. But Calypso’s smile? It made Leo want to see it over and over again, and instead of wanting something from him, it seemed to give him more energy. It made him feel restless, but in a positive way.

When Leo snapped out of his thoughts, he realized that Calypso was staring at him weirdly, as if he had been in his daze for a while.

“What?” he asked a bit nervously.

“You just completely missed my question,” Calypso stated, frowning a little.

Leo tried to shake his head to clear his mind a bit. “Sorry, I was just… remembering something. But what did you ask?”

“I asked if there’s any news from your professors about your studies. It’s been a while since you’ve said anything about that.”

Leo gulped. “Yeah. Right. Um, at the moment I’m continuing to attend the classes except the lab one. I guess I should ask the lab professor if he would still let me redo the test at some point. But the other problem is, I’m not sure if I can. You know, if I have it in me to get over my stupid fear.”

“It is not a stupid fear, Leo. You have your reasons. But I do believe that you can get over it. And I want to help you. We should start working on it soon, how about tomorrow or some time next week?”

“Tomorrow is fine to me.” Leo started tapping his fingers against the wheel, a sign of him feeling anxious about the topic. “I… really appreciate your help. Is there something I can do in return?”

“You already did!” Calypso said to his surprise.

“Huh? What do you mean?”

“Remember that flower shop you mentioned to me?” Calypso asked. “I guess I’ve been so busy this week that I forgot to mention this but it looks like I’m getting the job! The interview went well and the boss invited me to see how they make their flower arrangements and they even let me do this.” Calypso showed him her flower bracelet that had some small roses and several other flowers the names of which he didn’t know. “She will make her final decision on Monday but I might start working there already next week.”

“That’s awesome news! Congrats!” Leo said, genuinely happy for her.

“Thank you! And sorry I didn’t tell you earlier, it seems we have both been rather busy this week, I feel I’ve barely seen you…”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m glad I was useful for something! But look, that’s Jason and Piper’s place.” He nodded towards the building in front of them.

Leo looked from the corner of his eyes how Calypso would react to seeing the house. From what he knew Calypso hadn’t been there earlier; she and Piper had hung out more at their flat due to the closeness of the university. He wasn’t disappointed when he saw Calypso’s mouth open a bit.

“I know, pretty impressive.” Leo said.

“I have seen big houses before but this looks way nicer than the ones I know…” Calypso noted. Leo wanted to ask more about that but he knew that the friends were waiting so he decided to leave it for later. Once he had parked the car, some strange instinct told him to rest his hand on hers for a moment before he gestured to Calypso to step outside.

“After you.”

#caleo #leo valdez #calypso #heroes of olympus #percy jackson and the olympians #trials of apollo #my fics #caleo uni au

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thepencilnerd · 4 years

Text

– a budding romance | part 1 –

➵ After moving into a new apartment, Min Yoongi stumbles across a flower shop down the street who’s radiant bouquets and even brighter personality catches his eye. What happens when two completely different worlds collide?

➵ pairing: min yoongi x reader

➵ genre: fluff, angst, slow burn, strong friendship/family dynamic, strangers to lovers, barely a soulmate AU

➵ word count: 16.8k

➵ warnings: swearing, very heavy angst, alcohol consumption, discussions of mental health and past emotional trauma—if you are in need of help, please please seek out professional care. there is hope out there and people that are here to help you. you are not your illness and always remember that you are not alone.

➵ a/n: I finally decided to get back to writing since I was on spring break for a short period of time (and because staying home is cool :) this story was inspired by my newly developed passion for houseplants, of which I’ve amassed a collection of over 30 in the past few months and totally don’t have an addiction to... This chapter turned out to be a very filler-heavy introduction to the universe it takes place in; although there’s not much romance in this part, I’m very happy with how the friendship dynamic between our main/secondary characters and their backgrounds turned out, so I please forgive me ^^

I’ve missed you all so freaking much, and I cannot thank you enough for showering Melophile with so much love throughout the past year. Thank you for being patient with me during my hiatus, and I hope you and all of your loved ones are staying safe, healthy, and happy ❤️enjoy, and please stay tuned for part two ❤️

“Where do you want the shelf?” the mover asked while holding one end of the wooden bookcase.

The sleep looked up from his seat by the kitchen island and “Right by the window,” Yoongi directed, guiding him to the west-facing window that opened up to his balcony. “Thanks.”

Tipping each of the movers, he thanked them once and bid them goodbye, shutting the door. The whoosh of the door closing left him alone in his new apartment with nothing but hastily arranged furniture, the quiet murmur of traffic outside, and of course, his thoughts; he was finally moved in.

Yoongi had thought about moving out for years now, but never brought up the topic until Seokjin, Taehyung, and Jungkook were traveling out of the country more. By the time university had started, he and the guys had all agreed to move into a duplex a few minutes away from campus for time, money, and friendship’s sake. It was only a matter of time before the three boys were scouted off the street by the head of a modeling agency. Might he add that it was a late Friday night, post-finals season of senior year, and all the boys were more than inebriated, so how the man decided that giving contracts to three loud, wild, and utterly wasted uni students was astounding. Either way, the three stooges dropped out to pursue a career in modeling faster than you could say ‘show in Europe.’

After graduation, Namjoon brought up the idea of moving into a smaller building, to which Jimin and Hoseok disapproved of with arms crossed and pouty faces. Taehyung and Jungkook tried to come to an agreement and schedule what times of the year they’d be in town, but with their unpredictable schedules, it was a pointless compromise. Seokjin—the oldest of the seven—was expected to move out before any of them, so it wasn’t much of a surprise when he eventually offered to share a place with Taehyung and Jungkook. They were still employed under the same agency and manager, so understandably, they would all share similar shows, shooting schedules, flights, and time spent in and out of town. It was also pretty close from here, so the seven would still be able to spend time together when they had the chance to.

Yoongi was the first to offer moving out so the four of them wouldn’t have to be crammed into a small condo. He had booked a few producing jobs here and there while still at university, so he practically had a contact list of full-time connections. Plus, Jimin had decided to enroll in a master’s program for traditional dance while teaching at a nearby dance studio, Namjoon started his first semester towards a postgraduate degree in literary criticism (again, how the boy had even passed his G.E. chemistry class in sophomore year was beyond anyone’s wildest imagination), and Hoseok had landed a solid job teaching hip-hop classes at the same studio Jimin was at.

“You’re sure you’re okay with it?” Jimin asked Yoongi with worry laced in his voice. The four were lounging in the living room of the quiet apartment. Seokjin and the two younger ones had moved out earlier that morning, and they were probably still getting settled. It was only a ten minute drive from Namjoon, Hoseok and Jimin’s new place. Thankfully they’d all be living a relative distance to one another even after moving.

Patting him on the head, Yoongi’s lips formed a small grin. “Don’t worry about me. At least I won’t have to deal with Hoseok’s late night gas bombs...”

Hoseok’s face burned bright red and his eyes grew wide as a storm of curse words flew out of his mouth. “Hey! Don’t blame me, tell Namjoon to learn how to cook raw food all the way through!"

To this, Namjoon threw his comforter at Hoseok, nailing him square in the face. Jimin held back his giggles while Yoongi stared wistfully. He would miss them more than he thought.

“It’s only a few minutes from your place so I’ll come and check up on you guys every once in a while,” Yoongi sighed, leaning into the couch. With everything packed and sent off the day before, it was the only piece of furniture left in the apartment. A distant memory resurfaced as his eyes drifted to the dented armrest. He and Jungkook had bought it at the thrift store on 5th Street after weeks of Seokjin complaining that there was no place to sit and watch TV; a past time he required to “relieve him of his grievances.”

Yoongi cleared his throat, redirecting his attention back to the present moment. “You know, just to make sure you haven’t all starved or strangled each other.”

The four shared one last month together and even helped Yoongi find his new place eight blocks down. According to Yoongi, the day Hoseok ran into Yoongi’s room with the crumpled piece of paper was a match made by hell and granted by heaven.

Snapping back into the present moment, Yoongi’s watch read 12:45 p.m. He rubbed his eyes at how dreadfully early in the day it was and his body was already begging for sleep. By the magic laws of the universe, the familiar sound of his ringtone reverberated through the barren apartment—his new apartment. Walking to the kitchen counter, Hoseok’s name flashed across the screen and Yoongi swiped to answer the call.

“How’s our big boy doing?” Hoseok immediately shouted through the receiver.

Yoongi scrunched his face in displeasure at the volume but couldn’t hide the slight smirk that grazed his lips. “I’m doing great mom, thanks for checking in.”

“We wanted to know if you needed any help settling in!” Jimin’s soft voice, as usual, offered with nothing but joy. Judging by the distant sound of complaining and forced laughter, he had taken the opportunity to snatch the phone away from Hoseok, and Namjoon was now holding him hostage with the force of tickling.

“I second that!” Namjoon’s voice boomed in the background.

Yoongi allowed himself the barest hint of a laugh. “I already had help from the movers, so the furniture is decently positioned already.” Opening up his fridge, he saw that it was unsurprisingly empty other than a few bottles of water. “I might need to run to the grocery store though. Can I call you guys after I get back?”

“Jimin, I swear to god you’re going to regret sharing a room with me!” Hoseok’s voice echoed closer from the other end.

“Call us when you get back! It’d be nice to get to know the shops around the neighborhood,” Namjoon backed up with confidence but he suddenly yelped in pain. Yoongi pictured Hoseok jabbing him in the side like he always did whenever they fought.

Hoseok huffed as he brought up the phone and was in possession of the device once again. “We’ll swing by your place at 6 with food, so don’t worry and buy some basic groceries. Namjoon, I swear—”

“—and make some neighborhood friends!” Namjoon blurted out. “We’ll see you soon!”

“See you soon!” Jimin added cheerfully.

“Miss you bud!” Hoseok chirped.

“Bye guys,” Yoongi chuckled. "Don’t kill each other.” Clicking off, he sighed once more before admiring his new place. The one-bedroom penthouse came with a decent sized-kitchen, in-unit washer and dryer, and included utilities. Not to mention the extra room that he had already moved his studio equipment into and man, that balcony view. It wasn’t considered budget-friendly for it’s square footage, but for the amenities and the part of town it was centered in? A steal.

Even though a job in the music industry didn’t exactly pay well, Yoongi considered himself lucky to have gotten the exposure he did so early. He had been bound to music for as long as he could remember, and it was during his middle school years that he discovered the editing software that changed his life. By junior year of high school, Yoongi had accumulated hundreds of thousands of followers and millions of listens on his streaming account. After he declared his major in university, renowned musicians from all over the world were flooding his email with requests for new songs, collaborations, editing, and everything in between.

As fame and status quickly began consuming his every waking thought, a dark cloud loomed over him. There had been a period of time when sitting in his studio was no longer enjoyable and felt like pure hell. Slowly but surely, it was the same cycle over and over again: get a request from a record label, make a new song, send it back to the tone-deaf money hungry CEO’s of the music industry, and then get feedback on how it’s not catchy enough or "up with the times.” God, that pissed him off more than anything. Good music shouldn’t have to be labeled as such because it fits into the typical mold of some teenage trend; that’s what makes it good.

That’s all they cared about these days. No meaningful lyrics or real talk about everyday life and how the world goes around—only songs about meaningless sex, regretting one night stands, repetitive ear worm tunes, unrequited and dumb young love, or things that talentless, plastic Instagram models could lip-sync and stick choreography to. It’s hard to pursue your passion in a field that you love when it’s hellbent on destroying itself.

Don’t even start with the controversies Yoongi dealt with on a daily basis. Flashy yellow headlines that talked about who this mysterious producer Min Yoongi was, where he was brought up, who he’s dated/is dating, his sexuality, and even his family members and their backgrounds. All of these were topics that every single news and social media outlet had the audacity to stamp on hundreds of magazines covers and copy/paste on their blogs, yet if given the chance, none would have the real guts to ask him in-person, face to face.

Yoongi found himself falling into periods of constant downward spirals. What would he become if he gave in? Who would he be if just shut up and took the money? If he listened to what everyone had to say and gave them everything they wanted? Would they love him any less or hate him even more?

It was half past one when he realized that he still had to go to run errands. Another 30 minutes of the day spent lingering on things that can’t be changed and don’t matter, he noted to himself. Wonderful.

Despite the chilly weather, Yoongi opted to throw on a hoodie and call it a day. His decision to wear ripped jeans was poorly made, but he refused to admit that laziness was the culprit for not packing some spare clothes into a suitcase before moving day. Before stepping out, he quickly slipped on a beanie and a face mask for privacy’s sake. He was really not in the mood today.

Murmuring a quick thanks to the cashier, Yoongi walked out of the grocery store as fast as he could. Within minutes, people had gathered in a crowd around him asking for pictures, autographs, voice memos, and the works.

Every single time he had to turn down someone’s request for a picture because he could not miss the last bus; constantly hiding in fear of someone catching him and finding out where he lives, or worse: his family members; always trying to leave the house at the most awkward time of day so he could actually walk around and get basic shit done. No one knew it, but he hated himself for feeling like the biggest asshole that ever existed when in reality, he was just trying to live a normal life.

Yoongi loved music, but more than anything, he loved how there were people who truly empathized with his songs and the effort he put into making them. He missed the days before fanbase culture mobbed those who genuinely understood what he was trying to say. He missed going out with the guys and not having to worry about strangers following him home and leaking his address for publicity and likes. He missed having the decency of basic privacy and boundaries. Yoongi was grateful for everyone’s unnecessary unconditional love for his work and lifelong devotion to music, but after all, he was nothing but a human being who needed some space to breathe.

Today was no different. He got lucky and managed to snag enough fruits and vegetables to fit into a single paper bag before the overwhelming screeches and overlapping voices forced him out of the mart.

One of the security guards and a few cashiers were kind enough to hold back a few of the people who tried following him out. Giving them a quick bow before scurrying out, he felt like an even bigger nuisance.

What kind of a prick like me disrupts people’s day-to-day life just to get some food...

Should’ve worn a damn ski mask.

Yoongi was two blocks from his apartment complex when the smell of smog and car exhaust was replaced by a tidal wave of—roses? The fragrance of fresh flowers flooded his nostrils with a vibrancy and sweetness that he had never smelled before. Trying to find the source, he stumbled across what appeared to be hole-in-the-wall flower shop.

Treading carefully towards the vivid assortment of colors and warm light, he glanced over at the array of plants that graced the outside shelves. It wasn’t until he started feeling hot that he noticed a patio heater beside the entrance, which doubled as a lamp.

As he admired the wide variety of colors, leaf shapes, and aromas, Yoongi picked up a weathered terra cotta pot. The gritty surface of the pot was splotched with discolored patches of white, probably from water and rain. It housed a plant with small, plump, ovular, dimpled emerald green leaves, and it was vining up the bamboo stick that was staked in the center.

A delicate shuffle of shoes on hardwood accompanied a soft voice. “Need help finding something?”

Looking up, Yoongi’s eyes met the young woman’s gaze. Even through his mask, her friendly smile seemed to glow brighter than the embers from the patio heater. Underneath her apron, she was wearing a fluffy white sweater and a pair of comfortably loose jeans that were decorated with colorful paint-splatters.

Blinking hard after catching himself staring too long, Yoongi shook his head and put the plant back. “Just looking around. Nice place you got here.” If he spoke any quieter, he’d have a new job singing lullabies to babies.

Knitting her eyebrows with an inquisitive stare, he felt his pulse start to pick up. Did she recognize him? Was she going to freak out? Was there something on his face?

She brought her finger up to her quirked lip and widened her eyes. “Botanophobia is my area of specialty!” she exclaimed with joy. “You don’t have to worry about killing a single plant under my wing.” Picking up the plant he set down, she held it out towards him with a warm grin.

Yoongi won’t be the first to admit that of his absent green thumb. When he used to visit his grandmother, she’d always tug on his ear for picking at the hanging pots draped underneath her patio. He didn’t even have a plant near his vicinity until Taehyung brought home individual cactus for each of the guys. Something about keeping it on their desks for focus and oxygen or whatever.

Needless to say that Namjoon and Yoongi both learned very quickly that cacti don’t like water as much as you think.

“Oh,” Yoongi waved his hands in defense. “ I’m not really a plant collecting type of guy.”

The girl rolled her eyes teasingly and handed him a ball of twine from her pocket.

“Stay here until I get back,” she commanded with a stern look and playful confidence. “I’ll be but a moment.” Retreating back into the shop, Yoongi was frozen in place. Guilty if he leaves, not guilty if he stays—

Right as he was about to put the twine on the shelf, the girl came out of the shop with a paper-wrapped package. “Water it once a month and keep it by a window, preferably brightly lit but not necessarily,” she instructed with nothing less than an energetic smile. “They kind of thrive on neglect.”

He was taken aback. “But—”

She held her hand up to halt his rebuttal and took back the twine. “Think of this as a little welcome to the neighborhood gift. I know all of my locals by heart and I’ve never seen you around before.”

“I can’t just take a plant from you,” Yoongi huffed, slightly annoyed at her stubborn nature. She was determined, he’d give her that.

Shaking her head, her hands didn’t move. “You can pay me back the next time you visit, and if you still haven’t fallen in love with this guy—” her head motioned to the paper-wrapped plant in her hands. “—then I guess I’ll just have to work harder.”

Yoongi bowed his head in thanks and accepted the parcel with a tightly pressed smile. She was definitely not one to give in. He couldn’t help but feel a pang of jealousy that there were still people in the world who loved their jobs as much as this woman.

The dimming sky signaled that it was time for him to get back home. Waving goodbye, the sound of his steps grew louder as the echo of her voice faded farther away. “See you around!”

Sure, the pessimist in him spat.

You awoke to the gentle sound of rain pattering against your window. Drops bounced off of the glass as the sound grew harsher, the water droplets ricocheting off of the already-streaky pane and onto the surrounding leaves of the tree whose branches caressed your small windowsill. The freezing cold air whistled through the crack between your window pane and the latch, causing you to shiver reflexively.

Stretching out your limbs, a large and clearly gracious yawn left your mouth, which harmonized in tandem with your outstretched palms and scrunched face. The warmth of your rumpled and disheveled sheets made you groan, your body naturally refusing to leave the comfort of your own bed. Did you really have to go out today? Using the rusty spring of the mattress to swing your legs over the bed, your feet grazed the cold, damp fabric of your carpet—

“Crap.” Partially awake, your aching limbs dashed across your small studio apartment and rummaged through the pile of rubbish in the spare closet, fishing out an old bucket. You ran back to your room and placed on top of the wet patch of fabric just underneath the foot of your bed. The sound of water hitting the carpet soon turned into muffled pangs. The culprit? A leaky spot in the ceiling of your humble abode that you had so graciously discovered months after you’d moved in.

Your landlord/makeshift, of course, said he couldn’t do anything about it. Something told you it wasn’t that he couldn’t, but rather, he couldn’t be bothered to...

The pleasantly dull morning heaviness that weighed your body slowly retreated, and left you fully aware that your feet were still wet and freezing cold. Very, very cold. It was Monday, right? A sigh escaped you as your hand came up to rub your eyes. Definitely a Monday. Stretching once more, you sat silently and found a moment of peace in gazing at the pouring rain that battered your window.

There was something oddly relaxing about watching the water droplets slowly slide down the glass. Whether it was the transparency of the glass against the clarity of the rainwater, or the different textures of sound as the droplets bounced off of the window onto the tree leaves, one thing was certain: overcast skies and the fresh smell petrichor was one of nature’s many great gifts.

Since the day was still immersed in the early hours of the morning, you were compelled to stay inside and burn through a book or two while in the comfort of your own bed. However, your fairytale fantasy was shattered by the reality that was your day job. You washed up, got dressed, and didn’t bother adding any extra layers to combat the cold. It was, of course, the sensation of the icy biting air against your flushed cheeks that made you treasure this kind of weather all the more. The haphazard toss a mini-umbrella into your bag and the clink of a lock and key was quite complimentary.

Ever since you were young, you’d loved flowers. Red roses, to be exact. It was in your best interest as a 6-year old to tag alongside your dad on his trips to the hardware store. Each time you came home, you ended up bringing a 99-cent fern home that ended up dying a week later. No matter how much your little heart adored each tiny gem, it was only a matter of time before you drowned the plant with too much water. In your pre-pubescent mind, taking care of a plant meant watering it. Every day. Little did you know that tending to a garden meant leaving it alone and giving it time to grow by itself.

Hundreds of plant funerals were held from the tender ages of six to fourteen. Years of experience, tears, frustration, determination, and love ended up raising your brown thumb well. Who knew that you’d end up majoring in biology and horticultural studies? Not to mention starting up an independent business as a flower shop and nursery. Now that was something to be grateful for.

It might seem strange to many; working a job that doesn’t pay a ton or have a stable workload, sitting in a humid shop some days with nothing but the rustling of dried bouquets to keep you company, or learning to appreciate the quiet solitude of white noise against morning traffic. It may have seemed like torture for anyone with some ounce of sanity, but to you, it was home.

Nothing excited you more than when you received the bi-weekly shipment of new plants. You were lucky the rain had stopped by the time you made it halfway to the shop. Marco, your go-to greenhouse guy, was just in time. He was wearing a blue sweater and the navy scarf his wife, Lucia, knitted him for Christmas four years ago.

You’ll never forget the gifts they exchanged that year. It was two days before Christmas and Marco was so busy with deliveries, he didn’t have time to get Lucia a present. Of course, seeing him ramble his worries to you while bringing in the day’s shipment made a lightbulb go off in your head.

As he was unloading boxes, you ran inside and whipped up a somewhat-simple but ever-classic arrangement: red tulips, white honeysuckles, baby’s-breath stems, and a mix of myrtle and lemon leaves to balance out the flower to foliage ratio.

Before Marco could leave, you put the finishing touches on the lush bouquet and finished it off with a gold-dusted bow for added holiday spirit.

“All done!” Marco bellowed. Running out of the shop, you handed him the box that sheltered Lucia’s gift.

“Merry Christmas,” you whispered with a giddiness that couldn’t be held back.

“Oh, bella...” His reaction was priceless. With a mouth parted, sparkling eyes, and a wonder-struck smile to top it all off, this was why you loved your job.

“Red tulips for a perfect love, honeysuckles for devoted lovers, and baby’s breath for everlasting love.” The words rolled off of your tongue like a second language.

Marco was still speechless. “You shouldn’t have—”

“Marco, my business would not function without you and neither would I,” you hushed. “This is the absolute least I could do for you and Lucia.”

“Bella!” His deep voice brought you back to the present day. The nickname always made you feel fuzzy. “How are you?”

“I’m doing wonderful, Marco.” Your eyes beamed. “How are Lucia and the girls?”

He laughed, shaking his head with a grin. “As wild as always. Fia and Gianna just started 2nd grade a few days ago. They’re growing up too fast.”

Your heart melted. “It’s always like that, isn’t it? Time flies...” The wistful tone in your voice didn’t go unnoticed. “Anyway, what’s in today’s box of treasures?” Rubbing your hands together like an animated cartoon, your eyes lit up at the sight of all the new varieties that peeked from the boxes.

“Oh you’ll love these!” Pulling out one of the 4-inch grow pots from the boxes, he revealed to you a healthy Hoya bella. The delicately draped stems with spear-shaped leaves and grooved foliage was breathtaking. A few of them even had a few peduncles, which was where flowers bloomed from. Hoyas were known for their delicate, candy-like flowers, and Hoya bella was a prolific bloomer.

If you had to choose a favorite type of tropical genus, it’d most definitely be the wax plant family. There are hundreds of species within that range from your typical waxy, thick and succulent leaves to thin, hair-like sparse leaves that looked like grass. Expensive grass, might you add.

You couldn’t hold back the excitement. “You brought me hoyas!” Jumping up and down with an overzealous amount of energy, Marco bowed for dramatic effect. Today was already off to a great start.

He counted all the boxes one more time, summing up the numbers in his head. “There are also some krinkle 8′s, compactas, variegated and green carnosas, more bellas, australis, curtisii, pubicalyx, burtoniae, lacunosa, and only a couple linearis. You know how popular those are these days.” Each time he listed off another set of species had you spinning. “The bottom boxes have some pothos, rubber trees, ferns, tradescantias, and peperomias.”

“Thank you thank you thank you,” you exclaimed while giving him a big hug. “Don’t count me guilty if I run home with a few of these.”

A hearty laugh reverberated from his chest. “Always a pleasure, bella. I have to get going. Watch the rain! I’ll see you next week!”

Bidding him a goodbye, you reminded him to drive safe before he was off.

The first customer of the day was a regular; you could spot her bright red lipstick and pinup elegance from a mile away. If she hadn’t said anything, you could have sworn she was related to Marilyn Monroe.

“Good morning, Ms. Simmons!” you greeted as the chime on the door jingled. “How are you?”

Her bright red lips curled into a grin that revealed her immaculate smile. “I’m doing very well, thank you dearie.” Did you mention that she had an Irish accent?

Stepping out from behind the counter, you pulled out the freshly wrapped parcel and unfolded the top to show her. Cupping your hand to speak, the words came out in a whisper. “I got the new shipment of linearis.”

At this, her eyes grew bigger and mouth rounded into an O. She’d been waiting for these grass-leaved hoyas for months now and you had made a promise to her that she was the first on the waitlist.

“You are an absolute jewel my love, an unreal star!” Handing you her usual payment method of cash, you made sure to choose the fullest plant for her before she arrived. Also, you may have added in a begonia and African violet or two. All in the name of agape love, truly.

Even though she celebrated her 70th birthday over the winter, Ms. Simmons was a regular ever since you opened the shop. She always made the two mile walk from her home to your shop every Monday and you couldn’t understand for the life of you why. All you could do was be the best at your job and treat your customers as well, if anything, better than they treated you.

“I’ll see you next week, Ms. Simmons,” you smiled, holding the door open for her as she went on her merry way.

The rest of the day was business as usual. Mary, another regular, came in looking for a rubber tree and a peace lily; she’d just moved into a bigger house to accompany their newest family member, and needed some green so the place didn’t look so sterile.

Isaac, the pastor who worked at the local church, was in need of some rose arrangements for this weekend’s sermon. He always loved how full the ones you had out on display were.

Kat was an old university friend you had stayed in touch with and a fellow “hoya head.” She was the sweetest girl and always brought you coffee and a perfectly toasted bagel whenever she visited. The doorbell always chimed at exactly 12:25 p.m. and she never missed it once ever since you opened the shop’s doors.

“You got a perm?!” you gawked. She’d gotten another haircut. Her once long, pin-straight dark brown hair was now shoulder length and curled like Shirley Temple’s signature look. “You look a-freaking-mazing!”

Tussling the curls with one hand while pushing up the bridge of her cat-eye glasses with the other, she reminded you of a revamped 70’s Betty Boop. “Thank you darling, I’ve been meaning to chop it all off for a while now but the weather has had me down in the dumps,” she remarked in an over the top, received pronunciation accent.

Shaking your head and appreciating her choice of clothing, you couldn’t help but applaud at how she always chose fashion and style over basic comfort.

"We got some bellas and compactas so grab ‘em and go before you get a cold.” Her red dress and black cardigan ensemble was an eye-catcher but did not bode well considering the cloudy sky.

She rolled her eyes in an exaggerated manner. “Yes mom, I’ll take those two and a krinkle, if you please.” You will admit, her energy was something you never got tired of.

The wrapping of planters had become muscle-memory now. Wrap around, fold over, crease the edge, tuck in the sides, and tie with some twine. A snip here and brushing off the excess soil there and voila.

Before she left, you handed her the umbrella you brought from home. “Get home before it starts raining!” you nagged. “I only live a few minutes from here so just take it before you ruin your clothes.” Kat definitely needed it more than you.

She wrapped her arms around you in a familiar hug and promised she’d call you back at home. “Love you!” Perfect timing, too. Right as the door shut, the slow patter of rain had started sprinkling the rooftop, and cars started whooshing by with an added splash.

Cradling your warm cup of coffee was a routine on Kat’s visiting days. The rain was now trickling down the ridged shingles of the roof and down the gutter, droplets of water blurring into coiled trails. Absolutely mesmerizing. After making a dozen bouquets that were on today’s order list, Sara, Louie, Timmy, Kyle, and George visited one by one to pick them up. Soon after that, the day started slowing down and the rain showed no signs of stopping like you had anticipated. It was nearing closing time too, so maybe it was a good idea to head home a bit early.

You rushed to bring in the buckets of pre-cut flowers and ready-made arrangements from outside. You ended up wrapping everything up right on time. Even better, a few new faces showed up. All of your linearis and bellas had sold out today (no surprise), and you got to meet some new customers right before closing time. It was nothing but a joyous and success-filled day in your eyes.

Gripping the cold metal, goosebumps prickled your skin as soon as your fingertips rolled down the gate over the store windows. A smile of triumph grazed your lips. The quietest of goodbyes escaped your lips.

Until tomorrow.

The buzz of alcohol and smell of grease wafted in the air as they all got crazier by the minute.

Namjoon had already burned through three bottles of beer and was on the verge of losing his sense of direction. Hoseok was two sips in before his face flushed a bright red. Jimin was prancing around like a fairy after his third shot of tequila. Taehyung and Jungkook were singing and dancing to bad karaoke songs, nearly knocking over the TV a few times.

Seokjin was the only one who was mildly sober. Again, mildly is a word that should be used very lightly. "Since when did you have a green finger?”

The five paused their shenanigans to glance over at the single plant that decorated the otherwise empty bookshelf.

Yoongi chewed silently, unable to come up with any response.

Jimin hiccuped before talking. “Didn’t you kill a cactus a few years back?”

Again, Yoongi chose to stay silent and give an unbothered shrug. Hoseok’s face still looked like he was contemplating the meaning of life, but he managed to nod his head in confirmation.

“Yeah, Namjoon drowned his, too,” the youngest spoke with a ditzy tone. Taehyung giggled like a child at Jungkook’s strangely accurate description and pointed at Namjoon. Some comment about his messy hair or turtle glasses, or a combination of both.

“I’m old enough to take care of myself so I should be able to take care of some stupid weed.” For some reason, Yoongi’s mouth burned saying those words.

Namjoon rolled his eyes at the comment and got up to grab some water. Of course, his drunk state amplified his clumsiness and caused him to bang his knee against the corner of the kitchen island. Hoseok and Jimin burst out into cackles and snorted as Yoongi rolled his eyes. The alcohol was beginning to pass like water. He should slow down.

“Apparently that one thrives on neglect.” Yoongi finally broke his vow of silence, changing the topic and directing his attention to Jimin and half-there Hoseok. “How’s teaching going?”

Leaning on each other as the alcohol sleeps finally kicked in, they could only raise their thumbs-up with half-lidded eyes.

Coming back with a tray of water cups that remained miraculously intact, Namjoon collapsed down into his seat. “They’ve been working every single day for the past month now. Jimin has his mid-semester show coming up and Hoseok got booked for some choreography with a local theater group.”

Yoongi downed one last mouthful of the bitter drink before calling it quits, enjoying how it burned his throat as it made its way down. “And you guys?”

Seokjin and Jungkook all murmured something about an upcoming shoot in May for the spring catalog.

“Jungkook and Seokjin got booked for a perfume ad and I got an acting gig,” Taehyung explained. The excitement was evident in his voice. Yoongi congratulated the three, cheering them on with another shot.

He turned to the boy rubbing his bruised knee. “And you, Joon?”

It was Namjoon’s turn to shrug. “School is school. Always studying, reading, writing, nothing new,” he droned in a monotonous voice. “How’ve you been handling everything?”

He was talking about all the new deals that Yoongi was offered in the last couple of weeks. Every post on social media was rampant with news of Min Yoongi’s latest tracks and upcoming collabs. Although the boys would never fully understand his stress, their sympathy for him was plenty enough.

“Same old same old. Money hungry bastards trying to get my advice on shitty tracks that have as much depth and complexity as a poptart just to get my signature stamped on it.” Yoongi spoke with painful honesty, causing everyone to sober up and focus on him. He took a final swig of his drink. “Whatever sells, I guess.”

Namjoon and the others shook their heads in agreement solemnly, showing his wordless support and understanding. “You’ll get out of it, Yoongi. Trust me.” He patted his friend’s shoulder in vain, but only Yoongi knew it.

Trying to swallow the words, Yoongi looked over at the snoring bundle that was Jimin, Hoseok, Jungkook, and Taehyung. Seokjin was probably passed out in the bathroom. His upper teeth raked across his lower lip, savoring the dull sensation that felt more real than the situation he had gotten himself into.

“Yeah. I’ll get out of it.”

Spring was always the best time of the year. All of the flowers were in bloom and sunlight was streaming through everyone’s window without being unbearably hot. To top it all off, it was also the busiest time for you and your business. The shop was always flooded with customers marveling at the colors that decorated the exterior. When the inside of the shop finally cleared out, you were able to take requests for individual bouquets, parties, and weddings.

“Need some help?” a familiar someone shouted through the crowd of people.

Your head snapped over to the upbeat and bubbly voice you knew by heart. “Kat!” Hugging her over the counter and bringing her behind the register, you quickly thanked her before running around frantically with a notepad in hand.

This became a routine about two springs after you opened up: people piling in by the masses for a chance at bringing home the freshest roses, tulips, and succulents you had to offer, Kat making her weekly visit and seeing you overwhelmed, weaving her way through the horde of people crammed inside the shop and lined up outside, and finally putting on an apron of her own and managing the register while you paced back and forth getting people’s orders.

“What would I do without you?” you mouthed to her as you formed your face into a meme-worthy cry face.

She stuck her tongue out and managed the register like a pro, fingers pressing buttons left and right at lighting speed. You giggled and went back to jotting down everyone’s orders.

1x assmt/ peace lilies; red and white in ceram. pot

2x 4-inch maiden hair ferns delivered

1 bqt/dozen red roses w/ filler foliage

1 bqt/dozen red roses w/o filler foliage

1x dozen individually wrapped W roses with gld. ribbons

R, W, PRP, PNK tulips w/ queen anne’s lace

Succ. terr. for bday, round jar, colorful

Over the course of one day, you used up three ballpoint pens and couldn’t feel your fingers or your cheeks. Writing and smiling at the same time should be an official sport for next year’s Olympics. Kat fared no better. Slung over the register like a floppy piece of bacon, the only indication of any remaining energy from either of you was the heavy sound of breathing.

Stretching out your hands, you set down the notepad and groaned. “Kat?” Checking to make sure she was alive, she groaned back in response. “Thank you.”

She looked up and rested her cheek against the gold glass of the counter. “Welcome,” she mumbled, flashing her signature smile. It was a quarter past seven but you usually closed the shop by five, so why were you and Kat still here? After the commotion of today, both of you were too exhausted to close up, so you just brought whatever flowers from outside remained and ordered some takeout to eat here.

Standing up, your body needed to step outside and get some fresh air. Kat was knocked out comfortably on the counter, so you decided to leave her alone to nap in peace. The first step you took outside made your body tingle. You were constantly running back and forth earlier, but being out of breath and in a mental flux with all the orders made you feel like you were floating.

You inhaled the cold air as deeply as you could and breathed out with an equal amount of force. The sky was tinted a coral pink color and the sun was barely kissing the horizon. Thank you spring for yet another marvelous attribute that only you can provide.

Right before you were about to step back inside, a familiar masked figure entered your field of vision. “Hey!” Calling out through cupped hands, you prayed he could hear you over the few cars that were driving by. His head perked up and even behind his covered face, you could see that he was surprised. Ducking his head in a makeshift greeting, you waved him hello and goodbye, happy to see his masked face again. No point in calling him over this late at night. He probably had things to do. Didn’t we all?

Jungkook and Taehyung were the first ones to point it out.

“Yoongi...” Hoseok uttered.

“How could you?” Seokjin continued, mouth agape in pure disbelief.

Namjoon shook his head. “I can’t believe you’ve done this. ‘Responsible adult’ my ass.”

“You’ve had it for two weeks and it’s already dying!” Jimin was the one who finally blurted it out.

Yoongi rubbed his sore eyes. It was 11 in the morning and he was exhausted from staying up all night. The deadline for his upcoming track was this Friday and contrary to popular belief, making a horribly repetitive and catchy song was a lot harder than you’d think. The guys managed to find some time in their schedules to come visit him. He never thought the day would come where he wanted them to stay home.

“It’s fine,” he grunted.

“When was the last time you watered it?” Hoseok asked, inspecting the sick looking plant. He was making that weird face. The one where his nose wrinkled at an invisible stench and eyes narrowed into slits.

“Don’t know,” Yoongi shrugged while chugging a few mouthfuls of water and relished the feeling of cool liquid coating his parched throat.

They all surveyed the state of the place. There were crumpled scraps of paper that littered the hardwood floor like confetti. Empty water bottles were spread across the bathroom, music studio, kitchen counter, and balcony shelf—and who could forget the pile of worn hoodies and shirts that were nestled in the sofa corner and had slowly been growing bigger, congregating to form a laundry mountain.

Namjoon was the one to point out that the fridge was still pretty much empty. “Did you even go grocery shopping, Yoongi?” He spoke with the tone of concern now. If anyone knew how persistent Yoongi was, it was Namjoon. This wouldn’t be the first time he’s skipped meals and sleep just to work on a song.

“Yoongi, we can go out for you if you need us to,” Jimin offered as usual. Hoseok and Namjoon voted in support of his idea, already mouthing a list to Taehyung and Jungkook.

“We’ll go to the supermar—” Jungkook was cut off by Yoongi’s sudden spike of anger.

“I’m fine,” Yoongi replied a bit too harshly. He could only hold in pent up frustration for so long before he burst. “I don’t need you to go grocery shopping for me. I don’t need your help. I appreciate it, I really do, but it’s not your job to bear my burden of being a nuisance.”

They stayed quiet. The ball was already rolling and he needed to get it all out.

“You think I don’t want to go out? To step outside for one day and have nobody recognize me?” Yoongi scoffed, voice dripping with venom and sarcasm. “I want—” he paused. “No, no. I crave that more than anything. The anonymity I had in high school when I was a nobody and only had you guys by my side.

“Back when I didn’t have to bury myself underneath hoodies and beanies, suffocate myself underneath scarves and face masks, or wear sunglasses when it wasn’t the slightest bit sunny out.” Yoongi held back a scream and ran his hands through his hair in anger, tugging at the strands so he could feel tense pain nip at his scalp; he needed to feel anything other than this—this thing inside of him. Realizing that he had directed his vexes toward the wrong people, he sighed. Yoongi buried his face into his hands, disappointed at himself for doing it again.

Sinking into the ground, he couldn’t find it in himself to shed a single tear. In a fit of blind rage, he had just yelled at his childhood friends for absolutely no reason. Guilt was starting to eat away at his conscience; he’d fucked up—bad. What the hell was wrong with him?

The six kneeled down beside Yoongi and enveloped him in a silent hug. The boys had formed their group of seven in middle school and were forever bound by their loyalty to one another. Pushing past the temper tantrums of adolescence and living through the toils of university was all accomplished by the means of what connected them as a whole: friendship. Friends were there for each other through thick and thin, and they knew that none of them were free from the confines of daily life; friends were family

Yoongi pressed the palms of his hands harder into his eye sockets and blinked back the ache that was diffusing across his muscles.

I’ll get out of it.

It was an unusually cloudy day for spring. The grey clouds that were spread out across the sky didn’t seem to bode well for the day ahead. Today went by slower than usual. Granted it was a Sunday, but still—it was an off day.

You were in the middle of pruning the plants that were set up outside the shop when a hand tapped your shoulder. Turning around, you were greeted by a doe-eyed young man and his equally handsome friend. You had never seen them around before and they were each carrying two insulated grocery bags by their sides.

“Good afternoon.” The latter greeted you with an immaculate smile, bowing slightly. His friend mirrored the greeting, also presenting himself with his own charming grin.

Starstruck for a moment, you blinked a few times before gulping nervously. “Pleasure.” You mentally face-palmed your brain. Great job.

The big-eyed one spoke with a certain shyness you couldn’t put your finger on. “We were looking for some advice on plants. For a friend.” Chuckling, he scratched the back of his ear. It was only after a few moments to process their appearances did you realize that they were both attractive enough to be models, or something of the sort. Maybe your eyes were tricking you, but you felt like you’d seen them on last month’s fashion catalogue...

“I’m Jungkook by the way.” Shaking his hand, you couldn’t help but be aware of the pink that crept up your face. You tried to hide it with a nervous smile.

Act professional, you mentally scolded. “______,” you introduced yourself.

The other apologized for his manners and shook your hand as well. Your small fingers paled in comparison to his. “Taehyung. Nice to meet you.” His blinding smile made you blush furiously and you were dying inside.

“So uh—our friend, he has a plant like this one,” Taehyung continued, stopping to point to the tray of green carnosas beside his knee. “—and it’s starting to turn brown?”

“Hmm...” you frowned. "Does your friend always have the air conditioner or heater running? Something that might cause the air to dry out?”

The two stared at each other at a loss for words. “Not really, he always complains that the weather is too hot to turn on the heater yet too cold for the AC,” Jungkook elaborated.

“Oh!” He gasped as if a mind-blowing thought had struck him. “There’s a humidifier by his couch. Remember? He always used to complain about nosebleeds when we lived by uni.” Jungkook shook his head up and down like a cartoon, probably recalling this as well.

You were stumped. “You’re sure they’re brown leaves, right? Not yellow?”

They nodded. Damn. Yellowing leaves almost always indicated over watering or under fertilizing. Browning edges and tips usually meant that the plant needed more humidity, but full blown brown leaves?

Sighing in defeat, you packaged a small packet of water-soluble fertilizer with instructions and handed it to doe-eyed . “Try this and see if it helps,” you instructed, praying it would. Hoyas were known as bullet-proof plants, so why a carnosa of all species was starting to decline was alarming.

They thanked you for your help and asked you a few more questions before leaving.

“By the way,” Taehyung asked. “Do you do arrangements for large-scale productions? Like photoshoots?”

You said yes with a gentle smile. “Occasionally I will, but being such a small shop, I try to limit it to only during the springtime. It’s harder to fill out orders for big events when there aren’t that many materials to work with.”

Jungkook’s eyes got bigger than you thought to be possible and beamed, still running his hands through his hair shyly. “Would you be interested in helping us out?”

Raising your eyebrow at their request, you were curious. “What exactly would I be helping with?”

Taehyung started stuttering, his turn to be shy. “We actually have a spring photoshoot coming up for our modeling gig, and we thought it’d be cool to have an actual set full of flowers. Not just a big, white room with oversaturated fluorescents.”

“So you are models?” You felt like Sherlock Holmes had cracked the case.

This time, they were the ones who turned tomato red and cleared their throats, scratching their heads nervously. Humble folks.

“Don’t fret, your secret is safe with me,” you comforted. “What kind of theme are you trying to go for?”

You conversed for the next half twenty minutes about their ideas for the shoot and a little bit about their backgrounds, and you managed to exchange numbers. It turns out they were quite the dynamic duo.

If you hadn’t reminded them that they had groceries that needed to be taken home, you could have easily talked to them for another couple of hours. They were the welcoming social butterflies, not the typical annoying ones that felt the compulsive need to blabber on about nothing.

After saving their contacts into your phone, Taehyung and Jungkook thanked you once more for your time and said they’d see you around.

What an interesting day it turned out to be indeed...

“We come bearing gifts!” Taehyung announced grandly in his signature deep voice. Setting down the bags, the six got to work organizing the food stash. Jungkook, Taehyung and Seokjin were fortunate enough to be in town for a while before their next shoot, and Jimin, Namjoon, and Hoseok were on spring break. Basically, all of them had been camping in Yoongi’s living room for the past few weeks, and he wouldn’t have had it any other way.

Jungkook and Taehyung had bought enough food to last all of them for a month had they still lived under a single roof. Jimin got to work on washing and slicing up the vegetables, Seokjin was dividing up the cuts of beef, and Hoseok was boiling some water and sauce for the pasta. Meanwhile, Taehyung was busy figuring out how to set the temperature dial on the oven and Jungkook was scolding him every few seconds for not letting him do it.

Namjoon was keeping a keen eye on the water to make sure it was boiling.

“Do you think he’s still sleeping?” Sat on the bar counter of the kitchen, he propped up his chin while resting his elbow on the table.

“I hope so,” Hoseok sighed. “But you know he never sleeps even at the best of times.”

Jimin shook his head. “He was snoring a little earlier, but he might just be swaddled underneath the covers,” he added, the satisfying crunch of the vegetables timed perfectly with his words.

“He’ll be okay, right?” Jungkook asked with worry evident in his voice.

“He’ll talk about it when he’s ready to, but until then, it’s not our place to pry.” Seokjin was the class clown of the group, but every so often he let the wise part of his brain come out. “Let’s cook up a feast, pop open some bottles, and have a good time just like the old days.”

“The water is boiling!” Namjoon shouted, a bit too loud for Hoseok’s taste. He jumped at the sudden spike in pitch like a cat. Bursting into a fit of laughter, Hoseok whacked Joon on the forehead with the wooden spoon, making him howl. A spitting image of siblings fighting on Thanksgiving.

In the other room, Yoongi let out a deep sigh from beneath the jumbled mess of covers. The smell emanating from the kitchen made his mouth water and fooled him into thinking he was still dreaming.

Sitting up slowly so the blood wouldn’t rush too quickly to his head, he stared outside at the glimmering lights of the city that lit up the dark sky. Across the street, he could barely make out the flashing shadows of people’s TV screens behind their blinds and the monotonous, undecorated, cement balconies. For the most part, the sight was nothing extraordinary.

If he shut his eyes and listened closely, he could hear the faint hum of sirens; feel the quiet murmur of the heartbeat that lived and breathe in the city. If he silenced his mind entirely, he could smell the wet cement through the crack of his open window, still damp from the rain that poured hours earlier.

His footsteps were light as he made his way to the kitchen, but not before sneaking a glance at his friends from the hallway. Hiding behind the doorway, Yoongi listened to their voices; somehow even throughout puberty, he could still tell exactly who’s voice belonged to who just by the energy their words radiated.

“You told me to tell you when the water was boiling!” Namjoon defended with a whine, still rubbing his forehead from where Hoseok struck him with the spoon. He swore it was turning red.“I told you the water was boiling!”

Jungkook hung his head down to hide his wide-toothed grin. He was trying his hardest to hold back the snort that threatened to escape. “I think Hoseok meant to let him know with some bit of sanity, not intentionally scare him.”

“Either way, Hoseok definitely knew the water was boiling,” Taehyung chuckled with his mouth half-full. He always liked sneaking bits of food whenever they cooked something.

“Stop eating all the carrots, Taehyung!” Jimin yelled for what seemed like the hundredth time. “I hope your nose turns orange.”

His hand stopped midway, the carrot a mere centimeters away from his mouth which was still open. “Can—can that actually happen?” he sputtered.

Yoongi could picture Jimin’s smirk down to the last dimple. “I don’t know Taehyung, ever wonder why some babies turn orange?

“It only happens if you only eat carrots for a long time, like a carrot juice detox or something.” As usual, Seokjin was the voice of logic and mild reason in Yoongi’s absence.

Taehyung pinched Jimin’s cheek as revenge, popping the carrot into his mouth.

“I don’t know Taehyung,” Hoseok warned, sucking air in between his teeth for added effect. “Now that you mention it, your nose is starting to look a little bit—”

“What?!” A few chunks of carrot came flying out of his mouth, causing the boys to explode into snickers and simultaneous “ew’s.” Taehyung ran to the nearest bathroom and nearly ran face-first into the mirror trying to get a good look at his face.

“Hoseok!!!” he screeched like a demon. “You are so freaking lucky we don’t share a room anymore!”

Jungkook was starting to hyperventilate and clap like a seal, while Jimin, Seokjin and Hoseok sounded like they were on laughing gas from all of their snorting. “How do you fall for that sort of thing?” Seokjin forced out while clutching his stomach and nearly bursting into tears.

“God you guys are so stupid,” Namjoon facepalmed. In reality, he was hiding his ear-to-ear grin and his cheeks were sore. “I don’t know how we dealt with each other for twenty years.”

This made all of them laugh even harder.

Still hiding behind the doorway, Yoongi felt a bruising pain bloom from within his chest. It started deep down in his ribs and moved up his chest, crawling up his throat and contracting every muscle and scraping against every bone as it made its way farther up. The ache grew into a bubble, inflating itself bigger and bigger until it hurt for him to swallow or breathe. His knees buckled from beneath him as his back slid down the wall, his body curling into a crouched position. He looped his hands behind his neck and tugged his face into his knees, the familiar darkness comforting him. He wanted to scream until his throat refused to; punch something until his knuckles were pink, kick a box, bite down on a towel until his gums ached, throw a glass at a wall and watch it shatter into pieces, thrash around until his limbs went numb from the buzz of blood circulation.

He wanted to cry but he didn’t; he wanted to feel the tears as they trailed down his face. He wanted to feel the burning sensation of them trailing down his skin each time he wiped them away, cheek stinging even more after he did.

He needed to cry but he couldn’t.

“Do you wanna go wake him up, Taehyung?” Seokjin asked, his voice waking Yoongi up from his daze. It was more of a gentle command than a question, really. “He never gets mad at you for waking him up.”

On cue, Yoongi walked into the kitchen and pretended to rub his eyes as if he were still sleepy. Sitting at the table, he blinked a few times to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. “Wow, you actually managed to cook something and not burn my place down.” His chest was still sore and all he wanted to do was crawl back into bed, but there was also a part of him that was genuinely impressed by the setup.

“Hey, we’re not all like Namjoon.” Hoseok poked fun at him again and twirled his spatula as if it were a hypnotist wand.

“At least I made sure the water was boiling,” Joon mumbled under his breath.

Yoongi had no energy to smile, but he managed to lift the edges of his lips into the ghost of one. “I’m starving,” he spoke as his voice cracked a little.

The dinner table was already set and they just needed to bring some spare plates over. As everyone began gathering around the food, Yoongi felt the swelling in his chest begin to calm down. He was still having trouble breathing deep breaths, but it was better. Better than nothing.

“Want some water?” Jungkook offered, face still flushed red from laughing earlier.

“Thanks,” Yoongi accepted. He patted the youngest on the head and ruffled his hair like the high school days. Looking around, he studied every single face of his friends, admiring traits he hadn’t really taken the time to appreciate before.

Pouring him a glass, the boys soon joined Yoongi at the table, wine glass in hand. Hoseok handed the extra one he had brought to Yoongi, sneaking him a wink. A grin spread across his lips.

Jimin passed around the bottle of white wine as Taehyung cracked open a mini bottle of red for himself. All eyes darted towards the second youngest, causing him to raise his hands in defense. “Chardonnay gives me a hangover sometimes!”

“Mhm,” Jungkook hummed. “Totally the chardonnay.”

Another circle of laughter encompassed the table. Right as they were about to start eating, Hoseok remembered that he forgot to take the pasta out from the saucepan.

Namjoon stood up so fast, he didn’t have time to voice his pain when his toe struck against the table leg. “I’ll get it!” he volunteered before anyone could stop him. The dining table was right beside the kitchen so why was he in such a rush?

The others trusted him enough with a simple task like pouring something out of a pan into a dish. At least, that was until the boy decided the pasta was lacking a little bit of “zest,” so to speak.

“Jungkook, where’d you put the basil?” he asked while shuffling through the refrigerator.

"In the fridge, second drawer,” Jungkook answered, going back to take a bite of his steak. “Why?”

“The pasta needs some green!” he said with far too much energy in his voice.

Jimin, Taehyung, Seokjin, Hoseok, Jungkook, and Yoongi all looked at one another with the same puzzled expression before shrugging it off. That classical fiction analysis class was probably making him go kooky. The peace lasted for about half a second until Namjoon asked where Jimin had put the knife.

Their calm expressions immediately turned into ones of sheer terror as they looked at each other and scrambled out of their seats at the speed of light.

“Namjoon!” they screamed in unison.

Kat nearly dislocated her jaw. “He texted you again? What did he say? Did you text him back? What did you say? Was he being a dick again? How—”

You smacked your hand across her mouth in an effort to shut her up. Her overzealous energy was really a double-edged sword. On certain days, you absolutely thrived on it. On days like this, you hated it with a burning passion more than you hated maidenhair ferns. They were beautiful in theory but were a bitch to keep happy.

“Kat,” you stopped. “I love you and I would do anything for you, but I really need you to just shut up for right now, okay?” Nodding slowly at your request, you carefully peeled your hand off of her mouth.

“Are you okay?” she asked instead, much calmer than before. “You seem a little off.”

Sighing, you decided it would just be better if you showed her the texts.

Douchebag: hey ______, is this ur number? [ 2:22 p.m.]

Douchebag: i got a new phone that’s y [ 2:23 p.m.]

You: yea [ 2:29 p.m.]

Douchebag: how’ve you been [ 2:35 p.m.]

You: good, you? [ 2:42 p.m.]

Douchebag: {download image.jpeg} [ 2:44 p.m.]

Douchebag: I wanted to snap u this cuz I was wearing the sweater you got me but I guess u don’t have snap lol [ 2:45 p.m.]

You: I deleted all of my apps and never got back to reinstalling them, sorry [ 2:50 p.m.]

Scrolling through the rest of the messages, Kat scoffed in disbelief. “I knew he was scum, but catching up after three years of nothing and acting like everything is peachy keen is a new level of assholery,” she rambled on.

You rolled your eyes, resting your elbow on the counter and palm cradling your temple. “What can I say. I definitely know how to pick them well.”

“And the goddamn audacity of him to send a shirtless pic, masking it as a ‘thank-you for buying me that sweater’ schtick?” she growled, fist clenching around nothing while picturing his face.

“An absolute disgrace,” you tagged along.

“It’s not your fault, ______,” Kat soothed. “I would’ve fallen for his mind games too if he charmed me like that.” She took a sip of her iced coffee and shook her head vigorously. “God he makes me want to punch him in his stupid ugly face with that stupid dumb grin and those stupid poofy curls in his stupid misshaped head—”

“Kat,” you warned again, begging her to calm down. Her vernacular wasn’t the best, but damn was it amusing at times. “We just texted back and forth to kill some time. It didn’t mean anything and it’s not happening again.” It felt like you were trying to convince yourself more than her.

She studied your expression carefully before deciding what to say next. “If he ever crosses the line again, call me.” Placing her hand over your free hand, she gave it a good squeeze. The edges of your lips curved into the tiniest smile and you instantly felt at ease.

“Have I ever told you how lucky and grateful I am to have met you?” you chuckled, ignoring the throbbing in your temple that started early in the morning.

Tossing her hair behind her shoulders like an actress from the Golden Age of Hollywood, her teeth glimmered like diamonds against the bright red lipstick she had on. “As am I, my pumpkin patch sweet pea,” she beamed.

Covering your face to hide your painful grin, the door chimed, welcoming a customer. You fanned your face to calm down your rosy cheeks. “Welcome!” you greeted with your usual bright tone.

“Don’t touch anything,” someone criticized, the quiet sound of a hand smacking skin resounding through the small shop.

“I didn’t!” another voice, most likely the one who was scolded, replied in an irritated whisper.

Sitting up straight, you saw three young men standing right by where the glass terrarium displays were set up. You’d recognize that toothy smile and round face anywhere.

“Jungkook!” Finally getting out of your chair, you couldn’t help but be excited to see his face again. Kat’s eyes almost bulged out of their sockets as she stared back and forth between you and the guys with a blatant, “are you kidding me, you met a cute guy and didn’t bother mentioning it to me” face.

Poking the shoulder of his friend who was scolded, Jungkook greeted you with his signature smile and energetic wave. “______! Namjoon, Jimin, this is ______.”

The taller one shook your hand. “Nice to meet you,” he spoke gently with a close-lipped smile and sensed a child-like wisdom from him that you couldn’t exactly put your finger on. It didn’t help that his horn-rimmed glasses made him look like a teacher and a student.

“Jimin, wonderful to meet you.” The shorter-statured boy addressed you with a nearly angelic tone, voice softer than what you’d imagine clouds to feel like between your fingertips. His silver-dyed hair added to his overall ethereal aura.

Still sat at the counter, a starstruck Kat greeted the three with more confidence and gusto than you could ever muster. “Honored to meet you, I’m Kathryn but please call me Kat.” She strummed her fingers in the air as if she were plucking a harp. Jungkook, Jimin, and Namjoon grinned, already sensing the quirky nature of her personality. Yup, Kat’s so-called “Kat-Attack” was definitely contagious.

If you had a dollar for every time you blushed because of Jungkook and/or his friends, you’d have enough money to buy your own greenhouse—and live in said greenhouse. It wasn’t until Kat forcefully coughed up her left lung out that you registered how long you had been shaking Jimin’s hand. Pulling away abruptly, you let out an awkward chuckle. This was totally not weird at all—just three attractive, charming, attractive young men who waltzed into your shop on an ordinarily quiet day. Nothing weird. God, you were making it so weird—

“I’m gonna go get some coffee, do you guys want anything?” Kat asked out of the blue. If she was going to do what you think she was about to do...

“No, that’s alright,” Jimin turned down kindly. “We stopped by a café on the way here, but thank you for offering.”

“No problem at all!” Kat smirked just the slightest bit while saying this as if she’d gotten away with a bank heist. “I’ll see you after work, ______!” As she was walking outside, you saw her shoot you a mischievous wink through the glass before running off.

“So,” you started, trying your best to carry on the conversation as if you weren’t the most socially awkward human in the world. “What brings you and your friends in today?”

Jungkook, still as shy as ever, ruffled his hair lightly out of habit. “Well, you see, me Taehyung, and another friend of ours moved into an apartment a while back, and it still doesn’t feel...” he paused, trying to think of the right word. “—homey enough.”

While listening to Jungkook, Jimin and Namjoon were exploring the shop, taking in everything they could with their eyes, smelling what they could with their nose, and feeling every leaf and petal with their fingertips.

“We’re not the roommates,” Namjoon joked. “He dumped us ‘a while back.’” He acted out air quotes around the last three words. You held back a snort.

“He didn’t dump us, Joon,” Jimin corrected. “He found someone else who makes him happier.” Jimin pouted, raising the back of his hand to his forehead and sniffling like a kid.

Jungkook rolled his eyes and scoffed. “These two goofballs are with my other friend,” he clarified. “Taehyung, Seokjin and I have a pretty hectic schedule because of, you know...” Jungkook’s face was dusted with a shade of pink, clearly still too bashful to admit that he was a model.

“I understand,” you nodded, still biting the inside of your cheek to refrain from smiling too much. “So you, Taehyung, and Seokjin share an apartment while Jimin, Namjoon, and—?” Trailing the sentence off with a higher pitched voice, Jimin got the message.

“Hoseok,” he finished for you. “He’s an even bigger dolt than me and Joon combined, trust me.” The image he painted made you giggle.

Eventually, you arrived at the best conclusion you could form with the information given. “Right, so the six of you are best friends and live in two apartments.”

“In theory, yes,” Namjoon established. “But we also have Yoongi who lives by himself.”

“He’s the guy who Taehyung and I came in asking advice for?” Jungkook clarified, helping you recall back to the first time you met them.

You heard Jimin exhale deeply. “He’s sort of like the dad of our group, if you know what I mean. Quiet, kind of emotionally detached but in reality just doesn’t know how to express himself—that kind of thing.”

“Oh.” It slipped out by accident and sounded more melancholic than you thought. You tried coming up with something to neutralize your slip-up. “I’m really glad he has you guys as family.”

Jimin and Jungkook gave you a heartfelt smile—then there was a thud.

Turning around, Namjoon was hiding his face behind his hand while rubbing his temple. The grow light that was hanging still from the ceiling was now swinging back and forth like a pendulum.

You were wincing as if you felt his pain secondhand. “Are you okay?”

He nodded too quickly as if trying to convince you that he was really okay. “Fine. Good. Flower shop. Plants need light. Forgot about the dangling lights. A lot of them.” he sputtered like a morse code machine.

Turning back to Jungkook and Jimin, they too had their faces buried in their hands out of sheer embarrassment. Sometimes, people found it hard to believe that Namjoon was that clumsy in his actions, but even harder for Jungkook and Jimin to tell them that he was their senior.

“Anyway,” Jungkook coughed. “Our new place looks kind of uninviting and Jimin thought adding a couple of plants might make it more cozy.”

Jimin had made his way to the syngoniums and rhaphidophoras. “We have better luck with plants than Namjoon and Yoongi. They don’t exactly have the greenest thumbs.”

Chuckling, you directed their attention to the macrame the 6-inch pothos n’joy that cascaded from the ceiling. Coincidentally, Namjoon was inspecting that exact one. Perfect. “Actually, he’s a pretty forgiving little guy.” Stepping up the ladder and bringing him down, Jungkook’s eyes grew big and his hands flew out to hold the ladder steady. “Thanks,” you blushed again.

Holding the plant up close now, you let them admire the creamy white variegation, watercolor patches of green, lighter patches of green, and the lush leaves. You also showed them the golden pothos, which was a more of a typical chlorophyll green, but it had beautiful yellow and white specks of variegation throughout the foliage.

“I’m assuming you’re all still beginners,” you inferred, to which they all nodded in agreement. “These guys need lots of bright light, but don’t press them up against a window or they’ll get sunburn,” continuing to explain.

“Water them every few weeks and wait until they’re bone dry, then give them a good, thorough drench. Don’t overwater them or they’ll hate you for it, trust me. They rarely ever need fertilizer, but I’ll give you guys some packets to last you a couple of months.”

“Can we take them all home?” Jimin gawked, head tilted up towards the sky and staring at the ceiling that was ornate with vining, trailing, hanging, and branching foliage.

An amused laughter left your lips. “I wish you could, but the next time you come and visit I’ll let you take one of those home,” you promised. “If you want another eye-candy foliage one, you could also take home a brasil.” Holding up the heart-leafed philodendron, the neon yellow stripes down the median of each leaf and clusters of light and dark green looked like they were hand-painted.

“Oh me, me, me!” Jimin’s hand shot up in the air, flapping it back and forth vigorously.

“Could I take one of these too?” Namjoon inquired with a 6-inch pot in hand. “Rhaphid—off... fera—?” he tried to sound out, earning another giggle from you.

“Rhaphidophora tetrasperma but it’s more commonly known as a mini monstera,” you clarified. He formed his lips into an o shape, caressing the delicate split-leaved foliage. “I think you’d be more than able to take care of that one.” Jungkook coughed to hide his snort.

“We’ll make sure he doesn’t drown it,” Jimin assured, throwing you a sly wink. Add another dollar to your bank account, would you?

“Hello, last time I checked we came here to buy housewarming gifts for my house?” Jungkook reminded them in the form of a rhetorical question.

You patted him on the shoulder to wipe the pout off his face. “There’s more than enough plant love to go around.”

“We’re gonna be here all day...” Jimin sighed in content, gently feeling the fuzzy leaves of some African violets. “Say sorry to my bank account for me, will you?”

“I second that,” Namjoon added. “What on earth is this?” Holding up a 2-inch grow pot, you pursed your lips at his dumbfounded expression, eyebrows raised and wrinkled at the odd looking succulent.

“It’s a lithops.” His face contorted more at your reply “They’re also known as living stones. As they grow, they split in half and pop out little baby lithops.”

Blinking to process what he had just heard, Jimin groaned and shielded his eyes. “Don’t say it, Joon.” Looking closer at the plant Joon was holding, Jungkook parted his mouth—

“It looks like a lil’ol buttcrack,” Namjoon pointed out bluntly. The three of you let out a synchronous sigh and buried your faces into your hands, but couldn’t help and burst into laughter right after.

“We are going to be here all day, aren’t we,” Jungkook said muffled through his hands still covering his face.

After the last crappy 72 hours, you were more than grateful to have them keep you company for the day. "I’m more than happy to make some new friends while doing my job.” The words flowed freely from your mind, excited to get to know them better.

After sending each of the guys home with enough plants they could manage to carry, you closed up the shop for the day. Kat texted you right after the guys left in a panic. She completely blanked about the gala she had to attend for her design and commerce class and was running to catch the metro. You could tell she was still adamant on wearing her fashionable but not functional cube-heeled oxfords, as her texts were a mixture of all-caps lock and garbled, choppy sentences.

As you made your way back to your apartment, you couldn’t help but hear a jumble of voices arguing with each other in your head.

Text him back, he misses you.

Don’t. He’s just using you to get what he wants again. He’ll leave just like that last time. Remember last time? You don’t want that to happen again do you?

Scum. Dirtbag. Trash. User.

What if he means it this time?

Asshole. Player. Heartbreaker.

Maybe he’s changed.

Don’t do it. Put your phone down.

What if he actually misses me? What if it’s different this time? Just text him. Nothing bad will happen if you text him once.

Everything bad that can happen will happen, it’s only a matter of—

The slamming of your door seemed to silence the conflicting pieces of your collective conscience. Leaning against the door, you clicked your lock and pressed your hand against your chest, willing yourself to calm down.

You tossed your keys onto the counter and jumped into the shower as soon as you threw your clothes into the laundry basket. The steam engulfed your body with a pleasant heat, releasing the tension in your neck and shoulders that had built up from the sleepless nights in bed.

After spending a little less than an hour in your makeshift steam sauna, you remembered that you actually had utility bills to pay. You quickly got out of the shower and slipped on your usual attire of joggers and an old shirt. The place was chilly, so you slipped on a cardigan for good measure. With your hair wrapped in a towel, you searched through your fridge for something to eat.

“Damn.” The words left your lips before you could stop them.

Of course, it was pretty much empty. You were so caught up with spring orders for the past few weeks, you didn’t get a chance to stop by the grocery store on your way home. Settling on half of a turkey sandwich leftover from yesterday, you were grateful you still had a few cans of soda left to compliment tonight’s gourmet feast.

You made yourself comfortable on your couch that was arranged right across your balcony. There was no use in having a TV if you couldn’t afford to pay the electric bills, and you wanted to utilize the limited space of your studio to its fullest. The fizz of the soda nearly made you choke. It had been a hot minute since you had soda, relying purely on coffee for the past few years to give you that caffeine boost.

The sound of sirens wailing echoed throughout the city and pierced through the hum of traffic with ease. Leaning your head back into the dense cushion, you closed your eyes and listened; the relentless thumping of your upstairs neighbors, probably having another night of friends over; the faint shouts from the restaurant across the street that was overflowing with diners, typical of a Friday night; the gentle whisper of cold air that bled through the crack of your sliding balcony door. You needed to get that fixed ages ago.

The food wasn’t going down well. It was that damn soda. Putting down the last few bits of the sandwich, you stood up and stepped outside onto your balcony. The lights flickered on and you admired the plant shelves you’d set up a few days after moving in. It was a teeny tiny space, but the luscious array of green, pinks, reds, white, and every color in between made it all the more bearable.

You propped your elbow up against the rail that guarded the edge and breathed in for four seconds, held it for five, and exhaled for six. It was working, right? Your hands came up to the sockets of your eyes, applying the slightest bit of pressure to them. There were days where you really wanted to sleep for days on end; a hibernation, if you will. Today was most definitely one of those days. There was one problem—how were you supposed to fall asleep if you were too afraid to?

You were scared of seeing him in your dreams. Not even dreaming about him, no—the fear of encountering him as a random stranger while you were on your way to the floral market or a jogger passing by on your stroll in the park. His face resurfaced in flashes The glimpses of your favorite memories together were now inescapable bursts composed of your worst nightmares.

You hated him. You loathed him with all of your heart, despised him with every fiber of your being and with every single living cell in your body. You wanted to forget about him; you wanted to forget he ever existed and that he ever met you. Every single moment you shared with him and every second you wasted pining over whether he loved you back; you wanted those years of your life back.

But you knew better than anyone that time was never forgiving, and you would never get to relive those years ever again.

The funny thing—actually the hilarious thing—was that you hated yourself more than you hated him. You hated yourself for being the one who introduced yourself to him at that stupid party; you never should have gone to that stupid fucking party. You were such an idiot, what were you thinking?

All those days, months, and years you spent constantly hovering over your phone, begging and pleading for him to send you a text. Something, anything to acknowledge that he still knew your name and to give you the opportunity to manipulate it into meaningless signals, then use that to convince yourself that he actually did care about you.

You couldn’t remember for the life of you how or why you started falling for him. You both agreed to it no-strings-attached. No cuddles, no aftercare, no dates, and definitely no kissing in front of other people or hugging each other. He said his reputation would be ruined if his friends found out about you two.

In love with the idea of being in love, you agreed without a second thought. No feelings, no crossing the line. Simple.

Until he started breaking the rules.

He’d get jealous of you hanging out with other guys, blowing up your phone with questions and angry paragraphs along the lines of “You’re not going to parties anymore unless it’s with me” and “I can’t believe you hung out with Aaron of all people. You know he’s a complete fuck up, right?”

Then he started caring—at least, acting like he did. Pretending. Faking. Lying. Masquerading. Call it whatever you will. He held you close to his chest after spending time with you in his bed, wrapping you under the covers to keep you warm. You’ll never forget the warmth of his chest as his heartbeat thumped against your ear. His fingers traced the outline of your face when he thought you were asleep, never knowing that you did everything in your power to hold back your smile. Then there were times when he’d leave you right after, making an excuse about a night out with his friends or a project due tomorrow. It was always due tomorrow. Other times he would go to the bathroom and then come back to throw you a towel.

“My roommates will be here any minute. You should hurry up,” he’d warn.

Case and point, his games worked. After three years, you were head over heels for him. The memory of how it ended was blocked from your mind. Anytime you tried to remember that day, you always ran into a concrete wall. It was almost as if you built it to protect yourself from something, but what?

The only thing you could recall were the tears. Maybe they were his too, but you vividly remember yours. They flooded your vision with a cloudy film, overflowing in streams and trails down your face and even causing you to choke on them. And the screaming—god, the screaming... More memories flooded in as your hands cupped your ears.

“I’m sorry, okay?! I’m sorry that I want what’s best for you and that you can’t see how much I care. I’m sorry for being so blind and seeing you for who I wanted you to be, that I couldn’t see you for who you truly are! I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry—”

Shutting your eyes tightly, you felt a drop of wetness fall dribble down your cheek. You were crying again. A sniffle followed the scoff that came out of your mouth. What, three years have already passed since then? Three years and you were still crying over that asshole?

Wiping at your face with the rough fabric of your sleeve, you bit your lip to concentrate on something else. You stared at nothing to the point where everything looked blurry and your eyes stung. The temperature suddenly dropped, indicated by your shivering. You couldn’t afford to get sick and hurried back inside.

Before you knew it, the clock had struck 11:00 p.m. and you were not the slightest bit sleepy. Sheltered in the safety of your own home, you had an idea that would not only get your mind out of the rut you’d fallen into, but also . Digging through scraps of loose paper, dry pens, and trash in general, you found your old earbuds. They worked perfectly fine, okay? Why fix something when it’s not broken?

Plugging them into your phone because yes—you had a phone which was one of the dying species that still had a headphone jack—you turned on your favorite playlist (appropriately titled stre$$ed) and commenced dancing in your room like someone from the 70′s. The only thing missing was a pair of flare-cut jeans, a splotchy tie-dyed shirt, and a pair of Kat’s over-the-top disco boots.

Even though your neighbors were assholes about keeping it down after lights out, you chose to be the bigger person and take their residence into consideration. Mouthing the words silently and jumping as softly as you could, your damp hair stuck to the edges of your face and flung around, hitting your cheek a couple of times. Truth be told, you were far past the point of caring.

Each time your foot came thumped against the plush carpet was an invigorating strike; every head bob was a liberating release; each labored breath and winded puff felt like the exact opposite, a breath of fresh air.

An escape.

You flopped onto the bed with a heavy exhale, trying to catch your breath. Panting, your face felt hot and every part of your lungs burned like you were being roasted alive on a bonfire. The back of your hand felt cool against your forehead and your eyes began drooping at the soothing touch. Before you could pull the covers up, darkness engulfed your senses and you were out like a light.

Yoongi couldn’t sleep. He had counted backwards from one hundred, two hundred, five hundred, and maybe a thousand. He tried listening to a random playlist full of rain sounds, alpha waves, crickets, and a fireplace crackling. All that came from that was an unnecessary number of bathroom trips, ear scratching, skin itching, and throwing off the covers from the heat he was imagining.

Sitting up in annoyance, Yoongi sat on the edge of his bed with his forehead resting on his hand, elbow propped up on his elbow. He couldn’t stop thinking. Thinking about his job, the deadlines he had to meet, the songs he had to make, lyrics that still needed to be written, phone calls and emails he needed to send out—he was supposed to call his mom during lunch.

“Fuck,” he swore, rubbing his eyes again. Looking at his alarm clock, the time 12:12 a.m. was outlined in blue. He initially settled on the traditional red one while at the store, but Hoseok convinced him to opt for a more “peppy color.” Yoongi’s lips curved into a soft grin at the memory. Within seconds, his eyebrows knitted together into a frown and his eyes flickered, the subtle expression he bore moments ago now a stone cold gaze.

No matter how hard he tried and how badly he wished and prayed, he couldn’t compel himself to cry. Despite his adamant concentration and determination, he didn’t shed a tear. Not being able to force it out without knowing what it was, proved to be absolutely suffocating.

He tried focusing on something else. The lights, the city, the sounds—he needed to focus on something else. Gazing through the window he’d familiarized himself with, Yoongi took in the view. From his room, he was able to see a picturesque layout of where the biggest main streets of the city intersected. Through the fog, he could also make out the faint edges of the longest footbridge that ran across the skyline. Looking down, the warm glow of street lamps and building lights twinkled through the dark night like man-made stars.

Lifting his head up to the apartment complex directly across from his, there were still a couple of lights on here and there. Yoongi felt validated in the sense that he wasn’t the only one who had sleepless nights. One by one, they started to fade, each apartment light turning off as someone’s hand flicked a lever and went to sleep. It was strangely relaxing to watch. After about twenty minutes of staring intently at every person tune out for the night, he narrowed his eyes at one that remained.

Directly across from his apartment was the faint yellow glow of someone’s balcony light. He imagined the wonderful warmth radiating from it, closing his eyes to immerse himself in the imagination. Looking closer, Yoongi saw the shadow of a woman leaning on the railing. She was shivering.

Bringing her hand up, she wiped at her face and started laughing—crying? He couldn’t see in the dark all that well. Trying to get a closer look, he forgot about the glass that separated him from the outside world and face planted the pane. Wincing in pain, he wrinkled his nose and inhaled sharply through his two front teeth.

He shook it off and centered his vision back to the balcony opposite to his room, remembering to open the window this time. Cold air bit at his cheeks but he ignored it, determined to find what he had witnessed seconds ago. The girl was still leaning on the rail and was staring at seemingly nothing. Her shoulders hiccuped up every few seconds and hands came up to wipe her face again.

Definitely crying.

Yoongi was awestruck. How good did it feel to finally get it out? Was it worth it? Did it feel like you could breathe again? Yoongi soon realized that he was jealous—no, he envied her ability to weep; her ability to shed real, painful, cathartic tears.

He envied the one thing he couldn’t have and would never be able to get.

Following your movement back inside, he should’ve gone back to bed himself, but for some reason, he just couldn’t. His gut told him not to, but then again, that way of decision-making was a 50/50 bet.

Whether it happened in the blink of an eye or this was all some sleep-deprived dream, she ended up going from crying her eyes out to dancing her heart out? She reminded Yoongi of Seokjin’s drunk dancing; good but not good, sane but not entirely, and so rhythmic yet incredibly off beat. Her vibrancy was contagious and made Yoongi smile a real smile for the first time in a while. If you told him that she had bawled herself delirious two minutes ago, he would have snorted. It looked as if she didn’t have a single worry or care in the world....

He felt like a creep. He shouldn’t be up, period. He should be sleeping, not spying on his neighbors. Worse, they weren’t even neighbors, had never met before, nor did they even come a foot close and live in the same building.

Hell, that made it so much freaking worse.

He sighed at how pathetic he felt. Was he that desperate for something he didn’t even know? Yoongi decided to call it a night. Crawling into his covers, they never seemed to keep him warm, no matter how tightly he wrapped himself in them. It was either searing hot discomfort paired with cold sweat or ice cold feet and teeth chattering.

That night by whatever random laws of the universe he slept soundly. Not once did he shoot open his eyes from nightmares or stir in his sleep out of discomfort. Maybe it was from witnessing someone’s emotional outpours and experiencing them vicariously through his own means, or maybe it was the satisfaction of selecting all of his unread emails and archiving them until tomorrow, one thing was for sure—Yoongi had accomplished his goal of sleeping through an entire night; something he hadn’t done for years now...

I’ll get out of it.

“I never thought I’d ever say this,” you started, trying to close your agape mouth. “But I think you guys might have one too many plants.” Looking at their coffee table, it was overflowing with the eight boxes you’d delivered this morning. Yes, there were eight boxes full of plants delivered to a single apartment. Marco would have the time of his life restocking for next week. Jungkook, Taehyung, Hoseok, Namjoon, and Jimin helped you carry up the boxes and were all staring at the ground sheepishly, their hands clasped behind their backs like children who were caught stealing cookies from the cookie jar.

You offered to deliver the boxes to their places separately, seeing as they had different spaces and floor plans, but that cheeky bugger Taehyung convinced you to rendezvous at his place. Then you wouldn’t have to go through the trouble of walking back and forth between the shop and their corresponding buildings, and the guys would get a chance to meet you.

Guilt gnawed at you for making them interrupt their daily schedules just to bring home some houseplants, but Jungkook insisted that they were all free for the next two weeks; spring break for Jimin, Namjoon, and Hoseok, pre-season break and scheduling bookings for Seokjin, Taehyung, and Jungkook.

Meeting Seokjin for the first time and Taehyung for the second was a memorable experience, to put it lightly. You walked in on them running around half naked and throwing crumpled balls of clothes at each other. Turns out they had been arguing about who’s turn it was to do the laundry and neither of them were having it. Long story short, you lived life by the rule that first impressions were a good indicator of someone’s unfiltered, raw, underlying disposition, and in this case, it proved to be entirely true in the best way possible.

“We’ll share, we promise.” Jimin was the first to break the silence but still had trouble meeting your gaze.

Jungkook pointed an accusing finger at Seokjin and Taehyung, his turn to talk. “They didn’t believe us after they saw how many plants we came home with, so we figured we’d invite you over to meet them in person and see whether they convert or not.”

“Safe to say that we are officially convinced,” Taehyung raised his hands in surrender, elbowing Seokjin to do the same.

Hiding your smile by pressing your lips together, a tingling sensation spread across your face at his odd choice of words. When you reminded them about their hectic schedules and voiced your concern about them being able to keep up with care, Seokjin revealed his contract agreement with Hoseok. “He promised that he’d come by and water them whenever we’re out of town for longer than a week,” the eldest explained while biting back a smirk. “He kind of owes me a lifelong debt...”

Forcing out a tight-lipped sideways grin, Hoseok slung his arm over Jimin’s shoulder, bearing a smirk of his own. “Don’t worry, Jimin here owes me a debt of his own.”

A sly grin crept along Jimin’s face. "Considering that my lifelong debt doesn’t have to do with the fact that you bl—” Before he could finish, Seokjin and Hoseok’s hands flew up faster than lightning to cover the boy’s mouth. Taehyung nearly spit out his water and the others were near tears and clutching their abdomens, their mouths sealed tight and refusing to let out one of their pact’s biggest secrets. You admired how loyal and strong their bond was, a rare thing in this day and age.

Shaking your head to distract yourself from their incessant laughter, you pressed your hand over your forehead and widened your eyes in concentration. “Well, let’s get to organizing, shall we?”

Unpacking the boxes one by one, each contained an array of species from pothos, philodendrons, syngoniums, hoyas, pileas, peperomias, baby rubber trees, rhaphidophoras, sansevierias, ZZ plants, money trees, and finally, two mature, green monsteras for each of them to keep in their living rooms. Not knowing what kind of lighting situation they had going on, you tried to limit your recommendations to medium-light tolerant plants. After they alerted you about their east and south-exposure windows, you were relieved in your selection.

“I call the big guy,” Jungkook cooed, picking up the staked rhaphidophora and clutching it to his chest and smirking coyly. “For my room.”

Seokjin whined loudly. “We live in the same apartment!”

Taehyung let out a disappointed sigh and shook his head. “You see what I have to deal with every day?”

Namjoon reached for the philodendron micans. “It’s like velvet!” he commented in awe as he felt the leaves. It was nicknamed the velvet-leaved philodendron after all, but his reaction made you feel fuzzy with plant love.

“Woah this looks like an alien’s flying saucer,” Hoseok noted. Picking up the pilea, it never struck you that the round, green disks did, in fact, look like flying saucers. Once everyone was satisfied with what they were taking home (it ended up taking a lot less time than you predicted), you went to work arranging them around the living room, bedroom, and kitchen, all while explaining to them the water and light requirements, periodic maintenance, and looking out for pests.

You urged Jimin, Namjoon, and Hoseok to go back to their place first, assuring that you’d meet them there. They said it was no bother and wanted to witness your working process. You were just doing your job, but seeing them fascinated by your passion and vigor was much more endearing than you thought it would be.

Just as you were hanging the macrame pot by their balcony, you heard the front door click open. Taehyung, Jimin, and Namjoon were holding the step ladder steady for you.

Since you were concentrating on getting the nail at the right angle, you paid no attention to it, assuming it was Hoseok or Jungkook going to recycle the used wrapping paper and packing materials.

“Yoongi!” Jimin called out.

“Good to see you dude,” Taehyung beamed. “Sorry, our hands are kind of full.”

“Could’ve given me a heads up that you had a guest over,” he grumbled, but you couldn’t hear through the rustling of the leaves that smacked your face.

The sound of footsteps grew louder from afar, then paused when you felt a presence behind you. “Jungkook,” you called out, turning your shoulder and looking down to where he was standing. “Do you mind grabbing the pliers from—”

Here’s the thing you never understood about step ladders. Standing on them is considered a safety hazard, yet it’s method of use and reason for existence is to be stood on. You wished you remembered this when you decided to turn around and look down at Jungkook, except, it wasn’t Jungkook. It wasn’t Hoseok either. Despite not wearing a mask or beanie, you instantly recognized that cold gaze, piercing through yours like daggers.

He was equally shocked and mirrored your exact reaction, eyes growing wide and mouth parting as if you were staring through double-sided plexiglass.

“Yoongi, this is _____,” Jungkook introduced comfortably, conversation flowing freely from him. “______, this is Yoongi. The dad Jimin talked about.” While the boys broke into convulsions of laughter, you and Yoongi were still shellshocked. Of all the people that could be in this friend circle, it had to be the guy who crossed paths with you a few of times on the street?

You didn’t register that you’d lost your footing from the ladder until the familiar weight of gravity tipped you over. The last thing you saw were multiple pairs of hands reaching out to try and catch you, but it was too late—your body collided into his before crashing onto the floor as one whole, the clear thud of wood against flesh echoing throughout the apartment.

That’s definitely one way to make a first impression.

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loruleanheart · 4 years

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Desired Fate, Chapter 2

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Zelda, Princess of Hyrule, moved about her bedchambers. It was a vast room with grey stonework walls and old furniture that had been in the royal family for generations. One corner held a grand writing desk where she often carried out her research into ancient relics late into the night. Affixed to the wall above were her most treasured research notes.

The princess was dressed for bed, her thick golden hair in a protective side braid, but she wasn’t feeling too tired, her nerves shot by the day’s earlier events. It was the first moment of rest she’d had all day. She had been constantly in the presence of Impa and the knight her father had assigned as her guard. The knight, who she’d learned was named Link, was odd. He barely spoke a word, yet Zelda couldn't disregard that he had saved her that day when a large Guardian that had been unearthed at the Breach of Demise had activated somehow without warning. This, along with the increasing number of monsters throughout the kingdom made their trip to the Royal Tech Lab an arduous one.

Zelda turned over many thoughts in her mind. How the little Guardian that seemed so attached to her had traveled from a Hyrule of ruin. Her father had seemed so vexed by the Guardian’s appearance, although Zelda was not surprised that he would try to discern whether the Guardian could be trusted. The little one did feel somehow familiar in a vague way…. Not to mention, it brought with it a look into the future of the destruction the Calamity would bring.

A heaviness was descending upon the princess. Impa’s sister, Purah had managed to extract visual data from the little Guardian’s memory - true to life images that showed what the future would hold. Zelda had taken a cursory look through a few images but had quickly become overwhelmed. This was the destruction that would befall Hyrule should she not be able to harness her divine power. But, perhaps the pictures might also hold clues on how the Calamity could be averted.

She powered on the Sheikah Slate, wanting to give the visual data a more thorough analysis before turning in for the night. She scrolled through the horrific images of destruction, this time not having others around whom she had to put on a brave, composed face for. As much as she loathed wallowing in self-pity, she had at least managed not to break down earlier in front of the others. The princess had sensed the understanding of her plight in Impa’s voice earlier as they looked through the images together.

Not only was Hyrule Castle pictured, but the destruction seemed to be widespread. Akkala Citadel... Fort Hateno…. The Divine Beasts…. All in ruin or corrupted somehow, and the fate of the entire kingdom and its people were bearing down on her.

I will not allow this to come to pass… I’ll do everything I can to stop this… But without the power, how will it ever be enough?

Despair and dread were starting to set in as it often did more and more over the years. She’d already tried everything she could up until now, and still, the power that should have come so naturally seemed to be impossible to find within herself. And the longer her power remained dormant, the more frustrated and cold her father grew. Zelda shut her eyes, holding her hand over her face, trying to calm herself, but it was too late as the tears she’d been holding back for hours broke forth. She quietly sobbed, hoping to not alert the attention of any of her attendants who might hear her cries. She scrolled to the next image and then there was not a location or a Divine Beast, but a picture of a strange man and she went silent. Her green eyes moved over the image. There on the Sheikah Slate was a hooded man in a tattered purple robe, but she could tell he was very handsome, even if not by typical Hylian standards. She couldn’t help but stop and stare. He was very pale and had dark, collarbone length hair. There was a long braid that hung in front of his left eye and was tucked behind his ear, and another that was decorated with gold beads.

He wore a gold circlet and a thick gold collar that draped over his shoulders that reminded her of jewelry worn by Gerudo royalty, although this man clearly wasn’t Gerudo. No male had been born to that tribe in ages. There was an oddity about the circlet though, in that the red stone had what appeared to be a stylized yellow iris painted on it - sort of symbolizing a third eye.

Who was this mysterious man? He must have been on the slate for a reason. The slate’s screen went black, and she realized she’d zoned out. Her mind was flooded with so many questions and speculations. Could someone like him really be out there, somewhere? He looked more like he belonged in some distant past foreign to her. Were they destined to meet? Should she seek him out? She didn’t know, nor did she know how to raise the subject to anyone else. Her father, dear sweet Hylia, her father…. Would almost certainly chastise for wasting her time with images discovered on Sheikah technology which had been banned up until the recent past instead of dedicating every waking moment in prayer to unlock her dormant power. But to Zelda, this felt as crucial as researching relics, perhaps even more so. And then it occurred to Zelda who she could confide in - Urbosa. Based on the jewelry the man wore, maybe she might know something.

And just like that, the heaviness that had pushed her to the edges of despair had lifted, even if only a little bit. Zelda laid the slate on her nightstand before climbing into her stately canopy bed. She found she was able to drift off with relative ease, all things considered. Tomorrow, she was sure, would be another demanding day, and she was eager for the respite sleep would bring.

In her dream that night was a woman in a resplendent white dress, and Zelda sensed she was connected with her. Was this Hylia, the goddess whose blood was said to run through her veins? The goddess smiled to herself in a dreamy way, absorbed in her song as her fingers moved along the strings of a small harp. The goddesses appeared to be singing as her lips moved silently, Zelda not being able to hear her words. Perhaps it was a lullaby. Zelda wished she could hear the goddess’s song. The goddess seemed so passionate about…. something, but all she could do was watch and hope this dream to be a harbinger of good things to come.

oOo

His harbinger turned and left, having imparted to his disciple how it had come to be and how it planned to counter what its “twin” from a ruined Hyrule had set out to do. It was fate that Ganon’s hatred had followed that Guardian through time to possess the one from this era.

And now, Calamity Ganon’s will can be fulfilled in this time as well… The Prophet of Doom thought. This was all a part of Lord Ganon’s plan to annihilate his enemies completely, leaving no room for victory, even in a separate path in time.

That Guardian by the princess’s side had the means to set this path on a different course, and the prophet knew he couldn’t let some meddlesome piece of junk alter fate’s rightful course. He would subdue the princess and her newfound ally. The thought of destroying the Guardian had already crossed his mind, even before Lord Ganon’s new directive. Now he just had to make those two degenerate, banana-eating goons do his and Lord Ganon’s bidding.

The prophet was elated that he could now receive such clear directives and revelations from Lord Ganon. Had he not met with the harbinger, he would truly be on his own. The harbinger was proof to potential allies that he had indeed been chosen and could know the will of Calamity Ganon, not just interpret it through the constellations or prophetic dreams. Gaining the trust of the Yiga Clan didn’t feel like much, but things were coming together. The Calamity would return and reign down its hatred on Hyrule, and the kingdom would come to its end, at long last.

oOo

“I have selected the candidates for the Divine Beasts. Zora grace, Princess Mipha; Goron vigilance, Daruk; Rito confidence, Revali; and Gerudo spirit, Chief Urbosa. You will go meet with each and explain their role to pilot their respective Divine Beast.” King Rhoam’s voice carried through the main foyer from his place on the balcony.

Zelda looked up at her father and responded. “Yes, I suspected as much… I will meet with Chief Urbosa first. I am... looking forward to seeing her again.”

Rhoam nodded. “Understood. It has been some time since your last meeting with her.” The king’s voice held a respectful tone, perhaps thinking of his late queen who had been close friends with the Gerudo chief. His gaze moved to the little Guardian, and his voice became cold. Zelda stiffened as the words left his mouth. “And? You’re taking this relic with you, I presume?” Rhoam narrowed his eyes at the small Guardian that was currently hiding behind his daughter.

Zelda could sense an admonishment incoming, yet she managed an explanation. “Yes. After talking to Purah and Robbie, we thought it would be best.”

Rhoam took a seat on his throne, considering this. The Guardian moved out from behind her as if emboldened by her voice. “I will remind you once again. Above all else, your duty is of the utmost importance. Are we clear?” Rhoam said, sternly.

For the briefest moment, Zelda thought of the hooded man she’d seen on the Sheikah Slate. “Yes, we are clear. I understand... And I will honor my duty.”

It wasn’t a lie, per se…. Zelda thought. After all I’ve been through, who can say what honoring my duty looks like. Prayer hasn’t worked. I’ve spent over a decade dedicating myself to prayer. If I could just focus my attention elsewhere, perhaps the power will find me in a way nobody could foresee.

Zelda, Link, and Impa departed the castle with the new Guardian in tow. The Princess breathed a soft sigh of frustration as she felt her father’s eyes boring into her, which didn’t go unnoticed by Impa and Link. And in time, the three were laughing and bonding over the little Guardian that acted as if it were a knight in the princess’s service.

#Age of Calamity #Hyrule Warriors: Age of Calamity #Astor #fanfiction #Mostly Zelda centric chapter here #Zelast

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heartbreak-of-a-marauder · 5 years

Text

Through the Rabbit Hole (2)

Part Two: The Trickster

Pairing: Loki x fem!reader

Summary: You give Loki a piece of your mind for New York and its fall out, but things aren’t as you thought.

Word: 2,335

Notes: Angst +++ Weirdly had a lot of fun writing this part... y/n = your name, y/h/c = your hair colour, y/e/c = your eye colour, b/f/n = best friends name. If you haven’t read part one STOP NOW and go do that:

<- 2 ->

~*~*~*~*~

New York, 2012

It was the penultimate day of your week-long holiday in New York and after days of sightseeing and shopping, you were glad to finally have a rest day. The restaurant you and your best friend picked today had a fresh but quirky vibe and your window seat gave you a fantastic view of the New York skyline. You chatted happily with b/f/n as you waited for your food to be served.

“Will you take a picture of me y/n?” b/f/n asked, both of you had saved for this trip for so long, at every opportunity you were taking pictures to remember these moments forever.

“Sure,” you pull out your phone and aim the lens at b/f/n. “Move slightly to the left, you’ll have Stark Tower in the back then.”

B/F/N followed your instruction and scooted over slightly. You grin as the camera focuses on your friend, you just knew they’d be bragging about for weeks. You snap a couple of shots before repositioning the phone for a different view, your thumb hovers over the button as you see a beam of blue light shoot into the sky from Stark Tower.

“What the heck?” you say absently, lowering the phone to stare out of the window, your friend turns as well to see what you’re looking at.

Other patrons in the restaurant also begin to notice just as an ink-black cloud begins to brew, expanding with supernatural speed; distorting the sky. Your frown deepens as when dark specks begin to fly out of it at speed. Some break off, heading in different directions in small arrow-shaped formations. Some specks explode as the descend, others are firing purple beams of light, you rise out of your seat not 100% sure that what your seeing is real.

You are so close to the window that your breath frosts the. One of the purple beams makes contact with a space a few floors above you. The glass shudders violently while the building moans in protest.

“What the fuck is that!” b/f/n shouts. Your stagger back thinking the same thing.

“Get away from the window!” you shout, panic rising in your chest as more shots connect with the building.

A woman behind you screams as a serpent-like creature descends from the cloud, its shrill shriek makes you cringe.

“We need to get out now,” b/f/n turns back to look at you, their face frozen in fear. You nod robotically, your eyes never leaving the window.

The world around you seemed to slow as the specks got closer, firing shots at random. You look back at b/f/n, screaming their name, reaching out for them just as the glass behind them shatters spraying the room with shards. The force of the blast throws you backwards. You crash onto your back hitting your head against the concrete, the force of the impact knocks the breath from your lungs as your vision swims. Dizziness and nausea assault you as you try to move, looking desperately for b/f/n. Dark spots dance across your vision when you finally locate their face. Their eyes are wide, and unblinking, a red puddle slowly expanding around their head.

“B/F/N?” you whisper just as everything goes black.

Today

You had woken up in the hospital a day or so later to learn that not only was your best friend dead but that Loki had led the attack. You had always wondered why he had attacked. What had happened to the gentleman you had known to become so twisted and spiteful that he was prepared to rain hellfire down on humanity.

But now, here you were, six years later, stood in the same courtyard you had first met Loki all those years ago. It hadn’t changed in the slightest, except this time there was no one waiting for you. The quiet made you feel out of place and unsure of yourself.

Now you were here you didn’t know what to do. Loki was probably incarcerated deep in the heart of the palace.

‘Good. Lock him up and throw away the key.’ You thought

It had taken a lot of courage to go back through that portal but now you were here you knew it was somewhat of a wasted journey. If you were discovered you knew you would likely end up in the dungeons too, after all, no mortal was supposed to be able to travel to Asgard.

Determination settled deep in your bones, you knew it was unlikely that you could give Loki a piece of your mind but that didn’t mean you couldn’t give it to someone else. Someone higher. His father perhaps.

You made your way out of the courtyard retracing your steps from memory, everything you passed looked the same as when you had last seen it. Loki had only taken you to certain parts of the castle, always making sure to keep you out of sight of other Asgardians. You stopped in the middle of a crossroads of hallways with no idea where you were supposed to be going.

If you were to be caught by Palace guards they might take you to the Allfather.

Turning around you went back the way you came until you found yourself with your nose nearly touching the doors to one of Loki's favourite places; the library. You tentatively place your palms on the ornate doors, there was bound to be some decrepit old librarian lurking about in there. But you made no effort to open them.

You struggled against the memories that began to seep into your mind, happy memories of the hours you and Loki spent in this room as he read to you.

"Y/n?" A voice whispers incredulously from behind, making you jump out of your skin.

You stand frozen for a moment, the sound of his velvety voice bringing back long-buried feelings. Remembering why you came you let your anger and grief swallow them up.

Turning slowly you face Loki. His hair had grown but he looked the same as last time you saw him. His porcelain skin and chiselled features hadn’t changed, but his chest seemed broader and his carefree demeanour was gone.

‘Of course, it’s gone, he’s a megalomaniac’

He wasn’t the same man you had fallen in love with, you had wondered if he had ever been that man or if it was just one of his tricks.

“Loki.” Your voice is cold and distant.

“You came back,” disbelief echoed in his voice. “I never thought you- it’s been years, I thought I would never see you again.” He admitted shyly, sounding almost hopeful.

You kept the anger and upset you felt in the forefront of your mind and let it bloom hotly in your chest. It would help with what would come next, you couldn’t allow yourself to feel anything different, you owed it to b/f/n not to forget.

“Yes, well, New York nearly made sure that I would never see anyone again.”

He baulked at you. Guilt and shame gnawed at his insides and a slight sadness took over his once optimistic expression. He had endured anger from Odin and disappointment from his mother with relative ease, but seeing the hurt he had caused in you very nearly broke his heart. The venom in your voice began to poison the hopes and daydreams he had conjured of you during your absence.

“You were in New York?” he asked quietly avoiding your eyes.

“Along with someone I loved very dearly.” You snap, emphasising every word.

“I had no way of knowing-“

“Bullshit!” you hiss.

“You never came back. I had no idea where you had gone.” His expression was stoic as he defended himself.

“You led an invasion party against us! Conquering New York would’ve just been the beginning and you know it!” You shout incredulously and watch Loki cringe as he understands your original meaning.

“The attack was a mistake I shall never stop paying for…” He admits quietly after a while. The sincerity in his voice was unprecedented. “… Forgive me Y/N, never in my wildest dreams had I imagined you would be hurt because of my foolishness.” He had taken a careful step towards you.

Hot tears burned your eyes and blurred your vision. You blinked quickly willing them away, he did not get to make you feel guilty for your words. You had come back to Asgard with a plan. You didn’t have time to be overcome by silly teenage emotions.

Yet there you were feeling overwhelmed by the man stood in front of you, the speech you had prepared was being forgotten with each passing moment.

“Keep your lies and excuses for someone who actually cares Loki.”

“Silver-tongued I may be, but I have never lied to you Y/N.” His stance shifted to one of defence, he had been stung by your words.

“How can I believe you? Why would I believe you! You set out to destroy my world, you murdered hundreds of innocents in the process.” Your breath comes out harder as you go on. “You should be rotting away in a cell for what you did, not walking around like some dandy, but I suppose because you’re royalty it's okay because daddy’s there to defend you.” You say spitefully.

“Why did you do it? You’re a fucking Prince, you had the world on a silver platter! What? Did you get bored, is that it?” you ask rhetorically. “Did mummy and daddy not pay you enough attention?” your intentions are cruel as you aim to hit a nerve.

Your thoughtless comments and accusations raise Loki’s hackles and in two long strides, he was toe to toe with you. So close you could smell him.

“I had my orders.” His voice was harsh but strained, your brows knit together as you process what he had just said.

Orders? Someone had sent him to attack earth? Why?

“So what! If someone tells you to stick your hand in a fire pit, you do it?” You try to regain the upper hand in the conversation knowing that if you let him speak, you would listen. “What backwards fucking logic is that?!”

“The kind that keeps you alive.” He hisses down at you.

There it was; the crack in his beautiful façade. He sighs heavily and just like a deflated balloon his shoulders sag and he drops his head. His forehead just a hairsbreadth away from yours.

“They threatened to kill you if you didn’t go through with it?” Your previous vehemence was gone, an unknown expression flashes across his face

“I have paid for my treachery.”

“Loki, who-“ Your press.

“‘Who’ does not matter anymore little one” he diverts.

“Of course it does, what if they try again, we-we need to be prepared.” You speak hurriedly, remembering the terror you felt in New York, you drive your hands through your hair, pulling it at the root.

“No.” There’s a tone of finality in his voice.

“What do you mean ‘no’? Loki, who sent that army? If you’re here you can’t know that they won’t try again!” the muscle in his jaw ticks.

“Your precious avengers have proved themselves ready and worthy of dealing with him, you do not need to worry little one.”

“Stop changing the subject!” you cry exasperated. “I was there Loki! I saw those things and what they did.” You place your hands on his chest willing him to pay attention to what you were saying.

“You don’t need to worry-“

“Loki,” you start, preparing to launch into another rant but he cuts you off.

“Enough y/n! Please…” his voice sounds broken as he begs.

“What did they do to you?” You ask softly.

When he doesn’t reply you begin to remove your hands from his person when he reaches up and captures your wrist, holding it against his chest. His grasp sends heat through your veins inviting your teenage fantasies in. You knew that deep down you still harboured feelings for the God, and all of these revelations had your defences crumbling.

“You don’t need to know little one.” His tone is as soft as yours had been and his smile sad.

The sound of footsteps and metallic clinking bursts your little bubble as you both remember where you are stood. Keeping a hold on your wrist he begins to drag you through the Palace, you glance around and realise you’ve never seen these parts before. You have to jog a little to keep up with his pace.

“Loki, where are we going?” you ask breathlessly, pulling against him trying to slow his pace.

“Somewhere a little more private little one,” for the first time you frown at his old pet name for you.

“No.” you state resolutely, pulling your arm out of his grasp.

“y/n now is not the time nor place for this.”

“Either you start talking or I start shouting again.” He glowers silently at you. “I came here for answers Loki, not for a friendly little visit for old times sake. I’m not some hormonal little girl that’ll eat up everything you say.” You cross your arms over your chest.

“There was a time you would’ve done anything I asked y/n.” You feel heat begin to creep up your neck and settle in your cheeks.

“Yes, well, you made your feelings about that quite clear though, didn’t you.” You deflect, desperate for him to not see how his comments affected you.

This time he took hold of your hand, linking his fingers with your own. When he pulled you into motion it was slower this time, allowing you to walk beside him and not have to fight to keep up.

“I always thought you were going to come back.” He admitted after a while.

You shrug in response.

“I missed you.” He adds quietly like he’s afraid the words will make you disappear.

You had come back, he didn’t much care for why anymore. He simply knew he would do anything to make this moment last.

~*~*~*~*~

TAGLIST: @jessiejunebug @seventieshead-modernlover @kinghiddlestonanddixon @danielle101370

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saultnpeppah · 4 years

Text

Day 4: Save the Date

May 2. Prince Residence - Santorini, Greece. 17:47.

Bruce

"Don't even think about it, Bruce."

Diana stares at me from the corner of her eye, her brow furrowed in an attempt to seem serious, but the faint curl of her lip into that devious smile shows me she is still giddy from talking about the wedding. We've been talking about this, what we want to incorporate, who we want there to celebrate alongside us, where we want to have it, and all are things we can agree on easily or are quick to compromise on, but there is still one thing neither of us can settle on: a date. Since proposing two months ago, Diana and I have constantly gone back and forth, both set on our own timeline for our impending nuptials. Diana would like to wait a while, get everything in order, plan properly and have plenty of time to get things settled with work. Me? Hell, I would marry her this afternoon if I could.

I had waited long enough to be in a relationship with her, waited even longer to tell her how I truly felt. I didn't want to waste anymore time unnecessarily, wanting to start my life as her husband as soon as possible.

"What?" I ask innocently, absentmindedly flipping through one of the open magazines atop the bed we lay on, casually discussing the wedding and other events that will fill the year's calendar, waiting on Hippolyta to come back from the office. "You don't think a nice summer wedding would be wonderful," I ask, tilting my head as I flash that smirk I know she can't ignore.

Diana, who has her own wedding magazine grasped firmly in her own hands, turns her head to glare at me, shaking it profusely at the question. "Not if it's this summer," she comments. "You know how much we have going on in the museum right now. That is not enough time to get everything done."

"You forget who you're marrying," I say, but the look in Diana's eyes as she turns to face me once more tells me she is in no mood to discuss the idea any further. I let out a sigh and fall back onto the bed we have been sharing for the last few days, staring up into the ceiling of the villa Hippolyta owns. This trip had been planned months in advance and I had hoped seeing the beautiful weather back in her hometown would persuade Diana that a summer wedding, with the sunshine and ocean breeze providing the perfect backdrop, would be the picture perfect wedding. She had politely shut down that idea, stating both our work schedules would not allow us to take much time off during the summer.

I had offered to hire a wedding planner, wanting to lighten a bit of stress of the load Diana had been carrying, but she simply refused. She wanted to do this herself, and I wasn't going to deny her that.

"What about March?" she asks, her eyebrow raising as she mentally plans a few details, convinced I will agree, and as much as I would love to, I have prior obligations.

"I'll be in Germany for half the month," I say, reminding her of the business trip that has been in the works for over a year. Her eyes close and she lets out an exasperated sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose as she grows increasingly more frustrated. "I'm still loving the summer wedding," I comment once more, the cocky smirk on my face growing as I reach out to touch her back. Her shoulders tense and she closes the magazine in her hands, placing it on top of the mattress as she swings her feet over the edge of the bed and stands.

"I've already said no," she says, trying to keep her voice calm.

"Why are you so stubborn," I find myself asking, however seeing her shoulders tense even more, I realize the comment should have never left my lips. Diana turns to face me, her face tensing as she becomes angry, huffs, and storms out of the room, letting the door slam shut behind her as she stomps down the stairs. "Why, Bruce," I reprimand myself, "why must you push her buttons."

Getting out of bed, I carefully place the magazine I had absentmindedly been browsing through back onto the pile by the foot of the bed, and follow Diana out of the room. Descending the stairs I can hear her talking to someone in Greek. Her tone is angry, and even though I've picked up a few words and phrases since high school, she's speaking too quickly for me to comprehend anything.

Diana finishes and lets out a huff as her companion chuckles before she responds, letting me know it is Donna she has run into and has been complaining to about me; if there was one word I understood throughout that entire rant, it was my name.

I turn the corner, forcing myself from my hiding spot, and step into the family room. Diana and Donna quiet when they see me, the three of us staring at each other, until Diana lets out a huff and walks out the room. When I try to take a step toward my fiance, Donna steps in the way, places a hand on my shoulder, and shakes her head. "Let her cool down," she says calmly, and as much as I want to apologize to Diana, I know Donna is right about her sister.

I give Donna a reluctant nod and throw my head back, letting out a sigh as her hand retreats from my shoulder. She takes a seat on the edge of the couch and waits for me to follow, her blue eyes staring at me until I comply and take a seat on the chair across from her. Her eyes continue to stare at me, watching every breath I take, studying me. Since the moment Diana and I announced we were dating, she has kept a close eye on me, and for good reason. Diana is her sister, and she would never let anything happen to her.

The two have been close, well as close as two people with an age gap as big as theirs can be. Ten years her junior, Donna joined the family when Diana was just heading off to college. After her mother died, and her father had abandoned her, Hippolyta and Diana were the only family Donna had, and after much consideration, and much convincing from Diana, Hippolyta had taken the child in and raised her like her own. At first it had been an adjustment, as Donna had just become an orphan at the age of eight, something I knew much too well, but Diana spent most of the summer before college helping her become acclimated to life with her mother, and again the following summer when Hippolyta had decided they were going to move back to Greece. In fact, our first year of college, I don't think Diana spent an entire weekend on campus, choosing to make the three hour drive each Friday night to spend time with Donna.

Diana knew Donna needed a friend, and after having her own father walk out on her life, Diana knew she could form a connection with her. She gave her advice on how to deal with Hippolyta's constant overbearing nature, even if it was out of love, and the two became inseparable. Donna was part of the reason Diana had returned to Greece for a time, knowing the girl was having a hard time acclimating to the country and her new found family. It was one of the reasons I fell in love with Diana. She was, is, so willing to sacrifice her own personal needs for her family, leaving the country to help the distant relative she didn't know she hadn't known about for years.

But as I continue to watch Donna stare at me, I wonder just how distant the two are. Donna looks just like Diana. The two have the same dark wavy hair, the same piercing blue eyes, the same tall, muscular, yet slender build. It's uncanny.

"So, she's pretty angry?" I ask, even though I know the answer. Diana doesn't storm off much, but when she does, it's usually because she has good reasons. I only hope I can apologize before I ruin the rest of the trip for her. It's not very often she gets to see her family and I want her to have nothing but the best of times.

Donna nods and chuckles, leaning back into the couch as her arms fold over her chest. "Understandably so," she comments. She watches my face, watching as I raise an eyebrow in confusion, before she adds, "Bruce, it's not that Diana doesn't want to get married as soon as possible. She does. But did you ever think that maybe this summer isn't the best time for her?"

I nod. I know she has a million and one things to do and maybe I've been a bit selfish about this whole thing. I can move my schedule around much easier than Diana can, and I never took into consideration how preoccupied with work she has been. I suddenly feel like an idiot and a jerk for the comments I've made to Diana.

"When she came to Greece, she gave up a job offer in New York," Donna explains, "and when she got back to Gotham, she had to fight for the job she has now." I never knew she gave up a job offer. I want to ask Diana about it when I see her again, but the look on Donna's face tells me I should think otherwise. She looks guilty. She looks as though she blames herself for Diana giving up that dream job to come and help her through a rough patch, and the look in her eyes tells me she will never stop feeling that way. I suddenly realize it is not something that needs to be brought up again.

"When the two of you started dating, and Diana got into the papers and tabloids, there was talk about her being dismissed from her job."

Her words spark an emotion in me that I can only describe as both anger and sadness. I never wanted Diana to lose her job, lose anything, because of me. I knew when we started dating the press was going to have a field day with printing any and all details about our relationship, no matter how accurate or fabricated they had been. Her life was going to be scrutinized by people who knew nothing about her, and although I tried to keep her name out of the papers, never wanting that for her, I suppose rumors and lies spread elsewhere. Had I known her job had been in jeopardy, I would have been a bit more cautious on how we approached everything.

"She never told me this," I say. My hand clenches into a fist and I take a deep breath, trying to control the anger that is rising within my chest.

Donna shrugs. "I told her to, but Diana is stubborn. You and I both know that." She lets out a chuckle and adds, "Hell, all of Santorini knows this." While Diana in the spotlight is not a new development, after all, her mother is essentially royalty here in Greece, she hasn't been in the papers since she was eight. But even as a child, she was as stubborn and headstrong as she is now, and if Hippolyta's stories are any forewarning, any children we have are going to be nearly impossible to sway away from something they want.

"She convinced them your relationship would not affect her job, and she's made good on that promise for over a year. Diana has worked hard, has put in extra hours, has proved herself time and time again. If she neglects her duties to get married this summer, when there are two galas and another exhibit planning to open in September, who knows how this is going to affect her."

My heart sinks when I realize everything Donna has said is true. I never knew Diana's job had been threatened because of her association with me, but if I had paid attention, I would've seen the signs. I knew Diana worked hard, harder than most, but I never knew it was because she feared losing her job. After all, she had already given up one dream job, I couldn't be the reason behind her losing another. I am suddenly overwhelmed by guilt. I have been selfish, more so than usual, and I owe her so much more. I should be working with Diana, not against her. I should be getting married when we both feel it is right. It isn't right of me to want to rush her for my own selfish wants.

"I'm an idiot," I mumble, dropping my head into my hands and letting out a sigh.

"No," someone says, and my head snaps up to see both Hippolyta and Antiope, her girlfriend, standing behind Donna. Hippolyta offers me a small smile and takes a seat next to Donna, placing her arm around the girl that has become her second daughter, before she leans in and kisses the teen's head. "You're not an idiot, Bruce," she says as she stares at me and I wonder just how much of this conversation she and Antiope have heard. "You two have been best friends for years, so naturally you've both clicked fairly well for a majority of the time. Sure there have been a few spats here and there and as I recall you two didn't talk for nearly a month your Junior year."

I try not to let my face give away anything, as the only reason Diana and I had gotten into that argument resulting in our avoidance of each other in the first place was because we had slept together. Once we started talking again, deciding to forget about the whole thing, Diana had let it slip that she had lied to her mother saying we had argued about a class project, but Hippolyta was smart.

"And don't think I didn't know why you were arguing," she says, narrowing her eyes at me. Guess Diana wasn't as convincing as she thought. "The point is," she begins, "You two need to be flexible and take each others' needs and priorities into account. There are going to be days when you're not readily available for her and there will be days when she's not readily available for you. You work through it, and compromise."

As Hippolyta finishes her lecture, Antiope walks up to the woman and takes a seat beside her, placing a hand on the older woman's knee. "That and you'll have to learn the Prince women are stubborn but they mean well," she teases, turning to Hippolyta who only scowls, offended by her comment.

"How dare you," Hippolyta says, feigning insult as Donna and Antiope share a laugh. Antiope kisses Hippolyta's cheek and offers me a smile, however I am only convinced that everything is going to be okay when Hippolyta joins in and smiles widely as well. "Don't worry, Bruce," she says, "you two will figure it out."

XXXXXXX

It is dark when the door to Diana and my shared bedroom creaks open and she walks inside, her skin covered in a sheen of sweat and her cheeks are flushed. Her earbuds are still in her ears, blasting the soundtrack to her run, so she doesn't hear that I am still up, but I haven't been able to stop thinking since she left. For the past three hours I have done nothing but think, and now that she's here, I want to run a new idea by her.

She continues to bob her head as the music continues to flow through the wireless devices, her heart rate still elevated from running the all too familiar streets of her childhood home. A part of me wants to reach out and touch her arm, wipe the sweat from her brow, and let her know I'm awake, but I also enjoy watching her as she sits on the edge of the bed, slowly pulling her shirt over her head. She turns to flip on the light by the bed, letting out a small shriek when she sees me sitting up and staring at her.

Her hand instinctively goes to cover her bra clad chest before she realizes it's only me and lets out a sigh of relief. "I didn't realize you were still up," she whispers. She pulls the earbuds from her ears and places them in their charging container, carefully placing them on the desk beside the window along with her phone.

I quietly flip on the bedside lamp, watching as she pulls the tie from her hair, letting it fall out of the ponytail into a pool down her back, before she pulls off her socks and tosses them into the adjoining bathroom. "Couldn't sleep," I confess. It's partially true. I couldn't sleep without Diana here, safe and sound beside me, but I wanted to make sure she knew I was sorry for everything that happened this evening.

I pat the spot on the bed next to where I lay and I watch as she contemplates the offer, lets out a small sigh, and obliges, laying down beside me. I let her get comfortable before I roll onto my side, watching as her eyes widen in surprise, before I lean down and kiss her softly. "I'm all sweaty," she whispers, letting me know she wants to shower soon, before she kisses me back.

I nod. "I know," I start, "but I want to talk to you before you jump into the shower." She gives me a nod and sits up, watching as I copy her pose, sitting in the center of the mattress. I grab her hand and give it a gentle squeeze, before I lift it to my lips and place a kiss on the back of her hand. "I'm sorry," I say. "I didn't realize how selfish I was being about this whole thing."

She says nothing so I continue, "You have given up so much for me. You've been scrutinized by the media, and I know planning this with work hasn't been easy." She raises an eyebrow and shakes her head, unable to believe Donna told me what she had confided in her sister about her job. I know she doesn't want me to worry, but I can't help it. I love her so much and her problems, by default, become mine.

"Donna told you?" she asks. I only nod and she lets out another sigh. "Bruce, I never wanted you to feel like I couldn't come to you. I just-"

"I know, Diana," I say. I know she can handle herself. I know she doesn't need me to save her. "I'm sorry."

Diana scoots over to where I sit and places her head on my shoulder, gently kissing the skin of my shoulder, and I wrap my arms around her, dropping a kiss to the top of her head. "I do want to ask your opinion on something," I say and she nods against my skin. "We started our relationship on the first," I begin. "Maybe that's when we should get married?"

Diana tenses for a moment, pondering over what I've just said, before she pulls back and looks me in the eye. "A winter wedding?" she asks.

I nod, flash her a smile, and bite my bottom lip as I consider the option I've just given her. "To persuade you a little more," I begin, "Neither of us will be swamped with work during that time. We both are free from other obligations, and we're going to have family around anyway."

She stares at me, contemplating what I've said. I can see her mind is running a million miles a minute, her eyes shifting from my face to the wall behind me as she tries to see if this is a viable option. I watch as she begins to count on her fingers, mentally calculating everything. "Two years ago I started the year as your boyfriend. Next year I'd love to start the year as your husband."

She is still for a moment before she turns to face me and smiles. She leans in and places a kiss on my lips, wrapping her arms around my neck and pulling me close. "January 1st," she says, "Did we just agree on a date?"

I am unable to help the smile that forms on my lips as she leans in for another kiss. "Yes," I answer and she gets giddy. The wedding planning is back on and now with a date set in place, we can finally get back to planning for the wedding and our future.

She rises from the bed and walks to the bathroom, discarding her leggings when she steps into the bathroom. She turns to face me and raises an eyebrow, flashing a smirk toward where I sit, the hint obvious. "Is my fiance going to join me?" she asks flirtatiously, disappearing behind the bathroom door. Her bra is discarded onto the floor and it is all the motivation I need as I jump off the bed and rush toward the bathroom where Diana has started the shower, letting the room fill with the steam provided by the hot water.

Diana squeals when I discard my own clothes once I'm inside the bathroom and wrap my arms around her, pulling her against my naked body. January first this woman is going to be my wife, and I cannot wait until I see her walk down that aisle, ready to start the rest of our lives together. Only eight more months to go.

@fyeahwonderbat

#StepsToTheAltar #wonderbat #brucexdiana #fanfiction #au #savethedate

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floatingbook · 4 years

Text

Resignation

- Reading: Tales of the Lavender Menace by Karla Jay

“[…] I bear little resemblance to my younger incarnation. Instead of plotting the peaceful overthrow of the system, I sit through endless committee meetings where some colleagues visibly cringe at words like “precedent” and “change.” My evenings are spent hunched over unmarked term papers and drafts of scholarly essays. In my spare time I scan the Internet for stocks that will speed my way to a capitalistic retirement in a gentle climate. Nowadays a night of debauchery is likely to entail a trip to a gourmet emporium to fondle the grapes and sample the extra virgin olive oil. My drugs of choice are not marijuana and hashish, but Motrin and caffeine.

As I revisited the exploits of the lesbian/feminist radical with the unkempt hair and utopian ideals, I often felt I was writing about someone else, some long-dead, distant relative whose name escapes me. I am no longer the person at the center of this political autobiography, not even vaguely. Though I sometimes laughed or cried as I recalled poignant memories, I felt little connection with the person I was writing about, and I could not explain, even to myself, how I had eventually shed the person I was, like an empty snakeskin, and embraced a middle-class identity.” p. 263-264

In Karla Jay’s words transpire something extremely sad about growing older. The letting go of lofty ideals, the end of utopian calls for change, a resignation to the status quo, an acceptation of it even. The longer you live with the state of things, the more you capacity to be revolted by it erodes. The first couple of times, your rage is white-hot. The tenth time, you are ulcered. The fiftieth, you sigh despondently. The hundredth time, you’re no longer surprised; it’s how things go. It’s how things have always been, and how they will continue to be. We become blind to what used to spur us into action. We settle in the state of things and sometimes we are even contented.

“Now, thirty years after members of Redstockings barged into legislative hearings on abortion and after gay men rioted at the Stonewall Inn, things have certainly changed for the better.” p. 266

Have they, tho? Women have won some rights; vote, access to abortion, financial autonomy, no-fault divorce, recognition of marital rape, … But this progress in not true everywhere nor is it safe from backlash and back-pedalling. Some women and girls around the world are still ostracised and treated as second-class citizens when they have their period; women are still barred from access to education, from leaving their home, from practicing certain jobs, from leaving misogynistic religions; women all around the world are battered and violated; wars still rage, leaving women and girls as main victims in their wakes; lesbians are still stoned to death, tortured for their sexual orientation, kept from loving their partner. And the rise of the Internet and social media has made the sexual objectification of women and girls all the more easy, as well as all enterprises that aim at oppressing women: trafficking, pornography, prostitution, … Have things “certainly changed for the better” or has one set of chain been exchanged for an other, different but as harmful and oppressive? The oppression used to be dealt in the home, now it’s out for all to see, but who is looking?

“The young women I deal with at school agonize as much as my contemporaries did when they face an unexpected pregnancy, but they have legal remedies to choose from.” p. 266

Just look at the persistent taboos and misconceptions about birth control; just look at the dismal state of sexual education in most countries; just look at violently misogynistic protestors picketing abortion clinics and guilting women into keeping pregnancies; just look at the closing of abortion clinics in some countries; just look at the curtailing of abortion laws in some countries; just look at the illegality of abortion in some countries. But yes, women have full reproductive rights.

“Feminists and homosexuals have our own presses, magazines, music and film festivals, and community centers. The “Ellenization” of television has caused an explosion of gay and lesbian characters in a variety of shows. No one need grow up, as I did, identifying more with Jack London’s White Fang than with other humans.” p. 266

Do we, tho, do we? Women-only spaces are being overriden by men who pretend to know better than us what is good for women; lesbian spaces are plagued by the same phenomenon. And where are all those lesbians in the media? How often do they have happy love story, aren’t harassed or raped or buried before the end of the show? Where are they? I grew up in at the turn of the century, and I don’t remember all these lesbians. I have to go looking for them, to dig them out. There is nothing mainstream about lesbians in the media. But sure, technically, going from none to a few is an explosion.

“Once the patriarchy controlled the bodies and everyday lives of women, homosexuals and transgendered people with an iron fist.” p. 266

Because it doesn’t anymore? Just to cite a few examples: constant and omnipresent advertisement of an unattainable beauty cannon, permanent incitement to hate our own bodies, public shaming of homosexual desire, the nuclear family with at least two kids still held as the picture of success in life for women. Karla Jay’s “once” and use of past tense are nothing but resignation. Better to pretend that things are good for women now than to realise that few things of importance have changed and that overall, the oppression is still the same, if only less evident.

“The struggle is far from over, and reactionary forces miss no opportunity to reinstate their dominance through legislative efforts and sometimes even terrorism. Today our lobbyists and activists seem more reactive than proactive. Back then the colorful actions of radicals captured not just headlines but also the imagination of an entire generation yearning for equality. Though the grand revolution we were expecting never came, we are all freer today because of the courage of many individuals who were wiling to risk everything for gender justice.” p. 266

Yes, “the struggle is far from over,” at least we can agree on this.

Overall, this was an interesting look at the political climate of women’s liberation and gay rights movements of the early 1970s. It’s a shame the energy of these movements fizzled out so fast and left us with performative posturing and delusions that everything is fine today.

#resignation #reading her epilogue #karla jay #reading #tales of the lavender menace #women's liberation #gay rights #the world is not a good place #was it much worse?#it was worse differently #we have our own horrors now #and so few of the past horrors have been eradicated

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panharmonium · 4 years

Text

For Want of a Woodwright (Part 4)

aaaand we’re back with another slice of AU nonsense!

(parts 1-3 can be found here; original idea is courtesy of this awesome anon ask)

today’s installment is gift-fic for @ragtag-band-of-murderers, whose generous reading and commenting last week brought me such joy and truly helped me in the midst of a tough moment. here’s a little ficlet for you, my friend - featuring a bird’s-eye view of the city, more of our fave dudes just being themselves, and a minor reference to something you already read <3

THANK YOU, as always, to everyone who’s having fun playing in this sandbox with me - i hope you enjoy some more of the boys being alive and well in the Good Timeline :D

as before, the same disclaimer applies: this is VERY rough, not meticulously edited, and not even remotely close to a final draft. it is hardly even a first draft, in fact. the snippets in this series are not necessarily connected to each other, or in order, or part of any actual coherent plot, and they do not directly adhere to the plan laid out in lovely anon’s original post, either; they are just snapshots of images that refused to remain unillustrated once they’d occurred to me :)

with that said, if you’re looking for more AU fun (thank you again, anon, for this ‘verse!), hit the jump!

4. solid ground

Merlin drummed his boots against the wall beneath him, the stone battlements on either side of him providing some stability for his precarious perch atop the parapet.

From his seated position inside one of the inner curtain wall’s crenels, Merlin could see the entirety of the lower town, and the outer curtain encircling the urban crush, and the Sprawl beyond, a haphazard collection of settlements outside the reach of the city walls, the Crown’s cultivated fields and pastures transforming finally into wilderness, where the land was swallowed by forest. Directly below, the King’s Works were in full swing, the framing yard at the base of the inner curtain a picture of hustle and bustle, numerous craftsmen unloading heavy timber from a caravan of carts lined up just beside the gate to the upper ward. A number of other beams were laid out upon the cleared earth in a predetermined pattern, and something vaguely recognizable as a pair of roof supports appeared to have already been joined together at the other end of the yard.

Merlin had been in the city long enough to know that once the beams for this mystery structure had been measured, cut, and framed, they would be disassembled and carted off to wherever the desired building was to be erected, but he could not have explained in any detail the specific tasks taking place down below. One worker was marking some of the timbers with chalk symbols just as indecipherable to Merlin as the runes Gaius had recently set him to studying. Another fellow was chipping away at a beam using something that wasn’t quite pointy enough on either end to be a pickaxe. Two others appeared to be having some kind of animated argument over a set of timbers that looked all right to Merlin, but mustn’t have been, judging by the amount of arm-waving and indecipherable shouting taking place below.

Will probably could have told Merlin more about it, but Will had not climbed into the crenel. He stood at Merlin’s back instead, staring determinedly ahead at the distant horizon, as opposed to peering down at the framing yard’s frantic scurry of activity.

“High up, this,” Will said.

“Saddlegap’s higher.”

“Saddlegap’s up the side of a mountain, though,” Will muttered, his eyes firmly fixed on absolutely nothing. “Not straight up, like.” He drummed his fingers nervously on the sharp cut of the raised battlement. “Never been up anywhere like this.”

Merlin looked at Will, fighting a sudden, surprised urge to laugh. “Are you afraid of heights?”

“No!” Will retorted, instantly grouchy. He redirected his gaze - with discernible difficulty, Merlin couldn’t help but note - down to the framing yard, where a pair of tiny figures in brown and white were rolling a log over to a deep depression in the earth. Once suspended over the hole, the log could be sliced down the middle using a lengthy pit saw.

Merlin hid a smile. “Come and sit with me, then.”

Will looked nauseated, though he wiped his face clean of any such expression quickly. “I’m not sitting in there.”

“Why not?”

“There’s no room.”

Merlin scooted as far over as he could, leaving a space between himself and the merlon to his right. “There’s plenty. Come in.”

“I’m not coming in there.”

“Just admit you’re afeared of the drop - ”

“I am not,” Will declared, and to prove it, he climbed into the crenel alongside Merlin, wedging himself into the space between Merlin’s side and the raised masonry of the merlon to their right, sitting there with his feet dangling in the air, upper body squashed between Merlin on one side and solid stone on the other.

Will’s frame was as stiff and unyielding as the log being hewn down below. Merlin nudged him with an elbow. “You see? It’s not so bad.”

“Not so bad,” Will echoed through gritted teeth. “Right. You’re cracked, Merlin.”

“You trust me, don’t you?”

“I wish I didn’t.”

Merlin decided not to pursue the potential truth behind that statement, for all that it made him itch.

Later.

They could talk about it later.

Instead, he changed the subject, and pointed at a section of the lower town, where there was a dark gap in the layered patchwork of thatched roofs. “We had a fire over there, the other week.”

Will was not really looking. He appeared intently focused on a cloud floating at exactly the level of his eyes. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Little one. Not so bad. But now I can’t get pies from that fellow’s shop anymore, and that’s rotten luck, because they’re really tasty.”

“What sort?” Will asked, resolutely inspecting his cloud. “Meat or fruit?”

“All sorts. You’ve never seen so many pies in your life. I’d have got you one if I could.”

Will shrugged in his best ‘life is like that’ way. “Gods rest the pie man.”

“He’s not dead!”

“Oh.”

“Gods forbid, Will.”

Will rolled his eyes. “Sorry, Merlin. Didn’t realize you were so attached to the man who made your breakfast - ”

“He’s just closed down for a bit. We’ll have him up and running again soon enough.”

“‘We’ who?”

“Everybody loves the pie man, Will. It’s a neighborhood effort, rebuilding him.”

Will tried valiantly to inspect the spot Merlin had pointed at, though his cheeks paled the moment he registered just how far down the pie man’s plot was situated relative to their own spot on top of the wall. “Bad timing for it,” he said, averting his eyes after only a brief glance. “For you.”

“Is it?”

Will pointed at the countryside beyond the Sprawl. “Apples coming in and all.”

“Oof,” Merlin said, never having considered this fact. “You’re right.”

Will smiled faintly. “Apple season and no pie man to make Merlin’s favorites. What’s a poor sorcerer to do?”

Merlin shrugged, affecting an abjectly mournful weariness. “Die.”

Will snorted.

“Apple pie is serious business, Will.”

“Deadly serious.”

“Obviously.” Merlin sighed and stretched out his legs over the drop, letting them fall back against the wall with a thunk. “I’ll nick a few apples for myself, I suppose. The Crown’s got orchards aplenty. I’m no hand in the bakehouse - ”

“Too right - ”

“ - but I’ll trade a favor with Gwen, maybe; I reckon she knows what she’s about.”

“Who?”

“Gwen. You met Gwen.”

“Which one was she?”

“The one in servant’s garb. She’s got brown skin, curly hair to about here?”

Will nodded. Merlin searched the mottled sea of rooftops for Gwen’s house. Just down the lane from her cottage, smoke rose over the forge, a cloud of fumes that never truly dissipated, even after nightfall. The smell hung in the air day in and day out, clinging to the straw in the street and the wooden struts of the surrounding structures. Even the building itself continued to radiate vestiges of heat long after Tom and his crew had gone home for the evening.

“I think you’d get on with her,” Merlin ventured. “Gwen’s lovely. She’s the nicest person I’ve ever met.”

“Yeah?” Will’s reply was some mix of absent and unconvinced.

“Yeah. I mean, she’s nicer than you, anyhow.”

“Mm.”

“Not that that’s a particularly high bar to step over.”

“Thanks, Merlin.”

Merlin hesitated. “Maybe I could introduce you to each other.”

“We’ve already met.”

“No, you haven’t, not properly. You didn’t even remember who she was.”

“I remembered her. I just didn’t know her name, is all.”

“Well, you didn’t talk to her or anything.”

“Why would I talk to her? I don’t know her.”

Merlin squirmed in his seat, self-conscious. “I don’t know. I just think you’d like her. She’s not...” He gestured vaguely behind them, past the slope of the wealthier upper wards and back to the citadel proper. “You know, she’s not silly like that sort. She’s plain folk, like us.”

Will was staring straight ahead, past the crowded mess of the lower town and out to the country, beyond the Sprawl’s creeping expanse of civilization. It was a clear enough day that one could see the hazy jut of the mountains looming in the distance, and - in Merlin’s imagination, at least - the border was there, too, and their home just beyond that, hidden in the foothills, nestled in a little valley behind the White Mountains’ far-reaching roots.

“Gwen helped me a lot when I first came here,” Merlin said. “Taught me loads.”

“I’m sure she’s brilliant, Merlin,” murmured Will, his eyes locked on the horizon.

“I just thought since you’re here - ” Merlin stopped himself, sitting up a bit straighter. “I mean, not that you’re here-here, obviously; but - just staying, you know, not that you’re staying-staying, or anything, just - ” Merlin forced himself to take a deep breath and exhale, unlocking his fingers from where they’d wound themselves into a knot. “Since you’re here just now, I mean. I just. Thought maybe it would be good, you know. For you to know some people.”

“I don’t think your friend there wants to know me, Merlin.”

“Why not?”

Will raised his eyebrows. “She thinks I have magic, doesn’t she?”

“That’s - ” Merlin faltered momentarily. “It’s just Gwen, I mean, she’s - you’re my friend. It wouldn’t matter.”

Will gave Merlin a skeptical look. “Why haven’t you told her your secret, then?”

Merlin opened his mouth, then closed it again. The breeze curling through the gap of the crenel was chilly, raising goosebumps on his arms.

Will shook his head and returned his gaze to the mountains. “Look, Merlin...if it really didn’t matter, she’d already know. Let’s not court trouble, all right? We’re in enough of that as it is.”

“You don’t have to be,” Merlin said, after a brief pause. “You could go.”

Will did not reply, staring at the White Mountain like he was trying to climb it with his eyes. Merlin wondered what he was thinking, Will with his closed mouth and his set jaw and his inscrutable frowns. Did he wish he were back there? Did he wish he hadn’t left in the first place?

Merlin shifted on the cramped crenel, but there was nowhere for him to go. “I just thought...it might be good, you know. For you. To make friends.

“I’ve got enough friends, Merlin.”

“You’ve only got me.”

“That’s what I said.”

The line of Merlin’s body where it pressed against Will was very warm.

So was Merlin’s face.

Merlin was glad suddenly that there was no space on either side of them for either of them to scoot away. He relaxed where he sat, solid stone on one side and solid Will on the other, the two of them squished and snug against each other in their shared seat.

Will’s frame was hard as a rock, though. Merlin looked down at Will’s hands, one of which was fisted on his knees and the other of which was wrapped, white-knuckled, around the corner of the battlement.

“You really don’t like it up here, do you?” Merlin asked, a surprised smile spreading over his face.

“Hate it,” Will burst out immediately, with a vehement gust of relief. “It’s wretched. I can’t believe you’ve got me sitting up here, Merlin; of all the daft, foolheaded places for a person to be - ”

“We can get down,” Merlin laughed, climbing back over onto the walkway. He wrapped a hand in the fabric of Will’s mantle and jostled him lightly. “Go on, lean forward. You’ll get to the bottom quick as anything.”

Will gave Merlin a dirty look and scooted himself very painstakingly out of the crenel, back onto the safety of the ramparts.

Merlin, hands on his hips, evaluated Will with newfound curiosity. “And here I thought I knew everything there was to know about you.”

“I’m not afraid of heights, Merlin,” Will said, turning to stride along the line of the wall toward one of the towers that would take them back to the ground.

“Don’t get tetchy,” Merlin said, following him. “Everyone’s afraid of something.”

“You’d know.”

Merlin did not argue. Will, for all his formidable powers of perception, hardly knew how true his statement was - Merlin found something new to be afraid of every day, it seemed, now that he was in Camelot.

“I’d never let you fall off, you know,” Merlin said, tugging open the door to the tower, the creaking hinges echoing down the darkened spiral stair within.

“Oh, aye?”

“Aye, so,” Merlin replied, ushering Will onto the staircase and nodding to a guard headed up in the opposite direction. “And if you did fall, I’d catch you.”

“You would not,” Will scoffed. “You’ve never caught anything so big in your life.”

“Not yet. But I can do all sorts of new things now; I haven’t shown you hardly anything. Gaius gave me this book - ”

Will groaned. “Oh, Lugh, Merlin, no. Not another book.”

“A great big one,” Merlin grinned.

“Gods alive,” Will muttered. “This again.”

“You don’t know the half of it.” Merlin’s grin widened as he tripped his way down the stairs. “Gaius has all sorts of books, dozens of them; well, you’ve been in his chambers, you already know - and he tosses them all over like it’s nothing; it’s mad; it’s like he doesn’t even care. Most of them are physician’s texts, I mean, and that’s interesting enough, I suppose, but there’s more, Will, on the lower levels; there’s an entire library; it goes on forever, it’s got everything, it’s - what are you doing? Where are you going?

Will had turned around and was heading back up the stairs. He jerked his thumb upwards. “Back.”

“What for?”

Will did not look round at Merlin, but continued to trudge determinedly up the stairs. “I’ve decided to take the quick way down after all.”

Merlin snorted and snagged Will’s sleeve in his fingers. Will, pulling away, put up a valiant show of resistance. “Just let me jump, Merlin. I can’t survive another round of this book nonsense.”

“Not on your life. I’m not spending an evening scraping you off the paving stones.”

Will gave up and allowed himself to be pulled down the stairs, but his face wore the dark, surly look of a man marching to his own execution. “If you try to read me anything, I’m crawling out your window.”

“Bit high up, that,” Merlin remarked mildly, “for a fellow who’s just discovered he’s afeared of heights.”

“I am not afeared of heights,” Will snapped. Then, in his most stubborn tone, he added, “The higher the better. I don’t want to suffer.”

Merlin laughed. “You might’ve thought on that before you went running off to Camelot, William.”

Will’s face changed slightly. “Aye, so,” he replied, a touch of something grim in his voice. “So might you have done, but that’s neither here nor there.”

Merlin bit his tongue on an uncertain reply and shoved Will out the door at the base of the tower, out of the stuffy shadows of the staircase, into an overbright, sunlit afternoon.

Later, Merlin thought, chivvying Will across what was supposed to be solid ground, though Merlin wasn’t sure, now, if they had really made it to the bottom, after all, for all that there was grass and good earth under their feet.

They could talk about it later.

#TBC maybe! inspiration pending as always #this is a fun AU to play in #and it allows me to continue writing for my fave #so we'll see what happens!#(i clearly wasn't done writing about these kids when i was 'done' writing about them it seems)#(shocking)#XD #fic #the once and future slowburn #for want of a woodwright #no kings no masters

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beckwithjames · 4 years

Photo

Beneath the cut you will find additional information on James Beckwith. You can read his full biography if you click here.

BASICS

He has a couple of nicknames, but the most common one would be “Beck”. Yep, he is the guy that a lot of friends address with his last name!

A few, selected people may call him “Jay”, but I wouldn’t necessarily try it unless you’re close.

James was born on October 30th. He is about to turn 31 and his zodiac sign is Virgo. He doesn’t care much about that, but trust me when I say there are a lot of accurate traits he has.

FAMILY

He is the oldest out of three children. He has a younger brother and a younger sister.

The brothers have always been very close.

The sister is a bit of a “black sheep”. All three of them like to party, but she never cared to put much effort into her education - much to the frustration of their relatives.

James has a hard time connecting to his family. His siblings are an exception, but even with them he finds it hard to let them too close.

The Beckwith family comes from old money and resides in Pembrooke. Pictures of his living situation will follow as soon as possible.

LACEY

Lacey Marie Beckwith was born on March 13th 2018 and is James’ first child.

While her conception was an accident and it took him a long time to accept that he was going to be a father he loves his kid more than anything.

Her mother left them shortly after her birth. She claimed that she needed to spend time with her parents, but she never returned and James hasn’t heard from her since. This is something that leaves him very conflicted. He worries that something happened that keeps her away and he wishes that Lacey had her mother in her life. Another part of him fears that she might try to walk back into their lives like nothing happened or that she could even try to take their child away from him. Due to that reason he’s content with the way things are right now.

RELATIONSHIPS

Believe it or not James has never really been in love. He’s had relationships in the past, but most of them weren’t much more than a convenience or owed to simple attraction.

The lack of relationships doesn’t equal a lack of fun. James likes things wild so past hook ups and one night stands aren’t off the table if any character is in need of them.

He did start to develop some feelings for the mother of his child, but they died pretty fast after she left. James doesn’t understand how she could do that when they both agreed to try to work through their difficulties. This occurrence erased any small amount of faith in love that he had left. It probably made his reputation a whole lot worse because he tried to distract himself from the pain.

CAREER

Even though his family has more money than they can spend they wanted him to study something proper and honorable. They pushed him into medicine, but James actually enjoys it and is really good at his job.

He chose to specialize in Neurology and worked hard to increase his skills, but his process has been delayed when Lacey came into the world.

James only works part time. He doesn’t want to give up on his job, but he tries to put his daughter first. Nothing is more important.

PERSONALITY

As mentioned a hundred times James has a really hard time letting people close. He can be distant and somewhat cold at times, but when he cares about someone he is very loyal and supportive, though he’s always going to be honest with you.

You will never find him not overthinking things. He questions almost everything.

He’s a perfectionist which leads to a lot of frustration with himself or others.

James has a lot of flaws that he’s aware of and he attempts to reign himself in whenever it’s necessary. He doesn’t always succeed.

Deep down he has a lot of love in his heart. It’s just a little harder to discover.

POSSIBLE CONNECTIONS

His baby momma? This is a maybe. It would really depend on a whole lot of things.

His siblings could be in the picture.

Cousins or family friends.

Exes and former flings / hookups.

Best friends / enemies / frenemies.

Bad influences / good influences.

His number one confidant if he even has one.

But at the end of the day I’m here for anything.

If you made it down here and you read through this mess then thank you for letting me steal your time! :D I’m really excited to develop him further and to get to know all of your muses too. If you need me or James for anything at all just let us know!

#╰ ‘ 𝙹𝙰𝙼𝙴𝚂 𝙱𝙴𝙲𝙺𝚆𝙸𝚃𝙷 ’ › ABOUT.

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chocoholicannanymous · 4 years

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Leap of Faith (BtVS)

Disclaimer: I own neither vampires nor Slayers, and the boy in my bed is most definitely not Spike. (I haven't read the comics, so anything revealed in them regarding Faith's family is ignored.)

The file for this was created March 2nd, 2014. The fact that it’s finally ready for posting... Yeah, it feels a bit unreal.

I owe my gratitude to @pterawaters and @wolfish-willow for giving this a read-through and me their opinions.

Leap of Faith

To say that inmate Faith Lehane – formerly known as Faith the Vampire Slayer – didn’t get a lot of visitors was an understatement. Angel showed up now and again, mostly when he felt especially redemptive, but that hadn’t happened in a while now. He was the only one – she didn’t exactly have a lot of friends. Family, well, she had even less of that, and what little she had? She wasn’t even a blip on their radar. However, she did have enemies, more than she could be bothered to count.

So when she was informed of a visitor that wasn’t Angel she didn’t know what to think. That the man in question had identified himself as Alexander Lehane, and claimed to be a distant cousin… Yeah, right. Her mom had been an only child, and her dad? Well, not only had he never been in the picture, he’d also not been the one to pass on that ‘Lehane’. So the chances of this guy really being a relative were slim, yet she wasn’t ready to completely rule it out. Even if it was a lot more likely that he was an assassin, or someone who simply wanted to gloat. Whatever, or whoever, he was, Faith was ready.

Turned out she wasn’t. The man on the other side of the window was named Alexander all right, only his last name wasn’t Lehane but Harris, as in Xander Harris – not-quite-card-carrying member of the Scoobies and friends with the other Slayer. That fact didn’t make her rule out the possibility of an assassination, nor that of gloating. They had been on less than good terms the last few times they’d met – mostly because of her. Still, maybe she’d get a chance of apologizing now. Xander had believed in her, had thought she could return to the ‘light’ side, and she’d repaid him by trying to choke him. Yeah, she owed him an apology alright.

“Hello Faith. You’re looking surprisingly good. I take it redemption’s working for you?”

She did a double take at his words, and then she looked at him again, closer, and this time she really saw. This wasn’t Xander. At least not the Xander she’d ‘known’, in place of a better phrase. This guy looked older, wiser, more self-assured and mature. Like he’d come into his own and knew exactly who he was. Not a change she’d have thought possible in the short time since she’d last seen him. Also, he was an eye short. No, something didn’t add up here.

Faith stayed silent and scrutinized the man – because this ‘Xander’ was obviously no longer a boy in any sense of the word. He could be an impostor; someone quite cleverly disguised who’d just missed. Or he could be something else entirely. In the end, she leaned towards that explanation, even though it was the most unlikely one. It was still the one that seemed to fit the best.

“You’re not quite the Xander I knew, are you?”

That was as diplomatic as she could make it. For a while she thought she’d blown it, that either Xander really had grown up this much, or that he was a fake, an assassin and now she’d alerted him, made him panic. Only he just chuckled.

“You’re good. Sure, you had the outward clues, but still. None of us was really sure you’d believe me. Still might not, but hey, this is a good start.”

And that began his rather outlandish explanation. He was Xander, even the Xander she’d met in Sunnydale, only from the future. Part of her wanted to balk at this, to laugh and call him a liar, yet… She was a Slayer, one of the Chosen Two (even if she’d done a lousy job). She killed vamps and demons, or at least she had done so before coming here, so who was she to scoff at the idea of time travel?

Apparently Sunnydale was experiencing another one of those pesky apocalypses the town was prone to, only this one carried more than the usual threat. ‘In short: Buffy dies to save the world, badness ensues and a few years from now we’re pretty much fucked because of it. And I don’t mean ‘we’ as in the Scoobies, I mean it as in humanity and the world.’

Unnecessary apocalypses, the Slayer-line being threatened, the world finding out about Slayers – and chauvinists and war-mongers all over freaking as a result… Not good.

Xander and a bunch of others – he carefully avoided mentioning names; was that so she wouldn't know who else died? – had tried just about everything. Now they were down to this: they wanted to try and change the events by bringing Faith into the equation.

At that she did laugh. She, save the world? She’d practically helped the people who wanted to end it before going to jail. And now, just because she was trying to make up at least a little bit for her crimes, they thought she could do the opposite? It was hilarious. Only, not so much apparently, ‘cause Xander sure as Hell wasn’t laughing. He looked dead serious.

“Look, Faith, I know it’s a lot to take in and I sure don’t blame you for doubting me. I wish I could give you the time to think about it, but we’re kinda running out of that. We need you, and we need you now. So, are you in or out?”

Faith thought about it. This was it. She knew getting out of jail would be as easy as getting in, at least for her. The walls surrounding her only held her because she let them. So that part wasn’t even up for debate. She could get out. The question was whether or not she should. She’d turned herself in because she’d become too dangerous. Did she trust herself enough to walk freely now? Did she want to help? If not, then B would die. Did that bother her? After all, they were talking about the girl who’d stabbed her in the gut and placed her in a hospital. The girl whose life she’d tried to steal. Did she care enough about B to try and stop her from dying?

And then it hit her. It didn’t matter. This wasn’t about B, wasn’t about her or Xander or anyone else she’d ever met. It was about the world. About being a Slayer in the truest form; to stand against the darkness. And when put like that, fuck, then she didn’t have a choice. This was something she had to do.

“Step away from the glass.” She kept her voice low, without emotion, and didn’t dare to give more warning than that.

Xander got the picture though, and moved quickly but yet without raising suspicion, and in the right direction. She had just enough time to notice he’d placed himself perfectly for what she had in mind, just as if he knew what it was. Then again, coming from the future, maybe he did. And then she broke the glass.

As she rushed towards the window, grabbing Xander on the way, Faith once more touched on the possibility that he’d known what she would do. He was perfectly placed. She twisted as they fell, making sure she’d take most of the hit – not because of sentimentality or wishes for redemption, or anything like that, but simply because it was the logical thing to do. Her Slayer constitution could handle the crash better than Xander’s strictly human one, her Slayer healing dealing with the rest. And well, Xander was the one who knew where the get-away car was (at least she hoped so) and who (again she hoped so) had a plan for getting out of LA without trouble.

Those were the only reasons that mattered. A small whisper that she didn’t want the one person who seemed to believe in her at the moment hurt… Well, that wasn’t logical. And thinking like that never seemed to get her anywhere.

Forty-five minutes, two cars and a change of clothes later Xander and Faith were safely on the highway to Sunnydale. Maybe now, Faith thought, there would be time for a longer explanation.

Xander didn't volunteer one though, choosing instead to drive in silence. Maybe it was reckless, but she was going to let him. For a while at least. She would enjoy that there were no walls around her, that she could feel the wind and smell the sun, and not hear much of anything. Things would get heavy soon enough any way.

“So.”

They were about halfway to Sunnydale, with no signs of being pursued, by the time Xander parked at a rest stop and pulled out a cooler. Once they both had food Xander looked her straight in the eyes, raised an eyebrow and gave her a crooked smile.

“What do you want to know?”

Faith took her time, thought about where to start, while chewing on a piece of sandwich and relishing in the simple luxury of eating something other than prison food.

“This apocalypse? What makes it so special? I mean, you guys have handled what? At least one or two a year for five years now, so what makes this one different from those? What do I need to know?”

Xander took a deep breath, the lines in his face hardening. Obviously this was a painful subject for him.

“First of all, normally? Buffy’s been the one to keep us together. This time she didn’t have that strength, and we were too stupid to lend it to her. Joyce dying hit us all hard, seeing as she acted a bit like a mother to us all, and since we were all grieving none of us actually stopped to think about how much worse it had to be for Buffy. Joyce wasn’t just her mom, she was Buffy’s connection to the world, the one whose love made her strong.”

And yeah, Faith could see that. She'd envied Buffy just about everything, from going to school to having a nice house, from Giles to the Scoobies, but most of all she'd envied her Joyce. Maybe Faith was nothing but trash, never to amount to anything – as she'd been told over and over again. Or maybe having a mom like Joyce would have changed everything.

She'd woken up in the middle of the night, her face wet from tears, after Angel had let it slip that Joyce had passed away.

“Second... Everything else we’ve come up against, it’s been ‘normal’ supernatural. Vamps, demons, magic... This time, however, well. Glory’s abnormal even by Sunnydale standards. She’s an actual Hell god, and if that wasn’t bad enough she’s evil enough that the Hell gods she shared her dimension with banished her,” this made Faith’s eyes widen, “oh, and also she’s crazy. Part of it is because they bound her here, inside a human. The magic used protect them both though, so the first time around we couldn’t ID the body acting as Glory’s prison. Turned out to be someone we sort of trusted. Not much, but enough for us to let our guard down. Ironically, the guy actually tried asking Buffy out.”

Faith shook her head. B really had no luck when it came to guys.

“So. Most of the time Glory was, well, wasn’t actually, and when she came out... She’s not your regular Big Bad, Faith. She’s a God. Buffy’s strong, but Glory? Glory swatted Buffy like Buffy does a fly.”

Now, that was scary. Some chick making Slayer strength seem like nothing?

“Damn.”

“Oh yes. Which, by the way, is pretty much what we’ll all be if she gets her way. Which just so happens to be a way back to Hell. Now, normally I wouldn't give a fuck – as far as I'm concerned she's their problem and they can have her back. Except it's not that easy.”

Of course it's not. Even if Faith isn't so sure she'd use the word easy when talking about opening a doorway to Hell.

“Thing is, the portal she opened went both ways, and the dimensions bled into each other. We're talking about actual Hell on earth here. Which as one of the people living here I'm going to say I'm definitely against. What I'm also against is how she opened that portal. See, when they kicked her out the other Hell gods locked up their dimension and threw away the key. Sort of. There were these monks, and some magic stuff, and hey presto! The Key's no longer a mystical ball of energy. Nope. Instead it's a human.”

Faith really really didn't like the sound of that.

“Which brings us to our final problem. The Key's human form is Dawn. And the portal is opened by her blood. Do I really have to explain how well Buffy takes that possibility?”

No. He didn't. He really didn't. What he did have to do was stop the car so Faith could get out and pulverize a couple of trees instead of the car.

They ended up speeding a little to make up the lost time after, but even with the risk of being stopped by cops it was the better option. The stop had been necessary. Faith would survive the car wrecking because of her temper, but Xander might not. Also, they'd definitely never make it anywhere near on schedule (not that Faith knew what that looked like, she just recognized its existence) without a car.

Once they'd made up for their unscheduled break Xander slowed down to just under the speed limit and soon started talking again.

“Anyway, since we're all about the uncomfortable-ness right now, there's something I'd like to take up. Clear the air, maybe?

“This took me a while to figure out, but well, I had the time. Part of why everything happened the way it did back then, in Sunnydale with us and you and... everything.”

The Mayor, Faith’s inner voice supplied. She didn’t say it out loud though, and was grateful that Xander hadn’t either.

“It had just as much to do with us as it did with you. You might have noticed,” and the irony was obvious, “that we tended to compare you with Buffy pretty much all the time.”

Faith nodded. How could she not have noticed?

“But, and here’s the real irony of it all, we also kinda never wanted you to be like her.”

“Huh?”

“See... Willow saw Buffy as her best friend, the first girl to really be her friend. If you and Buffy were the same, that would have made you even more competition than you already were.

“To Giles Buffy wasn’t just his Slayer, she was the daughter of his heart. He didn’t want her to have to share that space with you, and if you’d been exactly like her... You get the picture, right?

“And then there was me. I thought Buffy was the ultimate woman – pretty, treating me like I mattered, and a superhero to boot. I compared everyone else to her. Then you came along, just as attractive and captivating – and totally different. And if you’d been another Buffy... Let’s just say I didn’t care for the idea of another superhottie seeing me as practically neutered. Buffy did that, without thinking about it, saw me as one of the girls – more or less – and it hurt. You on the other hand... Sure, you never cared about me they way I would have liked, but at least you noticed I was a guy.

“No matter what you saw that night as... It meant something to me. It taught me things. I really needed that. I would never have been strong enough to be the man behind you – I would have grown to resent your strength, and the fact that you’d always be the one saving me. But you’re still a good memory in there, Faith, a really good memory.”

Faith blushed, something she hadn’t done in forever. She’d fucked Xander to scratch an itch, had mocked him for thinking she gave a damn, had even tried to strangle him. And he still saw something good in her? Was he blind, or did he see deeper than anyone else?

She just sat there in silence.

Xander gave her that, just kept driving and gave her time, before finally breaking the quiet with a sigh.

“Look, Faith, I’m sorry to dump all of this on you, but we don’t have much time. At least I don't think we do. We were aiming to get me here in time to stop the Hellbitch early, but I have no idea if we succeeded. If we did, then great, but if we didn’t... Thing is, I’m having a bad feeling about our timing.”

His face said it all. If whoever “we” were had missed their aim, time-wise, then they might not be able to stop the events that made B die the first time.

“Okay. So what are we doing? What are you looking for?”

“A crashed RV – or well, preferably a not crashed one – full of Scoobies. See, we were going nowhere and Glory was picking us off one by one. Buffy couldn’t risk it any longer, couldn’t risk Dawn, so we got the hell out of Dodge in this joke of an RV. We figured Glory wouldn’t think to look for us like that. Only, we didn’t take into consideration that there were others after us as well.

“There was a bunch of crazy knights as well. No, really. We’re talking armor, swords, horses... The whole kit. Some sort of fucked-up order whose sole purpose was to make sure Glory never managed to open the gates to hell. Which, by the way, I agree with. I just don’t agree with how they went about things. See, they never tried to find a way to stop Glory. No. They concentrated all their efforts on finding the Key, and then on destroying it. They didn’t even change their minds when they found out the Key had been transferred into human form. Their general actually told Buffy to her face that it was their duty to kill her, kill Dawn.”

“And I can imagine how well B took that.”

Xander’s face turned grim again.

“She was about five seconds from crossing the ‘Don’t kill humans’ line.”

That hit home like nothing else. Buffy about to kill a human being?

“Fuck.”

“You’ve got that right. She hadn’t gotten the time and space to grieve for Joyce yet, Dawn’s life was on the line, Giles was badly wounded and the end of the world was just around the corner. Buffy was reaching her limit, fast. And then she made a mistake. A big one. She couldn’t have known, but still... Being Buffy of course she blamed herself. We talked the knights into allowing a medic – only the guy Buffy called turned out to be Glory’s little hiding place.

“The Hellbitch got away with Dawn and Buffy snapped. Maybe if she hadn’t things would have turned out differently. Maybe.

“Anyway. If this mojo worked properly we’ll find the RV before the knights do. In that case your job is to get Dawn in the car and away, no matter what. I mean it. If you have to run someone down to leave, do it.”

Faith felt like she’d been punched in the gut. She wanted to protest – she was reforming, killing another person was not on her to-do list. One look at Xander’s face kept her quiet. He meant it.

“I’m serious, Faith. Nothing is more important than getting Dawn to safety. I’ll take Buffy – but leave us if you have to. Just get Dawn somewhere safe for the next couple of days – there’s an envelope with instructions and such in the glove compartment – and then bring her back.”

“You’re staying?” That she had not expected. Wasn’t it like a big rule of time travel not to expose yourself?

“Yeah, best case scenario.” Oh. Obviously she asked that out loud.

“Only, if we can stop this now then that’s more important than anything else. That’s our main priority.”

She believed him. It was written all over his face, in hard lines and dark shadows; in the tense way he held his body and the grim tone of his voice. No sacrifice was too big if it led to stopping this now. He’d give his life, and hers, without a seconds doubt to prevent his future from happening. Faith realized she would let him.

When they spotted the broken-down RV Xander swore, loudly and well.

When they reached the place the Scoobies had used as a hide-out only to find it empty (except for the bodies) he was quiet instead, hardened into stone. The Xander she’d known had always been prepared to back Buffy up, no matter what, with his greatest value being that he always gave his everything and never gave up. This Xander was a force to be reckoned with, a warrior in his own right.

“Now what? You have some kinda plan?”

“Yeah. Not anything ultimate, but... We’re heading for Sunnydale, and splitting up. I have a demon to try and take out, see if that changes anything, and... I’m sorry, Faith, but if you fail, then I need to be hidden in reserve. There’s a Plan B. Don’t make me have to resort to that.”

Faith didn’t want to know what Plan B was. Something about Xander’s statement told her that it was only fractionally better than hell on earth – but that those fractions were enough. It sent shivers down her spine.

“And what am I doing?”

“Go to the Magic Box – Giles owns it now, and they will all be there. Talk Buffy into letting you help. It’ll be hard, I know, but you have to make her trust you enough for that. You need to get her alone, and...”

She focused hard as Xander told her when and where to find B alone, what arguments could be used to sway her and, surprisingly, what to tell Giles.

“He might do it anyway, he did back then, but we’re changing things. But there’s one thing we can’t change: Glory. If we stop her now she won’t just give up. She wants to go home and won’t care if her deadline’s passed. Hell, I can see her find a way out just to go for revenge.

“Buffy doesn’t want to admit this, because then she’ll have to admit that the only way to put a permanent stop to Glory is to kill the host-body. And seeing as he’s not only human but also someone she knows... It’s one thing to get so angry you almost cross the line, but to actually do it? Premeditated, in cold blood? She’s not capable of it. Giles, however, is.”

This startled Faith. Giles? No way!

“Yes way. Once upon a time, before he went all tweed, Giles lived a life of sex and drugs and rock ’n’ roll... and magic. He and his friends actually called forth some kind of demon. For fun. He was known as ‘the Ripper’ then, and no matter what he says some part of that is still left inside him. And ‘Ripper’ will know that there’s only one way to do this.”

Faith twisted in her seat and stared at Xander.

“And I get the privilege of telling him? Look, Xan, I’m gonna help, I really am, but this is starting to sound crazy. They hate me. They should hate me, all things considered. How the hell am I gonna talk any of them into this? Even if I manage to get B to agree, well, she’s not exactly known for standing up to Giles and her friends.”

“I know. Trust me, I know. But this time she will. We’re talking Dawn’s life here. She will turn her back on each and everyone of them – us – in order to save Dawn. She never forgot the pain of having to send Angel to hell. At this point of time we sort of knew that, but not really, you know? We sure as hell didn't understand how deep that still ran. If we had... It might have changed everything.

“Losing Dawn would make that pain seem like nothing, and even if no one else realizes it right now, Buffy knows it'll break her. Right now the only one with the guts to back her is Spike. She’ll accept your help – she has no alternative. She needs you now, Faith, like you can’t even imagine. She needs both her sisters.”

Faith sat in silence for a few minutes, thinking about Xander’s words. B needing her sisters, meaning her and Dawn. That felt so good, so right – but also not. The three of them – Buffy, Dawn and Faith – belonged together, she knew it, but... She shook her head. Time for that later. For now she needed to focus on the upcoming battle, on being a Slayer. Hopefully there would be time for being a sister after.

“So B’s teaming up with another vamp? Huh. Bet that’s making Giles real pissed off. I’m guessing adding me to the mix will make things even better. Sweet.”

The words lacked their usual enthusiasm though.

Hiding in the alley behind the Magic Box felt weird. Staying in hiding as a vamp attacked a teenager felt plain wrong. She had to though, had to leave this to B. Xander had been clear on that, even if he hadn't said why. Didn't matter. Faith knew that some things just had to happen in a certain way, no matter how small or insignificant they might seem.

So she waited, waited for B to appear and for her to turn the fanged idiot into a pile of dust. And then, after she'd revealed herself, she waited for B to make up her mind about what to do with her.

“Faith. Don’t you have somewhere else to be?” The hostility and suspicion was obvious in not only Buffy’s voice but also in the way she held herself, ready for an attack. That was actually painful. Understandable, sure, but still painful.

“Not really. Nowhere more important at least. Jail will be there tomorrow – unless the world ends tonight of course. I know about Dawn, and... Whoa!”

She took a few quick steps back to avoid the suddenly very dangerous blond.

“I’m here to help, B. Honestly. You might not think too highly of me, and I deserve that, but I actually like that kid. Always have. I’m not here to hurt her, I’m here to help you save her. Okay? Saving the world’s a bonus.”

“How do you know about Dawn? What do you know about Dawn?”

Faith didn’t make the mistake of thinking she was in the clear yet. Yeah, B might have backed down a bit, but she still held herself ready for battle. As a Slayer she had at least one stake on her, and as Faith well knew stakes killed humans just as well as vamps. Still, this was it. Do or die, so to speak.

“Kid sis got herself kidnapped by some crazy-ass Hellbitch who’s planning on opening the gates of Hell by using Dawn. And I’m guessing that by now Giles has started pushing for you to sacrifice her for some ‘greater good’, like with Angel. Calling her an ‘acceptable loss’ or some rubbish like that, saying she’s not human. Not real. I can kinda see where he’s coming from, being a Watcher and all that – but I don’t agree.

“Dawn’s not an acceptable loss, and I wanna help make sure she isn’t turned into one.

“As for how I know, well, I’ve been having these weird dreams. Like, you know, being on drugs. Except, I guess you wouldn’t know. Still. I’ve had them for a while, since, eh, the body-swap? At first I thought that was why, especially since they were really vague. Only, now I’m starting to think they might be Slayer Dreams – and I totally suck at them.”

Xander had suggested she use the Slayer Dream excuse, but since then something had clicked in Faith’s head? Those weird dreams? Yeah, they were real. And if they were Slayer-related, then it would explain a lot. Sure, she’d never had them before the coma – but that shouldn’t necessary mean anything. Maybe the coma had triggered something, awakened one part of her brain while the rest was “sleeping”? Or maybe it had something to do with the fact that she and B had been in each others bodies – could the capacity for Slayer Dreams had been transferred then? Whatever the reason though, the dreams were there and if they had been Dreams, then she had both explanations and clues.

She saw Buffy shake her head, and tried to find another way to convince her counterpart. Turned out it wasn’t necessary.

“It’s been five years now; me and Willow and Xander and Giles saving the world. Five years, and they’ve stood beside me for everything – even Angel turning evil. And now, now when I’m more lost than ever, who do I have on my side? Faith, the Slayer gone bad, and Spike, Slayer of Slayers. Irony much?”

Faith had to agree. She and Spike had both tried to kill B. Now they were trying to keep her alive – and sane. Life had a way of messing with you.

“Yeah. So, are you okay with me being here? If not, then I’ll go my own way, but...”

Two teams, working towards the same goal, but not cooperating? That was a sure way to chaos. Buffy seemed to think something similar, and nodded.

“Then I’m guessing you should go in there and warn them.”

She got pretty much the welcome she expected – that she figured she deserved – but only Giles tried to force her to leave. A private talk in the back room took care of that.

It was obvious Giles didn’t want her there. It was just as obvious Giles didn’t like what she had to say – he really didn’t like the fact that she brought up his Ripper-days. He shut up about her leaving though.

It felt so strange. She'd always felt like the odd one out in Sunnydale. Instead of it being her and B against “the forces of evil” it had been Giles and the Scoobies who'd faced the apocalypse, sorry, apocalypses, with B. Faith had, simply put, been the new girl in more ways than one and damn, had it chafed.

Here she was, for her first Sunnydale apocalypse, finally standing side by side with B. Only instead of the Scoobies standing strong like they'd always done before they were split. Giles might have been the only one stupid enough, or brave enough, to suggest killing Dawn, but it was obvious that he wasn't the only one thinking about it.

The only ones wholeheartedly on B's side, on Dawn's side, were her and Spike. Yeah. How's that for irony?

The battle was going on all around them and all that mattered was that Dawn's at the top of the tower. Not alone, either. Faith was just about to try and fight her way through the minions guarding the base and the stairs when they suddenly were thrown away by an unseen force.

Faith was running before she'd even finished processing what'd happened, and yet Spike was ahead of her. Didn't matter how or why, all that was important was that one of them reached Dawn in time. If they both did, better.

Except neither of them saw the minion scrambling on the outside until it threw itself at Spike, causing them both to fall. Faith cursed silently, but didn't stop running. It was down to her now. That was okay. It was, after all, why she was there.

The guy Glory had put on the tower with Dawn was nothing to take down – literally, as one punch had him flying off the ledge. Knowing what she did, of how it'd gone the first time, Faith was pretty sure she knew what Xander'd been up to. And yet, as easy as the minion was to take out, she was still too late.

Dawn's hand was covered in blood, and even though it could, technically have been the minions, from her fighting him, Faith just knew they weren't lucky enough for that. B might have been, but not her. And, judging from the way things had been going, probably not Dawn either.

And then, as if on cue, the sky rippled. Not much, easy to miss, but there. Glory's portal was opening.

Hell was coming.

Her mind flicked back to Giles talking about the consequences of the ritual starting, trying to justify killing Dawn, and then to B's response. “The last thing she'll see is me protecting her.” Only B's not here, and fuck, if Faith wasn't a lousy substitute. Once again she felt like the lesser Slayer, the budget version, the almost-but-not-quite good enough one. It was supposed to be B here.

And that thought shook her out of her spiral. Yeah, it was supposed to be Buffy. Only that was why Faith was here, so B wouldn't. So the world wouldn't be saved from Glory just to get fucked up anyway.

The weight of it all rested heavily on Faith's shoulders. This was it. This was her time to step up and be the best that she could. She'd been Chosen for a reason, Chosen over hundreds of other potential Slayers, and this was when she had to prove that the universe hadn't fucked up in that.

She just didn't have a clue how.

Well. Step one had to be to send Dawn down, to the Scoobies and to Buffy. Whatever happened, B would keep little sis safe.

Wait.

There was something about that phrase, about calling Dawn “little sis” that made her... It was almost like a memory. She focused with everything in her, despite feeling like she was wasting precious moments, chased the tail of something until she reached a hazy memory, like the ones left by Slayer dreams. Her and B, making a bed in what she was almost sure was Dawn's bedroom, her own voice... “Little sis coming.”

Then, on the heels of that, an actual memory. B telling them that Dawn was more than her sister. That the monks had made Dawn from her. Then another, of Xander talking about Dawn searching for her second parent, and... and... and... And then, a book she'd read in prison.

And suddenly it all seemed so clear. Just as it must have for B. That explained why B had died, didn't it? Just as it explained why Faith had been needed.

It explained everything.

“Faith!”

Dawn's scream ripped her out of her thoughts, and the Slayer looked around. The ripple was back, and it'd brought friends. Lots of them. And was that a flying lizard? They were running out of time.

“Listen to me, okay? Get down, and find B. Or Spike. Find one of them, and stay safe. I'm going to fix this.”

“How? Faith? How do you fix this?” Dawn was panicking, and Faith wasn't good with that. You couldn't punch panic, as she'd learned. She had to try though, because as it looked Dawn would fall off and break her damned neck before she reached the ground, and wouldn't that just be peachy?

“Listen to me. This is what I do, okay. I know I've been shit at showing it, but I'm a Slayer, and this. Is. What. I. Do. Stand against the forces of evil and all that. You? You stay safe. That's your job, and it's just as important. U-uh, no protests. I need you to be on the ground and safe so I can focus on what I need to do here. B needs you to be safe because otherwise it'll break her. Alright? That's a good girl.

“Now go. As fast as you can, while still being safe.”

“Thank you, Faith.” Then the teenage girl ran down the stairs.

Faith on the other hand went in the opposite direction, walking slowly out on the ledge until she stood in the same spot Dawn had occupied earlier. She took a few deep breaths to steady herself. After all, the world rested on her shoulders. So this was how B felt all the time.

So. Everything pointed to Dawn having two mummies, her being created from not one but two Slayers. That meant that Faith’s blood would also get the job done. All she had to do was jump.

Buffy would do it, easily – sacrifice her life to save the world and her little sister. That was just the Buffy Summers way of doing things. Faith didn’t know about the world. She still didn’t feel that connection, that responsibility. But for Dawn? She thought about the terrified teenage girl she'd sent running and felt the connection to her. This girl belonged to Faith; there was no other way to describe it. She knew, just like she sometimes just knew things about demons, vamps and Slaying. Screw the world, Faith thought, but her, her I’ll die for. And she guessed that might just be enough.

She took a minute to focus completely on her task. When she was done she embodied her name. Ironically, here at the end for the first time ever she was Faith.

She took another step closer to the edge, and then took her leap.

Falling free felt like being loved.

~ The End ~

End note: The book Faith is thinking about is “Blue Genes” by Val McDermid, from her Kate Brannigan series and I very much recommend it.

#chocoholic fics #btvs #faith lehane #episode revamp #the scoobies

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platonicone · 5 years

Text

Devotion - Story of the Oracle and her Shield

Chapter 28 - The warmth of cold

What can melt a frozen heart? I wonder…

It was 7 a.m. and he was already up and running. As soon as he stepped out of his room, a medic was standing there with his medicine in hand. Knowing that medic was simply following Luna’s order, there was no point in arguing with him. He took his pills and made his way to the manor gates.

The silver-blond woman showed up a few minutes later. He looked at Aranea and she wore a long fur-lined black coat and a muted red scarf with matching fingerless gloves. The zipper of her jacket has a large round accessory with a red gem. Her long-heeled boots matched her leather trousers.

“Aren’t you overdressed?” he asked, as she approached closer.

“No, dummy, you are underdressed. Go back and put on more layers of clothes. It is below freezing where we are going.”

“I think I should be fine,” he brushed it off.

“I can’t take any chances. Your girlfriend would kill me if you get hypothermia,” she exclaimed.

“For the last time, Luna is not my girlfriend,” he shook his head.

“Who said anything about Luna? You brought her up. The proper response should have been, ‘I am an emo loaner and I don’t have a girlfriend.’” She smirked.

“Ugh. I hate you,” he moaned.

“Aww sweetie, I hate you too,” she replied, playfully punching on his arm.

“Whatever,” both Squall and Aranea said at the same time.

“So predictable,” she caroled in a singsong voice. He just ignored her.

“Now go put on some more clothes while I raid the pantry,” she instructed, walking in the manor.

Once ready, they made their way towards the railway station.

“Are we going by train?” Squall asked.

“No, we are going in that,” she pointed at an imperial airship.

“Is that safe?” he asked with concern.

“There is no place safer than that. It is my airship,” she proclaimed.

“Wow!” He marveled at the state-of-the-art airship.

“Hello Lady A,” welcomed Biggs, as they entered the airship.

“Hello Biggs and Wedge,” she greeted her loyal companions. Wedge just nodded in response.

‘Hmm. Biggs and Wedge, these names sound familiar.’ He wondered.

“Thank you so much for taking care of things at Lucis.”

“It’s our pleasure lady A,” Biggs replied courteously.

Everyone saluted her as she walked into the ship.

“You never told me your rank,” Squall noted.

“Because it’s not important,” she brushed it off. “But if you must know, I am the commodore of the Niflheim Empire's Third Army Corps 86th Airborne Unit.”

“Impressive,” he admitted.

This airship was the first time Squall got a close look at Imperial technology. It was a scientific marvel. The airship’s thrusters roared, and within seconds they were soaring in the sky.

They were barely a few klicks away from Tenebrae when the entire landscape changed. The lush green terrain was replaced with layers and layers of unending snow. The temperature dropped sharply.

“What’s our mission?” he asked, looking outside from the window at a frozen snowscape.

“To retrieve a legendary item called Frozen Tear,” she stated.

“What’s so special about it?”

“To be honest, I don’t know. The legend has it that whenever Shiva suffers immense pain, a tear escapes her eyes and due to the extreme cold, it is crystallized instantly. It is said that the luster of this Frozen Tear would put a thousand diamonds to shame. Niflheim retrieved one such tear when they killed Shiva,” Aranea informed.

“One of our scouts reported observing Frozen Tear on Shiva’s corporeal body. We will go check it out and if it’s true, we will grab it for ourselves before Niflheim can get their hands on it,” she briefed.

“But, aren’t you working for Niflheim?”

“It’s complicated,” she stated, clearing a strand of hair on her face.

The snowstorm outside was intensifying with every passing second.

“Lady A, we won’t be able to go much further because of this snowstorm. You would have to get there on a snowmobile from here,” informed Biggs.

“That is fine. You can drop us here,” Aranea agreed to the plan.

“Alright, lowering the altitude,” he announced to the crew.

“Your snowmobile is in the hanger,” Wedges informed.

Aranea nodded and got up from her seat. Squall followed her as well. She opened the door connecting the cabin and the hanger and made her way in.

Squall stepped in and looked at the snowmobile. It was a military grade snowmobile with a high-caliber machine gun mounted on it. He noticed a strange carving near the bottom of the vehicle. He crouched down to inspect. It had Trepe etched into it.

“That’s the name of my snowmobile,” Aranea revealed, looking at his quizzical expression.

‘Trepe, where have I heard that name before?’ He wondered.

“I did not know you liked to give names to objects,” he pointed.

“Shut it, scar-face.”

“What is this ship called?” he inquired.

“It’s called Save the Queen. I am not very sentimental about names, but having names makes things easier to locate,” she reasoned.

“Strange choice for a ship name,” he remarked.

She just shrugged. “The crew came up with it.”

Once Squall got up from examining the snowmobile, Aranea handed him something. “Take this pill.”

“What is it?” he asked, inspecting the red gel pill.

“This pill would prevent body temperature from dropping down even in extreme conditions. A mad scientist named Dr. Verstael created it when we fought against Shiva.”

‘There was a mad scientist in my world, but for some reason, I can picture him wearing clown’s clothes. Weird.’ His mind recollected a distant memory.

Squall took the pill and swallowed it quickly.

“Lady A, this is as far as we can go. Let me know when you are ready and I’ll open the hanger,” said the overhead voice of Biggs.

“Can I drive?” Squall asked with the eagerness of a child.

“I know this terrain better, so I’ll drive. How about you ride it on the way back?” she offered.

“Deal,” he accepted, reluctantly.

After sitting properly on their snowmobile, Aranea gave the signal to open the hanger.

A cold wind rushed in as soon as the hangar door opened.

“Ready to go?” she asked, glancing back at him from the corner of her eyes.

“Always,” he replied, giving a thumbs up.

She glided her snowmobile, Trepe, from the hangar onto the snow. The snowmobile landed, sending puffs of snow in all directions.

“We go north from here,” she declared, looking at the inbuilt compass next to the speedometer. “Also, brace yourself for the cold.”

“Where are we?” he asked, looking at their surroundings. Everywhere he looked was just a sea of white snow.

“We are in Ghorovas Rift within the region of Vogliupe. This is a treacherous icy terrain enveloped in a perpetual blizzard,” she informed.

They went at slow speed for a while, which made Squall wonder if that was the max capacity of the snowmobile.

“Ready for some thrill?” She asked, breaking the silence.

Before Squall could even respond, Aranea floored the accelerator and zoomed away. Squall didn’t know if he should be thrilled or scared.

The frostbite and the chilly wind felt like it was cutting through the skin, yet the speed at which they were going gave a satisfying thrill. As the speed picked up, the adrenaline took over, giving them a thrill of their life. The snowmobile seemed to glide on the snow almost frictionless.

In spite of low visibility because of the blizzard, they were now close enough to see the giant corporal body of Shiva.

Aranea suddenly braked hard, causing her snowmobile to spin a couple of times. Squall barely held on as it spun out of control, eventually coming to a stop.

“What happened?” he asked, breathless.

“Daemons,” she growled, narrowing her eyes.

Squall immediately looked around, but could not see any threat. “I don’t see any daemons,” he stated.

“Not around you, look beneath you,” she instructed, jumping off the snowmobile.

He looked down, and the snow started to shift on its own. Suddenly, hordes of Snaga came out all around them. The 4 ft monster was relatively weak, but what it lacks in strength they made up with overwhelming numbers.

“Be careful, they like to steal potions from people,” Aranea warned.

Both being seasoned fighters made the fight easier. After clearing the horde of Snaga with relative ease, they continued their journey deeper into the blizzard.

The path got narrower through the snow-covered woods as they progressed, eventually to the point where the trail was just wide enough for their snowmobile.

They soon came to a stop, as the only path forward was blocked off by fallen trees. They got off their vehicles to clear out the path, only to be ambushed by Wraith. It was a 9 ft tall macabre daemon that levitates. It kept its victims at arm's length to grapple and squeeze the very life from its prey.

They were surrounded by 10 Wraith, shutting down any chance of escaping. They closed in on them slowly as both warriors stood there with weapons ready to strike.

“Any bright ideas?” Squall asked.

“Wraiths are slow-moving. If we hit them from the back, we can link up our attacks.”

“You go, I’ll distract them.”

Aranea nodded and with one high jump disappeared from the sight and landed a few feet behind the Wraiths.

Squall released a salvo of bullets from his gunblade at multiple Wraiths enraging them. Some rushed towards him for a physical attack while others targeted him with a magical attack. Squall deflected all physical attacks and used other Wraiths as the cover to dodge the magical attacks.

“Incoming at 6 o’clock,” declared Aranea, preparing a high jump attack.

Squall knew what she meant and replied, “Ready.”

Aranea’s attack the Wraith directly behind Squall and he capitalized on that vulnerability to execute his link attack, Relentless Revolver. Together they decimated the Wraith in one conjoined attack.

Aranea jumped back to create some separation between her and wraiths while Squall drew their attention.

“3,” he heard Aranea say.

“Okay,” he stated, giving the signal to attack.

The Wraith to the right of Squall was decimated next.

Leon and Luna made a balanced team with one focusing on offense and the other providing the defense. Squall and Aranea, on the other hand, were an all-out offensive team, that could devastate the mightiest of foes. They were like a well-oiled machine working in perfect synchronization.

Knowing the fighting excellence of Aranea, Squall never had to worry about protecting her as he knew she was more than capable of taking care of herself, which made it different from fighting with Luna. Aranea had the same trust in Squall’s abilities, which made them a fierce team.

One after another, they picked off all the Wraiths and continued their journey further.

“This used to be a holy site. Pilgrims from all over Eos would come here to pay tribute to the Goddess of Ice. In M.E. 745, Niflheim slew the awakened Astral Shiva, leaving her gigantic corpse lying in the gorge. A strange phenomenon turned part of the desert wasteland into a dark icy landscape ever since. We lost many lives that day. It is said that those fallen soldiers became daemons and haunt these very grounds,” she explained.

“You mean to say that the Wraith we slay back there were people once?”

“Yes. It changes the whole perspective of the fight, doesn't it?”

“Yeah.”

“Niflheim has started converting civilians into demons to gain an advantage in the battlefield. I don’t agree with that practice. I signed up for the military so I could protect those who can’t protect themselves, not for this. I’ve been thinking about quitting and going back to being a mercenary. But I do love my country too. I am not really sure what to do anymore,” Aranea narrated.

“I see,” he replied, sounding uninterested.

“Is that all you are going to say?”

“What am I supposed to say about other people’s problems?” he replied callously.

“You know are such an ass sometimes. When someone shares their problems, they are expecting you to either console or advise them. And not be indifferent about it,” she chided him.

“I am sorry. I wasn’t trying to be indifferent towards your problem. I just didn’t think that my opinion on this matter would have swayed your decision,” he revealed.

“Why would I ask your opinion if it didn’t matter to me, dumbass? You are my friend, of course, your opinion matters,” she urged.

“Ask yourself, would you be able to do more good by staying with the Empire or against them? If you stay with the Empire, you get information on their movements, research, and can protect civilians. As long as you have something worth protecting, I think you should stay,” he counseled.

“See, was it so difficult to just share your thoughts? You think too much and never say enough, that’s why that scowl never leaves your face. Sharing your thoughts is a necessity in a healthy relationship,” she advised.

“Ya, you are probably right,” he acknowledged.

Once again silence accompanied them as they moved on.

“You haven't said anything, is my charm making you nervous?” she joked, breaking the silence.

“Oh please,” he said, rolling his eyes.

“Squall. Is there something on your mind?” Aranea asked.

“Not really,” he replied.

“Not really,” she said, almost in sync with Squall. She broke into giggles.

“What's so funny?” he asked, getting annoyed.

“Funny? No, no, it's not that! I'm just happy. I feel like I'm finally beginning to understand you a little. That's all,” she stated, clasping her hands.

“I'm more complex than you think.” He folded his hands and looked away like a child.

“Then tell me. Tell me more about yourself,” she appealed.

“It's none of your...”

“...Business!” she finished his line and started laughing once again.

“You are annoying,” he fumed, before walking ahead.

They cleared out another horde of Wraiths as they got closer to the fallen Shiva.

“We should walk from here,” she instructed as snow intensified. “Welcome to the resting place of Shiva.”

The cold wind amplified with every step they took towards Shiva. The visibility dropped greatly as the snowstorm picked up. They had to put a hand in front of their face so snow doesn’t go into their eyes directly. The corporeal form of Shiva was hundreds of feet tall. She lay on the ground froze in time. Her entire body was submerged in the snow with her upper torso visible. The expression on her face was of pain and anguish.

Once they got close enough, Aranea shined a laser on Shiva’s face.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“This is a special laser which would refract from a prism. Using this, I am trying to locate the Frozen Tear.”

She had been scanning her face for a few minutes, but she did not locate the legendary treasure. She was starting to believe it was a myth.

“Let me try,” Squall appealed, finally getting tired of waiting in this extreme cold.

“If we don’t find it in the next two minutes, we leave,” she declared, handing him the laser.

The two minutes had gone by and even Squall wasn’t able to find anything.

“We should go now. This was a waste of time,” she complained.

Just as he was retreating the light away from Shiva’s face, Aranea noticed something shinning.

“Wait, I got it. I saw something shining just as you were retreating the light. It was somewhere around her left eye.”

Squall scanned the area carefully. Finally, a rainbow-colored pattern was formed at the edge of her eyes because of refraction from prism-like Frozen Tear. Shiva’s hair covered the edge of her left eye, masking the tear.

“This is awesome,” Aranea exclaimed. “I’ll go get it.”

She tossed her spear towards Shiva and warped there. Her warping was different than the ones Lucian soldiers used, it left a red trail behind indicating magitek use in it.

She proclaimed the mythical treasure while Squall stood there wondering what it would feel like to warp.

“We got it, Squall,” she proclaimed, hugging or rather tackling Squall in excitement.

Squall pushed her off and got up first, “Good. Now, let’s get out of this frozen hell.”

As they were making their way towards the snowmobile, a hailstorm of snow flew in their direction as something huge landed with a thud. They turned around and a 46 ft tall demon awaited them.

“I was wondering where did the Deathclaw go?” Aranea said with an eerie excitement.

Deathclaw had a bulky bone structure. Its name stems from the giant talons on both of its arms. Fighting one is said to equivalent to tempting death itself.

“Let’s get the party started,” she said, readying her spear.

“Aren’t you excited to see him? Your boyfriend?” he suggested.

“No, based on the looks, it must be your relative.” She retorted.

“Whatever,” he said, as he launched into the daemon.

“Squall, be careful of its laser attack,” she warned as she took the aerial route.

Squall unloaded a round of bullets as he ran towards the monster, but it barely flinched. Aranea landed on top of him, impaling her spear, but it shrugged her off.

Both the warriors took turns attacking it from either end, not giving it enough time to use its deadly laser.

A few Wraiths and Snaga emerged from the snow, joining the fray. This distraction gave Deathclaw enough time to conjure its magical laser attacks. The rays spun around it and flew out in straight lines, damaging anything in its path.

Because of snow, Squall’s mobility was severely limited and was unable to dodge the attack in time taking the brunt of the damage.

Aranea landed behind him and healed him with a potion. “Told you to be careful.”

“Sometimes pain brings the best out of you. Here goes, Renzokuken,” he unleashed his limitbreak and followed it up by the Blasting zone causing enormous damage to the beast.

“Not bad. Now watch this,” she jumped and disappeared from the sight and landing square on the Deathclaw with great impact. Her technique, Highwind, was equally effective as Squall’s limitbreak.

The game of one-upmanship carried on as both tried to outdo the other. Which was great for them, but not for the beast.

The Deathclaw created some separation from them and drew its claws together to form a single large laser beam. By now they were familiar with the attack pattern, so they dodged it expertly. However, the powerful laser beam had landed on their snowmobile and bore a hole through the fuel chamber.

Aranea was closer to the snowmobile noticed fuel leaking from the vehicle, “Shit.”

“Squall we need to run,” she yelled.

Squall, who was engaged in close range combat with the beast was oblivious to what had just transpired. “We can defeat this. I got this, don’t worry.”

“Squall, Trepe was hit by the laser attack and our fuel tank is damaged. We have to retreat before all the fuel leaks out.”

“Damn, without snowmobile we would freeze to death walking all the way back,” he realized.

“Come on, hurry,” she urged.

Squall landed one fierce blow on Deathclaw causing it to stumble back. He used this opening to dash toward the snowmobile. Aranea of her part was ready to drive away as soon as Squall gets there.

The snow made it very difficult to run as his feet would sink in the snow with each step he took. Deathclaw had recovered enough by now and started chasing Squall.

Squall was trying his best to run as fast as he can, but the Deathclaw was catching up quickly. “I am not going to make it, you leave and come back for me when you can. I’ll defeat this and find shelter somewhere,” he yelled, running towards Aranea.

“Did anyone tell you that you give out stupid ideas sometimes? I am not leaving you here to die in this cold. Your pill would wear out in a few hours and without it, you would be a statue like Shiva.”

“Come on, be pragmatic,” he urged before turning around and shooting Deathclaw a few times.

“I am not telling your girlfriend that you died under my watch, she would kill me,” Aranea replied.

“Stop being annoying and listen for once. I’ll find a way to survive, trust me.” He commanded.

“Stop being stubborn and listen for once. You don’t have to be a hero every time.” She countered.

The Deathclaw pounced on Squall and he parried its attack in time. He fought with Deathcalw again to damage it enough to create some separation. They were losing fuel with every passing second.

After sufficiently damaging the daemon Squall ran again. He was getting close to the vehicle when Deathclaw got up and lunged itself towards Squall. The demon was right behind him now, he could sense its breath. It raised a claw to take a swipe at Squall when it was impaled with bullets.

Aranea was manning the machine gun on the snowmobile, unloading on Deathclaw. He ran. The monster chased him. And a friend impaled it with bullets to save him. It all felt like a déjà vu.

“You drive, I’ll take care of this,” she instructed.

Squall hopped in the driver’s seat and they sped away while Aranea shoots at the Deathclaw, keep it at bay.

Soon they were out of a narrow trail and into the open and seemingly endless field of snow. They speed away as the fuel gauge was almost empty. Soon the snowmobile came to a standstill.

“Not good. We still have a long way to go. It would take us hours to get to the airship on foot.”

“The sun will set in a few minutes,” he added, further complicating their situation.

“Biggs, can you hear me?” she asked, tapping her communication earpiece. She waited but got no response.

“I think we are still out of range,” she admitted, disappointingly.

“Then let’s keep walking towards it till we get in range,” he suggested and starting to walk.

Neither of them said much as they pondered for a solution for their precarious situation. Considering their distance from Shiva, the chill wind was relatively bearable now, although visibility remained low because of the blizzard.

Aranea kept testing her earpiece frequently, but she got no response. After 20 minutes of walking, Aranea finally connected with Biggs.

“Biggs, can you hear me?”

“Lady A, there is a lot of background noise, I can barely hear you,” replied Biggs. The gushing wind in the background drowned out her voice.

“Squall, can you stay quiet please?” she turned around and said to him.

“What? I haven’t said anything!” he defended, taken by surprise.

“I know, I am just messing with you,” Aranea said with a grin.

“You are insane to be joking at times like this,” he complained, with a facepalm.

“Biggs, Trepe broke down and we are stranded, can you send a rescue team please?”

“All I heard was Biggs, breakdance and rescue,” Biggs relayed to Wedge.

“What? That makes no sense. Let me talk,” said Wedge, taking Biggs’ earpiece.

“Lady A, this is Wedge. Can you please repeat yourself?”

“I said Trepe broke down and we are stranded, can you send a rescue team please?”

“Lady A, we can barely hear you. Can you try from a different location please?”

“Okay,” she resigned.

“What did they say?” inquired Squall.

“They can barely hear me,” she cited, as she marched in the direction of the airship. After walking for 10 more minutes, the wind had slowed down considerably.

“Can you hear me now?” she inquired.

“Yes, Lady A, we can hear you loud and clear,” came the reply from Biggs, who had taken his earpiece back from Wedge.

“Trepe broke down so we are walking towards the ship.”

Biggs tracked her location using the inbuilt GPS in her earpiece.

“Lady A, you are a considerable distance away from the ship. I can dispatch a rescue team but it will be nightfall by the time they get there.”

“What are my options?” she questioned.

“We can dispatch teams to escort you back here. We’ll have to fight daemons on the way back,” he offered.

“No, that would be reckless. We might lose some men if we do that,” she disputed.

“Your safety is our priority, Lady A,” Biggs argued.

“And to keep my crew safe is mine,” she replied instantly.

“But Lady A we--”

“My decision is final. You are not to dispatch any rescue team at this hour.” Her commanding tone left no room for argument.

“Then what can we do?” Biggs asked.

“I don’t know,” she said, unsure.

Squall chimed in, “Aranea you mentioned that this used to be a trail for pilgrims, right?”

“Yes, what about it?”

“Then shouldn’t there be heaven somewhere?” Squall wondered aloud.

“That’s a great idea! Who says you are dumb,” she said, playfully punching his arm.

“No one says that!” he replied, taking an offense.

“You get flustered so easily, it’s almost cute,” she replied with a laugh.

“You are unbelievable,” he hissed.

“Tell me about it,” she replied, with a playful wink.

“Whatever.”

“Guys, is there a haven nearby? This used to be a trail for pilgrims, there has to be a haven somewhere.” She inquired.

“Let us find out and get back to you on that,” Biggs responded.

Biggs frantically scanned the terrain to find any spot where they could get shelter. Wedges dug through the archive data for any clue.

It was over five minutes and she still heard nothing from them.

“Lady A, we found something,” announced Wedge, in an excited tone.

“There is an old haven by a thawed lake just two klicks east from your current location.”

“Great! We can spend the night there. You can send the rescue team at sunrise.”

“You got it, Lady A,” Biggs affirmed.

“What did they say?” Squall asked curiously.

“There is a haven two klicks east from here. If we hurry, we should be able to make it by the nightfall.”

“Let’s go then,” he said, walking in the east direction as the darkness was starting to take over.

Author's notes:

So, what do you think about this chapter? Let me know in your comments below. If you don't have much to say then at least say 'Hi' so I know someone is reading this. It would really brighten my day. Thanks :)

PS: I hope everyone is safe and healthy in this COVID-19 outbreak. Isolate and prevail. Introverts (like me) have mastered this skill lol

6 notes · View notes

blankdblank · 5 years

Text

Anaticula Pt 50

Pt 1 - Pt 2 - Pt 3 - Pt 4 - Pt 5 - Pt 6 - Pt 7 - Pt 8 - Pt 9 - Pt 10 - Pt 11 - Pt 12 - Pt 13 - Pt 14 - Pt 15 - Pt 16 - Pt 17 - Pt 18 - Pt 19 - Pt 20 - Pt 21 - Pt 21b - Pt 22 - Pt 23 - Pt 24 - Pt 25 - Pt 26 - Pt 27 - Pt 28 - Pt 29 - Pt 30 - Pt 31 - Pt 33 - Pt 34 - Pt 35 - Pt 36 - Pt 37 - Pt 38 - Pt 39 - Pt 40 - Pt 41 - Pt 42 - Pt 43 - Pt 44 - Pt 45 - Pt 46 - Pt 47 - Pt 48 - Pt 49 -

From Kings Cross home again you felt yourself pulled through the house to the distant Southern Wing. Between the torn edges of the tapestries that straight on glimmered like new under its enchantment to reveal themselves only to your bloodline and fading of the portraits half cast in shadows all curiously peering out you with scowls breaking from their face. Each of them wondering what brought their youngest relative to this wing.

Aloofly you released your braid that slid down over your back. Your head tilted back in front of the red double doors etched with golden accents above which you read the name ‘Ignus’ you recognized as a cousin for your ancestor and former Headmaster at Hogwarts Phineas, opening the door you looked around eyeing the entirely golden room with bright red wooden furniture inside making you whisper, “Someone was colorblind.” Stepping inside you heard someone coming up behind you while you moved to the alcove in the wall shifted into a small study still packed with notes and random trinkets.

Neville behind you asked, “Snooping for anything in particular?”

You shook your head saying, “No, just, had to come in.”

Neville walked to your side peering up at the books on the shelves, “Does it ever get old?” You glanced at him with a curious grin, “Sensing things?”

Chuckling to yourself you replied, “At times. This is different. Just have to find out why.” Making him chuckle and help you flip through each book and skim over every page, the second shelf of which when reached found Draco curiously joining you.

Draco skimmed his fourth book asking, “What are we looking for?”

You shrugged then reached out for another book only to miss the spine and knock your knuckle on the shelf, soft echoes of a memory tried to play for you but it was too worn from years of dusting on the shelves. Sliding your fingers along the shelves you crouched down until you found a tiny scuff in the wood.

Turning your head you peered around the books there until you found a tiny groove, emptying that portion of the shelf with the help of the guys around you a clear outline was discovered. Without a lever or button to press you simply pressed on the back and heard a click, retracting your hands you eased the shelf out only to pause seeing the back was a false back. A sliding latch there like on the back of a picture frame was turned and it easily came free revealing a leather binder that you turned over in your hands.

Across the front of it you read the message in latin, ‘A Black in Need Has a Friend in Deed.’

Draco’s brows furrowed, “In Deed, why the space?”

You shrugged and grabbed the leather strap on the side untwisting it from the securing fob to open the binder revealing a stack of Deeds to various properties, “Wow.” Easing back you sat down and crossed your legs while you set them all out, “The Paris Manor.”

Neville, “This one’s in Rome.”

Draco, “These are in Russia.”

With furrowed brows you eyed the others, “Barbados?” Flipping through the twenty reading from Barbados you left the others to the boys, who read off one in every continent including one in Antarctica as you got up and moved to the large map along the wall. Tracing the longitude and latitude lined your fingers paused on empty ocean making you shake your head, “There’s nothing there.”

At that the boys turned and climbed to their feet joining you, Neville said, “Maybe they’re unplottable now?”

“Maybe…Phineas might know.” Turning around you spotted the knight in the portrait on the wall and asked, “Would you be able to get a message to Phineas through his portrait in Hogwarts, we have a question for him? Please, thank you.” His head bowed and he raced off. In his absence you drew out one of your Thestral items to locate the islands on the map, a task coming up with the tiny creature simply circling the empty ocean in that same area.

Behind you Phineas’ voice sounded clearly, “I was informed you requested my aid?”

With a nod you turned, “Yes, um, we found these deeds, and these twenty,”

He nodded, “Yes, the sanctuaries.”

Your brow inched up and you three asked, “Sanctuaries?”

He nodded, “Yes, my cousin had an interest in magical beasts, those islands hold a variety of them.” As you took notes he listed all he could remember of them then he added, “All the islands are connected by archways with settlements on each sitting empty. Also bit of a nutter, expecting the world to collapse, though, best you find those now, seems it might come in handy.” His head turned to the right and he said, “Was that all? Albus is calling me.”

You nodded, “Thank you very much, yes.”

Phineas nodded and said with a grin your way, “Do not worry, before you dug those up none but Ignus and I knew of those islands.”

With that he left and you glanced at the pair of them making Draco smirk, “Anyone up for an exploration?”

Neville grinned, “They did say we would be on our own till dinner.”

You nodded and after hiding the deeds again and righting the shelves and books you left the room to go find the twins. Excitedly through your enchanted doorway you eyed the tropical paradise, with brooms in hand you soared overhead tracing the miles of land on each forming crude maps for each mimicking the one for Hogwarts to mark the creatures there. None that could be traced by Muggles and docile for those with magic, at your side Draco said, “Think of how many we could hide here.”

You nodded, “Exactly.”

Magical condos were set up on each complete with self sustaining greenhouses and water systems, upon returning you began to formulate plans, already you had a list of names of possible targets, and with the space needed to hide them you could now begin to form a plan. Back in your room you set out the maps then glanced at your door saying, “K?”

Across your bed you were all settled and popping up at the foot of it K eyed you all asking, “Yes, my Mistress?”

“I have a question to ask you, that might upset you, but please hear me out.”

“You can always ask me anything my Mistress.”

You wet your lips then asked, “How would one go about finding another House Elf in need of a house to serve?”

You could catch his momentary flinch and inhale before answering, “There are listings, in certain unsavory places you yourself should not wander through. Though it is easier for a fellow Elf to send out word for others. You are wishing for another Elf, Mistress?”

Scooting the maps closer to his view he climbed up onto the bench at the foot of your bed and looked them over, “We own these lands, and soon there will be a great many to protect. A task greater than the Order can handle on its own.” Wetting your lips you continued, “We have ways to find out who would be taken next, if we could get House Elves to assist in the gathering and tending to those living on these islands I think we could outlast this. What do you think?”

In a relaxing exhale he looked you five over then nodded, “It sounds like a remarkable plan. I will send out word for as many Elves as possible. Once bound none can spill your secrets, even when cursed. Word has spread of how our family treats our Elves we should have plenty of applicants by the end of the week.”

“Thank you K.”

He grinned and nodded his head, “Anything for you, my Mistress.”

The Pears would be arriving for New Years instead of Christmas granting you a bit more time and saving you the hassle of having to guide Petunia through their interrogations on how your mother had grown up.

In a fresh snowfall you stepped through your doorway and out into the empty park and took the brief stroll through the empty streets to the Dursley home. Since Marge’s last visit did not go as planned Vernon was called to go out to their family home out near Shropshire freeing Dudley and Petunia to come and stay with you. A knock on their door had Petunia animatedly opening it to usher you inside, “Come in, come in, just rounding up the last bits. Dudley!” Upstairs shuffling was heard and she flashed you a quick grin, “You are certain there will be room for us all?”

“The Black Family home isn’t much of a home, per se,” her brow ticked up, “One of the oldest families in the Wizarding World, there’s a lot of money behind it and it’s more of a castle than a house.”

“You live in a castle?”

“It is safe, mostly between there and the Weasley home we spend our time. Their home is around the same size as yours. It was more about a safe place to hide that no one could find. But no, there’s plenty of room, much needed since the Malfoys and Tonks’ will be coming over this year again.”

She nodded again, “And they know we’re coming?”

You nodded, “Yes, trust me, no one is going to give you a hard time. You’re family.”

In a few moments Dudley was down the steps with his bag in hand asking, “Harry’s gonna be there? We haven’t had a Christmas with Harry in years.”

“Yup. You ready?”

Petunia nodded then asked, “How are we traveling?”

“I can call the doorway if you like unless you’d like to take the scenic route through to London for the Grimmauld Place entrance.”

Dudley, “Doorway? Like when Harry left last time, just going through our door?” You nodded, “How do you do that?”

With a chuckle you asked, “You’ve seen Howl’s Moving castle?”

Dudley nodded, “So it’s like their doorway then, with a dial and all?”

You nodded, “Something like that, more with runes than with color wheels, and only certain people can call the doorway or pass through it, any intruders are sent off to the marshes.”

To the doorway you led the duo and into the dimly lit hall they followed you trying to read the runes etched into the worn and faded wallpaper along the walls until the stained glass door before them was opened and they both gasped in the first sight of the main hall you led them into. Behind them the door was closed and looking around they took in all they could in following you through it to their rooms, “I’ll show you to your rooms then we can pop back down for some tea.”

Along the way to the matching silver, yellow accented rooms you pointed out a great deal of what was along the way until they entered their assigned rooms to inspect them and eagerly come back to your side for the walk to the window coated sitting room where tea was waiting for them. There Petunia asked in taking her seat as Dudley peered up at the painting with penguins chasing butterflies, “Are you alone here?”

You shook your head, “No, my cousins Draco and Neville are sleeping. Neville’s baby sister Nellie just had her tonsils out so they had a late night ice cream party when she got home. Their parents are upstairs sleeping, Draco’s parents should be along after work, they work with Dad, Regulus and Remus. There was an incident in the Ministry yesterday so they all got called in early. The Tonks’ should be in tomorrow. The Weasleys, well, Harry’s at theirs till lunch helping to shift everything to come over by lunch, had some big snow and they need to get some repairs on their sheds and pig pens, small stuff.”

You giggled softly serving the tea, “So no, not alone, just the only one up right now. Oh, and you remember Severus,” she nodded, “He’s coming too, along with Barty, another of our Professors. Hagrid should be along too with Minerva and sometimes Dumbledore drops by if he’s up to a crowd, usually avoids family gatherings.”

Petunia, “You really get on with all of your Professors then?” Lifting her cup for a sip as you added a sugar cube to yours.

“Yes, most of them are like family. When I had to play dead I spent a lot of my time with them.”

Dudley asked sheepishly, “Those creatures, over the summer,” he wet his lips, “Are more of them coming?”

You shook your head, “No.”

Petunia caught the moment of tensing you had and asked, “What about the ones who sent them?”

“Umbridge sent them, hoping to get Harry expelled. She has been suspended, and there are others, who would come after Muggles, we’re doing all we can to keep as many safe as possible. It’s happening again, just like before. The war is starting up again.”

Dudley, “What happens if they come after us again?”

“We’ll come and get you.”

Petunia, “To live here? What would we do then?”

You wet your lips and lowered your cup to its saucer on the table, “You could, or we could take you to one of the islands we’re setting up for the people we are hiding away. Sort of like a resort when we’re finished with them.”

Petunia, “How much would that cost?”

You shook your head, “Not a thing, it’s all self sustaining. It’s a sanctuary from the war.”

Dudley, “But it’s your war? Why would it affect us?”

With a sigh you answered, “Every was has its innocent casualties. Bystanders sucked into it. Our worlds are so intermingled with yours that it would be impossible.” In a reach into your pocket you brought out a trio of chains with a clear pendants filled with bubbles and tiny rubber duck they both accepted, “Which is why I wanted you to have these. If you ever feel anything, if you’re ever in need of help or just get a gut feeling of being unsafe give the pendant a squeeze and we’ll come to check on you.” They nodded and adjusted the chains in their hands to put them on as you said, “I do hope you never need them, but just in case…”

Petunia’s eyes met yours as Dudley asked, “Who’s going to come for you, if you feel unsafe?”

Forcing a grin onto your face in a poor mask of your misty eyed reaction, “None of us are safe. We’re all targets, any and everyone they can hurt they will.” After a quick sniffle you raised your cup again at the quiver of Petunia’s lip, “We just have to be smarter and faster than them.” Sipping on your drink.

Through the door Fred and George strolled through grinning at the guests and filled the empty seats saying, “Store room is all good. Most of Diagon Alley is shut down already.”

You nodded and Dudley asked, “Store room?”

“We have a shop.”

Before long a full spread on the Daily Prophet’s first page was another look into Scrimgeor’s stances on certain topics reading a lot like déjà vu for Fudge all over again. With it came a stack of letters, Charlie’s included a lengthy promise of coming home this year. Sebastian’s letter along with others from friends and your distant pen pals, including Fleur, who would be moving to England soon after a lengthy search for a suitable position to warrant it.

Long and oddly distant Sebastian’s letter read packed with details including a full update on his baby sister and the season so far that was taking him out to Spain next after the Holiday break. Him and Viktor both were excited as ever hearing that you were joining one of the teams for Ireland and both had questions of the premier for your first film they both asked if you and Hermione would be going there and were in need of dates again stirring a grin onto your face.

By lunch more relatives had shown up and the duo mingled getting to know your new family with special curiosity towards the Grangers, who shared a bit with Petunia on more of the Wizarding World and how they had adjusted to it. Though of course when K, Dobby came through their curiosity was attempted to be masked but at the first sighting of Idris and Opal Dudley broke into a barrage of questions for you and Harry leading to a lending of a set of creature books for beginners to help show them more of what creatures you could have handled in your travels.

From dinners to a nightly film selection the Dursleys enjoyed their time with you especially how ordinary your gifts seemed to be, past the expensive earrings the Pears had sent you for the premier, mainly books and clothes to their surprise. Two nights they enjoyed your company then had to go home again leaving you anxious in the interlude of a night separating them and the Pears. With a wide grin you met the couple at the station and led them back to your home where they settled in and got straight to asking about your plans for your next film.

Two already had been filmed and with a number of directors asking to audition you for roles with a pile of scripts you had been sent on just talk of your work ethic and personality alone there seemed to be no lull in the promising career you seemed to be beginning in their eyes. Along with Quidditch you seemed to be building quite the public image and in the past months Bernadette’s manager had graciously taken the task of taming the request for even odd modeling jobs from magazines and agencies your mother used to work with in hopes of helping you find your start.

On your final night at home in a loss for sleep after your spending the day checking in on the shop Oliver would open again in a few days the sound of a conversation inside the family tree room had you waiting in the shadow along the wall of the open doorway listening in out of sheer curiosity.

Harry, “Sirius, what is this?”

“This is the Black family tree from my parent’s house in Grimmauld Place. I hated the lot of them. My parents with their pure-blood mania. My mother did that after I ran away. Charming woman.” He said pointing at his burn mark over a branch with a small bud with your initials by it.

Harry, “Where did you go?”

“Round your dad's. I was always welcome at the Potters'. Long as James’ whims were seen to, liked to get his way and when he didn’t,” he let out a puff of air, “There wasn’t a county large enough for the both of us. More than half of every year he sent me out of our dorm. I see him so much of his good side in you, Harry. The rest from Lily. You are so very much alike the best of both of them.”

“I'm not so sure. Sirius, when I was...When I saw Mr. Weasley attacked, I wasn't just watching. I was the snake. And afterwards, in Dumbledore's office there was a moment when I wanted to...This connection between me and Voldemort. What if the reason for it is that I am becoming more like him? I just feel so angry all the time. And what if, after everything that I've been through something's gone wrong inside me? What if I'm becoming bad?” A silent tear streamed down your cheek and you shifted into a Demiguise to cross the doorway unseen then shift back again.

“I want you to listen to me very carefully, Harry. You're not a bad person. You're a very good person who bad things have happened to. You understand? Besides, the world isn't split into good people and Death Eaters. We've all got both light and dark inside of us. What matters is the part we choose to act on. That's who we really are.”

“I don’t feel very good sometimes.”

“When all this is over, we'll be a proper family. You'll see.”

“Really?”

Sirius nodded, “You’ll see, no more hiding. We can stop looking over our shoulders. So you just dig in and we’ll see the other side of this, you’ll see.”

Continuing on you headed for the kitchen to get a cup of apple cider you carried through into the film room to sit up watching yet another film of your grandmother’s. In doing so you seemed to be picking up on more of her memories trapped in the films filling in your mental image of who she once was. Not so far from yourself as it turned out making you wish you could have met her assuming she would have liked you.

After days of being unable to form a sentence to you after your last time speaking in the Triwizard Tournament Charlie settled onto the cushion beside you with an offered blanket and a mug of his own simply hoping his presence would help you even in silence. Though morning found you soon enough snuggled against his side stirring at his alarm to get ready for his flight back, a stolen hug and peck on the forehead later and once again he was gone completely aware of the tears in your eyes and sniffle pitifully hidden in your stroll back to your room to get some more sleep.

The third week of January found you back in Hogwarts and onto the days leading up to the Ravenclaw vs Slytherin match. Already in the final year of so many players mini tryouts had been held with those players asked to practice with the seventh years to pick up where they had left off in the following year.

Hogsmeade again came after with similar mini winter themed sales and treats for you all. The first exams were held and you were back into prepping for your NEWTS in May.

Valentines rolled around again and this time without news from Sebastian but a care package from Charlie. Dragon themed candies and a fuzzy blanket coated in tiny hatchlings blowing flames and sneezing icicles had you sitting up on your bed sniffling after a few giggles before you wrapped it around you and waited out your gap between Arithmacy and lunch in a try for a nap while the twins were with Katie and Angelina.

To the sound of the clock ticking away you tried not to think about anything past the dragons on your blanket. The opening of your door opened your eyes in the closing of it again. Up your steps someone climbed, barely felt footsteps and a hop over your legs lowered your gaze to Crookshanks who trotted for your arms and crawled into the blanket you raised turning to plop down in front of you. Contently he purred through your kiss on his head mumbling, “Hey Crookshanks.” Covering yourselves again at the drop of a pair of shoes, right behind you the waft of a familiar perfume announced Hermione in her move to lay out behind you with her arm draped across your middle. “Hey Hermi.”

Weakly she chuckled and settled behind you saying, “Thought you could use the company.”

“Charlie sent me a care package.”

“I noticed, nice blanket. I see he’s sticking to the dragon theme.”

You nodded then levitated the gossip magazine on the bed in front of you, “Take it you read the gossip.” Meaning the article containing pictures with Sebastian out on the town with one of the Veela from their cheer team including one of them kissing in the lift of their hotel. “I knew he would find someone else. Had the dream before he even left the school. I’m ok, just a bit tired today.”

“I’m glad you’re not torn up about it. Though I did want to ask, have you dreamed anything about those two again? The ones trying to impress me?”

Weakly you chuckled and shifted to your back waving your sketch book over ensuring Crookshanks wasn’t disturbed in doing so and showed her a couple of the sketches you had on the duo. Flipping through the book she asked, “So, you just have these dreams, about everyone’s lives? Is that normal, for Seers I mean?”

You shrugged, “Trelawney says some are more open than others. Sort of like that old fable, about the weak man drawing a circle around himself, then those drawing one around his family, and the greatest drawing a circle around many, even strangers, and seeing to all their safety. Just depends on how strong they are, the closer they are the more you see. But most of mine are on the blondes still and the boys.”

“I’m sorry.” Your head turned to catch her eye when she looked at you, “I know it must be hard for you to sleep, with all this. Is it still an every night occurrence?”

You nodded, “Even with the Occlumency lessons. Some are less draining than others, mainly those closest to me. It’s the ones on strangers that take the wind out of me.”

Her head tilted in another glance at the pair, “So, roughly three years. At least I’ll have graduated.” You nodded and she set the book down, “I can’t imagine being here without you.”

“You’ll do wonderfully.”

She shook her head, No, I mean, you helped get me here, into this world. All they sent me was a letter, you actually welcomed me and my parents into this world. Gave us literature on it, invited us to your homes and families. I will never forget that, and even with Ron and Harry here, I still can’t imagine being here without you. It won’t be the same.”

Weakly you giggled and said, “I can’t imagine not coming here next September. Having to let go of it, it feels almost as much home as, well, home is. I mean, what would you do?”

She shook her head, “I don’t know. I know something has to be done about the Ministry.”

You nodded and giggled, “Anyone could handle it you could.”

Softly she giggled as you did again, “I’m certain you could do a great deal more.”

Shaking your head you said, “I think it best I’m not in charge. I can enforce the rules, but making them, I doubt I could trust myself with that.”

Hufflepuff vs Gryffindor came up the following weekend. Gryffindor loses in twenty-two minutes, 240 to 230, even though they caught the snitch. A stunning yet much needed quick match in the growing storm worsening the aim of their chasers in trying to score goals against the icy winds.

Pt 51

#HP Crossover #Christmas Break #Back to Hogwarts

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