#/and one is the plant body's death which i fully see as a fourth death bc it's about the Experience Of Dying

[jq37]

Twice Upon a Time - Neverafter Ep 1

The Times of Shadow

What is up y’all? A new season of D20 has started and I’ve been lured back to recapping by the siren song of fractured fairy tales. Fairy tales are one of my first loves (my thesis project for school right now is a fairy tale retelling in fact) and it’s very exciting to see that the D20 crew is digging into the darker side of these foundational stories.

I hesitated in starting recapping this season because as much as I love doing these, it’s a big time commitment and I am A Busy Person BUT the premiere ep was just so fun that I couldn’t resist. So, here’s the deal. I will do my best to keep up but no promises, OK? And I’ll be messing around with the formatting a bit to see if there’s a way to make the process a bit easier for me so bear with me.

And with that we start our story in the only way we really can…

Once Upon a Time.

Rosamund Du Prix (Siobhan’s PC)

We start with Brennan mesmerizingly telling the traditional tale of Sleeping Beauty–it goes down exactly like the Disney version. Three fairies. A fourth who isn’t invited and crashes the party after the first two have given their gifts and curses the baby princess to prick her finger on a spindle on her 18th birthday, killing her. The third fairy uses her gift to soften the curse so death turns into a 100 year sleep. Parents try to protect her by getting rid of all the spinning wheels but magic’s gotta magic and on her 18th birthday she finds a spinning wheel in an old tower and pricks herself anyway. She falls into a deep sleep as does the rest of the kingdom and the kingdom–the kingdom of Reverie–is covered in briars. 

Rosamund (who I will be calling Roz) wakes up, 100 years later, unable to close her eyes or mouth because of the briars that are growing out of her body and all around her, completely encasing her. Everyone at the tables is visibly and audibly gagging at the description which I will spare you. Roz is horribly claustrophobic but also feels a weird sense that she’s holding something that feels like a troubling sort of sixth sense (not fully explained but I’m wondering if it’s some kind of Ranger ability because she is a level 1 Ranger). 

She manages to get a hand free with minimal damage to herself (one fairy did give her the gift of grace after all) and painfully pulls the briars out of her mouth and nose. As she does, she hears whispers in her own head that she can’t understand and which stop when the root of the briars are out of her stomach.

Roz shakes the Briars that surround her, looking for the prince who was supposed to rescue her from this fate and, as she does this, pricks her finger. A tendril of the massive plant pokes out and drinks her blood, giving her a vision of the hundreds of corpses of the princes who have tried and failed to rescue her. The briars seem to think they are keeping her safe from the world outside and are fearful to let her go.

Now, well past the point of uneasiness, she tries to tell the plants thank you for the hospitality but it’s time for her to go. The plants do not agree and after she fails at trying to lull them to sleep with a lullaby, the plants try to stick her with the spindle and put her back to sleep. There is a bit of a tussle which ends with her diving out of her tower window and barely making it to the bottom in one piece. When she calls out to see if anyone is around, she gets no answer and decides to make her way out of Reverie–a process that takes months of traversing the thorny landscape. The kingdom seems fully destroyed. 

By the time she escapes, she is in *rough* shape and she’s fashioned herself a bow of thorns. 

[Note: Sleeping Beauty as a ranger is an interesting take. I wonder if she’s going to go Beastmaster for the traditional Princess With Animal Companion? Maybe Drakewarden if she wants to play with the Maleficent angle from the Disney version. Would be pretty cool to take on some of the traits of your captor–and she does already have the thorny bow. Fey Wanderer is an option because she was fey-touched upon being born.]

Now, in the present, Roz is a part of a traveling caravan in a wagon that’s going to the town of Shoeberg. In her wagon, she finds something damp and unpleasant being covered by a threadbare blanket and when she removes the blanket, she finds herself a surprise.

Gerard of Greenleigh (Murph’s PC)

Ger is prince turned frog turned prince turning back into a frog. He’s at the halfway stage so he’s still human height and build but with huge bulbous human eyes and damp, mottled, green skin.

He still has the bearing of a prince though and quickly identifies who he is and insists that his situation is temporary. Roz realizes that she’s related to him via marriage (“I think we’re cousins 3 times”) and is happy to join the self-gaslighting about how everything is fine and good and will be back to normal soon enough. They’re royals after all.

Ger says that though his kingdom is taken and his wife is missing, everything is fine and the fact that he’s turning back into a frog has NOTHING to do with his relationship with his wife which is FINE–something that Boffit (the trollson manager of the caravan who tells them they’re stopping for the night) doesn’t really buy. 

From there we’re thrust into Ger’s flashback. 

It is post-curse break and he’s doing pretty well. Except, he’s starting to realize that his frog traits are coming back. First his throat swelling. Then his eyes start migrating to frog positions. Then his tongue gets all stretchy. (“We fixed this though,” he says with a pathetic but kind of charming dismayed petulance). He tries to ignore the changes, even as he has a tense dinner with his wife–Princess Elody. Elody is discussing war-time matters with three of her generals–the kingdom is at war with Snowhold, the kingdom of the ice queen–but Ger just wants to talk about the upcoming ball and leave the unpleasantness to the soldiers. 

Elody is baffled by her husband’s lack of interest in actively protecting the kingdom and his desire to hole up in the castle while others fight and die for them. It’s the Time of Shadow, she says. Never After is being overrun with giants and witches and sea creatures! Why is he so content to coast on their supposed happily ever after? Though Ger clearly isn’t the fiercely protective active ruler she is, he says he’ll try to take a look at his fencing books. And she says that she’ll try to give him what she can. But that night, she doesn’t come to bed because she falls asleep at her war table with her generals. And the next morning, Ger’s nose is gone. Bad!

[Note: Ger is a fighter. I don’t really have a good guess on his subclass. I am fascinated by his relationship drama with his wife, though. I really hope she shows up again soon because the dynamic of these two people being in love but having such opposed life philosophies is very interesting–especially when it’s having the mechanical consequence of forcing Ger to turn back into a frog. To be in denial about how things are going as you’re literally turning into a frog is so indicative of character.]

Back in the present, we shift to another carriage in the caravan–a very nice shoe being pulled by 4 white horses. Inside is the pompous Lord Bandlebridge of Shoeberg who is toasting two figures–a cat wearing a cape and boots and a puppet of a little wooden boy (with a splintered nose–I’m guessing it was removed to allow for lying without an obvious tell). 

Through a back and forth, we learn that Puss in Boots (also known as Pib to his friends–I’ll be going with Pib or Puss interchangeably) and Pinocchio are scamming this man. They’ve told him that Pinocchio is actually a prince who stole 40 pennies from a witch and was cursed to be a puppet. They just need to borrow 40 gold pieces to break the curse and then they’ll pay him back in platinum. Lord B is so desperate to believe the story that he doesn’t look too deeply into it and goes with everything they say. 

Puss finds that he is very hungry and slips into a flashback.

Puss in Boots (Zac’s PC)

Pib is living the good life in the Kingdom of Marienne. He’s straight up chilling on a pillow in a shaft of sunlight and his breakfast is brought to him–100 live mice! 

The king comes in to talk to him privately and, as soon as they’re alone, starts freaking out. This is the miller’s son–Tomas–who in the traditional Puss in Boots story–is thrust into king-ship by Puss’s trickery. That’s all well and good but now it’s wartime and Tomas doesn’t have any idea how to run a country! Giants are attacking. He doesn’t know statecraft! He can barely read! And he loves his wife but he’s been tacitly lying to her for years and it’s all getting to be far too much. 

Pib just brushes it off and is like, hey buddy. Don’t worry. It’ll all be fine.

Spoiler alert: It is not fine. 

The kingdom falls to giants and Puss flees. And he has no idea what happened to Tomas and his wife. 

[Note: Puss is a tabaxi re-skin and a rogue. Also don’t have a guess/hope in mind for subclass but I do love the bringing of the Puss In Boots story to its logical conclusion of–yeah, this guy doesn't know how to run a country. Of COURSE it’s gonna end badly the second times are bad and you can’t let the kingdom run on autopilot.]

Back in the present, Pinocchio is being a little brat and rubbing Lord B the wrong way. To calm him down, Pib calls Lord B his best friend and hugs him–checking his pockets as he does and finding a scroll which he notes but doesn’t steal. 

Now, we check in on the third carriage in the caravan. Inside are two figures–”Mother” Timothy Goose and Ylfa Snorgelsson (better known as Little Red Riding Hood). Red knows Tim because he’s an older guy who used to read stories in her village. When things “got bad” (we’ll get to that) she met up with him. 

They both get the announcement that the caravan is stopping for the night from Boffit (and that payment will be due in Shoeberg which is a problem because they don’t really have money). They have to stop in the Blackwoods (a primeval forest) which isn’t safe and they both offer to help with keeping watch (Red clearly being the more physically capable of the two). 

As they stop, they also see two notable carriages that haven’t been mentioned before (a teapot drawn by a giant rabbit–clear Wonderland ref–and an uncovered chariot drawn by a ram with an older gentleman in it). They also see the shoe carriage which sparks their interest because Tim has this magic book that he writes words in that disappear. But the word “Shoe” stuck. So it has to be somehow relevant to his quest. 

They go talk to Lord B who is going off about how much of a thriving metropolis Shoeberg is even in these hard times. While he does this, the guy in the ram chariot calls him a fucking idiot under his breath. Tim tries to respond to Lord B but is haunted by a vision of something behind Lord B and flips out, calling it a fucker and a piece of shit–freaking out Lord B so much that he runs off. 

“I saw him again,” he confesses to Red and we jump into his flashback.

“Mother” Timothy Goose (Ally’s PC)

The Lullaby Lands are a really sweet place that’s mainly farmers and animals and doesn’t need a king or a queen to rule it. 

Tim walks home with his son's bones in his arms.

His husband–Henry Hubbard–is horrified as Tim explains that their son, Jack, didn’t actually find whatever egg he said he found and was clearly mixed up with something shady. Tim said he saw Jack talking to some giant, black, demonic looking gander (a male goose) and say “I need my third wish” and then watched him age rapidly into the pile of bones he’s holding. 

Then the gander said, “Do you wish to know what just happened?” and when Tim said yes, he was trapped in his own set of three wishes. He then wished for something to get his son back and was given the leather-bound book we saw him with before. 

As a veteran bard and witch, Tim isn’t a stranger to magic. He opens the book, looking for an answer and finds the pages blank. Undeterred, he starts writing in the book and finds that everything he writes in the book disappears except for the word Jack that sticks. 

He writes all day long and in the back of his head he hears the demonic whisper, “There’s no way you’ll find them all in time, Goose.”

Eventually, he notices a stain on the floor of the house where his son made a mess as a younger child, jumping over a candle and tries to just describe the person he wants. His son. He writes in his book the nursery rhyme (which it seems like he wrote in the world about his son) Jack be Nimble, Jack be quick, etc. 

As he does, light fills the room and he sees a window open in the pages through which he sees his son, healthy and well and in a version of Pottingham that doesn’t seem afflicted by the floods tormenting it IRL.

“Dad I’m still here,” the Jack on the page says. “[The book] can save more than me. You’ll save them, I know you will.” Before he can say more, he is cut off and starts running. The book in the story sticks and Jack’s bones disappear in motes of golden light. 

Tim realizes he has a LOT of work to do.

[Note: Tim is a bard. I could see College of Lore. Maybe Eloquence or Spirits? Also, I HATED how he got roped into his wishes. That’s some fey/lawyer B.S. “Do you wish to know?” Get out of here with that B.S. I hate the gander. All my homies hate the gander.]

Back in the present, the three groups of PCs are starting to get acquainted. Pinocchio introduces himself as a prince and, as a princess, Roz wants to know where he’s the prince of. Maybe they’re related!  He lies and says he’s the prince of Shoeberg which Lord B overhears and knows to be false because he’s from Shoeberg. 

Lord B starts accosting Pinocchio who is defended by Tim and then the Ram dude who comes to back Tim up. Ram dude is muscular and has armor and a sword. Though he backs up Tim in telling Lord B to step off, he also whispers to Tim that Shoeberg sucks and he shouldn’t talk about it so much. 

Lord B retreats to his shoe carriage and on a Nat 1 insight, Pinocchio thinks that, despite his lie, he’s fine to still go in there. Everyone tries to stop his “chaotic entitled” ass and Red ends up stopping the sword of one of Lord B’s guards with a hairy paw and she goes into a rage. Flashback time for Red.

Ylfa Snorgelsson (Emily’s PC)

Red is outside of her home she is returning to. Apparently, she strayed from the path when she shouldn’t have and shit went down. She knocks on the door, and calls for her mom. No one answers. Red pleads for them to open the door, saying that her grandma is dead and she doesn't have a place to go but her mom says that her daughter is dead. 

Read assures her that she’s alive and says somewhat fearfully that she doesn’t know what she might try to do to get in. 

Inside, there’s some whispering about wolf-trickery and waiting for a woodsman but Red is eventually let in.

She manages to quell her churning thoughts and tells herself that everything will be fine once she’s in. Her mother will help her fix everything…but as soon as she steps in, a silver dagger falls on her while her mom calls for her siblings to run out the back door. It was a trap.

Her rage boils over and she flips the dinner table. A voice tells her to remember to breathe. She does and then, just like in the story, she huffs and puffs and blows her entire family away. Yikes!

[Note: God, talk about trauma. Love the weaving in of the Three Little Pigs story here. And man, Red is so young. Just a pre-teen. Emily plays her so unsure and awkward. I can feel Emily readying some emotional killshots with this character. Her pleading to be let in  (which I realize as I write this is very “Little pigs, little pigs, let me come in) was so sad. Also, she’s a Barbarian in case that wasn’t clear. Path of the Beast would be the obvious subclass but we’ll see if she throws us a curveball as she is wont to do. Also,what’s the over-under on her multiclassing into bard? She already has a bard mentor in Tim and we call know mama needs her spell slots.]

In the present, the guard flees at Red’s display of strength and Tim hugs Red. 

Pinocchio admits he’s not a prince but he and Pib tell a very sanitized story about how times are hard and they’re just been taking care of each other. 

The stranger who helped them reveals himself as Old Cole (ie: Old King Cole was a merry old soul–but he doesn’t seem very merry anymore). He explains that Shoeberg was founded by an unkind woman who gave lordships to all of her shitty sons (ie: There was an old woman who lived in a shoe). It’s a rough city that chews people up and spits them out and it sucks that it got to survive while many other better cities crumbled in the Time of Shadow. 

He’s–as far as he knows–the last survivor of his kingdom–Jubilee. Ger asks if he knows anything about his wife and Cole says she was a brilliant warrior on the battlefield (she’s a mace-wielder btw, and ad props for her to being a queen who actually gets her hands dirty) but he doesn’t know if she’s alive right now. Pib asks about Marienne as well but Cole only knows it was overrun by giants. 

[Note: This probably isn’t important, but Cole is essentially making Stone Soup by his carriage which is another famous childhood story I wanted to point out because it’s glossed over.]

Everyone is told that they don’t get to eat if they don’t help with the food so Roz tries to do the princess thing of calling birds to help her. Of course, they’re in a gnarly, ultra-cursed forest so on a Nat 1 a fucked up ostrich comes to help her and she politely declines.

Pib and Pinocchio figure they can just steal some food and bring it to “help” but, when they go to do that, Pinocchio notices a coach with a key in it. When he opens it, he sees someone familiar is in there and sends Pib away while he talks to them privately (though Pib tries to eavesdrop).

Inside is a shadowy silhouette that Pinocchio nervously addresses as “Mom” Brennan says he’s only ever seen her shadow. 

His mom says that Roz is very important and is being hunted so he needs to help keep her safe and hidden. She’s too busy caring for his father. Pinocchio asks for an assurance that his dad is OK and she says that she promised to keep him safe when she married him. She says something about some candle “burning low” and reminds Pinocchio of the night they met.

[Note: I can’t believe I’ve gone this far without mentioning that Lou had committed to this Mickey Mouse sounding squeaky voice for Pinnocchio which is Certainly A Choice. Also, not sure what the candle refers to yet. The most famous candle story is the Jack Be Nimble one and that doesn’t fit. Will think about this more.]

Pinocchio (Lou’s PC)

Pinocchio is in his town (Amarti in the kingdom of Marienne) up later than he should be. And he’s a real boy. A pointy woman in all black carrying a staff shows up and Pinocchio recognizes her as the second fey he’s met in his life. 

The woman has a ball of magical energy which looks so so fun and says each child will get a chance to play with it if they answer a question honestly. Behind her, going into the village, something shadowy flickers. Maybe rats?

She asks a child what their father’s name is. He answers. There’s a scream in the village. She moves on to the next child. Same thing happens. The kids start crying, realizing something awful is happening.

She gets to Pinocchio. She asks for his name. Then she asks for his father’s name. He lies.

Instantly, he drops dead and wakes up on his strings in his father’s house as his dad breathes in and turns. 

Back to the present, Pinocchio’s mother says that he’s been telling a lot of lies and she hopes he can keep them straight. And that’s where we end for the week!

[Note: OK, this is my big Pepe Silvia moment of the week. I have this fraught relationship with the show Once Upon a Time but I feel like it’s prepared me for the analysis I’m about to do. 

When the character card shows up for Pinocchio’s mom it identifies her as “The Stepmother” (who is his patron btw–he’s a warforged warlock) and it identifies her as being from Cinderella. BUT it doesn’t say she’s THE stepmother from Cinderella. 

Let’s think about this for a second.

She’s presented in silhouette. Why? It could just be patron dramatic-ness. But it also could be to set up for a reveal later. 

We never get a name–just a title: Stepmother. And it’s totally normal that Pinocchio would just call her mom. But that also could be a setup for a reveal. 

This is a weird pull but there’s an apt quote from Disenchanted (the other thing I’m currently obsessed with). “Stepmothers are wicked but they’re not usually very powerful.” Cinderella’s stepmother as a patron wouldn’t be my first guess, you know? Like, of course in this world she COULD be magic, like Tim is, but I think there are better candidates here. 

Let’s think about the flashback now. Pinocchio’s mom leads into it by telling him to remember when they met. 

He describes the fairy that he meets and her features. But Brennan also says he’s only ever seen his mom in silhouette. So the fairy and the mom don’t seem to be the same people even if that is the night that they met. Brennan also says it’s the second fairy he ever met which means the first is likely the Blue Fairy. So this isn’t likely a twisted version of the fairy from his story. 

So the fairy this is likely to be is the one from Cinderella. The Fairy Godmother. And it seems like she’s controlling rats which tracks with the Cinderella story–rodents to horses, right?

(Though, sidenote, because I’m going full Pepe Silvia, I will also point out two other possible links. The first being something Pied Piper related. And the second being a Pinocchio pull as the Pleasure Island owner in the Disney version has these shadowy minions. Oh and while we’re talking shadows–Peter Pan. None of this is part of the analysis proper, just throwing out possibilities.)

ANYWAY, if this fairy is Cindy’s fairy and I’m skeptical the stepmom is The Stepmother then what if Pinocchio’s stepmother is Cinderella herself? The OG Stepmom in the story never had enough proximity to magic to be a patron but Cindy did. I could see her getting magic much more easily. And it would be a killer reveal story-wise. 

I don’t know what the motivation would be yet and I don’t even know if she’s evil or just shady. But there was clearly a lot of intentional vagueness during this section, and this is my best attempt to parse it. I look forward to getting more puzzle pieces as the season goes on!]

[veilchenjaeger]

Shen Qingqiu really went from dying in front of his computer because he ate expired food to dying in the wreckage of an apocalypse-in-progress to save his beloved from being entirely consumed by the evil demonic energy that had slowly been corroding his mind. Poetic cinema.

[parvulous-writings]

Home // Mother!Dimitrescu x Child!F!Reader

Request:  Hi! may i request this scenario: what if lady dimitrescu had a fourth daughter? like child reader stumbles into the castle and lady dimitrescu decides to raise her as her own. thanks love!

Requested by: Anon

Summary: Lady Dimitrescu adopts a new daughter. 

Warnings: mentions of death

Words: 1.7K

Notes:  My requests are currently open! My pinned post (found here) contains both a list of characters I write for, and a masterlist!

Not my gif 

Cold. That was the only thing you could feel. The only thing you had felt for the past several hours, at least. Well, feel in a loose sense of the term. Your limbs were numb, stiff and unable to move. You had been shuffling forward with no real sense of direction for who knows how long now, with no end in sight, no shelter from the elements you were forced to endure.  Your home had been attacked by massive monsters- not quite man, not quite human. You parents had ushered you and your siblings out of your home,  but now you were the last of your family line. One by one, your family had been picked off by your attackers, but each time you had managed to wriggle your way out of the situation. At one point you had even ducked into the woods to escape the beasts, but now that you had returned to the village you didn’t know what landmarks were what; almost everything you could recognise had been destroyed. You did, however, manage to find the Maiden of War, a statue that was in the centre of a roundabout like pathway that tractors and wagons often used. In normal life at least.  Nearby to that, up some stone steps, was a stone door with a carving that frightened most of the children of the village, even with the two reliefs missing. However, this time, the reliefs were there,  and the gateway had opened ever so slightly. Void of hope, and with every other option exhausted, you shuffle towards it, slipping through the crack, and starting up the snow-covered pathway to who knows where. Though, by looking up, you assumed that it lead to the massive castle which loomed over the village and it’s surroundings. 

The trek up there was probably much shorter than it seemed to be. There was a drawbridge that lay over a small, shallow body of water, and your footsteps echo off of it as you cross into a dark and rocky tunnel. It’s very dimly lit- nothing more than wall mounted torches and the fading remaining light to guide your way. You felt your way along to stone wall, the surface cold to the touch, not that you could tell all that much. Eventually, you came to a door. It was tall, much taller than you, although it was only about average height in reality. You pressed all your weight against it, and slowly- oh so slowly- did it creak open. You scurried inside, pushing the door shut once more behind you.  After catching your breath you take a moment to observe your surroundings- you were in a rather lavish room, just large enough to be classed as a hall, with hard, marble floors and a tiny staircase onto a more raised floor. You clamber up them, and notice a rather detailed portrait in front of you, of three beautiful young women, with tied up brown hair, sitting together in what appeared to be a forest or woodland clearing; it was a little bit hard to tell since the women took up most of the picture. You tilted your head slightly as you got lost in the colours and brushstrokes, wondering who these women were and what they did to warrant such a wonderful portrait. Of course, there was a plaque beneath it- most likely holding some of the information you wanted- you couldn’t read it, and it was a little too high for you anyway.

The sound of an opening door somewhere down the hall to your left catches your attention. Without knowing what else to do, you start to walk towards it, staying close to the walls and running your hand slowly along it. You push through a few more doors, before coming to a large hall- occupied with a chair, small table, assorted plants and even a chest of drawers in a corner. Your eyes roam upwards, and this room alone could house the entirety of the village, perhaps two or three times over. You knew the castle was big- it often occupied conversation among the children of the village- but this took your breath away. Not only was it huge, but it was ornate, more ornate than anything you had seen before in your life. One mere trinket from this room alone could have fed your family for at least two months, had they been alive still to see this.  You hear another door close behind you, and you spin round to see if who is there. You can only hope that the residents of this castle take pity on you. But, you see nothing. No one. You’re incredibly confused by this, and you have to glance this way and that to make sure that there’s no one around you. All you can find is a few flies. Wait. There’s more than a few. There’s three whole clouds.  You give a small shriek and duck to the floor, covering your head and face to try and hide away from the bugs, making sure they didn’t get near your face. If they didn’t get near your face, you could pretend they weren’t there at all. 

The only problem was, you could still hear the buzzing of their wings. You felt a few beat against your back, as the sounds began to warp and change. From buzzing and droning to... Laughter? Yes, it was laughter, three different laughs to be exact. Fearfully, you look up from your arms, to see three, rather fearsome looking young women in front of you. In surprise you bury your face into your arms again- if you couldn’t see them, they couldn’t see you, right? The three girls look between one another, slightly confused. Not at your behaviour, but more at how you- a mere child- had managed to get yourself up into the castle. The one standing in the middle,  one with red, oddly shaved hair, crouched down in front of you, tilting her head curiously. She glanced over her shoulder at the other two fly women, who shrugged at her; they didn’t know who you were or how you got into the castle either. “Child?” The one in front of you spoke, her voice like silk to your ears, especially after their piercing laughs and the roars of the Lycans. You shakily lift your head up again, looking up at her with tears of fear starting to prick at the corners of your eyes. She holds her hand out to you, trying to give you a smile of reassurance.  It works to some extent, though you don’t have too much of a choice other than to take the woman’s hand, so you carefully do so. She helps you to your feet, and you see the other two women staring at you. The blonde women looks to the last one, a brunette wearing a yellow variation of the pendant worn by all three. “Go tell mother.” The blonde said to her, to which the brunette burst into a cloud of flies in reply, swooping off down a hall. You give a yelp of surprise, hiding behind the legs of the woman who’s hand you still clutch to. She looks at you, confused for a second. 

She sighs, and starts to tug you along. “Come on.” She urges, rather impatiently, dragging you off down a side hall, where you can hear a couple of voices as you approach another door. The blonde woman pushes the door open, “Mother.” She greets, speaking to someone sitting in a plush, velvety chair. Whoever is sitting down places a crimson glass on a small table in front of her, before getting to her feet. “Well, let’s take a look at the child.” She speaks, and your jaw practically drops at her height. You hardly even reach her knees. You’re not sure whether to remain in awe, or to let the fright and fear set in. She looks down at you, regarding you briefly before starting to smile. “Why... I don’t see why you were so panicked, Cassandra...” She spoke to the brunette stood beside her chair, sent ahead of the other two with you. “Look at her- she poses no threat. It was chance she happened upon us, was it not?” She looked to the woman, who has lowered her head respectfully.  “Yes, mother.” She replied, before moving her gaze over to you again. “What are we to do with her? She is human, what if-” “Ah-ah.” The tall woman interrupts. “No what-ifs.” She says sternly, before turning her attention fully to you. “What happened to your family, little one?” She asks, not bothering to get down on your level. You take a moment to answer, which the Lady of the castle allows, considering you are merely a child, and in a strange new environment. She could understand any fear you may have, she has been there herself in the past.  “The.. The monsters.” You squeak, and the woman hums softly, looking at her three daughters briefly. 

In her mind, you were a child without a family, a child with need of a home and a family. She gave a curt nod to herself, folding her arms over her chest. “Well, then we shall be your new family.” She tells you, and the shock is clear on your face.  “What..?” You whisper, your voice hardly audible to any of the other women in the room.  “We shall be your new family.” She declares proudly again, “These are your new sisters. Bela.” She gestures to the woman still holding loosely onto your hand, with the shaved red hair. “Daniela.” She gestured to the blonde woman on the other side of you, “And Cassandra.” She placed a hand on the shoulder of the girl closest to her. “And you can call me mother.” She smiled brightly at you, stepping forward slightly, and bending down, opening her arms to you. “Come here, child.” She coos to you, as Bela drops your hand. You shuffle towards her, and as soon as you’re close enough, she scoops you up into her arms, resting you against her shoulder, cradling you with a warm smile. “Come now, let us find you a room...” She whispers, and as she starts walking through the seemingly endless maze of hallways you feel yourself drifting off to sleep in the arms of.. Well, your mother. Despite only just meeting her, you feel safe with her and her daughters, your sisters. You knew you’d be happy here, happier than you would be anywhere else, especially in the ruins of the village you once called home. 

------

Part two

[loeyparker]

hurt her to save her - d.m

pairing: draco x fem!reader

word count: 7k 

warnings: angst, swearing, mentions of death and torture

plot: getting closer to Draco during sixth year has consequences. Draco realizes that when he’s forced to hurt you in order to keep you safe from Voldemort

a/n: my HP obsession is back so I’ve returned to writing fics but i might have went overboard with this one lmao . it wasn’t requested, but if someone wants part 2 i’m gonna do it <3

Draco Malfoy had a very good memory. Besides being cunning and arrogant, he was also incredibly smart – which is precisely why he was second best in most classes. Behind the cold, uncaring façade the youngest Malfoy put out into the world however, stood a boy who remembered things he probably should have forgotten.

Lately, Draco Malfoy couldn’t remember the last time he felt anything but fear. He attempted to mask the feeling either with anger, determination or indifference but the true, raw feeling of fear was behind it all, much like a dementor guarding all his other emotions. The past summer planted dread and terror deep into his mind and the ink on his skin felt like it was seeping through his skin, entering his veins and poisoning his heart.

By the time he arrived back at Hogwarts for his sixth year, he felt drained. With the weight of the world on his shoulders, the young boy attempted to pretend to be a normal student, despite the countless sleepless nights and stray tears that sometimes escaped through small cracks in the emotional wall he’d built around him over the years. The tears only saw the light of day in the darkness of the Room of Requirement, where he found himself surrounded by old artifacts and silence.  

“Draco, Severus has been telling me you seem distracted.” The soft, yet scared tone of Draco’s mother rang throughout the empty, rotting room in the Shrieking Shack. Broken windows allowed for the wind to invade the abandoned building violently and loudly, and to dance around the three figures standing in the dark. It caused a shiver to run up Draco’s spine, but he couldn’t tell if the reaction came from the cold or from Narcissa and Severus’s stares aimed at him.

Draco felt so small under their gaze.

“That’s true, I have been.” Draco admitted, looking forward. He focused on a spider trapping a moth in its web. “With school.” The moth fought, attempted to flap its wings but the web was too sticky. “I have to keep up my grades. Them dropping suddenly would be suspicious.” Draco’s voice didn’t waver, despite his heart beating at a much more rapid pace than normally.

“Lie.” Severus Snape spoke simply. The professor was tasked with taking care of the Slytherin boy, but he wasn’t about to listen to his childish lies while the man knew what he had been seeing in the past months around Hogwarts.

Draco didn’t move.

Narcissa sighed and got closer to her son. She placed her palms on Draco’s pale cheeks and she felt them being hollower than she remembered. Draco still didn’t look at her. The spider was covering the dying moth in his web, fully suffocating the creature.

“My boy, the dead don’t need lovers.” Narcissa’s voice was quiet, regretful even. Her heart ached for the boy who was so quickly deprived of a childhood.

“You cannot forget about the assignment because of a girl.” Snape spoke up, his voice monotonous.

“I haven’t forgotten.” Draco spat back and took a step away from his mother, whose hands dropped. He didn’t feel the lack of her palms on his cheeks, as they left no warmth Draco could feel. “And there’s no girl.”

“Do not lie to us, boy. I have seen you with the Ravenclaw girl, I am not blind.” Snape saw the glances between Draco and you in the Great Hall, he saw the way Draco fixed his gaze on you during DADA. He also caught you walking into the Room of Requirement not long after Draco the previous night. On top of that, Minerva had mentioned how Draco’s recent assignments closely mirrored yours. You had a certain style noticeable in your homework answers, and that style began to be seen in Draco’s own homework which lead everyone to speculate the two students may be closer than everyone thinks.

Before Draco could deny, Narcissa spoke “Under other circumstances, I’d be delighted to hear about a girl in your life.” Her tone was soft, yet it held an edge and sternness to it. “But you have a mission, Draco. Do I need to remind you of the consequences to befall our family if you don’t succeed?”

“No.” Draco spat. He already knew the consequences – loud and clear. They had been drilled into his mind, heart and soul the entire summer. If he couldn’t kill Dumbledore, Voldemort would kill Draco’s entire family instead.

“The girl is another weakness. Another person to add to the death list, Draco.” His mother pleaded. “You know he will kill her if he finds out.”

“I know.”

Draco could feel all the warmth in his body melt away and even his bones felt cold and heavy.

“You can still save her.” Snape spoke. “Focus on you mission, hurt her. Make her believe you don’t love her.”

Draco glanced at the spider one last time, and the moth laid still in the webs of the predator. The wind made the web sway, but only slightly. It was too sturdy to be blown away by any forces.

“Hurt her to save her.” Narcissa’s voice echoed through Draco’s mind all the way back to the castle. The Room of Requirement didn’t appear that night, and so the boy went to bed instead. He entered an empty Slytherin common room and even though the fire was burning, Draco couldn’t feel its warmth. Not even as he knelt in front of the flames, attempting to warm his freezing hands. His movements were mechanic. As he laid in bed that night, he couldn’t remember how exactly he got back into the dorm from the Shack.

However, he remembered events that took place years ago perfectly.

He especially remembered the night of the Yule Ball, two years prior. He can pinpoint the exact moment he spotted you in the crowd of well-dressed students. It was, in his mind, the first time he really, truly saw you. He remembered the small -but noticeable skip of his heart that happened as soon as his eyes landed on your figure. You were smiling, but sitting at the wrong table –  which confused him for a moment. You were sat at the Gryffindor table, right next to the Weasley twins who were making you laugh. A Ravenclaw boy whose name Draco didn’t know was behind you, resting his hands on your shoulders thus signaling that he was your date that night through possessive body language. You didn’t acknowledge his presence much, though.

Pansy, Draco’s date, made comments about your dress each time you stood up to dance. The long dark blue satin dress gently touched the ground with each step you took, the slit in its side slightly exposed your leg with each movement. There was a smile on your face the whole night.

Draco thought you looked so beautiful.

He thought you looked beautiful even when your glance danced towards Ron Weasley until the end of the ball.

Draco also remembered the night Pansy dragged you into Umbridge’s office a year later. She held your arms behind your back forcefully while you struggled to get out of her grasp. Your wand was in her possession and you looked angry. A great juxtaposition to how you looked on the night of the Yule Ball. He remembered thinking how much sense it made for you to be tangled in Harry Potter’s mess because that’s what Potter did. He had everyone on his side, all odds in his favor while Draco was being dealt bad cards at every turn.  

You fought and tried to get away from Pansy. Your hair was messy, and your oversized blue sweater was getting untucked from your jeans with each forceful move you made. A frown painted your soft features, your eyes seemed darker than usual. Draco caught a glimpse of the scars on your wrist which he immediately knew came from Umbridge’s detention sessions, and he felt a flicker of rage rise into his stomach. The feeling directly contradicted the satisfaction he had been feeling at the sight of Potter getting his plans spoiled right in front of him.

“Parkinson, lay it off.” Draco found himself spitting when he realized the pressure on your wrist was painful. He spoke before he realized what he was doing, and so he found the confused gazes of Ginny and Ron Weasley, Neville Longbottom, and you – all fixed on him. Pansy obeyed Draco with discomfort.

You looked at him quizzingly, not really understanding why he was suddenly…helping you? He met your gaze just for a second before a heavy glare returned in his eyes and he turned away, focusing entirely on Harry and Umbridge.

It was minutes later when he watched your figure getting smaller as you ran away from Umbridge’s office, escaping with your friends. Draco and his friends were left behind and unable to follow as they each struggled with curses thrown at them in the escape. You were all long gone by the time the group of Slytherins came to, and Draco remembered that he found himself wishing he had people running into the line of fire for him like Harry did – he wished you would’ve glanced back at him in your escape and then weeks later when he was told about the events of that night, he found himself hoping his father didn’t hurt you in the Ministry attack.

Those thoughts and memories didn’t stay with him for long that summer, though. Draco couldn’t say that you crossed his mind after he received the Mark.

Until that night.

It was late and he was in the Room of Requirement, still fiddling with the cabinet. It was the fourth consecutive night spent in there after finding the damn thing, and he wasn’t anywhere close to fixing it. Frustrated, he punched and kicked the wood so hard that his knuckles sent sharp waves of pain through his arm. It was because of the noise he was making, the kicks and grunts that he didn’t hear the Room’s doors open and close.

You had previously been in the Gryffindor common room, attending one of their parties. There weren’t lots of Ravenclaws there – hell, it was only you, Stiles, Padma, Anthony and Michael. And it was all going well. You were sat on a bean bag chair with Stiles in-between your legs, surrounded by your Gryffindor friends: Ron, Harry, Hermione, Neville and Ginny, with Dean and Seamus on their way to you all with butterbeers in hand. The atmosphere was fun and light – a welcomed escape from the reality surrounding you, but you all decided to enjoy the moment and pretend the world outside the common room didn’t exist for the night. So you sat close to the fire and you didn’t know if the hot flames were warming you up or if it was the fact that Ron was focusing an unusual amount of attention on you.

You’ve had a crush on the Weasley boy since third year, and no matter what you did, you couldn’t stop your heart from beating faster each time he smiled at you.

You were having a great time.

“And if I become an Animagus to help Scott, then what?” Stiles spoke. Harry shook his head. You puffed. “What? We’d be the new generation of the Marauders; someone has to keep the legacy alive.” He continued, determined.

“Lupin would kill you, mate.” Ron laughed.

“You know animagi don’t pick their animal though, right?” You questioned. Stiles looked up at you and beamed.

“I know. But it’s like, vibe related so I think I’m safe. I’d absolutely be a dog, or a wolf.”

You glanced worryingly at Harry, but the boy simply burst out laughing and denied jokingly. Everyone else hearing the conversation laughed as well.

“Stiles, if it’s vibe related then you’d be a weasel.” You spoke, prompting laughs from everyone. Ron high fived you for the joke and you smiled wider than you thought possible.

The good mood didn’t last long, though. Only moments later Lavender Brown joined the group and comfortably sat herself in Ron’s lap. You watched him give her a quick kiss and wrap his arms around her. “What are we talking about?” She asked and it was as if your ears got covered. The sound faded, your smile dropped, your shoulders slumped. Ron would never like you back, you had to accept that. It was pathetic how you longed for the boy for so long.

So, you excused yourself and left the common room entirely to take a walk. You didn’t expect to end up outside the Room of Requirement, and you didn’t even feel like going inside. But the hall was dark and cold and you began hearing footsteps and the flickering light of Filch’s lantern slowly began illuminating the stone walls and with a haste movement, you went into the Room before Filch could walk around the corner and catch you.

You found yourself in a Room much different from the training grounds you had known while being part of the D.A. Tall piles of clutter seemed to reach the ceiling and despite the room being extremely vast, it felt tiny and crowded because of all the objects tossed and piled everywhere in sight. You walked on a path formed through columns made out of old boxes and books, all piled amongst stacked chairs, empty owl cages and rusty potions equipment. Loud bangs followed by grunts caused you to stop in your tracks and draw out your wand. The room in itself seemed unpredictable, and so you already had about six defensive spells ready to go in your mind and on the tip of your tongue.

You caught a glimpse of platinum blond hair before anything else. It looked messy – very different from the way Draco usually wore it: slick and perfect. Now, it gave you the feeling that he’d been vigorously running his fingers through it, causing it to become tousled. He was only in a white shirt – the robe, vest and tie laid disregarded on a near-by couch.

Lowering your wand, you gently knocked on a table to get his attention.

He turned around in a panic. His hand reached for his wand but stopped midair when he saw you. “What are you doing here?” Draco spat with no hesitation. His heart skipped a beat again, like it did on the night of the Yule Ball.

“I could ask you the same thing.” You responded, glancing at the cabinet in front of him. At the time, you didn’t think anything of it.

“None of your business.”

“I don’t care anyway.” You glared. “This room appeared to me like it did for you and since I think I need it, I’m not leaving.” With your arms crossed, you leaned against a random tossed out piece of furniture.

“Isn’t there a Gryffindor party you should be at?” Draco’s gaze remained cold and the scowl on his face didn’t falter.

“You know about that?”

“Don’t sound so surprised, I know everything that goes on around here.” He broke eye contact by focusing on folding up his sleeves. When his hand began working on his left forearm, he stopped abruptly, remembering. He went stiff at the realization, which you noticed. Before you could speak however, he looked back at you with a smirk, “Was Lavender Brown there so you ran away?” It was as if he didn’t look struck by lightning just two seconds before.

However, his words made you forget his strange behavior. “The hell? I don’t know what you mean.”

“Oh, come on, (Y/L/N). Everyone knows you have the hots for Weasley. Least you can do is own up to it.” He teased with a mixture of annoyance and amusement present on his face.

“Piss off, Malfoy.” Walking up to the old couch Draco’s uniform laid on top of, you sat down and watched as the dust flew out of its cushion. Draco groaned. “I’m just gonna nap here until I’m sure Filch left and isn’t near the Ravenclaw tower.”

Draco mumbled some things you didn’t bother to understand, and then silence befell both of you. He didn’t really bother to fight you to leave even though, in retrospect, he should have had. Maybe if you didn’t stay with him that night, he wouldn’t be meeting you in the Room months later with tears burning his eyes. But, to be fair, he couldn’t have known that night. That night, he just rolled his eyes at you breaking the silence ten minutes later, when he thought you were asleep.

“What are you even doing there?”

“I told you, none of your business.” He spat.

“Is that the vanishing cabinet Peeves broke a few years ago?”

Draco turned around. It was his turn to be surprised by your knowledge. “How do you know about that?” He couldn’t help but let his eyes roam over your figure as you sat cross-legged on the old couch he napped on countless times before. You wore casual clothes – which he always thought looked great on you, and your hair laid straight over your shoulders. The few candles he had lit around softly luminated your face with warm tones.

You smiled proudly at his question.

“Fred and George shoved Montague in it last year” you laughed “it was quite funny.”

Draco remembered the incident. He was, after all, the one who found Montague stuck in a bathroom after the encounter with the twins.

“You’re trying to fix it, aren’t you?” Draco watched you jump up from the couch and walk next to him to examine the cabinet. He suddenly felt on edge, exposed. The Ravenclaw in you was jumping to solve a problem, while the Slytherin in him was about to explode. “Have you tried a mending charm?”

“Of course, I tried a mending charm.” Draco answered with annoyance in his voice. You rolled your eyes. “It doesn’t work.”

“Well, then- “

“I don’t need nor want your help, (Y/L/N).” He glared down at you. “I can handle it myself.”

“Asshole.” You mumbled before taking a few steps back from Draco. He didn’t turn to you. Instead, he focused on his task even though his mind wasn’t on it anymore. He focused on your footsteps as you began to walk away without another word and before he could overthink, he spoke up softly. “But you can stay, if you want.”

You didn’t stop walking as you answered him. “I don’t.”

Draco then heard you utter “Lumos”, heard your footsteps getting quitter and quieter, then the heavy doors being pulled open. After they closed, he found himself surrounded by silence once again. Not dwelling on it, he pushed the thought of you away and resumed his work. Nothing was more important than his assignment.

Things slowly started to shift after that night.

The next day in Transfiguration as he was zoning out, a paper butterfly landed on his desk. He glanced around the room but saw nobody giving any sign of sending him the note. However, after he opened it and read its contents, his eyes immediately found you. On the paper was a list of incantations that would be useful in repairing things, and he knew you had sent it even though you looked focused on the textbook in front of you. It looked as if you were purposefully trying to ignore him, and Draco allowed the ghost of a smirk to form at the corners of his lips.

Two nights later, Draco walked into the Room of Requirement and you were already there. A few more candles than usual were lit as you sat on the (now clean looking) couch, reading a heavy, dense book. “Have they worked?” you asked without looking up from your book.

Draco sighed, loosening his tie. “No.”

And as time passed, you and Draco began spending more and more time together. Initially, you tried to help him fix the cabinet. It gave you a distraction from Ron and Lavender. But it was also obvious that fixing the old thing was important to him – he seemed desperate and for some reason, you felt like helping. And so, you found yourself sitting close to Draco on that old, tossed out couch with different heavy books resting in your lap every night, both searching for spells that could work. Each few day the space between you decreased until you reached a point where your knees touched and your shoulder pressed into his bicep. Sometimes you could even feel his minty breath on your face – just for a second. But the feeling began to linger even as you walked the stairs up to the Ravenclaw tower late at night.

You also found yourself thinking less and less about Ron.

Then, about a month after the Gryffindor party, the Katie Bell incident took place.

Harry began suspecting Draco of the attack and accused him of being a Death Eater. You didn’t go to the Room of Requirement for a few days after that because honestly, you were scared. You knew, deep in your heart that what Harry was saying made sense and because of that you started to believe that Draco’s cabinet wasn’t just some fun project. You lit on fire all the parchment you had written mending charms on, in a haste and with shaky hands.

You didn’t want to see him after that.

But you found yourself days later sneaking out of the tower late at night, quietly making your way to the seventh floor.

Draco got heavily scolded by Snape for the necklace attempt. The Professor found his action completely foolish and didn’t hesitate to let Draco know that. The boy arrived at the Room feeling beaten, defeated. On top of that, he was met by the empty couch and the broken cabinet and he snapped. In a fit of rage, he broke one of the cabinet’s doors and threw it at the couch. The noise he caused rang through the entire room, momentarily covering the silence. He couldn’t bear the sight of his failure any longer and the thought that you were now possibly scared of him after rumors of him being a Death Eater spread around the school, thanks to Potter, angered him even more.

“Training for the next Triwizard Tournament, Malfoy?”

Your voice made him turn around quickly, surprised look on his face.

A small smile danced at your lips, and you took out your wand. Pointing it at the broken door, you cast out “Repairo,” and the door lifted from the couch, gently levitating towards the cabinet and fixing itself. In the end, it looked as if nothing had happened. “At least this works, otherwise you would’ve had to pick up some muggle skills.” You teased.

Draco let out a small laugh, before his face fell again and he sat down on the dusty floor. His back rested against some other piece of forgotten furniture and he brought his knees up, hugging them to his chest. His head fell back, and he closed his eyes.

You quietly sat next to him with a huff.

“Why are you here?” Draco asked quietly.

After a moment of silence, you answered with honesty “I don’t know.” And you didn’t. You couldn’t understand why, despite the pit in your stomach that took shape as soon as Harry accused Draco of being a Death Eater, you were alone with him in a secret room, late at night.

Opening his eyes, Draco made a quick decision. He placed his left hand on your right knee, squeezing. Your eyes met – he looked calm; you were confused. “Do you trust me?” Draco’s voice was just a whisper. Alas, through the deafening silence of the Room, you heard him loud and clear.

“I don’t know.” You answered again. And, mirroring his impulsive move, you placed a hand over his. He felt cold at the touch and as you got used to the slightly stinging feeling, he found comfort in your warmth. “All I know is that I’m here, for some reason. I felt like seeing you.” You admitted, your voice tender and quiet.

Draco didn’t speak for a while. You thought you embarrassed yourself but didn’t dare to move.

“There are things about me that you really wouldn’t like if you knew.” The boy finally spoke. His eyes were glued to the cabinet that was a few feet from you both, but his mind was miles away. “I’m not a good man.” He admitted with no waver in his tone, no hesitation.

And maybe it was the daily, month-long meetings you’ve had with him. Or maybe it was the flicker of decency you saw in him when he got Pansy to release her painful grip on you the previous year. But your mind dug up small events and information buried deep in your memory that made you frown at his words. You remembered Dobby. Harry told you he was the Malfoy’s house elf who tried to keep him safe during second year, and it all seemed strange to you. You knew that house elves, if owned, could not act on their own volition no matter how strong their beliefs and inclinations were. In your mind it seemed unlikely that Dobby left the Malfoys without their knowledge and so, for the longest time you had a hunch it was Draco who sent Dobby to warn Harry. Especially since Lucius was the one who snuck Tom Riddle’s diary into Hogwarts. You were also quite sure it was Draco who helped Harry figure out the monster from the Chamber of Secrets was a Basilisk.

But overall, you knew Draco didn’t grow up in a good environment. He’d been heavily manipulated his entire life and it was in that moment, as you sat next to him on dirty floors, hand on top of his, that you decided whatever he was doing, he was doing either because of blackmail or manipulation.

“You can’t let the bad things from the past define you,” You whispered as your fingers slowly occupied the empty spaces between Draco’s own fingers. He was quick to grip your hand into his. “I think you are good. You’ve just been dealt shit cards.”

Draco didn’t show any emotion as he processed your words. But that night as he lay in his bed all he could think about were your words. Nobody had told him he was a good person before, and he’d never felt supported before in his life. And he felt a wave of emotions hit him all at once. He felt envy because Potter had had you all this time and because of your friendship with him, Draco didn’t get close to you sooner. He felt jealousy because he remembered you were in the Room in the first place because you were heartbroken over Ron – again, someone he didn’t like had all the things Draco felt he should’ve had instead. He felt comfort knowing you weren’t scared of him despite Potter filling your mind with (true) accusations. He felt hopeless because he was a Death Eater now and you were one of the good guys. He also felt entitled, selfish and determined because for the first time in a while, he found himself wanting something – someone, that he wanted for himself: you.

Over the next few months, you both unintentionally grew closer. Draco remembered every smile, every laugh shared between the two of you in the candlelight, hidden deep inside the Room of Requirement. Most days, he worked alone on the cabinet while you studied and pretended he wasn’t doing something potentially harmful. You both found yourselves finding comfort in the other’s mere presence.

You began to think less about Ron and more about Draco and it made you feel strangely guilty, especially when Ron would throw his arm around you like he used to in the Great Hall and you’d catch Draco’s eyes and excuse yourself to move back to the Ravenclaw table.

On certain nights you attempted to get Draco to do homework with you. But with each passing day, he became more and more anxious and afraid. And with each passing day, it hurt and worried you more and more. On a few occasions you did his Transfiguration homework for him just to keep him out of detention.

He owled you a Merry Christmas note during winter break but told you not to write him back. He knew you wished him happy holidays as well.

You gave him a Christmas present when you got back to Hogwarts – a ring, as you’d noticed he liked wearing them. His face lit up at the gesture and it was the first time he embraced you. The action was impulsive but it felt right. One of his arms wrapped around your lower back, the other cradled your head gently. His face buried in your neck and he held you so tight you didn’t dare move. He held you to make sure you were real and wouldn’t slip away from his grasp.

A little over a month later, Draco was feeling the pressure of his tasks heavier than ever. He felt sick each time he looked at the cabinet and you were noticing that. You were also noticing his complete disinterest in school and his reoccurring absences. He’d spend days in the Room, not even coming down to eat. You snuck him meals each time you could but sometimes you’d find them untouched on the floor.

“Alright, Draco. What’s going on?” You confronted him one night.

“Nothing.” He mumbled. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Then help me understand,” you pleaded “Draco you’re not acting like yourself please, tell me what’s going on so I can help.” You never pleaded with a man before, never thought you would. Your ego felt too strong for this. And yet, there you were, standing behind a disheveled Draco Malfoy with an ache in your chest.

He ignored you.

You felt like throwing something at his head.

You watched as he opened the cabinet doors and took out a rotten apple. He held it in his hand for a second too long. It wasn’t unusual, you’ve watched him do this repeatedly over the past five months. You flinched when he threw the apple on the floor with vicious force. He then kicked the bottom of the cabined a bunch of times, yelling out in anger and frustration. His scream echoed through the Room. You pursed your lips.

“I can’t do this.” He finally spoke. “I can’t bloody do this and everyone’s going to die.” He started pacing around the small clearing amidst clutter. “My mum, my dad, me…you – we’re all going to die.” He kicked the plate of food you had brought him a few hours prior, spilling the contents over the floor.

You frowned. “What are you talking about?”

“He’s gonna kill you and mum in front of me, make me watch,” He was frantic “probably gonna torture you first so I die remembering your screams. Then,” he pinched his nose, wiped his mouth “then he’ll kill me. I’ll be last and everyone’s gonna be taking the piss out of me, the fucking kid who couldn’t fix a fucking,” he kicked the cabinet again “magic fucking cabinet!” he kicked and kicked until you could feel the pain he felt in his leg yourself.

You walked up to him and attempted to pull him away from the large wooden broken object, but he pushed you away forcefully. You stumbled back in shock. “How dare – “ You couldn’t finish your sentence, however. He hastily turned to face you, pulling up the sleeve of his left arm aggressively, exposing the Dark Mark.

No words came out of your mouth after that.

You couldn’t seem to peel your eyes off of the mark, and Draco watched you with a pained heart. Part of him expected you to run, another to pull out your wand and attack. He didn’t know which one was coming, he didn’t know which one he preferred. However, he didn’t expect you to walk up to him with slow, steady steps.

His eyes locked with yours as you took his arm into your own. It was as if the Room emptied and the only things in it were the two of you. Holding his arm to your chest, you got as close to him as possible. As he looked down at you, his heavy breath fanned your face. “It’s okay, Draco.” You whispered. “I understand.”

And you did. You understood his choice, understood the position he was forced into. And your heart ached for him.

That’s the night Draco remembered best. The way your figure was illuminated by the soft glow of yellow candles, the soft fabric of your sweater rubbing on his skin. The kindness in your eyes spreading warmth through his veins, the way your lips moved when you spoke his name. Most times he thought about conjuring a Patronus, Draco believed the memory of that night was what he needed to focus on in order to succeed.

With his hand on the back of your head, he quickly lowered himself to reach your height and caught your lips in a kiss. He felt you smiling into it and he found himself mirroring you, until you pulled away to giggle into his shoulder. He couldn’t do anything besides kissing the top of your head.

Days later you were both laying on the couch you had transformed into a cozy spot. You were focused on his Mark, tracing your fingers along the lines of it, gently. Draco knew he was supposed to feel pride in having the Mark – that’s what his family had told him, but he felt something close to shame each time he looked at it.

You rested your hand on top of it, covering it. “I’m sorry. But we’ll figure it out.”

“Together?”

“Together.”

A week later he was forced into the meeting with his mom and Snape at the Shrieking Shack. The following night he walked towards the Room of Requirement late, with heavy steps. It felt as if each movement he made on the way happened in slow-motion.

You were reading comfortably when he finally reached you. A smile formed on your lips upon seeing him, but it faded when you took in his appearance, his sour face, hardened figure, stone gaze. “What’s wrong?”

Draco didn’t speak, only pointed his wand towards you. You froze. “Draco?” His hand shook, his face wavered. You were confused.

“I have to do this, (Y/N). He’ll kill you otherwise.” Draco’s voice cracked.

“No, he won’t. You’re a skilled Occlumentist, right? He can’t get into your mind.” You immediately caught on.

He shook his head. “He’ll know, he’ll know. Snape knows, mum knows,” he sounded so scared that you attempted to get up to comfort him, but he threated so you sat back down “he’ll know.”

Tears formed and blurred your vision as your heart picked up speed.

“You know, I didn’t wanna think about you, I wanted to stay focused. I came here to do a task, that’s it. I came to be great, to do great things for the Dark Lord.” Draco began, “But then I saw you. I’ve wanted you since fourth year and then here you were, being good to me and…you woke up a weakness inside me. And I got selfish, I put my mission aside to get something for myself.”

Tears now ran down your face, and Draco mirrored you. You shook your head, silently pleading for him to reconsider.

“But I have a mission, (Y/N) and it’s so important. I can’t be distracted. And I can’t have you being associated with me – it’ll get you killed and I can’t – I can’t have it.”

The candles flickered and for a split second your mind went to a Divination class, where Trelawney explained candle magic. Their dancing light showed instability, chaotic energy while its tall flame indicated success brought about with complications. The air felt cold as you stared at Draco who hadn’t fully stepped into the candlelight. An abyss of darkness stood tall behind him, the sights of it deepening the pit in your stomach. Despite his shaky hands, dark circles underneath his saddened eyes and hollow cheeks, Draco looked put-together. His hair wasn’t messy like it was the first night you found him in the Room. It was back to its slick, flawless style. He wore his all-black suit, and his tie wasn’t loosened.

“I also can’t have you walk out of here knowing everything about me.” His voice hardened and for the first time while being with him, you felt fear.  

“I won’t tell anyone.” Your voice was small. You sat up, your eyes beginning to look for a way out.

“I can’t risk it, you’re friends with Potter. You’re one of the good guys.”

“I won’t put you in danger, Draco.”

He grimaced at your words as if they’ve hit him with the force of a Cruciatus Curse. He tried not to let any more tears fall. You took his reaction as an opportunity to get closer to him. Maybe if you could take away his wand, touch him. Maybe then you could change his mind.

“I won’t endanger you either,” He whispered. “That’s why I have to do this.” At that, he lowered his wand and took two long strides towards you. Another one of his unpredictable actions that left you frozen in your spot. In a swift motion, he cupped your face between his calloused palms. “You know this is the right choice.”

“No,” you whispered and shook your head “no, it’s not. You can teach me Occlumency, I can help you,” your fearful eyes bore into his saddened ones, his heart ached at your words, at the fear he was capable of instilling in you. “We’re a good team, remember? I can help.” You kept pleading as your own hands rested on top of his. You felt the ring you’d given him still on his finger.

He simply shook his head with a small, almost unnoticeable smile on his face. “I’ve already corrupted you enough.” Draco admitted and you were taken aback; rendered speechless. “You’ve been covering for me with your friends, lying to Professors, basically doing my homework while I’m working on bringing the school down.”

Your heart dropped; hands started shaking. Draco felt it. He felt the weight of his words starting to crush you. Down in your mind you knew he was doing something bad with the cabinet, but you didn’t think it was so drastic.

Draco continued. Hurt her to save her, his mom’s words rang through his mind. “I’m using the Vanishing Cabinet to bring Death Eaters into Hogwarts,” his words made you remember the Death Eaters attack at the Quidditch World Cup, where you were almost trampled. You remembered the attack on London that sent one of your family members to the Hospital. You remembered how ruthless the Death Eaters were at the Ministry, when they were throwing deadly curses at a bunch of teenagers.

And there it was.

The look of betrayal, hurt and fear on your face that Draco never wanted to see. He tried to remember the night you saw his Mark, the night you accepted and comforted him. That’s what he wanted to remember, not this. “After I get them here, I’m going to kill Dumbledore.” He continued.

Chills erupted on your body and you recoiled from his touch.

“I knew you were planning something bad, but this, Draco?” You couldn’t speak louder than a whisper as you took small steps away from him. He knew this was coming; the disgust, the unacceptance. Was your speech about understanding him all bullshit? “You don’t have to- “

“Yes, I do. It’s my mission.”

“No, listen to me. You’re not this person, you’re not a Death Eater. I know you, Draco. You’re still a good person put in a terrible situation but it’s not all lost, we can-“ Despite your fear, you still found yourself comforting him, pleading with him. Your mind lead an inner battle between understanding the boy’s motives and wanting to let Harry know of everything that was happening.

You couldn’t let Dumbledore die, couldn’t let Death Eaters attack Hogwarts.

“I cursed Katie Bell. Almost killed her.” Draco cut you off.

“I know.” You deadpanned. He parted his lips and frowned in confusion. “I saw the necklace in your bag a week before it all happened. Then I saw it on McGonagall’s desk. It wasn’t hard to piece together the puzzle.” You explained.

Despite the warmth spreading through his heart at the thought of you not abandoning him even after knowing that all those months ago, at the thought that he’d finally found someone to be on his side for once in his life, someone who understood and maybe even actually loved him – despite it all, Draco’s eyes had never showed less emotion.

You wanted to cry but didn’t. Your ego won.

“You know I have to do this, (Y/N).” His voice didn’t waver anymore. The more reasons you gave him to love you, the more his decision solidified in his mind. “And you know I’m doing the right thing,” he wanted to hold you so bad, but he didn’t move; instead, you both stood feet away from each other. “Knowing all this puts you in danger. Coming here every night puts you in danger hell, even looking at me in the Great Hall puts you in danger. I can’t see you brought into the manor tied up, imprisoned and killed as a punishment for me. And you know I’m right. I’m not just some irrelevant follower, I’ve sat at a damn table with The Dark Lord countless times this summer. He’s been in my home; he knows me personally.”

You couldn’t look at him the more he spoke. So, your gaze was stuck on a candle, but your eyes remained unfocused.  

“You’re smart.” Draco kept speaking, his tone now loud and confident. “This is the part where you tell me that even though you wanna change my mind, you know I’m doing the right thing,” he even joked. You wanted to cry but couldn’t speak. He was right. “Tell me you’re proud of me because I’m putting someone else’s wellbeing above my own for once” his voice became muffled, as if he spoke from underwater. It was silent for a moment as Draco watched you process his words, “You’ll be on the right side of history after this. You’ll go back to Weasley who’s a better choice for you than I could ever be – even though it kills me to say that.”

All you could do was shake your head in disbelief.

By the time you looked back up at him, he had a few tears running down his face and his wand pointed at you. And so you cried.

“We were a good team, weren’t we?” Draco spoke with one last saddened smile.

“Draco, please. I love –“ you began, but Draco couldn’t bear hear it.

You watched Draco wipe his tears with a swift motion, before a white light formed at the tip of his wand. His voice came out strong, unwavering, and determined. His hand stopped shaking.

“Obliviate,” Draco uttered before you could react.

[tanoraqui]

assorted related Silmarillion interpretations/preferred headcanons:

on the Oath of Fëanor:

The language of Oath (per the Annals of Aman, which I'll treat as canon) does consign its swearers to Eternal Darkness if they fail to retrieve the Silmarils. However, the inclusion of "Day's ending" and "world's end" functionally gives them a deadline of Dagor Dagorath - which works well with the part of the prophecy that says the Silmarils shall be retrived at that time, and Feanor will give them up

(Will that consign him to Darkness, or will having all 3 in hand conclude the Oath? Could go either way!)

Neither Feanor nor his sons are likely to make any progress on this goal until Dagor Dagorath, because per the Doom of Mandos, once they die, they're going to be trapped in his Halls yearning for their bodies pretty much forever.

(Though there's also an argument to be made that "thou, Fëanor Finwë's son, by thine oath art exiled" trumps "your houseless spirits shall come then to Mandos. There long shall you abide and yearn for your bodies...", and while all his sons and followers will go to Mandos, Fëanor himself is cursed to wander Arda as a houseless spirit. This isn't necessarily my preferred take, but I would read fanfic of it if anyone has recs.)

The phrase "and Fëanor's kin" lightly bound every single blood relation and maybe those by marriage into the Oath as well, but not enough to doom them to Darkness - just enough to help drive them forward in Fëanor's wake until for various reasons they planted their feet and refused it, and the burning echoes died out without a fight. This might have applied to those born henceforth as well.

on the Doom of Mandos:

As stated, the (deceased) sons of Fëanor, and Fëanor himself, and almost certainly stuck in Mandos for near-eternity, mostly becasue nobody believes they won't make trouble if released

(They're probably right)

(They're definitely right about Fëanor himself)

When the Valar were pardoning people to return to Aman after the War of Wrath, the pardon applied to those already killed as well, and all those deemed suitably healed of their hurts and most vicious hatred were immediately and/or henceforth let out of Mandos.

The reason Finrod specifically is mentioned as reincarnating is that everyone who heard about the circumstances of his death was immediately worried that Gorthaur would trap his soul - Gorthaur who was later known as Sauron and "the Necromancer", y'know. (Sauron probably did, in the like 30 minutes before Luthien fucked him up. Potentially also see: @ceescedasticity's ongoing Orc Bank headcanons, which Idk if I accept fully into my own lore but I sure like them. But the point is that Finrod is fine.)

et cetera:

Dagor Dagorath is a valid prophecy

For every fic or headcanon about Elrond skirting all known rules to keep Maglor and/or Maedhros in his family, I'm legally required to get a fic or headcanon of equal weight about Elwing and Earendil skirting all known rules to look after their descendants despite the varied respective Dooms of all parties. If insufficient are made available to me, I'll start to make them myself. This is a threat.

Edit: almost forgot! AUs are fun but true ending for Maglor through at least the Fourth Age is sadly wandering up and down the western shore of Middle Earth; fading slowly but too regretful, stubborn, and reflexively competent to die; walking through memory as much as the present day; singing songs of loss, yearning, remorse, and most of all the history of his house: some of the good, but mostly the bad and the ugly. No one ever sees him up close, just hears his songs. His burnt hand will never heal until he is forgiven, but others and by himself. Man, Tolkien really understood my needs in a cryptid.

[sehunniepotwrites]

sakura kiss | n.yt

PART III OF FOR YOU IN FULL BLOOM: THE HANAHAKI COLLECTION

🌸 synopsis—the four times you noticed yuta’s love for flowers and the one time you realized it was not the flowers he was in love with

🌸 genre—  would you be so kind? universe ; hanahaki!au, university!au, flower shop!au, angst, romance, slight fluff, mutual pining, strangers to lovers!au 🌸 pairing— art student/florist!yuta x art student!reader (f) 🌸 word count— 9000+

🌸 warnings — cursing; mentions of coughing, vomiting, hospital visits, death (no one dies!!), two idiots in love

🌸 author’s note—so i finished a fic with my favorite trope in time for my birthday today (dec 11th) and i’m posting to celebrate! it all started with this tweet that said yuta used to work at a flower shop and enjoyed drawing the plants during his free time! 

this was a fun write and it takes place in the same verse as wybsk, which is linked above! you can read sakura kiss as a stand alone or after wybsk to get a better understanding of two scenes! to those you came from my mark fic, i gave yn a name (kira)!

but here she is! enjoy and be sure to tell me what you think!! i love feedback uwu

Nakamoto Yuta, you noticed, was an unusual fellow. He was your senior in the art department, a fourth-year preparing for his graduation while you were a couple of semesters behind him. Other than his small circle of friends, the foreign exchange student kept to himself, burying his handsome face in his sketchbook. You had classes together before but those were large lectures with over fifty students in the room— this was the first time you shared a small studio lab with him.

Barely interacting with him in the past, you were determined to change that no matter how intimidating Yuta was.

Were you intimidated by his extremely good looks or his unmatched talents in the fine arts? Both. Definitely both. He turned heads without fail and when he smiled, oh my god, you thought he was the sun. Yuta was pretty, beyond pretty even, with his striking face, brown eyes, and perfect body proportions. 

To add on top of his perfection, his art style was immaculate. The artist never failed to steal your breath away with a couple of strokes and a swipe of his blessed hand. Anything he touched turned to gold. Never sharing those thoughts with him in the past, you made a firm decision to tell your senior this coming semester.

Yuta sat at the easel next to you, barely two feet away from your station. His sketchbook and drawing utensils were already splayed out on the holder. He was fiddling with his phone to pass the time, his painted nails rapidly hitting his touchscreen. How did Yuta make something so mundane as checking his phone look so ethereal? The inner most thoughts in your head cursed whatever beings lived in the beyond for not endowing you with such looks. 

You gulped, gathering up the courage to talk to him. “Hey,” you greeted shyly. 

Hey? That was the best you could do?

Yuta turned towards you, gaze shifting away from his phone. “Hey,” he said back with a slight curve of the lip. 

“I don’t know if you remember me but we had a couple of classes together last semester,” you forced yourself to say with an awkward smile.

He grinned and his teeth sunk into his bottom lip, almost like he was holding back a laugh. “Yeah, no, of course, I remember you.” Your name slips from his mouth, causing your awkward smile to turn into a genuine one. His tone is kind and his voice is low, sending shivers down your spine.

You tried your best to keep the conversation going, wanting to finally compliment him on his work but your professor entered the room and called for everyone’s attention. He handed out the syllabus to a student upfront and around the papers went, signifying the start of your first class. Yuta shot you an apologetic look, conveying that you could always continue the conversation later. 

The overview of the course’s syllabus was always the boring part of the first days. Your eyes glazed over, still not fully awake from rising early, and you tried to shake the sleepiness away. Stealing a glance at Yuta, you almost laughed at how his easel was angled in a way to hide that he wasn’t paying any attention. His syllabus outline was discarded off to the side and Yuta’s hands were moving rapidly, sketching out a large tree in full bloom in a page of his notebook.

It looked like flower petals raining from the branches and a person leaning against the tree trunk, hiding underneath the shade. His sketching speed and quality amazed you— how exactly did he sketch that fast and that beautifully?

You made sure your professor wasn’t looking in your direction before nudging Yuta’s side to grab his attention. He snapped out of his drawing daze and turned to you with widened eyes. A red seeped into his ears and pale cheeks, but you missed it completely, eyes zoned in on his quick draw.

“Hm?”

“That’s really good,” you whispered.

He rubbed the back of his neck at your compliment. “It’s just a quick sketch,” Yuta tried to play it off. He was never one to take compliments so well.

You leaned over to get a closer look. Noticing you almost falling off your stool, Yuta shifted his easel slightly closer to yours. “Is that a cherry blossom tree?”

He nodded, “Yeah, they’ve been on my mind a lot.”

“Do they remind you of home?” you asked. You couldn’t imagine being an exchange student in a foreign country— you would miss home too much.

“Yeah but that’s not really the reason why I’m drawing them,” he replied. His eyes shifted to a look of pain or discomfort as if he was reminded of a scarring memory. You watched him closely to make sure he was okay. He cleared his throat before letting out a couple of concealed coughs, face digging into his shoulder. 

“You alright, Nakamoto?” You were too embarrassed to call him by his first name.

“Yeah, I’m good. Just a little cough.” Yuta gave you a smile that didn’t reach his eyes, “And you can just call me Yuta, you know?”

“Right, noted,” the name felt so foreign on your tongue. 

“I have cough drops in my bag if you want some,” you offered, already reaching down to grab your backpack. He quickly dismissed you, telling you it wasn’t necessary. 

Continuing to watch him sketch, you admired the way Yuta fussed over the smallest details— the lining, the shading, etc. It was nothing more than a simple sketch but if it was gifted to you, it would be framed and hung for the world to see. 

He really was an artistic genius. 

“Cherry blossoms are my favorite flowers,” you said.

You were too absorbed in his drawing to hear him mutter, “I know.”

“You say something?” 

Yuta cleared his throat again with a pained expression. His hand held his neck for a second before shaking his head. “I said, they used to be mine too.”

Huh, you never really picked him as the flower loving type. 

—🌸—

This was the third time Nakamoto Yuta had flowers growing in his chest and he hated it. 

It was less painful the first two times around, probably because they were nothing more than fleeting crushes. He was in high school then, wholly infatuated with two different students during those years. Yuta followed them around like a lovesick puppy, all smiles and waiting on their hands and feet. He coughed a couple of petals out and it caused some uneasiness, but after being rejected harshly, Yuta pushed himself to move on. 

The pain of high school rejection could never compare to the dull ache he was feeling as he looked at you. There you were, the person he secretly admired for the past two semesters, merely two feet away at your own easel. 

You looked so in your element, eyebrows knitted and pencil in hand as you sketched away. A sight so captivating, Yuta almost forgot to breathe. Being an artist himself, he wanted to preserve that image on a canvas but he didn’t think his hand could do you justice. No pencil sketch, no painted canvas, no marble or clay sculpture could even compare to you. 

This was more than puppy love. More than infatuation. Yuta was sure of it but how was he to let you know? You barely knew each other and a confession out of nowhere wouldn’t be the best way to get acquainted. 

Perhaps another time, he thought to himself, before turning back to his sketch. 

You would’ve never guessed that Yuta Nakamoto had a thing for flowers but he did.

Then again, you didn’t really know what he had a thing for to begin with— your friendship just started to bloom. It was like a bud barely opening under the sunlight; with each interaction, there was something new you learned about the quiet yet charismatic art major. 

You knew he was a Japanese exchange student that majored in art, that was a given. You recently learned he loved cherry blossoms and that watercolor was his favorite art medium yet you still wanted to learn more. 

The first time you ran into him outside of class was in the university library. Yuta sat at one of the tables, his space surrounded by books on flowers. There were books on the language, arrangements, and gardening tips. His face was deep into his sketchbook once again, back bent over the desk but his focused eyes darted back and forth between his drawing and his page of reference. 

Yuta didn’t even notice as you hovered over him, debating on whether you should say hi. Even with your shadow casting over his body, his deep concentration never faltered. 

His page was filled with various plants and flowers, little notes in a messy scrawl right under their pictures. He was currently drawing cherry blossoms, the page he was referring to showcasing the anatomy of the famous flower.

“Cherry blossoms again, Yuta?” you broke the silence.

Your voice startled him, causing his pencil to slip from the artist’s grip. It made an accidental mark and you whispered an apology as he clicked his tongue. 

“Don’t worry about it, nothing an eraser can’t fix,” Yuta reassured you as he rid his paper of the unwanted mark. He blew the eraser bits of his page, hand sweeping his surface clean. He offered you the seat next to him and you gladly took it.

“So, why are you always sketching flowers?” you posed as your hand gestured to all the books he had on his person. 

“They’re beautiful, don’t you think?” he answered with another question. He gave you a cheeky little grin, his lips widening to show off his beautiful pearly whites.

“Well, yeah.”

“It’s a shame they die so easily,” Yuta said, fingers running over his sketches. “Beautiful but fleeting.”

“But that’s life, isn’t it?”

“I guess it is.”

You hummed at his answer. “You’re really passionate about flowers, aren’t you?” 

“Something like that. I actually work at a flower shop nearby, maybe you’ve seen it?” Yuta fiddled with the front pocket of his backpack to pull out a business card. “I like learning about the meanings to help the customers in the shop, amongst other things.”

You took the card from his grip, examining it. For You in Full Bloom was printed largely on the thin piece of cardboard. Staring at the name, you wondered why it sounded so familiar until it hit you.

“Oh, I pass by it everyday while walking to campus! I live two blocks away from the shop.” Your smile grew wider and he smiled back for a second before his face contorted into one that conveyed pain.

Yuta turned away from you to cough into his hand, his free one hastily digging into his pocket. He pulled out a handkerchief and began to cough into that. Shocked by his sudden sick fit, you quickly patted him on the back, hoping it would help him hack out whatever was lodged in his throat.

You saw him peek into the small square of fabric and wince at whatever it caught. He cleared his throat before turning back to you. “Sorry,” Yuta muttered, rubbing the front of his neck to soothe it. Placing a cough drop in his hand, he took it without complaint and popped it in his mouth. The relieved sigh he let out made you feel slightly less worried. 

“You’re still sick?” you frowned. “You should really get that checked out, you know?”

He waved you off, “It’s nothing serious, I swear. What were we talking about again?”

“Cherry blossoms?”

“Your favorite flower.”

“And yours,” you added.

He hummed, “And mine.” There was a solemn tone behind his words but before you could press on the subject, he coughed again.

“Did you know that they’re also a symbol of renewal?”

Shaking your head, you urged your classmate to continue.

“Cherry blossoms hold the bittersweet meaning of life and death but they also bring the message of new beginnings.”

—🌸—

Yuta just wished when it came to you and him, the flowers meant the start of something new but no— instead, they just reminded him of the ache in his chest. 

They reminded Yuta of how alive he was but also how he was one step closer to his grave. 

Yes, you were merely classmates but he felt like he knew you solely from all the stories that were shared by your mutual friends in the art department. Ten and Taeyong sang praises on how thoughtful you were, always helping professors clean their studios after hours. Sicheng brought up how passionate you were about your major— Yuta himself bore witness to this many times during lectures and he wanted to know more about you. 

A lot of charm filled your figure and it was enchanting, it really wasn’t that hard for him to fall. 

Yuta fell for you much like the blossoms from the cherry trees. 

And just like the blossoms, his time was fleeting but you were so completely unaware.

You left the library first, having forgotten that you had office hours with a professor. He watched you leave, eyes fixed onto your back.

Someone once said that you become miserable if you love someone too much. Yuta believed that to be true. There was a pang in his chest, heart racing against his rib cage as a stronger nausea attack hit him. 

He gasped for air as his weakened stomach turned with sickness. Something was rising, working its way up his body. Yuta quickly slapped his hand over his lips as he hurled. Instead of bile, cherry blossom petals rained out of his mouth and into his palm.

He chuckled under his breath. Was it sad that he found beauty in his suffering? 

Yuta thought himself to be crazy as he quickly shoved away the pain to begin sketching the petals in his hand.

For You in Full Bloom— what a nice name, you thought to yourself as you entered the shop with your friend Sicheng right behind you. The light ringing of the bell attached to the front entrance alerted the people at the counter of your presence. You picked up on harsh whispers before the tall male worker rushed to the back, forcing the young girl to assist you.

“Hi, welcome in!” the girl smiled brightly at you. “How can I help you today?”

Before you could reply, Sicheng stepped forward to answer, “Kira, we’re looking for Yuta— is he here?”

“Oh, Sicheng, hey! I didn’t even see you,” Kira exclaimed. “He’s, uh, not here right now.” Kira shot Sicheng a frustrated look, eyes darting to the back. Your companion sighed, done with his friend’s stupidity. You missed the quiet interaction, being too preoccupied with your surroundings. 

“We’ll catch him another time then,” you answered her.

The small and quaint store was filled to the brim with flowers and your hands ghosted against the magnificent displays in the front window. The petals felt soft and the pleasing smells overwhelmed your senses in a good way. There was beauty all around you— there was no wonder why people loved visiting flower shops.

Various watercolor pieces were framed on the wall and you examined every artwork displayed. They were simple paintings of the plants that found a temporary home in the store. Some pieces were the flowers by themselves and others were of the many arrangements offered. They were vibrant, bright, and so incredibly detailed.

“I’ll tell him you stopped by,” she paused to ask for your name. You replied with a smile before turning back to take in the art. 

“The paintings are a nice touch,” you commented, finally turning to look at her. 

“Oh those? Yuta painted them,” Kira grinned, her body straightening up with pride. “He paints a lot when the shop is slow and my mom, the owner, loves to hang them up.”

“I should’ve known.” You took a closer look and spotted Yuta’s signature at the bottom of every picture.

“He’s very talented, isn’t he?” Kira hummed. Sicheng snorted for some unknown reason and you slapped his shoulder in response. There was nothing funny about Yuta’s skills and he knew that.

“Yeah, his skill is unmatched. I admire him for that.” 

“Have you ever told him that?”

“God, no!”

“Why not?” Kira pressed. Sicheng joined in on the pressing and you moaned, an embarrassing heat creeping up your face,

“I don’t know. We talk but I find him to be a little intimidating,” you leaned against Sicheng’s shoulder and looped your arm through his. “I can’t just go up to him and fangirl over his work, can I?”

“But you want to,” he groaned. “And I’m tired of hearing you go on about it. Just tell him.” 

A whine left your lips and you pinched your friend’s arm at the comment. He yelped and Kira just watched as the bickering continued. 

“Yuta looks intimidating, yeah, but it’s just his resting bitch face, I promise. He’s just a softie,” Kira laughed and Sicheng agreed. “You should definitely tell him. He would love hearing it, especially from you.”

There was this knowing smile on both of their lips and it just seemed like they knew something you didn’t. You tugged on Sicheng’s arm as an attempt to ask him the florist meant by the last bit of her sentence and he tried to shrug you away.  You just clung on tighter to your friend with a playful smile with Kira keeping a close eye on you.

You heard a cough come from the back of the store, causing both Sicheng and Kira to look up with concern. The coughing fit grew louder and louder, leaving Kira to excuse herself for a bit. 

“If the other florist is sick, they should be at home resting,” you tutted with a frown. 

“Some people are stubborn,” Sicheng threw back with a bit of distaste. Picking up on your friend’s bitterness, you wondered why he felt so strongly about it. You waved it off when a small display of sunflowers and red roses together captured your attention. Holding it in your hands, you admired how the two vibrant colors compliment each other.

Kira swung her way around the counter, “You like that bouquet?”

“It would be really pretty to paint,” you say, still spinning it around in awe. 

“Yuta put it together himself yesterday, he’s pretty good at arrangements,” the florist beamed.

“What can’t he do?” you scoffed.

“Apparently, open his mouth and say what he needs to say,” Sicheng muttered beside you. Kira elbowed his stomach and he lurched over in pain. 

“What was that?” 

“Nothing,” Kira laughed nervously. She worked her way to you and gestured towards the flowers, “It’s yours, on the house.”

You rejected the offer right away. “Oh no, I couldn’t,” is what you reply, attempting to shove the arrangement into her hands. With a kind grin, she persisted for you to take it and just asked you to buy from them the next time you visited. “I’m sure Yuta would love it if you took this one off our hands.”

With a promise, you hesitantly accepted the bouquet. Sicheng was snickering in the background and you had to hold yourself back from whacking him with the flowers. Thinking you’d taken too much of the florist’s time, you quickly said your thanks and headed out the door with a coy Sicheng trailing behind you.

—🌸—

“They’re gone,” Kira yelled towards the back of the shop. Yuta made his way back to his spot at the cash register while wiping at his mouth with his uniform sleeve. He quickly pulled out his art supplies from underneath the counter, setting everything up to resume his painting. Taking a seat on the stool, his body was slumped over his makeshift desk as he messed with his pencils. 

His coworker rolled her eyes at him as she began to work on a bouquet of blue cornflowers and daisies— good fortune and new beginnings. Her nimble hands hastily worked their magic with ease as if she’s done it a million times before. Yuta observed her, quickly sketching her hands at work. 

“You’re ridiculous, I don’t get why you had to hide.” 

“I didn’t want her to see me like this,” Yuta said, his pained eyes covered by the long bangs that drooped down over his sketchbook. 

“Like what?” Her hands went to her hips. “Sick and hopelessly in love?”

“Yeah, let’s put it that way.”

“There’s a solution to this, you know,” Kira pressed with furrowed brows. “You don’t have to keep suffering.”

This. Hanahaki is what she meant— the disease of unrequited love.

“I’m fine, Kira,” Yuta hissed with a bit more annoyance than he intended to. She flinched at the tone but still pushed on when he coughed again. He felt the discomfort of something being lodged in his throat and his body had the urge to hack it out. Suddenly, he was leaning over the counter with cherry blossom petals littering the cash register. 

Yuta practically hacked up a storm, body curling in pain. One hand was clutching his stomach while the other had a death grip on the edge of the counter. The dizziness returned and he felt lightheaded as the retching subsided. A weakness took over his athletic body and Kira rushed to assist him back onto the stool. There was a bottle of soothing eucalyptus oil sitting right on the counter and she scrambled to open it before shoving it under his nose. 

“You’re obviously not fine. You need to go to the hospital to get checked,” she said as Yuta took the small bottle from her grip. He dabbed a couple of drops onto his hands and rubbed it on his nose and throat. “Why won’t you accept any help that’s offered to you at the hospital?”

“I’ve gone through this before, Kira. Don’t worry about me.”

“Sometimes you forget I’ve gone through this, too!” she yelled. “I don’t want you to end up on your deathbed like I was at one point.” 

Yuta couldn’t argue with that. He was hired back when she was in the hospital recovering from the final stage of the dreaded disease. 

“We’re all worried about you here. Mom, Jongin, Mark? And your friends— Sicheng, Ten, and Taeyong? We all hate seeing you like this!” her voice grew louder and louder with each word, causing him to flinch at the shrill tone. Deafening noises plus nausea and headaches never meshed well with him.

“You don’t see how much it hurts seeing someone you care about suffer like this, Yuta. It hurts even more when we can’t do anything to help you go through this.”

Silence filled the room.

“Have you seen Dr. Kim lately?” Dr. Junmyeon Kim was the Hanahaki specialist that Kira recommended. He eased her back into normalcy after her scare.

“I will soon, I promise,” he said through haggard breaths. She guided him through a couple of breathing exercises and it calmed his racing heart down. 

Kira sighed. With a quieter tone, she said, “It’s a shame the world made us experience heartbreak this way, isn’t it?”

Yuta smiled sadly at her— it was a shame.

The front door of the shop opened and the bell rang. They both turned to see Kira’s boyfriend Mark walk in with a cute grin. He clumsily hopped over the counter to plant a sweet kiss on her cheek. “Well, at least you got your happy ending,” he muttered too low for his coworker to hear. 

Yuta knew there was a chance of having it too, he was just too afraid to speak. 

If one were to look at him at that moment, his features hid nothing. Nakamoto Yuta was slowly ripping at the seams with the sakura branches poking their way out of his built figure and although multiple options were given to him, he still felt so unbelievably helpless.

It was the middle of the semester when you caught Yuta wandering the halls of the main art building. A grin found its way to your lips as you saw him with his messenger bag and a tubed container slung over his shoulder. Running to catch up with him, you slipped your arm into his free one. Your classmate yelped at the sudden contact and you let out a loud giggled that echoed in the empty hallway.

You finally felt close enough to initiate contact after sharing supplies with him during one studio session. That being said, it didn’t mean you were comfortable with revealing the feelings you harbored towards him— you wanted to keep that a secret for a little bit longer. 

“What are you doing here? I thought you didn’t have classes in here today,” you asked.

“Oh, it’s just you,” Yuta sighed. You felt your heart drop at his words but you played it off with a scrunch of the nose and a teasing tone. 

“Were you expecting someone else, Nakamoto?” you nudged his stomach and he avoided it, already predicting your actions. Yuta held back another series of coughs, quick turning away from you to cough into the handkerchief always kept on hand. He looked in pain as he continued to hack into the small piece of cloth and you brought a comforting hand to rub at his back.

“Every time I see you, you’re coughing,” you frowned. “You really need to get yourself checked, it’s been months.”

“No, no, I promise you I’m fine,” he replied with the shake of the head, his dark hair moving along with him. Even when ruffled and out of sorts, he looked good. He attempted to clear his throat by downing some water. 

Your lips pursed at his words, not satisfied with his dismissive answer. “If you say so. Promise me you’ll see someone if it gets worse though.”

He agreed but you suspected it was to stop you from nagging. “To answer your question before you went all mom on me, I was here to talk to the department about my senior project.”

“Have you decided on your theme for your exhibit yet?” 

Yuta smiled wistfully, “Flowers.” 

“Should’ve known— it’s always flowers with you. It’s like you’re in love with them or something.” 

He let out a scoff at your words. When you shot him a questioning look, he dismissed the act completely. 

Time spent with Yuta always passed so quickly; one moment you were on the top floor of the building and the next, you were already at the bottom of the staircase. Ever the gentleman, he held the front door open for you and you thanked him with a smile. His brown eyes shrunk into little slits and whiskers appeared at the corners as he grinned back with a little chuckle.

How you longed to sketch that image.

A strong breeze blew through, causing a couple of leaves and fallen petals to fly around your figures. You crossed your arms around your front to keep the cold from seeping in and shut your eyes to keep debris out. Peeking at Yuta, you saw him cover his eyes with a calloused hand and he gently pushed you behind him to use his body as a makeshift shield. As soon as the breeze stopped, his grip on your arm loosened but the grip he had on your heart was still as strong as ever.

He whirled around to make sure you were alright and next thing you knew, his hand was lingering above your head. “You have something in your hair, do you want me to take it out?” 

Yuta looked down at you with cautious eyes and you just noticed how close you were. Heat radiated off his body and your cheeks as you nod in approval. One dry hand moved to delicately clutch the side of your head as the other plucked a leaf out of your hair. 

Your breath hitched as his fingers ran against your skin and tucked a stray piece of hair behind your ear. There was a sudden pounding in your ears that matched the drumming rhythm of your heart.

“There,” he whispered as he let you go. With a smile, Yuta added, “good as new and pretty as a picture.” 

“Pretty enough to paint?” you fired back with sarcasm.

“Definitely worthy of being displayed for the world to see,” he winked.

Was he flirting? It seemed like he was. 

Maybe, Sicheng was right— Yuta could have feelings for you. But it could also just be wishful thinking.

Were you flirting? Is this how flirting works? 

“Speaking of displays,” Yuta started nervously as he walked you to your car. He slowed down his walking pace and you easily matched it, your steps moving in time with his. The main walkway on campus was devoid of people, seeing how it was later in the school day. The path from the art building to the lot you parked in was short and you wished there was some way to extend it so you could spend more time with him.

“Will you, uh, come to my show?” he asked, his hand scratching the back of his head. His hair flopped with the wind and his unsure grin made him look so incredibly endearing. “I know it’s still too early to give you a set date but I’d love to see you there.”

“What? Of course I’ll come!” you said, stopping to slap his arm. 

He winced at the contact. “Ow?”

“I would’ve gone even if you didn’t ask me,” you proceeded on the path with a smile. “I have to go and support my friends.”

There was a coughing fit coming from behind you and you whirled around to see Yuta hacking into his handkerchief again. It looked more painful than the last attack he had a few minutes ago. His breathing was shallow and he clutched his chest as the coughs continued. 

“Oh my god, Yuta!” You were pretty sure you heard him gag as you rubbed his back. “Okay, I’m taking you to the hospital. You’re clearly not alright.”

He lifted a hand to tell you to stop. “No, no. I’m fine. I just—I gotta go,” was all he said with his hoarse voice before jolting away.

Staring at his strong back as grew smaller and smaller, you almost missed the fallen piece of cloth on the ground. Keyword: almost.

“Wait, Yuta!” you shouted, bending down to pick it up. “You dropped your hanke—” As soon as you lifted the handkerchief, perfectly preserved cherry blossom petals fell out of its hold. They rained towards the ground, decorating the sidewalk with the prettiest shade of pink.

Yuta was long forgotten. You were too lost in your confusion of the flowers. 

“Cherry blossoms?” you asked yourself. “They’re not in season yet.”

—🌸—

Yuta heard you calling for him but he refused to turn around. He pushed himself to keep running despite the tight pain in his chest. Pulling out his phone, he sent quick text messages to Sicheng and Kira with his location, asking them to stop by and help him. The disorientation hit faster this time, causing him to tumble into a bench. He gripped the iron lining as he hurled and for the first time, it was so painful that it brought tears to his eyes. His mouth trembled as he let out a cry.

Yuta tasted the bit of blood that poured out of his lips. 

Wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his jacket, Yuta ignored how the crimson stained the fabric. A butter chuckle escaped him. 

“Pink goes good with red,” he whispered to himself as another stinging pain made its way up his body. 

He felt the branches slowly poking his lungs, climbing a path up his chest. It was just as Kira described— it was piercing like a sharp arrow to the heart. The arrow pressed and pressed and pressed until he was exploding with petals, blood, sweat, and tears.  It was aimed to kill. He thought arrows to the heart were supposed to fill him with love, not a heart-wrenching pain that tempted him to rip the beating organ out of his chest.

This was all too much to bear.

The full flowers and the scratching of wood tickling his throat. 

The lack of oxygen and struggle for air.

He felt it all. He wished he didn’t. 

Yuta wished he was one of the people that found their soulmate with that ridiculous red string of fate tied to the end of his pinky. They were blessed with a lifetime of happiness while he was cursed with what felt like an eternity of agony that his weakening body could no longer withstand. 

Yuta knew you didn’t love him but he adored you anyway. 

This wasn’t a shoujo manga, Yuta knew that. This was real life. No one was going to kiss, kiss, fall in love with the blink of an eye.

Picking petals off of flowers wouldn’t solve his problem. He wished it did, though.

If only it was that easy.

The rest of the semester flew by quickly with midterms and mid-semester projects keeping you at bay. You barely saw Yuta, yet alone the rest of your friends, if not for your classes. All of you shared the same appearance: dark circles, eye bags, sunken cheeks, hunched backs, and glazed over eyes. Your group survived the weeks with a crazy amount of caffeine and not enough food.

 With the school year finally over and graduation season starting, that meant one thing for the college of fine arts at your university— exhibitions. The music and dance departments already had their concerts and showcases. Final showings of the theatre department’s newest production just wrapped up yesterday; the only thing left were the senior art exhibits.

Dressed to the nines and not at all like a struggling artist, you paced back and forth at the entrance of the student art gallery with a bouquet of irises in your hand. Sicheng, your emotional support for the day, stood as you walked the same path with annoyance. You couldn’t exactly pinpoint why you felt nervous— it wasn’t even your exhibit, it was Yuta’s. 

Ten and Taeyong wrapped up their exhibits the week prior; Yuta’s was the last one.

“Are you done freaking out? Can we go in now?” Sicheng cocked a brow at you with his phone in hand. “The others are already inside.”

Wringing your hands together, you took in a deep breath. “Okay, let’s do this.” 

Sicheng rolled his eyes before opening the doors to the gallery. Stepping inside, you were immediately welcomed by paper flowers of all sorts hanging from the ceiling and the quiet chatter of the gallery’s visitors. To the right, you saw a sign displaying the exhibit’s name: Efflorescence. A brief description of the exhibit was placed below it and you took the time to read it before stepping further in.

Snapshots of his life told through the appearance and language of flowers.

Ten and Taeyong, your seniors and close friends, were waiting for you off to the side. 

“Sorry for the wait, you guys.”

Sicheng grumbled, “Took her long enough to calm down.”

Ten laughed, “Were you nervous for him? You weren’t like this for our final exhibits.”

“Oh, leave her alone,” Taeyong hushed the other two. Wrapping an arm around you, he pulled you close, “She’s nervous because this is her crush we’re talking about.”

“For heaven’s sake, say that any louder and he’ll hear you!” you screeched. The boys chuckled at your embarrassed state as you went ahead of them, ready to walk your way through the large room. From the corner of your eye, you saw Yuta smiling by the exit, surrounded by people singing praises about his work.

You weren’t in a rush— you wanted to take the time to appreciate every piece before talking to him about why he chose to display each work. Talking to the object of your affection could wait.

The first few paintings were of his childhood and the flowers that accompanied each scene all had similar meanings— innocence, purity, etc. You noticed that most of his paintings were done with watercolor, which made complete sense. 

It seemed like he was always prepared to paint something, brush and paint always at the ready. The genius basically carried his foldable watercolor palette and pad everywhere he went, not wanting to miss an opportunity to paint a beautiful picture if he were to pass by one. That was another thing you admire about him— Nakamoto Yuta saw beauty in everything.

Deeper into the gallery, you found more familiar scenes and faces. There was a landscape of the fine arts department, with daffodil petals scattered across the canvas and it was titled New Beginnings. You passed various portraits of your friends, their beauty rivaling that of their birth flowers that shared the same space. Marveling at how realistic his paintings looked, you made a note in your brain to relay that thought to the artist later. He captured the essence of each person perfectly in a painting, breathing life into it, and you honestly couldn’t understand how one could do that. 

Spotting Kira’s familiar face admiring a painting up ahead, you quickened your pace to catch up to her. Feeling the light tap you placed on her shoulder, she turned around with a surprised look that turned into a genuine smile upon seeing your face. She released her hold on her companion, a cute boy with doe eyes and bright smile, before giving you a hug. 

“You’re here!” she squealed. Taking notice of the flowers in your hand, she winked, “Irises, huh? Nice touch.” 

“I stopped by your shop beforehand looking for you and an older guy wrapped them up for me,” you smiled sheepishly. “Should’ve known you would be here and not working.”

“My brother, Jongin,” Kira said. “And of course, I wouldn't miss Yuta’s exhibit for the world. He’s done a lot for me and my family.” She shared a fond look with the boy next to her and he squeezed her hand in return.

“This is my boyfriend, Mark, by the way,” Kira gestured to the boy next to her. 

“Yo, nice to meet you, dude,” Mark extended his arm out towards you and you gladly took in your hands to give it a shake. You laughed at his casual greeting; it was charming. 

“Back at you, dude,” you giggled back. 

Turning to take a peek at the picture they were admiring, you couldn’t help but break out into a wide grin. It was the two of them with the flower shop as their background. Yuta had painted Kira seated on top on the counter, eyes closed with glee and hands clutching a small bouquet of blue flowers. Mark, on the other hand, leaned towards her with fingers gripping the table top and looking at her with a loving smile. 

You could feel the love pouring out of it and it warmed your lonely heart. “Wow,” you whispered.

Kira leaned her head on Mark’s shoulder and he placed a tiny kiss to her temple. “I’m buying it from him once this is all over,” she said.

Knowing each flower played a part in Yuta’s paintings, you tried to distinguish what flowers she clutched in her hand. “They’re cornflowers,” Mark answered the question that lingered in your head.

“Why cornflowers?”

“Oh those things put us through a lot— a little pain sprinkled in with their beauty,” Kira smiled, leaving Mark to chuckle lovingly at her comment. It felt like a secret between the two of them and you were invading in their space. “They were what got us together in the first place.”

Her  sentence made you cock a brow. How could flowers be painful? That was awfully cryptic, even a little unsettling but it sounded a little familiar to you; it was on the tip of your tongue. 

“Yeah, they’re pretty special,” the boy grinned, gaze still glued to the person wrapped under his arm. “Cornflowers are my favorite.”

“They’re starting to become one of mine, too,” she returned the look. 

Mark’s bright brown eyes were shining with the love you wish someone had for you. It was a sweet sight, to see such a young couple in love. A part of you was jealous that they found a love like that so early in their lives while you pined after an artist that was so infatuated with flowers and their meanings. 

Wanting to leave them in their moment, you excused yourself with a smile. There were only four paintings left to see.

The first was a design you recognized. It was a more detailed painting of the sketch you had seen Yuta draw on the first day of the semester. A girl was seated on the grass, leaning her back on a trunk of a cherry blossom tree. Her hands were outstretched to the sky, trying to catch the falling petals in her hand. Stealing a glance at the title, Yuta titled the piece, Wishful Thinking. 

Moving to the next piece, it was a close up of Yuta’s hands. His palms were pressed together, cupping cherry blossoms in his hand. Petals and full flowers were scattered around the canvas, filling out all the empty spaces. The bright pink stood out against the color of his skin. You admired the amount of detail this piece had— the wrinkles on his skin, the gradient found on the petals. It held your interest, leaving you to wonder what this piece titled Inside meant to him. 

Yuta’s self-portrait was showstopping. He borrowed the flower shop’s name, calling this piece For You in Full Bloom. The painting brilliantly depicted him in all white, his eyes closed with pain and hands clutching at his throat. The blossoms were spilling out of his mouth, the petals tainted with a blood red. You could feel the sadness and the suffering emitting from the picture and it pained you to see such a vulnerable depiction of him. 

Putting two and two together, you figured it out. 

Hanahaki. You had read about the disease before, one of the artists you admired had it. They created art as a way to tell their story. It was their escape from the suffering, a way to ease their pain, and the one course of action they took to be remembered after their death.

The only piece of information you lacked was who made him tolerate such pain.

Skipping the last painting of the exhibit, you made your way through the crowd to find Yuta. He stood at the end with a polite smile, thanking everyone who attended his exhibit. Onlookers were showering him with compliments, leaving you to wait until the small crowd cleared out.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were sick?” you breathed out with a concerned look. You couldn’t even spit out the name of the disease.

His smile widened into a genuine one, eyes gone soft at the sight of you. “You made it.”

Spotting the irises in your hand, he gestured towards the bouquet. “Are those for me?”

Still in shock that the person you were in love with was suffering all this time, you handed them to him without a word.

“Irises mean ‘congratulations,’ nice choice,” he laughed, trying to steer the topic away from his illness.

“Who?” you asked. “Who is it?”

Cocking his head, he answered you with another question. “You didn’t see the last one, did you?”

Shaking your head negatively, Yuta took you by the hand and the feeling made fireworks explode in your chest. Your heart was beating rapidly as he led you a few steps away. Nodding his head towards the last frame, he whispered, “Take a look.” 

You felt his hand break out into a sweat and you wondered why this last one made him so nervous. Glancing at the title, you read the words Love Me Now. 

Taking a deep breath, you mentally prepared yourself to see the person who had a hold on Yuta’s heart. Unlike him, you thought yourself strong enough to take the heartbreak— after all, you weren’t the one with flowers blooming inside you. Shifting your eyes over, you gasped as soon as you spotted whose face was framed on the wall. 

Staring back at you was the most beautiful painting of yourself. It was a you that you had never seen before. He painted you in flourishing pastels to match the happy look on your face. He captured your smile lines, the curve of your eyes, and the scrunch of your nose in such detail; it amazed you beyond belief. 

There was movement in your hair, the strands swaying in the wind along with the petals behind you. Your hands held a branch of your favorite flowers, half of them covering part of your face.

Captivated by seeing yourself through someone else’s eyes, you couldn’t tear your gaze away.

“Your smile makes flowers grow in my chest,” Yuta’s voice came from your side. You turned to see him wear a strained smile. Yuta’s huge eyes that were usually filled with kindness were taken over by something else— pain. 

There was pain in his words and you hear the ache in his voice. His tone is hoarse, like his throat is unbelievably dry or irritated. 

“I— I don’t know what to say.” 

Everything was extremely overwhelming. 

He shook his head to tell you that it was okay; he just needed to get the words off his chest. “It’s so beautiful and enchanting and it makes my heart clench and flowers take over my lungs.”

“Cherry blossoms,” you found yourself saying. You couldn’t believe this was happening. There were words you wanted to say but you were struggling to find them.

“Sakura,” he repeated in his native language.

“My favorite flowers.”

“Your favorite flowers.” 

“You were never in love with flowers,” you stated, still in a state of shock. 

Yuta released this low, almost bitter sounding chuckle that comes from deep within his chest. “Never.”

“Then, you’re in love with—”

“You.”

“—me.”

Just like the artist you admired, Yuta painted his way through his pain of loving you. 

Nakamoto Yuta felt like he had been in love with you for the longest time. He had loved you before he could even muster the guts to let you know it, to invite you to this exhibit that displayed art dedicated to you.

He really hoped that you would show so he could take the chance to confess. Sure, you had promised but sometimes, people never intended to keep them. If he didn’t get it off his chest, he would never be able to breathe and Yuta desperately wanted to.

Yuta wanted to fill his lungs with breaths of fresh air and just breathe you in. That was all he longed for. 

“Oh,” was all you could breathe out.

“It’s okay that you don’t feel the same,” Yuta tried to comfort you, getting the wrong idea from your lack of words. “I just needed to let you know.”

The sharpening ache that became so familiar to him was building up in his chest again, preparing him for the worst. Yuta swallowed thickly, already feeling the petals working their way to his mouth. His airways began restricting, his breaths growing more haggard by the second. He had so many things to say and he was determined to let it out before the petals escaped. The words spilled out his mouth, his lips running like a motor, “I used to be afraid of being in love and being happy with a person that I loved because it hurts.”

“Yuta—”

He stopped you with a lifted palm. 

“Happiness never lasted with me, the flowers always ripped it away,” he explained, his trembling eyes focusing on your portrait and not the real person beside him. 

“But then I met you and felt things I have never experienced before. So, I pushed my way through the pain just to be with you because I felt like I reached for the stars and touched the sky when we were together.”

His words brought tears to your eyes. You couldn’t believe someone would sit through the pain just to spend time with you nor thought you were worth it but here Yuta was, proving you wrong.

“There were times I wanted to beg you to love me, just so the hurting and the bleeding—just everything— could stop but I was too much of a coward and it led me to this.”

Here he was, pouring his heart out to you with his images and words, and you couldn’t let out a single noise. You forced yourself to move forward, to slip your hand into his. The sensation of your fingers intertwining with his brought Yuta out of his daze to look at you.

“Yuta,” you said with trembling lips. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t know.”

“It’s not your fault,” he replied with a sullen tone. You squeezed his palm and he gave you a light one in return. “If I don’t get this off my chest now, I’ll never be able to breathe and I really want to.”

“There’s no reason for you to lose your breath over me.” A sniffle escaped you and Yuta turned to see you crying. He bent down to wipe your tears away, his finger swiping against your skin ever so gently. 

“Why are you crying?” 

“Because you suffered because of me and you didn’t have to,” you shot back with a whimper.

“You couldn’t have known, it’s okay,” he tried to reassure you.

“No, no,” you interrupted him to his confusion. “It’s not that.”

Your voice was so soft under your quivers, he could barely hear you over the loud chattering of the other guests in the room. Yuta guided you just outside his exhibit to a bench and dried your eyes with the sleeve of his sweater. 

“What’s wrong?”

Yuta’s question made you laugh through your tears and at all the time wasted. He had been in pain for so long because he was yearning for you just as you were for him. The mutual yet silent pining took you down this route and it could have been avoided if you had just stopped being a coward and spoken up like Sicheng pushed you to.

“There’s nothing wrong,” you said with the dismissing wave. You willed yourself to look him in the eyes and bring a hand to his cheek. “It’s just that I think I’ve been in love with you as long as you have been in love with me.”

Your confession caused him to freeze in his seat. His brown eyes were blown out wide and mouth dropping in shock. Giggling as more tears fell, you quickly slide the hand cupping his cheek down to his jaw to shut his mouth closed. Running a thumb against his lips, you felt his pulse quickening at your touch. 

“You’re in love with me?” he asked, voice as gentle as the breeze. There was uncertainty and disbelief behind it. Yuta wanted to hear you say it again.

—🌸—

“I’ve been in love with you for a while now.” Your earnest words were music to his ears. 

He felt this comforting rush take over this body and it sent tingles down his spine, traveling all the way to the tips of his fingers and toes. Your confession worked like magic, spelling him with this high that made him soar to the skies. 

Yuta thought you were a witch, entrancing him with a love charm so strong that it brought instant relief to his pain. His heart was trying to fight its way out of his chest and the ache of his airways dulled. The muscle was pounding so loudly against his ribcage, he could hear it in his ears, and he swore you could hear it too. 

His lips upturned into the biggest grin, he felt like his cheeks were about to burst. 

Was this how a requited love felt? If it was, he never wanted to go without it again. 

Yuta rushed to pull you in his arms and sighed when you nuzzled your head into his neck. He shivered when he felt them whisper the three words he longed to hear into his skin. His body shook with laughter as he placed a lingering kiss at the crown of your head, reveling at the feeling of you encased in his hold. 

You tried to fight your way out of his grip but he only tightened his arms, not wanting to let you go. The action left you giggling into his neck, causing him to squirm until his hold loosened. Your hands trailed their way from his waist up to cup his face and suddenly, his eyes were locked onto yours. Just as you were getting lost in the deep sea of brown, his gaze flickered to your lips before looking back at you. His lips quirked up as you did the same. 

He felt your breath hitch as he leaned in to slot his lips against yours and the overwhelming rush returned. It seemed like his heart was racing against time, beating erratically as you kissed him so tenderly. Your lips were so soft and they tasted like the vanilla flavoring of your color, leaving him to chase after you every time you pulled away for a breath. 

Yuta fought the strain in his airways as he pursued your lips again and again, loving the way you felt and tasted. He picked up the smell of your cherry blossom shampoo and laughed into the kiss. The feeling of having you was so addicting— your love was his drug and he was forever hooked on you. He would devote himself to nothing else but you.

The sensation of Yuta kissing you and smiling against your lips sent you into overdrive. There were butterflies in your stomach, fireworks going off in your head, tingles down your spine and you loved it all. 

In the past, you only noticed Nakamoto Yuta’s undying love and admiration for flowers but this was the first time you finally noticed his love for you and it was nothing short of wonderful. 

It was the start of something new. 

🌸 author’s note— that’s it! it came out a bit more angst than i intended, definitely lacked the fluff i was expecting but i’m still satisfied with the ending uwu  i loved writing my little markie and kira in the fic, i’ve missed them! but yes!! that’s the end of my little bday present to myself! i hope y’all loved it! please leave some feedback; i would love to hear what you thought of it!! i think i literally fell in love with yuta while writing this.

🌸 taglist— @danishmiilk​ @hyunjins--laugh​ @littleflowercrown13​ @orange-nimon-cross​ @radiorenjun​ @ncteaxhoe​ @chancrispy​

[chihomichannel]

of candy wrappers and unprecedented endings

| pairing: choso x reader | genre: angst & fluff | warnings: mention of death; sad things blended with happy things | word count: 2330 words | a/n: hi! this is clem! this is the 3rd and final part of “bittersweet lollipops” so read the first two parts before this but it can also be read as is. this wasn’t my first plan for the 3rd part and i had actually written a lot when i realized that i don’t want it to be the 3rd part lol. so i rewritten this today and here it is! hope you guys like it!

◄ previous |

icon used

Time has always been the limit for humans. We were born and raised, thrown into the world and built our lives only for everything you’ve worked hard for to be left behind once death came right by your door. And for sorcerers like you, death has always been just a step behind, ready to take you once it was your time. But in your case, you miraculously lived long enough to know you would die with no regrets.

Feeling the hand clung onto yours, your eyes woke from its slumber. Your eyes were met with the bright sunshine that illuminated the whole room, the white of the ceiling shining brighter than ever. Your head turned to your side to see Choso sitting asleep by your bed, his hand on top of yours while the other held your family scrapbook. The page was open, showing a picture of your family at its early stages. It was you and Choso both holding onto your newborn with your friends by your sides. You remembered it was your first born’s first birthday and you smiled at the vivid memory that crossed your mind.

You thought back to that day when everyone was present, celebrating and just pure happiness. You remembered Megumi tackling Yuuji when he was about to feed your baby he didn’t know your daughter could not eat. You remembered Panda with your baby lying on its stomach and Inumaki shoving toys to your daughter to amuse it. You remember Gojo arriving late with a bag full of sweets to which Choso took eagerly. You remembered Nobara continuously flaunting her outfit. You remembered Maki and Nanami just being there. And you remembered looking at everyone, just taking in that moment and storing it inside your treasured memories. You remembered the atmosphere, the calm and the chaos in the house. The hot rays of the sun shielded by the window pane. You remembered that moment and longed to return to that day.

Blinking, you were snapped back to reality. You took note that the atmosphere was the same as that day. You smiled, eyes tired even though you only just woke up. You glanced at Choso’s hands that clung onto yours, it was tight but he held you as if you were fragile glass. You knew he’s worried and so you moved your hand and intertwined it with his. Choso stirred awake, licking his dried lips as he leaned up from his position “Hey” he said, his voice cracking slightly. He looked tired, the look in his eyes told you they’ve lived for so long. They’ve seen so much yet his face was still the same. His body looked the same, everything looked the same. His youthful face hid the hundreds of years he’s lived.

He smiled- oh his smile. His smile is something you never got over. When you first knew Choso, you would have never guessed that he could be so expressive. With his indifferent mien, even at the start of your relationship, you would always be so surprised to see another expression on his face. You loved it especially when he has this confused, wondering face. You always found it so cute. You found everything he does cute. It scared you just how much you’re in love him. But you could never imagine nor wish for a better life because the life you have with Choso by your side is a life you would never bargain anything for. You are content and you are in love. You didn’t even realize it but Choso became your life. The little world and family you’ve built with him, it’s yours and his. No life was better than this.

“Morning” Choso scooted his seat closer to your bed, he had his elbows on the soft mattress, taking your hand to his lips. “It’s afternoon, silly” You weakly told him, softly chuckling. You felt him smile in your hands and you gazed at him adoringly “I see you’ve been looking at the scrapbook again”

“Yeah” Choso pulled away from your hands and flipped the scrapbook to the next page “I guess I fell asleep while doing so” He mused. He stopped and you looked at the page to see a picture of you and him decades ago. It was a selfie when you two eloped that one fateful night. The two of you never planned for a wedding nor did you think you would ever get married. It was never a thought in your mind but during that night, Choso looked so beautiful. Even with his mouthful of tacos you grabbed on the way to Panda’s birthday, something about the night with the streetlights and the swarm of people highlighted Choso in your eyes. And at the bus stop, just as you were about to get on it, you pulled Choso into a halt and waited until the crowd got on the bus before you spoke “Will you marry me?”

You both skipped on Panda’s birthday and got married. It was a decisive decision but no doubt the best you’ve ever made. A year later after that, your daughter was born and you swore, Choso had never glowed brighter. Your heart felt soft whenever you see your daughter and husband bonding. And the sight of your daughter cuddled up against Choso made you feel so thankful that these beautiful people are part of your life. Because of them, life was so much brighter.

You and Choso bore four more children after that. To say that life is noisy is an understandment but the noise made you happy anyway (albeit stressed). You stopped at baby number 5, with your eldest being 15 at the time. As expected, your daughter became a sorcerer, proving to be much stronger than either of you with a cursed technique she invented on her own. Your second didn’t follow onto the jujutsu society and made a life of his own outside the dangers of your reality. Your third inherited Choso’s blood manipulation and was almost bought by the Kamo clan but of course, you and Choso shielded your child away from the mess that is clan families. Your fourth also became a jujutsu sorcerer and your youngest inherited your cursed technique. All in all, your children now had lives of their own with all of them being fully fledged adults.

With a sigh, you yawned, reaching out for the scrapbook and putting it on your lap. You flipped to the next page and a grin etched on your face. You giggled, motioning to Choso the scrapbook. It was you and Choso all those years ago before you were married. It was that day out when Choso kissed you on the ferris wheel. It was when you two were sitting on the sea wall when he secretly snapped a picture of you looking the other way. A glint flashed through Choso’s eyes, his lips mirroring your grin. Choso traced the design by the photo, it was a bunch of lollipop wrappers you two had been eating when you were designing this specific page. He remembered you chastising him for almost emptying the packet of lollipops. Chuckling, he turned to look at you to see you looking at him so lovingly “I love you” you told him and Choso felt his chest tighten. It was a wonder how you still had so much effect on him when you had literally spend your lifetime together “And I love you”

Choso examined the wrinkles in your eyes when you smiled. Your once smooth skin was now wrinkled out of old age. Your once vibrant hair is now a dull white. Both your eyes now have a cataract that clouded your sight. And your lips remain chapped no matter how many times you apply a lip balm. But even with all these things you’ve obtained as you aged, you still looked so darn beautiful. It was no secret that his never changing youth made you insecure. You wished he could age up with you but realized that was selfish and so you brushed off these thoughts. What you didn’t know is that Choso also wished the same. He wished he could grow old with you and get wrinkly together.

It was cruel how he couldn’t age with you. If you thought about it, he’s actually more than a century older than you yet here you are, minutes away from letting go. Choso clutched your hands, his eyes shaking as you breathed frailly. He breathed out your name, tears brimming in his eyes. He let out a whimper when you called his name, hiding in the cold of your hands “Choso” You repeated, feeling a pang on your chest. You leaned forward to embrace him, trapping him in your arms resulting in Choso to lean on your shoulder, letting out a quiet cry.

You cooed, kissing his temple before hiding your face in his hair, his locks drying the tears that fell on your cheeks. “Don’t go” He cried, his voice muffled “Not you too” His voice cracked causing your arms to tighten around him “Choso, Choso” With that, Choso looked you in the eyes.

“Please never be alone-” You paused, composing yourself. Choso held your cheeks as you continued “-find someone-” “I could never love someone else other than you” Choso said committedly. You gave him a look before you continued “-please, please don’t blame yourself” You held his cheeks, giving him a soft smile as you plead “And please don’t be sad”

You broke, Choso catching your tears with his mouth. Planting kisses on your face, Choso savored you in. The both of you could feel it. It was the worst feeling ever. But thinking back to your life, it was never short of happiness. Choso was the pill that gave you the energy to live your fullest. He was the reason you found a purpose in life and became a mother of five. He was the reason you ever felt true happiness. And thinking back to all those memories, you can confidently say that you left this world with no regrets.

 ๋࣭     ࣪ ˖        ⋆ ࣪.     ˖ ࣪⭑      ˖ ࣪ ٬     ุ๋ ⸱ ๋࣭     ࣪ ˖        ⋆ ࣪.     ˖ ࣪⭑      ˖ ࣪  ๋࣭

A snowflake fell on Choso’s nose causing it to twitch at the contact. It was cold and Choso stood in the midst of the crowd, unmoving as stone. He sighed, a cloud forming in front of his mouth. Yuuji had called him to meet him in the plaza in front of the huge clock that stood tall in the middle of the park. Choso scanned his surroundings and took note of the large crowd that flocked together at night. It was the night before Christmas eve and Choso was alone. His children all had their own families to tend to. The original plan was to celebrate at his home but plans tend to change and Choso ended up alone. If not for Yuuji, he would probably be asleep by now.

“Choso!” Hearing someone call out his name, Choso turned to see his brother and his friend, Megumi, heading his way. Yuuji’s pink hair is now white, his smile now has wrinkles on them. It was the same with Megumi and Choso remembered he couldn’t age. It made him sigh, wanting nothing but age together with the people he cares about. It bothered him so much, especially with his eldest child looking much older than him. It was unfair, Choso wailed to the gods.

Choso let them pull him wherever, going along with the flow. But even with the boisterous laughs of his brother and the chatter that filled his ears, he felt alone. He was surrounded by people yet he felt so cold. Sighing for the umpteenth time that day, Choso going along wherever his companions went.

This didn’t go unnoticed by Yuuji. He was worried about his brother which is why he called him in the first place. His legs hurt from old age but if it means his brother would feel better, he would go out in the cold to walk with him. Megumi already went home and Yuuji is walking Choso home. He noted the faraway look Choso held. Yuuji felt sad at the sight. He remembered how Choso shined when you were still alive. But the Choso walking beside him now was nothing but the shell left of his body. His eyes held no soul, that is until Choso’s eyes landed on the ferris wheel.

It was the same ferris wheel as back then. Like before, it flickered in different lights, switching its color as it rotated. Choso held a cry, feeling a lump in his throat. You. Oh, you. He is so in love with you still. He saw that yellow pod, though unsure if it was the one, his heart ached at the memory of you. His heart always aches every second of the day. You, he thought of you. He felt the linger of your touch on his skin, your breath as you laughed against him. He felt your kisses and the love you felt for him. The clutch of your fingers as you held onto him. He felt you.

He breathed in the cold air, taking his eyes off the ferris wheel into the night sky. The jet black sky was painted with the white of the snowflakes that fell. One dropped on his cheek and rolled down the same time a tear fell down from his hollow eyes. A breath left his throat, a smoke coming out of his mouth. He will find you, he is determined to find you. No matter how long it takes. No matter what millennia he meets you again. He will be there and you would be in his arms again. He will tell you the stories he’s lived and live another lifetime with you. No matter how many lifetimes, what matters is he’s with you.

Another set of tears run down his cheeks. He misses you but he will live on. He will live on.

He will live on.

tag list: @lawlesshedgehog

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[lady-of-glass-and-bone]

Something Human

For Writer Wednesday! @autumnleaves1991-blog @clydesducktape

Pairing: Frankie Morales x werewolf!reader (gender neutral)

Warnings: language, mild descriptions of injuries, a little blood

A/N: So. I obviously have a werewolf thing sorry not sorry Will, Benny, and Pope are there in the background. Ask me for more of this if you want it I guess?

The sound of your breathing is a ragged, woeful wheeze in the stillness of the woods.

Disruptive and invasive. Every inhale is a grinding pull while the exhale which follows is like a warning. It hisses in trespasser and gasps out interloper. It sings loudly for the other animals to beware, tells them to not get too close.

That this unnatural, injured creature will only take you with it when it falls. Best to leave it for the rot and worms to deal with.

Except you keep moving, swaying on four fur laden legs, hoping to get somewhere. Anywhere.

You have no idea which direction is home, the scent of blood, diesel and burnt rubber is still clogging your nostrils and none of the trees or underbrush around you looks even the slightest bit familiar.

So you limp along, raw and slowly bleeding where twisted metal and chips of glass dig in your wounds. Bone grinding and pushing where it shouldn’t.

When you see the light, it flickers briefly between two trees. Like the thick trunks are trying to hide this potential unknown from you. You don’t speed up, just continue along toward the light at the wavering snails pace you’ve kept for the past however long you’ve been walking.

You never trusted the trees very much anyway, they liked to play tricks on things that didn’t have roots to plant in the ground. Maybe a little jealous of the things capable of locomotion.

The light belongs to a house. No, a cabin, tucked in the fog and darkness far away from any other man made structure, and it would normally send you in the opposite direction.

Cabins meant people, people meant danger and right now, danger was akin to death. But if you stopped moving, you might not start again. Bones were broken, snapped like twigs under the force of a speeding 18-wheeler. Muscles tired and energy fraying like an old rope.

Put too much pressure on it and snap-

There’s the sound of your body thumping onto the wood planks of the back steps and the scuffle of whoever is inside startling at it. A deep voice, more than one voice maybe, rises in alert and then hushed footsteps.

What big ears I have, you wryly think to yourself, all the better to hear you with.

You close your eyes before the door opens fully, pouring light out onto you, so it doesn’t hurt your already aching eyes.

“What the hell is that?” the first voice, the deep one.

“I told you my uncle said there were wolves out here, Fish”

“Benny, shut up” a different voice from the first two.

Three of them then.

Somewhere in your body, it’s decided to be too much work to open your eyes. Or to even so much as give a yelp when one of the voices pokes your shoulder with the blunt end of something.

“Jesus, Benny, don’t fucking poke it” the first voice scolds, weight shifting closer, but not too close, toward you.

Then the soft filter of light through your eyelids is blocked out by something soft being draped over your face, leaving your muzzle free.

“And what is that gonna do” Voice Three sounds the furthest away, the most on alert.

“I don’t know, I saw it on Discovery channel, they do it when they put animals under for surgery and shit” Voice One snaps.

Voice One’s scent is starting to replace the stink of your injuries. Campfire smoke, beer, cinnamon, cooked meat. Definitely spent time cooking.

“Shut the door Fish” a new, fourth, voice orders. Stern and low. A false calm to the thundering of their heart.

“It’s got a piece of metal in it’s side, we can’t just leave it” Fish argues.

“And we can’t help it either, just shut the door, we’ll call the rangers or animal control and they can deal with it,” Voice Three now, just a bit closer.

Your whole body can’t help but jerk out of its stupor at the word ‘rangers.’ That is the last thing you need after the fuck up tonight turned out to be.

The air shifts palpably at your movement, like the brace before a hard impact. One of them yells at Fish to shut the door again but you’ve already steadied your paws on the steps and pushed yourself over the threshold.

Whatever had been draped over your eyes falls away and the whole scene is blurry. Probably stood up too fast.

The wound around the protruding metal begins to seep more blood and it drops onto the wood floors like rain, iron rich and plentiful.

One of them, Fish, it smells like him, is crouched in front of you, deep brown eyes stare into yours from beneath the bill of the cap he wears. They almost seem to understand. Accept.

What big eyes I have, all the better to see you with.

Everything reeks of fear now, fear and adrenaline and you’re going to end up dead, stumbling around like this. So you drop forward, not really meaning to end up pinning Fish to the floor but there you were.

Immobile and bleeding, just dead weight and matted fur, muzzle laying slack on his chest and going to pass out for sure now. Hoping he could see something when you met his eyes again, something human. He had let you in, maybe he could help you.

Just no more moving. Moving scared the humans. Scared humans do bad things to monsters.

And isn’t that what you were after all? A monster.

[theharellan]

Marking Time

Part one of a series of headcanons discussing holidays and celebrations in Elvhenan, both in the empire itself and the rebellion that later challenged its power. I’ll be laying out my influences more clearly in the next part, but for now I’ll just say that my major influences in writing this are Jewish and Celtic. I’m doing this with feedback and may make adjustments as I go forward. I’m also happy to share headcanons and I’m also just as happy to make room for one another’s headcanons should they conflict in roleplay.

As a final note: conlangs are not my specialty, I am just doing my best. Oh, and please don’t reblog this without asking me first!

Elvhenan

Cole: Look at all the stars. Their light is very far away. Some of them are gone.

Solas: Vast but still. Does it bother you, how different it looks than the sky in the Fade?

Cole: At first, I didn't remember. Now I just want to forget.

Before the Veil time was, shall we say, a nebulous concept. We know it existed in some sense from codices such as the Hundred Year Duel and Birds of Fancy, which both refer to “years,” indicating that the idea exists, but is treated much differently from how we might treat a year. There aren’t birthdays, traditional New Years, and everything else we associate with a calendar year. From what we know of Thedas, it takes the same amount of time for the plant its on to rotate around the sun as Earth, and I think Elvhenan were cognizant of that fact but didn’t consider it particularly remarkable. If they had anything resembling months, I think there would only be four— spring, summer, fall, and winter, beginning on the equinox and ending on the solstice, or vice versa.

Rather than measure time based on the rotation of the planet, or even the rotation of the moons around the planet, Elvhenan measured time on other celestial bodies. The elves and spirits of Elvhenan are consistently associated with the air and sky, in contrast to the dwarves, they also through the Fade seem to perceive the heavens differently than we do. As I highlighted above, Cole is aware of the fact that many of the stars they see are dead, and I think this would also mean that Elvhenan possessed knowledge of things such as the expansion of the universe, the the death of stars, the passage of comets, the rotation of whatever system their planet lies in around the universe’s center, et cetera. It was through these that they marked the passage of time and designated particular holidays. For example, a centenary comet which passes beneath the boughs of the constellation now known as Fervenial might kick off a holiday honouring the goddess Andruil.

In Elvhenan sacred space was also considered more important than sacred time. Pilgrimages were common and often important parts of the lives of the faithful, but there was never a set time of year in which to take them. It was always the where instead of the when, and I mean “where” in two senses of the word. Where could mean the sacred lands of Mythal, or the wooded paths in deep, dark woods, with only the distant stone gaze of Fen’ara to mark the wilderness, but “where” could just as easily be a state of being (or sometimes both). Attaining a particular state of mind through meditation was an important step in reaching the Deepest Fade, a mark of spiritual achievement that took years of work and practise. Being in the right emotional state of mind to embark on a pilgrimage was important, and failing to do so would risk the wrath of the god in question.

Elvhen Revolution

Vir sulahn'nehn Vir dirthera Vir samahl la numin Vir 'lath sa'vunin'

Come the rebellion, time is measured differently. It begins first and foremost as a survival tactic and a war tactic, I’ve mentioned in prior headcanons that the rebellion employs guerilla tactics in order to get the edge on Elvhenan’s forces, which vastly outnumber theirs. One way they subvert the manner in which war is waged is making battles much shorter than is expected. We see in the Duel of a Hundred Years that some battles could last a century and the most noteworthy thing about them was not their longevity, but the reason for which they were fighting (preventing a war between the gods). By making battles that are expected to last years last weeks, days, hours, retreating into dreams as quickly as they manifested, they catch the enemy off-guard. By inventing the concept of weeks they’re living in a way that their enemy doesn’t even fully understand. It allowed things to be put on tighter schedules, enabled meetings to be arranged and carried out on short notice, enabled rotating shifts for things such as uthenera where oftentimes someone had to be the person to rise and make sure the others’ bodies would not starve to death in dreams.

And it enabled sacred time rather than sacred space.

Often deprived of the places they would consider sacred, the rebellion created their own sacred ceremonies from wherever they happened to be. Battles that were fought and won on one cold winter morning would be marked again the next year in celebration and memorial, but carried on no longer than the skirmish itself had. When it is their freedom upon the line what time they have cannot be eaten up by weeks or years of frivolity. Not when tomorrow could be their last day alive.

Their years began with summer and their weeks began and ended with sundown, each month contained twenty-nine or thirty days, divided further into two fortnights, and there are twelve to thirteen months in a year (every two and a half years an intercalary month is added).

Days of the Week

The week begins with Saturday night/Sunday morning and continues on to sundown on the following Saturday.

Sa’laia — First Night (sah-lie-a)

She’laia — Second Night (shay-lie-a)

Tanalaia — Third Night (tah-na-lie-a)

Nehlaia — Fourth Night (neh-lie-a)

Uylaia — Fifth Night (ooth-lie-a)

Valaia — Sixth Night (vah-lie-a)

Var’laia — Our Night (var-lie-a)

Months

There are twelve to thirteen months in the year, with a leap month every two and a half years to compensate for the shift in the year.

Enasalas — The Triumph of Joy Over Grief — Justinian-Solace / June-July

Bella’serannas — The Time of Many Thanks — Solace-August / July-August

Valelgar — The Sun’s Waning — August-Kingsway / August-September

Adhalana — The Time of Trees — Kingsway-Harvestmere / September-October

Elvhen’al — The Gathering of the People — Harvestmere-Firstfall / October-November

Sethenerava — The Time for Dreams — Firstfall-Haring / November-December

Estarasyl’an — The Month of Stars — Haring-Wintermarch / December-January

Fen’banal’ras — The Wolf’s Shadow — Wintermarch-Guardian* / January-February

Mi’avhena — Winter’s End — Guardian-Drakonis / February-March

Thenalava — The Time of Waking — Intercalary Month, occurs every third year

Ghilana’ma — The Time of Guidance — Drakonis-Cloudreach / March-April

Anallas — The Month of Clouds — Cloudreach-Bloomingtide / April-May

Balam’shivana — The End of Duty’s Chains — Bloomingtide-Justinian / May-June

* The month of Guardian is a remnant of the Elvhen calendar’s influence upon the Tevinter calendar, as wolves are/were considered guardians in Elvhen myth.

These calendars later went on to become the Dalish calendar. After the fall of the Veil, refugees from both Elvhenan and Fen’Harel’s rebellion were overtaken by Tevinter, and their traditions melded and informed what is now contemporary Dalish culture. It is likely this calendar fell out of use during the period where Elvhenan’s survivours were slaves of Tevinter, and picked up again after they won their freedom. Names and meaning likely also changed as memories of the evanuris and their tyranny faded from memory.

[frostedfaves]

Family Emergency

Pairing: Jake Peralta x reader

Summary: Y/N deals with a family emergency.

Word Count: 1.6k

Warnings: death/suicide of a parent, grief, overall angst with soft and caring Jake mixed in

A/N: This is one of three versions of this concept that I wrote. Still debating if I want to post the others, so if you’d be interested in reading them let me know!

-

You watched the phone ring for a second time within the hour, Jake's goofy grin popping up and reminding you that someone was waiting for you to come home. Eventually you put the phone back in the cup holder and rested your hands on the steering wheel, looking back at the raindrops racing down the wet windshield. Upon reaching the apartment complex, you'd turned the car off immediately, but couldn't bring yourself to do anything but listen to the tiny daggers hit the roof and stare off into the rest of the parking lot through sheets of water.

It was 7PM now, a full two hours later than the time you clocked out from work. Jake knew this, which explains the third call your phone was now buzzing from. You wanted to pick up the phone and tell him that you were just outside, and that all you had to do was come inside the building, take the elevator up to your floor and walk into the apartment. That once you accomplished that, you would take off your jacket and explain why you were so late. But you couldn't bring yourself to do it, because that would make everything real.

You left work as normally today, interrupted by a call from the hospital before you could pull off. A nurse explained that your mother had been brought in from a suicide attempt, and that despite their best efforts, she wouldn't live past the next hour. You found yourself driving without thought, close to breaking all traffic laws as you sped off to see your mother alive one last time. You made it just in time to hold her hand as she flat-lined.

After making the necessary arrangements so that her body wouldn't be abandoned in the morgue, You left and began your trip home, almost laughing at the coincidence of a thunderstorm on one of the saddest days you'd ever lived. Aside from feeling mocked by the weather, you felt comforted by the fact that you weren't the only person clouded with gloom at the moment, certain that another heart was as heavy as yours somewhere.

Your phone rang a fourth time, this time Rosa's name appearing on your screen. She was your best friend (aside from your boyfriend of course) but she wouldn't pry if you asked her not to. You took a chance and answered.

"If you're breaking up with Jake, can you tell him already so he can stop calling me?" Rosa's voice filled the speaker immediately and you were suddenly brought to reality, a nice-sized lump forming in your throat. "Y/N?" Rosa spoke up again when you didn't respond. "What's going on, dude?"

"Tell-" you backpedaled, realizing saying Jake's name brought the same lump to your throat, and tried a different approach. "Tell him I'll be home soon."

"You okay?"

"Y-no, but don't tell him that yet. It's just...I'll text you or call you later or something, okay? Bye." You hung up after hearing a response, taking a deep breath. You finally tucked your phone into your jacket pocket to save it from the rain and took your seatbelt off, grabbing your work bag and stepping out of the car.

The rain was heavier now, but you moved as slowly as if the sun was out, carefully closing the door behind you and walking to the building in an almost dreamlike state. When you reached the door, you held it open as you slowly turned and locked the car, returning the keys to the safety of your other pocket as you kept going to the elevators.

When you reached your apartment, you unlocked the door as slow as you could manage without unintentionally teasing Jake with your entrance. You came in and when you turned around from hanging your coat and placing your shoes on the mat, Jake was standing across the room.

"I made your favorite soup. I figured your boss might've been holding you late, and wanted to soften the blow of your bad day," Jake spoke from his spot across the room as he smiled warmly but carefully.

You took a couple steps and dropped your phone and keys on the coffee table in front of the couch, still refusing to make eye contact with him. Still refusing to fully accept what was going through your head and tell it to someone else. So instead, you whispered a thanks in response, brushing a kiss onto his cheek as you passed him to head into the bedroom.

"Are you mad at me? Did I do something to hurt you?" You heard his voice again from the doorway as you changed out of your soaked clothing and felt a pain in your heart at the unsure shakiness in his tone, knowing you caused it.

"No. I'm sorry." You forced yourself to look at him, knowing that the longer you held it in, the more of a risk you'd have of losing him. As if you could handle two immense losses in one day. "Something...something happened, Jake."

He stepped over to you quickly, taking your hands in his and luckily succeeding in getting you to meet his eyes again. "What is it, babe? Talk to me."

"My mom killed herself." You felt another stabbing pain at the sharp intake of breath coming from the man in front of you. "I mean, she tried to. She did, but I still had time to say goodbye but, did I? I mean, I still don't know why she...how she could...I don't..."

You took a deep breath that was instantly shortened by the sobs that fell from you so freely, now that you were no longer holding onto the information, no longer the only one in the room who knows. You felt your legs giving up and you listened, grateful when Jake wrapped his arms around your shivering body and followed as you sank to the floor. He kissed your damp hair and whispered reassurances over and over again until everything was just one hushed noise to you. You cried until you were sure you ran out of tears and broke free from Jake's hold. Looking into his eyes and seeing his soft and worried gaze was nearly enough to send you spiraling again, but you held it together so you could speak to him.

"I don't know what to do, Jake. I mean I know I'm supposed to hold a funeral and invite relatives and accept pity glances for the next few months, but how do I deal with how much it hurts? I've never known how to process these things and right now it seems that's all my body can do is just ache. I feel so closed in and just...how do I do this?"

Jake placed his hands on either side of your tear stained cheeks, eyes watering as he watched you start to fall apart again. "I honestly don't know, baby. I really wanted to lie to you and tell you that eventually a day will come where you'll barely feel the pain anymore, but I really just don't know. And I'm sorry I can't help you figure that out, but I do know that I can be here for you, holding your hand through all the funeral stuff and the pity looks and whatever else comes."

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to regain control and continue the conversation. "Babe, I can't ask you to go through that with me. It's too much." You let out a couple sniffles, smiling a bit as Jake rubbed away a few tears with his thumbs as he held you in place.

"Y/N, what kind of boyfriend would I be if I didn't make myself available to you when you needed me most? I'd never forgive myself, especially because you've done the same for me many times since before we even started dating." He leaned forward to plant a feathery light kiss on your forehead, immediately giving a second one with a bit more pressure before pulling back completely. "We're in this together, okay?"

You studied his features, noticing the small crease between his brows, the watery and shimmering state of his eyes as he watched you, waiting for a response. His lips pressed tightly together. "Okay. Can you tell Rosa for me? I can't say it again. I considered sitting in the car all night so I wouldn't have to tell you. I wasn't ready for everything to be so real quite yet."

"I understand," he mumbled into your hair as he pulled you in again, kissing your head once more. "How about this? You go grab a bowl of soup and wrap up in your favorite blanket on the couch while I text Rosa and get your favorite movie set up in the DVD player? I think maybe you could use a distraction right now before you have to deal with real life tomorrow."

A real smile broke out for the first time in hours as you reached up to run your thumbs over Jake's jawline. "I'd like that. Thank you. I love you."

He grabbed one of your hands in his own, pulling it away from him for a second to kiss your palm before placing it on his jaw again. "I love you, too. Come on, time for Operation Feel Better. 1, 2, 3, break!" In one awkward motion, he pulled back and rolled away from you on the floor, crawling on his knees out of the room before he stood finally. His heart thumped happily in his chest at the sound of your laughter, grateful that he was already starting to succeed at being the rainbow that appeared in your clouds after the rain.

-

Tags: @halfofwhatisayismeaningless @gaulty74 @ochrythum @xetherealbeautyx @marie-03 @makapaka11

[lastxviolet]

The Assistant - Ch. 4

Description: Summary - Her sixth year at Hogwarts was supposed to be relatively peaceful but after an incident on the Hogwarts express, Violet Wilkes finds herself the newest target of the Weasley twins. This, combined with a dark family secret, and the Triwizard tournament, makes her first few months back more exciting and stressful than every year before.

pairing: George Weasley x Original Female Character

warnings: pg-13. slow burn, eventual smut hehe

https://archiveofourown.org/works/28218804/chapters/69148695

Mom's face.

Green flash.

Dark mark.

Bedroom ceiling.

Violet fully opened her eyes and pawed at the silk sheets around her, clawing to drag herself back to reality.

The bed. She was just in bed.

Her family was fine.

It was just a nightmare.

She repeated it over and over again but eventually, it was a loud snore from Sadie across the room that fully brought her back to reality.

She rose out of bed and glanced out of the high glowing window between their beds. The terror from the nightmare practically vanished at the sight of an incredibly bright fall day.

Agitation clawed at the nape of her neck during breakfast and she only made it about ten minutes before the desperation for fresh air became too much.

The brittle fall breeze nipped the exposed skin above her knee and at her wrists. The walk to Herbology was cold enough to be noticeable, but not entirely uncomfortable. Although, it made her a bit more thankful for the thick Hogwarts uniform now. Surely the Beauxbaton girls would freeze come winter. Without the barrier of cities or skyscrapers, frigid weather always came so soon. Without fail, frozen air managed to appear early, and linger well into the spring months.

She followed the familiar stone path to a small clearing on the side of the castle, obstructed only by rows of greenhouses, bursting at the seams with interior vines, and flowers. She'd never been particularly enthralled with herbology or plants, didn't call to her but it was better than divination or astronomy, both of which she had elected not to take this year.

Clad in yellow and black, a sea of cheerful Hufflepuffs welcome her inside, uncaring about her own lonesome green and silver tie, or noticing that she gagged a little on the musty stench of wet dirt and trapped photosynthesis. It was a relief to finally be around peers that weren't as judgmental as her own house. She didn't mean to generalize but the evidence was clear and overwhelming.

Professor Sprout instructed them on how to clip Sneezewort correctly and she absorbed every detail of the small white flower that held the ability to befuddle even the most sound minds but offered little to the discussion, letting her much more invested peers take over. Sneezewort was a key ingredient in the Befuddlement Draught, the first potion they'd learned last year.

She tuned out the lecture to go over the recipe and instructions in her head, just in case Snape wasn't finished testing them and it came up in potions tomorrow. She wouldn't put it past him to make a further example out of her. He was the sort of sadist who enjoyed making students feel underprepared and stupid, not that it had ever applied to her. It was one of the many characteristics that he did not share with any other professors at Hogwarts, but she didn't mind. It was probably some deep-seated ambition or need to be better than the rest but she had enjoyed earning his tolerance, and praise, especially when it was withheld from so many.

Lunch was a rather somber affair without Sadie so she settled at the end of the Slytherin table, content to read.

With their schedules out of synch with one another, she was staring down the barrel of an entire year of lunches alone, not that she minded. She glanced up at the rest of the hall, admiring the lax nature of the other tables and houses, completely fine with sharing tables during more informal meals. She glanced down the length of her table, unsurprised by only a few green ties littering the dark wooden seats. She wouldn't have minded some more house mingling but the trend makers in Slytherin were quite territorial.

She quickly helped herself to some soup and flipped through the book to find where she'd left off. The train ride had only allowed her to get halfway through The Princess Bride and she'd barely had any time for personal reading over the weekend between brushing up on textbooks and unpacking.

Finally, he rested far below her, silent and without motion. "You can die too for all I care," she said, and then she turned away.

Words followed her. Whispered from far, weak and warm and familiar. "As . . . you . . . wish. .."

It was inevitable, tears pricked her eyes and she broke into a big smile, unable to contain it. This part, no matter how many times she read it, always made her emotional.

The complex mixture of devotion, love, and sadness between the two protagonists was so raw and powerful. It was entirely unrealistic, which was the only reason she found it intriguing at all. Not that she'd know anything about love. The last boy she'd liked seriously was someone long since graduated from when she was a fourth-year. But from what she had seen from the other clumsy, short-lived couples at Hogwarts, this kind of romance didn't exist in real life. There had been a few boys in her hometown who'd taken her out on dates over the years but they'd amounted to nothing, not even a kiss. She couldn't talk about the things she likes from the wizarding world with them, and couldn't talk about muggle things with anyone at Hogwarts so it was, in her view, pointless to even try. She doubted that any sort of satisfactory love would come for her at all though because she was an avid fiction reader, so her standard for men was way too high.

She blinked back her tears and sniffled the rest of her emotions back into her head. Thankfully, the Slytherin table was almost empty except for a few lone diners like herself. Most of her lazy oaf housemates opted for afternoon classes so that they could sleep in. Even the head table was practically empty except for Hagrid, who was chatting away at Madam Maxine, who towered over him. She blamed her sudden tenderness on the chapter she'd just finished but they would make a sweet couple.

One other seat at the table was occupied by an unfamiliar, rather large blonde man whose face was mostly obscured by his goblet and furious fork movements. She could just make out a wonky blue eye but…not the rest of him. His tousled blonde hair and rather red complexion seemed out of place. She squinted to make out his features a little more. Was he a professor from one of the international schools? No, he looked quite familiar, she thought. She'd seen his face before.

She looked back down at her own table. "Parkinson, who is that? The blonde one."

Pansy Parkinson followed her gaze and then half-whispered back down to her.

"Professor Moody, new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher."

"Thanks," she responded mindlessly. Moody. Why did that name sound so familiar?

She stared unabashedly at the man, struggling to make out any more details.

He stood briefly, to reach the pumpkin juice and she caught a glimpse of metal where a leg once was.

She'd seen him before.

Moody.

Her mind whirred.

She scrambled out of her seat, trying not to look as dizzy and sick as she felt.

Moody. Mad-Eye Moody. The auror. That's where she knew him from.

A cold shiver passed over her as his eyes met hers. He lingered for a moment due to her sudden rise and then returned to his meal.

No. It couldn't be him. He must be someone else.

She didn't hide her urgency as she ran through the halls towards the library.

Panic lodged itself into her lungs, making it hard to breathe.

With every step she took, she prayed, wished, and hoped that she was mistaken and that it wasn't him.

He must be someone else. But she had to be sure.

The library doors opened with more of a bang than she'd usually allow, drawing more than one disgruntled look from other students but she didn't care.

The bookshelves on the way to the history section flew by.

Accio

A book documenting all the issues of the Daily Prophet from 1981, the end of the first wizarding war, flew to her.

There was no time to reach her alcove, she had to know now.

She leaned on an empty wall in an abandoned corner and ripped through the pages, feeling her heartbeat on the tip of every finger.

Please be someone else, she chanted in her head. Please be someone else.

Please don't be him.

Please don't be him.

Please don't be —

The headline looked the same as it did when she'd first found it during her second year at Hogwarts when she'd simply been curious about the war that her peers sometimes chatted about. Her father hadn't told her any of it. Only that someone had died and the world was a better place because of it.

DEATH EATER KILLED EN ROUTE TO AZKABAN

The photo underneath the black words still moved.

The same Moody she'd seen at lunch stood over a body, his face still bleeding from the altercation.

She slammed the book closed and squeezed her eyes tight.

It was him. He had done it.

Moody.

The photo flashed behind her eyelids; his lost leg, rolling eye, matted hair - standing over her uncle's dead body, eyes- lifeless, dark mark- still, face- reminiscent of her fathers, and thusly, her own.

Her heart pounded in her ears. Silencing the hustle and bustle around her.

It was him. And he was here.

She felt her legs give out and sunk to the floor in a flustered heap.

No, no, no. Why did he have to come here?

She'd tried so hard, for so long to forget it and now she was forced to reckon with the truth.

Her eyesight narrowed to tunnels.

What if he knew? What if he could tell just by her hair or face?

Her vision became hazy and the bookshelves and carpet blurred into one reddish-brown clump.

Tomorrow. She would see him tomorrow. Not only was he here but he was her professor.

Her stomach churned.

He would read her name on the class roster tomorrow. He would know then, if he didn't already.

What if he stood up in class and said, "I killed Death Eater, Rupert Wilkes and his niece is in this very room."

She tried to calm her breathing but her brain was static.

Then everyone would know. It'd take a few class periods to get around and Malfoy would tell them all the rest of the story until she formally became the evil that she feared so much. Death Eaters taunted her dreams because she couldn't help but see one every time she looked in the mirror.

The room was spinning.

No one could know.

No one could see that when they looked at her. She would make sure of it.

Despite her best efforts to calm down, severe panic and a lack of oxygen blacked out the world around her before she lost consciousness.

"Violet."

"Violet."

A soft voice coaxed her back to reality. She slowly came to, feeling lightheaded and confused. She opened her eyes and panicked when all she saw was black, before realizing that her face was pressed to the floor. The carpet scratched her cheek as she turned to acknowledge the voice.

"Violet, are you ok?" A familiar voice cooed anxiously next to her.

She looked up and found Madam Pince's face looming over her. She concluded from the horrified, concerned expression from the librarian that she must have passed out and fallen over.

"C'mon dear, up you come," Madam Pince said, pulling her to her feet. "We need to get you to the hospital wing."

She found her footing but dropped the book to the floor, rushing to pick it up before the librarian could see what she was reading. The movement nearly made her fall over but the bookish witch's grip on her arm was incredibly tight and dependable, not even allowing her to sway.

"Oh no it's alright," she assured the older witch breathlessly. "Really, I'm fine I just was…erm… lightheaded is all and um sat down. I must have just fallen asleep." She tried to hide the wobbling of her legs and flashed a confident smile to deter her nerves.

Madam Pince regarded her with suspicious eyes but slowly released her arm. "Are you sure?"

"Yes, yes I promise. Thank you, I'll just go straight to my room and lie down, I promise," she rambled, making a break for the front door, her legs still feeling like jello. "Um thank you, sorry."

"Alright," Madam Pince called after her. "Be more careful."

She stuffed the book into her bag and sprinted back to her room. The sunset shining through the windows on her way back to the dungeon signaled that she'd been out for the entire afternoon and some of the evening. She guessed that she'd missed dinner, not that it mattered because her stomach was too tightly wound with nerves to eat anything.

As she moved through the halls, her thoughts raced to remember why she'd passed out in the first place. She rounded a corner and caught sight of the doors to the Great Hall and it all hit her again, in an instant. She fought back panicked tears and considered changing her trajectory to the owlery to message her father about what to do but stopped, remembering that he wasn't aware of just how much she knew and that the revelation might give his sensitive soul a shock.

She focused on steadying her breathing and regaining the feeling in her legs, ignoring the countless peers she passed. She swore that she heard someone calling her name, but her heartbeat filled her ears, blocking out most sound, so she couldn't be sure.

It was a lonely feeling, keeping a secret for years on end. The truth of the situation would be more of a prison than the secret itself and so she kept it buried and let it fester into a deep loathing of those around her who were unburdened by the evils of the world.

She spat the common room password with more fervor than she ever had and raced through the dark furniture and scattered students, anxious for the safety of her room.

Her thoughts were interrupted when an inconsolable Sadie greeted her as soon as she opened the door. She hastily wiped a tear away from her cheek and collected herself, not that Sadie would've noticed between her sobs.

"Sadie," she croaked out.

Her sniffling friend looked up at her in surprise. "Where have you been?" The tone and volume of her voice made Violet jump. After hours of begin unconscious on the floor, her head was pounding. Despite the ache, she scurried over to console her friend, thankful for a distraction from her distress.

Apparently, Graham Montague had been caught sneaking a Bauxbaton girl into the boy's dorm earlier in the evening and Sadie had been the one who saw them.

She whispered countless reassurances, and encouragements but most came out half-hearted, not that she'd meant them to. What did Sadie expect from a pureblood git? Of course, she'd never say so and nodded along to her friend's rant, despite her groggy head and sore limbs from a terrible afternoon spent crumpled on the library floor.

"He seriously thinks that I care," she yelled, tossing a pillow at their closed bedroom door. "Please, he can fancy whomever he likes. It's a relief to be rid of him. His constant worshiping at the temple of my twat was getting old anyway."

Sadies high cheekbones glistened from her tears. She'd finally stopped crying but her deep brown eyes reflected her pooling sadness, ready to rerelease at a moment's notice.

"He's a leech and you're entirely too good for him," she said in an attempt to match her friend's anger while scanning the room anxiously for a place to hide the book.

Thankfully, Sadie didn't sense her distraction and ranted for a few moments longer before opting to sob herself to sleep on her bed. Violet rubbed her friend back, trying to focus on Sadie's much simpler problem but she could feel the book burning a hole through her bag, and her own problem searing itself into her subconscious. When Sadies soft snores filled the room, she peeled herself from the bed opposite of hers and finally laid her head on her pillow.

Despite already being lightly sleep-deprived, she tossed and turned all night fighting off worst-case scenarios and sorting through her emotions.

Terrifying, she decided sometime around 3 AM. It was terrifying.

It was terrifying to be in the house that raised almost all of the dark witches and wizards in history.

To be so close to those whose families still had loyalty to a Dark Lord.

To have Death Eater blood running through her veins. It felt like a sick joke, being terribly afraid of something inside of her. It was a cruel game of cat and mouse except she couldn't figure out which one was which. Scared of herself, and even more afraid of those around her who had the same story.

But those feelings of fear were all expected. She'd sorted through them thousands of times and lost more hours of sleep over them than she could count. These were things she'd already resigned herself to, but Moody was a bomb. He was unexpected and quite frankly, entirely unwelcome and she didn't know how to react.

He'd been here a week and she hadn't even known. She kicked herself for leaving the welcome feast early. She could've recognized him sooner and planned ahead but now she only had a few hours to organize her thoughts and come up with a plan of attack that didn't get her outed, or worse.

She turned over and stared at the wall, begging into the dark for sleep to take her. Tomorrow she'd be a tired, useless mess.

Tomorrow.

Not only would she feel exhausted but she'd have to see him tomorrow and there was no way around it. Defense Against the Dark Arts was a graduation requirement, and further, than that, something she was actually interested in learning, seeing as her fear of the topic occupied her thoughts more and more each passing day.

Her stomach wound itself in a tight knot at the thought of walking into class and facing Moody in front of her peers.

The way she saw it, there were only two options. Ignore him, and hope he didn't recognize her or face it head-on and let him know that she knew. She mulled it over and over hopelessly flipping between worst-case scenarios.

Ignoring him hinged on his inability to recognize her name or face, which she doubted. She knew nothing of the emotional toll that killing someone left a person with but surely it wasn't easily forgotten. On the other hand, if she confronted him after class, maybe they could come to an understanding. Maybe he would be glad to know that not everyone who bore her last name was evil. Maybe he even harbored some guilt, and was just as nervous about her, as she was about him.

It wasn't the worst plan, and exceedingly better than skipping DADA a year, not graduating in time, and having to explain everything to Snape and her parents.

She rolled onto her back and stared at the canopy above her, surprised to feel tears prick the corner of her eyes.

There was a hole in her heart.

She had to see him. She had to learn from him.

There was no way to avoid being in the same room as the man who had caused her father so much grief and pain that he hadn't spoken about his brother in nearly thirteen years.

The pain was what lingered. Behind every smile, every laugh, glint of his eyes, she always saw that pain. Especially when he was looking at her. It was only natural of course. He'd never say it but she could tell he worried about her being so close to where her uncle was corrupted. Two roads certainly diverging and she couldn't blame him for wondering which one she would take.

Despite wanting to, she couldn't blame him. It wasn't Moody who had caused that pain. It was the uncle who'd sought fame and glory by standing next to he-who-must-not-be-named and ended up getting himself killed. He'd chosen instantaneous death over a slow and torturous one in Azkaban and she didn't feel bad for him.

It wasn't just her pain, or her father's pain, or her family; but the entire wizarding world.

There were other articles too, ones right before and right after her uncle's death that she could hardly bring herself to read. She hadn't been able to make it more than a paragraph into the front-page article announcing the boy who lived. Its cadence desperately tried to give respect and solemness to Potter's parents but failed miserably. The one that haunted her the most though cited the torture of Alice and Frank Longbottom, Nevilles parents. She'd never spoken to the boy but knew his tragic story well. If the news of her bloodline ever did get out, he, above anyone else would have a right to despise her.

She squeezed her eyes tight, trying to forget the black and white pictures.

None of it was her fault but she felt the burden regardless.

Countless other families had lost so much more, even some at the hand of her uncle. That was worse than his death.

He had helped the Dark Lord rip families apart, and set the world on fire. Because it was his job.

And just like him, Moody too had done his job. He had sacrificed an eye and a leg to make their whole world safer. It probably meant nothing to kill someone to ensure the safety of those you love, and deep down she knew that true safety and peace had required his death. The thought made him less intimidating but the worry remained the same.

She let a silent tear fall for the resurgence of the dark mark, her father, the confrontation tomorrow, and the uncle she never knew, and finally fell asleep.

Violet didn't wait for her alarm clock to lull her awake on Wednesday morning.

The early rise gave her time to shower and dress slowly. Breakfast tempted her but she opted to head straight to the potions classroom where another annoyance awaited.

She found her seat and ignored the peers trickling into the room around her until Lee sat down a few minutes later, with George in tow. The panic of yesterday had pushed him, and his smug demeanor far out of her mind but unfortunately, hadn't made him any less real.

She kept her eyes on the open textbook in front of her and tried to tune them out, as well as her murderous thoughts. She didn't have the energy to deal with George today. Any fire inside of her needed to be conserved tense conversation she was hellbent on having in just a few hours.

George must have sensed her annoyance because he leaned over the table and set a hand in front of her book.

"Morning Violet."

She glared at him but his smug smile didn't budge.

"Merlin, you look terrible," he leaned forward further, faking concern.

Lovely, she thought. What an absolute gentleman and a delight to deal with this morning. She squinted, trying to hide her anger, and fighting off the blush creeping onto her cheeks. What an intolerable person. If Lee wasn't sitting between them, she might've hexed him right then and there.

"Reckon I'm still better looking than you. It's a wonder why God decided to make your ugly face twice."

He squinted back and chuckled. "God? Didn't take a heathen like yourself to be the religious type."

"Only started recently," she said, scolding herself for giving into his back and forth. "I found myself in urgent need of something to pray to."

She hoped he'd take the bait.

"Don't leave me in suspense Violet, whatever do you pray for?"

Like a mouse with cheese. "Your painful demise."

"And you need God for that? Don't have the courage to hex me yourself," he half cooed, egging her on.

Nothing dark look today. If anything, he looked like he was having fun.

"Don't tempt me. A cell in Azkaban would be much more preferable to seeing your ghastly hair every week."

He smiled and tucked a lock behind his ear.

"Violet, no need to be so cruel. I feel as though we've gotten off to a wrong start. Let's start again shall we?"

She shot him a sarcastic smirk. As if.

"Good morning Violet," he said, with an even toothier grin.

She smiled sweetly. "You look terrible."

Maybe a few more back and forth's and he would've dawned on the more sinister look that she'd grown quite fond of, but Snape's entrance interrupted them, and George scampered off to his seat without another word.

Snape tapped on his podium. "Weasley; scarab beetles, ginger roots, armadillo bile, newt spleens."

Everyone in the class turned to watch George dawn a frantic look on his face before resigning to stare daggers into Snape.

"What…" he said.

Their professor him a few more seconds to answer and then smirked.

"Pity. Five points from Gryffindor. Wilkes?"

She jumped a little at the sound of her name and quickly shifted her gaze to Snape.

"Oh um Wit-Sharpening Potion, sir," she responded dully, ignoring the collective class sigh at her once again outing herself as a teacher's pet.

"Sounds like something you might want to invest in," Snape sneered, turning back to George. "Five points to Slytherin. Davies; spring water, alihosty leaves, billywig wings, snarl quills, puff skein hair, horseradish powder."

He was quizzing them. He'd done it last year before finals but he seemed to be taking a rather cruel approach to weeding out those who didn't have their textbooks preemptively memorized.

"Um… erm…. Dreamless sleep?"

Snape rolled his eyes. "Five points from Ravenclaw. Wilkes?"

Oh Godric, again? She really was the most unlucky person alive today.

She kept her eyes on the desk. "Laughing potion, sir."

"Five points to Slytherin. Warrington, name one potion with porcupine quills."

"Erm…Cure for Boils?"

"Five points to Slytherin. Stimpson; daisy roots, shrivelfig, caterpillars, rat spleen, leech juice, cowbane, wormwood."

"I….I don't know sir."

"Five points from Ravenclaw. Wilkes?"

"Shrinking Solution, sir."

There were only so many students that he could pick on before she was stuck reciting the entire textbook. Hopefully, he wouldn't take the entire class time to make his point, but she wouldn't put it past him.

"Five points to Slytherin. Jordan; moonstone, hellebore, unicorn horn, porcupine quills, valerian root."

She let the quietest gasp escape her lips and whipped her head to look at him. He knew this. They had made it on Monday and he'd been the one to gather the ingredients. He looked a little panicked so she gave him a soft kick under the desk and watched as the lightbulb went off over his head.

"Draught of Peace!"

She bit the side of her cheek to stop a smile from forming on her face. It was an easy question and it meant nothing but regardless, she couldn't help but feel proud that he had remembered.

"Congratulations on paying attention to Miss Wilkes' work. I will deduct no points from Gryffindor, as a reward."

Dissatisfied at the Gryffindors correct answer, Snape finished his quiz and instructed them all to study the first chapter in the textbook for next week when they would begin brewing.

She skimmed over the words and mindlessly flicked through the pages, ignoring her heart thumping and stomach swirling. It was only about thirty minutes now until she'd be in Defense Against the Dark Arts. She blinked back the moving photo from the book and tried to conjure any happy image.

"Psstt."

She turned her head to Lee a second time.

"What?" She hissed.

He grinned at her. "Thanks for kicking me in the right direction."

Over his shoulder, she could see George staring at them curiously. She wondered if Gryffindors ever did anything without moving in a pack and moved her eyes back to the book.

"Don't mention it."

Much to her surprise, he didn't. He even pushed George back out the door when the giant redhead waltzed back over, looking like he wanted to pick up where they left off.

She watched them leave and lamented to herself as one nightmare ended, another began.

A few minutes later, she stopped at the entrance to the Defense Against the Dark Arts tower. A couple of her fellow students pushed past her, glaring back as they ascended the stairs but despite their sour expressions, she couldn't move.

The adrenaline from last night was waning and the plans she'd come up with no longer seemed like the right thing to do.

The stairs took forever, and yet not long enough. She scurried to a corner desk in the last row and took a seat next to an inconspicuous looking Durmstrang boy, who might have said something when she sat down but her ears wouldn't stop ringing.

The bell tolled. This was it. There was a 50/50 chance that her reputation was about to be ruined. News like this would take little to no time to get around the school and everyone would know before dinner. She'd be the girl that Professor Moody threw out of his class for being related to a Death Eater. For the rest of the year, she'd have no choice but to sit with Malfoy and all the other children of suspected Death Eaters, but even they might not take her.

Moody's office door banged open and he trudged down the stairs.

Sadie might not hate her forever, but any hopes at remaining cordial with friends from other houses would be thrown out the window, she thought. Hermione wouldn't be able to look at her. She didn't know if she could take it.

"Alastor Moody," he was scribbling at the chalkboard with his back turned to the class. "Ex Auror, your new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher."

He turned to look at them.

She winced. His normal eye floated over their faces, but his other eye, held to his face with leather and metal, moved furiously as he called out names from the roster. Her breathing grew shallow as the eye moved to the back of the class, and towards the end of the alphabet.

"Wilkes," He bellowed.

"Here," she squeaked out, on the verge of passing out.

His eyes grazed over her one second, and then… they were gone.

She blinked, squinting to be sure that he wasn't staring in shock or reaching into his pocket to pull out his wand and hex her but he was continuing with the last few names on the roster as if nothing had happened.

There hadn't been even the slightest bit of recognition. Not a flashback. No acknowledgment. No chill down his spine or look in his eye.

Nothing.

Either he didn't know or simply… didn't care.

She felt her muscles unfurl one by one, and nearly laughed out loud with relief.

"The unforgivable curses," he blurted, starting his lecture.

She stared at him in disbelief for a few moments before tentatively accepting that, at least for now, she was in the clear. It was astonishing and completely unexpected. She suddenly felt silly for panicking so much.

Her relieved mood didn't last long though, as he spoke ominously about the world they would step into upon graduation. Any small doubt in her mind that the Dark Mark in the sky hadn't really meant a second war, vanished.

"The Unforgivable Curses. The use of any one of them on a fellow human being is enough to earn a life sentence in Azkaban. That's what you're up against. That's what I've got to teach you to fight."

His face contorted with passion and his eyes urged them to see the horrible things he'd seen. His pleas were honest but terrifying.

"You need preparing. You need arming. But most of all, you need to practice constant, never-ceasing vigilance," he concluded, before dismissing the class in a huff after an hour and a half of passionate ranting.

She didn't give her original plan another thought, and was the first one out the door, her mind running through the warning he'd just given them.

Vigilance.

If she would have stayed for the entire feast, and been vigilant, she would have known that he was going to be here. She cursed herself for letting something like this sneak up on her and affect her so harmfully, especially now that none of her worst fears about him had come true.

Vigilance.

She wasn't at the Quidditch World Cup but judging from Moody's ominous lecture, that was just the beginning. There would be more whispers, more threats, maybe even attacks, just how it started last time. Even without the return of he-who-must-not-be-named, his followers were surely tired of waiting in the shadows, biting their tongues, and watching muggle-borns, and half-bloods receive equal treatment. If they were back, her family would be a target.

She had to be vigilant.

The full Slytherin table almost deterred her from sitting down for lunch but she couldn't get Moody's words out of her head. She caught a glance of Malfoy laughing with Crabbe, and Goyle, all with family ties to Death Eaters. She was quite literally in the snake pit.

She boldly took a seat at the middle of the table, a few empty spots away from Malfoy and his crew.

Vigilant.

If there was indeed something brewing, maybe they knew about it, and maybe, just maybe, they'd be dumb enough to let something slip.

Moody's face looming over her uncles flashed in her mind once more but she didn't flinch. If her uncle had survived, surely he would have come for his blood-traitor brother and half-blood nieces. How could she have been so stupid to think that Moody would out her, even if he had recognized her name? He was capable of bad things, yes, but clearly, only for a good cause. He'd done what he had to do, not only for his safety but also for her father's safety, her mother's safety, and ultimately, hers.

She cursed the tear she'd shed for such an evil man last night.

Malfoy's cackle tore her from her thoughts. She watched him sneer at a group of Gryffindors with his friends, his white hair unmoving as he tossed his head backward and wondered if anyone else had seen him at the Quidditch World Cup.

[soloragoldsun]

What I Preferred in J.M. Lee’s Books

I’m currently rereading Shadows of the Dark Crystal. I don’t normally reread a series so soon after finishing the last book (literally two weeks ago), but Age of Resistance made me want to dive right back in. I already talked about the changes in the show that I thought were an improvement. Now, I’ll gush over the books and the things I wish the show had kept, or at least referenced.

-Naia, Kylan, and Amri: These three were the golden trio for the books, and I love them with every fiber of my being!

Naia is a hardheaded, but very empathetic protagonist, who has to leave Sog when she learns that Gurjin has been accused of treason by the Skeksis. Shadows shows her departure from Sog, her initial meeting with Kylan, and the discovery of her ability to dreamfast with any creature or plant on Thra. This ability allows her to heal the darkened Cradle Tree within the Dark Wood. Despite her hard-talking nature, she shows a great deal of sympathy for any creature in pain, and is wholeheartedly against killing the Skeksis once she learns of their connection to the urRu in Flames.

Kylan is a timid Song Teller from Sami Thicket who blossoms so much after joining Naia. He overcomes his feelings of inadequacy, learns that one doesn’t have to be a fighter in order to be a valuable asset in the war, and crafts the firca that Jen uses in The Dark Crystal. He’s also responsible for all of the Gelfling learning the truth about the Skeksis. This boy crafted a magical firca, then used super advanced dream etching in order to imprint a dreamfast onto the petals of Domrak’s Sanctuary Tree, sending them to every corner of Thra! Also, he’s the reason that Tavra isn’t dead, but we’ll get to that in a moment.

Amri was my absolute favorite character in the series. So, of course, he didn’t even get a reference in Age of Resistance. *sigh* He is a beautiful Grottan boy who is so happy when he’s given the opportunity to explore the surface world! Like Kylan, he deals with feelings of worthlessness in the face of his much more accomplished friends, frequently hiding his sadness by joking around. He suffers a lot more obviously than Deet when on the surface, never fully adjusting to the light of the suns, and trying to mask his Grottan qualities, such as walking in a half-crouch and listening to the voices of the rock around him. His romance with Naia is freaking perfect, and I truly hope we see him in season 2.

-Tavra and Onica: They’re lesbians. Not that you’d know that without reading the books. *le sigh*

Besides that fact, they both get way more development. Tavra is a constant figure in the books. I actually half-expected the fourth book to be from her point of view, rather than Naia’s. She also spends most of the series as a spider.

In Song, an Arathim takes control of her nearly-dead body after she is drained by the Crystal, using her to try and bring Naia to the Skeksis. When this is discovered, Kylan ends up dream etching Tavra’s soul into the body of the spider, while the spider’s soul is trapped in the Gelfling’s dying body. As a result, much of Tavra’s development stems from her sudden lack of ability to fight, speak out, or do anything she could do as a Gelfling.

In Tides, we meet Onica, a seer who was saved by Tavra from a horrible storm several trine ago. During this storm, she lost her wings, but she states that meeting Tavra far outweighed that loss. Tavra used to sneak out to meet her whenever she made port, and they wanted to sail away together to a place where their Clans didn’t matter! ARGH! I’m so weak for these two. Onica, through her far-sight, provides the first glimpse of the Wall of Destiny.Their relationship is a bit bittersweet with Tavra in the form of a spider, but their love is still strong by the end of Flames.

I’m hoping that, at the very least, we will get spider!Tavra in season 2.

-The Lighting of the Fires: This was only briefly referenced in the show, but it is honestly the heart and soul of this period of Thra’s history. Tides and Flames sees the trio traveling from Clan to Clan, convincing them to join the rebellion against the Skeksis. Shadows and Song also show them interacting with different Clans during their journey.

Because of this, we get a detailed look at each Clan, their members, and their customs over the course of all four books. We see each Clan decide to join the fight and light the fires. As each fire is lit, the homelands of the Clans are dream etched with images of the journey of our heroes, and the actions of each Clan. It also creates a stronger and stronger connection to the previously-lit fires. This eventually culminates in the lighting of the Stonewood fire, Rian’s message to Thra, and the creation of the Wall of Destiny.

I’m a sucker for worldbuilding, and the books definitely had the upper-hand in that department.

-The Explanation of the Skeksis and urRu: While skekGra and urGoh were an incredible, necessary addition to Thra, and while I loved their puppet show, it was a bit lacking in some respects.

In Flames, Naia and the others learn from urSu the full story of the urSkeks, and learn that killing a Skeksis will mean killing a Mystic. Unlike in the show, we actually see the dilemma the characters face due to that knowledge. Naia comes to the conclusion that killing the Skeksis and knowingly killing the Mystics would cause a darkening within the hearts of the Gelfling, similar to the darkening plaguing Thra. She realizes that healing the Crystal is the only true solution, and that the fires of resistance aren’t meant to be beacons of war, but of unity.

I like that the books provide a concrete reason for not sacrificing the Mystics, besides the “killing is wrong” rhetoric. It would have a negative effect on Thra and the Gelflings, because it would cause the song of Thra to become more imbalanced. I actually have a theory that Deet’s darkened state stems partially from the killing of skekLach.

The concept of duality is explored in depth due to Naia and Gurjin’s status as twins (a rarity among Gelfling). The Skeksis specifically target them, as they want to experiment on them in order to figure out a way to drain the urRu.

-The Deaths of urVa and skekMal: Both of these characters were more prominent in the books. We see a very genuine friendship develop between urVa and the trio, particularly Naia. Therefore, his death has much more weight when it occurs.

Also, the method of death is slightly different. Instead of jumping from a high place, urVa drives one of his own arrows into his heart. It’s strangely poetic. He states in the books that, while he shoots arrows, he is no hunter. He never uses them to kill...except for one time.

He is able to temporarily speak through skekMal in their last moments, urging Naia and the others to have hope, all while skekMal cuts in with curses and shouts. My heart was honestly pounding during that scene, and I’m a little disappointed at how it played out in the show.

-skekSa and urSan: The Mariner and the Swimmer are a Skeksis/urRu duo I desperately want to see in season 2. skekSa, the Mariner, acts as a protector for the Sifa Clan, and genuinely wants to leave the other Skeksis behind for good. However, when the Sifa agree to join the resistance, skekSa sees this as a betrayal, turning on the Gelfling in order to keep from being killed by her fellow Skeksis. Before skekGra, skekSa showed the most complexity and grayness out of all the Skeksis.

urSan, the Swimmer, is the one who convinces Amri to embrace his Grottan qualities, showing him that his unique abilities allow him to contribute in a way no one else can. She also actively fights against her Skeksis counterpart when skekSa goes to Sog to try and take Naia. While she doesn’t kill herself like urVa, she does give Naia the option of killing her, an option Naia  ultimately refuses.

There’s more, but these are the biggest points. Again, I cannot recommend the book series enough! I will eventually put together my version of canon, which melds the events of the books with those of the show. Both are definitely needed to truly enjoy this story to its fullest extent.

[lonelyorbit134340]

Untitled (01)

Index: (01) (02) (03) (04)

It’s 9:15am on Monday morning and you scan the office floor. There is a general hum as people type away at their workstations but you noticed one empty chair. Min Yoongi is late again.

As if on cue, you hear a loud thud and see Min crash onto an office plant. He stands up, dusts himself off, looks up and meets your eyes. If he is embarrassed it is well hidden. The look on his face is all defiance.

You think about calling him into your room for a reprimand but you know it’s of no use. In the 3 months since he joined the company you know he doesn’t listen to anything unless he wants to. If he’s not so damn good at his job you would have fired him by the end of the first week. But he gets it. Nothing fazes him and he delivers when it counts. He’s actually performing at a higher level than people that are 2 to 3 years his senior.

So you are not going to get rid of him. But you want him to know who’s boss. A sudden spark cross your mind. “Yes, this will teach him a valuable lesson.” You’re going to put him on Project Flash.

Project Flash refers to a series of purchases by one of your company’s biggest clients, Gordon Wines. The project is not called “flash” because Wines is fast (although he is when he identifies his “prey”), but because if you make a mistake he’ll fire you in a flash. The deals he makes are complex and he wants it done yesterday. Some staff sees working in the project as a death sentence as your life will be consumed by work. Late nights, weekends, you lose track of time as the deadlines pile up one after the other.

 “It’s time for him to learn the value of hard work and discipline,” you think to yourself.

After you gather the relevant paperwork, you send Min a Skype message and ask him to come into your office. He slowly gets up from his chair and heads towards your office.

 *Knock knock*

 “Come in.”

 He sits down and looks straight at you, his eyes giving nothing away.

 “Min, finish up all your existing work today. Starting tomorrow, you’ll be working on a new project.”

 “And what will that be?” he asks.

 “I want you to start working on the Wines account. He has identified a new company for acquisition.”

You can see his mind turns for about a second. “You want me on Project Flash?”

“Yes, the team is busy working on the current deals and I need someone new to start working on this one.

“As you know, Wines is a demanding client and he does not tolerate fools. So I want to you double, no, triple-check your work before you hand it in. Also, his deals are time-critical so expect some overtime.”

“OK.” he says nonchalantly.

“I’ll send you a meeting invite for 10am tomorrow morning to go through the basics of the deal.”

The room is silent for a few seconds. Min realises that’s the end of the meeting and gets up. Just before he turns around, he murmurs “Thank you for the opportunity”.

You’re taken aback by the small hint of humility.

As he walks out of the room, you’re also taken aback by his perfectly shaped ass.

You catch yourself, shake your head, and return your eyes to the computer screen.

——-

It’s 10pm and the office is eerily quiet. The air conditioning unit is switched off, and all you can hear is the sound of paper flicking as Min reviews the mountain of documents on his workstation.

The latest Wines acquisition is at its peak and both you and Min are working insane hours. This is the fourth consecutive night of overtime. You take off your reading glasses and stare out of the office in Min’s direction.

To your mild surprise, Min is fully dedicated to the job at hand. He may still be coming in after the standard start time but with the late finishes you’re not holding it against him. He is quickly grasping the complex details of the deal. He asks the right question in meetings and the quality of his work is impeccable. Even though you know he’s good before the project, you are impressed. 

You walk out of your office and say to Min, “Are you up to Article 50 of the offer document yet?”

“I am reading it now, and I’m a bit stuck on subsection 3.”, he says.

“Bring it in and let me have a look.” you replied.

He strolled into the office with the offer document. Instead of sitting across the table and handing the document to you, he comes around to your side of the table and kneels right next to you. You can smell his musky cologne. Without realising, you take in a deep breath.

“The information in subsection 3 appears to contradict Article 27,” he says as he flicks through the document. You can’t help but notice his long, elegant fingers as he points at the different paragraphs.

You quickly gather your focus and explain to Min the asset cross-collateralisation which is a unique feature of the deal.

“Ahhh, OK I get it.” Min says, and you know that he has memorised everything you said.

“Alright, I think that’s enough for today, let’s call it a day and start again tomorrow”, you say.

Out of nowhere, Min asks, “Would you like to grab a bite to eat? I know you haven’t had dinner yet. There’s a ramen joint 2 blocks away that opens till midnight.”

You pause for just a moment when you hear your stomach grumble. You answer “sure”, grab your bag and head out with Min.

——-

The ramen restaurant is buzzing when you walk in. The owner eyes the two of you and smiles as he recognises Min. “The best table for my loyal customer!” he says and ushers you to the last two available seats at the corner of the joint.

After he sits down, he loosens his tie and moves his shoulders around, like is his trying to shake the stress of the work day off. 

“Two chicken ramyun and two soju please”, Min says to the owner before you have the chance to read the menu. “It’s their signature ramen.” he says as he takes the menu off you.

“I guess I’ll find out how good it is in a few minutes,” you reply.

“You won’t be disappointed.” he says confidently.

——

The ramen is delicious and the soju flows freely. To your mild surprise, you are having an enjoyable conversation with Min about this and that, from reality tv to the latest political news. 

The discussion turns to some of the more colourful characters in the office. “And Jin roasts the other junior staff relentlessly. Some of them are positively scared of running into him in the lunchroom,” he says, slapping his thigh. His eyes light up and his laughter is infectious.

“Two more bottles of soju, please.” Min orders. It may not be the best idea to have another drink, but work has been intense and you’re enjoying this opportunity to unwind. 

After you finish the last sip of the soju, he becomes quiet, looking down at the empty bowl. He’s probably tired after the long day, you think to yourself. You’re just about to offer to split the check when he looks up.

“So, what’s your secret?” he asks. 

“What do you mean?”

“You’re the youngest VP in the company. You handle the most complex clients when many in the company are your seniors. How do you do it?

You don’t know how to respond to this sudden change of conversation. You stammer for a bit. “Errrr, I do my best. And I guess a bit of luck fell my way.”

“Now you’re not being honest,” he says, turning to face you. There is something different in that way he looks at you, but you can’t quite place it. 

“You are exceptional. Smartest person I’ve ever met.” he says. You can feel warmth rising to your cheeks. 

“.... and so beautiful. Irresistible really.“

You look down, absorbing the meaning of his words, when you feel his hand caressing your cheek.

“Min …” you whisper. 

“Call me Yoongi”.

——

When you finally look up, you’re met by his dark, almond shaped eyes. Gone is the aloofness that he displays in this office, replaced by a tenderness that you’ve never seen before. You look at the mild hint of blush on his porcelain skin, his slightly parted lips, tousled honey blonde hair, and your heart is beating faster and faster. It feels like the world is standing still and all you can feel is his gentle touch on your face.

“Come with me,” Yoongi says softly. You don’t know what’s happening next but you want to find out. You give him a slight nod.

With quick movement, he grabs a note from his wallet, drops it on the counter, then takes your hand and the two of you walk out of the restaurant. 

Yoongi leads you to a small alleyway a block away, standing between you and a wall. In the dim streetlight you see him shifting his gaze from your eyes to your lips. The next thing you know his hand cups your face and he leans in. The kiss is tentative, but you can feel the warmth of his lips transferring to yours and there are butterflies in your stomach. 

He pulls away slightly and looks at you, waiting for your reaction. You lick your lips and that’s all the encouragement he needs. His hands move from your face to the back of your head, pulling your closer. No hesitation in the second kiss.

The kisses deepen and soon your tongues are intertwined. You taste the soju in his breath and you’re drinking it all in. He glides his hands down to caress your breasts and you shiver. Your body is craving for his touch.

Then you hear the crack of thunder. 

As the raindrops land on your face you stopped, as if waking from a dream. “What am I doing?” you ask yourself. 

You release your hands from Yoongi’s waist and step backwards. “I’m so sorry,” you murmur, and without looking at him, you start running away.

Yoongi is left standing in the alleyway, getting completely drenched.

[wisdomrays]

TAFAKKUR: Part 83

The Newly Discovered Dimension of The Heart

In our world of knowledge and wisdom, there are two meanings for the word “heart”; as an emotion that is open to the spiritual realms and an important power plant for the biological structure. Our Lord, Who has created everything in pairs, has created the heart as a dual structure too, as both the material and the spiritual heart. The spiritual heart is a spiritual gift; the spiritual soul is the essence and hidden depth of this gift and the biological soul is its transport. The biological heart is one of the three centers (the head, the heart, and the abdomen) of the biological soul, like the brain. The heart is a two-sided core lit with divine light; with one aspect it looks upon the realm of souls and with the other the realm of objects. When we look at it from this point of view, we see that the material and spiritual hearts are related to one another. But since the content and nature of the relationship between these two hearts has not yet been fully revealed, it is still open for research. Below, we summarize the latest research that indicates the fact that the unity of heart and mind, a unity that is a potential in all human beings, needing to be cultivated, a unity which has to be realized on the way to truth, can in fact be observed within the physical structure of human beings.

Modern medicine, which tries to understand the biological structure of human beings, has been carrying out research in recent years that reveals the manifestations of the above fact. For instance, in classical text books the heart is introduced as a mechanical system that pumps the blood, a center to which all the organs of the body are directed; but recent research shows that there is a nerve system in the heart, just as there is in the brain, and that the heart assumes responsibility, to the same degree as the brain, in the control of the body. It has been revealed that the harmonious functioning of all the other bodily systems is regulated by the heart to the same degree as done by the brain. In recent years, the heart has been depicted as the sage and master of the palace that is the body. Alongside the abstract, analytical, and logical intellect of the brain, the heart is equipped with emotional and communicational intellect. Emotions are first produced in the heart; the signals produced in the heart are then carried very rapidly over to the limbic system of the brain. It is then through the brain that the emotional response is carried over to the body and communicated to those around it. Research which has been carried out in the framework of studying the heart-brain relationship has revealed things that may change our attitude toward the heart, as well as affecting our presuppositions about humanity and how our health can be protected.

The two-way communication system that exists between our heart and brain is one of the most complex communication systems in the world. For a start, the heart is made up of 40,000 nerve cells which pertain to it alone. This number of nerve cells is close to the average found in various centers of the brain. It has a complex and mysterious nervous system unto itself and this nervous system is defined as the “brain in the heart.” There is clear and sound proof that the heart communicates with the brain along four different pathways. The first is via the nerves (the neurological pathway); the second through the hormones and neurotransmitters (the biochemical pathway); the third is made up of the pulse waves created by blood pressure (the biophysical pathway); with the fourth being the interaction of the electromagnetic fields (the energy pathway). The sympathetic nerves that envelope the heart like a web are one of the four important communication and regulation branches of the heart-circulation system. The heart operates in a system which produces one of the most powerful and broadest electromagnetic fields in the human body. The bioelectromagnetic fields that are produced can be measured by SQUID (Superconductor Quantum Interference Device) from 50-70 cm away. The electrical field in the heart measured by an electrocardiogram (ECG) is on average 60 times greater in amplitude than the electrocephalogram measurements taken from the brain; the magnetic component of the heart is 5,000 times stronger than the one in the brain. Consequently, these forces cannot be absorbed by the tissues and disappear; similarly the blood pressure that is produced by the rhythmic activity of the heart, the sound pressure, and the changes in the electromagnetic waves are not only carried over to each part of the body, but at the same time the scattering of that field of energy is felt by the people who are experiencing it. All these observations show that the heart has been given the role of a signal station, providing and regulating the synchronicity within the entire body. When people experience different emotions (fury, happiness, fear, and despair) the heart beat changes along with the rhythmic patterns produced by the pulse.

The Emotional State of the Heart Affects the People around

The quality of the electrical signals that emanate from the heart affect all the cells of the body in a negative or positive way. It has been observed that the electromagnetic fields produced in the heart affect the emotions and thoughts of other people who are in physical contact or 50-70 cm away from a heart that is producing these emotions.

This shows that the emotional state of educators in preschool environments and mothers has a direct effect on the development (especially that of heart and mind) of the children. In particular, if the people who work in preschool environments are under stress, temperamental, unhappy, or depressed, this will not only affect the educator, but also the development of the children under their care. When those who are working with children have positive emotions, are affectionate, and smile, this has a positive effect on the development and learning curve of children.

The development of the brain and heart in children is dependent on their mothers and educators having a healthy heart. For these hearts to be healthy they have to possess positive emotions (such as affection, compassion, and love). In one study carried out at Harvard University, it was observed that adults who had not received sufficient amounts of love during their childhood or who received no affection became ill more frequently and also died sooner. It is now understood that the general heath of human beings is more dependent on our living with positive emotions and having a strong spiritual dimension than on living with logical and rational thoughts. From these we understand much better the importance of controlling the emotions that emanate from the heart through a sound education. The heart is one of the centers that regulates the general health of the individual. Behavior patterns (overworking, the performing of hasty actions, anxiety, or being temperamental) are risk factors that deteriorate the health of the heart and that can lead to heart attacks. Some research shows that an intense episode of negative emotions, like fury, anxiety, or despair over a long duration can lead to sudden death related to heart disease. The risk of stress that is related to poorly managed chronic negative emotions causing cancer and heart disease is six times greater than the risk involved in smoking, high cholesterol, and hypertension. Disliking or being unsatisfied with the work that one does is also considered to be a great risk factor when it comes to heart attacks.

The Heart Rate Variability

According to messages emanating from the sympathetic nerves in the autonomous nervous system, one of the four pathways used in the control and regulation of heart activity, the heart rate and secretion of adrenal hormones increase. The stimuli that come from the parasympathetic nerves, on the other hand, slow down the beating of the heart. The balance and harmony between the two is very important for the health of the heart. The changes that are observed in pulse patterns over time are a key measure of the balance between the brain and the heart. Heart rate variability (HRV) shows whether or not the electrical stimuli in the sinoatrial knot (the group of nerve cells that are responsible for the production of the electrical current in the heart) are being regulated as they should. Since the HRV parameter forms a window through which we can measure the ability of the heart to respond to the regulating signals that travel from the heart to the brain and from the brain to the heart; in recent years the determination of the percentage of heart rate variance has gained importance. The HRV measurements are carried out via tacograms; these measure and analyze the HRV for the duration of an hour. Normally, the HRV parameter is the capacity of the heart rate to respond to changing circumstances and to adapt to the required pace. The decrease and increase in this capacity in situations such as stress, temper, excessive joy, and panic disturbs the capability of the heart to adapt; it causes a decrease in this capability and can result in the collapse of the whole system. An HRV which has decreased, due to either material or emotional causes, could be a harbinger of arrhythmic cardiac arrest, myocardial infarction, the speeding up of atherosclerosis, or heart failure. Patients whose HRV decreases may die sooner than patients whose HRV is normal or high. If the HRV does not keep within the normal, balanced limits, it is highly probable that those patients may die due to a sudden heart attack.

In the biological working of the body, the brain obeys the heart. When the changes in the heart rate are harmonious, the waves (alfa or lower wavelengths) that are produced in the person’s brain are also in synch with the rhythm of the heart. In other words, there is a harmonious cooperation and an excellent unity in the compatibility of heart beats and the relationship between the heart and the brain. The research that has been done in this field shows that the activity of the brain has been programmed in synch with the activity of the heart. For instance, in embryonic development, the brain follows the heart. While the child is developing in the womb, the heart develops before the brain. The development of the brain is completed only after a child reaches one year of age. According to recent research, when a person’s emotions change, the quality of the signals that emanate from the heart to the brain change automatically as well. In other words, if the psycho-physiological state of the individual is balanced and positive, the HRV rhythms of the heart are accordingly harmonious and consequently the electrical activity in the brain is synchronized with this balance and harmony that is produced in the heart.

Research shows that humans live 80-90 percent of their lives automatically and mechanically; in their daily lives they make most of their decisions and do most of their activities unconsciously, according to habit and subconscious directives. Consciousness and will have a very weak hold on our emotions, whereas our strong emotions (for instance passion) have a greater capacity to control and direct our will and consciousness. The automatic way of life conducted through habit is dominant over the way of life led through conscious choices and will; emotions (especially passions) have, in that sense, a natural superiority over reason and logic. This natural condition and tendency of humanity makes it essential to find the answer to the question of how one may live a life that is governed by reason, logic, and will, yet maintain health at an optimal level. The key to finding the answer to this question is to take the education of the heart (or the education of “emotional reason”) seriously and giving it priority. Education which does not take emotion or passion into account, which overlooks them, has to be abandoned immediately. In its place, an education and life philosophy that gives due importance to the heart and the emotions, a philosophy where reason and logic help emotions and show them the way must be adopted.

[soradragon]

A Change Within

This is the fourth and fifth prompt of the 57 week challenge hosted by the lovely @sdavid09 ^^

This took far too long to finnish, school and other things got in the way, but I did it! After many atemps hehe...

This story is from an AU I made myself ( I still don’t have a name for it) I had so much fun (and frustration in a good way) making this! 

I hope you guys like it!^^

Warnings: Bit of gore, mentions of death, angst, and more I think??

Prompts: A seed of doubt has been planted, will it grow or weeded out? Gone was the timid child they once knew, in their place stood a determined woman

Slightly Leonardo x oc if you squint

If you want to be tagged in the upcoming fics please go ahead and ask^^

52 week challenge masterlist

Main masterlist

Anyway, Enjoy^^

~~

"We'll lose more supplies and people then we gain from that girl, if it keeps going like this then we should've ignored that van like I told you guys from the start!"

"let's not get hasty bro-"

"No, Raph's right...As much as I hate to say this, it's true, we cannot sacrifice so many supplies and people for just one person...especially if we don't gain valuable things in return, we can't forget the many mouths we need to feed."

She muted out the rest. Having no need to listen any longer, the new information was more than enough...

She didn't blame them...how could she? It was all true...

Regarding the circumstances, it would've been only a matter of time... until the subject would be addressed.

She just thought, or more precisely hoped that it would be much later than sooner...

Liquid dripped onto her bare palms, warming the chilled hands only a bit. She looked down at them, choking out a sob when she saw the brown string tied around her left wrist with a knot.

"There! Now you'll only have to look at it and think of me, and I'll chase those mean monsters away!"

The tears ran down her face faster, her chest began to tighten, she swallowed, trying to get rid of the bile in her throat.

She blinked, the glistening tears in her hands trembled as they let go a trail of the colour red.

It bled all over her palms, painting her hands bloody, tickling down her wrists and arms onto the grass and boots.

A silent scream of terror left her lips as she stared at her bloody hands, her whole body trembling.

"E-every...T-thing...w-wi-il be...al-lr-righ...t....r-right...?"

She could hear the weak sobs and coughs through his scared voice.

"Y-yes! Everything w-will be al-alright, don't - don't you worry..."

"...Pr-promise...?"

She couldn't breathe, it was all too real...the pain, too unbearable...

The blood, trickling down his chin... he was scared...yet, he smiled...

"I...I-I promise."

Promises...aren't meant to be made...

*(*)*(*)*

"Norah, concentrate!"

She gritted her teeth as she slashed her sword down onto the dummy, slightly gracing the side of the head.

"Are you trying to get yourself or your teammates killed!? Hit the stupid dummy!"

Norah tried to ignore the taunting words, putting all her energy in her arms, raising the heavy sword above her head. Sweat ran down her back and brow. She gripped the sword tighter, trying to keep it in her clammy hands.

It tilted a bit backwards before she slashed it downward with a roar.

Hitting the dummy in the shoulder.

A laugh full of relief left her lips.

"I did it!"

"Good job. Now get the sword out of it."

Norah glanced towards the lizard mutant who looked at her expectantly with his arms crossed. Waiting for her to make a move.

He had taken the time to help train her with the sword after Raphael gave up, giving her the chance to humour him, he kept going even though she was so bad at it. Really testing his patience and calmness, he was good at it. 

He hadn't screamed once at her in anger.

Though, she had noticed his tail swishing back and forth in impatience, betraying his real emotions.

But still, she was thankful he didn't give up on her, even though she felt like giving up herself...

Norah grasped the handle of the sword with two hands, trying to yank it out.

It was stuck.

'You've got to be kidding...'

*(*)*(*)*

She felt so hopeless, useless from the moment she entered the camp.  

The poor girl had been stuck in bed for two months... to recover from the hell her body went through, she had to literally regain the capacity to move her entire body to fully function again.

A strange foreign wound, she didn't even know it existed, caused her body to shut down and paralysed her for weeks, it left a scar inside her body...

Making it hard to lift and do things smoothly with any kind of heavy objects,

She couldn't even move when wearing heavy armour.

Norah sat on the ground. Leaning her back against the silken material of the tent, resting her chin on her knees, listening to the many footsteps, chimes and noises of armour and weaponry being carried around the camping site.

An attack was soon to be taken place at the High-Ground, everyone was preparing for it.

And Norah had been shooed away from helping, being told multiple times she shouldn't go even near anything remotely heavy, cause of the fear she would do more harm than good.

She felt like she was treated like a small child, a child who's been scolded for touching a very expensive vase and accidentally breaking it.

So here she was, sitting inside her tent curled up in herself, even though she wanted to storm out and demand to let her at least help.

But, on the other hand, they were right.

Every time Norah tried to help something would happen, a pot with food or water would break, armour would be dented, metals or other stuff would be scattered all over the floor.

The words of the four leaders from a week ago still echo throughout her head, it pained her to hear them. She wanted to deny what they said, wanted to prove that they were wrong, but, a seed of doubt had already been planted inside of her. 

It slowly drowned the hope she had with thorns.

She couldn't make herself deny the accusing words, after all.

They were true. Three lives lost because she couldn't fight, couldn't act fast enough...

Whenever a tear fell, the plant would grow, jabbing into her flesh with its sharp thorns.

Every time something went wrong, the plant would let its roots crawl further and deeper, making it harder and harder to weed it out.

Norah gripped the fabric of her tent, watching as the troops left the camp. Children and the wounded stayed behind, waving at the departing troops, wishing them a safe trip and praying for a secure return.

*(*)*(*)*

"MIKEY!! GET OUT OF THERE!!"

Leonardo roared, pulling his youngest brother away in the nick of time from an oncoming barrage of laser blasts, which penetrated the ground into misshapen smoking holes where Mikey just stood not a second ago.

the turtle in orange stared wide eyes at the holes, his mouth formed a silent 'oh' before letting out a breath. "Thanks, bro..."

Leonardo gave a silent nod, glaring at the bots across the field, shooting laser blasts from their foreign high-tech weapons.

The leader in blue cursed softly under his breath. He hadn't considered the possibility of the Krang fighting their own battle.

He struck his enemy horizontally across the chest area, watching as the brainwashed mutant crumpled down onto the ground, clutching it's bleeding chest, and letting out gurgling noises.

Leo closed his eyes for a moment, seeing flashes of memories going past his eyes, too fast to make any sense of them. Emotions of all kind spread throughout his body before he pushed them away, deep, deep into his unconsciousness.

He opened his eyes again, gripping his katana in both hands. And struck with a restrained sigh down into the back, through the chest.

Sounds of screams and metal clashing against metal flooded into his system. He pulled the katana from the body, slashing downward to get rid of the dark red blood trickling down the blade made of steel.

Leonardo was about to run into the fray again when he heard a shout full of panic. He turned his head to the side. Keeping one eye on the battle before him. And on the person who called out to them from behind. Running at them like a manic while screaming.

"THE......AR.....H....RE.....!!!"

Leonardo's blood ran cold...

*(*)*(*)*

Norah had just fallen asleep when a scream of bloody murder tore through the camp.

Scaring the crap out of Norah, who fell out of her bed in shock.

She hurriedly stood back up while staggering towards the tent's entrance, "what the heck is going on!?"

She wanted to ask, but she already had her answer.

Crazy mutants stormed through the camp, slashing and destroying everything that came into their path.

Norah stood frozen stiff, watching with wide eyes as the mutants chased after the people. Some tried to fight them, but since almost all of the weapons were gone with the troops...

There wasn't much to fight with.

Norah trembled. What could she do? She was helpless...Couldn't even fight to save herself...

A roar shook her out of her trance, she stared straight into the scared eyes of a young boy, cowering in a corner, trying to hide from the mutants.

It snapped something within her when she saw a mutant stalking towards him.

Norah sprinted forward towards the boy, tackling him. 

The impact was just strong enough to knock herself and the boy a couple meters away from the mutant.

Norah looked down at the shivering boy beneath her, she quickly glanced over her shoulder, seeing the mutant stomp on the crate where the boy just had been hiding.

"Come on, we need to hide."

She whispers, grabbing his arm and pulling him into a random tent, leaning her back against the fabric of the tent trying to tell if a mutant went towards them.

"We have to warn the troops..."

Norah muttered to herself, looking back at the sobbing boy.

"Hey...are you okay?"

She softly asked, reaching out to touch his shoulder, he trembled, gasping for air as he shook his head.

"I-I'm scared....D-don't let them t-take me...!"

He sobbed. Norah's eyes widened for a fraction, before softly patting his head with a forced smile, she hoped it looked reassuring.

This felt all too familiar.

tears pricked at the corner of her eyes.

She couldn't utter any kind of assurance, so instead, she tried to be confident.

"Can you run fast?"

The boy gave her a confused look before nodding.

"We need to warn the troops. You have to run to the High-Ground and tell the leaders "They are here." Can you do that?"

Norah has never been so happy for her keen hearing, she remembered overhearing one of the captains speaking to the leaders about a code word, for if the camp were to be ambushed, and the troops were away.

The boy gave a soft nod, mumbling the message to himself a couple of times before looking at her with a determined expression.

Norah looked around for a moment, only now recognising the place they were located.

The kitchen.

There had to be something useful in here.

"Stay here for a moment."

Norah muttered, before searching through the cabinets and drawers for anything useful.

She only found five kitchen knives.

"Here, take this. You'll never know if you need this."

Norah handed the boy a knife, who took it and held it in his left hand a bit clumsily.

"As soon as the curtain's opened, you need to run as fast as you can,"

The boy looked at her with uncertainty, she grabbed his shoulders and softly squeezed reassuringly.

"Don't worry. I'll cover you..."

'For as long as I can...'

Norah yanked the fabric of the tent to the side, the boy ran not long after, Norah followed closely behind knives at ready.

The mutants saw it happening and went after them.

'Please...Please let this work...'

Norah let out a battle cry as she threw one of the four blades at the spider looking mutant.

It was as if time slowed down, watching as the dagger whizzed through the air, getting closer and closer to its target.

It felt like hours what was in reality only seconds before she could identify if she hit her target or not, she had only closed her eyes for but one second.

A muffled sound of something being buried deep inside something, a gasp and a splash of liquid hitting the floor.

Norah looked over her shoulder, feeling like she just won the jackpot.

The knife was stuck inside the chest of the spider looking monster, it fell down.

Struggling to grasp the remaining of its life, before the light in its eyes died.

Norah reached out her hand and pulled the boy to the side, the boy almost tripped, gathering his footing in the last second, Norah slashed with a yell across a mutant's face, who let out a scream and held its face in its weirdly two-fingered shaped hands.

Norah glared at it and struck one of the knives inside its head, ripping it out again and throwing it into the shoulder of a rodent-like mutant.

She didn't think, didn't hesitate. It just happened, striking down mutant after mutant with just three knives, like second nature.

She saw the boy run in the corner of her eyes, silently praying and wishing he would make it to the four leaders.

'Just got to keep them focused on me long enough...'

*(*)*(*)*

All kinds of scenarios ran through Leonardo's head, bad and worse, each had to do with death and ruin. 

His muscles screamed at him to stop, his lungs burned yet still he ran, the troops followed close behind him.

The leader in blue glanced briefly towards the boy, cradled in Donatello's arms.

The poor boy was exhausted, running such a long distance to warn them...

Leo could see Raph fuming in the corner of his eye, muttering harshly to himself. The turtle in blue could make out only a couple of words like 'Krang' and 'cowards'. He was blaming himself just as much as Leo did, maybe even more... He, after all, took great pride and responsibility to look after the order. He would never admit it, but he too knew he had a soft spot for the people he swore to protect. 

Secretly taking care of them without noticing, like a mother hen looking after someone else's chicks.

They reached the end of the camp, Leo's heart dropped to his stomach at the sight of a ruined camp; 

The ground, muddy and covered in red, the tents were in shambles, poles sticking through the cloth of the tents, the campfires had been destroyed. 

Everything was a mess.

Leo readied his katana, signalling to the others to spread out and take down the mutants.

 The three brothers followed him to the centre of the camp, where they found a display in front of them, they never thought they would see...

Norah was surrounded by mutant bodies on the ground, and she was taking on a big bear-like mutant by herself. Two flimsy knives in hands.

She was barely standing, but still, she kept going on, striking with one knife and blocking attacks from the mutant's claws with the other.

The girl before them let out a battle cry, twisting two claws downwards before plunging the other knife into the mutant's head when she pulled it in her direction.

Ending its life before anyone could even react.

Her whole body trembled as panted heavily, her chest rising and falling, with each deep, ragged breath.

Norah glanced behind her staring straight into the four leaders eyes without any emotion.

She looked...older as if any trace of the young, clumsy girl, just disappeared, vanished into thin air...

Gone was the timid child they once knew, and in their shoes stood a determined woman.

Leo took a step forward, before rushing forward in a panic as the woman before them, fell down, eyes rolled back into her head as she faded into unconsciousness...

*(*)*(*)*

Pain...everything...hurts...why...Why does everything hurt...?

Muffled voices mumbled into the void, she couldn't grasp what they were saying. Where was she anyway?

"......Sh.....eds....rest..."

A voice whispered.

....Rest...? I...I...I don't want to...

A blanket enveloped her senses, pulling her again into a calm slumber.

*(*)*(*)*

"Good morning sleepy head!"

A cheerful familiar voice echoed, stirring her softly from slumber.

A serious voice spoke up, "well, it's not actually moring, its actually noon..."

Norah slowly opened her eyes, with difficulty and stared straight into the baby blue eyes of the youngest leader, Michelangelo.

He grinned, "she's awake! At last!"

"Welcome back to the land of the living!"

Norah tried to slowly sit up to look around better.

"Was I gone then?"

She asked, looking around before she jumped when she heard a rustle in the corner.

"You almost were...But you came back to us."

The leader in blue said, a calm smile on his face as he took a seat next to her bed.

"What you did there, in the camp, was very courageous, thanks to you we could save most of our people."

Norah frowned, shaking her head. "I didn't do much...The boy warned you..."

Her eyes widened, "how is he doing!? He is fine, right?"

Raph nodded. "He's fine, don't ya worry."

She let out a relieved sigh, "that's good..."

"What's most important right now is that you get rest, you need it."

Leo stated, leaving no room for argument with the stern look he gave her.

Norah sighed, "fine...but, only if I can see the boy afterwards. I-I need to see how he's doing with my own eyes."

The four brothers looked at each other, Donatello shrugged, turning to Norah. "Deal, but first rest."

With that, the four leaders left the tent. A weight Norah didn't know she had, lifted off of her, leaving behind a feeling of content. She glanced at the roof of the tent.

'something changed, hasn't it...I hope that's it is for the better...'

[etlunainmorte]

✒ P.S. I Love You ✒

***

V

***

"Maybe next time, isn't that right?" V looked down at Shadow as he closed the door and left Griffon behind with Nico. "Because for now," He looked at the Grecian statue and saw the boy come out from behind it, waiting for him to join him. " ... we have a more,... pressing,… engagement."

The moment he arrived with Shadow at the foot of the grand staircase, he was met there by not only the boy, but by Maria, as well.

And they were both looking up as if they were waiting for something to occur,...

The old housekeeper turned just in time when V was about to ascend.

"Please let this boy accompany you." Maria simply told him. "It's the only way I could protect you."

The poet looked down at the boy and noticed him trembling, as if he was being forced to partake of this horrifying task. V took pity on him and smiled at Maria.

"Believe me, I can take care of myself. I have a very,... capable,... companion." V spoke as looked down at his familiar, who became wary of the what's on the second floor once more.

Maria hummed in disagreement. "Solitary makes itself known with every decision you make, I can see that." She placed a hand on the boy's shoulder and looked at V once more. "Very well, since this is your first night, I will let you wander on your own. But, please," She went closer to V and placed her hands on his shoulders. "... be mindful of everything around you. Deception comes,... in all forms." She let go of V's shoulders and made way for him. "I bid you good luck, V."

He nodded and took the first step, then the second, then the next. The evil presence in the place still suffocated him, and it made his footsteps heavier than expected. He looked behind him and saw Shadow still at the foot of the stairs, positively cowering, just like the boy. He motioned for his familiar to go back to him, and she grabbed this opportunity to finally hide from the malicious presence she was so afraid of.

Only then did he finally manage to reach his destination.

There was actually nothing much on the second floor, save for some closed doors, more Grecian statues on every pillar, and a few closed windows. The hallway was understandably dark with only a few lamps illuminating the place, and there was a distinct odor wafting around the area that made V both sick and depressed.

He looked around him, fully prepared should something attack.

The silence was deafening, the darkness, oppressing.

He took a few steps to his left with the intention of opening all those doors to have a look. The sound from earlier did come from this direction, after all. He tried opening the first door. It was, of course, locked. Then, he tried the second one, still locked. The third? Didn't even budge.

It was when he was about to check on the fourth door when he felt something move swiftly from behind him. He turned around and saw nothing.

His eyebrows furrowed, his lips slightly parted. He tried to reach the doorknob once more when he -

"I'll show you something."

He clearly heard a whisper that penetrated through the deafening silence. The hair on his nape stood on end, and his breathing became heavier. He suddenly felt the same kind of cold creep unto his skin, like the first time he stepped into this house. And then, he felt it - an overwhelming kind of sadness that drained almost all of his energy and what's left of his positive mood. The feeling took hold of his heart and made his body frigid for a few seconds. The melancholy spread throughout his body like a virus, and gave him thoughts that sent warning bells to his brain. He knew full well that it was not in his nature at all to feel like this. But, the malicious entity that resided within this house clearly wanted to plant this seed of emotion within him.

Because he suddenly wanted to end his own life.

"I'll show,"

He slowly turned around once more, and he saw, within a few feet from where he was standing, a lady dressed from head to foot in white. Her back was turned against him and she was pointing at something right in front of her.

"... you,..." she ended her sentence as her body seemed to spasm violently, showing some strands of blonde hair that escaped from her white lace veil.

Her body stopped moving, and a few moments later, she dropped her hand to the side and began walking towards the direction she was pointing at. V cautiously followed her, maintaining a safe distance away from her. He raised his cane a bit, preparing himself should this creature decide to attack him. Demons were predictable and easier to fight with, to be honest. They only want one thing from you, and that was your death and destruction.

But, ghosts were an entirely different thing, altogether.

And one can't simply get rid of them, Legendary Devil Hunter or no.

V looked down and realized she was barefooted. But, what really startled him the most was the way she moved.

Her toes were just gliding against the wooden floor. Like something unseen was pulling her from afar and manipulating her movements.

Her spasms, the way she pointed, and the way she glided,...

... it was like she was a life - sized marionette,...

She abruptly stopped moving and faced the third door to her right. She lifted an arm once more, her finger pointing at the doorknob.

This must be it. V thought. He cautiously stepped forward and turned the doorknob.

It clicked.

He opened the door wide enough and raised his cane, ready to summon Shadow should something attack him from the room.

But, there was none.

In fact, the room looked really nice. It even smelled nice, like an old perfume. He carefully stepped inside, his feet barely making any kind of noise. He stepped further and -

BAM!

V turned around and saw the door closed shut. The clicking sound that he heard right after sent his nerves to panic mode. He strode towards the door and tried to open it. But, to no avail.

He felt the tension within his skin as Shadow tried to materialize but, for some reason, she couldn't.

He clutched at his chest, his escalating heartbeat swiftly getting the better of him. He closed his eyes, trying his best to shove all the negative thoughts from his head. He opened them once more, and realized that his surroundings have drastically changed.

For the room, which was once dark and suffocating, has now turned bright, and new, and warm.

Like he was suddenly transported to a different place.

He looked around, his eyes wandering from one furniture to the next. The pastel - colored wallpapers looked relaxing to his eyes, and the French canopy bed was effectively doing its best to lull V in for a good night's rest. There were some large stuffed animals on the side and the white vanity table was filled with some cosmetics of some sort. He went towards it and saw his reflection on the wide ornate mirror. He took one bottle of perfume and sniffed it, realizing it was the sweet scent that wafted around the room. Carefully placing it back, he glanced at the window, curious as to what he would see should he part those heavy, pastel - colored curtains.

He stepped forward, one hand reaching out to move the curtain -

V turned around just in time as he heard the door open,...

... and in came a very beautiful girl with the most luscious set of long, (H/C) curls. She looked up, her large (E/C) - colored eyes landing right to where V was standing.

"I,... ah,..." The poet stuttered, not knowing how he would react to the situation or explain his treason to her own room. Like he was caught in the act doing something really mischievous in a lady's boudoir. "Forgive me, I - "

The fringe of her long (H/C) - colored eyelashes fluttered like the wings of a butterfly, and her little cupid, cherry - colored lips parted.

V's mouth dropped open at the sight.

She simply was breathtaking.

Unlike any woman he has seen before.

"I'm really sorry, I,..."

But, she was not even shocked at his presence there! What's more, she just closed the door, locked it, and proceeded to the bed, collapsing in it as she took a stuffed animal next to her pillows and embraced it as tight as she could, burying her face in it.

And then, as if she was upset at something, she literally screamed at the top of her lungs, her fluffy toy muffling the sound she made.

"Oh, my,..." V uttered as he watched her. "I - I'll take my leave now. I - "

The girl, then, threw the stuff animal away, showing her flushed face. Carefully removing her shoes and rearranging her white skirt, she crawled to the middle of her bed and reached for something underneath her white pillows with one hand.

Then, V saw it - a leather - bound book on her hand. She sat up, leaned against the headboard, and opened it. She took the pen next to a music box on top of her bed side table and began writing in the book.

With wary steps, he went closer to her. He gingerly sat on the edge of the bed, reached out his left hand, and waved it in front of her face.

He was right. She couldn't see him.

V sighed as he dropped his hand to his side and watched her scribble away on that journal of hers. Sometimes, she would simply stop writing and nibble on the pen, her eyebrows furrowing slightly. And oftentimes, she would brush away a wayward (H/C) lock and place it behind her ear. He found this mannerism of hers quite adorable, and when he was about to sit closer to her a few minutes later, she stopped writing, closed the book shut, held close to her chest and smiled, her cheeks turning pink once more. She, then, bowed down low, held the book against her forehead and shrieked, her feet flailing excitedly.

The poet chuckled at the sight. Well, it looked as though cupid has struck an arrow right through this girl's chest. She looked,... so in love. And blissful.

V watched a few more moments of her going back and forth on her writing until someone started knocking on the door.

The girl looked up in alarm and quickly hid the journal back beneath her mountain of pillows.

"My lady?" A woman called from the other side of the door. "Lady (Y/N)?"

(Y/N),...

Such,... a beautiful name. For a girl as lovely as her,...

"Yes?! You can come in!"

Oh, God. Even her voice sounded lovely and angelic,...

The door opened and in came a young woman with dark hair and equally dark eyes.

"What are you doing?" The lady asked.

"Nothing!" (Y/N) answered.

"What was that scream I heard?"

(Y/N)'s eyes widened as she slightly looked down at her pillows. "A scream?"

"Yes!"

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I' am!"

"Well, I heard nothing." (Y/N) candidly lied, making V smirk in amusement. How typical of girls her age,...

"Oh, never mind!" The lady, most probably a maidservant, waved a single hand. "Do come down. Your father is already waiting at the dining hall."

"Oh, shoot!" (Y/N) swore underneath her breath as she quickly scrambled off the bed and made her way towards her maidservant. She took a deep breath and brushed some invisible dirt off her white dress. "How do I look?"

"Adorable." V could not help but whisper.

"You look fine." The lady replied. "Let's go!"

(Y/N) smiled as she took the servant's hand and made their way outside, shutting the door close behind them and leaving V alone in the room.

Then, V felt the air leave his lungs as the room was plunged into total darkness. The things inside the room lost their color, and the sweet smell gradually changed into something that made him sick.

He closed his eyes, feeling the familiar heaviness in his chest return. And when he opened them once more, he suddenly found himself face to face with the same boy from earlier. The boy was peering down at him, not doing anything to help him ease the pain in his throat. And just when V was beginning to think that he was in, yet, another kind of illusion, he felt the boy's cold hand grip his right arm tightly, pulling him with much force in a gesture that managed to convey that it was time to leave.

"Wait." The poet said as he took his arm off the boy's deathly cold grip. He looked around him and recognized the same things that he saw earlier.

From the stuffed animals, to the bottles of perfume, to the curtain, to the French canopy bed he was sitting at.

This,... was, indeed, (Y/N)'s room.

His hand idly reached beneath the cold white pillows, and then he found it,...

... her diary. (Y/N)'s diary.

He took it out, felt a sense of relief to know that it was still in good condition, and stood, following the boy outside of the room. He was still looking at the curious little thing in his hand a few moments later as he went back down to the first floor when a thing so utterly frightening greeted him at the foot of the stairs.

With dark, frizzy hair sticking wildly like bushes and mouth wide open as she yawned, letting him see her tongue, uvula, throat, and beyond, he saw Nico as she stretched her limbs before him. V waited for her to finish stretching and yawning, and when her sight finally adjusted, she waved her hand at him.

"Ey, g'mornin'." She mumbled with a silly smile on her lips.

Wait,...

"Good morning?" V repeated.

Nico's eyes widened as she looked around her. V did so, and realized that it was, indeed, already morning! The sun outside looked as if it was already high above the sky and the house looked bright once more.

And an hour hasn't even passed since he went upstairs! And that was around half past ten in the evening!

"Well, yeah, duh." Nico only replied. "Where have ya been? Didn't see ya go to sleep or wake up."

"Hey!" V and Nico turned to see Avery already dressed and waiting for them at the dining hall. "Drag your asses here! Breakfast is ready!"

"Right! Comin'!" Nico answered as she walked towards the dining room like a zombie.

But, V remained rooted to the ground as realization came down upon him.

It only felt like minutes but,...

... it looked as though he was gone for more than eight hours!

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✒ @la-vita and @micaelagua . ✒

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