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bubble-tea-bunny · 3 years

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dive into you

[bennett x reader]

author’s note: lil fic for bestest boy benny inspired by the song by nct dream and the summer season :’)

word count: 3,600

There’s a bakery opposite of Angel’s Share, just across the cobblestone road, and every morning the smell of freshly baked bread wafts from its open double doors, ready to welcome patrons and the crisp air of the early hours. Bennett has easily fallen into the routine of making this his first stop of the day. When he wakes, eyes slow to open and greeted by little squares of light on the ceiling of his bedroom from the sunlight shining through the window, he swears he can already smell that bread and the pastries and the care put into each one. He doesn’t often find it in him to be lazy, to be sluggish this early, for a new day was a new promise of adventure, and whether he’s swept along by the wind to the wilds or to the bakery, it’s an adventure all the same.

He always picks out food for his dads. He considers carefully what they might like to have (some prefer to have the same each time, others don’t mind the variety and like to be surprised), and carefully, slowly he fills the tray. Usually it isn’t busy during the time he’s there, but he doesn’t want to take risks as he holds it securely with both hands whenever he’s perusing the selection. Even if there were no people to bump into, with his luck, he might bump into one of the displays in the middle of the shop instead, consequence of paying more attention to the shelves against the wall where there are loaves baked into fun shapes like fish or crabs, rather than to what’s in front of him. He’d hate to drop everything on his tray and waste it.

Sometimes the bakery keeps the doors closed, and while uncommon, it’s nothing unusual. On these occasions, the entry of each customer is announced by the small bell jingling just overhead. It’s the only sound in the shop, ringing several times in the past ten minutes but it’s mere background noise, easily ignored, as Bennett absorbs himself in choosing what to buy today.

“Good morning!”

Bennett’s hand freezes just above a loaf of bread that looks like a bear and he glances behind him to the counter because the sound of your bubbly voice, conversely, is much more difficult to ignore. Though to be fair, to him, you’re no mere background noise.

You’re carrying a basket of more loaves just taken from the oven, half of them regularly shaped into circles and the other half like turtles, and grin at the customers who have just walked in. He watches you make your way over to a shelf several feet away from him to arrange the bread, and he stares long enough that you’ve taken notice. Your smile is bright and reaches your eyes, and he’s embarrassed to have been caught. His cheeks grow warm and you can probably see the dusting of red across his face, a speculation which doesn’t help alleviate this embarrassment one bit.

“Good morning, Bennett,” you greet him, more quietly since he’s closer.

He likes when you say his name, and it never fails to make his heart skip a beat and he stutters out an O-Oh, um… as if surprised that you’re talking to him, much less that you know who he is. It shouldn’t take him off guard that you know, considering how often he comes to the bakery, so he supposes it has more to do with the fact that he can’t believe his name should be spoken by a voice as gentle as yours, honeyed tones like the softly plucked notes of the Holy Lyre der Himmel.

Finally he musters an equally quiet Good morning in response, smiling back but he’s certain it looks more like a cringe, owed to his nerves. If it does, you don’t point it out, and simply return to your task. Only when another patron comes up to Bennett’s other side, muttering a pardon as they grab a loaf from the shelf he’s standing in front of, does he break his gaze from you. His hand that had been hovering above the bread that whole time he drops back down to his side, and he scoots to make room with another stutter and a sorry.

You’re back behind the counter when Bennett is ready to pay. The pile of bread, cake slices, sandwiches, and other miscellaneous pastries had in the past led you to ask him if these were snacks for the road, for you’d guessed him to be an adventurer doing commissions for the guild by the sword at his side. He’d chuckled and explained his actual purpose for buying as much as he did, and your grin had widened, and if he wasn’t imagining things, you’d been extra careful when packing every treat.

I’m sure they’ll really appreciate your gesture, you’d said. That’s sweet of you. And it’s not frequently that events in the course of his life run smoothly, but that day they had, and with no falter in his words he remarks it’s thanks to you, for you’re the reason there’s anything to bring back to his dads in the first place. You’d laughed and his chest tightened and he thinks that’s the point where he started to fall (to where, he hesitated to state exactly). But in any case, it was true—without you, there was no bakery filled to the brim with delicious food, and if he had anything to say about that, Mondstadt would be worse off for it.

This morning, Bennett is digging around his wallet for the appropriate amount of Mora while you pack what he’d picked out. Having gone through this process many times prior, he knows approximately how much it should cost.

“Ah—”

A few coins slip from his hand and clatter to the wooden floor, and he bends to pick them up. But on the way down, his head knocks into the tray that he neglected to push all the way onto the countertop, so part of it still stuck out. You blink in surprise at the jostling of the tray and his subsequent Ouch!, muffled because he’s obscured by the counter.

“Are you okay?” You sound genuinely worried, but to Bennett the accident had been no big deal. At least none of the food had fallen.

“Yeah,” he assures you. He’s still trying to gather up the stray Mora, fingers failing to get a proper grip on them and he huffs in slight exasperation. His face once more is burning from the embarrassment of being so clumsy. He’s clumsy around everyone, and it’s something he has long since come to accept, but it matters a lot more when it’s you.

Finally he stands back up, the money clutched in his fist victoriously. “Yeah!” he repeats now that you can hear him clearly. “It’s no big deal.”

For a second you don’t quite believe him, but it’s hard to argue with that smile on his face. There’s no pain he’s trying to hide (embarrassment, on the other hand, is a different issue entirely).

Upon handing him his package you tell him you’ll see him tomorrow and he feels sort of special because you don’t say it to anyone else. To others, you say Thank you, come again! but you know his routine and you know to expect him at the same time each morning. Judging by the look in your eyes and the sound of your voice when you see and greet him, you anticipate his visit every time, and his heart wants to soar out from the confines of his chest upon this realization and he is exhilarated. The wind and the new day have fulfilled their promise of an adventure, and the clock hasn’t even struck noon.

One day you’re a little distracted, focused on a paper in your hand as Bennett approaches the counter with his tray of baked goods. For the most part, your face gives nothing away, but then your brows furrow slightly, a subtle action he doesn’t miss, and he proceeds to ask if anything is wrong. He asks it kindly, keeps his tone neutral, wordlessly conveying that you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to. He would hate to pry.

You purse your lips, pausing like you’re caught between saying yes and no. He waits patiently for whichever one it might be.

“I ran out of sugar and had been meaning to make more,” you start, opting to share with him what’s been troubling you.“I bought out Flora’s stock of sweet flowers but it wasn’t enough, so I may have to set aside time to pick more myself later.”

The mention of heading outside of the city makes Bennett perk up, for he never turns down a chance to go exploring. He’s about to offer to do it for you, but it’s the thought of possibly going with you instead that makes him hold back and rephrase his question.

“This afternoon?” he inquires, head tilting. You nod, and up until now he’d felt confident in the offer he was going to present, but then his nerves get the better of him and it doesn’t come out quite the way he was hoping. “I-I could go with you! You know, if you want! To protect you… Just in case…” He trails off and he wants to go hide in a hole. There are few other ways this could have gone worse.

You don’t answer right away, and he regrets having said anything at all, but your beautiful smile soon follows the silence and it sets his mind at ease, and you agree with a concise and cheery Sure! Well, at least the worst way this could have gone had not come to pass. It was the small victories for Bennett—just as important as the big ones. The next challenge would be to avoid making a fool of himself out there, in what should be his natural element; he does want to impress you. But that’s a big ask for someone like him…

Both of you agree to meet at the front gate in the late afternoon. By then, the traffic in the bakery is slow enough that you’re able to step away earlier than the normal closing time. You’ve changed into clothes more appropriate for walking around: in lieu of a dress, your typical work attire, you sport a tunic and trousers you don’t mind dirtying. The trousers are tailored to fit properly but the tunic is a tad big, the sleeves a bit too long, but Bennett thinks you look cute in it. A basket hangs on your forearm and you wave as you walk up to him.

“I hope you haven’t been waiting too long,” you say.

Bennett shakes his head. “Not long at all.” Technically the agreed upon meeting time was only five minutes ago, so you aren’t very late. Though he does refrain from sharing that he’d arrived early, in fear that he could end up late somehow and you would be the one who had to wait. Really, it’s been more like fifteen minutes for him, but he just keeps quiet about that.

One of the nice things about summer is that the sun sets later. There’s still a sufficient amount of light to illuminate the fields as you walk around in search of sweet flowers. At first, the extent of your conversation is discussing where you might be able to find a high concentration of them, then silence filled with the sifting of grass beneath your shoes and the occasional exclamation of having spotted a flower to be picked and tucked away in your basket.

Honestly, walking with you around the wilds of Mondstadt hadn’t been anywhere on Bennett’s list to do today, or any day really, not until he could muster the courage to invite you out like this, and who knew when that might be. Your need for sweet flowers had dropped the opportunity right into his lap, and thankfully he hadn’t squandered it. But now he’s at a loss as to what to talk about; he didn’t think he’d ever get this far.

Maybe you sense his struggle to come up with a topic of conversation because you’re the one to speak up, asking about his adventures and the commissions he takes. Done anything exciting recently?

Bennett’s eyes light up, a reaction which you can't help but smile at, and he regales you of the goings-on of his latest missions. He omits the instances where his clumsiness had made things more difficult (of which there were many), but each story is still truthful. Most of his commissions the past month hadn’t been anything too bold—after a mission that involved nearly getting himself trapped in a ruin due to solving a puzzle wrong then getting food poisoning on top of that from the snack he’d prepped that day, he’s been choosing jobs that he knows he’s more capable of.

To him, they aren’t too exciting, and in the larger scope of things, perhaps they aren’t, but you don’t seem to think that as you hang on each word. You’re absorbed in his story about trying to dismantle towers in a hilichurl camp, and gasp at the mention of their reinforcements coming to attack in the midst of it. Wow, you remark after he finishes his recounting of the event. You’re amazing, Bennett!

His heart does a flip again at the sound of his name and he shrugs offhandedly. He’s not inclined to think so, but your awed comment is sincere and has him reconsidering: yeah, that was pretty cool of him, wasn’t it? For all his clumsiness, he doesn’t often see the feats for what they are, accompanied by blunders or not, but you’re the fresh perspective he’d been missing, and he wishes you’d stepped into his life sooner.

The entirety of your outing together has thus far been free of any monsters, but as soon as Bennett makes this observation it’s like the universe has heard: hydro slimes suddenly pop out from the ground, halting you in your tracks. You squeak in surprise and Bennett is quick to shift into a fighting stance, knees slightly bent and one arm out in front of you protectively.

“Just stay there!” he instructs before drawing his sword and rushing forward.

Luckily there aren’t many slimes to fight off, and they aren’t very big. His sword cuts through them easily, cleanly. They burst and spray water upon being sliced apart, so at the end, when they’re all dead, the only evidence they had been there to begin with is the slight dampness to his clothes and the squish of dirt turned to mud. With a sigh of triumph, Bennett resumes a relaxed stance, then sheathes his weapon and turns to you.

As instructed, you’ve stayed in place, but it seems to have been more out of being frozen in fear than anything else. You’re clutching your basket close, and once the slimes are gone, you follow Bennett’s lead and relax, shoulders releasing the tension they had been filled with for the duration of that fight. You let out a deep exhale of relief, hand placed over your heart which has yet to slow back down to its normal pace.

“Thank you.”

Bennett flashes a toothy grin and waves his hand as if to say It’s not a problem. “That’s what I’m here for isn’t it?”

You smile back. “I’m glad we went together.”

Together. He likes the sound of that. He thinks to himself that he’d go with you to other places too; you need only to give the word. To the edge of this world, and through a portal to the next? He’d meet you by the front gate at dawn.

He’s surprised that the encounter with those slimes had gone as smoothly as it had. It isn’t uncommon for him to get hit a few times, bruises quick to form on his arms or his legs. And it’s quite the run of luck, of which he’s ordinarily in short supply, that he should get through a fight with nary a scratch on him while with you. His efforts to impress are actually succeeding.

However, this is another case of speaking too soon, because he starts to walk back to you, but then his foot gets caught on a rock concealed by the tall grass, and he tumbles to the ground.

“Oof!”

His chest collides with the earth as he lands with a thud and the breath is stolen from his lungs. You gasp and close the gap between you, and in viewing you in his peripherals, he notes that you are much more graceful at it.

“Are you all right?”

Bracing his hands on the dirt, small bits of rock digging into his palms, Bennett pushes himself up to sit on his knees. “Yeah, I’m okay!” Here he thought he had handled himself perfectly well, but then just like that, his clumsiness returned, and once more before you he is awkward, blundering Bennett.

Unlike the incident at the bakery when he’d bumped his head into the tray, this fall had actually hurt, and he can’t hide it successfully, a slight wince of pain crossing his face in spite of his smile. Even if you hadn’t caught on to that, the injuries elsewhere on his body give it away completely.

“Your arms are all scraped up…” After Bennett stands back up, you gingerly take hold of his forearm and angle it to examine the scrapes there, thin red lines from tiny stones tearing the skin.

Your grip is light, like you’re scared to injure him further, and Bennett is thankful for the darkness that is setting in as the sun disappears and the moon begins its trek across the sky, for it conceals the way his cheeks redden to be this close to you, to be touched by you. The concern in your gaze as you look at his arm makes his chest squeeze but not in the good way, and he bends his knees slightly to duck into your line of view.

“Don’t worry! I’m fine.” And it’s true. He’s sustained worse, though he steers clear of sharing this part. He doesn’t like to see you worried.

He straightens up when you finally meet his eyes and dons his smile again, easy and reassuring. It seems to convince you, as you nod and let go. He drops his arm back down to his side but he’s already missing the feather-light sensation of your fingertips. Successfully reassured, your smile also returns, replacing the thin line of worry that your lips had previously been set in.

It’s dark now but the air is still warm, a consequence of the season. In the daytime the heat is more extreme, made even more so by the fire curling from the edge of his sword. At the conclusion of whatever commission he has taken, he’s left sweating, satisfied but exhausted. Missions in the summer are more difficult to get through, the sun beating down with little mercy and its heat lingering into the night, but he thinks that if he were to have you there with him, he’d hardly notice.

Your delicate gaze is the cool ocean breeze and your soft smile the deluge of waves washing over him, a force he receives gladly because he is falling into you, deeper into the expanse of your heart. He’s diving into the sea, the unbearable heat of summer long forgotten as he makes his way to the bottom. What he hopes to find he isn’t sure, but he’d be content to remain there forever, consumed by you and all the love you have to offer.

“Okay?” he asks, voice soft. You had nodded but he also wants verbal confirmation that you won’t burden yourself with worry anymore.

You catch on to his own need for reassurance, and he wants to sink into the refreshing fondness of your eyes as you watch him. “Okay.”

The moon up above illuminates your face, and he wants to run his fingers along all the parts it touches: the line of your cheekbones, the bridge of your nose, the cupid’s bow of your lips. He yearns to be closer to you than that moonlight adorning your skin, and maybe it’s strange that he should be envious of it, of that light which has the privilege to hold you so near, but the feelings he has for you are what’s written about in books, and in those stories, people do tend to do strange things.

In the morning, he stops by the bakery as usual but this time is surprised when you set a cake down alongside the other baked goods he buys. You answer his question before he can voice it.

“For yesterday,” you state simply. “For my hero.”

Your—?

“I think ‘hero’ is too strong a word for it,” Bennett replies, chuckling quietly and rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. After all, they had just been slimes.

You hum noncommittally, corner of your mouth lifted in a grin. “Maybe, but yesterday you were mine. So please take this as thanks.”

He’d like to be yours every day, and the thought of how nice that would be makes his whole world just a little brighter, like the crystal butterflies fluttering around him in the wild on the warm summer nights; and he hopes that the next adventure the wind guides him on leads straight back to you.

#bennett x reader #bennett imagine #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact imagine #bennett #genshin impact #bubble-tea-bunny #queue

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itty-bitty-rainbow · 3 years

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My Mcyt g/t AU ideas

That I would I write if had the skills

Puffy’s Travels AU

Captain puffy was just a lone sailor until her ship gets Wreaked in a huge storm. She stumbles on to an unknown shoreline and passes out. When she awakens the first she see is a small person in a green cloak standing on her forehead. When she asks the person how he got small she looks around to see she surrounded by a small village with a Miniature Castle to complete the look.

The toy story AU

Philza, Techno, and Ranboo are looking through a yards sale when they stumbled across a small toy chest with a lock after they managed to pick the lock they open the chest and see five little toy soldiers and a stuffed toy fox (dawning similar attire) Ranboo takes a likening to the toy fox while Philza and techno decide to take the rest of what’s in the chest home. little do the three know that these “toys” are alive and very confused about there new situation. How they became alive is very much a mystery to even the soldiers.

Forest boy AU

A six year old orphaned Tommy gets lost in a huge enchanted forest. Phil, Techno, and Wilbur are tiny forest spirits who find Tommy and take him in as one of there own. Many Years later and Tommy become the self proclaimed forest protector.

The borrower whisper AU

An abounded house in Sam neighborhood is torn down. And less than a day later Sam find a borrower with and injured leg near his house. He take him and cares for the poor thing and after gaining its trust Sam learns that the borrower’s name is George. It’s not long after that Sam learns that George wasn’t the only borrower that lived in the abandoned house. Turns out there was a whole community of borrowers that lived in that house and now have no where to go. So Sam decides to take in a manny borrowers as he can (or at least as many that can trust him)

Children of the sky AU

Tommy, Tubbo, and Ranboo are all young gods. Tubbo is the god of the sun Ranboo is the god of the moon and Tommy is the god of the stars. Together they’re known as the children of the sky who are passed down in legends. Wilbur, Phil and Techno are humans who come across an exited “human” named Tommy he joins them in there travels but the three soon find out that Tommy is not what he seems.

Gods walk among us AU

Techno god of war who was cast out to the mortal realm for his crimes and was cursed to the form of a giant hoglin. Techno hide himself away in a giant forest for many decades. Phil is an explorer and seasoned hunter of monsters he one day stumbles across techno and makes the wise decisions to not pick a fight with a creature 20x his size. so he just observed the giant hoglin’s behavior from afar and notices how much more intelligent and aware of his surroundings this beast is.

( I don’t really have a name for the rest)

Fairy Karl AU

Dream George and Sapnap are adventurers that get lost in the forest. After hours of wandering around in circles a forest fairy named Karl sees the three adventures predicament and reveales himself to them. He Offere to guide them to the forest exit in Exchange for letting him join the humans in there traveling. Believing them to powerful warriors. The three get attach to the fairy pretty fast. Especially Sapnap

Warrior techno and giant Ranboo AU

Techno is fearsome warrior who slay monsters of all kinds. But he as yet to go toe to toe with a giant. never backing down from a challenge he tracks down a giant challenges him to a fight. But the giant he finds (ranboo) is terrified of humans hand begins backing away and begging for the human to spare him. Techno is instantly appalled that a creature so much bigger than him could be so cowardly. Since he has no desire to kill a being that can’t even defend himself, he decides to teach the giant on how to be more bold. And two soon becomes friends

Tiny dragon Tommy AU

Techno and Wilbur are exporting the market one day when they find a tiny dragon locked in a cage for sale. Wilbur takes one look at the angry little beast gnawing at the bars of the cage and instantly wants to keep him. After Techno begrudgingly agrees the two buy him from the shop and begin caring for him. And it turns out that the dragon named Tommy is not only a protective of his new family but also a size shifting dragon.

Let me knows if you think there good or bad

#mcyt g/t #mcyt gt #rainbow’s thoughts

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choiwrites · 4 years

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kth | wolfgirl (m.)

Words: 10k Genre: twlight!au, it’s new moon but taetae as jacob, ur bella but you have a personality :o, oh also smut and a little angst Warnings: no protection and no fcks given, language ig?, descriptive seggs lol, vampires and all that bs if that triggers sum of yall, oral (f receiving), tae is younger than u and kind of a sub (dom tae is overdone we need change in this country) i cant think no more no thots hed mt Rating: 18+ Song: Iron & Wine - Flightless Bird, American Mouth Summary: During your stay at your Aunt's house in the wet town of Forks, you never thought the boys next door will change your perspective in how you see the world.

The weather in Washington was something you’re not used to. You can never go places without getting mud on your shoes and it takes more than your patience to clean them every time before going out. Sure, it was great to experience a different weather other than the blazing sun in Los Angeles, but it was hard to adjust. You weren’t ready for it with all the sleeveless and loose tops you brought from Los Angeles.

After months of debating with your mom, you decided it would be a great way to spend your summer vacation turning your camera focus into something more dark and cloudy. Your professor had also suggested that it would look good in your portfolio if you try different moods in photos other than the hot weather in Angeles. So, you thought about it for months before asking your mom to buy you tickets to see your Aunt Sylvia who you're currently living with for the meantime.

She was in her mid-thirties, but she looked younger than her real age. She knew how to groom and with the way she looks, she probably had that life during her high school days. You rarely see her though, you can remember all the conversations you both had. She leaves home early for her duty at the police station as an attending desk officer. Her place wasn't big, an average suburban house painted in cold tones of white and gray with dark furniture inside. It's not your typical definition of cozy. Good thing you brought your two sweaters — one with a Christmas tree embroidered on it and one with the phrase "'tis the season!" Wearing a sweater in Los Angeles only means one thing, and that is the season of giving. But who cares, it's not like anyone was going to notice, right?

About to finish the second cup of black tea, an idea pops into your mind about what Sylvia had said about the landscapes nearby the house. However, she had warned you about the risks of a few wild coyote appearances, but one could call you a junkie. There’s no fun in danger, but dangerous does rhyme with adventurous.

A cool whip of breeze enters the thin fabric of your sweater, immediately regretting stepping out of the doorstep after locking the door. As you are approaching the back of the house to enter the woods, young laughters echo through the area, lessening your fear for a bit. It must be safe if a group of teenagers are hanging out in such a secluded forest.

Unbothered by the noises, whether they were from teenagers or not, you make your way further into the woods of coppery branches on the endless verdant ground with subtle eau de nils. It’s like walking into a surreal three-dimensional render of a forest, too perfect to be right in front of your eyes.

It was quiet and serene in the woods. Aside from birds chirping, it felt like out of this world. It was an alien planet. Everything was green — the moss surrounding the place, every tree had some sort of fungi beneath it, the soil dark brown as if staring right into the earth’s eyes. The very healthy kind of earthy, and it was easier to breathe in the forest than it was in the city of Los Angeles. No wonder why they're both on the opposite sides of the country. They're literally poles apart. Being at Forks, it's as if you were able to be in a different country. It was secluded, unlike in Angeles, there are people in every place you go.

While changing the film of the camera, a strong gust of wind on your left side. So strong that your body stumbled onto the ground. You were on your knees, camera shattered as it hits a hard medium-sized rock. You break a couple of curses to the wind.

The camera looked hopeless with lenses separated from it, lying in pieces against a rock.

"What the hell was that?"

There had to be some kind of a fast animal that ran from your side, which quickens your pulse, but the devastation you felt for the camera overthrew that fear. When you caught a glimpse of the 'wind,' it was human-like. It ran around in every direction surrounding you, freezing you into place. The only thing you were able to do was to keep watching the human-like creature run in circles like lightning. You tried standing up, but it approached you in a rapid current that you fell into place again. But you couldn't see it, you weren't able to look into its eyes.

"You shouldn't be out here alone,” behind you says.

You whimper, embarrassed when the deep voice sends hums into your nerves..

"Why didn't you run?" He looks at you with knitted brows as he approaches to help you get on your feet. He’s far too attractive to be a wild coyote, you slap that stupid thought away.

"I... I didn't know what to do,” you force out, still affected by the broken camera and creeping fear.

He was around four inches taller than you. He looked about your age. Dark thick hair, with light brown irides inside his almond-shaped eyes. His skin was of a rich walnut tan, and his dark green hoodie complements that.

"You must be Sylvia's niece. I'm Taehyung,” he said in a sultry manner as he offered a hand for a handshake.

"How do you kno-"

"She told us. My family's close with Sylvia. Our mothers used to be best friends, y/n." He puts his hand back in the pocket of his hoodie.

A tinge of embarrassment brushes through your cheeks, feeling guilty that you didn't give him a handshake. But all of that is ignored when he smiles.

"Did I creep you out?"

You chuckle softly. "No, of course not. I'm just still in the moment... of processing." You ease him, as if you were able to read the tension in his undecipherable eyes.

There was a few seconds of silence before Taehyung spoke again when he noticed your camera on the ground.

"Hey, we have a technician at home, maybe he has some tools he could help you with."

He was absolutely gorgeous. You find yourself lost in his face, studying his features and every little action he does. He would look so good as a muse. If only you could capture him right now, he'd be perfect under the clouds that create shadows that contour his cheeks and makes his eyes even more mysterious.

"Don't worry, you can trust me. Sylvia knows where I live,” he adds.

Though that doesn't really solve the problem, you find yourself walking with Taehyung in the woods, drifting away from the devastation and fear from earlier.

The laughters were from them. The laughs you heard earlier before entering the woods were from Taehyung's friends. They confirmed that they were walking around the woods earlier and that they passed by your house. All looking friendly with similar doe eyes, almost like they were relatives. They were all in a circle, all of them sitting on a chunk of thick logs, dressed in a similar way. The men were younger than you, but there is a girl who's older than you. She didn't seem as friendly as the others as you notice the judging glances towards your way. She had shoulder length of hair and she was just as tan as Taehyung. Taehyung discussed each of them one by one to you, all of them introducing themselves in an endearing manner except for her. Only saying her name was Leah and that was it, which made you feel an ounce of intimidation.

"So, y/n, how long do you plan to stay?" Embry, the one with the shortest hair, asks as he plays with the two twigs he'd been digging up dirt with the moment you arrived. His color was a tad bit darker than the others. He had a grin that could steal every girl's heart. He was gorgeous. They were all just as gorgeous as Taehyung.

"Oh, one month. I have a college application to fix back home,” you answered surely. You were only here to take photos for your college portfolio, and making friends was out of the picture until today.

"Sucks for Tae, I had a feeling you could be more than a willing candidate to be his girlfriend." Everybody laughed except for you and Tae who exchanged awkward glances at each other.

"Stop it, Bry." Taehyung wanted to laugh along but embarrassment got the best of him.

"She looks so out of place. You probably party a lot in Los Angeles, don't you?" Leah gives you a stern look, seriously waiting for your response. She only wants to get a reaction from you and you weren’t the only one to get the feeling as the group feels the rising tension between the both of you.

"No, I don't go to parties. Mom is very strict." You tell her. You didn't want the group to feel that you were intimidated, after all, you wanted to befriend everyone.

"She'd be perfect for our overnight tomorrow then." She prickly grins.

"Right! Want to join us in La Push? It's the nearest beach out here. We'll have bonfires and such," Seth, the youngest one with the tiniest body (still bigger than yours), expresses in excitement. Out of all of them, Seth was the friendliest.

"I'll go talk to Sylvia for you, if you want." Taehyung raises his brows. He had been laughing quietly ever since he had brought you to meet his friends - which seems like he regrets, additionally. He was more mysterious than you thought. He didn't share much of his life during the discussion, only three things: his last name was Kim, he’s 20 years old, and he lives at the rez along with the rest of the team.

"Sure. I'll just bring my other camera." You smiled.

Taehyung said that he'll get Chase, a friend of his who wasn’t part of the circle, to fix the broken film camera. He assured that it will only be a matter of three days before the camera is all yours again. After a few more useless fun discussions, you had forgotten that the sun had settled for a while. When Taehyung realizes your face of worry, he offers to give you a ride home. Great, a ride with the wild coyote who had immediately earned your trust by rising a brow. You wouldn’t be so shocked if you end up ‘missing’ in the news in the next hours.

He owned a Chevy pick up truck. It was red, but faded, making it seem vermillion in color. It had a few dents and you were sure that it wasn't one of the smoothest rides you've ever had. But Taehyung made a few jokes about how he feels uneasy with the truck as well, only to reveal that it has been with him ever since his birth.

"It's great. Very retro." You gave him a smile to let him know that he doesn't need to feel embarrassed with his truck.

"Shut up, Y/N. I know it sucks, okay. I can't even play a single song here without a static." He laughs and you admit it.

He gave a charming wave to your window and had a small chat with Sylvia, who’s been home for hours, before leaving, probably about the La Push trip for tomorrow. Once you've changed into your pyjamas, Sylvia knocks on your door as you are about to settle in bed.

"Tae told me about the La Push camping tomorrow,” she began.

"Are you gonna let me?"

She smiles in an assuring way. You can't deny how lovely she looked with her hair down, her waves framing her heart-shaped face. "Of course, honey. You better wake up early tomorrow. Tae told me that he'll pick you up by seven." She winks and rubs your shoulder before heading downstairs.

A beach trip in a cloudy town without bringing any hoodies with you? Sounds about perfect, if you’re looking for a hypothermia attack. And you were never a morning person either so it’s a big mystery why you even agreed to go in the first place. The waking time in Los Angeles was ten in the morning. In Forks, it was seven.

When Taehyung arrived, he was wearing a black shirt and a black leather jacket, pairing it with slightly oversized pants. He looked bigger than yesterday, maybe it was the jacket that made him look buff. He waved softly before you even stepped out of the doorway. He was carrying a medium-sized paper bag with small wet stains.

"My sister made us breakfast. Just in case you didn't have enough time to prepare," he opens the car door for you and waved to Sylvia goodbye, "thought you'd take more time because you probably wake up late in the city."

“I’m somehow a little offended with that assumption,” you cooed and he replied with a stammering laugh, unsure whether to take it as a joke or not.

He fumbled with the stereo and it played better than yesterday, giving you a sloppy smile as the first chords of Creep by Radiohead plays.

"You fixed it?" You take a bite from the sandwich his sister prepared. You thank God his sister prepared it for you, your stomach would be growling by now.

"Yeah. I just didn't want us to have that awkward silence along the way." He breathily laughs.

Everything Taehyung has is beautiful. He had an amazing laugh, a deep sultry voice, and doe eyes. He's simply astonishing. You were sure that everyone he has met so far had fallen in love with him. You weren't one to deny that either.

It took around fifteen songs before the both of you arrived at the beach — thanks to Taehyung's amazing playlist. It was quiet, the weather didn't change much in the place. Still cold and dark, untouched by a glimpse of sunrise. It was windier than the rest of Forks, and you wore your Christmas sweater to at least help with the cold a bit.

It was weird to say, but Taehyung radiated heat whenever you were near him. It's like when you're not around Taehyung, you feel the coldness of Forks. His truck didn't even feel cold though his air conditioning was on, you just felt a sense of unfamiliar comfortable heat you found yourself curling in your seat minutes ago. The group welcomed the both of you except for Leah of course. Sooner or later, you knew you'd start to hate her.

"You guys are early,” you tell Embry and Paul as they greet you with warm hugs.

"Of course, we are. It's La Push, baby." Embry gives you a wink and you blush.

"Okay, Bry, I haven't had my breakfast and you're already winking." Paul fake puked and the rest of the group laughs.

They started setting up tents as Taehyung offered to take your bag when he noticed how it's weighing you down. Before he could put it in the tent, you took your digital camera and started roaming around by yourself to take pictures of the view. Astounding as you had expected. It's like you were in the middle of nowhere. Only Taehyung's friends were at the beach which was a lucky shot for you and the group.

"Set up the fire, Tae! We're having breakfast." Leah yells across the place as she places the logs in the middle of the circle the tents are built in.

Taehyung sighs loudly. "Get ready for the Quileute Tribe stories."

"You seem tired of it, you joked.

While Taehyung builds a fire with the rest of the boys, you secretly take pictures of him busy as the both of you keep talking.

"It's always the story every camping day. The Quileute Legends, you know? The scary stuff."

You knit your brows when the word ‘scary’ comes into play, bringing your camera down to take a better look at the almost sweaty Taehyung.

"Scary stuff? How scary? Thrill me." You weren't aware as to how much Taehyung also studies your features. He wanted to know you better, but he was afraid of scaring you away by asking too many questions. It had always been his issue, scaring people away from him. And this time, he didn't want to let you in like the others, he just wanted to be acquaintances. But the more he spends time with you, the more he wants to be near you as if there were magnets pulling you together.

"I don't know what would thrill you, y/n. But the world is darker than you think, it's not always safe." He gives you a look. It was impossible. You were five feet away from him, but you could almost see your reflection in his eyes. It was too comforting. You were devoured by his eyes, falling steadily into his charms.

"I know. It's just as scary in L.A., I mean," you gulped, "crime is everywhere. Can't really stop it." You explained.

"It's not always crime that's scary, y/n. I'm talking unexplainable things." He smirks.

"Like paranormal?" You gaze away from him, starting to take pictures of the beach. But no matter how hard you try to distract yourself from Taehyung, your eyes keep falling on him.

"More than paranormal. Ghosts are easier to believe in."

You inhaled sharply. "I mean those are just legends, right? What's with the obsession in the Qui-Quileute Tribe?" You struggled pronouncing the word.

"It's not me. It's a tradition." There was a moment of silence before you could think of what to say again.

"Delete my pictures by the way." He scoffed.

"I thought you didn't notice."

"I was posing."

You laugh at his joke, still certain you're never deleting any of his pictures, most definitely the one when he accidentally looked at the camera.

"You look sort of beautiful in the camera." Your lids flutter like a high school girl. “Not just in the camera, I mean… haha.”

He stares at you in confusion, and somehow you always find yourself frozen and embarrassed whenever he looks at you. "Sort of beautiful? You're more naive than I thought." He removes his jacket and throws it on the log nearby, revealing his buff body. You look away in discomfort, you didn't want to find yourself checking him out. "I'm not what you think I am. And I don't think you want to know."

"Maybe I do." You point the camera towards him and take a shot of his reaction. You wink.

The clouds hovering above the clamorous sea tell that there's probably rain coming, but it seems like the group wasn't bothered by it at all. You were sitting next to Taehyung two feet away from you on the logs nearby the fire that Seth had given up trying to help making after a couple of failed attempts. His heat never failed to linger around you though.

Sam was discussing the Quileute Legends and the group was very fascinated with the story, even though Taehyung had confirmed earlier that they've already heard the story too many times from their own families. Sam was good. He had a way in telling stories. You find yourself actually believing the legends. Werewolves and vampires? Shapeshifters and Children of the Moon? You weren't one to believe in such fantasies. You liked to watch historical movies more than fairytales, but with the way Sam elaborated every part of the legend, you can't deny the shiver that you felt when he discussed the cold ones.

Fast like lightning. Beautiful and alluring. Undead without a soul.

You thought it was ridiculous for Sam to even give out a warning about the cold ones. You were suppressing your laugh a little bit, and you were sure Leah already had her eyes on you. Why would Sam give out a warning about the cold ones? It's not like they were actually real. He also mentioned a treaty. And he sounded pretty serious about it too, even Taehyung was carefully listening. All of their eyes were on Sam, except for Leah.

Sam talked about a specific family of the cold ones, that they proposed a treaty. These cold ones are not allowed to hurt anybody from Forks, or else the mentioned werewolves are allowed to pose a fight with them. He talked about it like it was a plan.

It was afternoon and the clouds were still as thick as it was in the morning, but rays of sunlight shone through the gaps between the dark clouds. It looked ethereal, an aesthetic you'd only see in paintings. You thought those paintings are only manifestations of amplified emotions of the painter, but here you are, smiling to your camera as you take hundreds of shots.

"Save some memory for the other landscapes," Taehyung says beside you, throwing pebbles to the water, each bouncing impressively for three times.

"I know, I just can't get enough of this. You don't see that in L.A." You pointed your index finger towards the horizon of the sea.

"Yeah, but at least you can swim in LA. It's too cold out here to even go for a swim,” he emphasized.

"Not when you're around. It's weird, but I feel like you have a fever. You're too hot."

He raises his brows . "I know I'm hot," he chuckles.

"I didn't mean it like that,” you protest, though you know for a fact, Taehyung right. If he were to live in L.A., he'd be escorted many times by a modeling agency.

"So, I'm not hot?" You knew he was teasing and your embarrassment was obvious enough because of the blood rushing through your cheeks.

"You're attractive. I'm sure you know that." You roll your eyes, trying to keep everything casual — which is getting harder and harder every time he's around.

"No, I don't,” he teased. He was obviously getting pay back on you for taking candid shots of him earlier.

Your eyes landed on Sam and Emily play-fighting in the sea, just the sight of them being happy made you feel a bit of a heartache. You were a sucker for romance. The boys told you earlier that they were engaged for three months now. Leah was Sam's ex-girlfriend and Emily was Leah's ex-best friend. Finally putting the pieces together why Leah was one of the hardest to be with. She was extremely hurt and broken. She would rather shut the world out rather than let anybody in. She would rather be alone, than find anyone again who could possibly hurt her.

"Look," you poked Taehyung who was too busy throwing pebbles, "Sam and Emily are swimming. We should too!"

Though you were shivering, you bravely took off the mustard jacket that Taehyung had let you borrow. You were left with your thin brown tank top and denim shorts. He's still in his black shirt, unbothered to even take it off nor his jeans.

"What are you doing? Let's go." You tell him as you walk towards the sea.

This was a bad idea. It felt like ice was draping all over your body. How can Emily look like she's having fun when you're over here freezing just by stepping into the water? Half of your body was shivering from the wind, the lower half was for sure numb. You wanted to slap Taehyung for taking so long to get in with you, and you weren't even sure why you were so desperate for him to get in with you. It's not like he had a heater with him.

It took Taehyung a few more seconds before he started taking his shirt off, revealing his caramel skin, but it wasn't his color that caught your eyes, it was how built he is. His body looks like it was sculpted by the most talented and precise sculptor. It was defined, and shadows are doing magic in giving it silhouettes in the right areas. The best part about it was how shy he was taking off his clothes, like a teenager getting ready for his first swimming lesson.

He was for sure planning to swim today, revealing the gray trunks he’s wearing underneath his jeans. He needs a bigger one that fits him better, because the trunks he's wearing isn't doing him any justice.

Okay, no. Maybe it was justified by a subtle outline of his —

Don't even look down there, y/n, you tell yourself.

You didn't know where to focus. His thighs were just as eye-catching as his abs. Just as toned and thick. It would be such a material for thigh riding, you thought and you quickly shake your head at the idea. It has to be the waters that did this to you. Time has never been more relevant when he was walking towards your way, as he scoops water with his hands to wet his hair, while biting his bottom lip and giving you a small smile after.

"Freezing?" He smiles, eyes pierced on your small body. You were hugging yourself, embracing yourself from the fact that if you let go of your hands, you might touch something else.

"You were taking so long."

He chuckles before holding your arm, taking it off your body. "Come on, dip your whole body." He pulls you softly towards the ocean, the sound of walking through water comforting your ears.

He was a foot away from you, the water level was on his chest and so was yours, but slightly higher. He looked even more godly. His hair pushed back, and to see his face in its entirety was a blessing, a gift.

None of you dared to talk, and you thought it was better that way. You just get to stare at him, as the sunlight lands itself upon his bronze eyes with specks of gold if you would close enough, majestic indeed to see something like that once in your life. You'd wish to wake up to that every morning.

There was this comfortable silence between the two of you. Drops of water fall under his eyelashes, fluttering them as he struggles to stare back at you. The moment was ruined when he suddenly smiled and looked towards Embry and Paul. Embry was sitting next to Paul, staring at the both of you while laughing. You shrug, feeling invaded.

"Why? What is it?" you asked Taehyung.

"They're thinking ridiculously."

You furrow your forehead. "How do you know?" He tightens his hold around your arm as he keeps you steady near him, aware of you struggling to touch the floor.

"I just know," he softly plants circles on your arm with his thumb, "trust me."

"Maybe we shouldn't stand too close to each other then. I think they're making a big deal out of it." You didn't want to come off feisty, but you guessed it went that way for Taehyung as he moved away from you without letting you go.

"No, they're not. They're just teasing." When he said that, it was like he only said it to get near you, to assure you that it was okay to be close to him like that.

"Still cold?" he asked.

"Not so much anymore." You muttered. There were so many questions you wanted to ask Taehyung, but your voice isn't very trustworthy at the moment. You know it will betray you the moment you open your mouth.

"Penny for your thoughts? Why did you want to swim?" His voice was soft, calming as the ocean.

"I wanted to test how warm you can make me, even in freezing water."

He laughs breathily. "Seriously?"

You nod. He wanted to tell you a lot about himself, but like you, he was just as scared. Skinny dipping wasn't really your thing, especially in cold water, so after a few more moments of swimming and small talks with Taehyung, you let yourself dry by sitting next to the tent, keeping yourself busy by viewing all the pictures you took.

It was four in the afternoon, and the sun looked like it was already setting. Time was almost irrelevant at Forks, you wake up and the next thing you know, you're already getting ready for bed. Even though today was quite eventful, the clock still ticked quickly.

Feeling dry enough, you walked to the other side of the beach, Embry had mentioned that there was a cliff nearby along the woods. Though Taehyung was busy drying himself and laughing with the others, he glanced your way as you were heading towards the woods. You lifted your camera so he knew what your motive was, and he flashed a sly smile.

Trees. Cliffs. Birds.

The place could be a haven for the National Geographic Channel.

"I thought the pack wouldn't ever leave you alone like this." A deep voice spoke behind you, his english accent was thick and strong. You were sure that if you turn around, he’ll be ten feet away from you. You regret blinking your eyes, because the next thing you knew, he was right in front of you. His expression with so much thirst, so much hunger. For what?

You only inhaled sharply, first thing coming into your mind, confusion overpowering your nerves. You examined the man before you quickly. Olive skin, dark ruby eyes. His skin was inhumanly shiny, he almost looked dead, but in a mesmerizing type of way. He had dark purple circles, but his eyes were beautiful enough to distract you from it. He mirrored a cement under sunlight, he had fragments of diamonds and glitters on his skin. It wasn't your brain consuming you but his visual, his aura.

"Didn't bring your dog with you?" You weren't sure what he meant. He takes a step forward to lean into your ear, and your feet beg to stay, your eyes staring deeply in his beauty. You were too engaged, everything about him had you in place.

"You smell different from the others. Are you aware of that?" His breath touched your skin and there the exact opposite of heat seeping in your skin. “La tua cantante. I can hear your blood flowing through your veins. I can hear your heart. It's beautiful." He sniffs your neck as he hisses.

He wasn't human, and this time you were sure. He had danger lingering in his eyes, but it dressed so captivatingly beautiful, you found yourself lost.

"It won't hurt, I promise. It will be just a tiny bite, you won't even feel it."

There were words coming out of your mouth, you swore that. But nothing, your mouth still and close. It's sort of like he had power upon you, controlling and manipulating your body to be a mannequin.

"Shh, don't fight it. You won't win over me." His teeth were grazing on your neck, seeking for a soft spot. You were unsure of his nature, what could he be?

An alien from this alien planet? An experiment gone wrong that escaped from a lab, perhaps? Maybe a demon, or an angel. A greek god of some kind?

They were all terrifying.

At the corner of your eye appeared a shirtless Taehyung, but he didn't look like himself. He was red, smoke flaring around his body. His chest expanded by time, and when you felt a small sensation of sharpness on your neck, Taehyung jumped towards the man.

No, it can't be.

This isn't Taehyung. Taehyung was gone. Maybe you were imagining things, but you felt all of them happening in front of you. As the man got distracted, your senses came back, falling on your side from losing balance. You pushed yourself away from the two monsters, as you would describe it. This wolf was huge, enormous. Any man who would try to fight it will easily lose. It stands almost seven foot, three bears wide.

Without trying, the creature had already decapitated the man. You weren't sure how to feel — safe or worried — but you were sure that you are mortified, and your face clearly expresses that.

You were only moving away from this huge thing in front of you, maybe that'll help you escape. But you don't even know if you wanted to escape. A part of you believes that Taehyung is inside that wolf, maybe eaten alive, or a spirit.

So much for the wild coyotes, thanks for the heads up Sylvia.

Your eyes met his. Dark bronze eyes with specks of gold if you look close enough. You could almost see yourself in them, they were that kind. His eyes had a message for you, to approach him, to pet him, that it was okay and he will never hurt you. Before your hand could land on his lowered head, Sam and the others came running to help you, obviously seeing the wolf, but not even being bothered like you were.

"Y/n, are you alright?" Sam helps you stand on your feet.

Sam and the wolf had some kind of connection. Sam stared at it and the wolf left.

"So, wolves are normal here?" you spoke with a weak voice.

Sam opened his mouth and closed it again, thinking of how he can explain what just happened. You know that he knows something, and he was struggling to tell it.

"Where's Taehyung?" You scan their faces with no sign of Taehyung.

Holy shit! The wolf ate him! you thought. All you want to see right now is Taehyung. To prove himself. He can't be that wolf. The wolf must have eaten him. It is far too impossible for Quileute Legends to be real.

"We should get going before the other cold ones get here." Sam assists you to get back in the tents, completely ignoring your state of bewilderment.

Maybe it's a Forks thing to be mysterious and quiet. It irks you so much that none of them are even acknowledging what happened. This would be a great story for your mom.

Hey, Mom. Just wanted to call to tell you about how great my day was. So Taehyung, right? Aunt's neighbor, really hot guy I'd totally fuck, got eaten by a werewolf. But that's not too crazy, an incredibly beautiful medieval British man held me hostage, telling me he wanted to suck my blood. What a Forks thing! And everybody saw this huge tall wolf, I'm talking as big as a shelf kind of wolf, but they all acted like it was some puppy leaving the scene. Anyways, Mom, I'm traumatized. Going home in a week.

There is no way you can paraphrase that. No way you can make everything happening right now to sound normal at least one bit. This must be normal in Forks, but this is some Hollywood work in LA already. Things like these don't happen unless there was a shoot next door.

"Hey, you okay?" Leah approaches you. Her concern is seemingly genuine.

"I'm alive, guess I am okay. Where's Taehyung?" You don't bother to look at anyone at all, you drive your attention to the waves landing on the beach, hoping you could synchronize your breathing with them.

"Taehyung's fine. You don't have to worry about him."

"I saw him there. He was... he was red! Like he was burning! And... and there was smoke. Then I blinked, then there's a wolf. I swear it ate him!" Leah looked at you with wide eyes, but her lips were shaking trying to hide a smile.

"You're not taking me seriously! That wolf killed that guy! I don't know. He sounded British!" Leah bit her lip. "That was horrifying. I saw its head removed, there was no blood! What was that?" Leah inhaled sharply before looking at you with assurance.

"Can you calm down? The wolf you saw, don't you think it was described like the one in the legends?" Leah almost shouted, yet still controlling her laugh.

"Shapeshifters? Those are legends, Leah! The wolf ate Taehyung!"

She chuckled. "No, they are real," she protested.

"The British man there was a cold one, a literal vampire. Taehyung didn't kill him, he was already dead."

No.

"Shut up, Leah. I know you hate me, but this is no time for jokes."

She laughs harder. "You're right about me not liking you, but I'm not joking. That dark brown werewolf is Taehyung. One and only Taehyung. 20 year-old Taehyung who lives at the rez. That Taehyung."

'The world is darker than you think. It's not always safe.'

Taehyung had already given you clues from the start. But a word from Leah wouldn't be enough to stop your mind from going everywhere. You needed to hear this from Taehyung.

It was twilight already and the group had decided to spend the night in their cabin, instead of the beach. Sam explained that it was for your safety which until now he hasn't elaborated yet. Emily offered newly baked muffins, but it was too late before you could grab one when all the boys devoured around them. You gave Emily a smile.

"You can have the next batch." She shied away.

Emily looks like an average girl next door. She had fringes and medium length hair, they were very flat. Her skin was like the others, tan and healthy-looking. One thing you haven't examined deeply about her were her eyes. Embry had told you once that staring at Emily would bother Sam, and when you first saw her, you knew immediately why. She had a scar on one of her eyes, they looked painful. It looks like a cat scratch, only if that cat was a lion. It covered half of her face, but that didn't stop her from being lovely. She was still pretty in every way.

Taehyung arrives at the cabin, looking at everybody except you, his body resting on the door frame. He was heavy-breathing like he just finished a race. Sam came after him, giving him a small pat then walking towards Emily. Taehyung's eyes remain on the floor. His actions were complicated. You haven't figured him out yet.

"Y/N, Tae, maybe you can talk outside alone." Sam smirks at Taehyung, and Taehyung smiles back.

'This is no time to be smiling!'

Taehyung finally looks at you before leaving the door and you follow. But he still hasn't talked. And your rage is piling up inside you, you finally take a step forward.

"Care to explain what the hell happened there? I thought you were swallowed by that — that thing!" He gulps, stopping his tracks and turning around to see your face.

"I was scared," you muttered.

He totally understood why you were scared. Because he was just as scared and confused as you when he first discovered who he was, and just like you, he chose to deny it in every way he can, and he hoped that denial can make a change.

"You're not supposed to know about this. I didn't want to put you in this position — of knowing what truly there is." His eyes are sad, like he was a missing child.

The same day Taehyung figured out what he was, his eyes looked exactly the same; with fear, agony, and deprecation.

"So, you're a werewolf?" You felt his pupils dilate.

He looked at you in disbelief as if he hadn't given enough clues yet.

"Werewolf. Shapeshifter. Monster. Dog. Whatever you call it, it wasn’t my choice." His voice was weak, almost ashamed of what he had just said.

"And you kill —"

"Vampires." He finishes your sentence before you could assume. "Just vampires. The cold ones? Those that violate the treaty? They’re real." And so the legends were correct and real, and the evidence stands right in front of you, breathing and staring at you.

But no matter what angle you look at him, he wasn't a monster. He is not what he is described in the fairytales. He wasn't a merciless creature, not even harmful. He was just this young boy who lived near you.

"I get that you're afraid of me. Trust me, so am I."

"I'm not scared of you. If it weren't for you I would be bloodless by now." You bit your lip. "But I'm still a little overwhelmed." You gulped.

He had no words, but he was relieved. And you knew that when his eyes twinkled, the kind he gave you when you were jamming to the songs he had in his truck.

"If it's okay for you, I'm inviting you and Sylvia to my birthday tomorrow. It's just a small gathering."

"Will there be drinks?" you kid.

"Sam doesn't really want me taking any drinks for the meantime." He chuckles.

"Why not?"

"He said that I can't be on alcohol during my first six months of phasing. Why? Do you drink?" he innocently asks.

"Was just teasing." You playfully pushed him before proceeding to walk back in the cabin.

Before you even knew it, Taehyung was irrevocably infatuated with you. He wouldn't have thought that a college girl would give a small attention to someone younger than her, or even finding out about who he truly is and still staying by his side. He had spent so much time denying who he was, but maybe being a werewolf isn't so bad after all, if phasing is what it takes to protect you or anyone at all.

You were just like what he thought you would be — kindred spirits.

The party isn’t filled with loud chats and crowds, it is a gathering. Taehyung tried his best to always stand by your side to give you ease in enjoying such an unfamiliar place as Sylvia gets indulged in conversations with the others, completely forgetting you. Every minute though, he'd have to leave you alone on the couch but he'd return as soon as he can.

There weren't much talks between you and him either, only a couple of smiles exchanged whenever Embry and Quil do something embarrassing in front of the both of you.

It seemed as if the night was the longest night of your life, only occupied with listening to others’ stories and Taehyung sipping a punch from his red cup. He had asked a few questions to keep things interesting, but it was hard to keep the mood flowing. You had asked about his hobbies and all the boring stuff you could think of, and surprisingly he would reply with enthusiasm like he have always wanted to be asked those questions. This makes you more curious how his daily life goes, how many people does he actually talk to.

When the hand of the clock drops at ten, you were just patiently waiting for Sylvia to get on her feet and cut the conversation with the others but she seemed to have consumed more alcohol than she could tolerate and the next thing you knew she was laughing like a maniac. You were stuck in a loop circle of smiling so thinly to everyone you get eye contact with.

You distract yourself with admiring the intricate designs of Taehyung's small home, and the thought of a young Taehyung growing up in where you're sitting currently makes your heart jolt. It's uplifting seeing his pictures on the wall, but there was a difference between his smile before and his smile now. One can easily tell which was more true. You had no clue what it's like to be his kind, hell even now you still can't believe what he is. But it sure shows in the way he had changed judging from the innocent photos that hang on the wooden walls. You've never known him since then, yet you wanted to restore this angel-being beaming at the sight of a camera who now hates being in photos because he thinks he's some sort of a monster.

You wanted to ask him about the pictures, the one where he was wearing a towel with a headband, the one where he was framing his face. All of them speak some kind of connection with you, maybe it's your love for photography that makes you feel this way, but innocence is one of the hardest thing to lay your lenses on.

Then you finally got it. What your professor was talking about, drawing something intangible to your camera. This is what he meant. Your gallery is only filled with landscapes, mostly the aesthetic of architecture and nature. Taehyung is what you needed to change the mood of your photos, not the weather, not the dark ambience of Forks, but his story. If only there's a chance for you to grasp his mystery in a single picture, his adventurous smile in one flash.

A pang of pain in your forehead pulls you back into reality, and the lights that stood above you only made it worse. You needed to leave immediately before the pain has you grunting. Welcomed with a wrapping breeze, you brace yourself and regret wearing the dress Sylvia begged you to wear. She said it was her favorite when she was your age, a Prussian blue dress that stops before your knees with tulle around the hem and a lighter blue ribbon on the chest.

Of course Taehyung who sits beside you would notice your leaving, and before you can inhale the fresh air from the porch, he was already asking what's wrong.

"I don't feel so good. I think I'm gonna have to go home alone since Sylvia's still occupied," you said, pushing on your temples with your thumb and middle finger.

"I can drive you home. I don't think they'd notice that we left, they're all pretty wasted." He chuckles, complementing the high tones of the strong wind that travels past your bodies.

"I'm really sorry. I'm being rude, I mean this is your party... your birthday party and you're going to drive me home."

He places the sippy cup on a coffee table near the entrance, and he was palming his pocket to reach for his keys.

"It's fine, y/n. The party's been dead four hours ago and I can't send you home alone. Do you have the house key or should I go back inside and ask Sylvia for it?"

"She gave me a duplicate. I think it's best we go now. My head's really killing me."

It was unusual, headaches. They rarely come to you since you monitor your phone usage and water intake. You hate getting them because you hated taking meds for it, and you just hoped Sylvia would have a stock of it. Your fingers have been roaming your forehead for a while yet you can't seem to navigate where the pain is, where it's beating. It would be better if you could massage it along the ride but you were struggling to even keep your fingers raised.

Taehyung stops the car in the middle of somewhere as you are hitting your head continuously on the head rest. It was quiet, a deafening silence that rang your ears that brought you to open your eyes. Taehyung wasn't in his seat anymore, only fog filling for his place crawling under your skin.

There was your breathing, crickets, and rustles of trees that travel the air. You weren't sure how to react but one was definite, you were scared. The hand resting on your thigh turning white and wet, breathing faster and heavier as the air seems to be corrupted with toxic poison that does nothing but suffocate you.

Don't get out of the car, don't get out of the car, you chant internally hoping it will help your situation.

"Hello, dear," a slinky voice says through the window, almost similar to the man— vampire from yesterday. Could it be? Could there be more? "Don't make me wait, dear. Open the door and make this easy for the both of us, hm?"

It sounds the exact same as the accent the man had with an alluring tone that draws you to open the door. However, it wasn't just her tempting attempt into convincing you to endanger yourself, the pain in your head inflates as you try to control yourself.

"You want it hard, my dear?" She smirks, you weren't sure but you hear the spread of the corner of her lips.

Then she was in front of the headlights, filled with rage, her eyes dark and dangerous as she showed her predacious teeth. From here, you can feel the vibration of her anger as if she had the ability to let you feel all the harnessed emotions inside her. You can count them one by one: anger, vengeance, and the feeling you get before success. None of them were positive emotions, none of them was mercy. She came here to accomplish one thing.

Your death.

Finally understanding it, inside her browbeating eyes were agony and mourning. She was here to avenge the death of the vampire that Taehyung had killed. She was as beautiful, as seductive with her pale skin and ruby lips, curly strawberry blonde hair that flows until her shoulders.

You discovered that there was a split second of slow agonizing memory of your life before it's taken, and you wished there was none. She runs towards you, careless whether she bashes her head into the glass. She takes your neck, her fingers poking specifically at the sides and right before you can regain your breath your eyes open.

Gasping and catching air, awakening in the seat with Taehyung by your side who drives in silence as Midnight Rambler by The Rolling Stones plays from his rusty stereo.

So if you ever meet the midnight rambler

I'm coming down your marble hall

Well, he's pouncing like a proud black panther

Well, you can say I, I told you so

He sits there, unaware of the chaos that repeats in your head. It all felt so real, the grasp on your neck that locks your throat, you could've sworn you've given your last breath. The pain had stopped, replaced by dizziness that you knew would pass as minutes go by.

"What's wrong?" he asked. "Is there something on my face?"

You shake your head. "I didn't know I was staring."

That's right. You didn't know you were staring. There was so much comfort in knowing he never left, the heat of his presence brings you a feeling of security. It's okay now. Taehyung's still here. By your side.

Once reaching home, Taehyung does his best to assist you as though you were ill. It's cute how he acts that way, so careful, so gentle. Upon reaching your room, Taehyung stops before your bedroom door, almost waiting for an invitation.

"I should get going now. I'll tell Sylvia you felt sick." And before he could say good bye, you're already wrapping yourself in the blankets as he passively makes a step away from your door.

"Taehyung," you said, reaching out. "Thank you for today."

He doesn't turn back. "You're welcome. Also, thank you for coming."

A shiver spreads across your back when your lids start to fall, and your body jolts upwards. The beautiful woman from the early nightmare visits your mind again, her face inches from yours close to ripping it apart.

"Taehyung," you whispered, but he heard you within the thin walls of the lonely house. "Can you... stay for a sec? I... I had a nightmare earlier... felt so real. C-can you?"

He walks back, eyes landing everywhere except your body that waits for him on the bed. Is she serious? he thought as you opened the blankets for a space behind you.

"Until you fall asleep?"

You nod. He kicks off his shoes and he positions himself behind you, both of your breaths synchronizing as he lies down softly. You bury your cheek into the pillow when you feel his warmth wrap the room, the security coming back. You turn your head to see him watching you inches away, his hand keeping his head up as he rests his cheek against it. You take his free hand that lies on his right side, pulling it to your stomach requesting for him to scoot closer until his body brushes your back.

You can stay like this, for longer than you can imagine. Just the sounds of your breaths and the hums of his loud thumping heart that makes its way to your upper back, the release of breath from his nostrils that flies over your hair. Peaceful. Safe and sound.

In his embrace, you forget everything: the packing for Los Angeles, the fear of not getting into any university, the supernatural that you had discovered that you still cannot comprehend, the clouding fear that something is coming to get you. In his arm, it's like they never existed. The worries are nothing but disappearing sea foams, a water in heat that evaporates into thin air.

You enclose the hold in Taehyung's hand above your stomach, intertwining them for ease. Falling back into his embrace, he subtly moves away hoping you wouldn't notice. His warmth turning into heat, breathing ragged, hold on you tighter and stronger. Then you feel it, a gentle thrust behind you and he pretends to adjust position. He pulls you closer with the hand on your stomach and you sigh which caused a poking at your butt.

You may not be the smartest person on earth, but it doesn't take a book to know what it was. Taehyung murmurs an apology, his words passing by your neck which sends your stomach into a spiral. You rub your thighs together hoping to dissipate the throbbing in your core, not now.

Not now that Taehyung's beside you. Or maybe it should be now that Taehyung's beside you, you were open for a helping hand. His hand over your head tucks a strand of your hair, the finger brushing on your temple made your aching much harder to ignore. There would be no distraction, no having to worry about who will hear the both of you, for God's sake the house was built in the middle of nowhere, so you thought 'Fuck it.'

You tug his hand to the middle of your chest, to rest them between your breasts as your head turns to face him. He gulps, looking at you intently with lust hovering over his hooded eyes. You lean towards him, your lips reaching his and he pulls away for a second before diving back in. He had pillowy lips, and if it weren't for your hot need at the moment you would let your lips sleep on them for a longer while, but as of right now there are a lot of tensions that need handling.

You leave his hand on your chest while he's still shy to grope one of your breasts. Your hand then wrapping the back of his head to pull him deeper into the kiss, he sighs. That sigh caused the aching to grow, shaking your behind to feel how needy he was and he sighs again. His hand that was on your chest now pushes below the curves of your breasts to pull you closer, to have more friction, to thrust into you.

Until he couldn't take it anymore, he wants you below him as much as you want him on top of you. He hovers above you, his knee swift in spreading your thighs open and he is bucking in a steady pace on your clothed entrance.

"Take me, Taehyung," you breathe the second he leaves your lips.

He takes it slow, burning your insides, as his fingers pull the bow on your chest, untying the effortless knot you had made in the mirror. Too slow to keep up with your throbbing heat, you trail his hand to open the loose front, exposing

your nude bra. His eyes are pinned on yours, and you would make quick glances at his moderate hand you're directing. You unclasp the front of your bra, and when he hears it setting on the bed, he kisses you as if asking if you were really sure. Beneath the feverish endless kiss were words of fear from him, what if he wasn't truly ready.

The last time he had experienced this was long ago, a time before he knew how dangerous he could be. Careless of what his hands could bring, when he hadn't given a single thought for any of his actions. Well, it was one time, only once with the first girl he had ever loved. And the first was always the quickest, but it was unforgettable, he had kept every detail of her daisy fresh skin remembered under his fingertips. The laughs they had shared in between, a significance of the innocence they were about to lose. His head loses in doubts, questions that can only be answered if he risks hurting you tonight.

Then you whisper, "It's okay, you're not going to hurt me." Because in your mind, that was the last thing in his abilities. You smile, "It's okay." Rubbing circles at the back of his trembling hand, his jaw clenches.

Once he had started kissing you again, you parted his lips with your tongue in which he had replied with a tender bite causing you to moan within your throat. This motivates him to grope your breast, aggressing as seconds pass by, pulling a nipple in between his fingers and you arch your back. You rest your feet on his back, synchronizing with the movement of his hips. You admire the way his head moves downward, stopping after every inch of your skin to place a soft kiss until he reaches your breasts to which he places a long stripe lick moving from one bud to another while his eyes remain on yours. He's going to be the death of you.

You pant, trying to reach his hips that came to a halt. His hands pushing the hem of your dress higher, stopping at the middle of your waist. And his evil slow hands, still taking his time, move behind your thighs to pull them away from his back and placing them on his shoulders as he gets comfortable right between them. With gaze pierced on yours, he flats his lips on your clothed slit, tracing the wet spot visible in your white underwear. The thought of you being almost naked underneath the dress ever since earlier brought Taehyung into insanity, he could've fucked you with his fingers on the couch, he could've removed them and left your pussy out in the open as he keeps it in his pocket, he could've done so many things if only he knew earlier how much you'd wanted him just the same.

You look at the empty ceiling, too affected by the darkness in his stare, you were scared you would cum too quickly if you remain watching. He pulls your garment upward to put his bare thumb against your clit, until you couldn't take it and you look down again to see him putting the said thumb in his mouth. Sweeter than the cranberry juice he'd been tolerating to drink, adding that to the list he could've done earlier while your panties were in his pocket; enjoying the sweet fervor of your cunt on his tongue. He plays at your clit, tongue curling to lap up the wetness that increases as his spit mixes in. He knows so well what he's doing, the fragile scoop of his bottom lip from your opening to your clit where he stops.

Everywhere around his lips glistens as the bright light from the hallway outside your room shines upon them. His hands still holding your thighs steady, he slips his tongue inside you which has you shaking and he had to adjust the control in his grip. Once they've settled, he puts his touch above your breasts, flicking both buds in each hand.

You were crumbling under him, desperate for release, grunting in a throaty voice as you tried to keep yourself together. Tears huddle in your eyes, blurring your vision until he stops, now smiling above you while he pulls your underwear away from your body. It doesn't take long for him to get naked and you take time to admire his build. His skin was made of honey, toned and reflective of the warmth he emits. His cock slapping his tummy before he could fully get out of his tight boxers, his tip reaching his button.

He returns to his position between your thighs but this time around he was the one to wrap your legs around his waist. His shaft falls between your slit and he makes subtle movements in burying himself between them.

"I just want to say," he began, "how amazing you are." A gravelly moan of your name escapes his lips as you take matters in your own hand, thumb going over the head of his cock while the rest of your fingers rest wraps his cock.

He thrusts into your hand. His face forming wrinkles, frustration painted across his face. Until he falls on both arms caging your head, bucking for more friction, enjoying the suppleness of your touch. He was groaning, panting, and making a mess of himself to which all echoes from one wall to another. You put a hand on his abdomen to break his movement. He obeys, feeling you part yourself for his cock, torturously slow in entering you.

You pull your hands to your sides, getting a hold of Taehyung's biceps. Opening your lids to watch his pupils dilate as he rams the rest of his length inside your beating entrance.

"Y/n," he groans, brow knotting together when you clench around him. He's going to fall apart, he thought. You wrap him tighter, letting go of yourself in ecstasy, careless whether you melt into the bed or break it, all is well as long as you're looking into his eyes.

He chants your name again and again in a symphony of continuous moaning, and all you could say is how good he sounds. A compilation of ah's and oh's whenever he reaches your spot, his head brushing against it and it felt like nothing but heaven. More, he wants more, if only he could fuck you endlessly he would. The bed hits the wall in coordination of his sharp thrusts, and he's losing himself in you he couldn't care less if he breaks the walls. In sync with the sounds he makes were your gasps and high-pitched whispers of his name that he can see himself in the near future thinking of them and fucking himself alone in his room as he recalls them.

"Tae— oh fuck, Taehyung," you cried out causing his cock to twitch inside you, you call out for more. His name and a couple of curses were the only words you could spew out. Trembling, you feel an explosion of euphoria inside you, letting go of the tight grip around Taehyung's arm.

With one last fluid thrust, he pulls himself out and spills himself on top of your stomach. Both of your breathing slows until they were no longer audible. He rolls to his back beside you waiting to cool down and you take care of yourself by wiping his cum away with the tissue from the nightstand.

"I'm sorry, I made a mess," he says, breaking silence.

You didn't reply, instead you lie on your side to face him and wrap his cock in your warm hand. His cock still hard and wet under your touch, he breathes out a long sigh. "I made a mess of you too."

He chuckles before placing one last kiss on your forehead, and you watch him fall into his dreams. You shut the door, thankful Sylvia didn't come home during the circumstances earlier. You make a note not to leave it open next time.

Next time? Were you actually hoping for a next time? It's not long until you're leaving. Forks is not your home. Your home is on the other side of the country, and everything you grew up with awaits there. Forks is not your home, you tell yourself. The night grows along with your need for sleep, falling onto Taehyung's chest and getting lost in a slumber. You wake to Sylvia opening the door, an indication of her coming home, and you fall asleep again.

The next time you wake up, the sun shining alight from the windows to your eyes, Taehyung was sitting at the end of the bed fully clothed. His head turns slightly, feeling the sense of your waking.

"Y/n, there's not just one who wants to kill you," he says but you couldn't make out a single word, "there's a whole coven of them."

a/n: happy new year! pls dont take the bella comment seriously. also team jacob ftw!!! also appreciate my banner work owo.this is my first descriptive smut like i actually write them having sex idk i hope yall like it tho :* i love y’all!

#taehyung #kim taehyung #bts taehyung #kth smut #smut #bts smut #bangtan #bts scenarios #taehyung x reader #taehyung smut #bts reactions #bts #jungkook #jimin #rm #jin #hoseok #yoongi #angst

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keltonwrites · 3 years

Text

I bought a house in the middle of nowhere

“Yeah, I loved it, but she’d never move there.” It was something akin to that, at least. He didn’t mean any mischief, no deceit or planning. It was an honest take on what, at the time, was true. I saw the road into town on Google Maps, noted that it was closed during the winter, acknowledged the reality that a person can own a snowmobile, and I said, “we are not moving there.” But, all good truths are just dares in the making.

And here I am, living in the “there” I said I would not. Two years ago, I left my job at Headspace for a life reset. It was pre-pandemic, and Ben and I were planning a big road trip. Our perfect paradise in Topanga, CA, had crystallized itself as many people’s perfect paradise, and those “many people” all had more money than us. Our options to buy a home were nil, and home-buying was essentially all we wanted. Ben’s a builder and I’m a world builder, and we wanted somewhere to invest that didn’t belong to someone else. We packed the car with the tent and the bikes and the dog and all the things that come with tents and bikes and dogs, and off we went on our own Tour de l’Ouest, looking for a place to call home. We knew what we wanted, knew our odds of finding it, and hit the road anyway. Here was the dream list — concocted by two pie-in-the-sky dummies who married each other:

Not rainy or consistently windy

Notable access to the arts

Remote and challenging to get to/close neighbors

Wild West influenced architecture

Progressive community

Exceptional trail access out the front door

High-speed internet

In our budget

And my personal favorite: had to “feel right” Good luck to us with a list like that, but thus began our hunt. We camped in the snow, tried every dirty chai in the Rockies, and explored every town we could. Whatever a good time it was, it felt useless. Every town Ben was OK with, I hated. Every town I was OK with, Ben despised. And the few places we both loved required money we just didn’t have. We came home with our sails down, limping into the harbor of our rental. But as is the way with romantics, our dreams began to slowly eclipse our reality. Books fell victim to Zillow and Trulia. TV was replaced by the MLS. All writing time was dedicated to Realtor.com. Hours were spent pouring over maps, county records, and updating spreadsheets that tracked price per square foot compared to beds and baths. Over time, all that internetting led to one singular town of 180 people at 10,000 feet in the San Juan Mountains of Colorado with a road that said “Closed Winters” on Google Maps. Look, I don’t know what happened. Ben found this town on a map, I said don’t be ridiculous, and after a year or so of him telling people I'd never move here, here I am, being ridiculous. Was it reverse psychology? Maybe. Was it the charming “town plan” that mandated all houses be rustic cabins and forbade AirBnB? Could be. Was it the fact that when I looked at Strava’s Heatmap, it showed what seemed like thousands of miles of trails just out the front door? I mean, yes. All these things played a part, but all I know for certain is that one day I woke up and said, “we’re going to move there.” Ben doubted this conviction (and the realities behind it) thus cementing it into place in my head. In a town of 180 people there’s only ~60 houses, which means maybe 2 or 3 get listed per year — but my spreadsheet had the proof: we hadn’t missed our chance yet in this tiny town. The data showed a strong likelihood there would be at least two houses listed within the calendar year. This, however, was also our last chance. The spreadsheet also showed that if we didn’t find a house this year, we wouldn’t be able to afford one the next. We called a realtor, made our case, and harangued her until she believed us that we were truly the kind of yahoos who would move to an avalanche field and stay there. And then it happened. A pocket listing. It was a darling home built in 1890. It had the beds, the baths, and the views. We were the first and only to know. We put in an offer, they agreed, and we would come to see the house in a few weeks. But in those few weeks, the circumstances changed. The sellers lost their own sweet deal, and they couldn’t sell yet. Their agent promised we had right of first refusal, it was only a matter of time. Ben lamented, I preached patience, and we went to see the house that was no longer for sale anyway.

It was a quiet winter morning in Covid when we drove across the packed snow to meet our realtor outside the house. The sun was out and the 13 degrees Fahrenheit felt warm. I unzipped my jacket, mask on my face. I took long videos and talked about where I would set up my office and where we’d put the bikes. As we closed up and I settled into a future where this house would eventually be mine, our realtor told us there were comps in the area — other residents quietly interested in potentially closing out. Would we like to see them? Sure, let’s.

One home came with an incredible commercial kitchen. The whole house was a whopping 3500 sq ft if my memory serves me correct, which falls under the category of “houses too big to find your cat in."

Another home had an open-air-to-the-kitchen bathroom.

The third was dark and overpriced with cracked windows and open beer cans scattered about.

And then, plans changed. “Hey guys, there’s actually one more house we can see.” The last house we saw was a log cabin, nestled in the hillside by itself, with massive A-frame windows looking out onto the peaks beyond. Inside was a labyrinth of a life lived long and large. The cabin was built and loved by a man we’ll call Jack. Jack was 82, and as we walked toward the front door on that sunny winter morning, he exited with two beers in his pockets, headed to the mountain to ski. Jack was an attorney — in his life he’d been both criminal and defender — and from the stories, somewhat interchangeably. There were artifacts from running in the same scenes as Hunter S. Thompson and Willie Nelson; there were stuffed birds, bad books, sheet-covered couches, smoked spliffs, and piles and piles of mouse shit. Every inch of the house was lived in, and not just by people. You think millennials like plants? No. This man likes plants. The biggest monstera deliciosa I’ve ever seen, spanning some 10 feet wide and 15 feet tall. Draping cactuses, spider plants, massive aloes, and an ambitious hoya carnosa clawing its way to the top of the massive fireplace. But there were problems. I’m trying to be diplomatic saying the house was lived in. The wood by the door handles was dyed black from years of hand grease rubbing against it. The carpet in the upstairs was soiled almost everywhere with bat scat. Newspaper was stuffed between the massive logs to keep the wind out. There was cardboard taped over almost every window, blankets nailed over the others. Half the doors wouldn’t open. It was unnerving to touch the crusted light switches. It was early enough in the season of Covid-fear that touching anything felt like gambling. On our way back to our rental in the bigger neighboring town, we shared our awe and our no-ways, lamenting how long we’d have to wait for the little 1890s fixer upper. That night, I sent the video I took of the cabin to my parents. “Can you believe this?” I asked. And do you know what my dad said? “Great log construction.” After that, the cabin was all we could talk about. “Could you believe those plants?” “Did you see how big those logs were?” “I just googled Jack, look at this.” “Do you know what the insulating factor of logs is?” “How much did he say he was asking?” It came down to the plants. Amidst all the chaos in that house, the tender care of those decades-old plants sung the clearest. This wasn’t just a place Jack lived in, it was a place that wanted to be lived in. We made an offer the next day.

Jack had six months to clear out his 30 odd years of collecting, and the town had six months to speculate about the worrisome Californians moving to their high-altitude, high-risk town. The town itself is an old mining town. It rests in a high valley, surrounded by peaks over 13,000ft, and is over six hours from the nearest major airport. Five people died around this town in avalanches this past year. The dirt road into town is littered with avalanche fields, warning visitors to not stop when driving in. The other way out is a pass road, only drivable in the warm months, but you could skin out if it was dire. Most August days, the high is in the mid-60s. The valley is blanketed in wildflowers, and the aspens littering the mountainsides suggest a promising fall display. The town had a heyday, a low day, and now it’s a community of preppers, adventurers, appreciators, and “get all these idiots away from me”ers. We don’t know these people yet, but the ones we’ve met have the same like to live hard attitude we do. Heli-ski guides, ex-CIA agents, woodworkers, bakers, teachers, just a general can-do group of people. The kind of people that see a California license plate and peer with skepticism between the thin gap over their sunglasses and under their caps.

You might say I’m romanticizing the place, but the residents are worse. Like all good old-timers, they’re full of threats: “wait’ll you see the snow drifts,” “let’s see how you do outrunning an avalanche,” “good luck with the winds,” “the last Californians didn’t last a year.” God, what does that remind me of?

“Yeah, I loved it, but she’d never move there.”

With every taunt, my teeth ground more enamel, fingers rolling into a clench. And maybe Jack recognized this intensity, because on the day of closing, he hosted a gathering for us in the town's open space. He had us introduce ourselves to the skeptical locals, and I made my case in court, eyes narrowed and lips curled. “I’m the daughter of a smokejumper and wildlife biologist. I grew up watching the wind and the door. I’ve lived in big cities, small boats, and more than one cabin. I always take the stairs, I never use air-conditioning, and I’m a very good shot.” I’m just a girl, standing in front of a town, asking them to give her a fucking chance. Jack stepped forward to speak. “You know, I had my doubts about a couple Californians coming to look at my house. But these people? These are the nicest people you’re ever gonna meet.” And then I helped Jack set up his cot so he could spend his last night under the stars in the town that kept him young. Cooper ran circles with the other dogs. People brought homemade cocktails and bowls of dip and we felt welcomed. Even the mayor, a fellow writer, came and she struck up a conversation. “I hear you’ve got a little bit of a following on social media!” She teased. “I guess, nothing wild.” “Well I just wanted to let you know if you ever geotag this town, I’ll drag you out of it.” She grinned. This was a special place. And every visitor who couldn’t handle the realities of being here threatened the very wellbeing of the people who lived here. This town survives on a delicate balance. They source their own water, manage their own roads, and fervently protect the land and the people around them. Their stories about racing avalanches, snowmobiling in the dark of night to the doctor’s house, hunkering down in each other’s homes as the storms pass — these stories were bylaws. You can join when you’ve proven you’re ready to join. By their own projection, they are hardy and steadfast people, and when they see a Californian, they see something fleeting. Many years ago, I worked in the British Virgin Islands. The people born and raised there were called Belongers. At the customs office, the placards above the lines literally read, “If you belong, stand here” and “If you do not belong, stand here.” Whether or not we belong isn't up to the town council, and it's not up to these residents. It's up to years spent drifting my old Mustang in the snow on the way to school, up to Ben's months and months spent in the backcountry, up to my years of reading fire reports and assisting with evacuations, up to Ben's ability to read the landscape and the weather, up to my doggedness, his diligence, and our pathological love to do difficult things well. It’s up to us, to these old logs, and to this valley. Doesn't mean we'll belong, but it does mean we'll try. And for the record, the road is open in the winter. But do these sound like the kind of people who’d tell Google that? Next week, a tour of the house that we get to call ours — stuffed with newspaper, run by plants, and filled with mice. P.S. Here's where we get our mail.

Subscribe to the newsletter here. Follow on Instagram here.

#newsletters #amwriting #relocation #home renovation #cabin life #cabin living #colorado #log cabin

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hwiyoungslesbiangf · 3 years

Text

I was tagged by @braceletofteeth. tysm for tagging me <333

Rules: Tag 9 people you'd like to get to know better!

Favorite color: Purple !!!

Currently reading: I'm reading the Queen's Gambit !! I watched the show on Netflix months ago and decided to buy the book. Honestly? I really love it lol. I've read through it pretty quickly, although I'm not quite done yet. I like the writing style and the narration just moves so well. I never thought chess could be so interesting.

I must say though, I've been speed-reading it so that I could read Don Quixote lol. I love reading a lot but I don't find the time so often because I have soooo many other hobbies, but when I start reading a book and really like it, I'm glued to it.

I haven't read any fanfics in awhile just bc I haven't felt the urge to read them. I go through periods where fanfiction is just uninteresting to me. Mostly its because the one thing I want to read fanfiction for doesn't have anymore for me to read!! curse sf9s permanent nugu status.

Also started reading this Chinese bl novel? it reads a little weird because its a translation but I suppose it isn't too bad. not exactly interesting but just something to pass the time.

Last song: I believe it was Rush Hour by Monsta X. I love that song lol. Tbh I only really listen to Kpop, not much else. Thats just the kind of person I am tho!! Once I get into something I stick with it until I can't take it anymore. Last non-Kpop song I remember listening to is rises the moon by Liana Flores. It's very calming and I really adore her voice.

Last series: I've been watching adventure time lately. I enjoy kids cartoons a lot but the motivation to watch adventure time was bc of the lesbians lol <3 they're cute.

Last Kdrama I watched was probably a rewatch of SFH but I just started this ballet one on Netflix that I can't remember the name of. OH I also recently watched Tinted With You but I didn't finish it because I found it to be a little boring.

Sweet, savory, or spicy: SPICY!! I love spicy food sm. I'd have to put sweet and savory on equal levels bc I like them both!!

Currently working on: Hmmm. A few things! Some long term things I'm working on:

1. Finishing high school! I have one semester left and its kicking my ass.

2.My mental health! I have very severe depression and anxiety and I recently started going to therapy! I also started using anti-depressants and they've helped!!

3. My Kpop collections. I spend a ridiculous amount of money on Kpop merch because I'm collecting a lot of different groups!

My current photo card collections: OT9 SF9, 3 members of NCT, 1 member of Monsta X (and some ot5/6/7 sets bc they're cute), a few enhypen pcs, and 1 member from Seventeen!

Short term things:

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cutieodonoghue · 3 years

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the edge of hope (4/9)

summary: canon divergent au; when Din left Sorgan to protect the Child, he left the woman he’d fallen in love with, not knowing he’d also left behind something else. Or, Omera and Winta join Mando and Grogu on their season 2 adventures. Mandomera!

Catch up here: 1, 2, 3

Fourth chapter below the cut or on AO3!

The Heiress

Very slowly and held together by sheer luck, the Razor Crest approached the estuary moon of Trask. The passengers of the ship had slept for a short while at the beginning, but were now all awake, sitting in a silence that felt tepid. Omera kept her eyes on the windows while she held tight to her yawning daughter.

This journey had started off so hopeful only a handful of days ago, and now, they were flying in a ship so broken that they all had to squeeze into the cockpit and pray that the door wouldn’t fly off.

Was it worth it? Omera pondered this question often over the course of the past day or so especially, trapped on an icy planet with no clear path of escape.

Her gaze shifted to Din, whose slouched posture indicated that he may have still been resting. She had to smile just slightly. He’d worked hard to keep them safe, and she knew this wasn’t the journey he’d wanted for them.

Yes, she decided, even with all of their struggles and scares thus far, joining Din and his son on their path to find the Jedi had been worth it. Winta had been given a gift many of the children in their village would never have the chance to receive: adventure. Omera had been given the gift of spending time with the man she loved.

In the smallest moments with Din was where she’d found the most joy. His fingers on her knee on Tatooine. The way he’d gone speechless at the sight of her wearing his clothes. Working in tandem to fix the ship. Even if they were unable to spend any time together in the future, being here now would have been worth it.

The nav system beeped, alerting them of their proximity to Trask, and Din jolted forward, his hands already at their positions.

“Looks like we made it.” He turned, checking to see if everyone was awake. “Get ready for landing.”

The Crest began its descent, but it wasn’t easy. The ship jolted and jerked. Din seemed overwhelmed as he checked the levers and knobs on the console.

“Dank farrik! The landing array isn’t responding.” Bad. “Without the guidance system, it’ll be a manual re-entry. It might get choppy.” Worse. “Once we’re through the atmosphere, there should be enough fuel to slow down. If we don’t burn to a crisp.”

His words were less than reassuring, but Omera chose to believe that it would be alright. After a moment, Din called out over his shoulder, “Omera, come up here. I need your hands!”

She was on her feet in an instant, allowing Winta the entire seat for herself. She came alongside Din and he touched her hand to the lever he wanted help with.

“This lever needs to stay back. Keep it steady.”

They began to plummet and the entire ship felt like fragile glass beneath them. Fire damaged the lower belly of the Crest, sending alerts up to the console in bright flashing red lights and alarms.

But now, she could see the port. They were getting close. Probably too fast.

“Razor Crest, this is Trask flight control. Please reduce your speed to port protocol.”

“I’m trying my best here,” Din replied, pained. “Engage reverse thrusters. Brace!”

Omera reached out with a free hand to grab the side of the ship, bracing as the ship dropped in altitude.

“Razor Crest, do you copy? You have to reduce speed.”

“Almost there, almost there.” Din’s words came as the ship began its final descent, finally just above a landing spot in the waters of Trask’s port.

Omera prayed with everything within her that the cockpit was waterproof.

Din focused intently on the landing, finally setting them down on what felt like the landing pad. It was seamless. “Here we go. Nice and easy.”

The ship almost instantly jolted downward, lopsided, sending them down into the water. Blessedly, the cockpit held, even if Omera had fallen to the floor in the collapse.

“Nice and easy,” Omera teased. Din looked at her and she could tell he was glaring through his helmet. She shook her head. “Next time, maybe.”

Din scoffed. “I definitely want to do that again.”

The ship was raised from the water then by the careful help of a crane and settled on the landing pad they’d struggled to find balance on. The Mandalorian helped her off of the floor, his hand gentle and strong in hers.

On a sigh, he turned to the Frog Lady and Winta. “Well, we made it.”

Winta grinned. “That was fun!”

“Fun?” Din asked. “We’ll put you in the pilot’s chair next time, then.”

Her daughter giggled. “Can you teach me how to fly?”

Din stood and guided the little girl out of the cockpit. “I thought we already had your first lesson.”

“Oh yeah!”

Omera steadied herself when she felt a wave of nausea, a hand falling absentmindedly to her middle.

In all of the excitement, she’d very narrowly forgotten that she was pregnant. The Frog Lady seemed to notice, tilting her head at her while she settled her egg backpack over her shoulders.

She croaked, sympathetic in tone.

Omera offered her a soft smile in response. She gave her belly a slight rub. “We’re a lot alike.”

The Frog Lady nodded with compassion in her eyes. She approached Omera and set her hand over hers. It was startling how understood she felt.

“I haven’t told the Mandalorian,” Omera admitted in a quiet voice. She shook her head. “I don’t know how.”

Her companion croaked again. She removed her hand and held it outwards for her, as if to offer her the chance to leave first.

Omera smiled politely. “You go on ahead. I’m sure you’re anxious to see your husband.”

The Frog Lady paused, hesitant, before she gave in and walked away.

It took a minute, but the nausea passed, and Omera breathed in deep, the scent of the ocean filling her nostrils. It reminded her of Sorgan, the water, and offered a sense of calm.

Stepping down the ladder from the cockpit, she found the rest of the Razor Crest’s passengers already venturing off the ship, the Frog Lady the last on the ramp.

Ahead of her, she spotted Winta with her hand in the Mandalorian’s, and the Child in his floating pram. Already, Winta had become so attached to Din.

Omera gathered her bag and swiftly disembarked the ship.

The Razor Crest dripped with water, spouts of it raining from drainage all around her, and as she walked away, she looked at the damage.

It was a lot worse than it had been before. Parts had actually fallen off in their landing. The door to the cargo hold seemed to be stuck permanently open. It looked like it had been through absolute hell and back.

She could only imagine how much this would cost to get fixed properly.

Omera caught up to Din and the children at the dock. She spotted the Frog Lady ahead of them, looking around with haste to find her husband. For a moment, it almost seemed as if she might have to keep up her search.

But suddenly, a call from a voice similar to the Frog Lady echoed from across the dock. The Frog Lady took off in a run, bustling through the crowd with her eggs in tow. As Omera watched the couple embrace, she came alongside Din.

“You did it. They’re reunited.”

Din looked down at her. “We did it.”

Omera smiled softly. They were a team. Together, they’d fixed up the Razor Crest and brought the Frog Lady and her eggs home in one piece.

Careful not to crowd the Frog Couple, they hung back a little as the pair chattered excitedly over their eggs. The Frog Man turned to Din and took his hand, shaking it brusquely.

“You’re welcome. I was told you could lead me to others of my kind.”

The Frog Man nodded eagerly. He gestured out, pointing to a nearby inn.

“The inn? Over there?”

Again, the Frog Man nodded. He and his wife held hands as they led them toward it, as if they were eager to give as much as they could as a way of thanking the Mandalorian for his kindness.

“Do you think we could get a room?” Omera asked Din.

“Let’s see what we can learn. Then we’ll see about a room.”

Once seated at a table in the inn’s restaurant, Omera felt as if she could relax a little bit. The crowd of fishermen in the restaurant were a mixture of Mon Calamari and Quarren in species, all of them preoccupied with their bowls of chowder and conversation to care about their group.

“What can I get you?” the waiter asked.

“Nothing for me.” Din held tight to his creed even if he was probably just as hungry as the rest of them. “A bowl of chowder for everyone else.”

“These seats are scarce, buddy. Everyone seated needs to eat.”

Din settled a generous physical payment on the table, one that the waiter took easily. “I can buy something else. Information. Have you seen others that look like me?”

He poured chowder into each of their bowls from the device hanging on the ceiling. The chowder was white and smelled a bit odd, but Omera was just hungry enough that she was willing to give it a try.

“Others with beskar have been through here.”

“Who can take me to them?”

“I know someone who might help.”

Omera watched as the man went to another of his kind a few tables away, sharing a discussion that brought focus onto the Mandalorian sitting at the table beside her. She shifted her gaze when she realized Winta was giggling at the Child.

A small sea creature jumped out of his bowl and onto his face. Din slashed it with his knife.

“Don’t play with your food.”

The Child made a little noise and leaned over his bowl again, this time having a sip of the food. Seeing that both of the children were eating, Omera felt comfortable feeding herself. She lifted the bowl to her lips just as the man from a few tables away approached.

“You seek others of your kind?”

“Have you seen them?”

“Aye. I can bring you to them.”

There was something about the man that made Omera nervous. He had an easygoing tone, but the way he eyed Din left her wondering if his motivations were pure.

“Where?”

“Only a few hours’ sail. It’ll cost you, though.”

“Always does.” Din sighed. “Can you take me to them tomorrow?”

The man shrugged. “Anything you’d like. Just bring the credits.”

After they finished eating, Din got them a room to stay in for the next few nights while they explored Trask in search of others of his kind. It was small, with a double bed in the center and a bathroom they could use to freshen up in, but it was enough.

Winta collapsed almost instantly on the bed with a relieved sigh. “I wish the Razor Crest had one of these, Din.”

“I don’t think something like that would fit on my ship.”

Omera padded across the room to check in the bathroom if there was a tub for bathing. A smile found her lips when she discovered that there was.

“Looks like it’ll be bath night, Winta.”

Her daughter pushed herself up so she sat on the edge of the bed. “That’s good. My hair is smelly.”

“I imagine,” Omera teased. “Mine must be too.”

She watched Din survey the room as if he were searching for traps. It seemed to her that he was anxious for the day that lay ahead of him meeting those of his kind.

“Does the Child need a bath?” Omera asked. “If we’re all going to clean up, I think getting his bath done first would probably be best. He can try to go to sleep after.”

“He’ll get the water all over,” Winta giggled. She jumped off of the bed and approached the Child’s floating pram, reaching inside to grab him. “Do you want a bath?”

“I haven’t ever really given him one,” Din admitted in a soft, awkward voice.

Winta put her fingers over the Child’s head, gently stroking. She had always been a caring girl, looking after the younger children in the village as if it were her responsibility. One day, maybe, Winta would make a natural mother.

“I think he would like it.”

“Go ahead.” Din nodded. “I should go see if I can find something to eat. Want to check in on our passenger to make sure she’s okay too.”

Winta beamed happily at the prospect of giving the Child a well deserved bath and carried him with her toward the refresher.

Omera folded her arms to her chest and studied the Mandalorian. He crossed the room toward her on his way out like he was eager to do something - anything at all.

“You okay?”

He stopped at her side and nodded. “Just… been a rough couple of days. We need a win here.”

She hummed. “I have faith. When you find the Mandalorians, they will have an answer.” Omera settled her hand over his heart and offered him a tiny smile. “In the meantime, our victories should come from knowing we’re doing our best to care for one another. The children are happy and healthy. We still have plenty of time to find your boy’s kind.”

Din reached for the hand at her side and put his opposite palm over her wrist, bent slightly to hold hers.

“I know I’ve said it before, but I’m glad you’re here.”

Her heart fluttered at his admission. “I’m glad, too.”

He lowered his forehead to hers, one hand moving up toward her cheek to hold her steady. Omera smiled at the closeness of the embrace and allowed herself to get comfortable in it.

“This is called a Keldabe kiss,” Din explained in a quiet voice. “My people use it to show affection.”

Her smile only spread wider knowing that it was the equivalent of a kiss. “I wondered if it was something like that.”

For a moment, they were able to stay as they were, holding onto one another by touching the crowns of their heads with their hands held tenderly over Din’s heart.

“Mama, can you help?” Winta called from beyond, a jarring reminder of reality.

With some reluctance, Omera released Din from her grasp. “Go get something to eat. I’ll get the children clean and try putting them to bed.”

Taking a few steps backward, she watched the Mandalorian, her heart still beating fast from their gentle intimacy. He waved goodbye to her and she echoed the sentiment.

Turning toward the refresher, Omera’s teeth dug into her lower lip to keep from smiling too big.

When night covered Trask like a dark blanket, Din returned to the room at the inn. He’d found something to eat and thought to grab a few extras for them to share come the morning, already anticipating the Child’s ravenous appetite.

When the door closed behind him, he found himself staring at Winta and Omera, curled up together on one half of the bed, while the Child snoozed in his pram nearby.

Gently, he settled the supplies he’d picked up on a table that lined the wall next to the door.

With everyone sound asleep, Din had only one thing in mind: getting into the refresher to get clean himself.

The door locked behind him and he worked with practiced ease to remove his armor, helmet coming off first so he could finally breathe fresh air through his nose and see without his visor.

The small space of the bathroom smelled already of flowery fragrances and there appeared to have been somewhat of a mess, water sprayed on the floor. He could only imagine how things had gone with the Child in a bath.

The Child probably did enjoy it, as Winta had suggested, probably too much.

The water in the shower was gratefully warm, a pleasant departure from the ice from that rock they’d nearly been stranded on permanently. His armor offered him more warmth than what plain clothes granted, but not much more.

Quickly, Din cleaned the past couple of days off of his skin. Sweat, blood, and grime washed down the drain and he scrubbed some of the flowery smelling liquid into his hair, briefly wondering if Omera would smell just like it, too.

It was incredible how quickly his thoughts shifted to her. Before he’d gone back to Sorgan to see her again, he’d find himself in situations similar to this, allowing his mind to wander to her as if he had nowhere better to set his thoughts.

Bringing her along on the journey to find the Jedi hadn’t exactly been in his plans when he went to Sorgan. In fact, he’d gone to Sorgan to repent of what he’d thought had been a mistake on his part, hoping to just clear his conscience of what he’d done when he knew Omera was alright.

Having them along with him made things difficult in some ways, but in the overwhelming sense, he felt as if being in this together made it easier. Easier in a way he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

He dried himself off as soon as he was finished with the warm water. Clothes and armor back in place, he felt better, new, and went to see if he could fit on the bed next to the girls.

The last time he’d laid beside Omera had been the first time he’d laid next to her. The night they’d spent together, giving to one another the most intimate of a stolen moment in time.

She’d come to him, warm and unassuming. His heart had acted faster than his brain could catch up. It seemed she was one of the only people in the galaxy who could do that to him.

The bed was much more comfortable than his chair in the cockpit of the Crest, where he’d last allowed his eyes to close. He laid on top of the blankets, facing the ceiling with his hands clasped together over his chest.

Beside him, the bed shifted and he turned his head to see Omera facing him, her eyes open.

“Did you get something to eat?”

Din smiled softly beneath his helmet. “Yes. Picked up some extra for the morning too.”

Omera’s lips curled at the ends and she reached out with one hand to touch the side of his helmet. “Try to sleep. Don’t worry about tomorrow.”

He lifted both of his hands, tugging the glove from one to remove it. When his bare hand was free, he brought it to Omera’s, giving her one of the only things he could when his whole being ached for something more.

She thoughtfully turned her hand and gently touched their fingertips together before pressing her palm to his. Slowly, her small fingers filled the spaces between, curling as she lowered her fingertips to his knuckles.

Ever so gently, she brushed her thumb against the side of his and offered him a kind, almost loving, smile. As he stared at her, he saw that secret again, hiding and private, dancing behind her pretty brown eyes.

It wouldn’t be right to ask about it now, while the children were sleeping so close by, but he resolved he’d ask soon. All he wanted was to know that she felt whole, and seeing the shade of fear in her eyes imposed by this secret made him think she didn’t feel that way at all.

“Rest, Din,” Omera whispered.

“You too.”

As Din allowed himself to fall asleep, he thought back to their conversation earlier. She was right. The children were happy and healthy. He didn't need to worry about how quickly he could find the Jedi when he could see victories here, with them.

For the first time in a long time, when Omera woke, she felt rested. Lately, she’d found it difficult to sleep even back home on Sorgan in her own bed.

As she opened her eyes, she decided it had to have been because of the pregnancy. Her body needed more energy, and she hadn’t exactly been allowing herself to charge up on the unborn’s behalf.

Very quickly, she realized that she was the last one to wake. She heard Winta’s giggles and the Child’s cooing babbles. Even warmer was Din’s low, even voice as he dealt with both of them on his own.

Omera sat up in the bed, wincing ever so slightly at the light that came from the overhead lamp.

The Child was tucked under one of the Mandalorian’s arms, both of them sitting directly beside her in the bed while Din offered his son food to eat. Winta sat on the foot of the bed, nibbling on whatever Din had brought them to share.

Perking up at the sight of her freshly awake, Winta grinned, crawling over top of the bed towards her. “Morning, Mama.”

“Good morning, Winta.”

“You slept for a long time. Din was worried about you.”

Din sighed. “I wasn’t worried.”

Winta hummed. “Yes you were.” She gave Din a very matter-of-fact look. “You asked me if she usually sleeps this long. Twice.”

Omera laughed to herself and looked over at the Mandalorian, whose open palm held the food meant for the Child to eat. It was touching that he’d been worried about her.

“I needed to sleep. Thank you for not waking me any sooner.”

After they shared their food, Din settled the Child into his floating pram and said, “I’ll take the kid with me to the harbor, but I think you and Winta should stay here. I don’t know if I can trust him. Heard them saying something about my beskar.”

Omera nodded in agreement. “There was something about him I didn’t like either.” She looked at the Child. “You’re sure you want to bring him?”

“We are a clan of two. Where I go, he goes.”

Omera nodded in understanding. She reached into the pram and stroked her thumb over the top of the Child’s head. “Be good for Din, little one.”

The Child cooed adorably, his ears twitching at the feeling of her hand on top of his head.

Omera looked up at the Mandalorian, whose gaze always seemed to be on her. He was closer to her than he had been before, but then again, he always seemed to be close to her too.

He lowered the crown of his head to hers ever so briefly and she set her hands on either side of his helmet.

“Be safe.”

When he pulled away, he said, “We’ll be back tonight. Let’s plan to meet at the chowder place downstairs at sunset.”

Omera liked his optimism, but worried he might not be able to fulfill the plan. She didn’t know what laid ahead. “We’ll be there.”

Winta wrapped her arms around Din’s side in a tight hug, a surprise to the Mandalorian. He lowered his hand to the back of her head with the slightest hesitance.

“We’ll be back in a few hours, Winta.”

“I know,” she said. She smiled up at him. “Just for good luck that you’ll find your Mandalorians.”

Din nodded once. “Thank you.”

When Winta pulled away, Din took an audible breath and stepped toward the door. As it opened, he looked back toward them as if he had something to say, but said nothing, instead leaving them on their own.

Almost instantly, Omera’s fingers fell to her middle, where she swore her belly had swollen up even more over the course of a night, and sighed softly through her nose. She really needed to tell him.

It had been four months since that night, which meant very soon, it would be quite unmistakable that she was with child. Even now, she felt as if the child had begun to show enough that Din might be able to tell on his own. Maybe he already had noticed and was just being polite while he waited for her to say something.

“Mama, can we go see the Frog Lady? I wonder if her eggs are going to hatch.”

She laughed a little. “Okay.”

Winta noticed her hand over her belly and looked up at her curiously. “Have you told Din yet?”

Omera shook her head. “Not yet. He has a lot on his mind. I don’t want to overwhelm him.”

“But your belly is growing,” Winta noted, her hands settling on either side of Omera’s small bump. “And it will get even bigger.”

“I know,” Omera sighed. “I’ll tell him soon. Just not yet.”

“Tonight?” Winta suggested. “Once he finds his kind, he might have less on his mind.”

Omera chuckled. She ran her fingers through her daughter’s hair and shook her head. “Why do you want him to know so badly?”

“Because I’m excited to be a big sister,” Winta admitted, bouncing on her feet. “Will Din be the baby’s father?”

Her eyes widened a little in surprise. “Um… I don’t know. I don’t think he thinks of us in a family sort of way. Not yet, anyway.”

Winta’s nose and brow both wrinkled as she pondered Omera’s explanation. “But he does all the things you do for me, Mama. He feeds us, gives us a place to sleep, and keeps us warm and safe.”

Omera smiled softly at her daughter’s innocence. She continued to run her fingers through her hair as she considered what to say.

“Being a family is more than those things. It means you give your heart away. That you love regardless of how you feel. That you stick together through all things.”

Her daughter frowned. She clung to Omera, burying her face into her side. “How do you feel that way for someone? If they aren’t like you and me and Baby…” Winta’s fingers trailed over Omera’s belly as she paused, thoughtful. “It must be hard to give your heart away.”

“It is.” Omera nodded. “But often, your heart decides on its own who to choose.”

“Has your heart chosen Din?”

She bit down on her lip, her heart feeling heavy. “It has.”

Winta pulled herself away from Omera and stared up at her, still thoughtful. “Is Din the one who gave Baby to you? Is that why your heart has chosen him?”

A blush very quickly found her cheeks. She shook her head. “That’s enough questions about the baby for now. Let’s go find our friend. Maybe we can bring her a gift to celebrate her arrival here.”

Winta sighed. Clearly, she wanted all of the answers that Omera felt the most unsure about, and she wanted them right away.

“Okay…”

“You ever been on a boat, kid?” Din asked the Child.

From within his hovering pram, the boy stared up at him, tilting his head to the side. He made a little noise, patu, and Din nodded his head once.

“Try not to get seasick. Don’t wanna get your clothes dirty and have to get you another bath.”

This time, the Child made a different noise, like he wouldn’t mind it. Blep.

“You liked the bath, didn’t you?” Din asked. He smirked to himself, giving a small shake of his head. “Omera spoils you.”

The Child hummed.

Din knew that the kid liked Omera. He knew that Omera liked the kid, too. She was a good mother. Even if she hadn’t intended to take on that role for the boy, he was glad that she had.

He did his best where it came to being his father. The word felt funny even to think, but the Armorer had bestowed the title upon him. All he could do was honor him and the path they had been set upon. He could care for him and guide him. Teach him his manners.

He was trying. That’s what mattered. He hoped the kid could see it.

Ahead of them, he saw the captain of the ship that could take them to meet up with his kind. This was the moment he’d been waiting for. This would define their next steps.

Din guided them to the ship at the dock. He kept an eye out for danger, cautious in case the stranger fisherman wanted to try anything from the docks.

“Excuse me. We spoke yesterday about a ride to find more of my kind. Mandalorians.”

The fisherman nodded. “Yeah. I remember. You got credits?”

“Yes.”

The fisherman eyed him briefly, then looked at the Child. He nodded his head. “Settle up and we’ll be on our way. There’s a mamacore out there, right in our path. Impressive beasts. You ever seen a mamacore?”

“Can’t say I have.”

He hummed. “We’ll get up close. Get you a good look.”

The fishing boat was modest in size, crewed by a modest crew of five Quarren.

After a couple of hours on the water with no end in sight, the bad feeling Din had about the captain of the vessel only intensified. There didn’t appear to be any land masses anywhere nearby, and the fog that settled over the waters was eerie.

“You ever see a mamacore eat? Quite a sight.”

Din looked blankly at the captain of the ship. The Quarren gestured to the Child beside Din, still safely stowed in his floating pram.

“Child might take an interest. You should take a look. Come on over here.”

Din cautiously allowed the Child to follow after him toward the center of the fishing boat. There was a large grate in the floor that opened up to the choppy waves.

“Get a good view. Let the kid see.”

He and the Child stayed back a safe distance, just close enough that they could see into the water, and Din held out a hand to stop the kid from going any closer. “All right, close enough.”

The captain of the fishing vessel rigged up a net of dead fish just above the freshly exposed hole in the middle of the ship. With a swift releasing mechanism operated by a lever, the net broke open and the fish dropped down for the mamacore to feed on.

“She must be hungry.”

The waters began to bubble, signifying the arrival of the mamacore, and the captain continued to ramble, but before the creature of the sea could emerge, the Quarren used his fishing spear to push the floating pram and the Child into the water.

Din’s stomach lurched. “No!”

In an instant, the mamacore surged upwards, its sharp teeth and claws descending upon the Child’s pram in the most horrifying instant. He didn’t have to think twice- he jumped in after him.

The water was murky, and he didn’t have a plan for fighting the mamacore. As he tried to find the creature beneath the surface, he very quickly ran out of air. Surging to the surface, where the boat was, he was met with resistance in the form of a grate.

It was a trap.

It seemed the Quarren operating the fishing vessel were, in fact, hunting him down for his beskar. They jabbed at him with their spears through the holes in the grate as he tried to push back on it.

How the hell was he supposed to save the kid and get himself out of this situation all on his own?

One jab of the spear in the right spot made him lose his grip on the bars, sending him back down into the water. He was as unprepared as the first time, but this time, water flooded his lungs.

With a renewed anger, he surged back up to the surface, just in time to catch his breath and get attacked all over again.

But before the fishermen could push him down below the water’s surface again, they were met with force by a Mandalorian from just beyond his sights.

He could hardly make out what went on, too focused on his breathing as he coughed and struggled to keep his head above the water.

He heard the sounds of a couple of other Mandalorians arriving via jetpack as the fighting continued. With his eyes fallen shut, Din coughed and set his focus on one thing: hope.

He would get out of this. The kid would too. He’d be safe within the pram. They just needed to get into the jaws of the creature and pry him out. Hopefully it wasn’t too late.

The grate that had locked Din away from safety aboard the boat finally pulled back. In front of him, a Mandalorian held out their hand to help tug him out of the water he’d very nearly drowned in.

“Take my hand.”

Din did as the Mandalorian asked of him, and as she helped him up out of the water, he choked out, “There’s a creature. It has the Child.”

“On it!” The words came from one of the other Mandalorians.

Focused on the Mandalorian who had pulled him from the water, Din added weakly, “The Child. Help the Child.”

“Don’t worry, brother. We’ve got this.”

He struggled to catch his breath. His body trembled and tears sat unshed in his eyes. The shock of this attack hit him differently than most did. He wasn’t a skilled swimmer, and although he probably could’ve compensated for it with his weapons, he hadn’t been prepared for the fight.

The sounds of gunfire came from beneath the ship and Din set his focus on the opening. Dread flooded him from top to bottom.

What if he’d failed? What if the pram wasn’t strong enough to protect the Child from harm? How would he explain this to Omera and Winta?

As much as he doubted himself in the past, this was a harsh reminder of how inadequate he was. Did all fathers struggle with these feelings?

The Mandalorian who had plunged down into the water to battle the mamacore emerged with a gush of water that broke the surface. She landed on the boat, pram in between her hands, and set it down on the ground next to him.

After tearing it open, she grabbed for the baby inside. “Here you go, little one.”

She handed the Child to Din. He instantly cradled him in one arm and placed his palm against the baby’s chest as he examined him. He was completely unharmed, and hadn’t even gotten wet.

A calming wave covered him. It was alright. They were both alright. A breath he hadn’t realized he was holding slid past his lips and he felt the hot tears escape his eyes out of sheer relief.

Finally, he looked up at their saviors. His voice still trembled a bit when he spoke, “Thank you.”

Briefly, he checked on the Child again. Safe. He was safe.

The fear he held in his heart gave way to something different in this instance. Was it love? Did he love this child?

Afraid of what the answer might be, Din set his focus on the next realization: this was the moment he’d been searching for. He’d found his kind. Now, he needed to do right by the kid.

He needed to find a Jedi. That was his path.

“I’ve been searching for more of our kind.”

Of the three Mandalorians who stood in front of him, the one who had rescued him from the water replied, “Well, lucky we found you first.”

“I’ve been quested to deliver this child. I was hoping that…”

He stopped dead in his tracks when all three of the Mandalorians standing on the deck of the ship removed their helmets from their heads. As he stood to be on their level, a certain degree of rage simmered just beneath the surface of his skin.

On Tatooine, it had only been Cobb Vanth who wore Mandalorian armor. He’d worn it as a means to protect his town, as a symbol of strength. He hadn’t understood the Mandalorian creed because he wasn’t Mandalorian.

Now, three much more powerful strangers stood before him in Mandalorian armor, skilled with their weapons, and treated him as their equal.

Never removing one's helmet was one of the first things they’d taught him as a Foundling. It was a key to being a Mandalorian. To remove your helmet meant turning your back on the creed.

“Where did you get that armor?”

The woman in the middle seemed confused by his tone, keeping her voice light as she replied, “This armor has been in my family for three generations.”

“You do not cover your face.” Din felt himself growing angrier with the passing moments. “You are not Mandalorian.”

This time, the man on the right spoke, “He’s one of them.”

“One of what?” Din asked the woman in the middle, the one he deemed to be the leader.

“I am Bo-Katan of Clan Kryze.” She took a tempered pause. “I was born on Mandalore and fought in the Purge. I am the last of my line. And you are a Child of the Watch.”

“The Watch?”

“Children of the Watch are a cult of religious zealots that broke away from Mandalorian society.” Bo-Katan’s gaze fell upon the Child in his arm. “Their goal was to re-establish the ancient way.”

Din gritted his teeth. “There is only one way. The Way of the Mandalore.”

After a few hours sitting with the sweet Frog Couple and their new tadpole in their humble home, Omera walked Winta through the shops along the dock, holding onto her hand tight enough that she wouldn’t get lost or wander.

Her daughter seemed nervous by all of the excess stimuli that a new planet like this crafted on its own, so it didn’t matter all that much how tightly she held on.

Omera herself kept an eye on passers by, cautious not to linger for too long in one place. She had a pistol clipped to her side, but it would never help her feel as safe as she did with the Mandalorian at her side.

She wanted to get some more food for the morning, hoping it would be the last meal they’d have to share on Trask. It would be good to have the Crest fully repaired somewhere else before they found the Jedi. If, in fact, Din had found his kind, that would likely be the course of action.

With a small container of fresh food in arm, Omera walked Winta back toward the inn, set on staying there until sunset, just under an hour away. But, as soon as they drew close, she noticed a ship a short ways out and the surprising sight of a figure with a jetpack soaring up toward the sky.

Recalling their plan to meet Din and the Child, Omera took Winta back to the inn in order to deposit the food.

“Mama, do you think Din found his kind?” Winta asked. She sat on the bed just behind her, kicking her legs out and swinging them back inward until they hit the base of the bed.

“We’ll have to ask when we meet him.”

Winta hummed. “What if he didn’t find anyone?”

Omera turned to her daughter and shrugged her shoulders. “I guess we’ll just have to keep looking.”

Together, they walked to the chowder place and settled in at a table in the back corner. She kept her eyes on the patrons, careful of onlookers. The last thing she wanted was for something to happen to them before the Mandalorian could return.

The door to the building slid open and she watched as Din entered. He cradled the Child in his arm and approached the table with a dominance that attracted the gaze of many of the patrons.

Finally, Omera felt as if she could breathe.

From behind him, she noticed the door open once more. This time, three others wearing blue Mandalorian armor entered. They had their helmets in their arms. Were they Mandalorian? Or were they as Cobb Vanth was - just a man in Mandalorian armor?

Din stood at the head of the table and the three others followed. One, a woman with a commanding presence, studied Omera and Winta for a thoughtful second.

“These are your people?” she asked Din.

He nodded once. “They’re traveling with me.”

Again, Omera met the woman’s eyes. Finally, a smile found her lips. “I am Bo-Katan. A Mandalorian, just as he is. We are from different clans, but we serve the same creed.”

Her head swarmed with thoughts. They were Mandalorians. Mandalorians who took their helmets off, and still professed the same creed that Din held.

She wasn’t sure what to believe, but she couldn’t help but feel a little excited by the idea that not all Mandalorians had to keep their helmets on. Maybe one day she’d get to see Din’s face after all.

Omera smiled back at Bo-Katan, trying to be polite. “I’m Omera. This is my daughter, Winta. You’re free to join us.”

And so it was that the table was filled with Mandalorians, and a child whose pram had been lost in the jaws of a mamacore.

Beside Omera sat Din, whose attentiveness to his boy seemed amplified after the attack at sea. The boy was perched up on his own chair beside him, with a bowl full of food that he sipped slowly.

“They came in time to save me and the Child,” Din explained. He gestured out toward Bo-Katan and her clan. “I should’ve been more careful. I was right. They wanted the beskar.”

Omera’s heart almost broke at his retelling. She wished she’d been there to help, but knew that if she had, something far worse might have happened.

“Thank you,” Omera said to the three new faces around the table.

Bo-Katan nodded. “He would do the same for any of us.” Pausing, she took a second to gather her thoughts. Then, she turned to Din specifically, saying, “Trask is a black market port. They’re staging weapons that have been bought and sold with the plunders of our planet.”

Bo-Katan glanced at her fellow blue-armored Mandalorians. “We’re seizing those weapons and using them to retake our homeworld. Once we’ve done that, we’ll seat a new Mand’alor on the throne.”

“That planet is cursed.” Din was clearly not all that pleased with Bo-Katan and her plans. “Anyone who goes there dies. Once the Empire knew they couldn’t control it, they made sure no one else could either.”

“Don’t believe everything you hear. Our enemies wanna separate us. But Mandalorians are stronger together.”

Din focused on the Child beside him. “That’s not part of my plan. I’ve been quested with returning this child to the Jedi.”

Bo-Katan’s brow knitted. “What do you know of the Jedi?”

“Nothing,” Din admitted. “I was hoping you would help me by creed.”

Bo-Katan was silent. She looked at the Child thoughtfully. “I can lead you to one of their kind. But first, we need your help on our mission.” Briefly, Bo-Katan glanced at Omera and Winta. “If you can spare the time.”

“What is your mission?” Omera asked, almost daring her to continue to treat her as if she wasn’t there.

The leader of the group pursed her lips. She lifted her bowl to her mouth to sip. Then, she spoke again, “We can share our plans with the Mandalorian you travel with, but it isn’t a place for you or your child.”

She felt Din stiffen beside her. “She travels with me. Treat her as my equal or I won’t help you.”

Bo-Katan’s jaw clenched, as if she didn’t want to do what he wanted her to. Like she was annoyed that she’d encountered a Mandalorian like Din. Even if she were trying to be courteous and not involve Omera due to the dangers of the mission, it felt like she had judged Omera quickly.

She nodded at each of them, looking between them as she spoke with intention, “Tomorrow morning, there is another Imperial freighter leaving Trask with the weapons I’d mentioned earlier. We get in, take the weapons that belong to us, and get out.”

Din considered Bo-Katan’s mission thoughtfully. “And if I help, you’ll give me what I need.”

Bo-Katan nodded her head once. “Should you earn it, yes.”

“We shouldn’t discuss the details here,” the other female Mandalorian said. “Let’s get eyes on it after we finish.”

Beneath the table, Din settled his hand over her leg as a gentle reminder that they were here, together. He nodded his head to the Mandalorians. “Fine. I’m in.”

Bo-Katan smiled into her bowl slightly. “This is the Way.”

“This is the Way.”

With Winta curled up in bed sound asleep, Omera sat at the foot with the Child in her arms, waiting patiently for Din to return. The boy wasn’t sleeping, but seemed content reaching for her hair and babbling incoherently to her all about the hardships of his day.

Omera couldn’t help but smile, looking down at him. She hoped he knew that he was very much part of their family, as unique as it may have been. She lowered her lips to the top of the Child’s head and gave him a gentle kiss.

“Shh,” she whispered, “I think it’s time you went to sleep, little one.”

Din had gone with the other Mandalorians to scout out their mission, a mission she hoped would finally bring Din the answer he searched for. Yet, in the same heartbeat, she almost wished he wouldn’t be able to find a Jedi at all. In such a short period of time, she had grown deeply attached to the boy in her arms.

The door before her slid open and Din entered, quiet and cautious. He paused at the sight of her and his boy, almost like he hadn’t anticipated to see them still awake.

Omera rose to her feet. “How did it go?”

“I’ll meet them in a few hours to prepare,” Din replied. He looked at the Child in her arms when they were close enough. “Today… I couldn’t protect him. I owe Bo-Katan my help after what they did.”

Omera nodded, somber. She offered the Child to him. “Here, maybe you can get him to sleep.”

The Mandalorian reached for the small boy and took him into his arms. With utmost care, he rested a hand over his belly.

“When we were on Tatooine, you sang to him.”

She smiled. “It was a song my mother taught me as a little girl. I sang it to Winta when she was a baby.”

Omera couldn’t help but think about telling him her secret then, especially with their conversation leaving the perfect opening to just say it without needing the right circumstances.

But it still wasn’t right. Telling him then would only distract him during a mission with high stakes.

Maybe, she decided, once they were back onboard the Crest, she could get him alone and say the words she so desperately needed to.

Winta was right. She would only be able to conceal her bump with strategic articles of clothing for a little while longer. And, as much as she wished things were simpler, having a child with a Mandalorian would likely never be easy.

Din sighed deeply. He shook his head. “When I almost lost him today in the water…” He stopped, choking on the last of his words. “If the Jedi take him from me to raise him, they will be right to do so. I can offer him nothing.”

Omera closed her eyes briefly. She knew the inadequacy he felt. She’d experienced it herself plenty of times as a young single mother.

She lifted her hand to touch the Mandalorian’s arm ever so gently.

“You’re his father,” Omera said. “That will never change.”

She watched the Child finally fall asleep, clinging to Din as he did so. The little boy was so small in Din’s arms and he found so much peace there. Would their child feel the same peace? Would they ever have the chance to?

Din had nearly died a few times over the course of their adventures so far. Maybe she was right to want to keep the unborn within her a secret. Why would the Mandalorian want to settle down and raise a child with her, even if it was his own?

“I’m sorry for the way Bo-Katan treated you and Winta.”

Omera shook her head. “I wasn’t offended.”

He sighed heavily. “She thinks I’m part of a cult. On Mandalore, I guess they did things differently. They… take their helmets off.”

She could tell that Bo-Katan and her clan had hit a nerve. Whatever had been said in their meeting on the boat had been enough to spark a conflict within him.

“Do you want to help them?”

“It is the Way to help other Mandalorians.”

Din stepped away from her and approached the bed. He tucked the Child in beside Winta, gently bringing the blankets up toward his chin.

When he came to Omera’s side again, he said in a soft voice, “I… didn’t realize there were Mandalorians who don’t abide by the same rules.”

Omera hummed. She didn’t expect Din to change his understanding of his creed overnight, but part of her felt hopeful that maybe one day, he might be comfortable enough to remove his helmet in front of her.

She could only imagine what he looked like beneath, but she knew it wouldn’t matter. To her, Din Djarin was the man she’d fallen in love with without needing to know what he looked like.

“Maybe being Mandalorian means more than what you wear. It’s your code that makes you Mandalorian,” Omera thought aloud. “Maybe… if you all fight for the same cause, for each other, it doesn’t matter how you appear.”

He stared at her in silence. She wasn’t sure how he felt, but knew that she hadn’t upset him. If she had, his posture would surely indicate as much.

“Do you want to try to sleep tonight? Before you meet with the others?”

He nodded silently. When they laid down side-by-side, Omera turned to face him. He stared after her, even in the darkness.

As he had the night before, he removed his glove from just one hand. With it free, he very hesitantly reached out to touch the side of her face, almost as if he wanted to ask if it was okay. Omera gave him an affirming smile.

Gently, the tips of his bare fingers brushed against her cheek, a tender caress that brought back memories of the night they’d spent together on Sorgan. So rarely had she felt so adored in her entire life.

He brushed her hair behind her ear and then soothed his knuckles with the lightest touch against her cheek.

“Goodnight.” Din spoke in a voice so quiet that she almost couldn’t hear him speak.

Her hand found his and she took it in the space between them, flat against the mattress.

“Goodnight, Din.”

He shifted until he could touch his forehead to hers. Omera closed her eyes at the feeling. It was such a simple action, but she felt a tangible wave of warmth fill her from the very top of her head to the bottoms of her feet.

She wondered if the Mandalorian felt the same.

She hoped he did.

Din didn’t sleep as much as he should have. He spent a long time watching Omera rest, her fingers having fallen away from his but her figure still turned toward him.

Beside her, the Child and Winta were curled up together. He could hear the Child’s sleep sounds, little squeaks and grunts that he always made when he dreamed, and a soft smile settled on Din’s face.

They were all safe and comfortable here: together.

Being together had been the reason for asking Omera to join him.

Now that they were together, walking this path toward a Jedi, he had to consider what was next for them.

He knew that Omera would likely wish to stay together, even if she never admitted it aloud to him. If he stayed with Omera and Winta on Sorgan, would he still be able to be Mandalorian? How would he fulfill his role as a Mandalorian there? Would he remove his armor?

Their conversation before they went to bed echoed in his mind. Was what Omera suggested true? Could he remove his armor in front of others and still be Mandalorian?

The Mandalorians who raised him would have argued that every element of their code together made a Mandalorian. The creed dictated adhering to the code as strictly as possible so that they could develop future generations to be strong.

As Din stared at Omera, sound asleep, only one thing ran through his mind over and over again: he wanted to stay by her side.

Could they be together in the future? Was that even a possibility?

Maybe it was naive, but he wanted to believe it could be.

When it was time for him to get up and meet the clan of Mandalorians, he reluctantly looked away from Omera and sat up. Quietly, he stepped around the bed, moving with determination to the door, but stopped when he caught something moving out of the corner of his vision.

Winta. She sat upright in bed, her head tilted to the side as she rubbed her right eye.

“Din?”

He glanced over at Omera. She hadn’t stirred. Neither had the Child.

Din nodded. “Go back to sleep. I’m going to meet with the other Mandalorians now.”

The young girl had a tight knit in her brow before she suddenly hopped off of the bed and with light feet, came to stand in front of him. Curious, Din studied her. Maybe she was sleepwalking.

“Will you come back?” Winta whispered. She seemed genuinely concerned about him. Probably not sleepwalking.

He sighed to himself and dropped down to one knee so that he could meet her eyes at her level.

“I’ll be back before you even realize I’m gone.”

She nodded, but something still seemed to bother her. She reached out with one hand to touch the side of his helmet, gentle and timid.

“What’s wrong?”

Winta shook her head minutely. He noticed tears in her eyes, something he absolutely hated, and she whispered, “I’m just thinking about Mama.”

He tilted his head to the side, confused. “Is she okay?”

Winta smiled softly at him, a pure reflection of Omera, and lowered her hand from his helmet. She sighed. “She told me that she loved someone and wanted to be a family with them, but… she doesn’t know if they want that too.”

His heart leapt. Immediately, his mind began to whirl in thought. Was Omera in love with him? He’d thought that she could be, but was there someone else? Maybe Winta misunderstood altogether.

Was Omera in love with him?

The thought felt loud in his mind, so loud that he could barely force himself to focus on Winta.

“Why wouldn’t someone want that with you?”

Winta shrugged one shoulder. “She said their heart has to choose. I don’t know if it will happen.”

He frowned, reaching for her hand to squeeze it when her lower lip trembled with oncoming tears.

“Hey, no. Please don’t cry.”

She sniffled and wiped at her eyes.

“I’m sorry. I just…” She sighed heavily. The weight of all of the feelings she carried within overwhelmed her so that her shoulders fell low. “I love Mama and I want her to be happy.”

He smiled. Winta had the same giving heart as her mother.

“She is. She has you.”

Winta wrapped her arms around his neck in one swift movement. He held her with one arm around her middle. Winta’s eagerness to hug him all the time reminded him of the Foundlings from the covert on Nevarro.

“Please come back.”

As if she didn’t want to overextend her welcome, she took a step away from him, her fingers still wiping at her wet cheeks. She managed to smile at him through it and squared her shoulders, putting on a brave face even if she continued to sniffle.

“Don’t worry about me, Winta,” he said. “I’ll be back by midday. You can tell your mom that we should meet at the Razor Crest then.”

Having a plan in mind seemed to calm the girl. She nodded her head. “Okay.”

Din was hesitant to leave, but he knew Bo-Katan and her clan would be waiting for him. He was running late as it was. He stood to his feet and gestured to the bed.

“Go back to sleep.”

Winta scrambled back to the bed, careful as she climbed back in beside the Child and Omera. He waited for the blankets to be up to her chin before he left the room.

When Omera awoke, Din was nowhere to be found. The sun had come up, so she decided that she would prepare the children to return to the Razor Crest.

Winta nudged Omera’s arm when she sat upright. The girl sat beside her in the bed, bright-eyed and rested.

“Din left a few hours ago.”

Her daughter cradled the Child in her arms. The boy babbled while he played with Winta’s favorite stuffed toy. Omera had given it to her as a newborn. She’d made it herself.

“He told me to tell you that we should meet him at the Razor Crest by midday.”

Omera smiled at Winta and ran her fingers through the young girl’s hair. “Then I suppose we should get something to eat and get ready to be back on our way.”

It was bittersweet having to leave the inn on Trask. While it had been a comfortable, safe place to lay their heads, Trask itself left much to be desired. It was certainly not a place she would have felt confident letting Winta off on her own.

“What do you think I can bring home from this place?” Winta asked. “I have my rock from Tatooine. What can fit in my bag from Trask?”

Omera looked over at her daughter, who now sat on the edge of the bed with the Child doing the same at her side. Meanwhile, she busied herself with making sure their bags were packed.

“We could…” Omera paused, thoughtful. “Maybe we could get you a shell from the beach.”

Winta’s eyes lit up at the idea. “Yes!”

The Child giggled when Winta bounced eagerly on the bed, careful with her hand held over his belly to keep him from falling over.

“It’s almost time to leave,” Omera told Winta, “and when we do, we’ll see what we can find.”

With both of the children and their bags ready to go, Omera held the Child on her hip while hanging on to Winta’s hand. They walked the docks cautiously and Omera kept an eye out for the Mandalorian.

Once they found a beach, Omera allowed Winta to wander, but only just a little. She pressed a palm against the Child's belly and kept her focus on her daughter as she searched for the perfect shell.

Very soon, this would be a reality in her life: Winta wandering off while she held a baby on her hip. It felt oddly natural, being a mother over two at once.

Breaking her from her thoughts was the sound of a jetpack. A familiar Mandalorian flew just overhead and landed on the beach beside them.

“You’re back!” Winta exclaimed.

She rushed toward Din with a hug already locked and loaded. She tackled him with her arms around his waist and he stumbled at the impact, laughing breathlessly.

“I said I would be.”

Winta smiled warmly up at him. “I’m just really glad you are.”

Din sighed, still catching his breath from all of the activity. He looked up at Omera. “She told me the name of the Jedi and where to find them.”

Her heart jumped and her eyes widened slightly. “That’s good. You were able to finish the mission.” Omera smiled down at the baby in her arms and stroked her thumb against his fingers that gripped hers. “You’ll be with your kind soon, little one.”

As the words fell from her lips, Omera’s heart ached. She knew it was right to bring the Child to his kind, and it was what Din’s quest required of him, but she didn’t have to like the idea.

“We should get back to the ship,” Din said, pulling her attention away from the Child. “I have a feeling the credits I spent trying to get it fixed were wasted.”

They certainly were. The ship was now covered in netting and fishing gear, all of it trying a little too hard to keep the fragile ship together.

Din sighed deeply as he sat in the pilot’s seat. “Mon Calamari.”

Omera settled in beside him, still hanging onto the Child, and Winta giddily jumped into the third chair.

“Well, based on the looks of things, we aren’t getting all the way to Corvus in this shape.” Din turned to look at her. “How would you feel if we took a trip to Nevarro? Got some friends there who might cut me a deal on the repairs.”

Omera shrugged her shoulders. She gazed down at the Child in her lap. The boy peered up at her with his big eyes and her heart clenched. They’d get the opportunity to spend just a few more days together.

“What do you think, little one? Do you want to visit Nevarro?”

The Child offered her a lopsided grin, but otherwise made no efforts at communication. She soothed her thumb against one of his fingers.

When Omera returned her focus to the Mandalorian, she nodded her head. “Extending our trip just a little wouldn’t hurt.”

Wordlessly, the Mandalorian nodded back at her. He spun around and began to prepare the ship for takeoff.

In her lap, the Child squirmed and she allowed him to move freely. He turned just enough to face her and one of his hands extended over her belly. Omera felt herself freeze in surprise. Did he know?

From within her, she felt the unborn stir. Just a soft little flutter, one barely noticeable. Taking the Child’s hand away from where he’d extended it, she fought the tears in her eyes.

The Child stared up at her, almost as if he was trying to tell her something. He did know.

Without another moment passing them by, as the Razor Crest began its climb back up into space, the Child snuggled against Omera again. She held onto him and accepted the gentle feeling of his hand settled against hers with a soft smile.

She casted a longing gaze after the Mandalorian.

She'd felt so conflicted since he came for her on Sorgan. While she wanted them to be together, and wanted to tell him about their child, she felt fear every time she considered it. She didn't want him to lose focus on what mattered the most. She wanted him to feel confident walking his path with the Child, knowing that she had his back through it all. If a future together would come of this time, she wouldn't decline it, but she worried, especially after meeting Bo-Katan, that perhaps there were even more important paths yet to come for Din.

Should she protect him from learning about the truth so that he could face those challenges freely?

When Din turned around again, he gave the Child his attention. “Well, what do you think, kid? You want to try fixing some wiring for me?”

The Child quirked his head to the side, cooing curiously.

“There’s a panel…” Din tilted his head toward where it was in the cockpit. “Pretty sure we can hot-wire a fix. You know your colors, right?”

Again, the Child made a curious noise.

Omera offered the young boy to his father, who took him into his arms and held him there. He stared at the boy with an affection that filled the very air of the cockpit.

The Child reached out for Din’s helmet and touched the armor covering his cheek. The Mandalorian chuckled softly in response. “Hey, pal.”

The ache inside of her chest tightened. Doubting his capacity for the truth was a mistake. Din deserved to know her secret. Now if only she could find the right words.

#mandomera #the mandalorian #din x omera #my writing #the edge of hope #so many scenes in this one i ADORE #GAH

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ashtomnfmp · 3 years

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Research games

Forager

Forager is a top down adventure game that adds parts of farming sims such as growing crops to make money. However, this into the only way to get money as you can mine, chop, slay or find chests. The vast amount of ways to play makes this game really replayable as you could take a different approach on your next save. Another factor that adds to the replayability is the fact that you have to buy land to progress and unlock more. This means that you can start heading west, or north or maybe south. this adds a lot of paths like the original legend of zelda. this games world inspires me as its a very big world where you have to unlock parts to progress.

Staxel

Staxel is a cross between minecraft, stardew valley and animal crossing. it has a lot of farming elements like stardew valley has but the style of the game is very similar to minecrafts style with the building included too. The animal crossing part comes in as you can develop friendships with the villagers and eventually they can move in. When you increase your friendship with someone, you can unlock certain things such as new structures, new items to craft or quests to finish.

Farming simulator

Farming simulator has a new game in the series every year with each being more realistic then the last. when playing this game, the devs wanted you to feel like your actually on a modern farm with a bunch of tools you can buy and gain access to such as (in farming simulator 19) roughly 40 different tractors or roughly 35 harvesters. the reason this game inspires me is because of its depth as it really does feel like your on a farm.

My time at Portia

My time at Portia is similar to stardew valley but its in a 3D environment with events and activities to take part in such as fighting monsters or even other people. there’s boss battles too. You can interact with the villagers and even build bonds with them and even get married. What makes this game stand out to me is the amount of detail that team17 had enough time and people to add.

Story of seasons: Friends of Mineral Town

Story of seasons, also known as harvest moon in the past, is the oldest farming sim series which dates back to the first game, harvest moon snes, releasing in 1996. the game takes place in Mineral town as you start to look after the farm after the owner left it with you before he passed on. You look after crops and animals. First, you'll need to clear up the worn down farm and pick up all the twigs, rocks and weeds, then you can get to growing crops when you make room for them.

Slime rancher

Slime rancher is a farming sim that focuses on adventuring and tending to creatures to make money. this game also has growing crops, but not to as much detail as other farming sim. You look after a variety of slimes while collecting there plorts to make money. You can use that money to get upgrades to help feed slimes or even exploration upgrades such as a jet-pack. The thing i like about Slime rancher is the adventuring side. the issue with this is the games replay ability drops as you then know then know the map and the locations to everything, then its hard to do a bind play through again. other adventure games counter this by having randomly generated worlds so if i make an adventure game, i could try to include randomly generated worlds, but that'll take a lot of research first.

Minecraft

Lots of people call minecraft a farming sim but i disagree. Sure, minecraft has some plantable crops and breedable animals, but they don’t require the care that other farming sims require. one example is stardew valley where you have to water crops or get a sprinkler for crops to grow. On the animal side of things, you have to keep them happy by petting them daily and feeding them daily. In the winter, you also have to buy a radiator to keep them happy. In minecraft, you breed 2 cows and them kill one for food then go off to explore else where. The crops in minecraft only need to be withing a certain radius to a water source and have access to light. you dont even need to wait because you can just use bone-meal to grow it instantly which when combined with certain redstone machines, you produce mass amounts of crops all while your elsewhere such as off getting a cup of tea. Farming sims should have rewards for growing crops and animals with care which minecraft lacks.

Littlewood

After defeating the dark mage to save the world, you wake up in someones empty house as you wake up. however, you've forgotten all your memories of anything before the fight, even the people who you befriended years before. you then rebuild a town that was destroyed in a fight and you can customise it however you want. you can even grow crops, cut wood, fish and the list goes on and on. you’ll meet new and old friends who move into this town as you help it grow as the mayor. What i like about this is the fact of how you can do whatever you want with your town which adds a lot of replayability. Another thing that inspires me is the cute art style as i like this type of art style.

Kynseed

Kynseed is a farming sim which is full of beautiful pixel-art. The first 14 days are used as a tutorial to teach how to play the game such as farming delivering, tending to animals etc in the form of quests. each day in the prologue has set tasks which help in learning. when the 14 days are over, you enter a time skip and the game truly begins.

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thehauntologicalsociety · 3 years

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Street Haunting: A London Adventure by Virginia Woolf

No one perhaps has ever felt passionately towards a lead pencil. But there are circumstances in which it can become supremely desirable to possess one; moments when we are set upon having an object, an excuse for walking half across London between tea and dinner. As the foxhunter hunts in order to preserve the breed of foxes, and the golfer plays in order that open spaces may be preserved from the builders, so when the desire comes upon us to go street rambling the pencil does for a pretext, and getting up we say: "Really I must buy a pencil," as if under cover of this excuse we could indulge safely in the greatest pleasure of town life in winter--rambling the streets of London.

The hour should be the evening and the season winter, for in winter the champagne brightness of the air and the sociability of the streets are grateful. We are not then taunted as in the summer by the longing for shade and solitude and sweet airs from the hayfields. The evening hour, too, gives us the irresponsibility which darkness and lamplight bestow. We are no longer quite ourselves. As we step out of the house on a fine evening between four and six, we shed the self our friends know us by and become part of that vast republican army of anonymous trampers, whose society is so agreeable after the solitude of one's own room. For there we sit surrounded by objects which perpetually express the oddity of our own temperaments and enforce the memories of our own experience. That bowl on the mantelpiece, for instance, was bought at Mantua on a windy day. We were leaving the shop when the sinister old woman plucked at our skirts and said she would find herself starving one of these days, but, "Take it!" she cried, and thrust the blue and white china bowl into our hands as if she never wanted to be reminded of her quixotic generosity. So, guiltily, but suspecting nevertheless how badly we had been fleeced, we carried it back to the little hotel where, in the middle of the night, the innkeeper quarrelled so violently with his wife that we all leant out into the courtyard to look, and saw the vines laced about among the pillars and the stars white in the sky. The moment was stabilized, stamped like a coin indelibly among a million that slipped by imperceptibly. There, too, was the melancholy Englishman, who rose among the coffee cups and the little iron tables and revealed the secrets of his soul--as travellers do. All this--Italy, the windy morning, the vines laced about the pillars, the Englishman and the secrets of his soul--rise up in a cloud from the china bowl on the mantelpiece. And there, as our eyes fall to the floor, is that brown stain on the carpet. Mr. Lloyd George made that. "The man's a devil!" said Mr. Cummings, putting the kettle down with which he was about to fill the teapot so that it burnt a brown ring on the carpet.

But when the door shuts on us, all that vanishes. The shell-like covering which our souls have excreted to house themselves, to make for themselves a shape distinct from others, is broken, and there is left of all these wrinkles and roughnesses a central oyster of perceptiveness, an enormous eye. How beautiful a street is in winter! It is at once revealed and obscured. Here vaguely one can trace symmetrical straight avenues of doors and windows; here under the lamps are floating islands of pale light through which pass quickly bright men and women, who, for all their poverty and shabbiness, wear a certain look of unreality, an air of triumph, as if they had given life the slip, so that life, deceived of her prey, blunders on without them. But, after all, we are only gliding smoothly on the surface. The eye is not a miner, not a diver, not a seeker after buried treasure. It floats us smoothly down a stream; resting, pausing, the brain sleeps perhaps as it looks.

How beautiful a London street is then, with its islands of light, and its long groves of darkness, and on one side of it perhaps some tree-sprinkled, grass-grown space where night is folding herself to sleep naturally and, as one passes the iron railing, one hears those little cracklings and stirrings of leaf and twig which seem to suppose the silence of fields all round them, an owl hooting, and far away the rattle of a train in the valley. But this is London, we are reminded; high among the bare trees are hung oblong frames of reddish yellow light--windows; there are points of brilliance burning steadily like low stars--lamps; this empty ground, which holds the country in it and its peace, is only a London square, set about by offices and houses where at this hour fierce lights burn over maps, over documents, over desks where clerks sit turning with wetted forefinger the files of endless correspondences; or more suffusedly the firelight wavers and the lamplight falls upon the privacy of some drawing-room, its easy chairs, its papers, its china, its inlaid table, and the figure of a woman, accurately measuring out the precise number of spoons of tea which----She looks at the door as if she heard a ring downstairs and somebody asking, is she in?

But here we must stop peremptorily. We are in danger of digging deeper than the eye approves; we are impeding our passage down the smooth stream by catching at some branch or root. At any moment, the sleeping army may stir itself and wake in us a thousand violins and trumpets in response; the army of human beings may rouse itself and assert all its oddities and sufferings and sordidities. Let us dally a little longer, be content still with surfaces only--the glossy brilliance of the motor omnibuses; the carnal splendour of the butchers' shops with their yellow flanks and purple steaks; the blue and red bunches of flowers burning so bravely through the plate glass of the florists' windows.

For the eye has this strange property: it rests only on beauty; like a butterfly it seeks colour and basks in warmth. On a winter's night like this, when nature has been at pains to polish and preen herself, it brings back the prettiest trophies, breaks off little lumps of emerald and coral as if the whole earth were made of precious stone. The thing it cannot do (one is speaking of the average unprofessional eye) is to compose these trophies in such a way as to bring out the more obscure angles and relationships. Hence after a prolonged diet of this simple, sugary fare, of beauty pure and uncomposed, we become conscious of satiety. We halt at the door of the boot shop and make some little excuse, which has nothing to do with the real reason, for folding up the bright paraphernalia of the streets and withdrawing to some duskier chamber of the being where we may ask, as we raise our left foot obediently upon the stand: "What, then, is it like to be a dwarf?"

She came in escorted by two women who, being of normal size, looked like benevolent giants beside her. Smiling at the shop girls, they seemed to be disclaiming any lot in her deformity and assuring her of their protection. She wore the peevish yet apologetic expression usual on the faces of the deformed. She needed their kindness, yet she resented it. But when the shop girl had been summoned and the giantesses, smiling indulgently, had asked for shoes for "this lady" and the girl had pushed the little stand in front of her, the dwarf stuck her foot out with an impetuosity which seemed to claim all our attention. Look at that! Look at that! she seemed to demand of us all, as she thrust her foot out, for behold it was the shapely, perfectly proportioned foot of a well-grown woman. It was arched; it was aristocratic. Her whole manner changed as she looked at it resting on the stand. She looked soothed and satisfied. Her manner became full of self-confidence. She sent for shoe after shoe; she tried on pair after pair. She got up and pirouetted before a glass which reflected the foot only in yellow shoes, in fawn shoes, in shoes of lizard skin. She raised her little skirts and displayed her little legs. She was thinking that, after all, feet are the most important part of the whole person; women, she said to herself, have been loved for their feet alone. Seeing nothing but her feet, she imagined perhaps that the rest of her body was of a piece with those beautiful feet. She was shabbily dressed, but she was ready to lavish any money upon her shoes. And as this was the only occasion upon which she was hot afraid of being looked at but positively craved attention, she was ready to use any device to prolong the choosing and fitting. Look at my feet, she seemed to be saying, as she took a step this way and then a step that way. The shop girl good-humouredly must have said something flattering, for suddenly her face lit up in ecstasy. But, after all, the giantesses, benevolent though they were, had their own affairs to see to; she must make up her mind; she must decide which to choose. At length, the pair was chosen and, as she walked out between her guardians, with the parcel swinging from her finger, the ecstasy faded, knowledge returned, the old peevishness, the old apology came back, and by the time she had reached the street again she had become a dwarf only.

But she had changed the mood; she had called into being an atmosphere which, as we followed her out into the street, seemed actually to create the humped, the twisted, the deformed. Two bearded men, brothers, apparently, stone-blind, supporting themselves by resting a hand on the head of a small boy between them, marched down the street. On they came with the unyielding yet tremulous tread of the blind, which seems to lend to their approach something of the terror and inevitability of the fate that has overtaken them. As they passed, holding straight on, the little convoy seemed to cleave asunder the passers-by with the momentum of its silence, its directness, its disaster. Indeed, the dwarf had started a hobbling grotesque dance to which everybody in the street now conformed: the stout lady tightly swathed in shiny sealskin; the feeble-minded boy sucking the silver knob of his stick; the old man squatted on a doorstep as if, suddenly overcome by the absurdity of the human spectacle, he had sat down to look at it--all joined in the hobble and tap of the dwarf's dance.

In what crevices and crannies, one might ask, did they lodge, this maimed company of the halt and the blind? Here, perhaps, in the top rooms of these narrow old houses between Holborn and Soho, where people have such queer names, and pursue so many curious trades, are gold beaters, accordion pleaters, cover buttons, or support life, with even greater fantasticality, upon a traffic in cups without saucers, china umbrella handles, and highly-coloured pictures of martyred saints. There they lodge, and it seems as if the lady in the sealskin jacket must find life tolerable, passing the time of day with the accordion pleater, or the man who covers buttons; life which is so fantastic cannot be altogether tragic. They do not grudge us, we are musing, our prosperity; when, suddenly, turning the corner, we come upon a bearded Jew, wild, hunger-bitten, glaring out of his misery; or pass the humped body of an old woman flung abandoned on the step of a public building with a cloak over her like the hasty covering thrown over a dead horse or donkey. At such sights the nerves of the spine seem to stand erect; a sudden flare is brandished in our eyes; a question is asked which is never answered. Often enough these derelicts choose to lie not a stone's throw from theatres, within hearing of barrel organs, almost, as night draws on, within touch of the sequined cloaks and bright legs of diners and dancers. They lie close to those shop windows where commerce offers to a world of old women laid on doorsteps, of blind men, of hobbling dwarfs, sofas which are supported by the gilt necks of proud swans; tables inlaid with baskets of many coloured fruit; sideboards paved with green marble the better to support the weight of boars' heads; and carpets so softened with age that their carnations have almost vanished in a pale green sea.

Passing, glimpsing, everything seems accidentally but miraculously sprinkled with beauty, as if the tide of trade which deposits its burden so punctually and prosaically upon the shores of Oxford Street had this night cast up nothing but treasure. With no thought of buying, the eye is sportive and generous; it creates; it adorns; it enhances. Standing out in the street, one may build up all the chambers of an imaginary house and furnish them at one's will with sofa, table, carpet. That rug will do for the hall. That alabaster bowl shall stand on a carved table in the window. Our merrymaking shall be reflected in that thick round mirror. But, having built and furnished the house, one is happily under no obligation to possess it; one can dismantle it in the twinkling of an eye, and build and furnish another house with other chairs and other glasses. Or let us indulge ourselves at the antique jewellers, among the trays of rings and the hanging necklaces. Let us choose those pearls, for example, and then imagine how, if we put them on, life would be changed. It becomes instantly between two and three in the morning; the lamps are burning very white in the deserted streets of Mayfair. Only motor-cars are abroad at this hour, and one has a sense of emptiness, of airiness, of secluded gaiety. Wearing pearls, wearing silk, one steps out onto a balcony which overlooks the gardens of sleeping Mayfair. There are a few lights in the bedrooms of great peers returned from Court, of silk-stockinged footmen, of dowagers who have pressed the hands of statesmen. A cat creeps along the garden wall. Love-making is going on sibilantly, seductively in the darker places of the room behind thick green curtains. Strolling sedately as if he were promenading a terrace beneath which the shires and counties of England lie sun-bathed, the aged Prime Minister recounts to Lady So-and-So with the curls and the emeralds the true history of some great crisis in the affairs of the land. We seem to be riding on the top of the highest mast of the tallest ship; and yet at the same time we know that nothing of this sort matters; love is not proved thus, nor great achievements completed thus; so that we sport with the moment and preen our feathers in it lightly, as we stand on the balcony watching the moonlit cat creep along Princess Mary's garden wall.

But what could be more absurd? It is, in fact, on the stroke of six; it is a winter's evening; we are walking to the Strand to buy a pencil. How, then, are we also on a balcony, wearing pearls in June? What could be more absurd? Yet it is nature's folly, not ours. When she set about her chief masterpiece, the making of man, she should have thought of one thing only. Instead, turning her head, looking over her shoulder, into each one of us she let creep instincts and desires which are utterly at variance with his main being, so that we are streaked, variegated, all of a mixture; the colours have run. Is the true self this which stands on the pavement in January, or that which bends over the balcony in June? Am I here, or am I there? Or is the true self neither this nor that, neither here nor there, but something so varied and wandering that it is only when we give the rein to its wishes and let it take its way unimpeded that we are indeed ourselves? Circumstances compel unity; for convenience sake a man must be a whole. The good citizen when he opens his door in the evening must be banker, golfer, husband, father; not a nomad wandering the desert, a mystic staring at the sky, a debauchee in the slums of San Francisco, a soldier heading a revolution, a pariah howling with scepticism and solitude. When he opens his door, he must run his fingers through his hair and put his umbrella in the stand like the rest.

But here, none too soon, are the second-hand bookshops. Here we find anchorage in these thwarting currents of being; here we balance ourselves after the splendours and miseries of the streets. The very sight of the bookseller's wife with her foot on the fender, sitting beside a good coal fire, screened from the door, is sobering and cheerful. She is never reading, or only the newspaper; her talk, when it leaves bookselling, which it does so gladly, is about hats; she likes a hat to be practical, she says, as well as pretty. 0 no, they don't live at the shop; they live in Brixton; she must have a bit of green to look at. In summer a jar of flowers grown in her own garden is stood on the top of some dusty pile to enliven the shop. Books are everywhere; and always the same sense of adventure fills us. Second-hand books are wild books, homeless books; they have come together in vast flocks of variegated feather, and have a charm which the domesticated volumes of the library lack. Besides, in this random miscellaneous company we may rub against some complete stranger who will, with luck, turn into the best friend we have in the world. There is always a hope, as we reach down some grayish-white book from an upper shelf, directed by its air of shabbiness and desertion, of meeting here with a man who set out on horseback over a hundred years ago to explore the woollen market in the Midlands and Wales; an unknown traveller, who stayed at inns, drank his pint, noted pretty girls and serious customs, wrote it all down stiffly, laboriously for sheer love of it (the book was published at his own expense); was infinitely prosy, busy, and matter-of-fact, and so let flow in without his knowing it the very scent of hollyhocks and the hay together with such a portrait of himself as gives him forever a seat in the warm corner of the mind's inglenook. One may buy him for eighteen pence now. He is marked three and sixpence, but the bookseller's wife, seeing how shabby the covers are and how long the book has stood there since it was bought at some sale of a gentleman's library in Suffolk, will let it go at that.

Thus, glancing round the bookshop, we make other such sudden capricious friendships with the unknown and the vanished whose only record is, for example, this little book of poems, so fairly printed, so finely engraved, too, with a portrait of the author. For he was a poet and drowned untimely, and his verse, mild as it is and formal and sententious, sends forth still a frail fluty sound like that of a piano organ played in some back street resignedly by an old Italian organ-grinder in a corduroy jacket. There are travellers, too, row upon row of them, still testifying, indomitable spinsters that they were, to the discomforts that they endured and the sunsets they admired in Greece when Queen Victoria was a girl. A tour in Cornwall with a visit to the tin mines was thought worthy of voluminous record. People went slowly up the Rhine and did portraits of each other in Indian ink, sitting reading on deck beside a coil of rope; they measured the pyramids; were lost to civilization for years; converted negroes in pestilential swamps. This packing up and going off, exploring deserts and catching fevers, settling in India for a lifetime, penetrating even to China and then returning to lead a parochial life at Edmonton, tumbles and tosses upon the dusty floor like an uneasy sea, so restless the English are, with the waves at their very door. The waters of travel and adventure seem to break upon little islands of serious effort and lifelong industry stood in jagged column upon the floor. In these piles of puce-bound volumes with gilt monograms on the back, thoughtful clergymen expound the gospels; scholars are to be heard with their hammers and their chisels chipping clear the ancient texts of Euripides and Aeschylus. Thinking, annotating, expounding goes on at a prodigious rate all around us and over everything, like a punctual, everlasting tide, washes the ancient sea of fiction. Innumerable volumes tell how Arthur loved Laura and they were separated and they were unhappy and then they met and they were happy ever after, as was the way when Victoria ruled these islands.

The number of books in the world is infinite, and one is forced to glimpse and nod and move on after a moment of talk, a flash of understanding, as, in the street outside, one catches a word in passing and from a chance phrase fabricates a lifetime. It is about a woman called Kate that they are talking, how "I said to her quite straight last night . . . if you don't think I'm worth a penny stamp, I said . . ." But who Kate is, and to what crisis in their friendship that penny stamp refers, we shall never know; for Kate sinks under the warmth of their volubility; and here, at the street corner, another page of the volume of life is laid open by the sight of two men consulting under the lamp-post. They are spelling out the latest wire from Newmarket in the stop press news. Do they think, then, that fortune will ever convert their rags into fur and broadcloth, sling them with watch-chains, and plant diamond pins where there is now a ragged open shirt? But the main stream of walkers at this hour sweeps too fast to let us ask such questions. They are wrapt, in this short passage from work to home, in some narcotic dream, now that they are free from the desk, and have the fresh air on their cheeks. They put on those bright clothes which they must hang up and lock the key upon all the rest of the day, and are great cricketers, famous actresses, soldiers who have saved their country at the hour of need. Dreaming, gesticulating, often muttering a few words aloud, they sweep over the Strand and across Waterloo Bridge whence they will be slung in long rattling trains, to some prim little villa in Barnes or Surbiton where the sight of the clock in the hall and the smell of the supper in the basement puncture the dream.

But we have come to the Strand now, and as we hesitate on the curb, a little rod about the length of one's finger begins to lay its bar across the velocity and abundance of life. "Really I must--really I must"--that is it. Without investigating the demand, the mind cringes to the accustomed tyrant. One must, one always must, do something or other; it is not allowed one simply to enjoy oneself. Was it not for this reason that, some time ago, we fabricated the excuse, and invented the necessity of buying something? But what was it? Ah, we remember, it was a pencil. Let us go then and buy this pencil. But just as we are turning to obey the command, another self disputes the right of the tyrant to insist. The usual conflict comes about. Spread out behind the rod of duty we see the whole breadth of the river Thames--wide, mournful, peaceful. And we see it through the eyes of somebody who is leaning over the Embankment on a summer evening, without a care in the world. Let us put off buying the pencil; let us go in search of this person--and soon it becomes apparent that this person is ourselves. For if we could stand there where we stood six months ago, should we not be again as we were then--calm, aloof, content? Let us try then. But the river is rougher and greyer than we remembered. The tide is running out to sea. It brings down with it a tug and two barges, whose load of straw is tightly bound down beneath tarpaulin covers. There is, too, close by us, a couple leaning over the balustrade with the curious lack of self-consciousness lovers have, as if the importance of the affair they are engaged on claims without question the indulgence of the human race. The sights we see and the sounds we hear now have none of the quality of the past; nor have we any share in the serenity of the person who, six months ago, stood precisely where we stand now. His is the happiness of death; ours the insecurity of life. He has no future; the future is even now invading our peace. It is only when we look at the past and take from it the element of uncertainty that we can enjoy perfect peace. As it is, we must turn, we must cross the Strand again, we must find a shop where, even at this hour, they will be ready to sell us a pencil.

It is always an adventure to enter a new room for the lives and characters of its owners have distilled their atmosphere into it, and directly we enter it we breast some new wave of emotion. Here, without a doubt, in the stationer's shop people had been quarrelling. Their anger shot through the air. They both stopped; the old woman--they were husband and wife evidently--retired to a back room; the old man whose rounded forehead and globular eyes would have looked well on the frontispiece of some Elizabethan folio, stayed to serve us. "A pencil, a pencil," he repeated, "certainly, certainly." He spoke with the distraction yet effusiveness of one whose emotions have been roused and checked in full flood. He began opening box after box and shutting them again. He said that it was very difficult to find things when they kept so many different articles. He launched into a story about some legal gentleman who had got into deep waters owing to the conduct of his wife. He had known him for years; he had been connected with the Temple for half a century, he said, as if he wished his wife in the back room to overhear him. He upset a box of rubber bands. At last, exasperated by his incompetence, he pushed the swing door open and called out roughly: "Where d'you keep the pencils?" as if his wife had hidden them. The old lady came in. Looking at nobody, she put her hand with a fine air of righteous severity upon the right box. There were pencils. How then could he do without her? Was she not indispensable to him? In order to keep them there, standing side by side in forced neutrality, one had to be particular in one's choice of pencils; this was too soft, that too hard. They stood silently looking on. The longer they stood there, the calmer they grew; their heat was going down, their anger disappearing. Now, without a word said on either side, the quarrel was made up. The old man, who would not have disgraced Ben Jonson's title-page, reached the box back to its proper place, bowed profoundly his good-night to us, and they disappeared. She would get out her sewing; he would read his newspaper; the canary would scatter them impartially with seed. The quarrel was over.

In these minutes in which a ghost has been sought for, a quarrel composed, and a pencil bought, the streets had become completely empty. Life had withdrawn to the top floor, and lamps were lit. The pavement was dry and hard; the road was of hammered silver. Walking home through the desolation one could tell oneself the story of the dwarf, of the blind men, of the party in the Mayfair mansion, of the quarrel in the stationer's shop. Into each of these lives one could penetrate a little way, far enough to give oneself the illusion that one is not tethered to a single mind, but can put on briefly for a few minutes the bodies and minds of others. One could become a washerwoman, a publican, a street singer. And what greater delight and wonder can there be than to leave the straight lines of personality and deviate into those footpaths that lead beneath brambles and thick tree trunks into the heart of the forest where live those wild beasts, our fellow men?

That is true: to escape is the greatest of pleasures; street haunting in winter the greatest of adventures. Still as we approach our own doorstep again, it is comforting to feel the old possessions, the old prejudices, fold us round; and the self, which has been blown about at so many street corners, which has battered like a moth at the flame of so many inaccessible lanterns, sheltered and enclosed. Here again is the usual door; here the chair turned as we left it and the china bowl and the brown ring on the carpet. And here--let us examine it tenderly, let us touch it with reverence--is the only spoil we have retrieved from all the treasures of the city, a lead pencil.

#Virginia Woolf #Street Haunting #A London Adventure #London #pencil #1927 #1930 #essay

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prose-for-hire · 4 years

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Secret Santa

12 Days of Christmas: Day 1

Pairing: Wesley Wyndam-Pryce x reader

Request: If you're still accepting winter requests could I have a wesley x reader where the reader tells wesley that they still stubbornly believe in Santa claus so he gets them a gift and they do the "Santa's handwriting looks suspiciously like yours" line? I love your writing btw and hope you have a good winter!

Requested by: @alltheangstmygifttoyou

You were sat in the library with your nose in a book. He had joined you again. The same guy, always sat two seats away from you. He never spoke to you, sometimes he glanced over when he thought you weren’t looking. You were relaxed in his presence, not many could do that. For some unknown reason in your soul, you trusted him.

You came here for fun, to find a peaceful place to read. Your apartment was full of roommates and you paid too much for very little personal space. So you spent a lot of your free time here. It was an escape from the mundane. You went on epic adventures, got lost in new lands. Met angels and demons. Read tales of good and evil. You could only dream of being a part of something like that. It was everything you wanted. Sometimes you read non-fiction. Wanting to absorb as much information as you could. You liked learning and you knew knowledge was important. The guy often noted what you were reading, he was fascinated by the array of texts you would read.

This man, a rogue demon hunter by night and a regular of the library by day was named Wesley. He had been travelling since his stint as a watcher in Sunnydale and had settled here for the moment. The truth was, Wesley had been building up the courage to speak to you for a while. He loved to sit in the library it had a great atmosphere for when he needed to focus. But since he had noticed you, the last thing he could do was focus.

He caught your eye often and sometimes you shared a smile. It was as if you were both holding your breath, seeing if the other would make a move first. But neither of you did. That was, until one day. In early December. Today. You had been to the market earlier that day and had decided to treat yourself by buying yourself some old trinket from the flea market on your way to the library. This had caught the man’s eyes and you smiled. But today, he didn’t smile back. He was staring from your neck to your face with concern. He paused for a moment, but he had to say something.

“H-Hello, could I, um, borrow that necklace?” he whispered and pointed at the chain around your neck. You blinked at him. Your frown now matching his. He never spoke to you before and the first thing he wanted was to borrow the gold chain around your neck. He hadn’t complimented it. Hadn’t said that he liked how unique it was. Just asked you to remove it.

“No, it’s mine. Sorry” you shifted away from him trying to get back into your book. But he persisted moving seats right beside you.

“it’s glowing and… leaking a yellow liquid that I know for certain is a concentration of yak’s blood and wolfsbane” He stated trying to get you to understand. The necklace had been dipped in the potion and cursed to hold something by his quick assessment of the situation.

“Sorry, you’ll have to get your own. Perhaps put it on your Christmas list to Santa” You offered unhelpfully as he looked at you aghast at the suggestion. Especially so when

“There is no such thing as Santa, now won’t you please listen to what I’m saying”

“I’ve seen you around here, you know… I had been hoping you would say something but you never did” You said slowly frowning at the way he had denounced Santa so easily, “Now I know why, you’re basically Scrooge McDuck”

“I assume that this is some caricature of one Ebenezer Scrooge and not a backhanded compliment” He muttered, shaking his head. He had imagined your first interaction going a lot smoother than this. He remembered what he was trying to do and focused on the threat instead, “I just think it would be wise for you to remove the chain and pass it over to me slowly” he said, his arms raised to highlight how serious he was. You got up to leave and he followed you out.

“But this was my Christmas present to myself, I found it on the market! And, even if I wasn’t attached to the chain, you just ruined my favourite time of year by denying Santa’s existence!” You hissed at him as you left the main room of the library and into the corridor leading to the exit.

“What are you talking about-”

“You know that the magic of Christmas, and more importantly, Santa only works if you believe” you insisted, your face deadly serious as you turned back to look at him. Stopping dead in the corridor.

“Don’t be ridiculous! Just- give me the-” he grabbed at the necklace and tugged it, breaking the clasp and pulling it from your neck. You frown, trying to snatch it back. You end up doing a crude tug-of-war with the gold chain.

This was when you both felt a white hot heat burning your fingertips. You both knew you had messed up as you yelped in unison and dropped the chain to the ground. A white light blinded you both momentarily and when it disappeared a demon was towering over you. Your eyes widened. You had never seen anything like it. You had a certain level of belief in the things you could not see or explain but you had never considered something like this. Never expected anything like the fantasy you had read in books to become a reality. But there was no other explanation than this was a demon. Perhaps it came from the books… or, oh, of course. The necklace.

“Who hath summoned me? Reveal yourself!” The booming voice echoed around the corridor as he shrugged off the tinsel he had knocked down from the walls as he had appeared. He stamped on it for good measure and scowled around.

A librarian came to tell the group to be quiet, her finger hovering over her lip ready to motion you to be silent. However, when she saw the identity of the one making all the noise she backed out of the hall and back through the double doors into the main library, shaking her head. That was more trouble than it was worth.

That left you, the Englishman and this unusual creature that kind of looked half yak, half Santa clause if he had spent the night passed out in a bush. He even had jingle bells on the lining of his cloth outfit.

“Speak, child! Who dares stand before me?!” the giant pointed at you. But Wesley stepped in front of you.

“Wesley Wyndam-Pryce, demon hunter” He recited, staring in his eyes and hoping nobody else saw his slight shaking.

“You wish to hunt me as sport? Do you know who I am?” he asked.

“Hogroth, warrior demon of the Land of Lap” Wesley stated quickly. Your eyes widened. This was too good to be true. Well, it would be if a demon who was tangled up in tinsel as if it was a web

Hogroth unsheathed his weapon and Wesley quickly started to fight against him.

After trading blows and dodging the sharp edge of the sword, Wes managed to knock the weapon from his hand. This appeared to even surprise himself. He grabbed the sword and pointed it at his chest before slashing at it. They fought against each other as you watched on like a spare part, with the demon unwrapping the tinsel from its upper arm and used it to try and strangle Wesley.

You couldn’t let this happen. You needed a distraction. You shrugged, remembering something you had read in a fight scene. You might as well give this a go. If it was a dream you would just wake up and if it wasn’t, well, you tried to push that thought away. You ran up and jumped onto his back covering his eyes as he hit out wildly. Hogroth grabbed you and flipped you over his head leaving you landing hard on the floor. Wesley saw his chance and plunged the demon’s own knife into his heart. This left him sinking to his knees and disappearing in the same way he came. You managed to haul yourself up, breathing heavily and wondering if there had been something stronger than nutmeg in the Christmas cookies one of your roommates had given you before you left the house that day.

“Thank you, for helping me” Wesley said sincerely, “It means a great deal to me, and I do apologise about your, uh, jewellery” he motioned to the blackened scorch mark that had once been your nice chain.

“Don’t mention it” You shrugged, a lot cooler than you felt. You were still a little bemused. But of course you would help him even if you were still a little put out from the way he had so cruelly cut down your talk of Santa. You liked the magic of Christmas and if a Hogwarts demon, or whatever it was that the man said he was existed then why not Santa? It was hypocritical but you supposed it wasn’t really a necessary argument. You decided to just say your goodbyes although you did avoid the library for a while after this. You decided to have some space away from the demon you had watched die and also the self-appointed demon hunter who had insisted Santa didn’t exist.

Finally, you caved. It was the week leading up to Christmas and you had to go to return your books before the library closed for the holidays. You also needed some time out of the apartment, someone new had moved in and you had no plans over the holiday season not just because you expected your room to have been rented out if you left too far away from town. You decided the coast was clear and you stowed away in a corner to read with some peace. Time had passed and you had been transported to amazing worlds that were detailed on the pages. It made you think about what had happened. About the possibility there were real adventures out there. Real monsters to vanquish. Real heroes. Real people to offer your heart to.

“I wish to apologise properly” a familiar English voice spoke, pulling you from your thoughts. One that had been in your mind since that day. The day you met a demon for the first time. The day you met a man that you could see as a kind of angel. He sat down opposite you, a low table with a poinsettia between you.

“That’s okay, I think Santa’s the one you should be apologising to really” You say without looking up from your page, although you had stopped reading.

He just nodded once and slid a wrapped box towards you. It made you close your book slowly, looking first at him and then the gift. You cautiously reached out and turned over the note attached.

Dear y/n,

I hope that you can forgive Wesley he really likes you – it is the season of forgiveness.

He’s sorry.

Love, Santa

“Santa’s handwriting looks suspiciously like yours” You say seriously which actually made him smile wide. He was fond of you before he had even gotten to know you fully. One more look from your bright eyes or a smile from your lips and he was yours. Forever. It really was a storybook romance as you had been worrying about believing too easily. He couldn’t help but want to be with you, want to protect you. And he hoped this gift would mean that you forgave him and you could get to know each other better.

“You do not know what Santa’s handwriting looks like” He murmured, but you gave him a look as if to say of course you did. Your attention then moved to the gift. You opened the packaging slowly, savouring the moment. You had this feeling. Like this magic inside. You knew deep down that this was the man you wanted to spend the rest of your days with.

When you opened it, a perfect chain was laying on the velvet material. You gasped, trying to insist he didn’t have to do it. This was too much for an acquaintance to give.

“You lost your necklace, of course you needed a new one” He said simply, not allowing himself to gush the very feelings he had now started to harbour. It was too much to put on a person too quick. He had never believed in the kind of love in movies, much less love at first sight. But he truly understood it now.

“But I haven’t got you anything…” you say softly.

“I think, perhaps, you could do me the honour of going on a date with me? I am new here”

“Demon hunting keeps you on the road?” You say and he looks away a little embarrassed. You could see this meant a lot to him. He was lonely, “I can think of a better present” You offered, leaning in. Your eyes cast towards his lips and then back up to his eyes. He threaded his hand between the hair at the base of your neck, pulling you into him. Your lips met and a growing fever ignited inside the both of you. Your affections growing. The potential of this union a dizzying prospect. Your lips moved together softly, such feeling transferring between each other.

This Christmas was the start of a true adventure. Falling in love had been the easy part. But learning of the true extent of the demon underworld and meeting some of Wesley’s acquaintances brought more danger. You wouldn’t trade your place to be back in that cramped apartment without Wesley in your life though. For a start, he let you decorate the flat you shared in any way you liked for Christmas. He often helped and listened to direction with an adoring smile on his face when he looked at you.

Nothing ever took you away from each other. And nothing ever took Christmas away from you. Every year you celebrate with gusto and every year you can feel yourself falling more and more in love for your dorky rogue demon hunter. No matter what anyone else thought of him, he would always be your hero. Since the first day you properly met.

#wesley wyndam pryce #Wes #Wesley x reader #Wesley x you #Wesley Wyndam pryce imagine #wesley wyndam price x reader #btvs #btvs x reader #Buffy The Vampire Slayer #buffy the vampire slayer imagines #btvs imagine #12 Days of Christmas #angel the series #ats #ats x reader #ats x you #gender neutral #gender neutral reader #gender not mentioned

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2seokfan · 4 years

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Scarlet & Hazel | Ch. 1

pairings: hoseok x reader x yoongi

genre: fluff, very light angst, smut (future)

word count: 3.6k

chapters: ch.1, ch.2, ch.3, ch.4

summary:

Just cause you’re living paycheck to paycheck in a tiny apartment even after graduating college doesn’t mean you’re not happy. So what if your best friend is working her dream job making close to six figures every year? So what if she’s in a loving, committed relationship with her perfect boyfriend that you’re 99% sure is going to propose to her sometime next year? It doesn’t matter that your idea of a perfect relationship is a $9.99 bottle of wine on Friday nights while you binge watch Netflix specials.

Ok so maybe you’re a teensy bit miserable. Maybe you have no idea what you’re doing with your life. Maybe all you need to do is accidentally cross paths with two hybrids who will drastically change that.

Meet “Scarlet” and “Hazel”, two of the most gorgeous hybrid men you have ever laid eyes on. With their help, you learn that life is an adventure, a rollercoaster with ups and downs, and you were too preoccupied with yourself to climb out of your own predicament. And hey, you’re not much of a romantic, but with these two, you just might change your mind.

note: Hi! This is my first fic ever! I don’t even know if anyone’s gonna read this but I’ve had this idea in my head for awhile so fuck it.

You kicked off your shoes and threw your purse on the couch.

“God my back hurts!”

Honestly with the amount of random bodily aches you experience on a daily business you could pass for being 70 years old. But this time you knew where the pain stemmed from. You just had to fall asleep awkwardly after a night on your phone. And of course today was a work day and you slept past all THREE of your alarms. But you know that feeling when you sleep for a suspiciously long amount of time and something doesn’t feel right? That’s the sixth sense that saved your ass this morning because your internal body clock was like sweetie I think you’re late.

You only had time to slap on some makeup, hoping it looked semi decent, and throw your greasy hair into a messy, but passable bun because no one wants to see an ugly receptionist. You had to skip your morning Starbucks drive-through routine because you’re about to be LATE, late so you grab your keys and start your car, booking it to work.

You work at a private hybrid clinic which pays a little better than most but that means you also have to deal with a lot of attitude from rich “owners” (you hate that word). And you sat weirdly at work today so that did nOThing to help your back pain. Also how come everybody decided to book an appointment today?? It’s Friday for god's sake why does everyone and their mothers decide it’s time to call the clinic and book a checkup. They get so mad at you when you say this whole month is filled. You can’t change the schedule though?? The calendar’s filled lady either get over it and settle for next month or fuck off (of course you don’t say that out loud cause you’ll get fired). Also someone yelled at you today because they didn’t like the magazine choices in the waiting room.

Anyways your day sucked and you couldn’t be happier being back in your tiny apartment to binge watch netflix stand-up comedies until you collapse. Well you say it’s your apartment but you actually have a roommate. She’s nothing like you though, she’s the epitome of responsibility. You agreed to live with her even though you met her through Craigslist because once you met her in person you deemed her genuine enough, and also found out she’s hardly ever at the apartment but she still pays rent on time?! You really hit the jackpot with her honestly. Cause you can be a little bit messy sometimes but even when she is home she never complains. The only negative side of having her as a roommate is that you never really had time to bond with her cause she’s so busy and over your league that even after a year you two still aren’t anything more than friendly acquaintances.

Alright time to get out of your work clothes and into nothing but your favorite oversized t-shirt with no pants on because that is what you deem home-appropriate attire. But before you turn on netflix your tummy is making “feed me” noises so it’s time to check the fridge. Damn no leftovers. Time to crack open one of those Trader Joe’s frozen meals you have stacked in the freezer. You blindly pick a box. Guess you’re having vegan tikka masala tonight. Not gonna lie though those frozen meals are actually not half bad. Or maybe you’ve been away from good home cooking for so long you’ve become desensitized? Who cares, you’re hungry. Also it’s Friday, so no harm in cracking open a bottle of wine right?

When you’re all settled on the couch with your favorite plush blanket on your legs, a random comedian on tv, and a full tummy, your mind drifts away. It’s Saturday tomorrow and you have the weekends off. Maybe you should do something fun for yourself to make up for the crap you had to deal with today. You text your best friend Karli. You know she’s awake since it’s only 10pm.

You: Hey girl wanna go to the beach or smth tmrw?? <3

Karli: Yaaas ok I don’t work!! What time?

You: and we can walk around all the fancy stores and get coffee from that place we love.

You: hmmm how bout meet there @11??

Karli: Sounds good sweetie want me to pick you up?

You: no its ok ill meet u there i need to buy groceries after

Karli: Kk love ya see you then!!!

You: love ya! night bby

Karli knows that when you say “go to the beach” you really mean walk along the beach and the nearby stores because it’s early June and prime tourist season. That means the sand is packed with people and their kids and the water’s probably filled with pee so you’re not really down for that. Also the expensive shops near the beach are so cute and you love walking around window shopping, pretending like you can actually afford any of the items on display.

The wine is now getting to you cause before you know it you find your eyelids getting heavy. You muster up your last ounce of strength to turn off the tv and force yourself out of the couch cause your poor back doesn’t need another excuse to keep hurting. As much as you don’t want to wash your face and brush your teeth, you have to because you don’t want makeup on your pillowcase tonight. And when you finally crawl into bed you knock out instantly.

BEEP BEEP BEEP

“Oh fuck…”

You forgot that drunk you last night set an alarm today for 9am. Thank you drunk Y/N.

Why 9am? Because you need to shower and get ready, plus the beach you’re going to is near the north part of the city, which is also the expensive part of the city, meaning it’s a LONG ways from where you live. But the stores are aesthetically pleasing and it contains both you and Karli’s favorite coffee shop so you’re willing to make the 25 minute drive. Karli doesn’t have to worry though because she lives a lot closer than you do. Girl has got her shit together. Honestly you’re just glad she decided to move back after graduate school cause the long distance friend thing sucks balls.

You hop in the shower and rinse yourself awake. The weather is perfect, warm but not too hot. Unlike many people who prefer to dress up for a nice outing, you’re just the opposite. You’ve been forced to dress in nice business attire with a full face of makeup all week. Hell no are you dressing up on your days off too. It’s a sweatpants and tank top kinda day so that’s exactly what you wear. Ever since college you’ve spoiled yourself into only wearing comfy clothes whenever you have the chance and it’s become a minor problem in your life. You have some perfectly nice jeans in the closet but you haven’t worn them in forever. And you’re not gonna wear them today either. And makeup? Who needs makeup? You’ll just go barefaced since you have no one to impress. Actually just kidding maybe a little concealer just to cover up a few rough spots but that’s IT. You’re still a little self conscious and you know you have to work on that but not today.

It’s now 10:15. You grab your purse from the couch, slip on your favorite pair of slides and head to your car. You’re the kind of person who absolutely needs music when you drive so you quickly start blasting your favorite playlist. Before you know it, you’re pulling up to the beach area. Parking is hard to find on the weekend but your lucky ass managed to squeeze into a street parking spot right as someone pulls out. You lock your car and make the trek to Cozy Coffeehouse, your favorite coffee shop hands down.

Karli is already here and she’s hopping up and down, waving at you. She looks super cute today in her little black dress and fishnets. She’s had the same taste since high school and you’re glad that even a Master’s degree hasn’t stopped her from dressing all punk on her days off. You jog over and give her a quick hug.

“Hey girl look at you!! You’re so cute!” You take in her makeup and you swear if she didn’t go the corporate route she definitely should have been a makeup artist. Her eyeshadow is amazing and you’ll never ever have the blending talent that she has, nor could you ever get your eyeliner to look that sharp.

“Aw thanks! You look comfy though I’m kinda jealous now maybe I should’ve dressed down.”

“No I love your outfits! Besides, someone has to look nice in this relationship.”

You link arms and march into the cafe. It’s located near the fancy designer stores on a large hill overlooking the beach. When you step inside the whole atmosphere screams ‘cozy’, fitting its name perfectly. The interior is littered with mismatched sofas and armchairs but it somehow still looks aesthetically pleasing. Soft piano jazz is playing through speakers and when you step inside the delicious scent of freshly ground coffee beans immediately invades your nostrils.

You glance at their pastry display first. Today must be your lucky day because they have tiramisu and you absolutely love tiramisu but it’s usually sold out. No way in hell are you letting this chance slide, fuck breakfast norms you’re definitely getting a bite of that. Unfortunately you’re not a fan of sugary treats on top of sugary drinks so to balance things out you choose to order their house brew.

After you two order, you find a spot in one of the plush armchairs near the window and sit. You really are lucky today since window seats are usually taken. But not this time! You guys get to enjoy the gorgeous scenery displayed before you. The sun is bright, people are laying on the beach tanning, and kids are splashing each other with water. For the first time in awhile, you feel content with life, if only for a bit.

Before long your orders are called out and you stand up to retrieve them. Once you’re settled, you break into conversation with Karli, eager to catch up on everything that happened since you two last spoke face-to-face. You talk about work, Karli’s boyfriend Sunny, that new pizza place that opened up near your apartment that actually has really shitty pizza.

“Like seriously how do you fuck up pizza that badly?” you exclaim in between generous bites of tiramisu.

“No I get you,” Karli responds, slurping her iced mocha frappuchino, “everybody knows what pizza is supposed to taste like, I mean it’s gotta take talent to actually fuck it up to the level you’re describing girl.”

“Exactly!!” You wave your arms in the air, wanting to physically demonstrate your frustration at the situation and your passion for good pizza.

“Anyways…” Karli gently sets her drink down and takes on a more serious tone. “How are you though, honestly.”

“Hmm, me?” You swallow your last bite of tiramisu, “I’m doing good. Works ok, life’s ok. You know. Everything’s… ok.”

“I get that everything’s ‘ok’ but you know I want you to be more than ok. I want you to be happy”

You see the genuine concern in her eyes. Bless this girl for being so soft-hearted.

She continues, “And when was the last time you dated? Like, what, 2 years ago??”

Of course she has to mention dating. Karli has always been a romantic. You? Not so much. Your brain tended to err on the logical, practical side, which is not always a good idea since it keeps you away from many potential relationships.

“I date!” You scoff, but you’re not convincing anybody, least of all yourself.

“Oh really?” Her eyes widen in mock surprise, “Tinder one night stands don’t count babe. You know what I mean.”

“Well you didn’t specify…” You mumble, trying to come up with any excuse to defend your pride. You know she’s just being a good friend and that she’s asking because she cares about you, so you don’t let her questions irritate you.

“Sweetie I’m not trying to make you feel bad and I’m sorry if it comes across that way. It’s just… you mean a lot to me and you’re my bestie and I just want to see you be happy.” She takes your hand from across the table and looks you in the eyes. “We don’t get to see each other as much as we used to, so when I do I want to check in on how you’re doing.”

Then she averts her eyes, which you find highly suspicious. “Also I may or may not have found someone who I KNOW will be a perfect match for you.”

“AHA I KNEW you were leading up to something!”

“Wait but hear me out. He’s an accountant and at first I was like hmmm is he too boring for Y/N? But then I realized I was judging him by his job and that’s not cool so I talked to him and he’s, like, actually super cute and super sweet and I think you two will get along so well!” She’s speaking very fast at this point, trying to squeeze out as much information as possible before you can interject. Then she finishes with one of her signature Karli smiles, big and wide and all teeth and she knows you can’t say no to that face.

“Dammit. Fine.” You lost this round. “Alright if he wants to meet up I won’t say no. How bout that?”

“Gee that’s so thoughtful of you Y/N.” Her tone is sarcastic but she’s still smiling so you know she means no harm.

After another half hour of conversation, locked in a heated debate about food again (this time she’s defending her stance that pineapple belongs on pizza), Karli’s phone rings. The sound scares the poor girl half to death, and watching her jump a mile from her couch had you snorting into your coffee mid drink.

She looks at the caller ID, muttering under her breath, “It’s Saturday what do they want?” then glances up with a sad little pout, “Sorry Y/N it’s work gimme a sec…”

From what you can hear on her side of the conversation, something has come up and she has to head to the office right away.

“Ok I’ll be there in fifteen,” she hangs up and gives an exaggerated “Ughhhhh”. She takes one large gulp, finishing the last of her ultra sweet, ultra whipped frappuccino. “It’s like they can’t do anything when I’m not there.” She looks especially apologetic when her eyes land back on you, “I’m so sorry I have to cut this short…”

“Hey it’s ok! Duty calls ya know,” you give her a reassuring grin, hoping it passes for a smile instead of a grimace. You were really hoping to hang out today.

“No it’s not ok. We didn’t even get to walk around today! And I know how much you like to do that.” She stands up, slipping her purse onto her shoulder, “so next time I’ll plan a day where I guarantee I won’t get interrupted. It’s the least I can do.”

“Mk sounds good babe,” you give her a big hug, “Go get ‘em tiger!”

After she exits the cafe you finish the last bit of your coffee and glance out the window, staring at the people on the beach. Wow it’s really crowded down there today. You zone in on two kids attempting to build a sandcastle, but it’s too close to the water so the waves flatten it in two seconds. But it seems they didn’t learn their lesson because they keep rebuilding the castle in the same spot. Just move it further up little dudes.

You find yourself lost in thought again. Just because Karli’s suddenly busy doesn’t mean you don’t still have a whole day to yourself. You can walk around on your own. Also why not treat yourself to another drink? A fun one this time from their specials menu.

Ten minutes later you find yourself wandering around the various shops, hot hazelnut latte in hand, gazing at display after display of designer clothes and bags. Look, you may not be a huge fashion person, or have any expendable cash, but a girl can still appreciate art, especially when it’s laid out so nicely in front of you.

Speaking of art, there’s an art gallery coming up that you absolutely love. You’ve always been too afraid to go inside because you’re the type of person who feels obligated to buy something if you enter a local store and you DEFinitely can’t afford anything there. So you opt to loiter outside, like some creep, looking a little too long at the featured art through the window. This time it’s an Impressionist style painting of a ship on hazy waters with a sunset in the background. You’re no artist but you can appreciate good quality work when you see it. The piece is mesmerizing and serene, transfixing you to the spot. Before you know it, you’ve been staring for 15 whole minutes.

While admiring the artist’s use of color on the display piece, you overhear a lady raising her voice not too far away, snapping you out of your trance. It sounds like drama, so being the nosy bitch that you are, you’re definitely gonna check it out, if only to satisfy your curiosity.

“What do you mean ‘no’?! You’ll be perfect for each other!! Where’s your owner I bet he’ll listen!” At this point the lady’s voice is sounding downright aggressive.

As you shuffle closer to the scene of the noise, you spot a middle-aged, blonde lady pointing her finger at two hybrid men, almost jabbing one of them in the chest with her sharp, ruby nails. Behind her stands a gorgeous female arctic fox hybrid who clearly belongs to her as she pats her owner’s shoulders, trying to calm her down.

“I’m sorry miss but we just aren’t interested.” The taller of the two hybrids with orange hair speaks up, gently pushing the lady’s hands away. “Please leave us alone.” He’s being surprisingly calm, even after getting yelled at in public.

“Yeah lady get out of our faces,” the other white and grey haired hybrid is definitely more agitated, crossing his arms as he huffs in annoyance. You don’t blame him since the blonde lady is being ridiculously rude.

You can’t really make out the two males’ faces, since they’re turned away from you, but they are obviously hybrids. Both having incredibly bushy, soft-looking tails and tall, pointy ears sticking out of their heads.

Even if you can’t see their expressions, you can tell they’re uncomfortable with the harassment. Since you’re still somewhat unaware of the context, you stay out of the argument but decide to keep an eye on the situation in case the lady steps out of line. You’re just slightly around the corner, able to stay a safe distance away so that no one, especially the lady, can catch you eavesdropping. Pretending to admire the Gucci purses displayed in front of the shop you’re now standing at, and almost choking at the price, you cautiously side-eye blondie as she refuses to back down from the hybrid boys.

“Listen here you rude little pets, I’m not leaving you alone until I see your owner. My Sylvia here,” she gestures to the fox hybrid behind her, “would make a perfect partner for you.” She pokes the orange haired hybrid again, “I’ve been searching so long for her to find a mate and I’m not giving you up! Now where the hell is your owner!”

What the fuck?! How dare this lady talk to them like that? And in public no less! You now know exactly why she’s yelling at them. Working at a private hybrid clinic has opened your eyes to the harsh world of hybrids, and their selfish, rich owners. It’s not uncommon for owners to negotiate with each other and breed their hybrids. If two pretty hybrids mate, their children can be sold for loads of money. It's cruel and disgusting, with many of the children sold off before they can even get to know their parents. You’re all too familiar with this tradition, often catching owners in the waiting room of your clinic discussing in whispers about buying and selling hybrid children as if they’re livestock.

“Hey what the fuck did you call us?!” The white and grey hybrid is now also raising his voice. “Listen you wrinkly bi…!” He is quickly silenced by the orange hybrid, who abruptly clamps his hand over his buddy’s mouth.

Orange hair clears his throat. “What he means is, we don’t appreciate the tone you’re using with us. Please leave us alone ma’am. We’ll be on our way. Goodbye.” They attempt to brush past her.

“Hey hold on a minute! I’m not done with you!!” This lady even has the balls to grab onto orange hair’s arm. “I demand to speak to your owner!” Then some sort of realization dawns upon her because her eyes go wide, then quickly narrow. “And where are your collars? Aren’t owned hybrids supposed to have collars on? You know I just might have to call Hybrid Services.”

You can see the boys visibly tense at her words as she sports a satisfied smirk. Poor Sylvia is now gently tugging on her shirt. “Please calm down, miss…” she says desperately trying to remedy the situation.

Before you know it, and without any plan of action, you round the corner and march up to the boys, standing defensively in front of them.

“Um…” You gulp, then clear your throat, speaking in what you hope is a more confident tone. “Sorry I took so long guys! You wouldn’t believe the line at the coffee shop!”

#bts fic #bts hybrid au #hoseok fanfic #yoongi fanfic #bts smut #bts fluff #bts fanfction #hybrid hoseok #hybrid yoongi #bts hybrid fic

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vivi-the-sky-kid · 4 years

Text

All right, so I did the math, and I believe I've come up with a way to make getting past ultimate gifts from season not only feasible in the current scheme of things, but challenging and time-consuming enough that it shouldn't make people who bought the corresponding adventure pass(es) feel like they "wasted" their money

The Math

So, to start off, we need to lay down a basic rate for sessonal candles. With the pass, not including any bonuses from pre-ordering, you can get a maximum of 6 seasonal candles per day (4 from the quests, 1 from the candle clumps, and 1 bonus one due to the pass). This adds up to a rate of 42 candles per week

The seasons have all had varying lengths and candle requirements to complete each constellation, but given this rate, we can calculate roughly how long it would take to complete a given season without buying any candle packs from the store (and excluding any pre-order bonuses)

Total candle costs were taken from the wiki

Gratitude – 230 candles – ~5.5 weeks

Lightseekers – 272 candles – ~6.5 weeks

Belonging – 274 candles – ~6.5 weeks

Rhythm – 330 candles – ~7.9 weeks

Enchantment – 286 candles – ~6.8 weeks

Sanctuary – 292 candles – ~7 weeks

Please note that, with the exception of Belonging, all of these final times were rounded up to the tenth decimal place (Belonging is technically closer to 6.52)

Why are we going by weeks? I'll tell you why:

Because ascended candles can only be obtained on a weekly basis

Ascended candles are, arguably, some of the most difficult in-game currency to obtain, in terms of the effort that must be put into them (regular hearts are a close second, but this is mainly due to factors like number of friends)

Additionally, they are the only currency that is limited on a weekly basis: regular candles reset daily, and hearts are primarily linked to friendship (yes, this includes the ones purchased from spirits, as TGC refers to their shops as "developing your friendship with them"). They have a set rate of 15.75 ascended candles per week, and for lower-level players, this means they'll need to make multiple trips to Eden to obtain all 15.75

Eden runs are extremely time-consuming and require a lot of effort—at least on the part of low-level players. People who are skilled enough at going oob to avoid most of Eden or taking advantage of wind walls to fly up to the first temple are also usually the more experienced players. Even then, although they may have to put less effort in, they're still limited by the weekly rate

Why are we bringing up ascended candles? For the sake of the new currency I'm proposing be used to rectify the matter of seasonal ultimate gifts:

Ascended hearts

The Proposal

Not only do ascended hearts help complete the pairs of currency (regular hearts/candles, seasonal hearts/candles, ascended hearts/candles), they would also be exceedingly difficult to obtain. My proposal is that not only must they be exchanged at a rate of 20 ascended candles (AC) for one ascended heart (AH), but that they can only be purchased while in Orbit, perhaps from the Elders

If we keep the total costs of seasonal ultimate gifts equal in terms of seasonal and ascended hearts, we would end up with needing roughly six AH to obtain a season's ultimate gift(s). Six AH would require 120 AC

Given the rate we established earlier, this would require 8 weeks to accumulate enough AC to purchase all those hearts. 8 weeks is longer than any of the other times we established for completing a season during its run, with Rhythm coming close

Additionally, the amount of effort put into obtaining all those seasonal candles (SC), with the exception of a few quests (free a manta and hold hands in a group of 4, to name a couple), is significantly less than the amount of effort put into obtaining all 15.75 AC per week for 8 weeks

Then there's the matter that SC can only be spent on that season's constellation, whereas AC have multiple uses, such as buying wing buffs from spirits or purchasing certain consumables from the Forgotten Ark. This brings in another factor that players would have to consider: give up some of their AC to purchase buffs/spells? Or save up for buying AH?

Going back to the where of obtaining AH, perhaps we could implement the Elders into their purchase. We could also limit buying these hearts to one per elder, per month, and perhaps only after completing their respective constellations, meaning that not only would AH require AC, but also need regular candles and hearts to even hope of buying them

Tl;dr:

Add ascended hearts to the game. Make them worth 20 ascended candles apiece and only purchasable in Orbit, possibly only from elders with completed constellations. The time and effort required to obtain ascended hearts would exceed the time and effort spent on completing a season

#sky children of the light #sky #eden spoilers #i guess?#maybe the bit at the end was overkill #but hey #at least it gives the elders a greater role in things

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marwritesgood · 5 years

Text

Secrets | O. Diaz

Pairing: Oscar x Martinez!Reader

Timeframe: Season 3 Episode 8

Summary: He tells her he’ll call, and he’s never broken a promise to her.

masterlist

A/N: I have too many thoughts on Season 3. So now I have too many fic ideas.

My parents and youngest siblings were out of the house, and my grandmother was on her own adventure somewhere via here station wagon. I took this as the opportunity to call my brother and his friends over and get them to spill the details about what they had been up to for the past few months.

Ever since Ruby came home at 11 o’clock at night, they had been acting secretive, Spooky included. After sticking my neck out for them when they were trying to clean the rollerworld money, I felt offended that they were hiding things from me again.

I was ready to bribe and torture them until they talked, but it was only a few minutes into the investigation and Ruby and Jamal were already squealing.

“- So now we have until July to find Lil’ Ricky before Cuchillos gets mad.”

Ruby and Jamal were breathing heavily after detailing everything that happened. Meanwhile, Monse and Cesar were glaring at them both for having such little will power.

“You mean to tell me,” I began, crossing my arms and knitting my eyebrows together. Ruby shrunk back down to his, knowing what was about to happen. “That you’ve been in the middle of a gang-affiliated vendetta for the past few months and I’m just only hearing about this now?! And after I helped you with the rollerworld money and convinced Spooky to help Cesar.”

Guilt washed over all four of their faces because they knew I was right. They recruited Jasmine and Oscar’s help almost as soon as they were tasked with the job, but left me in the dark until the very end. Ruby, having looked significantly more flushed than the others, stared down at his shoes as he spoke to defend the four of them.

“Oscar made us keep it from you,” he stated, voice trembling with fear, because he knew the kind of conflict this would create. Perhaps he hated the idea of me being mad at him more than he hated the thought of me being mad at Spooky.

“He did what?”

Speak of the devil and he shall appear. Just as his name was brought up in the conversation, a loud knock on the front door sounded throughout the living room area. Ruby’s eyes widened with horror, having become familiar with sound of Spooky’s knock from all the times he’d come over when my parents weren’t around.

It wasn’t until I opened the door that the other three caught on and sunk into their seats in terror. I was glaring at Oscar the moment I opened the door to him, but he was clueless, smiling like a fool because we hadn’t seen each other in a few days. When he glanced over my shoulder and saw the kids, however, he began to piece together what had happened.

“You have some explaining to do,” I stated bluntly, making my way back to where I stood in the living room- leaving Oscar to follow me inside without the traditional kiss we’d share as a greeting. “All of you do... So start talking.”

“You told her?”

“It was Ruby!” Jamal held his hand out and pointed at my brother, whose eyes somehow grew wider than they already were. I saw Oscar inhale deeply, flaring his nostrils while doing so, in the corner of my eye.

“She tortured it out of me! I’m not made of stone,” my brother retorted.

“All she did was yell at us,” Monse stated.

“Oh, you do not know my sister,” Ruby said defensively, holding his finger out in Monse’s direction. “The last time I made her that angry, she shaved one of my eyebrows off in my sleep, I wasn’t gonna take my chances-”

“Hey!” Spooky was glaring at all four of them, still unimpressed that they told me about what happened. “You four have done enough. Cesar, take ‘em and leave.”

One word was enough for Cesar to know what Oscar wanted him to do. He lances over at the other three, before getting up and heading towards the front door. They stood and followed him out, most likely to meet up again at Spooky’s house to discuss more plans behind my back.

I had grown tired of trying to avoid being kept in the dark, so I let them leave. Not to mention, it was Oscar who kept them from telling me what was happening, so it was him who I was mostly angry at.

“I can’t believe you, Spooky,” I scoffed, a beat after the door slammed shut and the kids were out of earshot. “You told them not to tell me? What the hell?!”

“I didn’t wanna get you involved,” he reasoned.

That was his reasoning for almost everything. I understood matters concerning the Santos. I understood the deals that went down between them and the prophets. Each of the jobs he had to do here and there because of it. But this wasn’t like that, and he knew it.

“So you don’t think I have a right to know when my brother’s in danger?” I placed my hand on my hip and waited two seconds for him to say something. When he didn’t, I beat him to it. “Since when do we keep shit like this from each other?”

He sighed when I brought that up. I knew that wasn’t what he meant to do, but that didn’t change the fact that Ruby was in danger and he kept it from me. He shoves his hand in his pocket, and I could already sense that he was about to say something stupid.

“You took Cesar in last summer without telling me.”

My eyes grew wide in frustration, and my mouth fell open. Spooky caught on almost instantly that bringing that up was doing the opposite of helping his argument, but that didn’t stop me from making it absolutely clear to him.

“So what? Because I didn’t want Cesar to sleep on the streets, it makes it okay for you to hide things about my brother from me?” Again, I waited a few seconds for Spooky to response, but there was nothing he could say. On the other hand, I still had a lot to get off my chest. “How would you feel if Cesar was in danger and I made sure you didn’t know about it?”

“Okay,” he sighed, his cheeks flushed because this was a rare moment; me scolding him. And about the protection of our brothers, of all things. “I get what you’re saying.”

“Oh do you?” I said sarcastically.

“Y/n,” Oscar reached for my hand, and I knew what he was doing. My boyfriend had so much charm. It had gotten him out of a lot of grudges and arguments, but not this one.

“Don’t,” I shrieked, yanking my hand away from him and stepping back. “- touch me. I’m really mad at you right now, Oscar... And I am so sick of you keeping shit from me. I’m so sick of watching the people I love be put in danger, and have no clue about what’s going on.”

He keeps his head down, and I know he’s caught on. This wasn’t the first time he kept important things from me. When Ruby was shot, I had no it was Latrelle who did it until Jamal told me at the hospital. When Mario was getting targeted by a group of Prophets, I didn’t find out until he came home bloody and bruised. When he was sent to prison, I didn’t find out until Cesar came knocking on my door with tears streaming down his face.

“I know you do it because you’re trying to look out for me,” I cried. As much as I enjoyed winning an argument, I didn’t scold Oscar to make him feel bad for doing what he genuinely thought was the right thing. “But it hurts more when I have to find out this way.”

Silence fills the air for an uncomfortable amount of time. I watched Spooky stare at the ground as he thinks something through in his mind.

“I’m handling it today,” he began, as finally looked up at me, his expression less stoic than its natural state. “Cuchillos... she’s taking a meeting she’s not walking out of. I’m gonna make damn sure of it.”

I could help but let out a sigh of relief. Even after the kids told me about their task to find Lil’ Ricky, they wouldn’t budge on talking about the rest of the plan. It felt good to know what was happening for once.

However the danger of the situation became alarming aware to me as I continued to process. I was beginning to empathise with Spooky as to why he kept things from me. The hurting was inevitable.

“Hey,” he whispered, after noting the tears brimming in my eyes. He took hold of my face as he closed the distance between us. “Look at me... Remember when I called you that time? Before I closed the deal with the prophets? I promised you I’d come home. And what did I do?”

“You came home,” I answered, after sniffling as I wiped my tears away.

“And when I did time,” he added, this time lifting his other hand to caress the other side of my face. “I promised you I’d get out early, and what happened?”

“You got out early,” I sighed.

For someone who had just lost an argument, and had put his life on the line several times beforehand, he made a really good point about keeping his word.

“Exactly, mi vida,” he smiled, gazing into my eyes until I began smiling back. It was hard staying mad at him. “I promise you I will handle this, and I promise I’ll call you as soon as it’s done.”

He gently pulled me closer to him, and kissed my temple, before hugging me close to his chest. I placed my hands on the backs of his shoulders and buried my face in the crook of his neck. I wanted to believe his promise, but I couldn’t help but savour the smell of his shirt... just in case.

***

“Y/n, c’mon I went to the mall just to get this for you.” Ruby was whining about buying me my favourite combo from my favourite food joint at his least favourite place- the mall. “He’s gonna call, Y/n... You having something to eat isn’t gonna affect that.”

My eyes had been glued to my phone for most of the three days in which Spooky was gone. And with passing moment, my anxiety and fear grew exponentially.

“Look, I gotta go,” he sighed, placing his hand on my shoulder. “We’re gonna hideout somewhere until it’s handled... but please eat something.”

I exhaled and put my phone down for the first time in several hours.

“Ok,” I breathed, before pulling the food closer to me. Ruby smiled and began heading towards the door. Before he reached it I called out to him. “And Ruby?... Be careful.”

He came back to me, and kissed me on the forehead before leaving with his duffel bag on him. It was difficult eating my dinner alone, with two of my favourite guys gone.

My abuelita came home after an hour, by which I had made myself comfortable on the living room couch. She sat at the kitchen table, a cup of coffee in one hand and her sewing job in the other.

I had began drifting to sleep, by the time it was nightfall. My grandmother must have took notice, because I had my eyes closed for a few minutes and by the time I opened them again, she had placed a blanket over me.

Then, just as I was about to call it a night, and head to my bedroom for yet another night of half-sleeping and half-staying alert for Oscar’s call, there was a knock at our front door. I sat up instantly.

Turning to my grandmother who looked just as I confused as I did I concluded that the only person who would be knocking at the time of the night would not be good news. Ruby had his own key, and so did my parents.

With one hand on Mario’s ld baseball bat, I slowly made my way to the door. As I pulled it open, I gasped in horror.

“Spooky?” I had never seen him with so many cuts and bruises. Without hesitating, I swung his arm over my shoulder and helped him inside. “Abuelita? Abuelita, get your sewing kit.”

After sitting him down at our kitchen table, I held his hand and winced while my grandmother stitched his wounds up. Even in the state he was in, Spooky still had the nerve to chuckle at how squeamish I was. I wasn’t typically faint-hearted, but something about these wounds being on Spooky made my skin crawl.

“Thank you,” my abuelita whispered to Oscar as she finished stitching up his last wound.

“For what?”

“You know what,” she replied, smiling at him. I squeezed his hand and he lifted mine to his lips. Even beaten and bruised, he was still charming as ever. “So... what are you gonna do with the money?”

He turned his head to my abuelita, and he smiled. She nodded, as if she understood exactly what he was trying to communicate, but I was still clueless. Silently, she stood up and walked into one of the bedrooms to give us privacy. I finished placing a bandage over Oscar’s neck, when I noticed him staring at me.

“What?” I asked softly. He reached for my hand and interlocked our fingers together. I put my hand on his lap and gave him my attention.

“You still mad at me?”

“No,” I smiled, before taking the bottle of booze he’d been drinking and taking a gulp of it for myself. I needed it after watching my grandmother stitch him up. After putting the bottle back onto the table, it dawned on me what he had done. “... Is it really over?”

He took hold of my face and pressed our temples against one another. As I gazed at him with worried eyes, he smiled- more confident than ever.

“I handled it, baby.” He chuckled lightly, like getting it done didn’t cost him a few days of getting beaten and battered. “And I can finally get out... We can finally get out.”

It hadn’t occurred to me that one of his motives, aside from saving the kids, was finding a way out. Ever since his affiliation with the Santos became explicit involvement, we fantasised a life away from Freeridge. It was finally becoming and option for us.

That’s what he was gonna use the money for.

I leaned closer to him and kissed him softly. He stroked my cheek, while I held onto his wrist, too afraid to hurt him by touching one of his facial cuts accidentally. As I pulled away, I thought back to our last argument.

“No more secrets?”

Spooky shook his head before, lifting his head to kiss my forehead. He made sure to lift my chin and grin at me before shaking his head once more.

“No más.”

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blankdblank · 4 years

Text

Ridikulus Pt 36

“Among word of an incoming engagement to both Elven King and Lord on the heels of a soon to be named premier of Jaqi Black’s latest cinematic appearance comes with another new tidbit to clarify a long since pondered puzzle. Not a few months past the win of the Kenmare Kestrals, the team which won the Quidditch League Cup with Miss Black at the helm of Thief, an unmistakable pregnancy was announced by Rita Skeeter. Such conditions are protected and some fans have questioned if the Kestrals should have relinquished the trophy as their Thief has possibly broken that rule against harm of any possible child conceived at any duration of a pregnancy.

From none other than Newt Scamander we have our answer, Boa Red Panda Cubs. Known upon further research to have used Morphers as surrogates in the past while Miss Black and then fiancé David Tennant had been guarding their surrogate for their little girl on a protected island question of survival through the oncoming battles brought on a wish to leave some good behind should the worst come to pass. An old offer from Newt, known to be good friends and mentor to Miss Black since discovery of her Basilisk on Hogwarts grounds, was taken up and together have forged a new brighter future for a once marked to near endangered status with populations soon to be thriving with hoard of daughters in the fifteen cubs born, fourteen of which are female.”

Process of impregnating was next along with statistics that even before the war they were marked for extinction if they had not been regimes to your islands anyways through the destruction of their home territories in the war. With a stunning two month gestation period to calm any nay sayers on you being so heavily pregnant for such a short time out of nowhere. Some more it carried on filling in details on the rare breed and then branches into how this was a much needed good bit of news on the heels of a chunk on the yearly pox push that was marked as successful branching into news on the fostered youth in the Elven and Dwarf territories.

Letters plopped onto the end of the table and Regulus said, “Jaqi, from Newt.” Waving the letter he lifted them opened at your approving nod reading, “Apparently Newt has been hearing whispers on an inquiry into the validity of your win on terms of pregnancy. He submitted memories of conception and birth to go with his official statement on the event along with documented notes on the Panda populations. Apologizes for not warning you sooner.”

You shook your head, “Had to come out soon enough with the new season.” Continuing to finish feeding Em so you could eat before your first class.

The second page however was turned to and Lindir said, “Oh,”

You looked at him as Regulus asked, “Oh?”

Lindir said, “It’s a death notice. It reads, speculation and rumor has spread around the absence of a driving force of our allied forces these near on two decades past. Harry Potter, upon the discovery of Auror Nymphadora Tonks, wife of freshly elected Minister of Magic Remus Lupin, has been revealed to have sacrificed himself to push Auror Tonks and another to safety in the call to flee. While hope was held out in the search of the final missing duo and searches of the new lands were approved by the leaders of said lands coming up moot with the exception of the discovery of another kingdom named Rohan.

Aged just out of his teens brave young Harry is survived by numerous aunts, uncles and cousins along with his newborn son now in the custody of his godfather Sirius Black.

For now this is just a notice of death with another issue to follow enlisting all of those lost to the flight and battles prior destroying our old world. While talks of a memorial are still in discussion within the Ministry walls to be forged and no doubt unveiled in the summer breaks of our magical schools to ensure all will be available to attend.

Again the Ministry is continuing its plea to not use the flue system until all grids have been inspected. Out of a yet to be explained fluke formerly assumed deceased Leta Lestrange was discovered by her distant relation along with that of her oddly still toddler aged baby brother Corvus Lestrange. Their arrival came on the heels of the feather and spider barrage from the flue system making it all the more puzzling as no other long since deceased figures have been discovered as of yet.”

Sirius said in shifting the bottle in Fin’s mouth, “We had to say something. People kept asking on Harry and no doubt would when Leta was spotted.”

Em swallowed her last spoonful and Regulus smiled taking her on his knee as you said, “Not a bad explanation.”

Neville said, “Well Hermi and I are off to check on Lockhart today, see what he remembers.”

You asked, “Luna not going?”

Luna answered, “Oh they have me helping Draco with possible ideas for the memorials. I was thinking of involving Thestral charms somehow, or Nifflers if the former is too morbid for some.”

Neville, “Besides, we figure since we know him a bit more than others he might be more open to sharing with us.”

Ginny said in your glance her way accepting the crescent roll bin she passed your way, “I get to go with Regulus to gather notes from Star Speakers from the Elven Kingdoms to pass onto our Astrology classes. I get the impression it will take a while.”

Again Lindir turned the page taking in each odd article until he said, “Three headed puppies for sale... Is that accurate?”

He asked looking to Regulus who leaned in, “They’re not meant to sell those in papers. Strictly protected creatures requiring licenses.” Reading over the ad he said, “Cerberus do have three heads, however these are memorabilia on the mascots for a pro Quidditch team. Selling homemade goods to honor their favorite teams prepping for the future season and no doubt stashing up funds for tickets.”

Lindir looked your way asking, “Does your team have a mascot?”

Ginny answered as oh were eating, “Kenmare Kestrals have golden harps on a green background. Other than that they are known for using Leprechauns on occasion.”

Lindir looked to the paper in search of an ad for that and Regulus chuckled, “True Kestral fans buy from the source. Their own shops in Ireland. Badge of pride for them getting goods with the official seals and details around signatures from their favorites.”

Lindir nodded, “Yes, Lord Glorfindel informed us of the tradition of autographs. Quite interesting gifts from those you admire.” Again he looked to his paper and you held back your giggles at his tries to blend in on his second morning he had slept over the night prior. Figuring out himself how he fit into the incoming future of dwelling with his One. Before long however you were off to school claiming a kiss from Em on her cheek as well as one for Fin then hurried off through your door to make it to your desk in time for your students to enter. All seeing your hands smoothing around the waistband of your jeans ensuring your blouse was tucked in properly still. Questions still lingering in their eyes with a few papers spotted in between making you say, “Alright. Before the lesson, anyone have any questions about today’s paper?” All the hands shot up and with a smirk you went a desk at a time answering each to calm any confusion or concern from those stunned by some of what was in the papers.

Tucked in a private suite in the bustling floor for energy maladies Lockhart laid back in his assigned bed still under watch of the doctors there ensuring nothing else had befallen the popular Wizard. Upon seeing the familiar young Ministry Members he inched up in his seat grinning at the pair collecting a silver framed compact and another small trinket now rested on his lap. “Miss Granger and young Longbottom, I was curious which of my old students would be sent my way to question me.”

Pulling a duo of stools from the wall over the teens sat and Neville asked, “Feeling better? Remus said you were rather queasy last time he saw you.”

Lockhart nodded and said, “Yes, and I am pleased to have been so prompt in checking on me. While it appears mainly my captors were only able to drain my energy I was able to ascertain much more. And while some may not believe me to be of much use sans powers my plan worked out brilliantly.”

Hermione’s brows arched up, “Your plan? You planned to be captured?”

Lockhart nodded with a spreading smile, “You see, we arrived here and there were whispers of a Wizard hiding horcrux and deeming to endanger us all. How better to draw out such a fool than with a chance to take a hostage. I make quite the damsel, and I knew you all would find me soon enough. The Elf Lords did share which lands were known and which might be more likely for said baddy to be hiding in. Starting off, I have this for you,” passing over the silver framed compact to Neville closest to him. “Mirror glass charm contains my travels and especially the castle they kept me in, which is where I found this,” into Hermione’s palm a golden ring with runes of Khuzdul around a large rectangular sapphire narrowing her eyes recognizing Durin’s marker inside the band. “There were two more I couldn’t reach. But that one I managed to get close to. I know they said that Wizard had an affinity for using rings for his misdeeds so I assumed that might be the most useful.”

Neville asked, “Where did they take you, any idea?”

“Just past Gondor within a ring of mountains, not Mordor, I know Mordor has a volcano, there was one in the distance, perhaps one of the Elves might know where I was. Upon our flight back however there was a destroyed little village we flew over similar to where the Dwarves were met heard those houses were in hills. Caught sight of Mordor and a set of islands in the distance all coated with white glowing trees.”

Journals were brought over from his night table as well copied to ensure he had full record of all this adventure the pair flipped through listening to his sharing exact details around symbols they knew to be where he would embellish later. And when they went to leave he grinned saying, “Some might find it a bit mad however this will make a perfect plot for my next best seller.”

His next round of tests had the duo leaving trading nods and handshakes with the former Professor on their way to head to your house first to go through the memories and journals more thoroughly. Leaving the possible basilisk venom dip of the ring to you later so any memories from it might be tapped by you for more help in the search for the remaining Dwarf Rings from Sauron. A report was drafted up to share with the Ministry to be edited later for full disclosure once you had consulted the memories and Elves for information on the unknown lands and any more cursed items securing all threats to peace had been quashed.

To their evenings off the duo relaxed while Fred and George at the shop caught their first glimpses of a few Dwarves eyeing the shop known to be yours. The brothers stealing glances at one another from across the sales floor making note to share with you more clients for the gender swap potion clearly successful by Thorin’s demonstration.

Ginny’s evening however seemed to drag on while Regulus gleefully delved into learning about the stars and constellations of this world. For his hope to possibly use a name for a child of his own with Lindir the rule limiting that sank his mood a tinge at least until the next tale was shared. Copies of each record was made by Regulus who would compile them later to fit better way for sharing with the schools for one of a set of encyclopedia’s of sorts on this new world and lands to be sold and used in schools to inform the masses to study.

Post feeding at lunch you did get a glimpse of Regulus’ notes brightening your mood on having to keep delving into the painful subjects covered in the paper. Though after school a wish to have some time to yourself brought you to the open pastures beyond the stables in the middle of the trees you walked eyeing the branches above. Soft hoof beats behind you and a warm breath to follow shifting your raven ended silver ponytail across your back turned you around to find Turo there, “Hello Queenie, care to run?”

Grinning up at him in a stroke of his cheek he lowered his head to receive more, “Only if you’re up for it. Just needed some time to myself before heading home finding others.”

“Sometimes silence and solitude can be cleansing to a wounded heart. Our youngest require supervised runs, come and run with us, allow the forest to speak to your pain.”

“Thank you,” you said stroking his neck in a turn for the stables to dress the Great Elk hoping this run may help to lighten your spirits.

Scattered between the hoof beats stray tears flew off your cheeks in tiny gems nestling into the grass sprouting wild flowers for the opening steps of the run until the smaller elk came into view and surrounded you. The response to your letter to the Pear clan about the papers was thankfully supportive with actual glee that Em was never in risk for being harmed. Each of them so proud to hear of your special task of aiding an endangered species supporting the affection you have for magical creatures they treasured highly since first meeting you. They had put up with so much, the whole David mystery and dissolution of whatever that was just as suddenly as it had popped up, Em out of nowhere before the nonexistent wedding, and now hearing you carried cubs for a giant cuddly creature. You just hoped Em, if she learned the truth, she wouldn’t hate you for what some could be seen as a bold faced lie.

The boys were well aware that they were adopted, had memories of their families you knew they were holding back on to spare your feelings. So much like their wish to be older than they are, even to the point of barring playtime in fear of harming their clothes. There was so much you had to unlock for them and somehow in balancing the weight of all your godchildren with help of the new Ministry this generation would be a safer and happier one. Stolen strokes of your hand down Tuo’s shoulder in slowed breaks allowing another young one to pass him up had him glancing back to you in subtle checks on if your mood was lightening. A break for water however for the young ones had his head turn again to spot your downward gaze at the grass and he asked, “Are you in pain, Queenie?”

Your eyes met his and shaking your head you replied, “Do you get orphans in your herds?”

“On occasion. We have heard of the young ones you have gotten charge of. Is one of them unwell?”

“No, I just, another woman carried my daughter. I don’t want her to hate me when she finds out. Everyone knows about it now.”

Underneath you on his hooves his body weight settled and facing you as fully as possible he replied, “No greater gift to claim a young one who requires a clan. The sons you have accepted in your heart are beyond content to have been welcomed they will always bear a fondness and love for their adopted mother. Your daughter will be proud to have such a mother to guide her.”

That had a tear drop down your cheek causing him to inhale deeply, “A lot of people are dead because of me, and there was no shortage of people who wanted me dead. So many cruel people that never hesitated when I was a child to sentence me to be beaten and imprisoned. Only thing I can think of when I remember the names of people I’m responsible for their deaths is if I killed enough. If my little girl is ever going to have to be afraid to tell people her name like my dad was.” Another tear fell and you wiped your cheek on your shoulder saying after a sniffle, “It hurts so much, how easy it could have been for me to have killed them all, anyone who tried to hurt or insult me. I could have put even Melkor to shame I bet, all the chances they gave me to turn dark. Em shouldn’t have to be afraid, least of all of me, what I had to do to get us here where she could be safe.”

His mate had come up beside you turning your head with a comforting nuzzle of her head into your belly, “All our fathers face painful seasons we may not weather to build our herds stronger. Your pain will not be lost to your daughter.”

Tuo spoke again, “There is honor in kindness little Queenie. In mercy. A strength some will never face. Hard lessons must be given to our young and we must stay the path we cannot shield them from all suffering and trials.”

“Thank you,” you said stroking her face and his neck again. “I don’t mean to sour the mood of your run.”

Another of the Elk stated, “You have soured nothing. Runs are great times for clan discussions.”

One of the other females added, “We have seen the birth and growth of many a young one, the troubles are welcomed among our herd. Your daughter is your first child, always the most worrying along with your final child.”

The bounding steps of her youngest from his full belly of water had you giggle at the circle around her he made joined by his cousins around the legs of their own parents starting the second round of the run. It was nothing new you had heard but somehow with the hoofed creatures you felt more support in hearing it from them. Back to the stables you got swinging your leg over the front of the saddle to drop down and begin undressing Tuo who pressed his head into your belly glad for the gentle hug to his head and peck to his forehead as a goodbye freeing him back to his family. “Pleasant run, Darling?”

Turned around your eyes fell on Glorfindel in his moment to wet his lips looking you over in this stolen time alone, “The baby elk are adorable.”

However you hoped to sound closing the distance he asked with hands smoothing from your shoulders downwards, “Something is troubling you.”

“Just over thinking the reaction Em might have to hearing I didn’t carry her when she’s older. The Pears are relieved, like others have been that she wasn’t in danger at all.” Inching his head closer to silently urge more from you he sighed to your stating, “I’m fine.”

The distance between you was closed and what was meant to be a brief kiss found him again pressed into that moment of that evening he had to leave you from such a warm chance at entangled matrimony to finally be all yours. Firmly his hands pressed into the small of your back melting more into the kiss that lured your hands from his middle upwards. Clearly he had hoped for a place more secluded, yet in the stroke of your fingertips along his jaw in a path towards his ear the stall he felt you step back to would have to be accepted for now. Two blind steps and he readied to lift a hand to open the gate to at least be inside for some semblance of privacy only the back of his hand met silk. In the blind fumble a decision of your own called your enchanted doorway that brought you straight inside the King’s apartment, unknowingly into the back of the King.

From the papers in hand his eyes rose turning at the body that pressed into his back. Pink lipped in a break for air Glorfindel straightened up a bit as you turned your head to catch the turning King’s gaze that warmed in seeing it was you. “Hello, Dew Drop,” you managed to squeak out with a hint of a blush that made the corner of his mouth tick upwards.

“Hello, My Darling Starlight,” his eyes scanned over your face.

Glorfindel said, “Apparently our Love is fine.”

“Hmm,” Thranduil hummed and shifted a hand to stroke though your hair behind your ear, fingers finding their own strands of curls to tangle in at the warm demanding kiss, through which Glorfindel’s hands stroked along your back and side. The moment his lips left yours however to press to your cheek below your ear Glorfindel moved with a hand raised to your neck, thumb extended to angle your head in a slow tilt granting the King a straight path to trail his lips meeting your shoulder when you turned your head again. Hungrily now claiming your neck Glorfindel moved in what would be the tipping point to a blind tugging path to get the three of you on the lounge in the bedroom now locked to prevent the children coming in.

Against the back of the lounge you rested still on a knee stretching to give Thranduil more neck to claim. His hand you found only partially certain of its owner to ease up under the end of your disheveled shirt for the snapping of the tether or restraint. Your shirt went first and down your chest to your back he moved guiding you to melt more into Glorfindel’s kiss so he might selfishly steal the first taste of your skin and claim as many strokes and caresses as possible until Glorfindel gained the courage to be more bold. Their shirts were next and again in a tangle of lips that same hand was smoothed along your thigh in a silent path to the waistband you had magically undone.

Permission was given and while your hands worked the pair into a frenzy around you his to make you come undone first while his moan parted lips savored the bare skin revealed between those obstinate loose curls failing to bar him from that tempting silky skin on his newly made wife. Easily they crumbled first and in an experienced albeit rusty endurance Thranduil made easy the task of turning you to lay you against Glorfindel’s chest to wiggle your lower layers off and see to your release next.

Slow and tender his lips found yours upon your recovery and with a chuckle blending into your soft giggle to Glorfindel’s question of, “How do I touch you?” Thranduil simply kissed you while you did the instructing, until he had the chance to lay you against his chest to hold you through the finale of your lesson, hands loose and wandering to the helpful nibble on your ear.

Just breathing in the silence you sat between the pair, like kittens nuzzling their heads affectionately to yours with stolen kisses in between, both allowing you the first word in joint adoration of this blissful union. “I take it this means we’re married now.”

Those were the magic words and with a thumb used to turn your chin in a blissful hum Thranduil replied, “We are married,” claiming the lingering kiss to seal those words into being contractual. All it took, the offer of matrimony after the physical union and with agreement and kiss the marriage is born.

Of course you didn’t get the depth of that offer for them and how long they had waited to have this one particular moment they had dreamed of come true. Glorfindel was next not missing his chance to reply, “We are married,” beginning a kiss for which reason why you couldn’t help but struggle against the moment ending smile fighting to spread across your face.

The next silent moment however came with your hand smoothing over the droplet of milk now leaking out down your belly. “I should probably take a bath and pump.”

“Of course, a bath sounds wonderful.” Glorfindel said in his pop up with smile down at your bringing out yours at the Elf with haphazardly loose pants still open and threatening to fall that matched his lopsided curls your hands had eased one side slightly out from the ribbon wrapped down the length of his ponytail. Into his offered hand yours settled and you found your feet with crownless King smoothing his fingers through his out of place hair ignoring the open pants shifting down his hips in each step.

Thranduil, “Give us a chance to give you a massage as well if you wish.”

The pair while you dipped a foot into the hot spring in the open bath tugged off their boots and pushed the last of their coverings down to step into the water to help you down into the seemingly bottomless pool of a tub. “How deep does this go?”

Thranduil, “Not far, the bottom is lined with abyss crystals however that deepen the appearance of it. There is a bench inside here.”

They both helped you to sit down and while he worked the ribbon wrap from his hair Glorfindel said, “You most certainly were not fine when I found you. Would you care to discuss it? We are your husbands and here to aid in your burdens.”

Softly you sighed watching Thranduil’s long arm bring the floating soap bowl over in case you wanted to use some of his. “I was doubting if I killed enough of the despicable people from my world so Em would never have to be afraid they would do to her what they did to me.” They shifted closer to your sides in the lift of your feet onto the bench in front of you. “I’m never going to be perfect, I have moments or days even where I get so helplessly lost in the pain of all those wrongs. Seventeen years I didn’t have a life that was mine, I didn’t matter except as a shield, and,” you inhaled looking between them with tears bubbling into your eyes mirrored by theirs at the darkening or your roots.

“75 adults on the Wizengamot sentenced me to Azkaban when I was eleven years old, ‘by any means necessary’ they were told to get me to surrender Tulip. That’s what the records said along with notes of the names of seven ‘suspect’ Wizards who could have argued against the decision they kept from knowledge on the vote. They had me for a month before I was found. People have no idea how many chances I had to go dark, how easy they made it, and people would have still supported me. I could have put Melkor to shame. I spent so long with people that made my skin crawl, with a mark from the man who tortured my mother to death and tried to kill me and Harry. I can’t say how many times I wanted to snap and just blow up entire buildings with thousands for my death count.”

A tear dropped down your cheek furrowing their brows in focus to not cry themselves sensing the pain you were expressing. “I lost it once, I thought my aunt Bellatrix had killed my dad, I had her head in my hand and, I slammed it into the ground. And I kept punching her until she stabbed me in the side to get me off her. I lost it,” you whispered out to another two tears falling and you shook your head lifting a hand to wipe your cheeks. “Remus managed to snap me out of it, and I managed to get back, to the plan. I haven’t been able to breathe for seventeen years, and it hurts to breathe a bit right now. But, I’m trying, to see who I can be now.” Your eyes shifted to Thranduil saying, “I wouldn’t trust me to be in power right now. I’ll try to help you both if you need it, but-,”

They moved closer and smoothed their hands over your arms and Glorfindel said, “Take your time. There is no rush. No one is going to force you into anything you don’t want to take charge of. We have charge here.”

Thranduil drew your gaze adding, “No one is harming our little ones. There is an army to guarantee that now, all of the Elf Lords would send armies should anyone dare to be foolish and harm a child in these lands. A promise the Dwarf councils will surely back as well.”

“I’m sorry,”

You said and he again shook his head saying, “You owe us no apology.”

“There always was a goal, a job to do, no mission.”

Glorfindel said, “You will find peace, that was very much my same pain upon my return. The restlessness. I know you will handle the pain better than I had.”

Thranduil chuckled saying, “Made it his mission to collect every uncut quartz stone in our river beds. Took him months and upset countless beavers and bears in the process. Five hundred years of watching him drenching wet being chased by some creature roaring after him. You make mistakes, you learn and heal.”

You nodded and said to the ripple of your hair to silvery blue again calming them a bit at your pain retracting its claws, “Well whoever cleans that couch will be furious, I’ll charm it when we get out.”

Glorfindel began to smooth his hand down to your leg he claimed, “Pay no mind to the couch,” massaging it while Thranduil claimed the other.

Couch charmed and wrapped in a towel you dried your hair with your wand using a jet of warm air you shifted to help the others with theirs afterwards giving both a time to smile in your fingers again traveling through their long locks. Again in fresh pants the pair found you now in shorts and a tank top, lip tucked between your teeth in thought widening their curious smiles on the path to your sides for another cheek cupped kiss for the both of them from their loving wife once you had finished pumping your milk. Both speaking to you sweetly all the while and helping in the transition between bottles when the two were filled and capped the third when you had tapped out halfway.

Behind his back however Thranduil kept the hand holding the box with gift meant for just this occasion to Glorfindel’s hand being offered that snapped you from your thoughts. “Might we discuss something with you a moment?”

You nodded and joined them back on the couch, wetting your lips in the cross of your legs to look at the pair on the foot stools in front of you. Glorfindel anxiously bumped Thranduil’s arm with his and you looked between them and then to the expanded then retracted smile on his face that preceded his throat being cleared. “Our Love, now, with this new deepening of our union comes certain tokens to bestow and so after much deliberation and sleepless nights put to use between us we wished to present this to you. Like a small metal book the box now resting in your palm waiting to be opened in the retraction of the King’s hands from leaving it there. His fingers hovering a moment then reaching out to open the lid that caused your heart to skip.

Inside on 4 overlapping bands, 2 black, 2 silver with white glowing stones lining these. In the center a yellow heart also surrounded by more of the white glowing stones with two black antlers extending above it. “Oh wow,” you whispered to yourself.

Glorfindel said, “The black metal is Galvorn, a black form of mithril, among some of my properties returned to me upon my awakening from Gondolin and the lemon quartz stone is also from my gatherings that we chose together.”

Thranduil, “The rest of the ring is silver mithril with the remaining white stones that are from my collection of Lasgalen stones from Doriath carved out of the heart of a fallen star gifted to my line from Valar Queen Varda.”

Carefully you lifted the ring from its box that felt impossibly light for how heavy it should be. “Is this the, do you have separate engagement and wedding bands or is it all in one? We haven’t discussed this before.”

Thranduil, “Upon meeting your father we have chosen to adapt to your customs of using engagement rings, now, we are bound by marriage for our kin though a ceremony of sorts could be planned according to your customs. Also we are aware these rings sit on separate fingers to ours that sit upon our index finger and this has been fitted to your chosen ring finger.”

“You measured my finger?” You asked with a hint of a grin.

“Estel was bribed to help us with that.” Glorfindel answered, smiling as you watched as he eased the ring onto your finger that fit perfectly, “When you are ready to discuss a ceremony we could possibly discuss designs of what a wedding band might be.”

A moment you bit your lip and said, “I need some dirt.” Parting his lips at your pull back to ease over the back of the lounge you swung your legs over to head for the window revealed in the magical ease of the curtains back in its opening to let you pass through it. The pair of them stretched to see what you were doing, watching your stroll across the patch of grass looking between each of the bushes in the marked off garden plots, beside a patch of orange flowers they saw you charm two handfuls of dirt out of the ground, careful to leave the few small worms back in the garden. A bit confused a pair of guards tilted to watch your path back through the window that closed and covered itself again leaving you just in the sight of the duo.

Glorfindel, “You need dirt, for, what exactly?” He asked watching you ease back over the back of the lounge you sat cross legged on top of again.

“Not exactly fair if you both don’t have something shiny of your own.” Their brows inched up only to see your skin begin to shimmer in the multicolored hue of your eyes that grew lighter in spectrums of color to the deeper the breath you took in. Out of your lips around the dirt clump above your left palm a white flame escaped your lips while you mentally recited the Draconic spell splitting and contorting the clump in half. More and more they compressed making the shapes of rings, in the center an oval mystic quartz stone sat between two wide flat black metal edges of the ring that dipped for a platform for the stone, down the band the ring grew thinner and held white opal shapes between strips of the black metal.

A second breath drew their focus back to you on the lift of the second clump that you blew out over the clump that split into three, this time for two more black metal sat around five round green opals, the one in the middle the largest that around the top and bottom had five emeralds closing it off. The third had the same metal and shape, merely with blue opals and sapphires around the top and bottom of the center opal.

At the dim of your glow they watched your hands to shift and offer the both of them the larger of the two styles of rings then locked their eyes with yours as you said, “These should morph to fit whatever finger you slip it on and won’t break, for your engagement rings if you like them.” Timidly the pair accepted the rings, lost for words on the skill of the gift you had made for them, looking next to the pair of green rings that they stared at taking in every detail of these as you slid them over the ends of their index fingers to the last knuckle. “We’re married,” that had their eyes shoot up to yours again missing the ripple of the stones’ colors turn to yellow, “Ceremonies for my culture can wait, we can have a family dinner or something. You’re a King and a Lord, you deserve to have your status marked. If anything I can always just put in the paper I eloped.”

Thranduil, “These,” he said clearing his throat to steal a second glance down at his hand that had him exclaiming, “It’s yellow now!”

“They change colors, I can make them stop-,”

“No,” they both said and after a shared glance eased their engagement rings on above their wedding bands. Tenderly with free hands Thranduil took the wedding band from your hand he eased onto your left index finger locking his eyes on yours. “I have never seen rings of this skill before.”

“I rarely make rings, yours must have taken months-,”

Glorfindel eased his hands around your free hand, “Thank you falls utterly short. Elleths rarely forge in our culture, merely hire a master craftsman. We will be the envy of all with your unmatchable gifts.”

Thranduil said, “Yes, truly. These five opals alone would have taken weeks to shape and I do not doubt several months to find the proper shade. I am flattered as well that they change hues. Five, we did not cover significant numbers for importance in our cultures, seven is sacred to our kin, five is sacred to yours?”

“No,” you said looking between them to say, “I thought, we have, five kids, between us.”

If they thought it was impossible to breathe upon seeing the ring that was nothing to now at realizing this was not just a wedding back but a sort of birth celebration as well that Legolas especially would be honored to have been included in. Glorfindel said, “Birth celebration as well, then truly this is beyond precious to us and will be to our children when we share it with them.”

“Well, um, my mother had one from my dad for theirs. Used to spark up around the stone when I got hurt. Um, Leg’s is in the middle, since he’s, well, fully grown, bad luck to put his anywhere else, and they’ll grow as the kids do and get their little crowns of emeralds.” Quickly you looked down and then up again in time for Thranduil’s lean in to steal a loving kiss trailed by a moment of foreheads tapped together. “I’m guessing you’re behind the antlers on mine?”

Lowly he chuckled and replied inching back to allow Glorfindel to claim his own warm kiss and pause with joined foreheads to Thranduil’s reply of, “It was a joint decision, as was the choice of yellow, your favorite color.”

“Thank you,” you said in their inch back and tangling of their hands in yours on your lap again. “Never really thought about engagement rings before, I mean, Barty gave me the rose gold pink teardrop ring, and it was beautiful, I was really grateful for it, I just…I guess you just don’t think of what you might want until you meet the person who you’d be needing it for.” You inhaled at their spreading smiles and said, “I’m rambling.” The narrowing of your eyes a moment had their brows twitch up tick only to hear you say, “There’s someone in my study.”

Glorfindel, “Is, that forbidden?”

“No,” you said uncrossing your legs in their rise to stand and help you up, “There’s just, someone there.”

Thranduil released your hand hurrying to the closet, “Grant us a moment and we shall inspect this together for any danger.”

“It’s not a danger,” Glorfindel turned in the doorway of the closet accepting the shirt tossed his way he found the bottom to that parted for his arms to slide through to the sleeves, “How is this so weird to say, you don’t ever just, know, something. Like you randomly pull the toast off a bit early or it will burn or you go to check on your chicken coop even though it’s not laying day to find that there’s now a huge gnawing blackberry bush taking over the back of the enclosure that has to be moved or it’ll ruin the fence? Places to go aren’t really unreasonable to explain but sometimes I just feel I have to say something and usually it goes terribly wrong but I just have to say it because I guess no one else will.”

Glorfindel, “Such as?”

You sighed, “Such as I had to tell a girl Margerie in the year of the Triwizard Tournament, she came from Beauxbatons, the school Fleur studied at.” The pair nodded in securing their shirts and robes after having tugged on their boots to their knees, “Never met her a day in my life, never spoke a word to her, walk right up to her and have to say ‘How did you like the Trout in Their Pajamas?’ She slapped me across the face and storms off! Two days later, I have this other girl Ophelia coming up to me hugging me. Saying that there’s this whole convoluted plot that had been buried with Margerie’s family that goes all the way back to a Unicorn thief who had stolen this useless children’s book from Margerie’s ancestor and then used it to break into the conservatory where Ophelia’s family had been keeping their Unicorn herd. Nearly got the ancestor locked up from his name written inside the book cover.”

Their brows narrowed in confusion as you mimed and explosion on either side of your head, “I didn’t get it either, but apparently I pissed off Margerie and she went steaming mad and ranting back to their tower and Ophelia overheard it. Apparently they both had been compiling their own internal investigations over the years and they sent what they came up with back home and they caught the guy 87 years later.” Your hands popped up at your sides and fell again, “I don’t get it, just had to say it.”

Glorfindel, “That, must be tiring, does it happen often? Was it a voice you heard?”

“Not a voice, no, I’ve been down that road, no, that time it was the cover of the book popped up in my head. Which reminds me I have to settle a flight time for the Pegasus foals, could we fly over your forest, they don’t like flying over towns they aren’t fond of seeing people.”

Thranduil, “Our forest, and yes, absolutely, these, Pegasus, are they another Quidditch team?”

“No, they’re winged horses,” parting their lips, “They also mostly have fangs, and tend to not like people, well, most people. But they have a new bunch of foals and they have a traditional first flight that has to be a long one and usually we would take them to Sherwood forest for that but the Muggles aren’t situated enough right now for us to get the Prime Minister involved for the approval of memory charms. Still a work in progress on the tolerance of us for them at the moment.”

Glorfindel, “You have flying horses and yet you do not ride them,”

“They attack people. Viciously. Their nests are normally high in cliffs out of reach from people. We just have the tolerating herd at Hogwarts in the Forbidden Forest now quadrupled from those we saved in the move here otherwise Hagrid would have handled it, the new ones think he’s going to eat them.”

Thranduil, “Why do I imagine that day Thengel will drop by unannounced?”

“Well it has to be tomorrow you can have him for tea I guess. I can show the boys, even bribe a Unicorn to drop by possibly. Buckbeak could use a nice long flight I can take him instead of the bike this time still have to get myself a new broom. He’s been anxious waiting for his baby sibling to hatch.” The confused pair followed you out of the bedroom and through to your door linked to your house where you heard voices inside of your study.

“That doesn’t make sense,” Draco said only to be answered by Neville’s sigh.

Neville, “I know that, but he told us, he did it on purpose.”

Draco, “And they let him teach us?!”

Papers were shifted and once in the doorway you caught Neville��s eye and he smiled in relief, “Here’s Jaqi, Lockhart says he went there on purpose to play Damsel. Gave us his journal and this mirror glass charm of his travels and that place they locked him inside of. And, found this.” In his palm was the glass jar holding the ring Lockhart had found that lured the Lords in around you to see it.

Thranduil, “That is Durin the Deathless’ crest. King Thror bore that ring.”

Neville, “Said there were more rings but he only could manage that one.”

“Hmm,” you said setting the ring down the accept the journal you lifted to sniff, “This is a copy, it smells like guava.”

Draco, “Kept the original for his next book.”

“Ah, naturally.”

Neville, “Says he was kept in the mountain but wasn’t Mordor. No volcano but it was in sight of an island with glowing white trees,” that had the Lords’ heads tilt to look at him directly, “And there was a city like the Shire that was destroyed on the way back.”

Glorfindel, “That is not possible, the only island with that description was taken by the seas ages past.”

Looking back at him you asked, “Which Lord would have ruled that one?”

Glorfindel, “Lord Elros. That would be Numenor, if they are correct.”

“Hmm,” you accepted the Mirror Glass Charm saying, “I’ll tend to the screaming ring later, for now, I’ll see if the Lords can help us find out where he went.”

Draco said, “We’ll keep the twins posted if you need a sub tomorrow.”

“Thank you,” you said turning back for your room leaving the pair to share their mutual notice of the ring on that particular finger, and into your closet where you confused your husbands in the tug of your shorts off to hop into a pair of jeans and long socks you added tall boots to your knees.

Thranduil asked, “How you were dressed was acceptable.”

“Not for a Mirror Glass Charm. Last time I went in one of those took me three days to get out and it was nonstop gales and moors.” Over the top of your tank top you pulled your silver low cut sweater that hung over your thighs that once the neck was tied over top you added a black rib covering vest and the holster for your wand from the pile of clothes you had sent back earlier during your bath to the vest pocket.

Glorfindel, “Three days?”

“Surely this time we can just skip to the end and miss any weather but I had to go day by day last time to figure out where they hid one of our Aurors a few years back in a Muggle Born raid.”

Pt 37

#Thranduil x OC #Glorfindel x OC #The Wedding #Trading Rings #Gifts #Bad Day #Big News #Calming the Storm #Lockhart's Damsel Display #Neville #Hermione #Draco #HP Crossover #Ride With Tuo #Talk With the Elk #Mirror Glass Charm #Off to Rivendell

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