#i guess when you emerge from spring into summer... keep our boy in mind

[vapidlemon]

Happy (late) birthday Hubert!! I fell asleep halfway through finishing this so I didn't make it in time...

Every time I get a sunburn I bully Hubert about it to, by proxy, patronise myself into being better. Hopefully this will never happen again.

(Previous)

[lumiereswig]

hey all so i just saw ‘hadestown’ and feel duty bound to tell you fools everything about it because i, too, remember what it is to be lonely and on the internet and too poor to see some snazzy broadway shit

there’s no fanfare or anything. the show opens with all the cast coming on—and obviously the audience is going buckwild, especially with amber gray. (u can tell there’s a lot of great comet fans in the audience.) only once everybody is settled does hermes really TAKE THE STAGE.

and boy does he take it. sassy lil shit knows he owns it and just stands there taking in his audience, before flipping his jacket back with dramatic flare (to show his SNAZZY-ASS SILVER THREADED VEST) and starting to sing. (cue noisy wah-wah trombone.)

the setting is p. clearly a bar; orpheus p. clearly works there. he’s like being artsy with the napkins and shit, blossoming them into roses. eurydice is a traveler; she carries with her, wrapped in brown silk, an alter candle that she lights. (after sassing hermes into giving her a match to light it with.) eurydice balances her candle with the paper rose orpheus later makes and gives to her.

orpheus is pretty childlike and dreaming in this version. (not the cocky boy from the off broadway production.) he comes off as kind of lanky and awkward and not quite there; naive is definitely a defining adjective for him. everything about him is soft and gentle and in a dreaming world.

eurydice is kind of a classic tough girl but she’s got a strand of helplessness to her. she puts on a show of not being impressed by orpheus until he sings her the song he’s working on, and manages to bring a rose into his palm.

environmental collapse is a HUGE theme thru this—bigger than i thought it would be. eurydice’s first lines are about how there’s no spring or autumn anymore; everything is winter or summer, too hot or cold to live. the fates sing of the winds—the fates sort of torment her throughout this—but climate change looms as a dread through the show. orpheus hopes his song will bring back summer, put the seasons back in tune.

anyway, everyone’s hanging out at a new orleans style bar. even hades and persephone are there, though above it all in a balcony of their own

did i mention bradley king is a god among lighting designers?

because that will come back a lot

anyway hermes is sort of an uncle figure to orpheus; he was friends with orpheus’s mother, a muse. as soon as orpheus sees eurydice he wants to talk to her, and hermes advices him not to ‘come on too strong’—

and well that plan goes immediately out the window : ‘come home with me!’ [eurydice: ’what?’]

orpheus is just intensely awkward. skinny pale child doesn’t know how to interact with the world

they have kind of an argumentative relationship from the start—they don’t face each other very often; there’s a push and pull as he longs for her and she, kneejerk tough girl, tries not to go for this. but the rose from his palm enchants her, and she holds on to it. ‘you have to finish your song.’

GODDDD AMBER GRAY IS JUST LIIIIIIIFE. her persephone is a total lush and frequently staggers through act 1. she also has a fabulous white coat that gradients to green at the sleeves. when she dances you can’t tell if she’s about to pass out or float up to the ceiling.

when orpheus gives the toast he’s just so awkward it’s appalling

(and everyone toasts except eurydice)

hades wears sunglasses when he comes to the world above to bring persephone back to the world below. he descends from his balcony to get her, and brings her to the center of the stage—and then, oh, SHIT, there’s a fucking perfect round trap door right where they’re standing, and they descend below. (amber gray looking up to the slowly disappearing sky with the face of a martyr who’s used to the gig.)

winter’s hard. eurydice has to bust back out her old ass coat (instead of the winsome black slip thing and brown vest thing she was wearing), and the Fates, bitches as they be, try to fuckin rip it off her. (and succeed. the choreography looks like wind! also chairs and tables looked like they were floating earlier but i forgot to mention that.)

eurydice is trying to get ORPHEUS’S FUCKIN ATTENTION bout the fact they got no food and, uh, three bitchy old ladies dressed all in gray just took her coat, but he’s submerged in writing his song to bring back the weather. and while this is all going on, hades and persephone are having their age-old argument about how hell is too hot and too loud and IT AIN’T RIGHT, IT AIN’T NATURAL.

because, get this, after descending to hell they descended /back up/ into it, and u can tell cuz the lighting is fuckin genius. i’ll explain later except i won’t.

orpheus is just OUT OF IT and not hearing anything at all eurydice is tryin to fuckin say. (the tune keeps going wrong.) hades is sick of persephone not being with his electric shiny no-good shittiness and lays his eyes on eurydice as easy prey.

he puts on his sunglasses again and u know it’s bad news.

he talks her over and gives her her ‘ticket’—two silver coins that she momentarily holds up over her eyes as she looks at us, letting us know that this is some death imagery. she holds both hades�� coins and orpheus’s flower—and, making up her mind, calls out orpheus’s name one last time and descends into the underworld through that same miraculous trap.

and then, fuck me, the trap comes back up but just the red flower is on it. fuuuuuck meeeeeeee i may have wept.

orpheus finishes his damn song and hermes lets him know that hE FUCKED UP HIS WHOLE DAMN LIFE SHE GONE, BITCH, and orpheus sees the flower on the trap door and then he’s weeping, too.

and then we get to ‘wait for me’ and holy shit, y’all, i never been so fully into something in my life? it was so physically intoxicating i almost wanted to throw up. like, wonder as a liquid beverage. tHE LIGHTING? ? i fuckin felt awe on this earth today, i saw god and he’s lit by bradley king.

because! hades’ workers bring on these industrial metal lamps, and they hook them to the wires in the ceiling, and they SEND THEM SWINGING OUT INTO THE FUCKIGN AUDIENCE. they fuckin—they—they they they!—they fucking did! that! sent them swinging out in perfect rhythm and time, fully lit, swinging around orpheus and into the audience. and tHEN! THE FUCKIN SET! BEGINS TO GROW!!!

remember the first time u saw the nutcracker as a child and the growing christmas tree fuckin ripped ur world apart? it’s like that except times ten thousand

like it felt like. like the fuckin world was coming apart. the bar set is slowly ripping open and golden light is just searing into your eyeballs and the golden lamps are still swinging around orpheus and it literally felt like god had opened up a cold one and was just singing something horrible into being. it was wonder. i want to see it again.

like. stagecraft, babyyy

and u think act 1 will end on that because why would it nOT but no, we get ‘why we build the wall,’ which is a sort of chilling propoganda thing where everybody is facing forward and just telling back to hades whatever he’s yelling about, and persephone is there and i’m not sure why (like does she believe this? is she the unwilling consort? what’s the deal?)

and at the end eurydice comes in, and sort of picks up on the gestures everybody is doing—in that way everyone does when they come into a room and they want to vaguely pass as with it so they try to sync in to the general vibe. ‘uhh sure everyone’s waving their hands and talkin about walls so i guess i will too’, that kind of thing

hades shows her up to his office (the balcony door) to sign the papers. as soon as he’s gone, amber gray whips round to face the audience. ‘anybody want a drink?’

it’s intermission and i’m still trying to catch up on all the gasp-crying i started during ‘wait for me’

we also get an overpriced hadestown cup cuz get while the getting’s good, right?

back in act 2 and it’s our lady of the underground, ie amber gray in her exact outfit from above except instead of lurid green it’s savage black. (and instead of a bouncy curly brown wig it’s a black sparkly snood.) she dances and pivots and rivets her way through it, introducing the band, being winsome savage bite-your-face-off-and-offer-to-share-it-with-you amber gray. she’s got a neat little ring-shaped silver flask that hangs from her hand like a purse, and i want one.

eurydice emerges from the office dressed in the same overalls as the other workers—though she looks sexy af in them, ngl—and sings ‘flowers,’ and talks about how nobody down here looks at her, and how it’s like they don’t even see her. the underworld is not what she thought it would be. she wants to go home but can’t. she can’t remember orpheus’s name.

uNTIL HE SHOWS UP! Punk ass bitch made it, somehow, and stumbles onto the stage with guitar in hand. she knows his name immediately. but she can’t leave, because she signed her soul away.

u knew all this. it’s classic myth. did i mention patrick page as hades sounds like the combined harmonics of every rumbling truck on the george washington bridge every time he decides to sing?

orpheus has A Moment™ where it’s like, if this is what the world is, if people sign their names up for shit and i can’t save them, i guess i’ll just go home. but he talks himself out of it (apparently his magic vocal cords work on him, too), and actually talks himself (and the stone workers of the underworld!) into activism.

amber gray and patrick page share a duet i’ve never heard before, and it’s fine, and i think it still needs fine tuning cuz im not sure exactly how persephone feels about hades in this bit. it’s fine. what matters is that at the end of it, hades is FUCKED because rebellion is brewing.

he gets orpheus to sing his song. and holy shit, is it a doozy. holy shit, but were we all crying. hooooolyyy shiiiiiit.

holy shit.

when hades sings the refrain at the end, amber gray looks like she’s experiencing the most visceral, exquisite, heartfelt, heartbroken pain of her life. she literally bends as if she’s felt this pain in her stomach—this pain, this anguish over the song she hasn’t heard for so long from this one man she loved so well.

and when a rose blossoms from hades’s palm, persephone is both crying and laughing. it’s like the old times have bloomed again.

and then they dance.

also, should have mentioned earlier, it’s implied it’s not an og song orpheus is singing; he’s actually stumbled on an ancient one, perhaps one hades used to sing, and THAT’S why it’s so devastating—not just his talent and voice, but the memory of it, the memories it brings back. it’s an ancient song, almost a spell, that can heal the seasons.

hades and persephone hold each other close, nuzzling almost, and eurydice faces orpheus, and for a second u think it’s going to be ok because eurydice is so joyful and persephone and hades have healed. o & e  think they’re gonna leave. they think everybody can leave.

but nope, hades can’t have that. damned if he does, damned if he don’t—so he sets the test for orpheus, but u really get the sense that he’s not doing it from a sense of cruelty any more. it almost pains him to do this shit. but the rivet of steel in his character won’t let himself become king of nothing.

hermes presents the challenge: ‘ive got good news, and bad.’ orpheus keeps asking hermes if it’s a trick; hermes keeps saying it’s a test, a trial. (it’s really a TRAGEDY.)

persephone is wooed by the fact that hades even let them try.

ugh, doubt comes in is. devastating. every single person in the audience audibly gasped—u FELT the air leave the room—when he turned around. we all genuinely believed it would end differently this time. we thought it would. i knew it was coming and i still was DEVASTATED.

eurydice is, too. she started as the doubter, and she had so much BELIEF they were gonna get out of this. ‘it’s you—it’s me—’ she says. she’s already sinking through the trap. fuckin hell, they were on the last few steps. i’m still fuckin emotional about it

orpheus just crashes to the edge of the trap, staring down into the abyss. hermes is singing, softly, about how it’s an old song—it’s an old tale—it’s a tragedy. and then he roars—in a way that cheers me up—WE’RE GONNA SING IT AGAIN.

because that’s the power of it! it happened, it was horrible, but we’re going to SING about it—and maybe change the ending this time—the way orpheus tried to, when he sang his way to hades and sang his way to the stones. it’s the singing of the event that matters, that might matter.

and eurydice is back at the bar, wanting matches—orpheus is back at the bar, seeing her for the first time across the room—and the story goes on, like the seasons .fuckin incredible. everybody in the auditiorium now is tear-stained.

APPLAUSE APPLAUSE APPLAUSE

lasted for like.....seven minutes?? it took ages and the actors were just soaking it up, looking exhausted, because DAMN it is exhausting to chart anguish and joy and victory and determination and love in two hours and 25 minutes

and then hermes shushes the house—because of course he does—and amber gray leads the final toast. it’s acoustic—it sounded to me like she wasn’t even using her microphone? it wasn’t brash at all, just raw—and a simple, honest, kind of homespun way to end the show. and it finally ended, and we cheered one last time, and then we went home sobbing and shaking and wanting to do the whole damn thing again

it was great and the stagecraft was some of the best i’ve ever seen and i’ve literally felt maybe only 3 productions like this, where this emotional shit is actually sitting in your lungs, and u should go, the end

[7deadlycinderellas]

If the summer of our lives could just come again, ch22

Ao3 link

The Eyrie

Watching Robin trying to shoot a bow, Sansa is filled with a mix of annoyance and sympathy. She sees bits of Bran and Jojen in his jerky movements (though much less in his whiny voice). Though, she thinks, watching him slip his elbow and send the arrow soaring far too high, even Jojen’s a better shot than him.

“You’re dropping your elbow,” she says in an even voice from across the training yard. “Pretend you have a fence post under holding it up.”

The master-at-arms helping Robin ignores her words, before instructing him to do much the same as she said. His arm still wobbles.

Silently putting aside the hood she had been stitching rabbit fur lining into, Sansa quietly makes her way to the chambers her and Catelyn had been put up in and retrieves her bow. She returns to her spot and continues her sewing until the master-at-arms leaves, dismissing Robin.

Before the boy leaves, Sansa stands, nocks her arrow and looses it. She hits the target with ease.

Robin looks at her funny.

“How’d you do that?”

“Practice,” Sansa tells him, with an eyebrow raised.

“They don’t teach girls to shoot.”

Sansa bristles. Some people clearly do. All the things Arya used to complain about are becoming more and more understandable. She tries to guide Robin’s words in another direction.

“Like I said, all you need to do is practice and you’ll get better. You might not be great but you will get better. My younger brother has a bad leg and can’t stand up for long periods of time, but he loves to shoot from horseback. My sister shoots like she was born with a bow in her hand. All of our brother’s learned as well. I didn’t want to be left out.”

She looks at Robin askance. He’s paying attention, but barely. Sansa does not envy his future advisors.

“Do you ever feel left out, Robin?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you’re supposed to be Lord of the Vale someday. But do your mother ever ask for you to help her with petitions? Does she ever teach you anything about what you will be expected to do? Have you even left the Eyrie much?”

Her questions are pointed, and as she guessed, Robin’s face falters a little.

Sansa takes the opportunity to sling her bow over her arm, take the hood she was sewing and leave.

When she re-enters the keep proper, Catelyn is helping Lysa with her hair, and Lord Royce is going over paperwork for the arrangements so that the guests might be accomodated.

“May I be of any assistance?” she asks the older man.

He shakes his head,

“There’s no need my lady, you and your mother are guests. Where have you even been getting off to?”

“I insist,” she says, with a smile. He finally passes her the stack and she starts sorting through them.

She chatters a bit with Lord Royce, talking about her excitement for the wedding.

“I had to miss my own sister’s wedding, I’m glad to see this one. It’s been so hard, since Mother and Father…”

She trails off, deliberate, turning her head just enough to see Lord Royce take note of her words. She smiles, changing the subject.

“Are all of the houses of the Vale going to be present?”

Lord Royce nods, and Sansa notes he looks a bit put upon.

“They’ve been chomping at the bit for Lady Arryn to remarry for years. She hasn’t done well by herself.”

“I noticed, she doesn’t seem happy at all. Do you think she is? She must love her son at least, she keeps him so close.”

Just as expected, she sees Lord Royce wince.

She hears much the same when she goes amongst the other lords and ladies of the Vale as she assists in greeting their arrival at the Eyrie. They speak of eagerness to see Lysa remarried. There are other things they speak of too. Distrust of Petyr Baelish among them.

“They all speak of his low birth,” she tells Catelyn quietly, as they return to their chambers to dress. The wedding is in the evening, and it’s barely midday. Lady pads behind the two of them as they walk and talk quietly.

Catelyn sighs.

“I understand, and I’ve come to hate myself for it. They seem him as seeking power, as obtaining his position through deceit and under-handedness.”

They’re right, Sansa thinks. And in her mother’s face, she again sees the shadow. The shadow of these things that she would have assumed of her own goodson.

“Do you think you can do as I asked?”

Catelyn nods, her face faltering, if only a little. Sansa reaches out and squeezes her mother’s hand.

“It’s not lying, none of it. Not really.”

Sansa is dressed in her finest gown, green edged in gold, Catelyn in a similar one, though more subdued.

When they enter the hallway off the side of the High Hall, Lysa is already in her dress and cloak. Sansa can spy Littlefinger off on the other side, finishing his last preparations. And in the middle, Sansa notes, the Moon Door.

Why in the world did that thing even exist? Sansa wondered. Was hanging not enough?

Sansa smiles widely when she approaches her aunt Lysa.

“You look beautiful,” she tells her, reaching out to touch the edges of her cloak. What even to call it? She wonders, it’s not a maiden’s cloak. Westeros could really use better traditions for second marriages.

Lysa nods, and so Sansa prattles on.

“You must be so excited, I can only imagine, and you’re marrying a man you’ve known nearly your whole life.”

There’s a flicker in Lysa’s eye, a flicker Sansa feels herself quake when she recognizes the spark. She saw it just the instance before Lysa had grabbed her before, and squeezed far too hard. Good, she knows that spark.

In the corner of her eye, she sees Catelyn leading Littlefinger over by the arm. She sees Lysa see the two of them.

“Mother spoke so often of the three of you being close as children. It must be so good to not have to be alone after your husband’s untimely death.”

Lysa’s eye begins to twitch. She grabs Sansa’s arm a bit roughly, but she can take it.

“Come niece,” she says stiffly, on edge, “Let us join the ceremony.”

Sansa stands and she sees as Catelyn tilts her head up to kiss Littlefinger on the cheek. She watches, seemingly in slow motion, as Lysa’s face contorts, she watches as she rushes forward, grabbing at her sister violently. She watches her mother’s face twists with shock. She watches as Littlefinger’s eyes go wide and he tries to separate them. She hears shouting, from all three of them.

They are too close to the moon door, Sansa thinks. Far too close. It’s not open yet, but she suspects it will be.

She sits on the ground, Lady at her feet, and waits.

 Over the Wall

Bran had scrawled more on the back of the note. Jon reads it to himself when they’re back in the cave and supposed to be sleeping.

It should hurt, he thinks, learning that his brothers in black had decided he was dead. But, he reasoned, it had been years. It had been three to four times longer than he’d spent with the Night’s Watch at all since he’d disappeared.

And it made what was coming easier to take, what he knew was coming as soon has he took the note from the raven’s leg and read its contents.

The bird had followed him and Ygritte into the cave. Jon had never seen a bird act like that before, it had hopped from one spot to another, as if in awe of its surroundings. Then all of a sudden, something had disappeared from its eyes and it panicked for a moment until Jon found a stick and shooed it out of the cave.

This was what he was thinking about when he went to sleep and had his dream.

In the morning, when he shows both to Rowan and she nods quietly, and tells everyone they have to leave.

“Do you think it was prophetic?”

Rowan’s nod is gentler than her last ones, and more unsure.

“I’m not sure if that’s the right word. Most humans who speak of green dreams speak of dreaming in symbols. Yours was very straight forward right?””

Jon nods, the images from his dream playing before his eyes, even as they begin to fade as dreams did.

“Perhaps…”

“What?”

“Perhaps you understand these dreams more fully because you already speak the language.”

“Speak-” Jon is nearly speechless, “Rowan, are you saying you think green dreams are the weirwoods trying to speak to humans?”’

“It makes sense, too much,” she replies, “Especially knowing of the physical toll green sight takes upon the humans who have it. They are burdened with images that they don’t understand and have no ability to. Their minds are grappling with something they cannot reason and so the body revolts.”

Jon keeps his mouth shut. Nothing she says matters once they all begin to pack up and begin the journey south.

Traveling through the tunnels under the earth is not exactly straightforward, but as they are free of obstacles, it is much safer and faster. They emerge at cave openings to set a fire and sleep, but can’t go all the way through without losing the protection of the wards at the far northern end.

Even with Gilly and her sister’s maps, Jon’s never sure exactly where they are. After a little over a month’s travel, one of the caves opens up into a much larger space than the others have, revealing an enormous underground hot spring.

The other women squeal at the warmth and the chance to bathe properly, instead of out of a kettle. Jon sits quietly in one of the side pathways, allowing them some privacy.

He gets a look as they all file in. It’s strange, Gilly aside, he’s almost come to think of them as a collective. He files off their names. Jyna, Nella, Ryta, Norea, Gilly (carrying Sam), Henneh. He sticks outside to give them privacy, wondering if there’s anyway for them to wash off what’s happened to them. They all seem to be happy with it, at least.

After a bit, Ygritte joins him. She sits and he throws an arm around her idly.

“I know where we are now.”

“How?”

She turns her head to look at one of the smaller paths off another side of the spring.

“We’re along the Milkwater just south of the Frostfangs. This is where we took you to meet with Mance Ryder before. “

Jon frowns,

“This place doesn’t look large enough for a big group of people to shelter.”

Ygritte shook her head.

“I took you out here to try and tempt you away from your crow vows.”

Jon raises an eyebrow, his hand playing errantly with the ends of her hair.

“And how did you do that?”

Her smile turns mischievous instead of melancholy, if just for a moment.

“Stripped naked and went ‘want some?’”

Jon snorts loudly.

“Guessing I did?”

“Well you didn’t really say yes or no, you just sunk to your knees and stuck your face between my legs…”

He laughs, and kisses the side of her face, with intent. He still doesn’t care for recollections of his previous life, and he hates the look on her face still.

“That was the last thing I remember before I died,” she admits, “That I wish we had just stayed here.”

They can’t stay. They both know that. The dead are coming and the fate of everyone and everything. But once the others are finished, the two of them strip down and slide into the water to try and wash off some of their burdens.

Once they are a bit sleepy and wrinkled from the heat, Ygritte pulls herself onto the edge of the spring to sit. And with an idle thought, Jon swims to her, gently pushes her knees apart, and buries his tongue inside her. She wraps her fingers in his curls and pulls them, with rather less force than her someone hearing her moans would probably think.

He’ll call it recreating a good memory.

After they dry off, redress, and rejoin the others, Jon asks her.

“How far are we from the wall?”

Ygritte chews her lip.

“On the ground, I’d say a moon’s turn. Down here? No mountains to cross, no snow, no bears, but not exactly a straight line of a journey either. Maybe a week less than that I’d say.”

The closer they get to the wall, the narrower the passages become. Much of the rock turns into tightly packed earth, and they can only go through one at a time.

Jon asks Rowan,

“How are we supposed to get over the wall once we reach it? The tunnels will be sealed and guarded at all the castles.”

Ygritte had told him many times of when the wildlings had climbed the wall  before. How one off placement of her pick had caused a crack that nearly killed them both. He hadn’t been looking forward to it, but more than that, he knew it was impossible. He could have probably carried Sam on his back, but there is no way to get all of Craster’s girls over, even one at a time.

Rowan shakes her head.

“We aren’t going over, we’re going under.”

Even in the extremely low light, Jon can see Ygritte’s face twist.

“Fuck me,” she mutters under her breath. When Jon looks at her quizzically, she replies.

“Story goes that three thousand years ago, brothers Gendel and Gorne discovered a huge network of caves that caverns that led one into another. They even found a passageway under the Wall and tried to use it to invade the North. They failed, and that path has been lost since.”

Jon’s face pinches,

“I guess we’re lucky Mance and the others never found it.”

“They wouldn’t have,” Rowan interjects. “These caverns were why I came south in the first place. I had to dig many free of earth, a few had even collapsed completely. But the way should be clear for us now.”

Jon’s sick of the torch-lit darkness. He’s sick of the damp air.

And so, when Rowan finally beckons them to the end of the largest cave opening they’ve seen in days, he squeezes Ygritte’s hand, and they guide the others out into the light.

And Jon takes the first breath of northern air he has breathed in years.

 Winterfell

The morning comes that Robb and Ned must leave for the Dreadfort. They are both reluctant, as Sansa and Catelyn have according to raven, just docked in Gullstown.

Bran claps one hand on his father’s shoulder. Standing straight, he’s up to his brow.

“It’s not for too long, and we still have three Starks in Winterfell. “

Most of the others leave for breakfast, but Gendry lingers behind.

“Wanted to say thanks again, to the both of you.”

He shakes both of their hands, and for the first time, looks them square in the eye as he does so.

He’s the last one to breakfast, and when he gets there, it’s just the small group around a pot of porridge. Rickon’s feet swing, unawares, while Meera and Arya whisper quietly. Bran’s head is resting to one side on the wood of the table.

“Is he…” Gendry asks, trailing off. They’ve all been paying close attention to what Bran tells them when he wargs, since the day when they’d woken up to the news that Jon was alive and unharmed, though they were not as shocked by the knowledge that one of the children of the forest had survived as Bran and Meera were.

“No,” Meera replies, not even looking up, “He’s sleeping. We were up late again last night.”

Gendry raises an eyebrow in her direction and Meera rolls her eyes. Jojen told Bran the truth all those years ago, that it wasn’t safe to warg alone, especially not for as many hours as he had been doing it. And if the best way to bring him back to earth afterwards involved her getting to discover the noise he made when she sucked on his earlobe, well, call it a bonus. Her next words are quiet though.

“There are big groups of others gathering far north towards the Lands of Always Winter,” Septima had flown past several, all heading in one direction.

“At least they aren’t coming south yet,” Arya adds grimly, though she is as apprehensive as the rest.

Gendry spares a glance down the empty table. Rickon had managed to already disappear without a word.

“Where’s everyone else got off to?”

“Rickon ate two bites and ran straight off,” Arya tells him. She doesn’t let on how much she worries about her youngest brother, tall now, but still without even the traces of a beard. How she sees the wildness in his movements and fears he may slip away. He’s the best archer they’ve got after her and Meera.

“And Theon left without eating.”

Gendry snorts at that. No doubt off trying to flirt with some of the Free Folk women. He’s having both more and less luck with them then with the other women from the north. More willing, without worries of their virtue, but also less likely to be impressed by him and his stories of being Ironborn. Gendry wonders if perhaps he just likes the challenge.

“And Jojen and Shireen left for the library already.”

That was expected, they did that pretty much every day. Shireen admitted that books aside, she is still unused to the cold of the North.

Right now, despite her cloak and the walls, she is still shivering under her cloak.

“Does it get this cold where you’re from?”

Jojen shrugs over the lip of his book.

“I don’t remember the last winter, I was too young. I know it gets cold enough that most of the bogs freeze over, but it’s pretty hot in summer, and I don’t think it ever gets hot here.”

He goes quiet again, and Shireen pouts a bit. She likes talking to him, but he’s so quiet most of the time it seems like she has to drag the words out of him. Or maybe he’s just comfortable being silent a lot of the time. She spares a glance at the book he’s going through.

“You’re reading about diseases and healing?” she asks, with a grimace.

“Lots of things about caring for wounds in here,” Jojen replies, “That could end up being really important.”

He’s quiet for a long moment.

“And it’s sobering to realize how likely that I probably would have died if I hadn’t been born the son of a lord, even if a minor one. There’s nothing in here that could change me, but I could have drowned or fallen from a horse, just because I would have been left alone all the time.”

Not even withstanding that others might not have even understood his visions. Might have thought he was possessed by something.

Shireen’s silent. She hates how much she understands. She’s heard all the stories about what happens to most people with greyscale. Disfigurement sounding so minor in comparison to potential blindness, loss of appendages and madness before death.

“When I got sick,” she says, slowly. It feels like a secret, even though it isn’t. “My father sent for any maester who thought he might be able to help. I don’t even know if it became known that they stopped the disease. Feels like the sort of thing that should be spread through all of the known world.”

She would have died, she comes to the dim realization. Had she been the daughter of a sailor or a crofter, or even a merchant. Maesters were under no compulsion to treat any but those in castles. Those who paid them.

She opens her mouth to say something else, when Jojen suddenly goes stiff and falls from his chair.

Shireen knows she would normally be frightened, but she isn’t. Jojen had said he had fits when the visions came to him. She very calmly moves his chair and the stacks of books on the floor so that he doesn’t hurt himself.

After only a minute or so, his jerking movements still. Shireen recalls Leeman, one of her uncle’s men. He had had a shaking fit after being ordered to stop drinking so much, and she’d seen how the maester laid him on the ground after. She remembers him doing much the same with men who had drank so much they passed out.

When Jojen still, Shireen rolls him onto his left side, leg and arm bent, and one hand under his chin. She worries for a moment before he sputters and takes a deep breath.

“Are you hurt?” she asks, and starts to say something else when he reaches out and grabs her by the arm, frightening her more than the fit had.

“Get the others,” he tells her in a voice far deeper than his normal one.

“What did you see?”

He squeezes his arm tightly, and the look in his eye makes her words catch in her throat. She stands and instead of leaving, she pulls him up, throwing one of his arms over her shoulder to bear his weight, and half pulls his towards the library door.

[shipmistress9]

FTLOAP: Chapter 21: We’re Walking The Wire

Fandom: HTTYD

Theme: Hiccstrid - Medieval-style AU - Romance - Angst/Hurt/Comfort

Summary: Reduced to little more than a stable boy, Hiccup, despite his noble birth, has few prospects for more in life. But when he meets a girl who came to look at the horses, being a stable boy might not be enough anymore. Together, they have tough choices to make and great risks to navigate if they want to survive and be together.

Rating: Explicit

FF-net  -  AO3

Prologue; Chapter 1; Chapter 2; Chapter 3; Chapter 4; Chapter 5; Chapter 6; Chapter 7; Chapter 8; Chapter 9; Chapter 10; Chapter 11; Chapter 12; Chapter 13; Chapter 14; Interlude 1; Chapter 15; Chapter 16; Chapter 17; Chapter 18; Chapter 19; Chapter 20

Alpha/Co-author: @athingofvikings

. – * – _ . o O o . _ – * – .

AN: So, another relatively short one. I'm not sure this chapter ended up quite as I wanted it, but I thi8nk it's close. Probably... whatever... Hope you like it :)

. o O o .

It felt like flying.

The speed. The wind blowing into her face and tearing at her hair and dress. The sense of freedom.

Astrid couldn’t help the giddy laughter that bubbled up inside her and was ripped away from her mouth by the wind as it emerged. Riding like this, fast and without restraints, was amazing.

“Faster, boy!” she spurred Markor on as she heard the sound of galloping hooves far too close behind her. “They won’t get us.” She pressed her calves tighter to the gelding’s flanks, urging him to go faster as they reached a straighter part of the path that wound along Lake Vola’s shores. A few minutes later, she raised her fist in a cry of joy as they were the first to reach the agreed-upon goal – the crossroad from where the path split into several directions.

Catching her breath, she patted Markor’s neck and turned to look at where the men were fast approaching. Eret was the first, closely followed by Daniel and Hiccup who went head to head, and with Dagur being the last by far.

“I still say that’s cheating,” he complained when he finally reached them. “Astrid is far lighter than the rest of us; of course her horse is the fastest. It has less weight to carry.”

“You do know that your stallions are bigger and stronger to make up for that, right?” Astrid retorted cheerfully, gladly winding him up a bit more.

“Besides, by that logic Hiccup would be right behind her, as skinny as he is,” Eret threw in, the rush of their race painting a wide grin on his tattooed face.

Hiccup snorted. “I’m glad that Cassie is able to keep up with all your high-strung horses at all,” he replied, patting his mare affectionately. The motion made butterflies rise in Astrid’s stomach as she remembered all too well how gentle his touch could be. She was glad that the cool air and the race had made her face all red anyway, so nobody would notice her blush.

“You’re all just mean,” Dagur pouted, but joined in on the general laughter a moment later.

“Alright, to nobody’s surprise Astrid is the winner. As usual,” Daniel declared, eyes glinting. “And no, Dagur, you can’t call for a rematch, not again.” He guided Trample past them toward a narrow path that let into the nearby forest. “From here on, the path isn’t suitable for high speed anymore. I want to go to our meadow; it’s been ages since we’ve been there.”

Astrid felt a wide grin tug at her lips and saw the same expressions on Dagur’s and Eret’s faces. Their meadow was truly nothing more than that, a small meadow surrounded by miles and miles of the royal forest. And it wasn’t really their meadow either. Many a hunter or traveller used it occasionally to make camp, as Astrid’s grandfather had loosened the laws and restrictions on what had been the old king’s private hunting preserve, allowing peasantry a limited right to hunt, gather and harvest from the massive forest under supervision from the wardens. But it was a place they’d often been to when they’d been younger, when Dagur, Eret, and Snotlout had spent their summers in the castle, when life in general had been simpler. She wondered if they’d arrive and find it occupied or not; in the past, that had meant getting to share venison or rabbit and some interesting stories with her father’s subjects.

“Your wish is our command, Your Royal Highness,” she commented teasingly, implying a curtsy on horseback that made everyone chuckle. She forcefully kept herself from glancing at Hiccup as they followed Daniel onto the trail; such a formal comment usually came from him these days, after all. But nobody seemed to think anything about her adopting his attitude, and truth be told, that wasn’t why she’d said that anyway. Thinking about past years had made her fall back into old patterns as it seemed; being overly formal had been a joke to them, back then when none of that had felt real.

As the leafless branches closed above them, Astrid couldn’t help but relax somehow. The forest around them felt like a comfortable blanket in a way. The scent of earth and trees, the sounds of birds chirping, of small animals in the brushwood, and the murmuring of a distant stream. It was perfect. Peaceful. A part of her missed the rush of speed from before, but Daniel was right. This was not a good path for racing anymore; with roots and other tripping hazards of all kinds possibly lurking everywhere. Nobody wanted to lose their horse because of a broken leg, after all.

It took them over an hour of unhurried riding before they reached their goal. The meadow at the end of the winding path was even smaller than she remembered, but even though she hadn't been here in years, Astrid immediately felt a soothing sense of familiarity. There was the stream she’d heard earlier, now visible at the treeline, the stone circle in the middle that could be used as a firepit, and the bigger rocks placed around it to sit on. It was a place out of a simpler life, a life where she hadn't needed to be a noble lady all the time, much less the First Lady of the Kingdom. On that rock there, she’d once clapped along as a trio of travelling minstrels who had been camping here had sung and played music; for all that their clothes had made them of the lower sorts, travelling to entertain the peasants, they had cheered her twelve-year-old-self immensely.

For a short moment, she even mourned not having brought her bow and arrows as those memories conjured up others; of sneaking around trees and hunting down a rabbit or two to roast over the fire. She missed how the forests could provide everything one really needed. But then, with their saddlebacks packed with food, it really wasn't necessary to hunt today. And hunting just for sports had never been appealing to her.

“Oh, wow. This place really hasn't changed a bit,” Dagur noted. “Except that it used to be greener and warmer.”

“You know, that could be because it usually was at least late spring when we came here,” Eret countered dryly. Despite their words, there were fond smiles all around.

“Right. Let's see if we can start a fire,” Daniel said as he dismounted, beaming at the campsite; it was one of his favourite places, Astrid knew. “We might not need it for the food, but it certainly would help against the cold.”

They all followed his example, dismounting and taking a moment to let their legs get used to solid ground again.

“Woodpile’s empty,” Dagur noted as he stretched out his legs.

“Of course it is,” Eret replied. “The wardens wouldn’t let good firewood sit out to rot over the winter.”

Astrid ignored their banter and was about to take off Markor’s bridle and secure him to a tree, when Hiccup approached her.

“May I tend to your horse for you, Milady?” he asked after having stopped a few feet away from her – a safe distance.

“Of course. Thank you, Hiccup,” she accepted his offer – it was only appropriate, after all. Just seeing him, his warm smile, made her heart beat faster, and as always him using this form of address – that meant so much more coming from him – made her tingle all over. But at the same time, it was for once easy not to react. They would get their time, this night or maybe the next, depending on when she got the chance to again sneak away. She’d been right, treating him normal was much easier with that thought in the back of her mind.

She handed Hiccup the reins and then turned to walk over to the small stone circle, inspecting the fireplace with practised eyes. It obviously had been used occasionally, but the last time hadn’t been in weeks, as the coals were cold and the depression covered in dirt and windblown leaves. Carefully tugging her thick skirt beneath her knees, she knelt down and began to clean the place, sorting smaller twigs and dried leaves on piles for the fire later.

“Some lessons stick, I guess?” sounded Daniel’s voice to her, and she looked at where he stood a step beside her.

Astrid shrugged, wiping her forehead with the sleeve of her dress. “I guess so. Odin knows I’ve prepared enough firepits by now – you wouldn’t let me do much else, after all.”

Her brother looked a little sheepishly at that. “Well, making my baby-sister gather heavy firewood when we had enough strong arms around... didn’t seem like the logical choice,” he defended his past self.

Rolling her eyes, she snorted “You know I could have done it anyway, right?”

“Yeah…” he admitted reluctantly, then tried another approach. “But on the other hand, Dagur can’t light a fire to save his life – and I have witnesses to the literal truth of that statement.”

“And neither can you,” came her deadpan retort. If he’d brought up this excuse to save his dignity, he’d failed. Because this, too, was the simple truth. With all the skills and talents her brother was blessed with, starting or taking care of a fire wasn’t one of them.

“Aaand that’s my cue,” he laughed. He turned, presumably to beckon Dagur and Eret over for their usual tour through the woods for firewood; normally it was to restock the woodpile, but today they’d need it for the fire in the first place. It might have been years, but the routine still stuck. So it somewhat surprised Astrid when she caught Daniel pausing from the corner of her eye, before he called, “Hoy, Eret, Dagur? Think you can get enough wood on your own?”

Astrid looked up, surprised, and saw Dagur and Eret share an equally puzzled look. “Sure,” came Eret’s reply a few seconds later. “Afraid you might sprain your royal ankle?”

“Haha, funny,” Daniel grumbled with no real anger. “No, I’m going to keep Astrid company.”

Eret and Dagur shared another knowing look, and Astrid noticed Eret fleetingly glance at where Hiccup was still busy tending to the horses. She suppressed a sigh. Apparently, she would have to live with Daniel being in his overprotective big brother mode for a while now. But he meant it well, she knew that, even if the thought of needing protection from Hiccup of all people was hilarious. But then, it probably was better not to be left alone with him anyway, not when they didn’t know when the others would return.

“Alright,” Eret finally shrugged. “Let’s go, Dag. Guess it’s just us and the woods.”

Dagur cackled, “Bring it!” and then followed Eret out of sight into the trees.

Suppressing an impish grin, Astrid gazed after them. She was sure that these two wouldn’t mind being alone in the forest. Not at all. Their loud bantering was audible for a little while longer, making those staying behind chuckle; even Hiccup’s laughter was audible from where he tended to Squish right now. Glancing in his direction, Astrid saw him shaking his head in amusement, but she also caught a telling smirk playing around his lips. It made her wonder whether he, too, knew.

“Okay, what is it about these firepits now?” Daniel drew her attention, critically looking down at the stone circle. “Maybe I’ll learn how to build a fire eventually…”

Chuckling, Astrid showed him how to clean out the firepit from the autumn leaves that had blown in, and how to make a shallow depression by brushing dust and ashes to the sides so the fire would be protected from the wind. Then she made him help her gather dry leaves, bark, grass, and sticks to use as tinder.

All the while, she was aware of Hiccup working close by, watching them occasionally, and eventually, he came to help too. But again, he kept a safe distance and she did the same, working all by themselves instead of as close as possible – as they probably would have done only a couple of days ago. Once more, she marvelled at how simple it suddenly was.

And it was fun. By the time a low fire was burning, her hands and knees were dirty with soil and grass stains, but she had a serene smile on her lips, feeling accomplished and free. Dreamily, she gazed into the dancing flames, watching as they slowly grew, lapping at the bigger twigs. Once Eret and Dagur came back, the fire would be ready for the bigger logs and provide a comfortable space to rest and relax in.

The touch came unexpectedly.

With a yelp, Astrid flinched as a broad hand landed on her shoulder. Out of nowhere, she thought she heard shrill laughter, smelled a wave of perfume, and the flash of memory made her tremble before her mind registered the voice.

“Hey, here’s a blanket in case you–” Daniel broke off at her reaction. His hand vanished from her shoulder, and before she’d caught herself again he was crouching in front of her. Carefully, he took her hands in his, a calming gesture. His eyes locked on hers, momentarily wide with fear, as she fought down the sense of panic. It was just Daniel. Nobody was attacking her. She was safe.

“Thanks,” she breathed, unwinding her hands from his to reach for the blanket he’d dropped into the grass beside her. Gratefully, she wrapped it around her trembling shoulders, even though she knew perfectly well that the sudden chill she felt wasn’t caused by the cool wind around them.

“I’m sorry, Astrid,” Daniel murmured, sorrow and concern in his eyes. He looked as if he wanted to say more, but Astrid waved him off.

She wanted to smile and tell him that she was fine, but her brother deserved better than that. “I know,” she whispered instead. “I’ll be all right. I’m just a little… jumpy, I guess.” she tried a weak twitch of her lips, one that wasn���t intending to hide how she felt or to placate him. They both knew better after all.

. o O o .

A little while later, the five of them sat gathered around the now brightly bristling campfire and enjoyed their well-earned meal of cheese, cold meat, sweet bread, and watered wine. Having forgone regular meals today, the long ride out here – and in Eret’s and Dagur’s case having hiked the forest, no matter how cheerful they’d been upon their return – had made them all ravenously hungry, and for several minutes, nothing could be heard but content chewing and gulping.

“Ah, being among friends like this is fantastic,” Dagur eventually commented, stretching elaborately, and then leant back against the wide stone he and Eret shared. “No doubts, no second thoughts, no need to constantly watch out for hidden insults or knives…” His voice had its usual joking swing, but there was also a more serious note in it that made him sound a little melancholically.

Absently, Astrid pondered whether to reach for another piece of bread, but deciding against it. “Now, that sounds pretty dreadful,” she teased, trying to lighten his mood. “As if you don’t have any friends at all.”

Dagur snorted. “As a matter of fact, you don’t have friends in the south. Not really. You’ve just seen how traitorous ‘loyal vassals’ can be, now imagine trying to find friends among such people. Granted, not everyone is that bad, but still…” He trailed off, kicking a pebble into the fire before Eret placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Anyway, it’s no fun at all,” he eventually continued, throwing Eret a grateful glance. “With the prospering farms and the flourishing trade with the Southern Nations, many noblemen of lower rank are gaining influence and wealth beyond their titles. The same goes for some merchants, even, and a fair few of those are marrying into the nobility.”

Eret nodded. “Without that much wealth around, rivalry isn’t that much of a problem in Eastervale, not to mention the Northern Wilderness. That’s the difference, I guess. People are… content with what they have. And the people in Westhill definitely have other problems.”

“Exactly. But around Southshore, you can’t make a single step without getting reminded of just how wealthy everyone around is; it’s all a display of silk, jewels, silver, gold...  You can’t have a meal without it being doused in the most expensive imported spices, some of the latest fashions need expensive dyes, and let’s not even get started on the tea and this new imported drink, this coffee... although that last one’s Dad’s fault,” Dagur groused. “He likes it and that sets the fashion. But everyone seems to be keen on claiming as much of that wealth – and the power that comes with it – as they can. They all want to climb as high as possible, until–” He broke off, biting his lip and shaking his head.

Not for the first time, Astrid considered how much more she actually learned about the Kingdom when she was away from her governesses. To her annoyance, she wouldn’t be able to avoid them tomorrow though, as she was to at least spend one day per week being tutored. However, she didn’t expect to learn anything other than maybe another poem or possibly how to stitch a new pattern. Hearing about the Kingdom’s politics and problems was so much more interesting, even though she didn’t understand every bit.

“Well, then I hope this Lord Gregson your father choose as new Count Ravenledge proves to be the right choice,” Daniel continued, sighing. “The Gods know these people deserve a worthy leader after all they’ve been through.”

This, however, made Dagur grin. “Ulf Gregson? There’s no need to worry about him, trust me. He’s a decent man. In his case, we actually know him and don’t need to rely on second- or even third-hand reports. He might not be the most diligent man under Odin’s reign, but he’s trustworthy.”

At that, Hiccup perked his head up. “So, you’ve already chosen a successor for County Ravenledge?” he asked curiously, actually participating in the conversation for the first time, and Astrid gladly used this chance to look at him without it seeming suspicious. He looked curious, but she thought she also noticed a slight tension in his features.

“Right, you weren’t there anymore when we talked this through,” Daniel said, turning his attention to Hiccup as well. “We talked on it last night.”

“At length,” Dagur groused.

“Aye, but better to do it right than fast, brother,” Daniel said. “The longer the office is vacant, the more trouble it’ll attract – some people would do anything for a title, much less a prime one like Ravenledge – we owe it to the people there to not rush through a decision on who will rule them for the rest of his life like it was a choice of salad before the roast.”

“I see,” Hiccup nodded, frowning slightly as he returned his attention to his meal.

“I agree with Dagur,” Eret mumbled past a mouthful of bread, swallowed, and added, “I think Lord Gregson is a good choice. I mean, I would have had another suggestion… But in the end, it’s probably better to give the county to a native Southerner. And I’ve met the man a couple of times when visiting Southshore and I agree with Dag. He’s as honest a soul as they come. It just baffled me how long it actually took to decide on him. I mean, wasn’t he the first suggestion anyway? Why it took three hours to decide then is beyond me. Honestly, we could have slept so much longer instead...”

At that Dagur barked a laugh. “Politics, eh? Isn’t it a wonderful thing? But believe me, three hours is nothing. Just wait until you have to handle taxes. That can take days of barely any sleep at all.”

“Try to see it as training,” Daniel chuckled. “There will be lots of nights coming where we’ll stay up that long.” He raised a hand and started counting off on his fingers. “The common accolade tomorrow. Dagur’s accolade the day after. Midwinter. That trip to the tavern we wanted to make before I leave... Lots of nights to stay up late.”

Groaning, Eret dropped his head. “And lots of reasons to dress up too. Now, I’m twice as glad that we made this trip today. At least we have the tavern to look forward to.” He shuddered exaggeratedly, which made everyone laugh before a comfortable silence fell over the meadow.

Leaning back against the rock, Astrid gazed up at the darkening sky. Sparks of the fire occasionally rose up into the upcoming night, like fireflies, letting her mind wander. She agreed with Eret; she was incredibly glad that they’d made this trip today, that she’d decided to join the men, and that she’d made it to the stables in time to join them. Because, no matter how special this day was, compared to her usual life, the… normalcy of it all was incredibly comfortable to her.

She would gladly enjoy it all for a little while longer, just to add it to the memories from younger days. One of those hunting trips their father had taken them on when they’d been younger, or an exploration trip like those she and her brothers had made occasionally. Just being out in the forest for a couple of days, breathing freely. And preferably with only Hiccup to keep her company… A soft smile tugged at her lips at that image. Oh, what would she give for such an opportunity... But there was no way for her to do that, and such thoughts could only put him in danger.

But still...

She laid back on the stone, not worried about the decorousness of the action, and watched the clouds go by.

“We should go back,” Daniel stated after a while, reasonably yet reluctantly. “It’s getting late, and we’d better reach the road again before it gets too dark.”

Dagur grumbled, but Hiccup’s calm comment about how the horses needed at least some light to make it through the woods quickly had him up on his feet and packing up their things alongside the rest of them. Within minutes, they were ready to go.

The way back to the castle took longer than the ride out, as they went without racing each other, with everyone growing tired and the sun dimming. They all might have slept long this morning, but that didn’t mean they’d slept much. Regretfully, she accepted that she probably would need to actually stay in bed tonight.

“I kinda wish we could simply sack out here too,” Eret mumbled after they’d reached the stables and quickly tended to the horses. “Just rolling out a blanket and sleeping in the straw, without having to walk the whole way back…” His eye had a dreamy shimmer, one that Astrid could sympathise with all too well. She wanted to stay here, too...

“I don’t know.” Dagur eyed the straw critically. “Isn’t that… a bit scratchy and all?”

“Not once you put a blanket over it,” Hiccup commented, making a show of making his bed and lying down, a cheeky grin playing around his lips. “Ah, yes. Don't think I'll get up today again.”

Eret threw him a mockingly dark glare, but then chuckled and shook his head. “You really are the lucky one tonight. Until tomorrow, Hiccup. And don’t forget, we have sword training at the garrison.”

“Yeah, I'll be there,” he yawned exaggeratedly.

Daniel chuckled. “Right then. Good night, Hiccup. See you tomorrow, hopefully after a good night's rest, for once.”

“A night's rest indeed sounds good,” Astrid agreed, throwing Hiccup a quick glance. “Good night, Hiccup."

“Good night, Milady.”

Astrid turned and followed Eret out of the stables, Daniel and Dagur right behind her. She felt a little sad at the prospect of not spending this night with Hiccup again. But the short shared glance just now had been enough communication on that point; they both couldn't afford to spend yet another night awake, especially not when Hiccup had to be up and at the garrison in time to fulfil his duties as Eret's squire.

They would have to wait for a better chance, but that was all right. This day had been wonderful, but equally important to her was how interacting with Hiccup had worked out. They’d been walking a thin line between their desire to be close to each other and the demanded caution. But now that this new possibility had presented itself to them… Now, it seemed manageable, easy even.

For the moment, at least.

. o O o .

As I said, relatively short... And I told you, it would become a little calmer, right? Ah, but there are so many things in here... :| And I can't say anything... xD

Next chapter

[my-ships-will-never-be-sank]

Terrible Things

Short Very sad fic. not angst as such.... just sad boys </3

*************************************************

Summary:

It's been 10 years since his mother dies and the night of the anniversary Philip hears his father crying in his office.

cue story time and emotions

Philip was a child that seemed to pick up on everything. He knew his father wasn’t a happy man. He worked too much and often left him in the care of his Aunt Peggy (even if he didn’t need it - he was 19 god dammit) for two or three days in a row, that would sometimes result in her getting a call from his dad’s friend saying he had been neglecting his health again.

Philip liked to think he was enough for his father. That they had an incredible relationship, similar to the one they had had when he was growing up. He faintly remembered days sitting at the piano with his parents, singing and laughing, but they are often overshadowed by the days, the weeks, spent in the hospital.

It's just  gone midnight and Philip can’t sleep. He looks over at the pictures he keeps on his bedroom locker, him and his parents at disney world. They are all smiling and laughing with mickey mouse ears on. The second picture is of him and his best friend Theodosia. Well girlfriend if he was being honest but best friend first and foremost.  

He hears a muffled sob from down the hall. Wiping the evidence of his own tears away, Philip slips out of room and into his father’s office. He isn’t surprised by what he finds. His father - drunk, seated at a couch by the window.

“Come on Pops.” he calls in a tired voice. “I’ll help you to your room.”

His father didn’t seem to hear him. He just remained seated looking up at the moon. “Pip… have I ever told you how I met your mother? Or of our lives before you were born?”

He froze at the door to the room, barely daring to breath. “No pops. Never.”

A sad smile crossed his father’s face as he stared out the window, at the stars, and Philip felt his heart break for the man in front of him. The man he had been before he had retreated into the shell he was now. The man who now second guessed and disrusted. The man who kept as far away from love as possible. The man who never mentioned his wife except on the anniversary of her death. Philip slipped into one of the armchairs near the window.

“She was a wicked thing Pip.”  He laughed fondly, tears in his eyes. “She was brash, she was beautiful and she was so, so brilliant. She could have gone on to do anything she put her mind to.”

His father pushed himself up off the floor and stumbled towards his desk, pulling a key connected to a ribbon from around his neck. He unlocked the bottom draw, and philip had to restrain himself from racing to see what was inside. It was always locked. He couldn’t remember a time it had been open.

When his father emerged he was holding a selection of polaroids. He walks over to where Philip is sitting by the window before perching on the armrest.

“It was in the middle of winter. The ground was covered in fresh snow and yet it wasn’t too cold. It was a warm enough night and myself and my dorm mates had ended up in the midst of a bar crawl along with the majority of our year. The college exams had finished and we were celebrating. The moon was out and we were discussing our plans for the future. We wanted to be remembered. We wanted to be heros. We had plans to take the world by storm.”

He smiled fondly and Philip knew he was thinking of his old friends. He knew how their story ended. That was one thing his father had made sure of. “We will tell their story” he often mumbled while drunk before raising a glass in toast to the empty room.

The men who fought for equality, for the freedom of people to marry who they wished, and how many they wished… for polyamorous relationships to be recognised by the law…  it hadn’t gone unnoticed. Three gay men, all so deeply in love with each other.

And the wrong people had noticed.

John Laurens - southern born and raised - ultimately shot by a white police man while he was walking his niece Francis home. Ruled as an unfortunate accident.

Gilbert de Lafayette - the french man who had fallen in love only to end up hanging from the end of a rope tied to a street lamp in the same place John had been shot. Ruled as a suicide.

And Hercules Mulligan - the Irish man who drank himself to death unable to continue without his lovers, his best friends, his boyfriends…

After the death of his wife the loss of his closest friends had left him disconnected from everything. He had thrown himself into work only to get lost along the way.

His father handed him one of the photos.

“The night we met” it showed his father and his mom- both so young and carefree… his mom was laughing at something his dad had said, evident by the small smile that played on his lips. Philip did a double take realising they weren’t that much older than him. Second year of college if he had to guess.

“She was the most beautiful girl i had ever seen. I didn’t actually talk to her at first. I had seen her standing by the bar laughing with your aunts Peggy and Angelica. I hadn’t even realised I had been glancing at her all through the night until I looked up and she was gone.” his dad smiled at the memory. “She had spotted me looking, because when I scanned the dance floor I felt a finger tapping on my shoulder. I spun around and there she was. She was wearing this beautiful sky blue jumper and she was smiling wickedly at me over her drink.

She ended up inviting me to dance, and after we danced we talked… we must have talked for hours Pip…”  His dad’s eyes lit up before they dulled again. His dad took another sip of - Philip took a sniff- Brandy. “I think it's safe to say I fell in love with her that day. She was smart, witty and she had plans of becoming a doctor. We exchanged numbers and the messaging never stopped. We would be texting or talking until 2am or 3am every morning and be wandering into lectures with bags under our eyes nursing coffees and sneaking off messages. It was everything I had never known I wanted, never known I needed.”

Philip listened as he stared out the window of their home. Out into the gardens planted before he was born and the one’s he now tended to. He remembers days spent in the garden with his mom, her teaching him the names of the different plants and explaining how to tend to them. He thinks of the book his mother made him, sitting on his bookshelf and smiles softly.

“There would be days we’d do nothing… relax by the river in summer, sometimes we would go swimming, there was long walks in autumn… we would skip classes to drink hot-chocolate in winter…”

Ashe spoke he showed more and more polaroids to Philip. The pair of them wrapped up in scarves and hats. His mom in a bathing suit. Group pictures of the pair with Aaron, John, Hercules, Lafayette, Peggy and Angelica.

Angelica… Philip couldn’t remember the last time he saw her. She left for England after the funeral and hadn’t returned.

“We watched the sunrise over New York city from down by the river on a spring morning. It was chilly and we were wrapped in blankets. That morning… that morning she told me she was pregnant with you” His father smiled at him and Philip could feel the tears gathering inn his own eyes. “We laughed until we cried and then…  I proposed to her on the spot, pulling out the ring i’d been carrying in my pocket for a good month.” A polaroid of a hand with a ring on it. A polaroid of his father kissing his mother’s slightly rounded belly.

His father layed out more and more pictures and Philip felt the tears streaming down his face.

Engagement party.

Wedding day.

His parents dancing.

The day he was born - him in his mother’s arms, a tired smile on her face.

His father holding him, the look of pride and love etched on it, a look Philip hadn’t seen in a while…

Pictures of Philip fast asleep in his mother’s arms.

Pictures of the three of them in the garden.

Pictures of him and Theodosia sitting on his mom and Theodosia Sr.’s laps

Pictures of his mother and father fast asleep on a couch with him nestled between them.

“Why have I never seen these before?” Philip’s joy and sadness was touched with a hint of anger. “Why, Pops? Why have I never seen all of these photos of Mom? Why have you kept them from me?”

His father smiled sadly, looking down at a picture of their wedding day, a newborn Philip- crying his eyes out- being held by his parents beneath an oak tree. “It hurts Pip. It hurts to remember all the good, because we didn’t get enough of it. Because the bad over shadows it. Everytime I try to focus on the good the bad is there… lurking in the corners ready to jump out…”

Philip was surprised. He wasn’t aware that the death of his mother haunted his father so frequently… daily by the sound of it… life was a daily struggle for him.

And himself… looking at the photos he could see the resemblance between himself and his mother… his cheekbones… the colour of his hair… even the small half smile in one of the photos was an exact replica of his own. From his father though… he had his eyes and his aunt Peggy said his attitude was the same as when his father was his age.

“You hold yourself the same way. You chase what you want and you use that brain of yours to get it. Your a fighter, Philip Hamilton… just like Alexander was before…”

His father surprised him, kept talking. “It was a winter evening when she told me. I think you were at a playdate over at the Burr’s house. We were walking through the forests when she pulled me down near the same spot I proposed.’Alex’ she said. ‘Alex I need to tell you something. I was at the doctors and they found something… Alex i’m sick. And it's bad - it's really bad…’” his father choked back his sobs.

“She told me how after a few appointments she had been told she… she only had weeks to live.”

His father broke down crying and Philip couldn’t stop the tears that flowed down his own face. He remembers the weeks spent in the hospital; the white walls, sterile smells, the wires and the constant beeping of the heart monitor.

“I am sorry Pip. I know I haven’t been the greatest father towards you. I worked long days to try and forget, I left you to more or less raise yourself with the odd assistance from Peggy. You deserved so much better than what I gave you…”

“Pops-”

“Don’t Pip, you know it's the truth. Once your mother passed, I stopped being a father, and i’ll regret it for the rest of my life. You didn’t deserve it. You needed your father and I more or less abandoned you with family. You will never know how sorry I am Pip… so so sorry…” He trailed off in tears.

“I forgive you Pops. I - I forgive you” he threw himself at his father, and was partially surprised when the hug was returned in equal force.

When was the last time his father had hugged him like this?

“I broke the promise I made to you when you were born Pip… I promised you i’d always be there for you. That you’d never be alone. That you’d never know life with an absentee father like I did…”

“We can’t change the past pops… only look forward to the future.”

***************************************************************************************************

Alexander looked down on to the couch where his son had fallen asleep. He can’t believe how blessed he was to have a son like Philip. A son so understanding and loving… one willing to forgive him for all his faults…

Just like his mother,

Eliza… his sweet Eliza.

Ten years.

He looks at the photos that had fallen to the floor.

Ten years of sadness and heartbreak. Ten years of isolating himself. Ten years of missing his sons accomplishments.

He had missed out on over half of his son’s life.

But that would change.

He looked down at the glass of brandy in his hand and downed it. That was the end of it. He’d stop the drinking. He’d be around more. He bent down and picked his son up.

When they got to his bedroom he gently placed his son onto his bed and pulled the duvet cover over him. He sees the picture out of the corner of his eye.  The trip to disneyland. The last holiday they went on together.

And the picture of Theodosia and Philip. He smiled. They were quite the pair the two of them. And they were so in love.

‘Maybe’ Alex thought, ‘maybe it was time to try again.’ He knew Eliza would be mad at this mess he'd become. She had always been so level headed. He knew it had been a decade. So maybe, just maybe something new would come along - and this time he wouldn’t run.

He watched the sun rise from Philips room. It was a new day.

[transientbiologists]

from fieldwork to illustration

it’s been snowing the past couple days in western new york. like, a lot. we could get two feet of snow - nearing that already - and a blizzard warning over the region. i had to carry my husky inside yesterday because he wanted to stay out all day. today we spent much less time outside, with windchills as low as -30F/-34C.

aside from venturing out in the snow to get some groceries, it’s been just a normal day for me. worked on some graphic design and writing stuff from home.

did i know that after my last field job, i’d dive into writing and illustration?

nope. even though i’m half decent at both of those things, i love working hands on with animals. i’ve found i prefer to be helping them rather than studying them objectively, which is why i’m starting veterinary technology classes in march. i do get an itch though, every time i see a job posting for researching bats or wolves or different critters in interesting places.

i went from a life that looked like this:

Counting ticks on a chipmunk, Summer 2018

to a life that looks like this:

Drinking coffee while working on Adobe Illustrator, 2019

it’s quite the change! and it’s not a permanent one - i anticipate to be doing fieldwork this spring and summer. just not the same as i have before.

my work isn’t totally unrelated. i get to research and work to help resolve human-wildlife conflict. so i keep up to date on current events surrounding different species and try to resolve issues before they even begin. a bit of ‘preventative medicine’ if you will.

plus, i’m pretty lucky to have a sustainable gig to cover me throughout the winter. when i worked in montana, i was frequently reminded by locals that they’d go on unemployment during the offseason. i have more freetime now, so i get to play guitar and work on my skating - hopefully i’ll do a couple hockey clinics before the season’s out.

spare time was unheard of in the intensity of my field season. my public blog focused on either the positives of my job or navigating the confusion about grad school and the future. i worried about the consequences of appearing ungrateful.

i genuinely did feel pretty neutral about my job most days. i like working outdoors. i like being outside. i like hiking around. i like driving from fieldsite to field site. i like setting camera traps and analyzing images. chipmunks and mice are not my favorite species to work with, but i’m interested in disease ecology research so it made sense to work with them. i have great physical energy, but do much better in cooler conditions than hot ones.

all that said, it was a tough five months. i fared poorly once the temperature rose about 90F/32C. with conditions around or over 100 degrees, i was prone to headaches and would often go through four 32oz nalgene bottles of water within a twelve hour day. on top of that, i infected my knee with contaminated forceps and had to go on antibiotics for nearly two weeks. i’ve never identified with the nerdy scientist persona - i’ve always been athletic and restless so i was {quietly} mortified by my apparent incompetence, that i would frequently injure myself. i thought i could do better. i was angry and competitive and wanted to prove myself. the harder i pushed myself, the worse i did. there was nothing to prove.

i was exhausted.

my worst mistake was going into a work the morning after a sort of weird thing happened. i woke up gasping for breath with sharp pain in my neck, i couldn’t see, my face felt tingly, and felt so dizzy i could hardly sit up. i should’ve gone to the emergency room. instead, i waited for the dizziness to subside. we’re still trying to figure out what all of that was. i need to see an opthalmologist and a few other doctors to try and crack the case. a couple think it may have been heatstroke. but now that i know stroke runs in my family, i’ll certainly never be so careless again.

on top of personal struggles, i also struggled counting ticks at first. i didn’t know how badly i needed reading glasses. and the numbers often ‘fell out of my head’ at first - i’d count more slowly than many of my peers, and would forget totals as soon as i calculated them - a consequence of some mild dyscalculia that i simply hadn’t guessed would impact my job. i had to hack my own brain to figure out a system that worked for me. and eventually it did - but my god, it was so frustrating.

i was working on my thesis during all of this. it was crazy. some days i look back and wonder how i was able to get it all done and defended by november.

the saving grace, of course, was the friends i made along the way. i had a closeness i had with my roommates. i hadn’t had that in years. we spent a lot of nights laughing over all sorts of things. i’d sip kahlua and wine and we’d spend hazy evenings trying to figure out our lives and talking about boys and wondering where we’d go next.

now i’m back in western new york and everything is different. i’m staying with my parents so i can save up. we endured a terrible emergency around christmas time, and i’m thankful everything turned out okay. i’m grateful, but we’re reaching a point of normalcy again - so i’m bored out of my mind most days. my grandma is visiting from poland too, which is nice, but that means our house is full - and i’m typing these stories from the dining room, where i have little space. i’m happy to trade space for my grandma’s company, but i can’t seem to catch a break when it comes to privacy. i know there’ll be time for privacy later. there’ll be time for everything later. but i feel stuck and constrained and i’m trying to focus less on that and more on the positives of being home - like guitar and coffee and hockey.

i would choose this - under the condition i get an apartment soon - over another field season at the same research center. it gives me more freedom to research what i want, to study what i want, and to develop the skillset that i want while earning some cash utilizing my other skills.

the best part? i get to be in the moment, and worry way less about the future now.

[alltheworldsinmyhead]

                           OUR FUTURE WILL BE A BRIGHT ONE. 

                                eremika soulmates through time modern au

(ff. net/ ao3)

 (he’s just about to catch her when she falls,  slips through his fingers in a heartbeat, in a fraction of a second in-between breath; painfully calm and painfully beautiful, even after she is no more. Always one before her time, just as he’s always late to say things he should’ve said, late to see what he had standing in front of his very own eyes.

 she’s always chasing after him and he always remains out of her reach in his last minutes; she never gets to stand by his side and she never gets to say a proper goodbye, as he rushes towards his death like he rushes for everything else – carelessly and eagerly, head-on. Leaving her behind. )

                                   CHAPTER ONE: COUP DE FOUDRE

 COUP DE FOUNDRE ( noun.)

FRENCH, literally: lightning strike, it can be applied to falling in love at first sight, fast and violently

at last, hello, you’ve opened your eyes

but why won’t you even look at me, what’s wrong?

you angrily tell me I’m late

well, I’m sorry, but I ran the fastest I can

 my heart got here before my body could even make it

-          RADWIMPS -  Zen Zen Zense

  (he’s just about to catch her when she falls,  slips through his fingers in a heartbeat, in a fraction of a second in-between breath; painfully calm and painfully beautiful, even after she is no more. Always one before her time, just as he’s always late to say things he should’ve said, late to see what he had standing in front of his very own eyes.

 she’s always chasing after him and he always remains out of her reach in his last minutes; she never gets to stand by his side and she never gets to say a proper goodbye, as he rushes towards his death like he rushes for everything else – carelessly and eagerly, head-on. Leaving her behind. )

   ….

 Like everyone else, they meet by accident; pass each other on a crowded street, on Friday evening, with sky dark and cold chilling them to the bone.  And at first, they don’t even realize what has just happened, because books promised something different, parents warned them of something else. They both expected a violent phenomenon that would rip them into pieces;  a lightning strike through her veins, thunderstorms inside his head, heavy rain in the moment when they would share the same air.

Instead, this brown haired boy passes her and  Mikasa feels summer evening in early July;  setting sun caressing her skin as she sits on the wooden porch of her grandparents’ house, the smell of honeysuckle in the air, strawberry seeds between her teeth and crickets singing on the meadows.

Instead,  this raven-haired girl passes him and Eren feels spring morning; waking up at sunrise with birds chirping cheerfully outside,  old willow tree in his backyard sprouting fresh green leaves, the cold bite of the shower and a whole new, untainted day yet to be lived spread in front of him.

It’s not painful. It does not hurt. But it hits nevertheless, all those feeling both alien and familiar. The pair of them makes a few more steps before stopping in their respective tracks; she shivers, he gasps.

It feels- it feels as if they suddenly have two beating fast hearts instead of one, two hearts trashing in one ribcage.

When they turn around to look at each other, they do it like people on the streets, when they feel a delicious smell of pastries from bakery’s open door; with cheeks flushed and awe and amazement in their eyes wide open, with fresh snow making a strange squeaking sound underneath their boots.

And then they lock eyes; the girl with a long braid of dark hair meticulously pinned around her head and the boy with a red scarf wrapped carelessly around his neck. And every movie, every song, every romance movie turns out to be right, because as green meets gray, people around them stop half-movement, snowflakes halt frozen on their way to the ground, the time itself seems to have forgotten how to fly.

It’s not easy, sharing a soul with someone – said their elders.- This pain of the first meeting of your destined is not the last one.

But Mikasa doesn’t feel any pain as she’s looking into those green, green eyes, oh dear god how, they are so green, she dreamed him, dreamed about him and his eyes, how could’ve she forgotten?  

And all Eren can think of is beautiful, beautiful, beautiful, each part of her so beautiful, each movement graceful, the simple surprised arch of her eyebrows exquisite; this diamond of a woman that he feels he already knows better than he knows himself.

It all comes back to them in a flow of emotions, of sensations; the dreams, the longing, this phantom presence they felt all their lives without realizing that.

In the middle of a snowstorm, two hands reach for each other simultaneously, fingers brushing –

And that’s when the lightning strikes.

 …

 I missed you, I missed you, I missed you so bad

So that’s what they meant by pain.- hazily thinks Mikasa, dazed, lost in the ocean of green. Sadness and happiness hit her like a tsunami wave, flooding her, pushing the air from her lungs. The ache of separation, of how could I live my life without you for all those years, for I cannot imagine not touching you now that I had – mixed up with the pure, unfiltered happiness as he entwines his fingers with hers. Mikasa gasps, basking in this warmth, overwhelmed with the feeling of contentment incomparable to anything she has ever felt. At the back of her mind, she wonders why she’s not ashamed of her reactions; why she doesn’t try to hide her amazement, be more composed. But why would she do that? The current of his emotions flows through her veins like a blood, she feels the buzzing underneath his skin. He’s bolder than her, more curious; while she’s content with standing still and looking at him, his fingers travel upwards, caressing her palm, her wrist, leaving a trail of blazing fire on her skin. It’s not even warm anymore, she feels hot inside as if she was burning alive.

She wonders if she should worry about that.

 Eren can’t stop touching her. She has small, pale hands, nails meticulously manicured, silver ring on the little finger of her left hand. His fingers trail along the blue-greenish veins of her naked wrists;  the tips of her fingers are red and somewhere, in the most down to earth part of his brain, he thinks they should both were goddamn gloves in this weather.

But why should he wear gloves, when it’s so hot, he’s almost boiling?

She’s silently standing in front of him and he still thinks she’ll disappear any second now, even though he keeps a firm grip both on both of her hands. He worries that the storm will take her away, that the snow will erase her footprints; that she’ll be gone and he’ll be all alone once again. And this thought hurts him, hurts him deep to the bone and so, before he can even think about it,  his hands lock around her wrists.

It’s all new and so incredibly fresh, this bond between them burning white and pulsing like an open wound but she must’ve sensed his discomfort from the way he grabbed her, because her expression turns from awe-struck to soothing; she gently  wraps her fingers around his wrists, her thumb circling on his skin -  the caress that almost stops his heart’s beating altogether.

“What’s your name?” he asks and he almost doesn’t recognize his own voice; it’s raspy and desperate and he nearly laughs at the irony of a situation. He’d know her anywhere, blind and deaf and lost and still, he knows nothing about her at all.

“Mikasa”  she answers, so quietly that the wind nearly steals her voice away before it can reach his ears. “My name is Mikasa.”

Mi-ka-sa

“My name is Eren.”  there’s a laughter in this introduction, lightness and less strain than before.  “Guess I finally found you, huh?”

She can only laugh back at that. Laugh, because while the tension between them turns so unbearable that she’s half a second away from letting go of his hands, she somehow wants to move closer. Because she wants to feel his arms wrapped around her waist, wants to bury her fingers in his shaggy mop of brown hair, wants to lean up so that the tips of their noses would touch. Laugh, because she has never felt so light, so alive and she knows for an undeniable fact that it’s all new to him too.

His smile is fond. Gentle is the way he slowly, carefully, unwinds her fingers from around her wrists, but they both hiss in pain and the sudden loss of contact. The burning warmth is replaced by biting cold and all in them screams to not let go.

They know the standard procedure of the first meeting - there is more than one and it’s all up to them. Sometimes destined couples give in to the pull straight away, deciding that they have a whole life for talking and disappearing from work and social life for days until they emerge with hair messed up and hearts full, so in love it hurts to look at them. Sometimes they make an effort to take things slow, gradually; get to know each other on a detailed level, untangle the tangled-up net of emotions, resist the temptation of just touching in order to sort out how they fit in each other’s lives first.  And sometimes they just try to completely brush it off, discard the bond given to them so effortlessly and try to play pretend that that’s a normal relationship; go to dates and chill out in larger groups before they take this one big final step.

Neither of those options feels right to Mikasa and Eren; she has already completely abandoned any notion of exchanging numbers and going home as if nothing happened. He, on the other hand, can’t deal with the itch in his bones, pull that urges him forward to touch her just one more time.  All of him is pushing him closer to Mikasa, but then he glances at her; at her shining gray opals for eyes, and the shade of rose painted on her cheeks by the frost.

He doesn’t want to fuck it up.

Not now, not with this girl. He can’t bear the thought of simply leaving, not now that he finally found her, but if she wants to leave and brush it under the rug, he won’t stop her.

( Carla’s voice rings clear in his ears oh my boy, this urge to put this person before yourself  - you’d think that’s something good, but it is why it all ends badly more often than not.)

Thankfully, she doesn’t seem to want to go either; she opens her mouth as if to say something and the abruptly closes it, crimson flooding her face as she tears her gaze from his face to stare at her shoes. Curiously, Eren probes the string of emotions between them; and as Mikasa’s feelings echo back to him, he almost jumps out of his skin. It’s fuzzy and undefined, but undeniable at the same time – need burns inside her, need and happiness, and a healthy dose of fear, and – yes. She’s just as reluctant as he is to let go. He resists the urge to fist pump in a triumph.

She shivers as the cold wind blows right in her face and for  a moment he is transfixed by the way the loose streaks of her hair dance around her face, and then, just as he’s about to propose to find some place warm, she blurts out:

“ My apartment is near.”

Her face twists into a horrified expression and he fights himself so as not to laugh. Because, no matter all the grace and elegance she possesses, she is just incredibly cute like that; stumbling on her feet and flustered, so new to all of this.  However, she seems so incredibly irritated with herself, that he concludes that she must act differently in normal circumstances, far more stoic and composed. If that’s so, they’ll make quite a pair.

His stomach makes a somersault at that though and he can’t help but grin.

He leans down so that their faces are at the same level and moves closer; the sting of heat returns with the force twice as great as before as he brushes the stray hair from her face.

“ Can I come over, then?”  he asks quietly, voice warm and rich as honey.

She nods, wordlessly, drunk in his touch, struggling to pull herself together.

His grin turns into a smile and before she can notice, he unwraps the scarf from his neck and loops it around hers.

“ I know you said it’s near, but you look terribly cold.” he says by the world of explaining, awkwardly scratching the back of his neck and blushing under her surprised gaze.

And so, she just has to smile at that.

[padasteph-nie]

The Fourth Wall

CHAPTER THIRTEEN: Vaewolves and Broken Glass

Characters: Stephanie (OC), Sam Winchester, and Dean Winchester

Pairings: Sam x Stephanie (still unofficial)

Word Count: 2,433

Warnings: Reality shifts and fight scene. Character injury.

A/N: I know what you’re thinking.. when is this going to end. Soon, very soon. 

The Fourth Wall - Masterlist

Stephanie’s Point of View

     We all loaded into the car, I took it upon myself to sit in the back. I needed all the solitude I could get. Sam already had his worried look on his face, and I knew that meant he was going to be looking back on me every minute or so.

       I decided to go back over the photos first. I pulled up the picture of the house. I closed my eyes and I could see it plain as day. The tall, blue house was sitting on a corner lot. I tried to concentrate, blocking out the sound of the roaring engine in front of us. It didn’t take long before my mind sucessfully drowned out the sounds. I felt like I was there, in the picture. I walked into the back door, somehow knowing the front would be locked. I explored the place with ease, knowing each turn and where it would lead. I went up the stairs, two bedrooms, one bathroom, and a den. One room was definitely a kid’s room, and it was shared. I was beginning to think this house belonged to the people I didn’t recognize in my photo album. I went back down the stairs and into the dining room. I stood there, realizing how real this all felt. My head felt dizzy, so I shook it a little to hopefully lessen the feeling. When I set myself straight again, I noticed a family picture. It was definitely the people in the photos. Same guy; tall, blue-green eyes and a full beard. The two boys and…

      “Stephanie, hey. Hey! Are you with me?” Sam’s voice woke me out of my trance.

      Dean was staring at me through the rear-view mirror. “You just passed out. Are you okay?” His eyes went back to the road, but I could see there was deep concern in them.

      We pulled into an empty lot, covered by trees. Dean shut his headlights off. “We are here already?” I felt like only a minute or so had passed, but it had been fifteen minutes.

      Dean turned off the engine, “Stephanie, I don’t think you should come in.”

      Sam looked at him like he was insane, “Dean, we can’t leave her out here alone. This place could be crawling with vaewolves.”

      I looked at Sam, scared, but I knew Dean was right. “I’ll just stay out here and keep doing some research. I mean, let’s be honest, not one of us remembers me doing much hunting. How I’ve survived these last few hunts has got to be a miracle.”

      Sam clenched his jaw, knowing we were right. It was obvious he didn’t like the idea. “Okay, but I’m keeping my phone on ring.” He checked his phone, “we have service out here. If you even feel uncomfortable in the slightest, call me. I won’t even answer, I’ll just come straight out.”

      Dean got out and opened the trunk. I heard him rummage through it and load a gun. Silver bullets I assumed. He closed the trunk and came around to Sam, who was still sitting in the front seat, staring at me like a fragile, lost child. “She’s gonna be fine, Sam. She’s a hunter. She will call if she needs us.” Dean handed Sam a machete. 

      Sam sighed and opened his door. He reached back and pulled me to him, kissing me on the forehead. “Please be on high alert. Please?” He begged.

       I nodded and watched as he got out of the car to join Dean. They headed off into the trees. I suddenly realized how bad of an idea this was. It was late evening, and the only sound was a light breeze blowing through the trees in the dark, wooded lot.

       I needed to continue looking into all of this stuff, but I didn’t want to use my phone and draw attention to myself with the light. So instead, I cracked open the book. I observed the handwriting, cursive and, honestly, a little sloppy. I hardly ever wrote in cursive, except for when I was trying to make a journal pretty, or signing something. I’ve always hated my cursive writing. I found my marked page. It was dark, and I almost couldn’t see, but it was just light enough, and I began reading:

       Sorry I haven’t wrote in a few days, I’ve just been really down. I’m not sure why this diagnosis is affecting me so much. I always wondered if something wasn’t right, but I’m so used to being me, ya know? Do you remember back when I had just graduated, and I went and seen that psychiatrist? Probably not, I only did two counseling sessions and that was it. But the psychiatrist said I had manic depression. At the time I thought that it was a mild form of depression, because I had only heard of major depressive disorder. So, I assumed if it wasn’t major, then it was minor. Well at my last appointment, when I was diagnosed, the doctor said manic depression is what they used to call bipolar disorder. So, this isn’t the first time I’ve been diagnosed apparently.

       Anyway, I guess that doesn’t matter. It kinda sucks that we moved out here in the middle of nowhere after I found out. Don’t get me wrong, I love this tiny town, but the timing was off. I could really use a friend. I’m glad I have you, it’s a good escape from the real world. I’m actually really proud of this move. I finally got away from the hustle and bustle of being in a city where I was always expected to be directly involved with the family. My family is great, but I’m an introvert, which I’m sure you’ve figured out by now. I mean, you’re my main source of socializing. Like I said though, I love this tiny town.

       Nothing makes me happier than taking my two boys outside on a summer day here. Right outside the back door is a small deck, and in the summer, Dustin likes to cook out and we eat on our patio set and watch the boys play. He is such a good dad, and husband. I still can’t believe I snagged this tall, blue-green eyed man. His beard is a little much at times, but I like more facial hair than not. But on days like today, I try to think of all this stuff. When I’m feeling like I don’t really care about my life, I try to think of my kids. They are so cute, and so young. We just put our oldest in Pre-Kindergarten this year. I don’t want to miss anything, ya know. I’m not even thirty yet. It’s amazing we’ve already bought a house. Five years ago, I would have been shocked to know we’d have two kids and live in this adorable, tall, blue house. Once we got the windows put in, the white trim really made it look nice. And in the spring, the little tree in the front yard blooms tiny pink flowers. I’m really lucky. I shouldn’t dwell so much on having a diagnosis, it doesn’t change anything. Thanks for this, I really needed to vent and get my mind on track.

       I slowly closed the book, my mind was racing. I opened my phone and pulled up the pictures again. The man, tall with blue-green eyes and a full beard. The young boys, like I said, no older than six. I closed my eyes and tried to concentrate, but I was feeling nauseous. I went to text Sam but something else happened. I looked up and I wasn’t in the Impala anymore. I looked back down at my phone. Same phone, but instead it was opened to a text conversation I was having with someone named Dustin. It hit me, Dustin wasn’t a hunter that I met randomly and just kept his number for emergencies. Dustin was the guy in this story. Those kids are his kids, and that house is his house. I looked around me, I was back in that very house. I went into the dining room to find that picture. I grabbed it off the shelf it sat on, and I glared at it, in shock. There was a woman in the photo, I didn’t see her last time. This was the woman that wrote the books. It had to be her. The only thing was, she looked eerily like… me.

       I dropped the picture, shattering it on the floor. I sat down, to prevent myself from falling. “Wake up, wake up!” I yelled to myself. I picked up my phone to call Sam, each ring making me feel more and more alone. I was hoping he’d come out to the car and get me out of this trance before it went to voicemail. He didn’t. The voicemail wasn’t even his… It was Dustin’s. “Wake up, please wake up.” I looked down at the shards of glass in front of me. I couldn’t help but think this was a way out. I needed to wake up. I picked up a large piece, and squeezed it tightly in my hand. I screamed and winced in pain, dropping the glass. When I looked down to view the piece of glass, I wasn’t looking at the carpeted dining room. All I could see were the floor boards in the Impala. “It worked.” But my mind went back to the pain, my hand was cut deeply.

        I heard my phone go off, and I looked down at it. It was a message from Dustin, 'Please, don’t do anything else. I’m leaving work now. I’ll be there soon.' My mind was lost between two worlds. I examined my surroundings, and found that the back window of the Impala was broken. I couldn’t remember how. Was it me? Did I break the window? Did something attack me?

        I decided it was better to find Sam and Dean, I’d be safer with them. I got out of the car, not even bothering to shut the door. I ran into the wooded area, and it wasn’t long before I found the nest. It was a house, and by the sounds of it, Sam and Dean were already in kill mode. I slowly approached the house, still holding pressure to my hand. I had to tend to the wound, I couldn’t walk in there fighting with my hands clasped together. I let go, watching the blood pool in my palm. I lifted my flannel to my mouth, bit down, and tore a piece of fabric off of it, and tied it tightly around my hand.

        I circled the place, until I found a branch laying on the ground. I broke off a piece after jumping on it a few times. I was armed to my best and ready to join the fight. I crept up to the door and slowly opened it. There was blood everywhere, vaewolves laying dead, their heads cut off. All except two. Sam and Dean were each on one. Approaching the closest one with its back to me, it was the one Sam was fighting. It didn’t even realize I was behind it until Dean yelled, “STEPHANIE! WATCH OUT!” I turned around to a third vaewolf, and before I could swing the branch, it slashed its claws across my arm, and I fell to the ground in pain.

        “NO!” Sam yelled, decapitating his vaewolf with one swift strike of his machete. Dean had already shot his and was after the one that had attacked me. Sam ran and slid to my side, “Hey, you okay? Let me see it.” I pulled my arm away from chest to expose the slashes across my arm. “We need to stitch these up!” he immediately got up and started to look for supplies.

        “Sam, listen.” I winced, trying to sit up.

        “No, lay down! Don’t move.” He demanded.

        “Sam, I think I figured it out.” I tried to explain over his mindless rummaging.

        “We don’t have time for this right now, Stephanie.” He walked back over to me, “We have to go back to the car, there are first aid supplies in there.” He lifted me up and pushed my arm against my chest. “Try to keep your arm there, it will slow the bleeding.”

        “Sam, the book. The pictures, there is a link. The house is her house. The man is her husband, and the kids are her kids.

        Sam kept leading me out the door and through the trees. “That’s impossible, how would you have real pictures of fictional characters?” He asked, not really putting thought into it.

        “I don’t think they are fictional.” I waited for a response.

        Sam stopped dead in his tracks and looked at me. “Where is the book?” He put his hands on my shoulders. Before I could answer he yelled at me, “WHERE IS THE BOOK, STEPHANIE?”

        “Calm down! It’s in the car.” I replied. Sam took off running, and I followed as best as I could with my arm against my chest. “What’s going on? Why do you need the book?” Sam ignored the smashed window and the fact that the door was left open. He reached in, grabbed the book and walked around to the back of the car. He flung open the trunk, and opened the book, laying it flat in front of him. “What are you doing? Sam, I need to you to help me with my arm.”

         Sam continued to ignore me and pulled out the box of our fake I.D.s and badges. He grabbed them out, a handful at a time, until he found one of mine. He laid it out next to the book. “That’s it!” He yelled. “Stephanie, what is the main character’s name in your book?”

          I walked over to look closer at what he had found. I tried to remember, but I couldn’t recall her name. “I’m not sure. I don’t think she ever says.”

          “I didn’t think so. She wouldn’t need to.” Sam pulled me against him and brought the badge to my view. “Look at your signature.” I looked at it, still missing what he was getting at. He reached down and grabbed the book, “look at the handwriting, Stephanie. That is your handwriting.”

          I compared them closely and gasped. Just then, we heard footsteps coming from the trees. “Please tell me that is Dean,” I whispered. I turned to look at Sam and he was gone. It was like he dissipated on the spot. “Sam?” I walked around the car and hid behind the open door.

         “Stephanie?” A voice called, “Oh my God, no. Please, Stephanie!” Before I could see who it was, I fell faint to the ground, broken glass shattering into smaller pieces beneath me.

@dstrehlo

@vampirebunni

@lefthologramdeer

@fluffy-metal-kitten

[serendipitousrambles]

Imperio

chapter 4

Detention wasn’t so bad. They’d mostly all walked in silence, Hagrid pointing out facts that didn’t exactly make them feel better, talking about all the dangerous things that lived in the forest.

Eleven walked behind the boys, not quite feeling like she fit in. There was an awkward atmosphere in the air but Mike felt a strange longing to talk to her - about anything.

He stopped and pretended to tie his shoe so he would fall back to walk with Eleven. She glanced at him but didn’t say anything. Mike opened his mouth to say something and then decided not to. You’re such a dork Mike, he told himself. Say something, anything.

“I’m, I’m Mike.” He held out his hand and she looked at it before hesitantly shaking it.

“Eleven.” Her voice was quiet and unsure.

“It’s a strange name, if you don’t mind me saying.” Mike instantly regretted that, he probably made her feel weird.

“Yeah I guess it is.” She looked at him, he couldn’t recognise the expression on her face. “I’ve never been fond of it.”

“Do you have a nickname? What do your friends call you?” He shoved his hands in his pockets.

“No…” She shook her head. “No, I don’t… don’t have friends.” Eleven looked away, almost… ashamed.

“You could be our friend?” Mike smiled, trying to read her expression. “We could call you El, short for Eleven?”

“Friends?” She allowed herself a small smile.

“Yeah.”

Eleven met his eyes in the darkness of the forest and they stopped walking.

“I’d like that.” She whispered. “Very much.”

“What’re you two doin’ back ‘ere.” Hagrid shone the lantern in their faces and signalled them to catch up with the others.

It took a while for El to fully fit in with the group. She clashed with Lucas which was only natural, there was a rivalry between the two houses. But eventually he had accepted her as one of them and by Christmas they were acting like old friends. She would join them at breakfast and lunch when the table rules were less strict and they would all eat together. Eleven was actually kind of funny, she got used to the boys and would occasionally crack out a joke, Mike laughing harder than the others.

Mike soon realised he had a crush on Eleven, but they had become such good friends that he felt weird about it. Instead he decided that it was probably best to hide those feelings, he didn’t want to scare her away.

The Christmas holidays were the longest 2 weeks of his life. Mike was eager to get back to Hogwarts and see his friends - but mostly El again. Nancy had embarrassed him by asking Mike at the table Christmas day how his “girlfriend” was doing. She’d seen them walking around school and she could tell her brother was crushing hard on the girl. Mike however spat back about how Steve was, causing their family to look at Nancy. He’d been in trouble with her for that one.

When the boys reunited at school, it had been as if they’d never left. Each boy had an exciting tale about their holiday. Even Will, who Mike had learnt didn’t have much money, had had a cosy Christmas with his mother and brother. All that was except El. She’d stayed at Hogwarts over the holidays.

“It was nice actually. There were only a few of us so we had Christmas dinner around the table with Dumbledore and a few other teachers.” She poked her cereal with her spoon, her voice unconvincing.

“Maybe next year…you could join my family?”

El lifted her head, “You have no idea how much I’d like that.” Mike grinned. “But I can’t. My father would never…it wouldn’t be possible.”

Mike’s smile faded. “It’d be no trouble, honestly.”

She simply gave him a sad smile. “Sometimes there are things you can’t change Mike.”

He nodded in understanding, still wishing she didn’t have to spend Christmas alone. Maybe next year he would tell his parents he wanted to stay, he could keep her company.

March, 1983

Lucas and Will were locked in a game of Wizard chess, and Dustin was still trying to sort out the map. It had been almost 4 months since they’d found it and still nothing. The weather had begun to get warmer so the boys sat beneath a tree outside near the lake on Saturday. Mike was trying to catch up with some charms homework and tried to levitate an apple - to no success.

Eleven found them and collapsed on to her back next to Mike, looking up at the sky.

“Haven’t you figured that map out yet?” El asked Dustin as she stretched her arms out above her head making eye contact with Mike and they smiled at each other, a blush creeping on his face.

“It’s hard alright? I managed to get a little bit and the map seems to be prompting but it’s not easy. I’m a ravenclaw but I’m not Merlin.” Dustin threw his hands up in frustration.

Will and Lucas began laughing, momentarily forgetting their chess game as the entire group burst out laughing at Dustin’s comparison.

After a while, Eleven, Will and Lucas went to stretch their legs and walked around the edge of the lake.

Dustin noticed Mike looking at Eleven as they walked away. “Mate, you’re staring.”

Mike tore his eyes away, “What?”

“You fancy El. It’s so obvious.” Dustin was tapping the paper absentmindedly with his wand.

“Whatever.” Mike mumbled. “She’s cool. And funny, not to mention brave but she’s my friend. But swear you won’t tell Lucas or Will I said those things about her. They’ll never let me live it down.

“I solemnly swear I won’t tell anyone.” Dustin laughed, continuing to tap his wand against the map. Suddenly, a pattern began to emerge on the paper.

“Guys! Come here!” He shouted, jumping up as his friends came running over.

“That must be it, well, nearly it!” Dustin showed them the map. “When I tapped the map and said something along the lines of "I solemnly swear” it started to show parts.“

"So what’s your plan now Mr Merlin?” Lucas grinned. “Keep saying random words until it works?”

“Well yeah.” Dustin was completely serious. “Whoever created this was clearly a genius and from what I gather they were all about pranks and mischief. So I guess just saying some things along those lines.”

Will and El exchanged confused glances while Lucas rolled his eyes. Mike leaned in and watched Dustin tap the map with his wand.

He cleared his throat. “I solemnly swear to make mischief.” They all waited, something was appearing on the map.

“Mr Moony would like to congratulate Mr Henderson on getting his large nose stuck in other people’s businesses. Mr Prongs agrees with Mr Moony and would like to add that Mr Henderson is one nosy git.” Dustin read out. “Shit. I don’t really have a big nose do I?”

The boys and El burst out laughing.

“It’s obviously charmed to insult people trying to get in.” Lucas said between laughter.

“Wait there’s more: Mr Padfoot thinks Mr Henderson is up to no good and should quite while he’s ahead.” Dustin smiled. “Thats it!” He kissed the map and held up his wand.

“Dustin wha-” Will said but was cut off by Dustin’s confident declaration.

“I solemnly swear that I’m up to no good.”

They crowded round to watch the map spring to life:

Messrs

MOONY, WORMTAIL, PADFOOT & PRONGS

are proud to present:

The Marauder’s Map

“The Marauder’s Map?” Dustin grinned. “This is so cool.”

“Open it then.” Lucas nudged him, eager to see what was inside.

“Holy shit.” Dustin said in awe as he saw the little footprints moving about the page.

“Is that?” Will leaned over Lucas’ shoulder to get a better look.

“You can see where everyone at Hogwarts is.”

“Hey it’s us.” Mike pointed to the huddle of feet out by the lake with their names surrounding it.

“Why would someone make this?” El looked confused. “Why would you need to know where everyone is?”

Dustin shrugged but Lucas answered, “Clearly if you were planning on some mischief you could sneak out without getting caught because you’d know where everyone is. And look, secret passages? Think of what we could do!”

“I don’t know guys, it sounds a little shifty.” Will looked apprehensive.

“Relax, we’re not going to go take down the Ministry of Magic. It’s just a map of Hogwarts.” Lucas patted Will on the back jokingly.

“Come on we should go. They’re going to be serving dinner soon.” Mike pulled his watch out of his jean pocket.

They walked back up to the castle, Dustin shoving the map in the back of his jeans and pulling his jumper down over his pocket to hide it.

The final few months went by in a blur: Ravenclaw had won the house cup and Gryffindor won the Quidditch cup (Mike almost vomited when he saw Nancy kiss Steve to congratulate him for winning the game). The boys hadn’t used the map all that much, mostly just to sneak out and meet up at night. But there wasn’t much they could use it for, it mostly went forgotten, tucked amongst Dustin’s belongings.

The final train ride home after the end of year feast was one of dread. Sure they’d all been separated at Christmas but that was only two weeks. It wouldn’t be until September that they saw each other again. A lot could change over those 2 months. Mike was mostly worried about El. Would she come back and realise how uncool he was and leave to make new friends? He dreaded to think about how she would be spending the summer. From what he knew, her adoptive father wasn’t the kindest man in the world, the adoption itself being another publicity stunt to gain votes.

When the train finally pulled up back in London, the boys pulled El in for a group hug. Promises were made to send owls about their summers and to keep in touch. At long last they separated and rejoined their families. Nancy had already said goodbye to Steve, still embarrassed around her parents about him. She was busy taking about how her O.W.Ls went when Mike finally joined his family.

His mother smothered him with questions about his year even though she’d already heard about it at Christmas. With one last glance he saw El stood solemnly at the station being what looked like reprimanded by Brenner. She’d only just got back and yet he already seemed inconvenienced by her.

Mike felt something lurch in his heart watching the sight but before he knew it, she had been dragged away. He wouldn’t see or hear from her until September.

[jae-bummer]

My Idol: Part Eighteen

My Idol From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

My Idol is a South Korean competitive reality dating game show. It currently airs on Wednesday nights on Jae-bummer’s blog. First broadcast in 2016, the show offers the opportunity for a lucky fan to go on seven blind dates with seven idols. The idol plans the date with the show throwing in specific missions to complete during the day. At the end of the initial dates, the show opens up an audience vote to decide what three idols will move on to the second date.

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9 - Part 10 - Part 11 - Part 12 - Part 13 - Part 14 - Part 15 - Part 16 - Part 17 -  Part 18 - Part 19 - Part 20 - Part 21 - Part 22

The sun peaked through the leafy canopy above your heads and fell warmly on your cheekbones. You closed your eyes and basked in it as if you were a plant undergoing photosynthesis. You attempted to internalize Taehyung’s words, wallow in the positivity and tenderness. You tried to push the idea of My Idol out of your head, the idea that you were both at the mercy of a television audience. 

“Taehyung,” you hummed, nestling your head comfortably into his chest. “You make my heart happy.”

You felt him radiate with joy beneath you as he wrapped his arms tightly around your shoulders. “Well, you make my soul happy.”

“Aigoo,” you groaned, still keeping your smile in it’s place. “Don’t be so sentimental.” 

“Me?” he giggled. “I’m not sentimental. I just don’t hesitate to let others know when I appreciate them.”

“And why’s that?” you teased, looking away from the underside of his jaw. Your eyes followed a bumblebee as it bobbled clumsily in the air above you. 

“Well, if anything were to ever happen to me…or to someone I care for, I would be more upset over the words I didn’t say than any of the ones I did. My…my grandmother…she um…passed away? While we were doing promotions for Blood, Sweat, and Tears. I wish…I wish I could’ve said so many things to her. I’m not sure of everything I would’ve said…but I know I would’ve said more. I’ve heard people say, some words are a waste of breath, but words are all I’ve got.” 

You shifted in the woven fabric to angle yourself to look more closely at Taehyung. His usual cheerful expression had abandoned his face as it was replaced by something earnest. HIs eyes preached honesty as he stared back at you, a thickness filling the light spring air. He seemed to feel the strange shift in mood as well as he whispered. “Well…that and tickles.”

You screeched as Taehyung launched toward you, his large and narrow fingers beginning to crawl quickly across your body, hitting every tender spot of your flesh. 

“We’re going to flip the hammock!” you wheezed, the fabric beneath you swaying forward and back. 

“We’re in a cocoon of safety!” Taehyung insisted, his boxy smile shining and hands never halting in their furious speed. 

“Yah, if the hammock is rocking, don’t come knocking,” an unfamiliar voice giggled, followed by a hiccupy laugh. 

“Ah, hyung!” Taehyung groaned at the cheesy joke, slowly pulling his hands from your sides. The shifting hammock slowed, allowing you to make eye contact with the tall boy who had appeared beside you. “Y/N, this is Jin hyung!” 

“J-J-Jin?” you squeaked, your face beginning to grow hot. “You invited your member?”

“Well…members…as in plural…if you want to get technical,” another deep voice sounded nearby. You immediately jerked forward in the hammock, sitting up and eying the other five members of Bangtan. As you did so, it seemed as if you put a little too much force behind your motions, causing your alleged cocoon of safety to dramatically swing, dumping both you and Taehyung onto the ground with a thud. 

“Are you alright?” Jin asked, immediately crouching to become eye level. You looked up, a bit embarrassed at the small group of boys surrounding you. You giggled nervously as your gaze shifted to Taehyung who was also watching you carefully. 

“I’m fine,” you confirmed with a small nod as you began to stand, dusting off your jeans on the way up. “I just know how to make a good first impression I guess.”

“Taehyung invited us for lunch…I hope you don’t mind,” the man you recognized to be Namjoon nodded with a small bow. “We tried to tell him it was a bad idea but-”

“I told you on our last date that I wanted you to meet my members,” Taehyung nodded. “They’re my family away from family, so it’s very important to me.”

“So somehow you got saddled with a weird group date,” another boy sighed, stepping up. “I’m Yoongi by the way. I was told there would be food?”

“Ah, right,” Taehyung nodded. “Jimin, can you spread out the blanket from my bag? Kookie, come to the car with me and get the basket.”

Jungkook nodded to Taehyung as Jimin stumbled off toward the lake. You looked up to the four eldest boys and smiled. “So-”

“Tell us all about yourself,” one of the boys cooed, wrapping his arm easily around yours. “I’m Hoseok by the way.”

“Nice to formally meet you,” you smiled, feeling at ease with the group. What originally had emerged as nervous butterflies quietly settled as you began to walk toward Jimin, arm in arm with Hoseok. 

“Yeah, get all of the pleasantries out of the way, so we can dive into her deep, dark past over potato salad,” Yoongi muttered as he followed. Your eyes grew wide as you looked toward Hoseok who was too busy rolling his own to notice your expression. 

“He’s joking,” Hoseok nodded, pursing his lips. “He gets a little grumpy when he’s hungry.”

“I do not and I am not,” Yoongi grumbled. “I am both enthusiastic about potato salad and emotionally crippling moments from Y/N’s past.”

“Leave her alone hyung,” Namjoon groaned. “Isn’t your whole life one elongated emotionally crippling moment anyway?” 

“Every moment I’m awake,” Yoongi nodded darkly, plopping onto the plaid blanket Jimin had laid out. 

“Aish, quit with this talk,” Jimin sighed, sitting beside Yoongi and patting his knee. “I’d prefer to enjoy my lunch without an existential crisis.”

“Aren’t these guys annoying?” Jin asked, looking at the group and throwing a casual finger toward Armpit and Sweaty. “They kind of just…loom behind you, breathing heavily.” 

“You get used to them,” you nodded, smiling up fondly at the only two constants in your day to day. As you reflected on it, you were hit by a sudden pang of sadness. What had your life become? 

“Let’s see,” Taehyung hummed, reappearing with a large basket in his hands. “We’ve got some jang jorim…kong namul…yakbap-”

“If there is no kimbap, I’m getting back into the car,” Jungkook grumbled, waddling behind him with another basket. 

“No one’s stopping you,” Jimin teased. “That just means more mandoo and summer rolls for us.”

“You had me at mandoo,” Jungkook smiled, sitting down on the blanket. 

Taehyung busied himself along the picnic baskets, passing out various containers and plates to the boys around you, never forgetting to share eye contact with you every time he looked up. You couldn’t help but smile at the intimate moments he created, taking genuine care in making sure you feel appreciated amongst the people he cared for the most. 

“Y/N,” Hoseok said abruptly through a mouth full of food. You shook your head slowly, trying to bring your thoughts off of Taehyung’s handsome face. “What made you decide to join a dating reality show?” 

You opened your mouth for a moment, tilting your head before you attempted to speak. As words fought to find their place on your tongue, another boy began to talk instead.

“You’re a foreigner, aren’t you?” Jimin hummed quietly. “Isn’t that scary to put yourself out there in a different country?”

“Did you-” Jungkook began, but was quickly cut off by Namjoon. 

“Hey, why don’t you let her answer the other questions first?” he chuckled. “Sorry, they get enthusiastic around new people.”

“Really it’s just like a group of excited puppies,” Yoongi muttered, poking around at his kimbap. “Constantly wagging their tails and vying for affection.”

You chuckled as you shifted in your seat, thinking of each boy’s question. “Well, my friend and I both entered for the position on My Idol. I guess originally…when I signed up, I thought the idea of actually getting onto the show was so bizarre, that it couldn’t possibly happen. Nothing exciting ever happens in my life, so I assumed I would just be turned away and continue on to live through the dullness…

…I’ve been in Korea a few years now, but as mentioned, I didn’t honestly think I’d ever make it. I think if I would’ve passed up on the experience…because I was frightened or uncomfortable…I would’ve regretted it.”

“Plus cute boys,” Jin nodded confidently, slurping up some sort of noodle. 

You giggled as you turned, each of the boys nodding to agree with their eldest hyung. 

“I’m sure Taehyung told you that I also asked our managers to appear on the show,” Jin continued, wiggling his brows. “Are you disappointed?”

“Yah! You can’t ask her that!” Namjoon gasped, waving his head and arms in unison. “Y/N, don’t answer that. We’re such a mess.”

“But honestly,” Jimin nodded. “What do you think of our Taehyungie?” 

You smiled slowly, biting your lip as you focused your attention on Taehyung. He made direct eye contact with you, looking away shyly after a few moments of shared focus. 

“Taehyung is one of the most intriguing guys I’ve ever met,” you nodded. 

“You have to give us more than that,” Jungkook moaned. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever met someone quite as genuine and pure as he is,” you continued. “He’s a human representation of what happens when you put good out into the universe. You get amazing things back ten fold. I think it’s easy for others to write him off as innocent or strange, but I think he’s incredibly complex.”

“A lot of people don’t realize he’s one of the most intelligent members among us,” Namjoon nodded. “Sometimes people get carried away calling him 4D and alien, but it’s because these imaginative things seep out from the deepest places of his mind. He’s very talented.”

“And compassionate,” Jimin nodded. “He often thinks of us before he ever thinks of himself. He talks nonstop about his family even though he probably only sees them twice a year. And don’t get me started on his obsession with all things small and fluffy.”

“Does that include you?” Yoongi cackled, taking another bite of his summer roll. 

“Aigoo,” Taehyung groaned. “Stop it with all of these compliments.”

“Get them while you can,” Jin sighed. “I don’t think I’ve heard a compliment from you people since 2014.”

“But don’t you compliment yourself enough?” Namjoon chuckled, winking at his hyung. Jin gasped as he dropped his fork, thinking better of it, and picking it up again. Instead of throwing a temper tantrum, he opted to stuff more food into his mouth. 

“Really though,” Namjoon nodded. “I think we were all a little concerned when Tae joined the show.”

You furrowed your brows as you shifted your attention from Namjoon to Taehyung. His face immediately grew dark as he looked away from you and toward the lake. 

“Just as you mentioned,” Hoseok nodded. “Our Taehyungie is very genuine. He opens up and gives his heart easily. He’s the type to trust and give endless second chances. We just…don’t want to see him get hurt.”

“You should’ve seen him after your last date,” Jimin sighed. “When he came back to the dorm, I thought he was going to cartwheel down the hall in excitement.”

“I can’t do a cartwheel…” Taehyung muttered, looking up at his members, ashamed. 

Namjoon rolled his eyes and let out a soft laugh. “I know you can’t control the voting, but we appreciate how happy you’ve made him. If you’re good enough for our Taehyung, you’re good enough for us.” 

Taehyung wiggled from side to side as he heard Namjoon speak these words, a large smile reappearing on his face. “I told you you’d like her.” 

The rest of the afternoon passed incredibly quickly. Following lunch, the boys had all agreed to give you and Taehyung some privacy before your date would have to come to a close. As you walked side by side along the lake, you sighed happily as Taehyung slipped his hand into yours. 

You lifted your eyes, gazing intently at his side profile as you walked. HIs brows were knitted together, tight in a thought that he wasn’t voicing. His dark brown eyes hovered carefully over slightly darker shadows, heavy from lack of sleep due to his overpacked schedule. His lips curved at the edges, lost in a perpetual smile he’d never be able to shake. He glowed with an energy that never faltered, almost letting out a physical radiation of his positivity. 

You continued in silence for a moment, enjoying Taehyung as he was, with no frills or members to distract you. You didn’t necessarily feel like the addition of his members had impacted your date negatively, but you definitely appreciated something a bit more quiet. Leave it to Taehyung to follow his word and invite an additional six boys on your date.

“What are you so lost in thought about?” you whispered. 

“Hm? Me?” he asked, his voice sounding dreamy. “Just thinking about what Namjoon hyung said.”

“Which part?” you chuckled. “I’m sure Jin doesn’t compliment himself all that much, no use letting it bother you.”

Taehyung let out a solid laugh before letting it fizzle out, opting to furrow his brows again. “Just the part…about being concerned about me. I haven’t really wanted to say anything, but I think I’m concerned for me too…and concerned for you.”

“Elaborate,” you nodded, squeezing his hand lightly. 

“Well, I realize that I may not move on to the next round,” he began slowly. 

“Tae-”

“No, don’t start filling me with false hope. I do that enough for myself. I hide behind my desires, thinking about the next date and planning it because if I act like it will happen, I can usually talk myself into thinking it will. I know only two people are moving on to the weekend dates and my chances aren’t that good. I don’t know if it’s the success of Bangtan or the viewers genuinely liking me…but I’m afraid it’ll run out…and I’ll never see you again,” he said quietly. 

“Taehyung,” you cooed, halting your forward motion to pull him into a hug. He clung tightly to your waist, setting his chin on your shoulder. He leaned back to look into your eyes before continuing to speak. 

“I guess…to be honest, that’s not even what I’m most afraid of. I’m most afraid for you. If I’m feeling all of these mixed up and hopeful things, what’s going on in your heart…and in your head…has to be a hurricane. I hate thinking about you struggling…especially when I can’t help.” 

You attempted to keep the tears from slipping out of your eyes. You felt so open in front of Taehyung, as if he could see right through you and the walls you had built to hide from the reality of My Idol. 

“Y/N,” he said slowly, lifting his hand to rest on your cheek. HIs swept his thumb across your face. He bit his lip, his voice barely above a whisper. “Can I…can I kiss you?”

His words seemed to skim the surface as you looked deep into his eyes. You slowly began to nod, not recognizing if you truly wanted to give him permission or not. It would only suck you in deeper into the feelings you were so desperately trying to keep even. 

You closed your eyes slowly as Tae’s plump lips slowly came toward your face. You were willing to take this leap of faith…

…as long as it meant Taehyung would be the one there to catch you. 

PART 1 - PART 2 - PART 3 - PART 4 - PART 5 - PART 6 - PART 7 - PART 8 - PART 9 - PART 10 - PART 11 - PART 12 - PART 13 - PART 14 - PART 15 - PART 16 - PART 17 - PART 18 - PART 19 - Part 20 - Part 21 - Part 22

[toomanysurveys9]

It’s Thursday at noon. Where are you usually?: home. as usual. lol. until i find a job. this time i’m only taking it if i’ll like it. Which shampoo is in your bathroom right now?: sauve. cheap stuff. Honestly, if you could have anyone in the world, who would it be?: i’m happy i have jacob.. most of the time. ha. What are you listening to right now?: girls are watching trolls. Do you watch MTV anymore?: not really, no.

How do you feel about your hair?: i wish i could change it. maybe i will at some point.

What time do you wake up for school?: i don’t have school anymore. wyatt usually wakes me up no later than 9:30 to get up for the day. What DVD is in your player right now? don’t have a dvd player but the land before time is in the playstation. Last two numbers in your phone number?: 42. What side of the bed do you sleep on?: the right side closest to the window so i can have wyatt sleep by the wall so he doesn’t fall off the bed. Do you like roller coasters?: i do. What do your parents look like?: honestly, i’m not in the mood to do a lot of descriptions of people right now.. What are your plans for Friday?: as far as i know, i don’t have any. What do you usually order at Taco Bell?: cheesy gordita crunch. sometimes i randomly really want one.. usually when it’s “that time of month”. Have you ever sat all the way through Gone with the Wind?: i don’t think i’ve ever even seen a little bit of it. Do you ever type ‘kik’ instead of 'lol’?: i have done that before. Do you know how to play chess?: i know the basics, but i’m not very good at it. What’s on your mind right now?: that i wish we had our own place. or was able to get our own place. Do you want to take something back that happened in the last week?: well, my brother hates me right now for god knows what and told me to delete his number... evidently i pretend all the time when it comes to jacob. and i’m not jacob’s favorite person either. Do you eat a lot of fast food?: more than i’d like to right now. we don’t have room for much food here... when we move, that is going to change. wyatt will not live off of fast food. How many people have you kissed in this year?: romantically, one. i’ve kissed more people than that though in a non-romantic way. Were you happy when you woke up today?: i was in an okay mood, although i was pretty exhausted. wyatt got a little confused a couple times last night about the time it was and thought it was time to play. How about now?: i’m in an okay mood. wyatt is making me happy, however, i wish i could shut my brain off a bit. Have you ever streaked?: no, i haven’t. Are you an understanding person?: for the most part, i think so. What was the last movie you saw in theaters?: i don’t remember but i’m being dragged to watch pitch perfect 3 by my mom and sisters tomorrow.. Do you eat candy on a daily basis?: definitely not. Does it make you happy to get letters?: it used to. i don’t remember the last time i got a letter though. Who was the last person to text you?: vanessa (jake’s mom).

What are you looking forward to this summer?: adventures with wyatt. he’s going to be older this summer and might enjoy things more. Do raisins belong in cookies?: i don’t really care. but they’re not my favorite. Walking into a party, what’s the first thing you notice?: i look for familiar faces i can stick with. Are you currently taking a science class in school?: not in school.

Kiss on the first date?: it’d depend how the date went i would imagine. Would you rather have chicken or steak?: hmm. probably steak, although i enjoy chicken quite a bit too depending how it’s cooked. What’s one thing you’ve learned from a good friendship gone bad?: sometimes people just drift apart as you get older, no matter how hard you try to keep it going. sometimes friendships just aren’t meant to be a forever thing. Who was the last person you took a picture of?: wyatt. as usual since he’s been born. lol. Would you ever donate blood?: i have several times but it makes me almost pass out, so jacob and my mom don’t let me anymore. Have you ever felt replaced?: story of my life. Have you ever been asked out?: yeah. jake asked me out. Are you good at telling jokes?: not even a little. i tend to be more funny when i don’t mean to than when i try to be. Have you ever driven without a license?: in parking lots. Do you wish you had smaller feet?: kind of, yeah. i feel like my feet are kinda big.. but that’s just like every other aspect of my body though. Have you ever had a best friend who was of the opposite sex?: yeah. kinda regret it. When ordering sushi, what do you get?: i don’t eat sushi. Do you write in cursive or in print?: i primarily write in print because my cursive looks like a child is writing and i don’t like it. lol. Who was the last person you sat next to?: erin is on the other side of the couch... What were you doing at 10am?: starting to wake up. don’t judge. wyatt went to bed late and got up a couple times to play. lol. Are you different now than you were six months ago?: probably. What was the last beverage you spilled on yourself?: that i spilled on myself.... i don’t remember. that was spilled on me.. soda when we went to texas roadhouse.. wy got my cup and spilled it all over. lol. How old will you be in ten months?: i don’t want to think about that. i’ll be 25... Do you think you’ll be married by then?: i am married already. i’ll probably still be married then. Was yesterday better than today?: not really. both days have been a little blah. What does your last text message say?: the last text i sent was telling jake i couldn’t find his snow boots but we could look in the other storage together when he gets off work if he wanted. last received text was vanessa thanking me for getting storage paid (it’s in her name). What month is your birthday in?: september. Can you live a day without TV?: easily. When was the last time you saw your dad?: last night. How many pets do you have?: two. although cocoa is getting a new home in early spring because she has been trying to start fights with phe and my mom’s dog, and she did attack my mom’s dog when we first got in this trailer and that resulted in a lot of money to the emergency vet.. How many houses have you lived in?: too many. i am determined that wyatt will not be raised that way.. How many city/towns have you lived in?: three. Do you prefer shoes, socks, or bare feet?: socks or bare feet. Relationship status?: married. What is your favorite color?: black, blue, or gray probably. What are you doing for your next birthday?: i don’t know. i still have quite awhile. Do you like coffee?: occasionally but not often. Do you like iced tea?: no. tea hurts my stomach. If you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be?: most of my personality. Do you know how to play poker?: i’ve played before but i don’t really remember. What were you doing at twelve last night?: trying to get a little boy to go to sleep. Do you smile a lot?: i guess so. Have you ever had a life-threatening injury?: i’ve had life-threatening medical things, but not necessarily injuries.. What do you want to be when you grow up?: i still don’t know. ha. Do you like flying or driving?: driving. flying scares the hell out of me. Do you know how to drive a stick shift?: i do not. What is your favorite thing to spend money on?: wyatt! Do you wear any jewelry daily?: not really right now. Who got you the jewelry you are currently wearing?: i’m not wearing any jewelry right now. i’m always afraid of my engagement ring scratching wyatt. Who is the funniest person you know?: jacob i guess. How often do you remember your dreams?: pretty often i suppose. What is your ringtone?: same one dean winchester has. Skim, 1%, 2%, or whole milk?: 2% or whole because that’s what everyone else here drinks. Are you mad about anything?: i’m frustrated. not really mad. about life. What time did you go to sleep last night?: too late. lol. i don’t know what time it was exactly. Where did you last sleep besides your own bed?: i don’t remember. i mostly sleep in my own bed..

[captivesrp]

The next day is sunny; nature reminding him what summer is like before autumn throws him into a dreary, wet winter where rain and slush are, inevitably, ever present.

A shadow falls over Murchadh has he observes the sun; the haft of a spear is lowered down into the pit.

“Grab on,” growls the burly brigand holding just beneath its point. “Time for your interview.”

Murchadh does not think too long. He grabs on and is hauled, disgruntled, into the bright sun. He squints to prevent his vision from being washed out by the bright light. He is led into the small village of ragged tents and is stopped outside a square canvas structure. 

Murchadh is pushed inside, grateful that he has been squinting; his eyes are quick to adjust to the dark interior. The air is heavy with the scent of burning herbs. The tent is decorated colourfully, draped with tapestries. Candles and a bowl of the gently smoking herbs sit on a low table in front of a richly dressed brigand Murchadh has not seen before. The stranger’s pale red eyes watch him with interest. 

Murchadh sits on a small stool opposite the brigand and remains silent, staring at the stranger without moving. The stranger watches him back, their eyes searching and unreadable.

Finally the brigand breaks the silence. “My name is Fuldryn. I’m just going to have a little conversation with you today.” They brush some wisps of blonde hair from their forehead. “I have been told you think you know why you’re here.” Fuldryn pauses, waiting for a response.

Murchadh sits silently, as if watching a wary animal in the woods.

“I’ve heard you’ve spent a fair share of time in the woods.” Fuldryn gives a subtle smile. “You surprised Tyree when they found you---got him pretty good with a dagger, I hear.” 

Again, silence. Murchadh is deep in thought, trying to decide how to play out this meeting.

“Would you care to contribute a word or two?” Fuldryn prompts.

Murchadh shakes his head slightly to clear it. “Sorry, I’m not sure what you want me to say; all that’s been said is what you have heard of me.”

Fuldryn smiles. “I would like to know how you would assess your skills and talents.”

“Ah,” Murchadh says, “I see.” He shrugs. “I am very good at bushcraft. Barring my physical limitations, I can do anything one might need to in order to survive. I am never truly lost, day or night, woods or hills. And I am also good at storytelling,” he adds as an afterthought.

“You are familiar, then, with healing and hunting?”

“I know a few helpful plants. I can hunt anything that can be killed with a thrown knife, like rabbits, partridges, and squirrels.”

“Point north.”

Murchadh nods confidently towards the corner of the tent behind Fuldryn.

“Very good."

Murchadh almost shivers; the way in which Fuldryn looks at him is not comfortable. Revealing his knowledge has set him ill at ease, and the brigand’s intelligent look is adding to his discomfort. At this rate, his kidnappers will soon know everything about his skills and abilities.

“You have a lot to contribute,” Fuldryn says. “I am sure that you will prove instrumental in affecting our goal. What you are about to be part of is the beginning of a legend.”

Murchadh snorts aloud. Legends are what he tells gullible villagers around a campfire. Tired of being treated like one of those simpletons, Murchadh decides to be fully honest. He says, “I do not fear you or anyone else here. I refuse to fear you; I would not willingly give you that power over me. I respect the skills and abilities of those that I interact with but only as much as they warrant. If I stay and cooperate it is because I believe it to be in my best interests. I will leave when I am finished, and if it means my death, at least it will be by my initiative and choice.” He says this in a steady, calm voice, trying his best to not be aggressive. 

Fuldryn sits back and looks at him intently. 

Murchadh continues, “I have already decided to stay, not for any reason that you or anyone else has given. I have a wholly different reason. Lucky for everyone, being compliant until the task is complete is the best way to honour my own purpose. You have my cooperation.”

Fuldryn smiles dryly. “Oh good. Well,” they say, shifting onto their knees and extending a hand for Murchadh to shake, “I think I have you placed. Máerl will lead you back to your pit. Only one more night---your training starts tomorrow.”

Murchadh shakes Fuldryn’s hand as a peer, and leaves the tent.

Murchadh limps along as he is lead back to his pit, knowing that his life of ease is at an end. He gives a brief smile to Anwen as he is lowered into the pit, clutching the spear with his legs as well as his good arm. The spear remains lowered and Anwen is called up right away. 

Murchadh does not speak much for the rest of the day but after Anwen’s return they play their usual games. Anwen is getting better at moving silently and listening for his movement but Murchadh knows the woods are completely different than the bottom of the pit.

*     *     *

The next day dawns cold and foggy. He still hears the last words of his golden friend echoing in his head: “Today is the day you begin your destiny.” Murchadh shakes his head to clear it. Dreams are just dreams; he needs to focus on surviving. 

It is Tyree who comes and pulls him out of the pit, pulling up Anwen immediately afterwards. He growls, “Come with me. No funny business.”

As they walk through the mist, Murchadh contemplates slipping his dagger out from the back of Tyree’s belt, but he is sure Tyree is suspecting such an action. If caught, he would be killed, most likely---and possibly Anwen as well. It is not worth the risk.  

Through the fog ahead a figure emerges. It is a female brigand, and with her is one other child.

“Gimp, this is where you stay,” Tyree instructs.

Murchadh looks back to watch Anwen and Tyree move off. Anwen seems uncomfortable and glances back at him as she and Tyree disappear into the fog.

Murchadh waits silently for a few hundred more breaths, glancing idly at the boy beside him and the brigand watching them both. 

A gruff voice calls out from the fog, “Here’s the runt,” and a tiny boy is pushed into their circle of view.

The female brigand by Murchadh bristles at the diminutive. “That’s—!” she starts, before shaking her head and turning to her charges. She introduces herself, “I’m Asgell. Today is your first day of training You three have been chosen, for your intelligence and promise, to become guides—pathfinders. Over the next fortnight you will learn to read the stars, the trees, and the messages of the earth.”

Murchadh notices that the first boy looks nervous.

“We’re going on a bit of a hike today.” She adjusts a thick coil of rope slung over her shoulder and Murchadh wonders just what kind of “hike” they are in for today. “Follow me,” says Asgell, and turns away.

The first boy turns to Murchadh just as he steps away. Murchadh throws him a reassuring wink as he sets off after Asgell. They enter the tangled woods and walk for a time. Murchadh slows his pace to walk abreast of the other boys. “What are your names? Mine is Murchadh.”

“Ffrewgí,” says the first boy. He is heavyset and soft-looking, but Murchadh can see determination in his eyes.

“Wyddryr,” says the smaller lad. His back is bare and covered in long scars.

“Well, friends,” Murchadh says with a smile, “I guess we all have the same task in this great purpose of theirs. How accomplished are you lads at bushcraft?”

Ffrewgí looks at Murchadh with a quizzical look. "Um, I live—I mean, lived,” he pauses with a sad look, “near a forest and I spent a fair amount of time there. I’m not proficient or anything but . . . but I understand the essentials. I think.”

“If you were to go for a run through the forest---into an unfamiliar part of it---would you be able to find your way back?” Murchadh asks to clarify.

“It depends, I guess.” Ffrewgí looks at his feet.

“Where are you from, Murchadh?” asks Wyddryr. “Your accent is interesting.”

“I am a wanderer,” Murchadh answers, looking directly into the bright eyes of his new teammate. “I have picked up many dialects and accents. I use them at will."

“Where were you born?” Wyddryr presses.

Murchadh fires a question back in return, “Where do you come from? Where did you get those scars?”

Ffrewgi mumbles quietly, “I . . . I think Asgell is getting ahead.”

Murchadh looks piercingly at Wyddryr. “I understand the need to keep one’s background and history unspoken, but we must share skills and teach each other what we know so that we can help each other survive what’s ahead. You are young, but your scars say you've seen a lot. Share your wisdom---I won’t press you to share how you got it.”

Wyddryr nods, his eyes never leaving Murchadh’s own. 

From somewhere deep in Murchadh’s mind a thought springs up, and he starts to wonder how many times the brigands have had to assemble a crew of children to attempt this task. 

He remains silent and observant for the next few hundred breaths. Wyddryr’s scars are testament to a difficult past, and the pit with its daily food has probably been an improvement for him: steady food and no whips. Ffrewgí, on the other hand, has a softer body that seems to be used to substantially more food---and also, probably, freedom. Murchadh smiles to himself. He will have to find some food on the walk today; Ffrewgí will probably be thankful.

Suddenly Asgell comes to a stop. Murchadh looks ahead at a noticeable incline.

Asgell faces them and nods at the slope behind her. “Your goal is to go straight up the face of this mountain and retrieve the flag at the top. I will be following behind, but it will be up to you to navigate the climb.”

The fog is not as dense here as it was in the camp and Murchadh feels a cool breeze as he considers the path ahead. “Since you're holding rope I am guessing there are going to be some really steep sections.”

Asgell smiles. “Perhaps. It’s here if you need it.”

Murchadh smiles in return and nods. “Well, up we go.” He sets off in the lead, the other kids following and Asgell taking up the rear.

The going over the next few movements of the sun is tough but manageable for the whole party. Murchadh periodically points out the reasons for pathfinding choices he makes, zigzagging here, avoiding mudfall there, and his peers prove quite smart and quickly catch on. 

They move at a slow, steady pace until they encounter a nearly sheer rock bluff above five spear’s-lengths high. Murchadh looks to either side to find a way around it but figures it will not be possible: Asgell had probably chosen their starting point specifically to test them on obstacles like this one.

Murchadh sighs. “Well, lads, this is where I am no good. I have never been able to climb.”

Wyddryr wordlessly approaches Asgell and extends a hand. She regards him for just a moment before giving him the rope. After shrugging under it, Wyddryr is up the rock face in hardly a hundred breaths. He then ties up the rope and lowers down the slack. Murchadh and Ffrewgí hesitate and look at each other. Murchadh makes the first move, and steps up to the rope. 

It is a long, hard struggle for him, but with a few helpful tips from Wyddryr he manages to make it up.

Ffrewgí does not take nearly as long, and Asgell is up in a flash right after.

“Very good---we may make it back before tomorrow morning,” she says with a brief smile.

Murchadh winks at her then turns to Wyddryr. “How did you learn to climb like that?”

Wyddryr replies, “Where I . . .” He trails off and a hand absently moves to his back. “I had to gather eggs from birds that nest on rock faces. On the coast.”

Murchadh nods. “Teach me what it means to climb. I---”

Asgell cuts him off, encouraging them forward. “Don’t stop, now! Food is waiting back at the village!”

*     *     *

As the morning wears on, Murchadh quietly gathers berries and edible plants and slips them to the kids. He is pretty sure Asgell notices, but she lets him continue. Murchadh also has everyone drink at springs or clear brooks they encounter---water on mountains can be scarce; best to drink when you have a chance. 

Just after midday, as they are trudging along in a tired silence, Murchadh notices something move in the underbrush to his left. He motions for a halt and for silence, then moves quietly to Asgell and whispers, “Could I perhaps borrow a knife? There are a pair of pheasants up ahead.”

Asgell cocks an eyebrow and squints at him.

Murchadh tries again. “You have my word that I will not travel more than a hundred paces, nor will I keep the knife or harm you with it after I have finished with the pheasants.”

Asgell slowly pulls out a flat-handled throwing knife, still looking at him levelly. “This is one of a set of three; keep in mind that I have the other two.”

The threat does not get past him. Murchadh smiles brightly as he holds the fine weapon. “I would expect nothing less.”

Murchadh moves silently into the brush, moving in time with the swaying shadows of the forest as it dances with the breeze. He is home; the forest loves him and he loves it. He ghosts forward until he has a clear shot at the two pheasants. He throws for the larger of the two first. The knife glints, then disappears into the feathers of the bird’s breast. The other panics and desperately flutters onto a low branch of a nearby tree. 

Murchadh retrieves the knife from his kill, lines up his next throw, and takes the second bird down from a distance of at least five paces, the knife turning three full rotations before burying itself in the pheasant’s feathers. If the knife had not been made specifically for throwing, Murchadh knows the throw would have failed.

After collecting his kill, Murchadh heads confidently back to the group. He approaches Asgell with caution and slowly extends his left hand with the knife sideways. “Thank you, it is the finest blade I have been able to hold.”

She smiles and reclaims her blade. “Now, who is going to cook these fine birds?”

Ffrewgí steps forward. “I can, if you like.”

Murchadh smiles and hands him the pheasants, then looks to Asgell. “May I gather some herbs to flavour the meat?”

She nods. “Don’t be gone long.”

Murchadh nods and in a short time finds some wilting chives. Traveling back to the group by a different path, he also harvests some sage and mint. He shrugs; maybe Ffrewgí can use these. Murchadh returns to the smell of a small fire. Ffrewgí’s hands are coated in feather-down, dressing the last bird. Murchadh deposits his finds by the boy’s knee then sits back to watch.

In short order the birds are over the fire, and not long after that they are ready to eat. Asgell takes the smaller bird for herself and Murchadh takes only a leg of the other, letting Wyddryr and Ffrewgí split the rest. 

Murchadh settles back to eat, enjoying the taste of fresh meat. Between bites he discreetly eats some second growth dandelion plants, harvested from right behind him, that are not old enough to be unbearably bitter. He enjoys watching life slowly re-enter Ffrewgí as he eats, but Asgell will not let them savour the moment for long; before the three kids are finished, she stands and instructs them to start off up the mountain again.

*     *     *

Another rock face stretches up before Murchadh. Inwardly, he groans; the last one had been hard enough, and he had still been fresh from a night’s sleep. Wyddryr climbs first, as last time, and points out some really helpful features. Murchadh moves to the bluff, but before he lifts himself up to start the painful climb, Ffrewgí steps up next to him. The boy fiddles with the rope Murchadh has wrapped around his right arm, allowing for Murchadh to still have the security of it around his arm but devising a way for him to be able to to feed it by and still use it to pull himself up with.

Using Ffrewgí’s clever weave and Wyddryr’s pointers, he makes it up without too much trouble, and when Ffrewgí and Asgell make it up after him they all trudge onward. As they walk, Murchadh feels aches grow in his shoulders and arms: climbing is putting to use a whole new set of muscles for him; he had not even realized that half of his aching muscles had ever existed.

The sun is well past its zenith and is beginning to touch the western horizon when Murchadh pauses to look back. He knows they are close to the top . . . and they need to be; the effect of the pheasants has faded away and his companions are once again captives on a forced march. He is exhausted himself, but he has spent years traveling; exhaustion is something he can handle and pathfinding is second nature to him. As long as he does not have to climb another rock face he will be fine---

Then he sees it: the flag! The top is hardly a spear’s-throw away! There is just one problem . . . the flag is directly above them, up a craggy rock face. A small part of Murchadh’s spirit dies within him as he looks up. Their rope is likely only one third of the length of this rock face. He sighs.

Wyddryr looks up with slumped shoulders. Murchadh walks along the bottom of the cliff for a few hundred paces each direction, but there is no hope; climbing it is their only path. Wyddryr walks back and forth, inspecting the base of the cliff, muttering. Then he climbs.

He goes a quarter of the way up and ties the rope off to a rock spur, then waits on a thin ledge. Murchadh follows him using the rope while Ffrewgí holds the rope taunt at the bottom so his arm-weave system will work smoothly. When Murchadh reaches the ledge, Wyddryr pulls him up and they wait for the other two. This process happens twice more, Wyddryr finding ledges, cracks, and spurs to tie the rope to or rest on, the others following when the rope is secure.

The light is fading fast now and the last leg of the climb is before them. Wyddryr makes it to the top in short order and after securing the rope to something out of sight throws it down. After Ffrewgí completes the weave on his arm Murchadh begins his climb. He is halfway to the top when his left hand slips and his feet leave the rock face. He is falling!

Then, just as quickly as he started to fall, he stops with a sharp jerk to his right arm. The rope has bound itself tightly to his arm! He notices he is swinging and looks down to see Ffrewgí hanging onto the rope for dear life, suspended over sixty paces of cliff face. Murchadh yells, “Hold on!” and starts to encourage the rope to swing into the cliff. After a couple of tries, Ffrewgí is able to regain his perch on the ledge, and then Murchadh is able to grip back onto the cliff. Only after he removes his weight from the rope, lifting with his left hand, does he realize the genius of Ffrewgí’s weave. If enough weight is applied from below, the weave will bind on his arm. Ffrewgí must have seen Murchadh fall and had thrown his entire weight onto his end of the rope to catch him. Murchadh owes his life to Ffrewgí. 

Murchadh shakes his head with a smile and throws himself at the rock, climbing now with new confidence.

*     *     *

The moon is gleaming as the last shreds of colour fade from the western sky. Ffrewgí tears down the flag and looks at Asgell with a blank stare, as if willing her to not make them climb back down the way they came.

She gestures to the south as she says, “There’s the hiking trail. We’ll take that way back. We need live recruits and it would be nice to not have to replace you.”

The group sets off south across the flat peak. Murchadh is tired, and the right side of his body aches from exertion unlike any he has ever experienced. As they start off down a clearly marked trail, he turns to Ffrewgí. “Thank you, I owe my life to you.” Too tired to wait for a reply and barely aware of anything but his sore body and exhaustion, he falls into a walking rhythm and loses himself in the hike back.

The sky is black, dotted with stars, when they reach camp and are fed and led to new sleeping quarters---small tents, barely big enough for two children. He finds himself back with Anwen. She is already asleep. He falls asleep instantly upon lying down, hoping tomorrow will be better.