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amaranthhiding · 1 year

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Hiding Amaranth

SPN Fanfic Masterlist 1. Destiel + Samwena combined 2. Destiel only 3. Samwena only

1. Destiel + Samwena combined:

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Empty Earth

Words: 97,192 (WIP) Rating: not rated yet Relationships: Dean/Castiel, Sam/Rowena, Jack & Dean, Jack & Crowley Bang/Fest: none Tags: Canon Universe, Post-Ep 15x18, Epic, Plotty, Angst with Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Action, Adventure, Humor, Romance, Slow Burn, Rowena/Sam First Kiss, Consensual Possession, Angel True Forms, Empty Rescue, Witch Sam Winchester, Queen of Hell Rowena, Rebellion in Hell, Caring Rowena, Caring Crowley, Team Free Will 3.0 Point-of-View Characters: Dean, Sam, Jack, Castiel, Rowena, Crowley, Naomi, HunterCorp Dean, Michael, Kevin, Balthazar Summary: After Castiel's confession, Dean carries a spark of hope telling him this can't be the end. This spark is the strongest weapon for Dean, Sam and Jack in this final war. The enemy is God. The battlefield is an Earth devoid of humans, a Hell in rebellion, and a Heaven betrayed by its creator. And the stakes are everything and everyone they have ever cared about. Read on AO3 ✧ Excerpt ✧ Text Trailer ✧ Art1 ✧ Art2

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Map to Yesterday

Words: 23,003 (finished) Rating: Teen Relationships: Dean/Castiel, Sam/Rowena Bang/Fest: Dean/Cas Reverse Bang (2022) Tags: Canon Universe, Amnesia, Mass Amnesia on Team Free Will (including Rowena), Mystery, Magic, Road Trip, Recovery of Identity, Angst, Humor, Romance, Castiel/Dean First Kiss, Hurt/Comfort, Action, Adventure, Angel Wings, Trapped Together in a Small Space, Caring Rowena, Team Free Will 3.0 Point-of-View Characters: Dean Summary: Team Free Will wakes up with no memory of where they are, or who they are. Left with nothing but some foggy shreds of their identities, they have to rediscover themselves and each other—and team up to piece together what even happened. Read on AO3 ✧ Excerpt ✧ Text Trailer ✧ Art

More of my fics below the cut ("Destiel only" + "Samwena only" categories)

2. Destiel only:

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Indeana Jones and the Tear of Pele

Words: 32,679 (finished) Rating: Explicit Relationships: Dean/Castiel Bang/Fest: Dean/Cas Reverse Bang (2024)

Tags: Canon Universe, Post-Season-11, Beach Vacation, Adventure, Hawaiian Mythology, Humor, Angst with Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Magic, Mystery, Fallen Angel Castiel, Castiel's True Form, Mutual Pining, Idiots in Love, Dean in Denial, Dean Makes Up Ridiculous Excuses for Touch, Castiel and Dean Save Each Other Point-of-View Characters: Dean, Castiel Summary: What starts as a relaxing beach vacation in Hawai’i turns into a journey of self-discovery for Castiel and Dean.

To save the world from the Darkness, they both faced what they thought to be their imminent demise and came out the other side very much still alive. So now they have to ponder the really big questions, such as what a bucket list is, what place in the world a fallen angel has, and how Indiana Jones ever managed to keep that hat on his head.

The island seems to have a way of making the barrier of touch crumble to dust until they're sliding toward the edge of something new and fragile between them that neither of them dares to put a name to, lest it might disappear.

When what really disappears is Castiel, there's very little Dean wouldn't do to get the angel back.

Read on AO3 ✧ Excerpt ✧ Text Trailer ✧ Art

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Forest Fever

Words: 8,586 (finished) Rating: Explicit Relationships: Dean/Castiel, Dean & Castiel, Sam & Castiel Bang/Fest: Dean/Cas Stab Fest (2022) Tags: Canon Universe, Post-Ep 12x10, Monster of the Week, Case Fic - Lite, Hunting, Forests, Mystery (a little), Hallucinations, Angst with Happy Ending, Romance, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Castiel/Dean First Kiss, Castiel/Dean First Time Having Sex, Angel Grace, Team Free Will Point-of-View Characters: Dean, Sam Summary: After the crushing events of episode 12x10 "Lily Sunder Has Some Regrets", Castiel is low on grace and morale. In an attempt to restore at least one of these two, Sam and Dean take him on a hunt. Things start going wrong when Sam gets injured and Cas seemingly disappears. They get worse when Dean turns from hunter to prey for something feeling far more at home in this dark, rainy forest than he does. Read on AO3 ✧ Excerpt ✧ Text Trailer ✧ Art ✧ Making-Of

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The Little Issue with the Mission to Perdition

Words: 16,460 (finished) Rating: Teen Relationships: Dean/Castiel, Jack & Amara, Background Sam/Eileen Bang/Fest: Dean/Cas Reverse Bang (2023) Tags: Canon Universe, Post-Ep 15x19, Jack and Amara Try Fixing Things Together but Make Everything Worse, Jack and Amara Family Bonding, Empty Rescue, Angst with Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Castiel/Dean First Kiss, Team Free Will 3.0 Point-of-View Characters: Jack, Amara, Dean, Sam, Castiel Summary: Chuck is defeated and his power now belongs to Jack and Amara. They struggle with adjusting to their newly-shared existence, and with big questions such as, how can (almost) all-powerful beings avoid becoming what Chuck was?

What even is all that power good for when it doesn't allow Jack to save someone from the Empty who absolutely deserves being saved?

Who thought it was a good idea to hand all that power to two beings who, together, have spent less years on Earth than the average human child?

...And why is there suddenly black goo everywhere? Read on AO3 ✧ Excerpt ✧ Text Trailer ✧ Art

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Empty and (Un-)Out

Words: 2,666 (finished) Rating: Teen Relationships: Dean/Castiel Bang/Fest: none Tags: Canon Universe, Episode 15x18, Humor, Crack Treated Seriously, Misha's Un-Coming Out, Bishagate, The New York Post Article that Claimed Castiel Confessed to Sam, Castiel's Confession Scene, Castiel/Dean First Kiss Point-of-View Characters: Dean Summary: My (probably insane) way of dealing with Misha's un-coming out. Read on AO3 ✧ Excerpt ✧ Text Trailer ✧ Art

3. Samwena only:

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A Metal Pursued by the Witless

Words: 46,556 (finished) Rating: Explicit Relationships: Sam/Rowena, Sam & Rowena Bang/Fest: SPN RarePairTober (2022) (Prompt: "Fool's Gold") Tags: Canon Universe, Post-Ep 13x19, Magic, Witchcraft, Curses, Adventure, Action, Romance, Humor, Angst with Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Mutual Pining, Travel to Exotic Location Point-of-View Characters: Sam, Rowena, Dean Summary: Rowena shows up at the bunker after she has been targeted by a lethal curse with the sole goal of destroying her. Under the shadow of this ticking timer of doom, she and Sam are left with a handful of days to prevent a slow, painful death. The search for a cure sees them on a last-minute flight to Central America. (Or my attempt to escape the cold and gray of real-life winter by traveling to faraway places in my mind.) Read on AO3 ✧ Excerpt ✧ Text Trailer ✧ Art1 ✧ Art2

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Regarding Sam

Words: 7,292 (finished) Rating: Teen Relationships: Sam/Rowena, Rowena & Amnesiac Dean Bang/Fest: Sam Winchester Rare Ships Week (2023) (Day 6: Missing Scene / Episode Tag)

Tags: Canon Universe, Episode 12x11, Missing Scenes, Angst with Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Life-or-Death Stakes, Magic, Witches, Rowena Realizes She Cares, Pre-Relationship, Sam Being a Prisoner, Amnesiac Dean Being Chaotic, Humor

Point-of-View Characters: Rowena

Summary: When they hear Sam's blood-curdling scream over the phone, Rowena is far more affected than she thought possible. She has to make up her mind whether or not to turn her back on the Winchesters in their dire need—and how far exactly she'll go to save them. (Or my version of what happened in episode 12x11 between Sam's scream and the moment we see Dean wake up in the Impala, plus two additional new scenes at other blank spaces where the episode faded to black. And all of that from Rowena's point of view!) Read on AO3 ✧ Excerpt ✧ Text Trailer ✧ Art

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Dibs on Samuel

Words: 2,194 (finished) Rating: Teen Relationships: Sam/Rowena Bang/Fest: SPN Royalty of Hell Weekend (2023) (Day 2: Queen of Hell) Tags: Canon Universe, Episode 15x08, Rowena/Sam First Kiss, Angst with Happy Ending, Angst and Romance, Hurt/Comfort, Ruler of Hell Rowena, Sam Using Magic Point-of-View Characters: Sam Summary: Now that the fact had sunken in that Rowena wasn't gone forever, that she was only a spell away, he couldn't let it go. He had to return to Hell. Read on AO3 ✧ Excerpt ✧ Text Trailer ✧ Art

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impalafortrenchcoats · 6 years

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tomorrow never came

Author: impalafortrenchcoats

AO3: Link

Chapter: 2/?

Summary:

A look at Hogwarts and the battle for it through the eyes of the students who lived and loved there.

A BTS/Harry Potter Fusion no one asked for, nor wanted.

Ships: Namjin, Yoonseok/Sope, Jikook/Kookmin, VMinKook

Category: Harry Potter AU, Young Love, Angst, Some Fluff, Battle of Hogwarts

Chapter Wordcount: 6,284

Other Chapters: Part 1/ Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5

Excerpt:

“But, you know what? Yoongi thinks you’re worth the hassle, okay?”

Namjoon continued to stare.

“And I think you’re pretty cool, too. You listened to me go on about Mario and still wanted to play. You’re a weirdo. And I’m awkward. But I like you. So I think you’re worth it, too. Okay? Nod if you understand.”

Namjoon nodded, eyes glistening slightly.

“So, I’m saying it again and I really, really mean it now. You are my friend, Namjoon. And that means I'm going to be here, whether you like it or not. And as Yoongi would put it, fuck the houses .”

Namjoon gave a little choked laugh. Seokjin couldn’t help but lean in to hug him.

“You might be stubborn, Namjoon, but I’ll have you know I’m pretty stubborn, too. I already decided. I’ll always be here for you, okay?”

It took a few seconds, but eventually he heard Namjoon whisper, “Okay.”

CHAPTER 2

September 1, 1991: Hogwarts Express

Seokjin Kim knew his life was over.

He huddled on the floor of the empty compartment because crying while seated on the actual seats did not satisfy his current level of woe. He was only eleven, but never had he been more certain of a fact than now. His life was over .

The entire morning was a horrible blur of dramatic screaming, mostly on his part, as he clung to his Nintendo Super Comboy and locked himself in his room, all the while ignoring his parents as they alternated between pleading and demanding his cooperation.

If someone had been passing the Kim residence that morning, many interesting exclamations would have been heard.

Things like: “I don't want to be a wizard, Dad!”

And: “Mario isn't a wizard!”

And: “I want to be plumber!”

He vaguely remembered screaming those along with a litany of other nonsense, he’d admit to that. Okay. It was not one of his finest moments.

However, he felt it was justified considering how his family had literally railroaded him into wizard boarding school with almost no consideration for his social life. Sure, magic was cool. But who was going to play Super Mario World with him? He knew how these things worked, incoming witches and wizards generally fit into two categories: 1. Muggleborns or half-bloods who were raised closer to their muggle roots and were going to be too in-awe of the new environment to appreciate the good old simple fun from their world or 2. Purebloods and those already extensively exposed to magic and would have literally no clue what was happening in the muggle world, particularly in the matter of technology.

Seokjin was both fortunate and unfortunate enough to fall into an odd median between the two. While his father was a pureblood wizard of respectable lineage, he had also inherited the rebellious streak from his own father, who had emigrated from Korea in lieu of continuing the family trade as mediwizards, a respectable career for a Chungin class wizard (Seokjin never understood the class division of the Korean Wizarding World, much like he didn't understand the obsession with blood purity here in the U.K.). In any case, Seokjin’s father had taken rebellion one step further and had not only married a muggle woman but had also chosen a mundane career path as a baker.

That was not to say his upbringing was completely devoid of magic. His father had maintained close ties with their family back in Korea, and Seokjin had spent many a happy summer there.

However, one momentous event last year had taken his life on a whole new path. For his 10th birthday, his uncle, while on business in Korea, had managed to pick up a revolutionary game system, the Nintendo Super Comboy.

And his young life was forever changed.

He swore his allegiance to the magnificence that was Mario and the rest of the adorable pixelated crew in Super Mario World, and that was the end of that.

It may have taken several months of groveling on his uncle’s part, but his mother was now on speaking terms with her brother again, so Seokjin figured no harm no foul.

On one hand, yes he was borderline obsessed with the game system, but on the other, he finally had something that helped him connect with the neighborhood muggles his age. Finally, there was something that overcame even his eternal awkwardness, and over the past year, Seokjin could finally say he had a relatively close group of friends. Heck, he would even call Ken, a boy on his block, his best friend.

But now, all that came crashing down. His adventures in Mario’s world with his real life friends were over. Now, he had to start over from scratch, and with witches and wizards.

There was no hope.

His one consolation was that, as an olive branch (and last resort on his father’s part) for peace and his cooperation, he was able to bring his newly magicked Nintendo Super Comboy with him.

At least he would still have Mario.

Speaking of which, he might as well distract himself from his imminent social ostracization with some artificial friends. There will be plenty of time for intensive boyhood pains and feeling sorry for himself later.

However, just as he reached into his pouch containing the Comboy, which his father had also been kind enough to cast an Undetectable Extension Charm on, the door to his compartment slid open with a loud bang to reveal two boys his age.

Seokjin could feel his eyes blinking rapidly, a terrible nervous habit he’d never been able to break. Bloody hell. He wasn't supposed to let anyone know about the pouch, but here he was, shoulders deep in the bag.

His dad was going to kill him.

Both the newcomers silently stared at him. He'd give them a pass. He sure wouldn't know what to do if he were to open a door and come face to face with a sorry looking kid huddling on the floor of a train compartment, half inside a small pouch, face still probably covered in dried tear stains, blinking aggressively.

His whole life was awkward. His father killing him would be merciful.

“Can I help you?” he asked, because his mother raised him better.

The tall, lankier one was the first to answer, although his eyebrows were furrowed in confusion, “Do you mind if we sit here? Everyone up front seems to be making a ruckus about some student being here. It was getting too noisy.”

The whole time Lanky was talking, his friend, a pale, waif-like boy, was giving both Seokjin and his companion extremely dubious looks, like he couldn't decide whether or not he should remain in either of their presence any longer.

“No, go right ahead. There's no one else in here. Except me, I mean. I'm here. Just me.”

“Okay… yeah.” Lanky slid into the room after a short pause, cautiously easing into the bench across from Seokjin.

His friend was a little more reluctant to enter. He turned to look down the train, as if deciding between the pros and cons of going to find another compartment, but ultimately seemed to decide against it as he heaved an impressive sigh and stomped in to collapse next to his friend. He was certainly an interesting character, since the second his butt made contact with the seat, all energy seemed to leak out of him, leaving just enough for him to lazily lift a leg and ease the door close with his foot.

There was an awkward silence. Well, correction, Seokjin was awkward, Lanky was clearly uncomfortable, and Lumpy seemed perfectly fine once he’d melted into the seat. In fact, Seokjin wasn't even sure if he was even awake anymore. Wow. That was fast.

Which was why he jumped and almost dropped the Comboy he was finally pulling out when Lumpy broke the silence, apparently not asleep like he’d thought, “Why are you sitting on the floor?”

Well, here was his chance. New place, new people, new Seokjin Kim.

‘Seokjin-ah, you can do it,’ he thought to himself. ‘Don't be weird. Short and sweet is the way to go.’

But instead, he opened his mouth and cemented his lot in life, “Well, you see, I'm going through a bit of a tough spot right now. My life is over, and I just didn't feel that I could really enjoy the seat properly, and the floor felt like a much better place to mope. Just mope. Not cry. I wasn’t crying. I could move to the seat if it bothers you.”

“I really don't give a shit what you do, mate. I was just asking ‘cause this idiot’s dying to know, but won't ask you until it's too late, and I can't sleep while he’s fidgeting.”

Seokjin honestly didn't have a response for that.

The boy didn't bother to open his eyes as he continued, “Now that that’s out of the way, I'm going to take my nap, now. Don't either of you talk to me until we get to the school or food comes. We good? Good.”

He then proceeded to further melt into his seat and slip into oblivion.

Glancing over to Lanky, Seokjin was slightly comforted to see the boy staring in shocked horror at his friend.

“Is he always like that?”

“Yeah. Pretty much.” He looked back Seokjin. “I'm Kim - I mean, I'm Namjoon Kim, by the way, and he's Yoongi Min. Sorry about… actually, I have no idea what I'm apologizing for, but I feel like I should…”

“I'm Seokjin Kim. And if anything I should apologize.”

“For?”

“I don't know? Sitting on the floor? Being awkward?”

“Well, if we all go through life trying to live up to the expectations of society, that would be a whole lot of extra work, wouldn't it?”

Seokjin silently stared at the boy, who had just said what he did with a completely straight face.

‘What?’ he thought.

“What?” he said after a moment’s consideration.

The boy — his name was Namjoon, Seokjin tried to remind himself — gave a little uncomfortable wriggle in his seat before answering, “I mean, I'm sure you have a perfectly good reason why you're sitting on the floor. I don't know your situation so who am I to judge what you're doing.”

“Huh.” Seokjin continued to inspect Namjoon. He came to a very solid conclusion. “You're an odd one, aren't you?”

“Yoongi always said that I don't know when to stop and that I should probably learn to shut the fuck up.”

“Your friend sounds like a real charmer.”

“He grows on you.”

“Like fungus, I'm sure.”

The other boy only shrugged nonchalantly in response.

Another silence fell over the compartment, although this time it was slightly less awkward than before. Namjoon was fiddling with the hem of his robes, which were a nice change from the usual attire of British wizards. Seokjin noticed the similarity of the two boys’ clothes and those worn by the boys in his grandparents’ neighborhood, so he assumed the boys weren’t locals. Not to mention he’d noticed Namjoon’s earlier slip in starting the introduction with his surname.

He wondered about how to start up a conversation when it came to him. He immediately perked up and beamed brightly at Namjoon.

“Speaking of mushrooms, you want to see something cool?”

And that was the end of that. At some point over the next few hours, Seokjin finally pulled himself off of the floor and onto a seat, and Namjoon had slowly migrated from the increasingly squashed seat, as the sleeping Yoongi began to ooze over and claim more of the bench, to sit next to Seokjin. Both boys were deeply immersed in the game as Seokjin struggled to advance in the level while simultaneously answering the myriad of questions Namjoon threw his way.

They worked through a rough patch earlier when a still confused Namjoon had scoffed at the game, and the threat of a resurgence of waterworks from Seokjin ended that train of thought rather quickly.

They hit another bump in the road to Mario when Namjoon tried to apply some overly philosophical meaning to the pixelated characters. Seokjin nipped that at the bud with a deadpanned, “Sometimes a goomba is just a goomba, Namjoon.”

Eventually, they settled into a comfortable pattern which alternated between discussing gameplay and story, Seokjin slapping a bruise into Namjoon’s shoulder whenever Namjoon managed to wrangle the controls from him, and talking about themselves whenever activities permitted.

By the time the food cart rolled around, Seokjin knew that Namjoon came from a relatively affluent family, who were pretty active in politics as was expected of those in the Yangban class in Korea. He and Yoongi were both sent to study at Hogwarts rather than somewhere closer to home as a means to increase their families’ relations abroad. However, despite both being from the same class, from what Seokjin could make of what wasn't being said, Yoongi was from either a branch family or something of the sort and was from a completely different economic background than Namjoon.

In spite of this possible point of contention, both boys had grown up together and remained close friends. Based on this, Seokjin decided he was going to give the prickly character a chance, first impression notwithstanding.

As for Yoongi, it was almost magical how the second the creaking of the food cart was barely audible from their compartment, his eyes eased open without necessitating any involvement from the compartment’s other occupants.

However, Seokjin couldn't help but note with some trepidation that the casual malaise that seemed to cling to the boy’s every movement was contrasted by the sharp gleam in his eyes as he took in the sight of Seokjin and Namjoon huddling over the game.

Not that Seokjin was intimidated or anything.

Maybe just a little.

“Oh, good. Yoongi, you're up.” Namjoon noted, still keeping an eye on the characters and waiting for the next chance to grab the controller.

“You made a friend.” Yoongi’s tone could be considered disbelief, if one overlooked the lazy drawl.

Namjoon looked over and glared in response. Seokjin didn't voice it aloud, just to save his new friend some dignity, but the pout he was throwing at the boy across from him was more on the cute end of the spectrum. He hoped he wasn't aiming for stern.

He failed miserably if he was.

“Shut up. I could make friends. Seokjin, tell him you're my friend.”

“Um… I'm his friend,” Seokjin obliged.

Okay, now the look that Yoongi was throwing their way was just plain rude.

Seokjin raised his eyebrows back at the boy and stared, for a lack of a better response. Ha, that should show him. Seokjin totally had a handle on the situation. He’d never lost a staring contest in his life, and Yoongi had another thing coming if he thought he was starting today.

Of course, the traitor, Namjoon, took his momentary distraction as an invitation to reclaim the controller.

No, just no. Not happening.

The following scuffle was not going to win him any cool points with Namjoon’s judgmental shadow, but this was his game, okay?

And since the universe apparently had it out for him, he was in the middle of contemplating biting Namjoon’s hand because the boy was just that persistent, when the compartment door slid open again, this time revealing the round face of a boy their age. Everyone froze — well, Yoongi wasn't really moving to begin with — and stared at the newcomer.

While he was clearly shocked silent by the hectic scene inside the compartment, it was still clear that the boy was also rather distressed by the barely concealed tears in his eyes.

“You need something?” Yoongi’s gruff voice broke the silence.

Seokjin sent him a stink eye, not that he thought Yoongi cared, but would it kill him to have a heart?

The boy at the door seemed to wilt under their collective gazes but still managed to ask, “Have you seen a toad? My toad’s run off, again, and I can't find him anywhere.”

“Sorry,” Seokjin hurriedly answered before Yoongi could open his mouth. Who knows what kind of remarks would come out if he did. “We haven't seen any toads.”

“Oh,” the boy deflated even more, “I'll just keep looking.”

“Actually, you want some help with that,” Yoongi asked.

Seokjin stared at him in surprise.

“Yeah, Namjoon here loses stuff all the time. He's got plenty of experience looking for shit. He wouldn't mind helping you out, right, Namjoon? Oh, and, Namjoon, you mind grabbing me something from the food cart while you're at it? Something sweet. I don't care what.”

Of course.

It didn't surprise Seokjin when Namjoon stood to do just that with only a wary glare thrown Yoongi’s way.

As Namjoon ushered the boy out the doorway and off to who knows where, Seokjin managed to catch part of their conversation. The new boy was obviously still unsure about the turn of events.

“You really don't have to do this! I’ll just keep looking. Trevor usually turns up on his own. Um, I'm Neville Longbottom, by the way,” the boy said, his voice fading as they wandered away from the compartment.

Inside, however, the atmosphere abruptly turned cold. Yoongi didn't move, but the entire weight of his gaze fell on Seokjin. And with no Namjoon as a distraction, Seokjin was left wide eyed and clutching his controller.

“Look. I don't know you, but Namjoon? I think you’ve talked with him enough to realize some things, right?”

“He takes Mario way too seriously?”

Yoongi just raised his eyebrow before continuing, “I don't know how things work for you British wizards, but back home things aren't so straightforward. Did Namjoon mention his family?”

“Not really, but I guess they’re something of a big deal? You guys are Yangban , right?”

“Mm-hm. So, consider this a warning, this whole thing, coming to Hogwarts, studying abroad, was Namjoon’s idea, his father doesn't really approve of this. And he sure as hell isn’t going to approve of you.”

Seokjin began to bristle at this, “So are you telling me I can't be friends with him? Because you can take that and shove it — ”

Yoongi gave a short laugh, “No. I'm giving you a warning. Namjoon’s a lot more sensitive than he looks, and I just don't want to deal with the shitstorm later when things go to shit because some pansy-ass decides that there are easier things to do than be friends with a Yangban politician’s son.”

Seokjin stared for a moment.

He wanted to open his mouth and refute the implied accusation.

But the thing was, Seokjin had been to Korea enough times to get the gist of what Yoongi was saying. He had seen firsthand the unspoken but strictly upheld social expectations. He had heard rumors, more horror stories really, of what happens to those who crossed those of higher power. And ultimately, that was all it was, here it was all about blood purity, but there it was about class power. Both were something completely out of people’s control and Seokjin didn't understand it.

He knew himself. He wasn't complicated, and what he wanted was simply a comfortable existence. Conflict was difficult to avoid, of course, but he always tried his best to avoid situations that increased the likelihood.

Situations like these.

Namjoon apparently was going to throw a wrench in his plans for quietly powering through Hogwarts and bailing the second h e graduated.

But here, Yoongi was giving him an out.

Seokjin studied the boy for a moment. He was speaking from experience, Seokjin was sure. There would be consequences to being of an elite class without the financial backings expected of it. He was sure the other boy didn't have it easy either, but he still managed to maintain a friendship with Namjoon.

Suddenly, a wave of some unnamed emotion shook him as he really took in the situation. He thought of his grandfather and what he must have been thinking when he left his home. He thought of his father and mother for some odd reason.

In the end he thought about Yoongi, and he was grateful. Yeah, he could see why Namjoon liked him, in all his prickly glory.

Instead of answering, Seokjin reached into his pouch and pulled out his lunch boxes — his mom knew he was a bottomless pit.

“You want some ddeokpokki?” he asked.

“What?”

“It's really good. Mom always adds octopus because I said fish cakes alone were boring.”

The confusion on Yoongi’s face was the most expressive he’d been all day.

He took a moment to digest what Seokjin said before opening his mouth and trying again, “What?”

“You told Namjoon to get something sweet. The cart lady only has snacks, I should know, I made dad tell me all about the food here. You shouldn't eat sweets on an empty stomach. So, you want some ddeokpokki? I think I have some sandwiches, too.”

Yoongi blinked at him, “Did you not hear anything I just said? What the fuck, mate?”

“Of course I did. I just assume you and Namjoon are going to be a packaged deal. And you're too skinny anyway. Also, did you know you curse a lot?”

Yoongi stared at him.

He let the Yoongi mull things over and busied himself looking for some utensils. They were going to have to share the chopsticks, he guessed.

“What kind of sandwiches do you have?” Yoongi asked finally.

Seokjin smiled and happily went about describing his lunch.

By the time Namjoon got back, Yoongi was munching away at the ddeokpokki, while Seokjin was sulking with the sandwiches. He only offered someof the rice cakes, not all. Yoongi chose to deliberately ignore his attempts at reclaiming them.

“Did you get my sweets?” Yoongi asked.

“Did you find his toad?” Seokjin followed with what he felt was a much more pertinent question.

Rather than respond, Namjoon chucked two pumpkin pastries and a chocolate frog at Yoongi’s head. Only a pastry made contact but bounced harmless off the side of the boy’s head. Yoongi squinted at Namjoon, eyes promising future retribution.

Namjoon ignored him. Although he did throw a few odd looks between Yoongi, Seokjin, and the extra food.

“We didn't find the toad, but we ran into some girl who insisted on helping out. So I left Neville with her and came back,” he said, finally.

“That's too bad. I hope he finds his toad soon,” Seokjin said. “You want a sandwich? I would offer ddeokpokki but some people don't know the meaning of the word ‘share’.”

Yoongi didn't even bother to acknowledge his statement.

As for Namjoon, he continued to look back and forth between the two boys, “So… that's it?”

“What’s it? I have some gamja-jorim, but mom didn't pack a lot of side dishes.”

“No, I mean…” Namjoon trailed off and glanced over at Yoongi.

Yoongi just shook his head, “You can't have the ddeokpokki.”

“Yes, he can! It’s not yours, anyway.”

With purposefully slow movement, Yoongi picked up a rice cake and stuffed the entire thing in his mouth while holding eye contact with Seokjin.

The asshole.

If anything, Namjoon looked more confused by the interaction, “No, I meant to say, what are — ”

He stopped as abruptly as he started, still giving them odd looks. Then he just shrugged and slumped back in his seat.

“You know what? Never mind. Can I have a sandwich?”

Seokjin handed him one, and that was the end of that.

The rest of the train ride was a relatively quiet one, although much more comfortable than before. Yoongi was even kind enough to share a pumpkin pastry with Seokjin and Namjoon, although that may have had to do more with taking the opportunity to hit the lightly dozing Namjoon in the face with the sweet.

The girl who had helped Neville earlier had stopped by at some point and reminded them to change into their school robes, which they did with little complaint.

By the time they were struggling into the rickety little boats that were supposed to carry them to the school, Seokjin would say that he had a relatively solid understanding of the two other boys and would happily call them both friends.

Their boat ended up being only the three of them, since Seokjin was sitting next to Namjoon, and Yoongi just glared at anyone who dared approach him.

And when their boat rounded the bend in the lake and the entirety of the castle became visible, Seokjin had to grudgingly give it to his dad; Hogwarts was pretty cool.

It also gave him a good chance to study Namjoon’s dimples as he took in the sight.

On the other hand, the castle quickly lost points once they were off the boats and were lined up to enter the castle. Seokjin promised himself he would apologize to Namjoon later for the bruises on his arm and the ringing in his ears, when he screamed and latched onto the boy as the ghosts came through the wall to observe the First Years.

He wouldn't be holding his breath for Yoongi’s apology for the scratches on his and Namjoon’s backs from the same incident, though. He was just grateful the other boy didn't rip their school robes in his fright.

When the bustling of the students died down and they were finally ushered into the Great Hall, Seokjin was only mildly surprised to hear it was going to be a hat that was sorting them into their respective houses. His father did mention that the sorting process wasn't going to be anything taxing or painful, unlike what the rumors implied.

What he was surprised with was the hat’s singing. But before they knew it, names were being called and one by one the students sat down on the stool, and when their houses were announced, went to their respective tables.

It was only when Professor McGonagall called, “Kim, Namjoon,” that Seokjin realized he was still clinging onto the other boy’s arm.

He quickly let go, but automatically straightened Namjoon’s robes before backing off and letting the boy make his way to the center of the hall.

It was a few long minutes before the crease in the hat opened and called, “ Slytherin !”

Seokjin was probably the only unsorted student who was clapping along with the students at the green table. Yoongi rolled his eyes at his antics, but he didn't pay the spoilsport any mind. He wanted to show his support. Namjoon was still his first friend at Hogwarts, after all.

And he knew to appreciate Mario.

He didn't have too much time to cheer, since as soon as Namjoon was seated, a sharp call rang for, “Kim, Seokjin.”

Seokjin quickly made his way over, only pausing to smile shakily at Yoongi.

Once seated, the hat was quickly settled over his head, obscuring his view of the hall.

“Ha! Not too keen on Hogwarts, are you? Well, can't say this is a first, but definitely not something I've seen all too often,” he heard the hat’s voice in his head.

“I’m sorry. If it's any consolation, I wouldn't have been happy with any wizarding school.” He hoped he hadn't hurt the hat’s feelings… did hats have feelings? Surely a singing one would have some level of sentience.

The hat chuckled, “No harm done, child. You didn't want to leave your friends, isn't that right? It's good to see one with a level of conscientiousness. Now where to put you, hm?”

Seokjin didn't know what to say, but he thought of Namjoon and Yoongi. He didn't care where he ended up, but they were his friends and since he’d decided it, he was going to keep them. So it didn't really matter which house he was in, he was going to make it work.

“A tenacious one, aren't you? Keeping friendships between houses won't be an easy task. It will mean a lot of hardships.”

Seokjin shook his head slightly. He didn't care. He knew it was going to be hard work from the beginning. Yoongi even warned him.

“So be it. In that case, better be-”

“ Hufflepuff !” The hat called out.

He quickly took off the hat and gingerly placed it back on the stool. As he was making his way over to the Hufflepuff’s table, he tried catching Namjoon’s eye, but the other boy was staring hard at the plate in front of him.

‘What's wrong with him,’ Seokjin wondered. He kept trying to get Namjoon’s attention until he heard Yoongi’s name being called.

“Min, Yoongi.”

It would be a lie to say he wasn't shocked when the hat barely touched Yoongi’s head before calling out, “ Huffepuff !”

Yoongi frowned the whole way over to Seokjin. It was much less shocking when he all but shoved over a boy already seated next to Seokjin to make room for himself.

Seokjin debated apologizing to the other Hufflepuff, Justin Finch-Fletchley, but gave that idea up when Yoongi crowded his personal space to squint aggressively in his face.

“We have a problem.”

“Yeah. You've killed my personal space bubble. Please back off, Yoongi. I can't take you seriously when you're this close.”

Yoongi did sit back a bit, but his squint was all the more intense, “This is all your fault.”

“Wait, what's the problem exactly?” He thought about what Yoongi said for a moment and added, “And how is it my fault?”

“Why the hell am I in Hufflepuff!”

“How should I know? Wait, was that a rhetorical question?”

“That wasn't a question. This is me explaining the problem to you. I am here. That's not suppose to happen. The only reason I went along with this whole thing was to look out for Namjoon. You don't understand. I don't care how many tests say he's a certified genius, that idiot is a fucking dumbass. I can't watch his sorry ass if I'm stuck over here!”

“You know, it's probably thoughts like that that landed you in Hufflepuff.”

“What?”

“Weren't you listening to the hat?”

“It’s a fucking singing hat!”

“Well, it was singing for a reason! Hardworking and loyal, Yoongi. Those are the traits of Hufflepuff. You were probably all worried about Namjoon. No wonder the hat sorted you so quickly.”

Yoongi stared at him for a minute before uttering a very vehement, “Fuck!”

Seokjin was just about to bring up Yoongi’s unnecessary excess use of expletives again when all around them loud excited whispers broke out. He and Yoongi looked around in confusion before he caught the Macmillan kid saying, “Is that really Harry Potter?”

He turned just in time to see the dark tuft of hair on a small figure disappear under the sorting hat.

“Huh,” he said, mostly to himself, “I forgot he was starting school this year.”

“Who's that? Is he famous or something? They were making a big fuss about him earlier on the train.”

“Oh, yeah. I forgot you and Namjoon aren't from around here.”

“So, he's famous?”

“That's an understatement. I'll tell you guys later. Now, about Namjoon, I don't think you're giving him enough credit. The hat put him there for a reason. I'm sure he'll do fine.”

“You have no idea. He’s known as the God of Destruction back home for a reason.”

“Okay. You're going to have to tell me the story behind that later, but what are you so worried about. He still has us. We’re just in different houses, not planets.”

Yoongi gave him a blank stare, “You sure he knows that?”

Seokjin eyes widened in surprise, “What? Yes! He should — I mean — we were…”

He looked over at the Slytherin table where Namjoon was clearly ignoring them.

Seokjin felt his whole face pinch into what he could only assume was an expression of complete and utter dismay.

“That fucking dumbass!”

Yoongi reached over and patted him on the back, “Welcome to the club.”

And so it was that while the rest of the student body began to belt out Hoggy Warty Hogwarts , Seokjin occupied himself by glaring holes into the back of Namjoon’s head. Yoongi was seemingly too busy judging the entire British wizarding world to sing along with everyone.

Dinner came and went, and the students were told to follow the prefects to their dormitories. Seokjin couldn’t help but feel an odd sense of emptiness while taking in the sight of Namjoon as he continued to avoid looking at the two of them.

This simply would not do.

As a public service announcement, it should be noted that two very determined Hufflepuffs on a mission were a terrifying sight to behold.

It took one week and several hours of stalking later, but Yoongi and Seokjin were finally able to corner Namjoon. Although, they had a slight hitch in their plans when one of the Slytherins, a Theodore Nott, had taken it as a personal slight that two seemingly inoffensive first-year Hufflepuffs had the gall to attempt to abscond with one of his housemates. The entire thing came to head in an unfortunately public setting.

One thing was made readily clear from the encounter: Pureblood children were not often faced with good-old, physical threats in a schoolyard confrontation.

What Yoongi lacked in physicality, he made up for in pure, rage-fueled ferocity. He fought like a berserker with nothing to lose.

Seokjin, being a loyal and conscientious friend, made sure to hold onto Yoongi’s wand and cloak for safekeeping as Yoongi single-handedly destroyed all preconceptions about House Hufflepuff in one vicious swoop, colorful profanity and all.

Fortunately, the incident was largely swept under the rug by both parties present, mainly due to mutually assured shame.

The Hufflepuffs were simply not ready to have their peaceful reputation so utterly tarnished, while the Slytherins simply couldn't admit defeat to the badgers, and first years no less.

And, yet, despite the embarrassment from the entire fiasco, Namjoon remained mulishly doubtful of the sincerity of their friendship. It took some effort on Seokjin’s part not to allow Yoongi to beat some sense into their idiot friend, but the time of violence was over. Also, Seokjin wasn't really sure how effective the physical persuasion would be with someone who actually grew up with Yoongi.

He mentioned as much to his still fuming housemate, and Yoongi responded with a loud, “Well, you talk to him! I'm out!”

Yoongi emphatically grabbed both his robe and wand back from Seokjin and proceeded to storm away, leaving in his wake a hallway full of petrified Hufflepuffs, not all of whom were first years.

Seokjin took Namjoon’s momentary distraction by Yoongi’s dramatic exit as a good opportunity to take him by the hand and drag him away to a more secluded area. They ended up in an empty classroom, where Seokjin immediately shoved Namjoon into a chair and all but sat on him to get him to stay.

He made a point to look directly into the taller boy’s eyes as he spoke, “Namjoon, listen to me, okay? I'm not smart like you, and I don't have a way with words like you, so don't expect anything fancy, but you are going to listen to what I have to say. Understood?”

Namjoon nodded at him, probably shocked silent by his forward approach.

“You asked me to tell Yoongi that I was your friend when we were on the train, remember?”

Namjoon nodded again, blushing slightly at the reminder.

“I have to admit, I probably didn't really mean it at the time, because you know, that's a weird request and all. But, after you left, you know what Yoongi told me?”

Namjoon shook his head.

“He said that being your friend was a hassle. And he's right. You are a problem and a half, Namjoon. You're stubborn, too smart for your own good, and without enough common sense to figure your way around people. Your family is going to hate my guts, probably more than they do Yoongi’s. And you don’t even have the decency to appreciate this.”

Namjoon only stared at him. Seokjin continued before the other boy could process his words enough to be hurt.

“But, you know what? Yoongi thinks you’re worth the hassle, okay?”

Namjoon continued to stare.

Namjoon nodded, eyes glistening slightly.

Namjoon gave a little choked laugh. Seokjin couldn’t help but lean in to hug him.

“You might be stubborn, Namjoon, but I’ll have you know I’m pretty stubborn, too. I already decided. I’ll always be here for you, okay?”

It took a few seconds, but eventually he heard Namjoon whisper, “Okay.”

Seokjin smiled and released...

… a breath he didn't realized he was holding.

He didn’t know how much time had passed, how long he had been lost in memory.

It was good, he thought to himself.

Not always, of course, but it had been really good. He was lucky to have them, his friends. They were all stupid, idiot goof-balls, but they were his, and he wouldn't change any second of it even knowing the end. It was probably him being naive, but Seokjin couldn’t work up the slightest doubt that it had all been worth it.

He got to say good-bye, even.

Who knew how many were lucky enough to get even that. He wanted more, though. He wished he had said something to Yoongi and Jimin before running off, but at least he was sure Yoongi understood. And the younger boys, Merlin, he hoped they were all okay. But, Taehyung and Hoseok weren’t even in a house with anyone else.

Please, please, please, don’t let them do anything stupid.

At least with Jungkook, Seokjin was certain that Namjoon wouldn’t have run off without making sure the youngest in their group was safe.

And, Namjoon. Seokjin bit his lips as he tried to ignore the pangs of guilt. He never intended to break his promise.

Maybe someday Namjoon will forgive him.

Special thanks to allourheroes for cleaning up my writing mess.

#bts #bangtan #bts fic #namjin #jikook #kookmin #yoonseok #sope #kim namjoon #kim seokjin #min yoongi #jung hoseok #park jimin #kim taehyung #jeon jungkook #my fanfic #myfanfic #fic: tomorrow never came

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ncfan-1 · 7 years

Text

just beneath the surface

There had never been space in Nomi's life for curiosity before, so when she came to Ossus, she found little way to stem it.

So, this is a fic that I had been planning for May the Fourth, but that got canned because A) my computer still wasn’t working at the time, and B) I just flat-out was never gonna get it done by May Fourth. I hope you enjoy it now.

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All her life, Nomi Da-Boda Sunrider had sought after a certain measure of peace in her life. Childhood had not given her peace; instead, it had given her struggle and bare subsistence. Her marriage had not given her peace; not even life on Ambria had granted her peace, by the end. Not to say that she had found life without peace totally valueless. Though she wished, more than once, that she could have taken back her sorrow, erased it from the fabric of the universe, she could no more forget her sorrow than she could her joy; the two were simply interwoven too tightly. But peace? For years, Nomi had wished for nothing more, had scrabbled for it, and had never held it for long.

Then, Master Thon took her and Vima to Ossus, and suddenly, Nomi had peace in abundance. Here, there were skies clear of predators or hostile ships. Here, there was soft grass under her feet and a cool breeze on her skin, devoid of dust. The air was clear. There was no pollution, no smog to mar the perfect blue sky. There was no bitter tang of fear.

Above all else, there was the Force. Nomi was less afraid to explore it here than she had been on Ambria, on a world where there was no native Dark Side corruption; there was nothing to make her quail from exploring what mysteries she could discern with her own power. But there was a limit to her knowledge, and Nomi found herself more and more curious about the history of the Order she had joined.

“You did not hear tales of the Jedi as a child?” Shoaneb Culu asked her, her low, slightly grainy voice betraying only the slightest hint of surprise. They had taken to one of the many staircases leading up and down from the various buildings in the Jedi community to talk, sitting on the stairs while Vima played on the grass down below. In the short time Nomi had known the young Miraluka, she’d not once heard Shoaneb lift her voice beyond quiet tones, nor heard it flavored with emotion stronger than a gentle breeze. She just seemed to have a natural calm about her that Nomi couldn’t begin to match.

Nomi shook her head, then said, when she remembered that Shoaneb was unlikely to have picked up on the gesture, “I grew up on a world beyond the Rim. The most I ever heard of the Jedi were stories about warriors with laser swords. They never spoke of the Force; the closest I ever heard was that Jedi could do magic tricks. Nothing like what…” Nomi smiled, almost wistfully. Andur had given her a demonstration of simple levitation not long after they first became involved, when she had expressed disbelief over anyone being able to do something like that.

How long ago that had been.

“And now you wish to learn more?” Shoaneb tilted her head slightly, the little glass beads dangling from her headdress tinkling brightly. “You must have questions. Has Master Thon…”

Nomi smiled again, trying to shake the wistfulness off of her face. “We’ve spoken some. He’s told me what he can, but there’s only so much he can tell me. I was wondering if you know anyone I could talk to, anyone who knows more.”

She had never been a terribly curious child growing up. There was always plenty of work that needed to be done, and Nomi hadn’t had much time to listen to stories. Stories had come to her from time to time, but it was mostly just overheard gossip in tiny spaceports, gossip that Nomi didn’t have time to listen to in full. Suddenly, she had more time on her hands than she had ever had as a child, and she found that she had questions.

Shoaneb paused, her full mouth pursed in contemplation. Then, she smiled, something almost like anticipation playing at her lips. “I know a person, and a place. Come with me.”

Nomi’s brow furrowed. “It isn’t far, is it?” The Jedi were scattered across the galaxy, far and wide, and Nomi wouldn’t be surprised if anyone Shoaneb knew lived far away from Ossus. She didn’t relish the idea of having to go off-world again, so soon after having found a safe place.

But Shoaneb only laughed softly. “As far as the archival compound, two hundred paces from here at most. We can go there now, if you wish.”

There were advantages to having been here longer than a couple of weeks, it looked like. Nomi sprang to her feet, her blood pumping almost painfully fast in her veins. “Now sounds good to me. Vima?” she called, gesturing for the little girl to come join her. “Come with me now, please.”

“Nomi…” A note of uncertainty broke the smooth calm of Shoaneb’s voice. “Vima will be safe where she is for a few hours. This is a community of Jedi. No harm will befall her here.”

The promise of safety, however cherished, was still sinking in. Nomi had lived her life elsewhere in places where no parent who valued their child’s life knowingly allowed them to play by themselves, away from any caretaker who could protect them. Nomi had let Vima get away from her once before on Ambria, and Vima had nearly wound up dying. Nomi wasn’t going to make that mistake twice.

Vima was herself blissfully unaware of any seed of uncertainty in her mother’s heart. She clutched Nomi’s hand and Shoaneb’s long skirt, asking question after babbling, stumbling question about all the places Shoaneb had visited. At least Vima would never have to quash curiosity in the interest of survival.

Shoaneb led them away from the complex where neophyte Jedi learned to construct lightsabers, and across several walkways and close-cut lawns to a complex of buildings made of weathered brown stone. Nomi knew, instantly, that this complex was far older than the one where she had made the first lightsaber that was truly hers. It wasn’t just the weathered appearance of the buildings, or the way sunlight rippled on the warped glass of the windows. There was just a palpable air of age to it, like mountains covered in dust, or old stars starting to swell and dim. There were many other Jedi here, and it seemed as though they could feel it too; they walked sedately through the compound, and spoke only in quiet voices.

“The archival compound?” Nomi asked in a hushed voice, though she already knew the answer.

Shoaneb nodded. “The archival compound. Come with me.”

The easternmost building of the complex was where Shoaneb led Nomi and Vima, one of the smallest buildings, whose veranda was shaded by long, swinging blue curtain cloths (Relatively clean, so Nomi could only suppose they were cleaned regularly). There weren’t as many Jedi milling around this building as there were around the others. Was it some sort of outbuilding then, storage space?

When they stepped inside, Nomi did not get the impression that she was in a storage building. Hot sunlight filtered through warped windows, illuminating hallways clean and free of clutter. Muffled voices could be heard behind closed doors, and occasionally, someone slipped out of one of those doors, smiling slightly as they passed by. The Archives must be split up into many categories, Nomi told herself. I wouldn’t be surprised if this is one of them. Shoaneb opened the door at the end of one of the halls, striding forwards confidently. When Nomi caught sight of the room’s interior, she couldn’t help but gasp.

Nomi had never been in any of the archival buildings before. She’d not been on Ossus long, after all, and the Jedi Archives weren’t exactly part of any tour. Asides from the library, people were not encouraged to come to the Archives without cause. No one came here casually, and Nomi had not, and thus, she had not seen this room.

Datapads were a fairly recent invention in the grand scheme of things, though not so recent that Nomi hadn’t heard of them, growing up in the furthest reaches of the known galaxy as she had. The wealthiest and most enterprising had begun experimenting with using them to store books, but most people couldn’t afford the number of datapads required to store a large number of books. Instead, datapads were used for storing smaller amounts of information, and books were left to paper and plastic. Even those materials could get expensive, but it was still a better deal than using datapads.

Nomi had never seen so many books and scrolls in her life. Three of the room’s four walls were lined with shelves five tiers high, all packed with books and scrolls (Nomi looked around and, sure enough, there were ladders placed by each shelf, to aid those too short to reach the highest tiers). There were shelves in the center of the room, not so high as the shelves lining the walls, but still packed tight with scrolls. A few tables filled up the empty spaces by the warped windows and the wall opposite. The tables were empty, and there was a faint coating of dust across their surfaces, with clean patches where books must have been lying recently. Dust motes twinkled in the sunlight. The whole room smelled of old books.

I know people from my homeworld who would kill to own a quarter as many books as there are just on one of the shelves. Have the Jedi really gathered so many…

While Nomi was gaping and Vima was looking around for new places to crawl into and nap under, Shoaneb made her way to the far corner of the room, near one of the windows and where, on closer inspection, there was a break in the shelves. Nomi craned her neck, frowning slightly, but all she could see was Shoaneb standing over a wooden desk, her hands pressed flat against the only bare patch of its cluttered surface. I suppose you have to get permission to study here. The books and scrolls all look so fragile. But I wonder who Shoaneb is sending me to…

When Shoaneb was done at the desk, she walked back over to Nomi and Vima, a tall woman (Human or near-Human, by the looks of her) following after her. “Nomi?” There was an odd note in Shoaneb’s voice, almost trilling—it tugged the borders of familiarity, but Nomi still couldn’t quite recognize it. “This is Arren Kae, the head archivist of the history section of the Archives. Arren, this is Nomi Sunrider.”

Nomi eyed Arren with unabashed curiosity, this woman who did not look so much older than her, and had yet been given such a position of authority—keeper of all these ancient tomes. Her expression was one that spoke of a certain gravity, and her brown robes, embroidered with cream-colored thread, were cut severely enough to belong to a woman of authority, but otherwise, Nomi didn’t see any sign of it.

Arren Kae didn’t look significantly older than Nomi; they could have been the same age, or Arren could have been older, and showed her age less. She had bright golden hair bound in twin braids that shone in the sunlight. Her eyes were pale, glassy gray, her gaze direct and piercing—Nomi found she had a hard time, actually, holding Arren’s gaze; it was as though her brain was being picked, though she felt no touch of the Force upon her mind. Her skin was fair and smooth, the bone structure of her face sharp, strong and well-defined. Hers was not a soft face; Nomi couldn’t readily guess if the sternness she saw there was rooted in the personality or just in the bones.

Before Nomi could speak, could try to introduce herself, Arren spoke, her crisp, slightly reedy voice filling the air. “Shoaneb tells me that you have questions, and have come seeking answers. Is that correct?”

It was a question that clearly expected an immediate answer, and if Nomi had gotten a little distracted trying to place Arren’s accent, that didn’t stop her from replying, “Yes, I am.”

Arren raised an eyebrow. “Oh? And what do you seek answers about?”

The prompting note came through loud and clear, but this time, Nomi got the distinct impression that she was being looked at as a potential interloper, rather than an earnest learner; something about the appraising gleam in those pale eyes told her so. She took a deep, steadying breath before saying, “I wanted to know more about the history of the Jedi. I’ve learned a little in my time as a Jedi, but I feel as though I’ve barely scratched the surface.”

Prompting note was followed by searching stare, and Nomi, with some difficulty and discomfort, held up silently beneath it. In all likelihood, she would have to travel far and wide to learn what she wanted to know, if she couldn’t learn it here. If it meant having her brain picked by an archivist, so be it.

After what felt like an eternity, Arren nodded. “Understand that my texts are very fragile. If you are willing to be careful when reading them, and take proper precautions with the most fragile of them, I will allow you to study here.” She looked off to her right and downwards, her pale gaze hardening. “However, the child…”

‘The child,’ nearly bitten out, made Nomi look down to her left, and feel a sharp jolt of panic when she realized that Vima was no longer standing at her side. Her eyes darted around the room, and her panic soon subsided when she spotted Vima on the other side of the room, peering out a window and running her hand curiously over the warped glass. “Vima stays with me,” Nomi said sharply, resisting the urge (barely) to glare.

Arren hardly looked impressed. “We have a policy about small children.”

“She stays with me. Vima won’t get into any trouble, and there’s no one I feel comfortable leaving her with.”

Arren opened her mouth to protest, but before she could say anything, Shoaneb broke in with a simple, “Arren.”

It wasn’t shouted. It wasn’t said harshly. Just Shoaneb’s typical even tone. And yet, Arren paused, staring intently at Shoaneb with her eyes narrowed. When she spoke, she addressed Nomi, but never took her eyes from Shoaneb’s face. “If you tell the child not to touch any of the books or scrolls, will she listen?”

“Yes. Vima is a good girl.”

“Very well. If you’re wrong, on your head be it. And finally, keep in mind that if you are reading something someone come in here asking after as part of a research request, you will have to give it to them.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything else,” Nomi said patiently. Better not to upset the balance of the only safe place she had ever known too badly.

-0-0-0-

The procedure for hardly the most fragile of the texts under Arren Kae’s care involved wearing gloves so that none of the oils on the skin would make contact with the pages, and a facial mask so that saliva wouldn’t, either. Apparently, moisture damaging the binding on the oldest of the texts was a real problem, if Arren’s forceful assertion was any indication. Once that was out of the way, Nomi was given full access to Arren’s inventory, which surprised Nomi a little. Given the archivist’s attitude, she would have thought access would be much more limited.

Nomi wasn’t entirely certain where to start. The sheer number of books and scrolls available to her was overwhelming; it was like setting a starving man down in front of a buffet and telling him he could only put one thing on his plate at a time. When she recovered enough to think about it, starting at the beginning—the very beginning—seemed like the best option, but the texts were arranged by author, not date. So Nomi just started picking books out at random, and reading.

Whenever she had free time, Nomi went to the Archives, and read. Once she picked up a book, she just couldn’t put it down until doing so proved absolutely necessary, and found herself thinking about it during all the time she spent away from the Archives. Whether it was a centuries-dead master’s account of a war they had fought in, a compilation of political treaties the Jedi had a hand in creating, or account documenting periods of estrangement between the Jedi and the Republic, Nomi devoured it all. She had found an outlet for curiosity long-quashed, and neither knew how to turn it off, nor particularly cared to try.

Arren rarely interrupted her, doing so only to tell her that the Archives were closing for the night or to check if what Nomi was reading at the time was something someone had asked after as part of a research request. She had assistants who were constantly coming in and out, every one of whom had shot incredulous looks at and asked irritating questions about Vima when they first saw her. Most had the sense to shut up after Nomi tersely told them that Vima stayed with her. Some took their concerns to Arren, and had to be told the same thing twice.

Asides from the assistants, there weren’t many people who came here. Shoaneb, and just as likely to speak with Arren as with Nomi. Arren Kae passed the time by perusing the shelves, and Nomi Sunrider, by reading.

-0-0-0-

It was one of those days when Shoaneb came to visit. “Be careful, Nomi,” she joked sometimes, “Or you might well become even more of a hermit than Arren.” Vima was sitting in a patch of sunlight, playing with a toy one of the neophyte Jedi from the lightsaber construction class had given her, and Arren and Shoaneb were seated at a nearby table, deep in conversation.

“Do you know if anyone has ever conducted an examination of your species’ brains, or their eye cavities?” Arren asked, scribbling furiously on a loose sheet of paper on the table in front of her. “Any studies conducted into how you can channel the Force in such a way as to see, without physical eyes. It would be helpful to have this information if you wish to teach others.”

A small smile played around Shoaneb’s lips as she replied, “I can’t say that I know of any such studies, Arren. I was not exactly an expert on these things. If you seek answers, you may make inquiries with medical authorities on Alpheridies.”

“Indeed I shall,” Arren muttered abstractedly. “I can hardly believe that no such studies have ever been conducted. It would be an incredible oversight if they had not.”

Herself, Nomi had been reading a book about the seeds of the schism in the Jedi Order that would lead to the birth of the Sith Empire. It was quite fascinating, if a little disturbing—according to the book, the Jedi Temple on Coruscant had been built over the remains of a Sith Temple, and if the author was to be believed, several Sith artifacts had just been left to gather dust under the foundations of the new Temple. But she had never heard such intense interest in Arren’s voice before. Mild curiosity, yes, disdain or disapproval, yes, but typically much more controlled than this. There was a bright gleam in her eyes as well, flashing like a beacon. Nomi paused in her reading, and looked over at the other two women, seeing little use in trying to hide the fact that she was listening.

As if to drive in further the point of how unusual this was, it was not Arren who first realized that Nomi was listening. Instead, Shoaneb turned her head vaguely in Nomi’s direction, straightening in her chair as she did so. Her beaded headdress shivered slightly. “Was there something you needed, Nomi?”

That was enough to make Arren turn her pale gaze on her. Rather than feeling abashed (there really wasn’t any point; it wasn’t like she could have kept from listening), Nomi met her gaze squarely. “No, nothing. I was just curious about what you were talking about.”

The other two women exchanged glances (well, Arren glanced; Shoaneb merely turned her head back in Arren’s direction), falling silent. Then, Shoaneb said, “There isn’t any point in not telling you, I suppose. Did I ever tell you why I first sought out the Jedi, Nomi?”

Nomi frowned. “I don’t think so. Why?”

“The Miraluka developed faster-than-light space travel long ago,” Shoaneb explained, “but we rarely utilize it. We have but one colony, a Rim world named Katarr. We perceive the galaxy solely through the Force; our eyes atrophied tens of thousands of years ago, and Alpheridies and Katarr are the only worlds that have been constructed to fully suit our needs.

“All Miraluka are Force-Sensitive, but few ever become Jedi, for that requires leaving our sanctuaries and adapting to worlds built for those who perceive very differently. I…” At that Shoaneb broke off briefly, tapping her fingernails against the surface of the table, a staccato clack, clack, clack. “…I wished to change that. Eventually, I plan on returning to Alpheridies, and establishing a school for Jedi there. But first, I must see if I am any kind of teacher at all.”

“We thought it best to explore how the Miraluka perceive the galaxy,” Arren added, her voice remarkably light. “I personally am very curious about that; the Force holds many mysteries, if one just goes looking.”

Truth be told, of all her official areas of study, the Force likely interested Nomi the most. At the very least, it held her interest much more than anything about lightsabers did. So to her, it seemed perfectly natural to ask, “How do you see the galaxy?” When Nomi realized how that might sound, she quickly added, “I’m not talking about the mechanics of it, Shoaneb. What does it feel like?”

There was a long silence as Shoaneb seemed to ponder her reply. Birdsong filtered in from outside, and Vima let out a gasp of delight as a trio of little blue songbirds darted by a window. “In perceiving the galaxy through the Force, one sees the connections between all living things.” Her voice took on a hushed, almost reverent note as she went on, “The Force flows through all that lives in some way or another. You and I and all else is connected to the Force, but all, but all that lives beneath the stars is connected to each other. When we interact with others, we form connections through the Force. They are tenuous things at first, but as your bonds with others grow, so too do the strength of these connections. What it does, Nomi Sunrider, is remind me that I am never alone.”

It was an eloquent response, and vivid enough that Nomi could visualize it herself, easily. It was obvious that such a thing gaze Shoaneb a measure of peace, even if she hadn’t been smiling contentedly. But when Nomi murmured a “Thank you,” her voice seemed faint even to her own ears, and her smile felt as though it might break her face in two.

-0-0-0-

Later, Nomi would wonder when exactly that creeping sense of loneliness had become a houseguest in her heart again. She felt as she had during those first months on Ambria, when Master Thon paid her little mind and she was left largely to her own devices. The sky overhead was entirely too big—Nomi felt as though she might drown in it if she looked at it for too long. The wind seemed to carry mournful voices even when no one else was around, and if she let her mind wander for too long, its track would take her right to—

Her reading provided a distraction, at least. In those books and scrolls, Nomi could lose herself in other worlds and other people’s lives, could visualize them so clearly that the fine details of her world became dull and hazy. That was the secret of battle meditation, Thon had told her, to be able to see something unreal so clearly in her mind that she could overwrite reality with it. This was practice, then.

“Mama?”

She did love finding somewhere cool to sit, away from the windows, a cool, dark corner where there was less traffic.

“Mama?”

A small hand was tugging on her trouser leg, and Nomi at last looked away from her reading, blinking her sore, bloodshot eyes. Vima was standing right beside her—Nomi hadn’t even noticed her approach—her little face scrunched up. “Yes, Vima?” Nomi asked, fixing what she hoped was a reassuring smile to her face. “What is it?”

“Wanna go outside,” Vima mumbled, her face scrunching up even further.

Nomi frowned. “That’s ‘May I please go outside?’, Vima, and no, you may not.”

“Why?” Vima demanded, her thin voice taking on more than a hint of a whine.

“You have to stay with me, Vima.” Sensing (and one didn’t need the Force to pick up on it) that this wouldn’t be enough to sway her, Nomi added soothingly, “Just a couple more hours, and then we can go outside together. Doesn’t that sound nice, Vima?”

Not sufficient, either, or at least not enough so to make Vima accept it with a smile. For a moment, her face screwed up so much that Nomi thought Vima would bust out crying right there, and that Nomi would have to take her out, if only to keep her from becoming so disruptive that Arren might bar both of them from ever coming back. But thankfully, Vima merely trudged back over to the warped windows and sat down beside one of them, staring outside with her back turned to her mother.

Herself, Nomi smiled sadly at Vima’s back, willing her to have patience for just a little longer. She’s just like Andur; he was always wanting to be somewhere else, no matter where he was. No wonder he took so many off-world missions.

It was too soon to tell with any certainty; Vima was still so young, and trying to pick such things out of a toddler’s face was a fool’s errand. But Nomi still found herself trying to pick up a resemblance, even a minute one, to Andur in Vima. Vima’s hair, once so blonde it was almost white, was starting to darken, though whether it would become Andur’s brown or Vima’s red, only time would tell. Nomi liked to imagine, sometimes, that the quality of Vima’s smile or a certain twinkle in her eyes was Andur’s, but those things would vanish so quickly that it was easier to believe that she had simply imagined it.

What Nomi knew she wasn’t imagining was that creeping sense of loneliness, and what it was telling her: she wished Andur was here. She had found the courage to become a Jedi that she had never possessed in his lifetime, but if she was to become a Jedi, she ought to have trained for it alongside him. The more Nomi’s awareness of the Force grew, the more Andur’s absence from her life felt like a hole in the Force, a dead spot where life should have been, and the sheer wrongness of it made her want to scream.

The opposite of what Shoaneb had told her, Nomi supposed. Instead of the Force making one feel connected, the Force made one feel alone.

-0-0-0-

It was another day, when the sun did not shine so brightly, and gray clouds were passing overhead, occasionally obscuring it from view entirely. Nomi was reading a book about the evolution of the Matukai and Arren and her assistants were being noticeably more active than usual.

Nomi jumped in her chair when the door slammed open and Arren came storming in, eyes blazing and golden hair fairly crackling. A slightly muffled voice sounded as one of Arren’s assistants came following after her, saying rather timidly, “But Master Kae, the chain is so old. Surely there must be—“

“I don’t care how old it is!” Arren shouted, looking for all the world like she might just go for the lightsaber at her hip and start hacking away with it. Nomi stared in open shock. “Exar Kun is not bringing it in here! Tell him that! Don’t let him take one step into this building! I don’t care if he complains to Odan-Urr!”

The assistant nodded and scurried away, mandibles chattering nervously. Arren closed the door with a motion that fell just short of a slam, and went to her desk with a huff. She began looking over a stack of paperwork, her jaw set in a bullish, angry line.

“Mama?” Vima was tugging on her sleeve, staring nervously in Arren’s direction. “Please go outside?”

“No, sweetheart. Just go play with your toys, alright?” On top of Nomi not wanting Vima to wander off, it sounded like there was something potentially tumultuous going on outside; better to make sure Vima didn’t wind up in the middle of it.

For a few minutes, tense silence reigned in the history section of the Archives. Arren did paperwork, still fuming. Nomi tried to read, but kept repeating the same paragraph over and over again. Vima sat by the window and stared at the little crowd of toys she had amassed over the past few weeks, rather than playing with them. The air was so thick it could have been cut with a knife.

Another assistant, a twitching Devaronian, hurried inside and over to Arren’s desk. “He’s gone, Master Kae,” he said quietly. “He said he would go somewhere ‘his finds and talents are more appreciated.’”

Arren rolled her eyes and scoffed. “He’ll be a long time searching, then, unless he decides to disrupt Master Vodo’s workshop. Very well. Go back to your duties.”

It had been a long time since Nomi had last seen someone look so happy when being told to get out.

After a few more minutes of not-reading and not-playing, Arren got up from her desk and began going over the shelves. Her brow was still deeply furrowed, but otherwise the anger was staring to die off of her face. Books and scrolls were taken out of their resting places, given a cursory examination, and replaced. Others that had apparently been put where they were in error were taken out and put in another spot on the shelves. Arren occasionally examined a book more closely, running her hand slowly over the cover with an unreadable look on her face. All this, done in silence.

Then, Arren turned to Nomi, and asked quietly, “Your child, can she read?”

Nomi blinked, thrown by this change. “N-no, not yet. She’s still so young…”

“Not so young that she can’t be taught,” Arren pointed out, her eyes glinting speculatively. Clouds passed over the sun, casting a shadow between them before it vanished. “Master Del-Nai holds literacy classes for the children of Jedi. There are forms you would have to fill out, but I cannot foresee any difficulty in persuading her to take on your child.”

Perhaps this wasn’t meant as an attempt to get Vima out of the room and away from Arren’s fragile books and scrolls. She hadn’t complained about Vima since they first met. But still, Nomi’s first and strongest impulse led her to say, “No.”

Arren raised an eyebrow. “She has to learn some time.”

“Not now. Later.” Let it lie.

Mercifully, Arren did not press the issue. “Suit yourself.”

Still, Nomi thought there might be something said for changing the subject. “What was all of that about earlier?” She tried for an encouraging smile. “I’ve never seen you get so angry.”

Arren huffed, putting her hands on her hips. “Exar Kun has returned to Ossus. I believe that is enough to make any archivist worth the title angry.”

“And who is Exar Kun?”

Arren stared down her nose at Nomi, but then, she sighed, and took a seat in the chair next to hers, propping her elbow up on the table and rubbing her forehead with her hand. “I suppose you wouldn’t know. You have not been here long, and Kun has been gone from Ossus for nearly a year. Exar Kun is a Jedi, a student of Master Vodo, who fancies himself an archaeologist. He goes anywhere there are rumors of sites once inhabited by Force users, be they Jedi, Sith or otherwise. Any artifacts he finds, if he deems them ‘valuable’—“ Arren nearly spat the word out, her voice practically dripping venom “—he brings here, in the attempt to identify them and their uses. However much he may claim to esteem the artifacts of the Jedi, he has precious little respect for the artifacts we have here.”

“In what way?”

Arren laughed bitterly. “After the state the books he took from me were returned in the last time he availed himself of my services, I would sooner trust your child to handle my materials than I would Exar Kun. He outright destroyed the binding on one of them.”

Given how delicate some of the books here were, Nomi doubted that that would take a great deal of effort, but any damage any of these books took potentially represented a massive loss of history. She thought she could understand Arren’s anger. “You are very passionate about your work,” she prompted. They hadn’t spoken much, for all that they had spent so much time in close proximity to each other over these past weeks. Maybe it was time to correct that.

“I planned on becoming a historian,” Arren remarked, her mouth twisting in a smile that was equal parts rueful and bitter. “This was merely the first stop on the hyperspace route. But my predecessor died, and I was the only one who had the qualifications to take over her position.”

“I’m sure you’ll get another chance someday,” Nomi said awkwardly. That… wasn’t quite what she had expected.

Arren rubbed her forehead again, squeezing her eyes shut. “Yes. And leave one of my assistants in charge, may the Force preserve us. And you?” She eyed Nomi closely, her eyes gleaming with curiosity. “Why are you here?”

“What do you mean?” Nomi asked, a frown tugging on her lips.

“Why did you decide to become a Jedi? With most, the reason is self-evident; with you, significantly less so.”

A split-second, an exhalation, and the scream of the blaster, the scream tearing from her lips, the reek of burning flesh, and a pearly, luminous apparition became as vivid, as branded into memory as if it had all happened yesterday. One blink, and Nomi would be cleaving his killer in two again. “My husband was killed while delivering a shipment of lightsaber crystals. I delivered them for him after he died. It just… It just sort of happened,” she said helplessly.

This earned her a small laugh, dry and amused. “Well, that is a new one. I don’t think I have ever heard someone tell me that becoming a Jedi was something that ‘just sort of happened’ to them.” Her gaze grew sharper, more piercing, as shadow fell over them again. “Nomi… I have heard that you are proficient in battle meditation. Is that true?”

“I…” Nomi sat a little straighter in her chair. “…I don’t know that I’ve used it often enough to be called ‘proficient’, but I can perform battle meditation, yes.”

“And are you planning on expanding your studies of the Force?”

“Yes, I suppose so. Arren, what is this about?”

For the life of her, Nomi couldn’t identify the look that had come over Arren’s face. Painted with deep shadow, the already sharp lines of her face looked carven. “I have a book you might be interested in. There are techniques in the Force against which there is no defense, and I sense there is coming a day when such things will be needed to protect the Jedi. Do you think you could learn them?”

Nomi thought of Andur, of Vima. She thought of Shoaneb, of Master Thon, of everyone she had met on Ossus. She wished for peace—she always had—but if she lost any of them… “I’m willing to try,” she said, and did not realize until later that she hadn’t asked Arren what those techniques were.

#Star Wars #Star Wars: Tales of the Jedi #Star Wars: KOTOR 2 #Fanfic #Nomi Sunrider #Arren Kae #Kreia #Shoaneb Culu #Vima Sunrider #Star Wars: KOTOR

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