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torialeysha · 3 years

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Cold feet - Part 16

Bakers redemption

A/N: I’m on a roll guys! Your love, patience and support for this story fuels my fire for writing, a fire I thought I had lost and for that I am eternally grateful. Thank you all <3

Songs: Carry me home - Jorja Smith ft Maverick Sabre

Can’t buy happiness - Tash Sultana

Fortunately the awkwardness of the journey home was lost on you as all you could do was think about Alfie. You questioned the sincerity of his visit and wondered why it had taken him so long to realise you had lied about the ridiculous possibility of him not being the father of your unborn baby? He had asked you for forgiveness. A shot at redemption. Could you give it to him? Could you allow him another chance when he had already let you down not once but twice? Were you foolish enough to give him the opportunity to do it again? Would he do it again? He said that he had seen the error of his ways and that he really did want the baby. Did he mean it? Could you believe him even if he did? He said he could prove it to you and you were curious to see how. Silently you pondered, driving yourself insane with question after question that regrettably you didn’t have the answers to.

After a tedious battle with the London traffic the car finally pulled up outside the opulent townhouse Charles was renting. The atmosphere still frosty and tense as you crossed it’s threshold. You were in the process of removing your coat when one of the butlers collared Charles.

“There’s a Mr Changretta waiting for you in the lounge, sir.” He announced casually as he took your coat. Your hair immediately stood on end.

“Ok. I’ll be right there. Meanwhile, could you please fetch Ms Y/L/N something to eat.” Charles hands his coat to the butler then turns to you. “I won’t be long. Feel free to start without me.” He told you coldly. But you were no longer worried about food and more concerned about the fact that Luca Changretta was in the next room.

Fraught, you staggered to the dining room and began to pace, anxiously wondering what the occupants next door were discussing. You manoeuvred towards the wall that separated the lounge from the dining room and placed your ear against it, hoping that the divide was thin enough to be able to hear their conversation. Their muffled voices vibrated through the wall. You edged closer to the crack of the locked double doors that connected the two rooms and the voices got slightly clearer.

“...And you really trust this broad? You’re sure she isn’t the problem?” It was Luca’s voice.

“Of course I trust her! I wouldn’t have involved her if I didn’t.”

“How much does she know?”

“Hardly anything. She asked me some questions about the club. Why I bought it for her and why I insisted I put it in her name and not mine, but her curiosity is only natural, Luca.”

Your stomach rolled realising they were talking about you.

“What did you tell her?”

“I fed her some bullshit about wanting to give her the world.”

“Nice. So she doesn’t know anything about the money coming in from New York?”

“No, I take care of the books and I keep them locked in my safe.”

“Good.”

There was a brief silence before Luca spoke again.

“Tell me, Cuz, what are your feelings for this broad? You still intend on marrying her when this is all over?”

Cuz? Why would Luca call Charles that?

“Yes. I love her.”

Charles’ confession made you feel sick.

There’s another long pause before Luca speaks again.

“Then you have my blessing. But I’m warning ya, I don’t know if my dear Aunt will be as accepting. You know how she only wants the best for her son.”

Cousin? Aunt? Son? You felt the colour drain from your face as realisation dawned on you.

“Y/N is best for me. Now can we please stop discussing my personal life and get back to business.”

“Of course. I hear what you’re saying about the Jew but we need him alive for now. I think he’ll be able to help us deal with Thomas Shelby.”

“Solomon’s is tight with Shelby. There’s no way he’d sell him out.”

“Oh, he will.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“I’m going to make him an offer he can’t refuse... Don’t look so worried, Chuck, all will be revealed soon. You just carry on doing what you’re doing and remember that we’re doing this per la famiglia. Luca’s foreign tongue made you shudder. “Once Solomon’s, Shelby and Sabini are dealt with. London will be ours for the taking.”

You pulled away from the door just as Charles was asking about Sabini. You had heard enough.

It was worse than you or Tommy had anticipated. Charles and Luca wasn’t just business relations, they were blood relations. His money was their money. Your time and efforts had been in vain. Any hope of sabotaging their connection was gone. Replaced with an overwhelming sense of alarming trepidation. You had to leave. There was no way you could stay now knowing what you know.

The main door of the dining room swung open, startling you.

“I’m terribly sorry miss. I didn’t mean to scare you.” The flustered housemaid apologised as she shuffled in with your supper.

“Please don’t apologise.” You told her shakily.

“You’re white as a sheet! I must’ve given you a proper fright. Poor thing. Sit ya self down and I’ll fetch you something to drink.”

“No, no. I’m fine. It’s just-I’ve received word today that my friend isn’t well and it’s come as quite a shock. I would like to check on her to see if she’s feeling better. Could you let Mr Fenton know that I’m going to visit her and I won’t be back until later.”

“Of course, Miss, but what about your tea?” She signals to the silver tray she’s carrying.

“I’ve suddenly lost my appetite. I’ll eat it when I return.”

“Ok, Miss. I’ll put it by for later.” She took off with the tray of food and without a second thought you made for the door without even stopping for your coat or purse.

In a daze you wandered down the street, feeling hopelessly lost in a city that had been your home for 20 odd years. You headed north, knowing that regardless of your current uncertainty towards Alfie you would have to warn him and get word to Tommy. Without your purse you had no money to jump on a bus or the underground. Your only option was to trudge the busy late afternoon streets to your destination. It would take roughly an hour to get from Central to Camden, probably the same amount of time it would take Charles to suspect something was amiss. It was a distressing thought that caused you to pick up pace. To make up time you decided to take a shortcut that lead you along the river and down the canals. It was a risky move as the muddy banks of the canals were refuge to some unsavoury characters - mainly drunkards - desperate men that would find easy prey on a young woman trekking the waterways on her own.

The sun was slowly sinking into twilight by the time you had reached Camden lock. Despite your exhaustion you were relieved to have made it in one piece but you shouldn’t have spoke too soon. In the distance you could see a group of what looked like 3 men huddled together along the path which you needed to pass to get across to the bakery. Your blistered feet slowed but it was too late, they had already spotted you. You quickly tried to think of an alternative route. The only other way was to swim across but jumping in and braving the grim green water that was frothing with rubbish and other questionable substances wasn’t tempting to say the least. There was nothing you could do now except carry on walking with your chin held high as if their shady presence didn’t intimidate you. You argued with yourself as you approached that maybe you had jumped to a brash assumption and that they were in fact a harmless trio who would just let you pass without a second glance. As you got closer they rose from their makeshift perches and swayed towards you. It was then you knew that your brash assumption had been correct.

“Evening treacle.” One slurred. “What brings you down ‘ere then?” He smiled, revealing a row of yellow teeth that were gradually rotting a browny black. You ignored him and tried to pass but he obstructed you.

“Let me pass!” You ordered him.

“Now then, that’s not nice. You could at least ask nicely. Say please.” He slurred.

“Please let me pass.” You said through gritted teeth.

The other two came to stand beside him. Panicking, you tried hard to conceal the trembling of your body.

“Beg.” He tells you through a snarl.

“I love it when they beg.” One of the other men chimed in, earning a chortle from his soapy comrades.

You laugh as if joining in with their sadistic merriment. Then quick as a whippet you tried to barge through their burly blockade, effectively knocking one of the men into the drink. The middle one grabbed you. You turned as he did so, kneeing him between the legs. He dropped to the floor and you made to escape but was grabbed again by the last remaining man. His filthy hand covered your mouth, cutting you off mid scream. You thrashed in his arms. Your eyes widening as the man on the floor rose slowly.

“We’ve got a feisty one ‘ere, Del.”

“Let’s see how feisty she is once I’ve finished with ‘er.” The man you knocked to the floor was now fully upright, stalking towards you.

You closed your eyes, helplessly awaiting your fate.

“Get your filthy fucking hands off ‘er!”

Your eyes shot open at the unmistakable voice coming from behind you.

The man turned suddenly with you still in his arms. Your eyes landed on Alfie and Ollie and you wanted to cry out in relief.

“Mr Solomon’s - I was only helping the poor Lass. She was lost, ya see.” He muttered a sheepish reply. His arms loosening around you. You pushed away from him stricken and lurched into Alfie’s arms.

“Are you ok, Yahalom?” He asked, pushing away the hair from your face and checking you over for any sign of injury.

You noded, clinging to him.

“Run!” One of the men shouted and they both fled in opposite directions. The one who had hold of you tried to leg-it past Alfie who with a flick of his cane tripped him before he could get any further. Alfie pushed you to Ollie, and pounced on top of the fallen man. Savagely he landed a shocking set of bone crunching blows upon the sputtering and sobbing man on the floor.

You started to shake uncontrollably. Your chest heaving to draw in breaths.

“Alfie, stop now. You’re scaring ‘er!” Ollie yelled at Alfie who stopped immediately.

“Get ‘er out of ‘ere!” He shouted.

You felt Ollie tug on your arm.

“No-I c-can’t go-I need t-to talk to A-alfie.” You chattered numbly.

“It’s ok, Y/N. Let’s wait for him inside and you can talk to him then, yeah?” Ollie asked you soothingly. You stopped resisting, allowing him to guide you over the bridge of the canal and inside the huge double door entrance of the bakery. He set you down on a crate.

“Are you ok?” Ollie asked. Kneeling in front of you.

You shook your head from side to side, unable to speak through the loud chattering of your teeth.

“We were just leaving. You’re lucky we spotted you, ya know.”

You didn’t answer him. Instead you reached out and gave his hand a grateful squeeze.

Alfie exploded through the doors, making you and Ollie jump. His blood splattered face was a fit of pure rage.

“How many fucking times have I told you not to walk the canals on your own? If me and him would have left ‘ere half hour ago like we were supposed to, what would have happened then, ay?” His eyes flickered as he tortured himself pointlessly with the sickening possibilities.

“Alright, Alfie. Calm down, ay? We left at the right time and luckily Y/N weren’t hurt-“ Ollie started calmly before Alfie interrupted him.

“- You sure they didn’t hurt you?” Alfie asked.

“I’m sure.”

“The fuck was you thinking, Pet?” His stern voice was slightly softer now.

“I-I wasn’t-“

“-Where’s your coat?” He asked suddenly. “Them cunts take it?”

“No, I left it behind-there was n-no time- I had t-to get out of there fast-I left my coat behind along with my p-purse-I’ve had to walk from Central-thats why I t-took the sh-shortcut.” You stuttered senselessly, barely pausing to take a breath. Alfie took off his coat and draped it over your shoulders. You pulled it tightly around yourself. His musky scent clung to the heavy wool material that was still warm with the heat of his body. You inhaled deeply, feeling instantly calmer. “I couldn’t stay there, Alfie. I had to leave, I had to get out of there!”

“Calm down, Yahalom, and tell me exactly what’s happened?” He ordered, his eyes wild.

“It’s Charles. He and Lu-ca Changretta are related. They’re cousins. I-I overheard them talking. They said something about money coming in from New York and taking over London. They’re going to take down everyone in their way - you, Tommy, even Sabini. Everything Tommy said is true and there’s nothing I can do about it. We have to warn Thomas.”

Alfie exchanged a look with Ollie.

“Did he know you were listening in on his conversation?” Ollie asked.

“No. But he’ll know I’m missing by now and maybe he’ll put two and two together. I told the housemaid to tell him I was visiting an ill friend but I’m not sure he’ll believe that.”

“Right then. Well, first things first.” Alfie put his arms around your shoulders and lifted you gently from where you rested. “I need to get you out of here.”

“I’m not going anywhere. I’m going to stay here and help sort this.” You told him wilfully.

“You’ve done all you can, pet. Let me and Tommy deal with this now.”

“So all of this was for nothing? Me staying with Charles, weeks of misery and sneaking around. That was all for nothing?”

“This isn’t your fight, Y/N. It never was your fight.” Alfie sighed.

“They’re planning on killing you, Alfie - the father of my unborn baby. Tell me how that isn’t my fight?” You sobbed angrily.

He grabbed your shoulders, shaking you lightly.

“Look at me.” He said firmly. Your wide eyes rose to his. “I can handle it, right. What I can’t handle is the worry of anything happening to you. Which is why I’m getting you out of ‘ere, even if I have to drag you kicking and screaming. I’m taking you and that unborn baby of mine to safety. You ‘ear me? That’s our priority now, yeah?”

“...Yeah.” You whispered, knowing he was right.

“Come on.”

You held on to him as you walked, your weary feet stinging with every faltered step you took.

“You need me to carry you?” He asked.

You shook your head weakly.

The sun had now almost set but the brightness outside was still blinding as you emerged from the darkness of the distillery.

“Get in the car.” Alfie ordered.

You did as he said, sliding into the front passenger seat and trying to avoid looking across the canal where your attacker still lay, a lifeless crumpled, mess on the floor. You blocked it out and focused on Alfie through the windscreen instead. He was leant into Ollie, telling him something. Ollie gave him a contrite nod and handed him what looked like a set of keys. With a pat on the back, Alfie left him to climb in to the drivers seat. He started the engine.

“Isn’t Ollie coming with us?”

“Na. He’s got to sort a few things out for me.” He replied, shoving the shift stick into gear and pulling off. You watched him intently. An unsolicited heat crept over you as he manoeuvred the machine with a confident ease that you couldn’t help but find alluring.

“Where are we going?” You asked croakily.

“Let me worry about that, right. You look exhausted. Rest your head and I’ll wake you when we get there.”

Too weak to argue you did just that. Leaning your head against the window which was slick with condensation. The soft purr of the cars engine lulled you rapidly into a deep and dreamless sleep.

You were roused from your confined slumber by Alfie as he lifted you from the passenger seat into his arms. Your neck throbbed where you had laid awkwardly propped up against the window for God knows how long. You let the aching heaviness of your head rest against Alfies chest as he carried you. A whooshing noise echoed familiarly in the blustery background, intertwined with what sounded like crunching gravel beneath Alfie’s feet as he walked. Curiously your sluggish eyes peered at your surroundings. You could just about make out the silhouette of a building and an unusual looking tree against the dark blue of the night sky.

Exhausted, your head fell back onto Alfie’s chest and you buried your face in the crook of his neck to shield it from the tenacious chill of the night air. He came to a stop holding you tightly with one arm as the other searched his trouser pocket. A jingling of keys and the sound of the lock turning, then you were finally inside and out of the cold.

The smell of fresh paint and varnish filled your nostrils as he carried you over the foreign residence. After kicking the door closed with his foot, you felt him ascend a set of stairs in the darkness, effortlessly, as if he was already well acquainted with the steps. A door creaked open and then shortly after you were being lowered. You unfolded from him as he placed you on the soft cushioning of a mattress. Your head sunk into the fluffy pillows, your arms stretching across the width of the spacious bed. Your eyes opened when you realised Alfie wasn’t joining you.

“Don’t leave me.” You begged.

“Sssh.” He soothed softly. His heavy hand brushing back your hair from your face. “You’re safe now, Yahalom.”

Your eyes closed, his reassuring tone and tender touch settling you back to sleep.

You awoke with a start. Looking around the huge room that was now highlighted by an orange hue emanating from the fire that crackled and danced in the fireplace adjacent to the bed. The ceaseless whooshing you heard earlier broke in from a set of french doors to your left and you raised from the bed to investigate. Pulling back the floor length curtains that decorated them, you were shocked to see the mosaicked balcony and the beach landscape that it overlooked. At a glance it appeared that Alfie had stolen you away from the perilous situation in London and brought you to Margate - your safe haven. But what was this place? It wasn’t a B&B or a hotel because you remembered that Alfie had entered with a key - you assumed the same key Ollie had handed him before you left. You glanced around the room once more, the unfamiliarity of your surroundings causing you great unease. And it was quiet, too quiet. Where was Alfie?

You poked your nose out of the bedroom door and peeked down the length of the darkened hallway. A sliver of warm light shone from a partially open door of one of the rooms and cautiously you ambled towards it. You lingered outside, your nerves settling when you heard Alfie’s hushed tone beyond the wood.

“Did you get hold of the rabbi?”

There was a long pause before Alfie spoke again.

“I don’t care what fucking time it is just keep trying. I want him up ‘ere by the end of the week, before the fight... Yeah? Well make-fucking-sure.” You heard a crashing bang which you guessed was the receiver of the telephone being put down on whoever Alfie was talking to.

“Are you gonna stand out there all fucking night or you gonna come in?” He shouted out to you, causing you to smile.

You entered slowly, stalling in the doorway.

Alfie was sat at a desk, a much neater, more fancier desk than the one he usually occupied at the bakery.

“You alright?” He asked, watching you intently as you came to sit in front of him.

You nodded absentmindedly, too busy taking in the plush interior of the room.

“Did you speak to Tommy?” You asked eagerly, your eyes finally meeting his. He waited a moment before answering you.

“Na, I ain’t been able to get hold of him. I’ll try again in the morning...You sure you’re alright?”

“Where are we?” You queried, ignoring his question.

“Margate.”

“No, I mean here.” You pointed to where you were sat. “Whose house is this?”

“This is our house.” He said casually.

You look at him stunned. Your mouth agape.

“Our house?”

He nodded simply.

“W-when? How?” You stuttered, dumbfounded.

“I bought it a while back, after I saw you again at the Eden. It was in a bit of a two an’ eight when I bought it. Taken me an’ the boys a little while to do up.”

“I’m confused.” You shook your head. “You’ve bought a house in Margate? But we’re so far away from London, from your businesses. What about the bakery?”

“I’m retiring, Yahalom. I’ve sold up all the properties I own and I’ve handed the bakery down to Ollie. This was my plan all along. The only way I knew I could keep you safe.”

It took you a moment to process everything and still you were stunned speechless.

“I don’t know what to say.”

“I thought this was what you wanted?” He cites.

“It was-“

Alfie narrowed his eyes at your use of past tense.

“-I mean is.” You corrected swiftly before carrying on “It’s just come as a bit of a shock is all.”

“Hmm.” He let out a suspicious grunt. “It’s not the best timing after the day you’ve had, I get that. But that was out of my control wern’it?”

You nodded solemnly. Still trying to wrap your head around everything.

“I thought you’d be happy, Yahalom?”

“I am.” You frowned.

“At least show it then. Crack a smile or summin. You’ve got a face like a slapped arse at the minute.” You heard a frustrated annoyance creep into the grimmess of his voice.

“I don’t know how I feel about it, if I’m being honest. The last few months have been a whirlwind for me. I haven’t slept properly in days, weeks even. Weary to the bone. Wracked with guilt and worry. I honestly don’t know wether I’m coming or going. And now you’re telling me that you’re selling up. Leaving behind everything you’ve worked so hard to build and for what?”

“For us!” He barked. “For us to be together without the worry of someone hurting you to hurt me. And yeah, I’ve worked hard, I’ve earn’t my money, however, it’s time for me to rest now and enjoy the fruits of my labour.”

“I’m not sure, Alf...” You hummed uneasily.

“What’s there to be unsure of?”

“I still ain’t sure this is what you really want!” You snapped frustratedly. “A quiet life by the sea, a child you never wanted...I just can’t see it.” You admitted sadly.

He exhaled harshly, rising from his desk and stepping round to extend a hand to you.

“Come with me. I wanna show you something.”

Reluctantly you took his offered hand and let him guide you back out into the hallway and along to a room that was situated next to the one you had been resting in earlier.

He opened the door and moved aside for you to enter.

The waxing moon shon brightly through the bare windows, lighting up the room with it’s spectacular lunar glow. You stepped through noticing immediately the cot that lay new and empty against the far wall, next to it was a matching chest of drawers and a rocking horse that looked like it had been plucked from a fairground carousel.

Your eyes shot to Alfie whose bear like frame was leant in the doorway studying your reaction.

“When did you do this?”

“A couple of days ago. The room needs a lick of paint but I thought you might wanna choose the colour.” He came to join you in the centre of the room.

“So you did all this before you come to see me? Before you were even certain that the baby yours?...Why?”

He was silent for a moment, deep in thought.

He shrugged. “I s’pose deep down I knew you were lying and that the baby was mine... or maybe I didn’t fucking care, I dunno... doing this...it just felt right.”

“But you said-“

“-I know what I said but saying don’t mean fuck all does it. Actions speak louder than words.” He motions to the room. “And this speaks fucking volumes, dunnit. I mean if this doesn’t prove to you that this is what I really want then I don’t know what will.”

Reassurance drifted over you as you looked once again around the unfinished nursery.

“Say something.” He requested quietly.

Wordlessly you rushed to him and threw your arms around his broad shoulders.

“You like it then? You’re happy?” He confirmed uncertainly.

“I do. I am. It’s...wonderful! Thank you!” You choked a reply, your voice struggling past the forming lump in your throat.

He pulled you closer, his shoulders relaxing as if a weight had been lifted off them.

“You want me to show you round the rest of the house?” He whispered gruffly into your hair.

“Not tonight. Show me tomorrow in the daylight so I can properly take in the beauty of it all.”

“Alright. Well, what shall we do now then?” You were sure you heard a seductive undertone in his question and took full advantage.

“Take me to our bed.”

“You ain’t gotta ask me twice.” He said. His eyes lighting up at your words.

You squealed when he lifted you in his arms and carried you to the next room.

“Cor blimey. You’ve got heavier already.” He huffs.

“Oh give over, I ain’t even showing properly yet. You’re just getting weaker with age, old man.” You teased him.

“Oi! I’ll have you know that there’s nothing wrong with my stamina and I will gladly prove that to you in a minute.” He threatened hotly. Sending your pulse racing. “There’s just one more thing I’ve got to do first.”

He set you down carefully on your own two feet.

“Can’t it wait?” You whined as he stepped away from you and headed towards the door.

“It won’t take me a minute.” He assured you.

You stood in the middle of the once unfamiliar room that you now knew was yours and Alfies. Sighing happily, you glided to the french doors and tried the handle. They opened willingly under your touch. The chill of the night air was refreshing as you stepped out on to the balcony. Leaning on the stone balaustrade, you observed the unrelenting waves that stretched the distance, relishing in the peacefulness of their crashing melody. Nothing could ruin this moment, not even the ugliness of the Changretta situation. All that mattered right now was your future with Alfie, a future that this morning never even existed.

“Yahalom?” Alfie called, having returned.

You spun to look at him. He marched skittishly towards you, his hands behind his back, as he joined you on the balcony.

“I know I’ve asked you this before but as you so poignantly pointed out to me the other day, it’s a proposal that has since expired. So, I’m gonna ask you again... Y/N Y/L/N will you marry me?” He asked gruffly, his eyes so intense you thought they could set you on fire. You gasped unexpectedly. Although it was the second time he had asked you, it was the first time you had heard him say those words aloud.

“Oh, Alfie. Of course I’ll marry you.”

“Thank fuck for that. Here then.” He produced a ring that was hidden in his clenched fist behind his back. Grabbing your hand he slipped it on your finger. You stared down at it in awe. A ruby once again burned brightly on your finger but it wasn’t the one you were used to. You frowned down at the foreignness of the rings delicate beauty and the circle of winking diamonds that surrounded the red gem like a halo.

“I searched high and low for the other one in the bakery but couldn’t find it. So I bought you another one. D’you like it?”

“It’s beautiful... I was just expecting to see the old one.” You replied, your heart sinking at the thought of your first engagement ring being lost forever. It was only supposed to be a temporary ring, taken from Alfie’s pinky finger until he had gotten you a proper one. There wasn’t much to it just a thick gold band with a faceted ruby so red it was hypnotising. Back then you had persuaded Alfie not to buy a replacement, that you wanted to keep his one as every time you looked at it it reminded you of him. Now, thanks to yourself you’ll never see it again.

“That’s old hat now that one though, innit? a token of who we used to be. We’ve been through a lot of shit, right, shit I wanna leave in the past. I want us to have a fresh start, a clean slate, and this house and this ring is where it begins.”

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Tag list: @storm-bjorn @alsheyra @lililolli @jaegers-and-kaijus @lightwoodt @stars-trash-18 @anrm1 @innerpaperexpertcloud @alitheamateur @hardygal69

#alfie solomons #alfie solomons fanfiction #alfie solomons imagine #alfie solomons x reader #peaky blinders #peaky blinder fanfic #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders fanfiction #by order of the peaky blinders

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bleachbigbang · 3 years

Text

Bleach Big Bang 2021 Fic Summaries!

Writing samples for each fic attached.

Fic #01 || Sample

Rating: Explicit

Content Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Main Characters: Kurosaki Ichigo, Urahara Kisuke, Aizen Sousuke

Main Pairings: Urahara Kisuke/Kurosaki Ichigo || Aizen Sousuke/Kurosaki Ichigo

Additional Warnings: BDSM, suicidal thoughts, probably bad self-care, dark thoughts, bad BDSM etiquette, Dom/sub

No matter which mastermind stood behind the plan, when Lady Fate is a bitch who doesn't like to follow what others say.

They planned to go back and change the past, to have a better future.

They planned everything carefully, three masterminds, and a brute force.

They planned but everything went wrong.

Only one person arrived back in time in another timeline. He was alone, without his soul mate, without any help from the masterminds. Will he be able to change the future alone? Will Lady Bitch Fate let him? But wait... Why is that thing there? That shouldn't be possible!

The beginning already changed, why is it there? Why does it still happen?

“Foolish Mortal, there are things that will remain the same, no matter what you do. Can you change the future without knowing what are the invariable happenings in time? Will you be able to find your happiness, while you keep helping others to find theirs? I am curious about it, but Mortal, I’m Lady Fucking Fate, I love chaos.”

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Fic #02 || Sample

Rating: Teen

Content Warnings: Major Character Death

Main Characters: Ichigo Kurosaki, Ogichi Shirosaki (Hollow Ichigo), Grimmjow Jeagerjaques

Main Pairings: Ichigo Kurosaki/Ogichi Shirosaki

Additional Warnings: Reincarnation. Major character death might happen more than once. Heavy cultural reference and possible historical manipulation, mesoamerican focused. ((AKA: if you're racist/have trouble with inaccuracies, think twice))

He doesn't know why was he born into this world. His life has been nothing but pain, always feeling out of place and never in sync with his people and "friends", and once he became an exile, he really felt like there was nothing left for him in this life. That was until he met the God that would give meaning to his existence, and become his reason to fight. "Shiro", now Ichtalcoatl's warrior, feels like everything he has endured was for this moment, and he wouldn't exchange it for anything.

Except, all evil happens for a reason, and there are many truths to be uncovered from Shiro's past, giving meaning to this eternal karma and the never-ending cycle of pain. This is the tale of the final trial Shiro must endure to be worthy of the Sun itself.

Gods/Demigods AU, ft. Quetzalcoatl Ichigo.

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Fic #03 || Sample

Rating: Teen

Content Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence

Main Characters: Ichigo Kurosaki, Rukia Kuchiki, Renji Abarai, Byakuya Kuchiki, Kenpachi Zaraki, Visored, Grimmjow Jeagerjaques, Ulquiorra Cifer, Aizen Sousuke, Other Bleach characters

Main Pairings: None / Undecided

Additional Warnings: Swearing, Mild Violence, Mild Gore, Canon Divergence

Ichigo is special, he's always been. From the moment he managed to become a Soul reaper, to when he obtained unlikely powers and achieved inhuman deeds, he's always had that natural talent to go beyond the limits. However, his true strength lies not in his latent abilities, but in the charm he wasn't even aware he had. His ultimate power was not his bankai, nor his hollowfication; it was his power to move people's hearts, sway them towards him, and somehow make those who wanted to kill him become his most loyal allies. Or, instead of merely befriending everyone he fought, Ichigo unknowingly builds an army of people who will die for him and change destiny itself in order to protect their one, true king.

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Fic #04 || Sample

Rating: Teen

Content Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Main Characters: Kurosaki Ichigo, Kisuke Urahara, Yasutora Sado

Main Pairings: None / Undecided

Additional Warnings: Teacher AU, DID, Alternating POVs, Supernatural Elements, No Shinigami AU

Ichigo moves to Karakura after an abrupt shift in career. There, he meets faces both familiar (his friend Chad is teaching music) and not (he doesn’t know what’s up with that Urahara guy but for a maths teacher he's not that bad). As the newest teacher in the school, and the least experienced at it, Ichigo decides not to make waves and to let himself fade into the background. Unfortunately, his friendship with the maths teacher seems to drag him into plots that are far outside of anything he’s ever known.

NOTE: I'm really flexible as far as the plot goes and willing to work with the artist if there are any particular elements they'd like to incorporate

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Fic #05 || Sample

Rating: Teen

Content Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Main Characters: Kisuke Urahara, Rukia Kuchiki, Tessai Tsukabishi, Yoruichi Shihōin, Ichigo Kurosaki

Main Pairings: No romantic relationships; Pre-UraYoruTess;

Kisuke has feelings for both Tessai and Yoruichi but that won't develop into anything during this fic though I have plans for UraYoruTess & TatsuHime in a sequel.

Additional Warnings: N/A

There was a soul reaper who was assigned to Karakura town. There was a human who could see ghosts. There was a hollow who wanted to eat. Thus, the sword of fate fell, But the sword did not hit the ground when the soul reaper transferred her powers to the human. For there was a shopkeeper who still had a decision to make Kisuke decides to tell Rukia about the hogyoku and Aizen. They start working together to take down Aizen.

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Fic #06 || Sample

Rating: Teen

Content Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Main Characters: Urahara Kisuke, Kurosaki Ichigo, Hirako Shinji

Main Pairings: Shinji Hirako/Urahara Kisuke, Urahara Kisuke/Kurosaki Ichigo

Additional Warnings: N/A

After the Visored were changed, Kisuke had a multitude of theories. One of those was that they might still be contagious. A slip during training proves that theory, and now he has to get his own hollow side under control with the help of his friends. As always, that's easier said than done, given that Kisuke's hollow is as odd as he is.

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Fic #07 || Sample

Rating: Mature

Content Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Major Character Death

Main Characters: Ichigo Kurosaki, Hollow Ichigo

Main Pairings: Past Hollow Ichigo/Kurosaki Ichigo

Additional Warnings: Flashbacks, Heavy Betrayal, Psychological Trauma, PTSD, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Toxic Relationship

Ichigo -- or what he assumes his name is -- doesn't expect to wake up to the poverty-stricken Rukongai. Without a clue as to where he is or how he ended up there, he meets another amnesiac lost soul, who calls himself Shiro (name pending tbh). However, lurking beneath the two of them is a storm of betrayal waiting to be unleashed.

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Fic #08 || Sample

Rating: Teen

Content Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Main Characters: Ichigo Kurosaki, Hollow Ichigo

Main Pairings: Hollow Ichigo/Kurosaki Ichigo

Additional Warnings: Very fluff, much cute

“We've been childhood friends all this time. I think I would know when you aren't enjoying yourself with someone,” Shiro stated, tilting his head further into his palm to assess Ichigo's reaction.

“It's ... It's not going to be like that, okay? Maybe he'll turn out better than you think,” He countered, causing Shiro to sigh under his breath. While Ichigo hesitantly stuffed the thoughtless gift from his new boyfriend in his bag, Shiro could only watch. He couldn't help but wonder when it'd be his turn to make him happy.

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Fic #09 || Sample

Rating: Explicit

Content Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Main Characters: Momo Hinamori

Main Pairings: Momo Hinamori/Izuru Kira/Shuuhei Hisagi/Renji Abarai

Additional Warnings: Alcoholism, Past Abusive Relationships.

Continuation of All that draws us together (AO3)

Momo knows all the ups and downs of life and love, yet she rides it again and again. Sometime after the battle against Wandenreich, Momo invites Izuru out.

From there begins a maelstrom of confusion hurt, and eventually, the loving partnership of her, Izuru, Renji, and Shuuhei.

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Fic #10 || Sample

Rating: Mature

Content Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence

Main Characters: Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez, Ichigo Kurosaki

Main Pairings: Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez/Kurosaki Ichigo

Additional Warnings: Body Horror, Body Dysmorphia

Ichigo is the most advanced CyberLife Android to date. A prototype. A test model. Incomplete. Grimmjow smiles, and it's not biting. It's more. Painful. There is nothing physically wrong with Ichigo, and yet his chest aches at the sight. "You're my partner, Ichigo. A whole person. You always have been."

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Fic #11 || Sample

Rating: Teen

Content Warnings: Major Character Death, Graphic Depictions of Violence

Main Characters: Kurosaki Ichigo, Gotei Captains, Kamado Tanjirou (KnY)

Main Pairings: None (Gen)

Additional Warnings: Suicidal Ideation

Bleach x Kimetsu no Yaiba crossover. In which all their deaths were in vain, and Muzan lived, and the Gotei are the Demon Slayer Corps in the modern world.

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Fic #12 || Sample

Rating: Mature

Content Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Underage

Main Characters: Ichigo Kurosaki, Shinji Hirako, Kisuke Urahara, minor appearances by Rukia and Co.

Main Pairings: Shinji Hirako/Ichigo Kurosaki

Additional Warnings: Ambiguous Morality, Dark Ichigo, Ichigo Eats Souls, Hurt/Comfort

[some tags might be added, but these are the bulk of the story]

Ichigo’s excuse of a broken soul is not enough to keep him going, and an assassination attempt brings to light just how deep the problem goes.

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Fic #13 || Sample

Rating: Teen

Content Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Main Characters: Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez, Rukia Kuchiki

Main Pairings: Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez/Rukia Kuchiki

Additional Warnings: N/A

Grimmjow doesn't think he's coming out of this alive.

A drabble fic.

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Fic #14 || Sample

Rating: Mature

Content Warnings: No Archive Warning Apply

Main Characters: Ichigo Kurosaki, Yasutora “Chad” Sado, Orihime Inoue, Uryuu Ishida, Rukia Kuchiki, Keigo Asano, Mizuiro Kojima, Tatsuki Arisawa, Renji Abarai, Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez

Main Pairings: Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez/Kurosaki Ichigo

Additional Warnings: N/A

The group had settled on blankets by the bay as the fireworks went off in the distance, the booms, cracks, and sparkles of them could be heard clearly. As they all watched, they got close to each other and kept warm on their shared blankets, friends, or couples, they didn’t care. Grimmjow and Ichigo, Chad and Orihime, Renji and Rukia, Mizuiro and Keigo shared their blankets as pairs, but Uryuu and Tatsuki had their own little spots on their blankets.

They had traveled to America for the school year as transfer students in South Texas and this was the first time that they had seen fireworks like this outside of the tv, and they were the best experience that they have had since being there, thus far. Grimmjow, Keigo, Rukia, and Renji were off in the distance cheering while their partners and friends smiled and watched them as the finale of the fireworks were going off on the boardwalk.

After the fireworks ended, they all picked up their blankets and bags of used small sparklers and party poppers that they had bought beforehand from the Kroger that was close to their host parents’ houses the day before.

#bleach #Bleach Big Bang #bleachbigbang #bleachbigbang2021 #fic #fanfiction #fanfic #ao3

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robbyrobinson · 3 years

Photo

CTHULHU MYTHOS X THE OWL HOUSE CROSSOVER: THE GODS AWAKEN (PT. IV): A HISTORY LESSON

Boscha sat on a log facing a bonfire. In her hands, she was holding a stick that had an impaled rodent-like creature on it. She held it over the fire and casually twirled it around to completely roast it. It was a short, snaggle-toothed creature resembling an Earth rat, but instead of the long, furless tail, it had a lizard tail. Boscha took a bite out of the beast and recoiled at its apparent bad taste.

“Bleh!”

Beside her on another log sat the goat man. He held several juice boxes within his mighty hands. He greedily ripped open the boxes and lapped the contents from within, unaware that the juice was collecting on the ends of his lips. There were roughly twenty boxes he was consuming and pitching aside without care.

“I had never tried any sort of sweet nectar such as this.” He tossed another juice box on the ground and went for another. “What do you call this concoction, Boscha?”

Boscha shrugged. “Apple blood; but I never tried it.”

The goat man grinned exposing his yellow, rotting teeth. “I wish your people would’ve imprisoned me after I had a chance to try this luxury.”

Boscha stared down at the fire again not saying a word. The goat man finished up on drinking the apple blood juice boxes and tilted his head. He scanned Boscha over somehow knowing preemptively what she was about to say, but he decided to watch the embers of the fire as well.

“If you need to inquire something of me, by all means, please do so,” he said.

Boscha raised her head up so her three eyes could lock onto the goat man’s. “Who are you?”

“I have already explained it to you, my dear,” he replied, “just an old man who once ruled over this world before being locked away and my name stricken from the records. The usual.”

“Yes, I know that is what you said, but I just think that if this partnership is going to work, we should know everything about each other.”

Boscha slammed her mouth shut upon seeing the goat man’s glare become illuminated by the fire within them. She was certain that she had spoken out of turn and was now going to face his wrath. He chuckled in a low mumble amused.

“I now understand how grandparents must feel whenever their grandchildren egg them on about telling them stories from their pasts.”

He took the juice boxes and pitched them into the bonfire. It blazed with the new fuel it was given.

“It may take me a while to fully explain everything to you out of my concern that your mortal mind may not understand them, but strap in for the ride.”

A village lied in ruins having been scorched with a fire that was akin to seven suns. The identity of the civilization, with a large population in the thousands, was unknown forever lost to the history of the Isles. Almost as if overnight, the village was attacked and laid to waste with no survivors. Due to its condition, no other civilization migrated to the lifeless area and remained that way for the next millennium.

A hooded figure arrived sometime in the early morning to the former village and began to trek through the ruins. Houses that were made of stone were one of the few pieces of architecture left of the village; the walls of the houses were smothered by the thick smoke and blackened beyond repair. Alongside the walls of the foundations, there were the slight hints of the outlines undoubtably a grim reminder of those villagers who were outside of their homes before their civilization was set ablaze.

Deeper the mysterious stranger went through the village, more of the cataclysm became apparent: the square of the village was mostly made of wood and as a result, several of the buildings and commerce grounds were reduced to ashes with any scrap of wood that somehow managed to survive barely holding on due to the beams holding them up crumbling. As the stranger was walking, they heard a crunch sound echoing. Looking down, they saw that they had stepped on a skull and it shattered underneath their weight.

Piles of skeletons were tossed in large mounds. From the embers of the village, the skeletons were as dark as tar. From what the stranger could tell, they likely died from looks of horror on their faces. The mounds led the stranger towards one site that appeared seemingly untouched by the flames.

A crude temple was at the center of the ruins, one resembling the pyramids from Ancient Egypt. The stranger tilted their head at seeing the alien geometries. Despite of the unsightly condition the overall village was in, there was no denying that the temple was almost all-inspiring. But despite that beauty, an otherworldly evil radiated from it. The stranger clenched their fists together in anticipation of whatever was inside and steadied their breathing.

Murals of the dark god decorated the windows detailing how he had arrived to the demon realm. Macabre displays of sacrifices also accompanied the illustrations. Children and families were set aside to be sacrifices for their god and in turn, they were bestowed with great blessings not just in the magical sense. After soaking in their surroundings, the stranger walked deeper into the temple. Before them stood a large door with unreadable inscriptions. Traversing that, the mysterious stranger came upon the throne room. A small altar decorated in an ancient language was situated in front of a large throne.

“Oh, it is a pleasure to see a worshiper of mine pay a visit.”

The stranger looked up beholding the large frame of a dark figure wearing a headpiece of different materials. It was dressed in shadows and was nearly invisible to the naked eye if it weren’t for the figure leaning forward and revealing its endless rows of sharp, carnivorous teeth. The stranger squinted a few times upon seeing something moving from the corner of his eye. They were at the mighty legs of the demonic entity. Without much probing, they slowly walked out of the darkness making it apparent that they were a few of the dark god’s personal servants.

“So, have you come to pay tribute to me?” the being asked, “if not, your home will be forfeited.”

The stranger shook his head. “No, Nyarlathotep, I have come to stop you.”

The walls of the temple shook violently to their foundation when Nyarlathotep let a darkly chuckle escape from the pit of his stomach. “Many of you have tried and failed.” He leaned in closer. His teeth, being ever so massive and varying in shape and size, prevented him from completely shutting his mouth. “What can you possibly do?”

The stranger took his finger and drew a circle in the air. From that circle erupted a bright light. The light hurt Nyarlathotep and momentarily stunned him. Purple blood trickled down his temple. He chuckled again. A sizzling, bubbling mass of darkness covered the wound, healing him.

“I love your spirit, kid, but I guess you’ve forced my hand.”

Nyarlathotep stood up from his throne and towered over the mysterious stranger. At his full size, he stood at a stunning 9 ft. He placed his hands together and slammed them together. The stranger noticed a gem placed in the middle of Nyarlathotep’s headpiece and was shining a crimson red. A vibrant beam shot out of the gem and collided with the ground ripping it apart and forming a widening crack. Fire rose up to consume the stranger, but they managed to dodge just in time.

The dark god grimaced at it and clutched his fist drawing a chunk of the ceiling and flinging it towards the stranger. The stranger quickly drew another circle in the air and summoned a large slum of ice that ricocheted towards the ceiling chunk. An explosion of ceiling and ice rained down on the two fighters. There came a shrill scream that momentarily caught the stranger off guard. Seeing that the servants of Nyarlathotep were about to be crushed by the falling debris, the stranger quickly conjured up a shield to cover them.

Smack.

The stranger groaned in pain from the sharp pain. Nyarlathotep had taken the opportunity to send them flying across the temple. They took their head into their hands to balance the pain before sluggishly dragging themselves off the ground. Nyarlathotep held his hands together preparing another strike.

“Had enough?”

The stranger got on their feet. “Not yet.”

Amused, Nyarlathotep withdrew fire from himself and crafted it into a projectile. Despite his seeming lack of eyes, he tosses the projectile towards his opponent. Before it could strike him, the stranger created a mirror that caught the projectile.

“What is this?” Nyarlathotep replied in shock.

The projectile was cast back towards its dark creator and it stabbed him through his torso. Nyarlathotep collapsed on his colossal knees once again shaking the foundation of the temple. Purple blood was now leaking through the hole made in his body. Nyarlathotep coughed up more of the bizarre alien blood and gritted his teeth.

“I have to admit that was a pretty brilliant move, but I won’t let this injustice stop me!”

Nyarlathotep’s wound was once again beginning to close, but it would prove to be a mistake on his end. The stranger drew a ball of light and tossed it at the dark god. Nyarlathotep was hit with it. He screamed once more. This magic, which he withdrew out of himself, was now being used against him and was now injuring him. More and more. Wounds were accumulating on Nyarlathotep’s eldritch body and he was unable to quickly heal.

Nyarlathotep shifted his physical form constantly reverting from his Black Pharaoh form to other monstrous shapes. Regardless of any move he made, the stranger would return it to him tenfold. Purple blood was now pooling onto the floor. No time in his endless life did he ever have any problem with a mere mortal as he could easily topple entire civilizations without as much of a thought; drive people to madness for a laugh even. But now, he was feeling exhausted. An odd mortal feeling?

He resumed his Black Pharaoh form and weakly got back on his feet. He felt rather drained, but nevertheless wanted to move forward. As he raised his hand, he felt his legs tense up. Looking down, his mouth widened in surprise. The stranger was conjuring up a glass substance that was overtaking his legs and replacing his organic parts with inorganic matter. He tried to shift himself to break the glass to no avail. The glass was now reaching up towards his pelvis ensuring that he was frozen in place.

Nyarlathotep turned to glare at his servants. “Well, what are you waiting for? Rescue your god!”

The servants looked at each other for a few moments seriously contemplating what they should do. They then looked at the stranger. Running over, they assisted the stranger with creating the glass.

Nyarlathotep, shocked at first, chuckled. “Well, this was a fun game; the best I had in thousands of years even!”

The glass was now around Nyarlathotep’s neck. His grin became wider and more devious than it was initially. He laughed again.

“What are you laughing about, creature?” the stranger said, “this is the end.”

“Oh, it may be for now, but I assure you that this isn’t over.” The glass was covering his mouth. “Even if it takes an eternity, I will be back; but there will be someone to represent me.”

With that, Nyarlathotep was completely encased in glass. The stranger sighed and rest their hands. “It is over.”

One of the servants started to speak up, a blonde –haired girl with ragged clothing. “I can’t say that is definite.”

“For what reason?” the stranger asked.

“I could’ve sworn I had seen some dark substance collect from the back of Nyarlathotep’s head and then disappear.”

The stranger scratched their chin. “Then I shall write down what I want any future descendants to read just in case he does return.”

The fire started to die down after Boscha finished up eating the weird rodent creature. The goat man sat solemnly watching the fire dwindle.

“So, how did you escape?” Boscha finally asked.

The goat man, now wanting to be named Nyarlathotep once more, chuckled. “I sensed that there was a weakness within the glass prison that they had designed for me; I just had to nibble my way through it until I was able to regain some of my lost power.”

“What is so significant about what that stranger wrote?”

“Ah, you see, it was done using methods that the original inhabitants of the Boiling Isles first learned magic; before needing to draw meaningless circles in thin air. But I sense that this form of magic is no longer practiced by any witches here?”

Boscha scratched her head. She did remember that someone was able to perform magic by drawing symbols and then pressing them. That kind of magic was bizarre even for the Isles due to it being done without the using having a magical organ to draw it from. As her mind weighed through her options, an idea struck.

“Round ears!” she exclaimed.

Nyarlathotep leaned back. “For goodness’ sake, you startled me.” He chuckled. “Just kidding; it is that Noceda girl you are alluding to?”

Boscha nods. “Yeah, if we get her to decipher those spells you mentioned, then you can get your power back.”

Nyarlathotep pat her back. “I knew that I could count on you.” He sat back on the other log. “But we should lie low. I need to gather as much strength as I can; haven’t you any idea?”

Boscha smirked. “Well, there is a special tree that I know about.”

Nyarlathotep raised his eyebrow in piqued interest. “Do tell.”

Shortly after the mysterious stranger had vanquished the now imprisoned Nyarlathotep, like the blonde-woman mentioned, a dark mass that escaped from its fate hovered over the ruins of the temple and uttered a lone hum likely from communicating with its master. Forming a hard outer shell, it fell back on the Isles and burrowed itself deeply into the ground and incubated itself.

And it would remain that way until years later when another event rocked the Boiling Isles. When the witches and demons indulged in savage acts of wild magic, the Boiling Isles was on the brink of disarray if not for the sudden arrival of a “savior.”

#the owl house #owl house #theowlhouse #owlhouse #cthulhu mythos #cthulhu #cthulhumythos #emperor belos #nyarlathotep #fanfiction

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thedefinitionofbts · 4 years

Text

Upon Your Existence (3)

Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 3

Pairings: Jeon Jungkook x Reader (ft. the rest of BTS)

Genre: Science Fantasy, Angst, Apocalypse Au

Words: 7K

Description: …and so they just meet each other in these stories written inside these worlds built in their minds. Of course some will be sad, and others happy, but that’s just the way the universe is…chaotic, imperfect, but magnificently beautiful.

You’ll always remember his eyes, a pair of dark obsidian orbs, cloudy and unreadable to many but to you they were always crystal clear like the polycrystalline structure of black diamonds.

“Hurry, we need to go!” He beckons urgently as you remained huddled in the corner of your bedroom closet, arms wrapped around your legs and chin resting on the caps of your knees.

“Where’s mommy and daddy?” You peer up at your older brother, eyes wide and stricken with fear.

It was already dark outside. The bright glow of blue and red lights flicker through the glass windows, ricocheting off the walls of the room your parents once read you bedtime stories in. You can hear the voices of police officers and military personnel through the loud speakers, advising everyone to evacuate the city.

“They’re waiting for us, come on.” Yoongi responds more softly, flashing you a tender smile, one that you have witnessed more than anyone else, giving you more than enough strength to latch on to his extended hand.

You were just nine years old when news of the first outbreak was broadcasted over the television. At the time, it had not occurred to you how strange it all was, or perhaps it did, but it was all too confusing to even begin questioning any of it. You knew nothing about viruses or the spread of diseases in general, but after moving to the designated “safe haven” for your district and continuing your education through your teens, some things have naturally come to light.

Like back in high school chemistry, when your teacher demonstrated the effects of acid on protein to show students how you could go blind if it got in your eye. It was simply to remind everyone to wear goggles, but you’ll never forget the way the drop of HCl seared the egg white, making the fluid bubble up and solidify instantly. You imagine the virus doing the same to human flesh, only with a more complicated mechanism that had less to do with altering the structure of existing proteins and more to do with actually changing gene expression.

It only takes one person. One mutation. One strand of viral DNA to contaminate it all.

It almost sounded too easy, and though the official announcement stated the virus originated in the jungle off the coast, countless people had suspected it was actually developed by the government, a biological weapon gone awry. It wasn’t until over a decade later that it became quite clear, though still unofficial since the elite would never admit to such a horrendous act publicly, that everything was more or less planned as a means to control the population.

So no, the virus did not entail the end of the world. The world government had actually done a pretty job controlling it. How could they not since they planned it all anyways? But of course, if the world wants to end, it’ll find a way to end.

That, you had also learned through a news broadcast.

“Karma” Hoseok exhales, twisting the key and turning off the engine.

“Hoseok, it’s not Karma if the top 1% still survive.” Yoongi mumbles, stepping out of the passenger door and stretching out his back.

“The biggest fuck you would be if the comet just disintegrates right before it strikes.” Hoseok scoffs. “If only…”

You ponder the possibility of this all being a false positive. “Maybe it’ll miss Earth, and everyone will have evacuated the planet for no reason at all.” It’s a joke, but not the funny kind. You know it’s impossible, but you didn’t really say it for the purpose of anyone agreeing with you or even refuting the statement, considering the nonexistent possibility.

“Maybe…” Hoseok exhales, not entirely paying attention to what he was even responding to but rather just blankly gazing at the open field with its tall grasses swaying in the wind.

Yoongi remains silent. He has been the whole trip for the most part, and in a way, his nonchalance was peaceful and reassuring as it had always been for you growing up.

But this is it. This is where you part ways.

It’s a strange feeling, really. You’ve always imagined this moment to be more emotionally overwhelming, saying goodbye to your brother forever and all. He was the only person you’d ever really trusted, and the only other person who has felt like the closest thing to home, a place that never really existed, and even if it did, it won’t for long. Maybe habituation, or months of convinced acceptance has left you numb, or maybe it's the effect of building something so much up in your head that the actual experience doesn’t live up to what you’ve expected all this time.

“Are you sure?” Yoongi’s voice is low and subdued. He doesn’t make eye contact as he awaits your response, and perhaps it’s because he’s never questioned your personal decisions or the fact that he’s directly expressing his concern for you that you find yourself hesitating for the first time in months.

Did he invite you on this trip hoping you would change your mind in the end?

The thought makes your heart clench, and you have to tell yourself you’re overanalyzing. Yoongi wasn’t the kind to hint at what he wanted. He always directly expressed his thoughts no matter how offensive or uncalled for they are. You’ve always admired him for that sort of bravery, so it wouldn’t make sense for him to change now. Besides, you had made up your mind half a year ago, ever since you saw the timer flash across the T.V. screen.

Six months was how long they gave the general population to decide. Either you were rich enough to leave earth or you had to come to terms with the end. They had known about it years in advance, and though it’s unclear whether or not the planned viral outbreak was related to the detection of the comet’s trajectory, what’s undeniable is that they had kept everyone in the dark to avoid chaos.

You had no interest in space, nor did you want to be a part of a system so cruel. Yoongi didn’t either, not initially, but you weren’t going to blame him for meeting a boy who was the literal manifestation of the sun, someone who could make his heart beat in ways it never did.

“Your spot will always be open” Hoseok chimes in with his bright sunshine of a smile, and you can almost feel a fraction of what Yoongi feels when he sees it too.

“There’s more I want to see before it’s too late.” It’s not like you were alone. There were millions of other people staying on the planet- those who couldn’t afford a ticket on the escape ship.

Yoongi nods lightly, turning to walk up the steps to join Hoseok, who was already at the top still looking at you standing below, perhaps also hoping you would change your mind. Even now, you can see the softness in the latter’s eyes, the tangibility of the warmth that he radiates, and you have no trouble understanding why your bother fell for him.

And that’s the last image you see of the two. Hoseok’s melancholic gaze and the slight upturn of Yoongi’s lip as the doors close.

…

There’s a certain kind of calmness that accompanies solitude, even when the entire world is ready to burst under suppressed chaos. There’s also a strange detachment that comes with wanting to do everything while at the same time not wanting to do anything at all because none of it mattered anymore.

Stepping onto the train, you immediately get a whiff of the stench of sweat and body odor, the kind that tells you you’re not the only one who thought spending the next few days just gazing at the world was a good way to ride through the end. Most of the seats were taken, homeless people with all their bags large and small, scattered across the floor. You almost trip on someone’s sleeping bag as you navigate down the aisle, looking for a less crowded cart, which you are fortunate enough to find just as the train begins to move.

Settling down in the seat closest to the window, you momentarily let your eyes dwell on someone sitting a couple seats away. His attention was focused on the scenery outside, but he somehow sensed the weight of your scrutiny as he turns just as you were about to lean to get a better view.

You barely avert your gaze before he catches you staring, though you’re pretty sure he noticed because the next thing you know, he’s made his way over and is now seated across from you. Despite the sudden proximity and the bout of nerves it has initiated, you choose to keep your attention pointed at the passing scenery now zipping by in parallel with the train’s increasing speed.

“Gorgeous, isn’t it?” His voice is light with a deep, husky undertone that glides through the air.

You look up to find that he isn’t even looking out the window. You swallow, finding it bizarre that he’s staring at you so intently. “Indeed.”

“Traveling?”

You nod.

“Going anywhere in particular?” He tilts his head curiously; a motion almost child-like in nature and it makes you relax for the first time since you started this solo venture.

“Nope.”

He smiles, eyes crinkling at the edges. “So your plan was to just sit on this train and look out the window?”

“Pretty much, yeah” You shrug, sensing your anxieties dissipate as he does not seem to pose a threat of any kind.

He chuckles softly. “But don’t you want to go out there and really feel the earth. Really experience being alive on this planet one last time?”

“It’s dangerous.”

“It’s the end of the world. What do you have to lose?”

He was right, and your excuses don’t even sound convincing to yourself anymore.

“So what exactly are you proposing?”

“This train loops around the entire continent. I say we get off at each stop and do one thing we’ve always wanted to do.”

“We?” You’re thrown off by how easily he placed the word in his sentence. How he didn’t even hesitate to include you in his spur of the moment proposal.

He nods.

“Together?” You ask again, still skeptical.

He laughs softly; looking down and back up again with a playful smirk.

“What if we want to do different things?” You counter, still unsure why you are playing along with this stranger who hasn’t even introduced himself.

“Ok. We’ll get off at each stop and do one thing you’ve always wanted to do.”

“You’re sure putting a lot of bets on someone you don’t even know.” You comment, waiting to see how he’s going to react.

There’s a peculiar look in his eyes, one that speaks of anticipation precipitously lost to the wind. He drops his gaze momentarily, smiling to himself before looking up at you once more.

“Or you could say I’m going all in on someone I would like to get to know.” There’s cheerfulness in his voice that you haven’t heard in a long time, an unfamiliar yet heart racing aura of beginnings rather than the familiar imminent end that has surrounded your life for months. It makes you smile, but you can’t help but notice the sad glint in his eyes merely seconds before it’s gone.

“I…actually haven’t really thought about what I want to do.” You confess, diverting your attention to the landscape outside. Your life had always been planned. Whether it was wandering down paths that others had led you towards or the world leaving you no alternative option, you had never been offered the freedom of uninhibited choice. It was like the events had already been written, and you were just living it out like a character in a story everyone already knows the end to.

“Maybe you shouldn’t think about it.” His voice startles you, making you realize you had paused mid conversation.

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve found that overthinking leads to indecisiveness.” He tilts his head, analyzing your reaction as if waiting for a specific response.

“I’m not indecisive, and I don’t overthink.” You deny, despite knowing full well you are and have always been.

He doesn’t look convinced. “Ok, then you’re afraid of regrets?”

“I’m just…I dunno…scared?”

He nods, displaying that he understands what you mean. “But you are here now, so you must’ve found some source of courage.”

You wouldn’t really consider your decision to stay on earth courageous. To you it was more like the final act of rebellion you had the chance of carrying out, not that you ever came close to rebelling in the past.

“Well?” The train has stopped, and you can tell he’s waiting for you to decide to get off with him or not.

It’s not forceful or pressuring in anyway, but communicates an air of patience you find to be very comforting. And there’s something about the way he speaks to you, the way he gauges your response as if he already knows what you’re about to say that inclines you to believe he knows more about you than logically possible for someone you just met. Maybe you were just easy to read, or this guy is just really good at reading social cues. Whatever it may be, you had two seconds to make your decision, and if the past has taught you anything, you already know that there’s no turning back.

…

Getting off the train, you’re surprised by the number of people still around and the cultural music dancing through the air. You expected the city to be less crowded and the mood to be more somber, a scene that makes the end of the world more obvious, in what way you weren’t sure, but definitely nothing close to what you were currently presented.

“They’re just here, like us, enjoying these last days.” He blinks slowly, somehow able to tell that the scene has left you dumbfounded.

“I guess I just expected something different” You reply, still looking around at the people laughing and chatting away in the outdoor seating areas of restaurants and coffee shops.

“Only 1% of the population left, and most of them probably didn’t live in old towns like this.” He glances at you from under the sunhat he had put on right after exiting the train.

His response puts a smile on your face. A picture of a smiling Hoseok and Yoongi flashes through your mind as you are remembered how they spoke about the privileged. It had been a long time since your mood has felt this light.

“So are you going to properly introduce yourself? Or am I going to have to ask you questions?” You narrow your eyes, feeling mischievous all of a sudden.

He laughs, eyes crinkling at the edges again. “It’s the end of the world. I could tell you anything and it wouldn’t even matter.” He skips a few feet ahead of you before twirling around and offering you his hand.

You’re surprised by your own lack of hesitation as you reach out almost instinctively.

“Wow, that was easier than expected.” He comments, referring to how quickly you accepted his offer compared to your obvious indecision back on the train, eyes almost wide as he gives your hand a light squeeze, making sure that it was indeed real, and his eyes weren’t just playing tricks on him.

“It’s the end of the world.” You shrug, repeating the words he had been reiterating since the two of you met. An unfamiliar fullness engulfs your heart, and you wonder if the boy next to you feels it too. You don’t remember the last time you had held someone’s hand like this or if you had ever held a hand that fit to yours so perfectly.

“Jungkook.” He suddenly breathes out, probably noticing the way you’ve been staring at your interlinked hands like he would suddenly let go or disappear into thin air.

“Huh?” You look up almost dazed.

“My name. It’s Jungkook.” He smiles, gripping your hand a bit tighter.

“Oh, um, I’m Y/N.” You response almost awkwardly, unprepared for his sudden revelation of sorts, trying to recall why the name seemed familiar while at the same time knowing with the utmost certainty you had never known a person with that name.

He bobs, the expression on his face making you almost suspect that this wasn’t new information to him.

“So what would you like to do, Miss Y/N?” He gestures at the completely foreign town, the lake and mountains not too far in the distance.

“I don’t know.” You reveal truthfully, not having thought this far yet. You were kind of just banking on intuition, but you were so caught up analyzing him along with your own shifting disposition that you hadn’t actually thought about the actual world and what you wanted to do. “With the virus and all, I had never made a bucket list or anything. I just assumed I would never get a chance to come to places like this anyways.”

“Even when it was nearly eradicated?”

“Then came this whole comet ordeal.” You sigh. “End of the world, remember?”

“Not like I could forget.” He starts swinging your interlinked arms causally. “Shall we just walk around then? Explore some abandoned buildings that may or may not be haunted.”

“You can’t seriously believe in ghosts, can you?” You cock a brow. “In this day and age?”

He cackles. “I was just testing you.”

“Sure you were” You flash him the look, but it doesn't last before you’re consumed by his contagious laughter.

It wasn’t long before the two of you stumble upon a rather decent looking lodging facility, not that you were looking for anything fancy. The walls were made of stone, a suitable complement to the cobblestone roads you had been walking along since leaving the train station, with ivy crawling up the sides and lining the windows. The building gave off the impression that it was an affordable choice for two broke travelers, not that money really mattered anymore.

“We should probably put some of our stuff down and explore the city.” Jungkook suggests, looking up from the map on his phone.

You exhale slowly, almost having forgotten how heavy your backpack weighed on your shoulders. The sun had moved to the middle of the sky, causing beads of sweat to form and start sliding down your forehead. It wasn’t extremely hot, but you had opted to wear a few extra layers in an attempt to keep your bags a bit lighter.

Following him into the lobby, you don’t expect Jungkook to arrange a room for you as well, but he comes back with two keys to two separate rooms.

“Thanks” You voice softly as hands one of them to you.

“It would probably be safer to stay in the same room, but I don’t want you to think I’m some perverted stalker trying to take advantage of you.”

You smirk before failing to contain your own laughter. “I already assumed you were.”

He rolls his eyes. “Just let me know if you need anything, ok?”

You nod, glancing at him one last time before heading towards your room. He seemed concerned, or his mind was thinking about something else.

The room smelled moist and musky, with an almost rotten scent, like it hadn’t been cleaned in quite some time. Not that you were expecting some pristine hotel room or sterilized classroom like the facilities back in the cities during the viral outbreak, but it was pretty clear the place hadn’t been tidied in weeks. The bed sheets were unwashed, and the trash bins hadn’t even been emptied.

You walk over to open a window, hoping the air outside would somehow neutralize the pungent odor. Just as you were contemplating going over to suggest exploring the markets, you hear a knock at your door.

“Who is it?” You call out, hoping that it was just Jungkook coming back to check up on you.

There’s no answer, but you can hear the pounding get louder, like whoever was on the other side was trying to break down the door. There’s a loud crack as the wooden door pane splinters, the rusty knob just falling off and rolling across the floor. You’re frozen in place, eyes full of fear as you stare at the large man standing at the entrance.

He slowly walks towards you with a frown on his face, blocking your view of the hallway and only escape.

Before you could scream, you hear a loud bang and the next thing you know, the man was on the ground. Your eyes immediately dart up and to your uttermost relief, you see Jungkook with a lamp clasped in his hand, eyes wide with alarm.

“We need to get out of here” He exhales, quickly grabbing your hand and making a run for it.

You don’t get a chance to look back, all you can focus on is keeping up with Jungkook’s speed as he leads you back out to the street and navigates through the crowds of people.

“Wha-how did you…?” You look at him and back in the direction the two of you ran from, mind still reeling from the hasty course of events.

“It was my bad really, I should’ve know most places aren’t safe anymore.” He shakes his head, looking around at the people still gathered in large crowds when you’re finally at a safe distance from the lodge. “Maybe that’s why everyone is here out in the open.”

“Hey, it’s ok, we’re fine and there’s only like three weeks left anyways” You give his hand a tight squeeze, unsure of why you felt so compelled to make him feel better. Perhaps it was the sadness in his eyes, something you can’t seem to ignore because it looked so familiar yet you’re unable to comprehend it fully.

He sighs. “Three weeks…are you the type who prefers to count down?”

You want to forget about it, to not be constantly reminded that the world you once knew is gone and these last moments will soon be swallowed in the same way. But no matter how hard you try to ignore the thought, it’s always there at the back of your mind, a subconscious countdown that keeps showing up intermittently.

“I just want to be as prepared as possible, and I don’t like surprises.”

“Somehow that’s not so surprising.” He smiles for the first time in a while, and you don’t miss the hint of playfulness in his words. It’s reassuring and quells some of your anxiety.

“You don’t seem to mind this whole ordeal.” You suddenly blurt out. Ever since you met this dark haired doe-eyed Jungkook, he’s seemed so…okay with everything, like the end of the world was some kind of adventure and not a dark and dreary end to existence.

He cocks a brow. “Almost getting us into some deep shit back there?”

“No, the fact that we have three weeks left, and then it’s over.” You exhale, letting out a breath you didn’t know you had been holding in for so long and finally feeling that weight being lifted off your chest.

His features relax as he turns to face you. “I’m looking forward to what lies beyond the end and in the meantime, making the most of what we are given now.”

You don’t quite understand what he means, and there are so many questions you want to ask, but the determined look in his eyes makes you wonder if you’re missing something deeper, something he wants to convey but is waiting for you to reach your own conclusion.

“Beyond the end?”

He chuckles lightly. “Like how people say endings give birth to new beginnings?”

“You sound like my mom.” You huff, knowing that he’s just playing around again and avoiding the real answer to your question.

“Do you miss her?” He suddenly asks.

“She was never really around much. Neither was my dad.” There’s an extended pause as Jungkook waits for you to continue, almost like he senses there’s more you want to say. “My brother Yoongi was my rock, the only person in my life that I could turn towards for guidance like an actual parental figure. My parents were loving and all, but being adopted, they were just nice picture parents. They didn’t offer me the kind of depth I needed. And my brother, you know, was older and I’m sure he didn’t think much of it at the time, but his advice was something I always took seriously, whether it was subconscious or not. His opinions impacted a lot of my decisions in life…” You trail off, thinking back to all the decisions you had made because Yoongi had expressed some form of bias towards it and still question to this day if they were the right ones. It’s not like you had that many regrets, but you can’t help but wonder if your life would’ve turned out differently had you made more choices independently. “You know I could’ve just said fuck it and did the thing I actually wanted to do.”

“Well, here’s your chance.”

…

The two of you decide that the safest place to sleep is the train.

Though it was often crowded and smelled of human sweat, it was still better than figuring how to set up a tent or having to climb a tree. And after the incident at the lodge, neither of you really wanted to risk it again. Besides, spending one or two days in one city is more than enough to grab some local food and do some sightseeing. You also realize that all of the towns sort of start blending into one another, like the days you’re still trying not to countdown. You’ve gotten to the point where it doesn’t bother you as much, at least not when you’re with traveling with someone you’ve grown too fond of too quickly, but in the best way ever.

“I guess I really didn’t think any of this through, but none of it really matters now, does it?”

You were trailing behind him in the orchard, the sun’s rays filtering through the leaves casting moving patterns on the ground. Spending the past few days visiting gardens and vineyards had been more fun than you had expected. The fruit was sweet and the flowers were bright and lively. Each farm you visited looked to stretch on for miles and miles, twisting and twirling along the hills and rivers. You had always been told that beauty existed in the most unexpected of places, and you were finally given the chance to witness it for yourself.

“You know there’s no point in living every day thinking about the fact that you’re going to die anyways.” He takes a bite of the apple he just picked off of one of the lower branches of the tree. The sound so crisp and juicy, you can feel your mouth salivating.

You release a light chuckle. “You’re telling me this when it’s literally the end of the world?”

He turns to toss you an apple. “I’m advising you to stop thinking about endings.”

Catching it in your hands, you stare at the intermingled colors for a moment, red, yellow, and a tad bit of green merging but never really mixing to become one. Taking a bite you realize its sweetness is lace with a tangy after taste, like those bittersweet endings you’ve come to know so well.

“I used to come to these places filled with so many thoughts on how to remember the details that I forget to enjoy the actual experience.” You pause, taking the time to decide if you wanted to continue.

Jungkook doesn’t make a sound, no signal to hint that he was going throw in commentary or interrupt your train of thought. You turn to glance at him, wondering if he’s wrapped in his own contemplation, only to find that he just looking at you, staring so intently you have to look away as you feel the blood rush to face.

“You’re still afraid of losing your memories, huh?”

It leaves his lips as a whisper, so soft that you are compelled to believe he was just mumbling to himself. You want to linger over his interesting choice of words, but you try not to think much of it and continue.

“So I tried to reason that if the journey is what we should be focusing on, I should just set goals that I’ll never reach. That way I wouldn’t have to deal with endings or being directionless in life.” You laugh. “And of course that backfired.”

“Continuously chasing after something you’ll never obtain?” He tilts his head towards the sun, closing his eyes for a brief moment.

You observe his side profile, visually drawing the outline of his silhouette and carving the image of his physical form into your brain knowing that it will last only as long as the end of time will allow.

“I just don’t like endings…or goodbyes…or even the thought that this is all there is to it.” You murmur, shifting your eyes back to the ground.

“There’s always more too it than you think.”

“And then I read somewhere that people don’t remember what you do but they remember how you made them feel.” You don’t know where you’re going with your outburst of thoughts, and maybe the diminishing days are convincing you to let it all out before it’s too late no matter how nonsensical everything you are saying is.

The breeze blowing by emphasizes the brief silence that follows, in which only the gentle rustling of leaves can be heard. You don’t know what else to say. You’ve never gotten this far in a conversation where your thoughts have been unhindered and you hadn’t planned an entire speech out. At this point you’re just waiting for him to respond, to tell you that you should stop thinking about uselessly irrelevant things or at least question why you’re telling him all this.

You watch as he turns to face you, not having realized you had closed the distance between you whilst ranting. He was so close you can almost feel the light brush of his shirt as it lifts up slightly in the wind and the heat of his body radiating off his smooth skin. His gaze is distracting. It’s something you’ve learned over the past week and then some. The way his dark pupils twinkle mysteriously almost mimicking those of someone’s you will never forget, but there’s something different about his. His eyes reflected the sunlight like there were stars inside.

You’re so enraptured by his beauty that you don’t realize he’s reduced the remaining space between the two of you to almost nothing, lips just millimeters away now. Without another thought, you lean forward and kiss him, mouth clumsily crashing with his. You can feel his lips curve into a smile as he kisses you back much in a much more composed and practiced manner, like he has done it a million times before, only you know that’s not possible. He breaks free temporarily only to murmur one sentence in response.

“I’ll always remember the way you made me feel.”

…

Time starts to fluctuate in ways you begin to lose track of.

Sometimes you wake up in the middle of the night confused about where you were and frantically searching for something to calm your racing thoughts. You have dreams about different phases of your life, places you’ve been, people you used to know, only they are distorted in ways that make them almost unrecognizable. And then when you try to dig them up from your memories, you find that they are lost and everything has changed.

Now you find solace in the moonlight pouring through the curtain windows of the train and the solidity of Jungkook’s hand intertwined with yours as his jacket covers both of your bodies. The way he never leaves your side is unusual for someone you didn’t even know existed until about two weeks ago, and yet he gives you no reason to doubt that he would ever leave.

It’s something you’ve too grown familiar with, the scent of his body and the warmth of his smile. And as you walk the streets of foreign cities, navigating through crowds of strange people whose faces you won’t even remember, you choose to inscribe the details of his features in your memoirs, the softness of his skin, the width of his shoulders, the veins on his forearms...

You’ve learned that he enjoys gazing at large bodies of water, lakes, rivers, and oceans, which is why you find yourself on the beach at the last stop of your journey.

“Would it make sense to say I’ve always liked being alone, but I’m not too fond of being lonely?”

He takes a minute to contemplate your seemingly contradictory statement.

“Makes perfect sense to me.” He absentmindedly tosses a seashell at the incoming wave. It’s swallowed instantly, and all you can focus on is the foamy ripples that wane back into the seemingly endless blue. “I think what makes us feel lonely is being with people who don’t really understand us, and that doesn’t happen when you’re alone since you’re just by yourself. ”

“Wow, you’re the first person who hasn’t just told me I’m just being anti-social…well, technically the second.” You smile, breathing out slowly. “I think you and my brother, Yoongi, would’ve gotten along pretty well.”

“Did he leave?”

You nod, recalling the last image of him still safely tucked away in your memories.

“And you wanted to stay to enjoy these last few weeks.”

You arch a brow, having expected him to ask why you didn’t leave rather than stating the exact answer you would’ve given him had he asked.

“How’d you guess?”

He laughs. “I figured, since you don’t seem bothered wasting all this time with me.”

“True.” You smile. “Although I wouldn’t call it wasting…”

The salty sea breeze is something you definitely didn’t have the luxury of smelling growing up. This is your first time visiting the beach, first time seeing the ocean. Each day you’ve spent on this adventure of sorts with Jungkook has been a first…and a last now that you think about it.

“You’re right. I couldn’t have asked for a better end to life on earth.”

…

Home.

It’s not a concept you are familiar with in the traditional sense. It’s not a feeling you’ve experienced first hand nor is it a place you’ve truly been to.

But looking into Jungkook’s eyes you can see it.

You can see it in the way he looks at you, the way he embraces you in his arms not because it's the end of the world and there is no one else to hold, but because it's where you belong and neither of you would have it any other way.

“This can’t be it.” You choke out, already losing yourself to the rush of tears, though you had tried so hard to keep it together until the end. “W-we j-just met…”

He doesn’t say anything, but instead holds you tighter.

“I never even asked you anything about yourself. All I did was ramble on and on about me, throwing all my stupid thoughts out there like any of it mattered.” You’re tears won’t stop. You had always hated endings; putting the utmost effort into not caring so you wouldn’t have anything you were afraid of losing. But you just couldn’t do it. Not with him.

He flashes you one last smile as he gently cups your tear-streamed cheeks in his hands, a gesture that is not overpowered by a deep sense of hollowness but rather reflects an almost peaceful ray of hope.

“I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. I’ll always be here.”

…

...

“I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve watched him die. I just remember always crying until I have no tears left to shed. But he always gives me that reassuring look, with those stars in his eyes and that twitch of his soft lips like it isn’t the last time, that we’ll for sure meet again.” You release a trivial laugh, already feeling the effects of the alcohol. “Of course, I never pick up on it until I’m about to wake up.”

The bar was dim and comparably quiet, being that it was only you and Namjoon sitting at the counter. It was a Monday night, not exactly the best of days to get drunk, but it’s not like you really cared, though you probably should. You had invited the entire lab out for dinner to celebrate the publishing of your most recent paper, which turned out quite pleasant and ended roughly an hour ago. All the other students and professors had gone home.

“He’s always waiting.” You murmur, staring at the shot glass in front of you, still talking as if you were by yourself, reiterating the words that continuously circle back in your head.

Namjoon looks up, startled by your sudden comment after a lengthy pause.

“I never have to look for him because he always comes back to me.” You scoff, bringing the glass up to your lips, tilting your head, and letting the liquid burn down your throat. “And then when I react like I’ve just met him for the first time, he just flashes that gentle smile of acceptance like I didn’t just break his heart.”

Your bottom lip quivers, and before you know it, tears are streaming down your face. God, you feel ridiculous.

“And that happens every time?” Namjoon’s voice is barely a whisper, his eyes focused on his own glass.

“Never misses a beat.” You sniffle softy, picking up a napkin to dot away your tears. “I thought I was ok, but I guess I am insane.” You laugh pathetically.

“I understand. He means a lot to you.”

“He’s the kind of forever that never changes, the kind of time that does not reach an end just to continue that moment you’ve always wanted to last for an eternity.” You don’t even know what’s gotten into you, and though you’re aware of the mess you must look like right now, you can’t seem to pull it together.

There’s a long pause, and nothing but the sound of stifled music and distant footsteps can be heard.

“Professor Y/L/N, I know it’s not my place to be curious about your personal life, but can you really not think of a single person that resembles him, whether it is in the past or now?” Namjoon voice is more desperate than he probably intended, but any could tell you were not being quite yourself.

A forced smile makes it’s way to your lips as you shake your head. “He was always exactly what I needed. He was always too good to be real.”

“It’s not impossible.”

“It’s bad to be too dependent on other people.” You flash him an amused look, not really knowing what you are saying anymore as your head begins to spin from the alcohol. “And please, please, don’t get me wrong. I’m not weak or insecure.”

Namjoon doesn’t respond, sensing your tipsiness.

“It’s not that he gives my life meaning or that he makes me feel complete.” You run your hands through your hair, trying to keep your cool, but anyone could tell you’re losing it. “He’s the only truth in a world of lies. Even when I’m not aware that everything around me is merely a dream, he always feels like the only thing that is real, and for him I would be content never waking up because the rest of reality doesn’t even matter. And don’t get me wrong, I’ve long learned to be independent and logical, to refrain from getting lost in dreams, relying on others, and carrying expectations that will only result in disappointment. I’ve practiced the art of self-love for all my life, and I’m fine. My life has purpose, and I am complete the way I am.” You release a shaky breath, palms feeling cold and clammy. “I’ve always felt that I’ve had everything and yet… he offers more.”

You look up to meet Namjoon’s eyes that are nothing but sympathetic.

“How could I not want more?” You croak, beginning to cry again. “I’m so greedy.”

That’s what it is. Always wanting more, never feeling like what you have is enough. When will you learn to be grateful for what is and stop trying to obtain what is not yours to begin with?

“You are not greedy.” Namjoon’s voice is discreet, but firm. “You’re afraid to believe of his existence.”

Your eyes shoot up to meet his. “Because I know he doesn’t exist.”

“Then why do you keep going back?” His question is not for the purpose of attacking you or for blatantly calling you out for something you’ve been guilty of for years, but it catches you off guard, and you suddenly find yourself exposed… vulnerable.

“My research” You reply dryly, maintaining a steady voice amidst the fable you’ve been repeatedly telling everyone who’s ever asked. “I don’t really have a choice.”

Namjoon doesn’t look convinced, but he doesn’t try to force the truth out of you even though he knows exactly why. “No, I mean, why does your mind subconsciously always go back to him?” He murmurs, staring at the table solemnly.

His query once again seizes you in unfamiliar territory, and for the first time, you don’t know what to say or at least can’t come up with an answer that will not expose the true reason you’ve been experimenting. Because you know Namjoon is right.

You just don’t know how right he is.

...

#bts fanfic #jungkook fanfic #jungkook angst #jungkook x reader #bts x reader #bts scenarios #bts angst #bts imagines #wow it's been so long #i didn't forget about this story i promise

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aiimaginesbts · 4 years

Text

Of Two Hearts: Chapter 2

Seokjin x Reader x Taehyung (ft. Jimin and Namjoon)

Genres: Royalty AU, angst

Word count: 6,112 words

Chapter 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10

Read the First Part: What You Never Had

A/N: Thanks Ann @godsavemefrombts for beta-ing this!

Disclaimer/Copyright

Your knees simply gave out.

There was no other word for it. Suddenly all the strength within you vanished into thin air, your legs could no longer support the weight of your body and you crumpled to the ground. “Y/n!” Namjoon cried out and went swiftly around his desk to rush to your aid. When he had you cradled safely in his arms, he turned to the messenger and said, “Thank you for giving us the news as quickly as you could. I have to ask you to refrain from sharing it with anyone else until we can figure out how to deal with it. Otherwise there will be panic.”

The messenger nodded gravely. “Understood, Your Highness.”

“You are dismissed. Make sure you get medical attention for your wounds at once.”

You were only vaguely aware of the messenger’s departure from the room. Any thoughts of Jin and Jimin flew from your mind; the only thing that remained was your father. The news left you in such a state of shock that your eyes didn’t even form tears. Yes, you had been dreading exactly this, but now that it really happened, you realised that you’d never really believed that it would. Regardless of the situation, your father was invincible in your eyes. He would live forever, you’d thought. Outliving you, even. That he would no longer be there, forever, shattered everything around you until you felt nothing.

Eventually, you became aware of Namjoon’s arms tightening around you, and your inelegant position on the carpet. You had no idea how much time had passed; for all you know, you’d only lost your mind for a moment or two, but it felt like forever. It hurt so very badly, that it wouldn’t have subsided in a million years. Yet the sun was still shining outside. It shouldn’t, in your opinion. It was the darkest day of your life, and you were unreasonably angry at the sun for continuing to be so warm and bright. That misplaced rage that should be directed of the faceless men of Zinnis pricked at the corner of your eyes, and it brought clarity. And with it, grief. You clutched at the lapel of Namjoon’s coat and sobbed. It was much more subdued than you’d have thought warranted on such an occasion. Truthfully, you wanted to wail and scream at the cruelty, the injustice, but you couldn’t. The passing of your father left you broken, and you felt weak. Your eldest brother’s support gave you the strength to let out your emotions in continuous but short, soft whimpers, and nothing more. Even though you knew that Namjoon was as stricken as you were at the news, perhaps he was as comforted by your presence as you were by his. Thus, you sought solace in each other, during that small window of opportunity when you didn’t have to pretend, until you needed to go on and be strong for the sake of others.

Unfortunately, that time wasn’t long in coming. News of the King’s passing spread like wildfire through the bordering villages, eventually making its way to the towns, then, the entire country and beyond. All at an alarming rate that you weren’t sure you were prepared for. Amidst the chaos that wracked the castle for the next two weeks came the confirmation that Jimin had escaped the ambush. Apparently, he’d been caught in the attack, but managed to flee with the help of the guards.

The guards. You had bitten the inside of your cheek so hard when you’d heard the message alongside Namjoon, trying to keep your tongue still and your face calm, that you could taste blood in your mouth from biting your lower lip. Relief that your second brother was safe was immense, but what of Jin? You were dying to know. However, that was the least of your worries. On the surface, at least. Even whilst still mourning for the late King, Namjoon had to take over the role — in responsibilities if not yet in name. The people were in a panic, and rightly so. In the castle, the overlapping voices of the nobles were only making everything more confusing, all of them anxious to make themselves heard, each one convinced that their opinion was the only one that mattered.

It was enough to drive you mad. You’d barely been allowed time to grieve for your father before you’d been drowned with responsibilities and your sense of loyalty towards Namjoon. He needed all the support he could get. Heaven knew how he was coping with it all. Even with the news that Jimin had survived, both of you couldn’t be assured of the fact until you’d seen him with your own eyes. It was even worse for you, since you couldn’t even ask after Jin without making yourself look suspicious, so you had two people to worry about.

“His my Royal Guard, after all. Perhaps it would be fine to ask?” You tried to cajole Ji Eun into agreeing with you, but the sentence ended up as a question, rather than a statement. Really, you were just trying to convince yourself. It didn’t even take much reasoning to see that there was no way for you to find out about Jin’s condition. Even if you inquired about him, you doubted that the status of each of the guards that had followed the late King and his youngest son were known. All you could do was worry about Jin all by yourself—

Your head snapped up sharply as you came to a realisation. No, you were not the only one worrying about Jin. Some distance away from the castle, his parents were surely wondering the fate of their only child. A twinge of guilt nagged at you when you remembered that you hadn’t visited since the day you came of age. The day that introduced you as the Princess to the whole world. The day that Jin discovered your true identity. So many things had happened since then. More importantly, sneaking out of the castle became even more dangerous, now that many of the citizens knew the face of their Princess. Thus, you’d stopped your clandestine visits out of the castle, limiting your outings to the ones carried out due to your duties. Clearly, those hadn’t allowed a trip to your beloved’s parents’ house.

Yet now you felt the urgent need to go. As painful as your concern for Jin was, his parents must be feeling it a hundred times over. Your hands fisted in your skirts in anger and guilt, directed inwards. It was shameful that you didn’t remember about it until now. Even though you hadn’t had the opportunity to communicate with his father often, since he was usually out the few times you visited, and the handful of times you did see him, you’d found that he wasn’t one for many words, Jin’s mother had always been friendly and welcoming. Perhaps she knew that there was something going on between you and her son. You wondered if she’d disapprove of your relationship, knowing now who you actually were. Surely the stopping of your visits didn’t help your cause, but you’d like to believe that she understood your position. And you wished that she would have blessed the feelings that you and Jin had for each other.

However, none of that mattered if something had happened to him. It was a moment of clarity for you. Jin’s life far outweighed the love you had for him — the very emotion that had been the center of your turbulent thoughts these past few months. You would do anything if it would guarantee his safety. Which made the whole situation all the more unbearable, since there was nothing you could do. You turned to Ji Eun, wearing a pleading look that put her on guard immediately.

Over three hours later, you flopped inelegantly on your bed and closed your eyes. Exhaustion from arguing with your lady-in-waiting can be felt not just in your brain and throat, but somehow all over your body. Yet it was still far from over, it seems. Neither of you had budged from your initial opinions; you asserting that Jin’s parents needed to be reassured, even if there was no reassurance to be given, and Ji Eun insisting that such an endeavour was unnecessary and out of the question. She’d only agreed to summon Jungkook to your study. When you’d asked her to do so, you’d been hoping that the guard would agree to accompany you on your visit. Yet Ji Eun had agreed to your request to bring Jungkook over quite readily. The right corner of your mouth dipped in a thoughtful frown. You had no doubt that she was browbeating Jungkook into agreeing to refuse any of your requests on their way back to you.

Maybe it was because you were lying flat on your back, but your sigh felt especially loud and heavy. A few moments of silence passed, then your groan filled the air as you sat up and brought your forehead to your knees. Jin’s soft but stern voice sounded in your head, reminding you not to do anything foolish or dangerous. With an unladylike groan, you shifted to press your eyes against your knees, as if that could block out his sensible words. It hurt to think of him when you didn’t even know if he was still alive or not. You had always followed your instinct, even though you knew that it wasn’t the wisest course of action. Yet this time it was your head that told you to go to provide comfort to Jin’s parents, and hopefully, selfishly, gain some solace for yourself, too. However, your instinct remained unmoved, giving no drive for you to move. Instead, you heard — or perhaps remembered, you weren’t sure — Jin’s warning, advising you against it.

Even though you had no idea what it meant, a wave of unease washed over you. All of a sudden, you felt unsure and extremely vulnerable. All the more Jin’s absence left you completely lost. You had taken him for granted, and now only when he wasn’t around that you knew how much you needed him. Remorse filled you as you remembered how you’d avoided him for the past few weeks. It was hardly fair for him to be pushed away while you tried to figure out the obstacles in your relationship. Especially when he’d been fully aware of the impossibility of the situation due to the difference in your stations from the very beginning. It was you who’d been convinced that everything would turn out fine, too short-sighted to really contemplate your obligations as a princess. Perhaps you shouldn’t have pushed him away, even if you couldn’t bear to share your insecurities with him. You had no idea how much you’d depended on him. Jin was the reason you had felt so safe, even when you were doing reckless things. Ever since the first day you’d met him, you knew he was your very own knight. Not just because he was your personal Royal Guard. You just knew that no matter what you did, no matter how dangerous the situation you found yourself in, Jin would be there to save you.

But Jin wasn’t here now. Even if he had survived the Zinnis ambush, there was no way he could come to your aid should something happen. The chaos inside the castle was just a small sample of the state of things outside in the capital; the whole country was in a state of unrest. People were surely anxious and fearful of the fate of their youngest Prince, all the while preparing themselves for a war. It was inevitable now. You didn’t have to ask Namjoon to know that even leaving the castle fully guarded was ill-advised; to sneak out with only one protector would be foolish to the extreme. As it was, you were sure that you were already halfway to insanity, arguing within yourself with someone who wasn’t even there.

By the time Ji Eun returned with Jungkook to meet you in your small study within your suite of chambers, you were already weary from your battle with yourself. Still, you tried to appear collected and authoritative as you sat behind your desk; the way you should appear. You could tell that Ji Eun had already warned him of the request you wanted to make, and couldn’t blame him for holding himself so stiffly, as if bracing himself for something unpleasant. And just a short while ago, you would have gone ahead and told him of your initial request. “Jungkook, I have been told that the Royal Guard Seokjin’s parents live in the capital,” you said slowly, carefully weighing the words on your tongue before uttering them. “Do you know where it is?”

He looked surprised, but nodded, wide-eyed. “I have been to visit before, Your Highness.” Of course; you remembered that Jungkook was Jin’s junior in the military academy. The younger man looked up to him, and so Jin had taken it upon himself to keep an eye on Jungkook. They had gotten rather close. You tried to work the words out in your head before saying them. It didn’t seem like he suspected your feign of ignorance. Your words made it seem like it was just something you’d heard in passing. Perhaps a tidbit that Jin has shared with you himself. He was your Royal Guard, after all.

In the end, you decided to stay as close to the truth as possible. “They must be worried sick about him,” you conveyed your real feelings with words disguised as concern as a princess. “Would you mind checking in on them to make sure they are alright?”

“Of course not. I would be happy to.” Jungkook’s soft sigh of relief followed his agreement, and you had to try hard to pretend that you didn’t hear it. Even though you had no idea what Ji Eun had told him, you could easily hazard a guess; a favour, probably unpleasant, and definitely dangerous to your safety. You bit back a wry smile. Jungkook was lucky that you weren’t being wilful today, you supposed. Truth be told, you really wanted to go — the original request that you’d had for him was to accompany you there. But somewhere between sending a reluctant Ji Eun with your request and Jungkook’s arrival, you’d changed your intentions. You were sure that she would ask you why you’d changed your mind, but you didn’t have a ready answer. It wasn’t as if Jin was by your side, persuading you to abandon the idea, as much as you’d like it to be true. It didn’t matter, anyway. Even if you did go, what could you do, other than apologise for not visiting for so long due to the real nature of your position? How would you even explain that — posing as a commoner and making their son fall in love with you, only to end up in a relationship that couldn’t possibly head anywhere? You knew you couldn’t bring yourself to reassure them that Jin was fine. Not when you were worried and deathly afraid that might not be the case yourself. Your shook your head mentally, forcing yourself to focus on the two people actually in front of you, and off the person who wasn’t even there.

“Thank you, Jungkook. Do let me know if they need anything,” you said with a nod, dismissing him. A part of you debated the wisdom of telling him to relay the message saying that you were praying for his safe return, but you decided against it. Although Jin had probably told his parents who you really were, you weren’t completely sure of that fact. Even if they knew, you couldn’t guarantee that they won’t say something about your relationship with Jin to Jungkook. Best to play it safe and not ask him to say anything about you at all. However, just before he could leave the room, you asked him, “perhaps it would be best not to let others know of my request. I do not want to be seen as having favourites, but I do not know the circumstances of the other men in the group.” It was a lame excuse, since you were playing favourites, in a way. But it was the only way you could think of to inform Jungkook not to tell anyone else. You trusted that he wouldn’t if you’d instructed him not to.

Jungkook nodded his assent, then left. As expected, your lady-in-waiting immediately pounced, insanely curious as to what made you change your mind. You were aware that you were the most obstinate person, which was why she wasn’t completely satisfied when you said it was your instinct. Surely there must be something more, she’d said, and you would have agreed with her if you hadn’t known your own heart.

It turned out that your guts had been pulling you in the right direction, after all. The sun had barely left the skies and the darkness had hardly claimed the night when Ji Eun arrived with a message. She took care to be suspiciously quiet, even though she was visibly excited — her eyes were wide, mouth opening and closing like a goldfish, as if she couldn’t believe the news herself, even though she was the one delivering it. After taking a deep breath, she exclaimed in the lowest voice she could muster, “They are back!”

“What?” You asked cluelessly, never for one second thinking that such news would come at that moment. It took a few seconds for you to digest her meaning, but when you did, you started up from your seat, almost upsetting the tea service in the process. “You mean, Jimin—“

She nodded vigorously in confirmation, and your fingers dig into the soft material of the chair. “What about...” you choked on your words, too scared to bring yourself to finish the sentence. As if stopping in the middle would protect you from any bad tidings. But you didn’t have to, because Ji Eun knew exactly what you wanted to say. She nodded firmly.

Immediately you stood, ready to rush to Jin’s side, but then you stopped yourself. With your brain catching up with the instinctive actions that your body took, everything came rushing to you, and you sagged back into your seat. Relief unlike anything you’d ever felt before washed over you, even as your feet itched to run towards him. Thank goodness you didn’t leave the castle with Jungkook to go to Jin’s house earlier. You didn’t even know where he was, exactly, but you would search every nook and cranny of the castle if you’d followed your heart’s desire. Jin was alive! Just a few minutes ago your heart was heavy with guilt and the uncertainty of Jin’s condition. Right now he and Jimin were in the same building as you. You could hardly believe it. Yet you couldn’t rush to Jin like you wanted to. It was painful to hold yourself back, but you were thankful enough that he was alive. You could almost bear anything as long as he was safe.

After composing yourself as best you could, you started out of your chambers with Ji Eun. You wanted to see your brother. At least that wasn’t out of the ordinary. Hopefully Jin was there with him. However, when you arrived, he clearly wasn’t in attendance, since the only people who were present in Namjoon’s study was himself and Jimin, but upon seeing your second brother, thoughts of Jin was easily put aside. After all, even though you knew that he was alive, you’d been just as concerned about Jimin as you were about Jin. Yes, you’d known that Jimin had survived the attack early on, but that didn’t mean you weren’t worried about him. You wanted to make sure that he was unhurt — at least physically; you were sure that the passing of your father had affected him even more than it did you, since it happened in his presence — and simply to reassure yourself that he was there. He looked haggard, and your heart cried for him. The physical, mental and emotional exertion of the travel and the ambush had clearly taken a toll on him, and even though he smiled the moment he saw you, the expression was tired, almost strained.

With no regard to propriety, you ran towards Jimin, stopping short just before you crashed into him. Grabbing his forearms, you assessed him from top to bottom, eyes narrowed to catch every single scratch. It might not have been a good idea, though. There were more than a few scratches on the younger prince, even a gash that you were sure was the surface of an even deeper wound. He was in one piece, but every single injury on him tore at your heart, making you tremble and envisioning tearing faceless men limb from limb for laying their hands on your brother. For a short while, Jimin indulged in your quiet assessment of his well-being. But it didn’t take long for him to deduce that you’d never be completely assured, and so he runs his thumb gently over the creases between your brows. “I’m fine,” he informed you.

Your lips trembled at his voice; whether it was because you missed it, or because you knew that he wasn’t actually fine — not really — and you threw your arms around him. Pressing your face as hard as you could against his chest, you managed to keep the tears at bay. “Do you have any idea how worried we were?” Your muffled words were more watery than angry, devoid of any actual accusation. Jimin was home, and that was all that mattered. Losing your father had caused you enough grief without having to cry over your brother as well, and you knew Namjoon agreed. After calming yourself down, you and your brothers had a long talk over the devastating incident.

Listening to Jimin’s first-hand recounting was a painful but necessary experience. The gist of it was as you’d heard from the messenger, but Jimin filled in the blanks. He was inside the carriage with the late King, going over the more important issues that they’d hoped to discuss with the King of Zinnis, when shouts rang from outside. The men from Zinnis far outnumbered the guards protecting the carriage, easily decimating the ones from the right of it with hardly any time for your men to sound the alarm. From Jimin’s point of view, the enemy was on top of them before he could even draw his sword. The shock and force was such that he wouldn’t have been surprised if the sturdy carriage had overturned from the sheer strength of horse and men. Jimin had rushed outside to join the men, while being wary of straying too far from the carriage.

Yet it was all for naught. As he was furiously slashing at his enemies, a hand had pulled on his shoulder, and he almost took a swipe at the unwitting man behind as he turned around. “It was Sir Kim Seokjin.” Jimin’s voice remained calm, but his eyes flicked in your direction for an instant before settling on Namjoon again.

The eldest Prince frowned in confusion. “Kim Seokjin?” He asked, unfamiliar with the name.

“Y/n’s Royal Guard.” Jimin nodded towards you, and Namjoon made a sound of recognition.

“Ah. Yes. He was the one who discovered the pirates’ hideout, wasn’t he?” Your eldest brother turned towards you for confirmation, and you muttered your assent.

“He had also protected her on several occasions,” Jimin added, and you looked at him carefully. Was he up to something? You had convinced yourself that Jimin wouldn’t reveal the relationship you had with Jin, but it wasn’t hard to put yourself on guard.

Namjoon shot you a withering look, clearly disapproving of the fact that his baby sister had needed so much saving in the first place, but thankfully he didn’t comment further. Instead, he told Jimin to continue with his tale. After jumping back to narrowly escape Jimin’s blade, Jin had fearlessly approached your brother again, grabbing his arm to urge that he leave at once. You had to bite back a whimper when he’d refused, telling Jin that he had to protect the King. Somehow you’d known, even before Jimin sadly recounted that Jin had shook his head and pointed towards the carriage. In the midst of fighting, they had unconsciously moved away from the vehicle, but they were still close enough for Jimin to see your father lying in a puddle of blood on the ground next to it. Even though days had passed since receiving the news on your father, you remembered the devastation that you had felt — and was still feeling now. So you weren’t surprised to find out that Jin had dragged Jimin, who would have remained immobile in his state of shock, away from the chaos of battle.

“I was completely useless,” Jimin berated himself, hanging his head in shame. Even though he’d confessed that Jin had to fend off the attackers as they made their way towards some horses to escape, you couldn’t bear to listen to your brother’s self-loathing. You moved to sit next to him, enveloping him in a fierce hug.

“You are not useless,” you said firmly. “If you hadn’t escaped, Amaryll would have lost their King and their Prince. And I would have lost my brother, too.” A sob lodged in your throat, so you cleared it to ensure that it wouldn’t escape, composing yourself at the same time. “Our remaining men followed you to make sure that you are safe, and that is why there are as many survivors as there are now. You saved the lives of those men.”

Jimin’s only response was a wan smile, acknowledging your point, but you knew his heart wasn’t able to accept it, even if he understood it in his head. Suddenly desperate not to see his heartbreaking expression for a moment longer, you tried for a change in subject. “How are we to proceed from here?”

If the hushed voices that the three of you were using before was unsettling, the silence following your question was deafening. None of you knew what to say. It wasn’t that no one had the answer. That much was apparent. It was that neither you nor your brothers could bring yourselves to form the words. You nibbled on the inside of your cheek, regret sprouting from asking. However, you knew that it was something that needed to be addressed, and better sooner than later.

Your second brother was of the same mind, because he stated, “tongues will wag, but your coronation cannot be postponed, Namjoon. There will be chaos as it is, when word goes out that Father was murdered. We need to present a confident and prepared front.” After seeing Namjoon blanch at the suggestion, Jimin added, “it can be a simple one, just for formality.”

There really was no way around it, so in the end your eldest brother agreed. The rest of the evening was spent planning the occasion, as well as discussions on the first steps to be taken to prepare for the war. Everything must appear to be in place before informing people on the lower chain of command, as well as the masses. It all went more smoothly than you’d expected. Calmer and orderly. The ministers were clearly distressed by the news of the King’s passing, but you three siblings worked clinically, showing no effects from the heavy loss.

And you were still in the state of mind when (maid) found you later that night — in your night clothes, with your hair brushed down, ready for bed — yet sitting on the edge of it. Staring blankly at the floor, as if detached from reality. Your mind was just a blank, but nowhere ready to rest. Even when she called for you, your “Hmm?” was said out of habit more than anything else. In truth, you didn’t even notice her presence. You didn’t notice anything; not even the soft mattress you were perched on.

“Sir Seokjin is here to see you. I told him that it is very inappropriate—“ Her distressed tone barely registered with you, and when she ended her speech with a question, you simply answered with, “fine.”

“Fine?! But—“ her shrill reply was cut short by soft footsteps on the plushly carpeted floor, but you only felt relief that she’d stopped. You simply couldn’t summon the energy to move, not even an inch.

That was until heavy, comforting hands rested upon your shoulders. It startled you enough to make you look up into brown eyes that were filled with worry. “Jin?” It was hard to believe your own eyes. This was like a dream. Or a nightmare. All of it. Reality’s cruel weight suddenly crashed down on you, leaving you broken, a sobbing mess. The only thing keeping you sane was his arms around you, squeezing you so tightly as if to keep you together. It felt like he was the only good thing in your life at the moment.

“You’re alive,” you gasped, clutching at the front of his shirt. You needed to hold onto him, lest he disappeared like you’d seen so many times when you were asleep.

His response was to tighten his hold on you. Even though his breath that softly blew against the top of your head was warm, his words were more comforting, oddly. “I’m sorry.”

It was just that. He was sorry — for the death of your father, for his failure at protecting him, at the situation you were in now — it might be for one thing, or it might be for everything; you didn’t need to ask. There was no doubt that Jin would always want the best for you, and would do anything for your sake, and so just those simple two words conveyed enough. You nodded, throat still too clogged by your sobs to say anything.

He held you until your tears subsided, then coaxed you to sit side by side on the edge of the bed. Ji Eun had discreetly made an exit sometime after showing Jin in, and you were grateful for that. She was your confidante, but there are things that you just couldn’t share with her. Besides, you had always felt that she had often shouldered more than her share of burden, with your recklessness and frequent (some nobles might even say unhealthy for a woman) interest in Amaryll’s affairs. She also didn’t know Jin as you did, thus you wanted this time alone with him, after so long being apart, to just be the two of you.

“You’re hurt,” was your next, obvious assessment to his well-being. It was all you were capable of at the moment, but he understood the sentiment behind it. There was nothing you could do about him being in dangerous situations, yet you wouldn’t be able to stop yourself from worrying. The best he could do was be forthright with you; so you could fuss over him when he was injured and feel genuine relief when he was not. It was better than hiding his pain from you – you had pointed that if you discovered that he was lying, even just once, you could never believe him again if he tried to reassure you that he was fine. Of course, you never wanted him to be hurt, but as long as he was alive, that was the most important part, in your opinion.

While he did not escape the ambush unscathed, Jin hadn’t sustained any serious injuries. After examining his cuts and bruises, you felt slightly more like yourself. It should be unsettling, to see your beloved in this state, but the fresh scars were undeniable proof that he was indeed alive. That simple fact did wonders for your frayed nerves and battered heart. Neither of you talked much. Whether it was because there was not much to talk about, or because you were both physically and mentally exhausted, or both, you weren’t completely sure.

It was comforting, but it wouldn’t last for long. Jin suddenly stopped moving, as if deep in thought. “So, we are at war now,” Jin sighed. You nodded, but you could tell that this was not what he wanted to say. There was also a forbidding feeling that you weren’t going to like whatever it was he was going to bring up. “It’s inevitable, of course, considering what happened.” Not knowing what to add to the one-way conversation, you made a soft sound of assent. “Zinnis may be a smaller country, but they are renowned for their military strength.” That was not news to you, either. While Amaryll is more than twice the size of Zinnis, most of your people were farmers and merchants, not soldiers. Trade was what your country was known for, and with its abundant fertile lands, Amaryll was a prime target for Zinnis. “We will need all the help that we can get if we are going to win this war.”

A part of you had anticipated what Jin was getting at from the beginning, but you were still unprepared to tell him the truth. He laid his hand on yours, and only then you noticed that you were trembling. Your hands clasped atop your lap were almost completely covered by his large one, and the sight fascinated you, for some reason. You just couldn’t look at the expression on his face right now. He called your name in a voice that was so gentle and kind. It was the reason you took his hand the first day you’d met him – he made you feel protected, like everything was going to be all right. Even as the world was crumbling all around you.

“My feelings for you will never change, even if you marry someone else.”

“How could I possibly?” The question was high-pitched with anger and cracked with pain as your head whipped around to finally look at him. Jin’s beautiful features were calm, already accepting the fact, but his eyes were filled with sadness that was more similar to your own feelings. “You’re the only one for me, Jin. You always have been. How could I marry Prince Taehyung?” Voicing it out in front of him for the first time was like finally validating the truth that you’d been trying to deny for so long. Once again, tears formed anew.

Jin raised his free hand to cup the side of your face, slowly brushing away the tears from your left cheek. “I have always known that this would never last. You should have known that too.” Yes, you knew that Jin had thought about this from the start. That was why he had refused to prolong your relationship when he’d found out who you were. Still, you had never wanted to believe that was true. It might be foolish of you. And it was definitely idiotic to want to continue believing that you and Jin still had a chance to be together. Your head knew without a shred of a doubt, but your heart remained unmoved in your feelings for Jin.

He brought your head to rest on his chest, and you went readily into his arms. Even though his stroked your hair softly, Jin had no intentions on letting you continue evading the inescapable. “The Crown Prince of Delphina has military strength that rivals – maybe even surpass – Zinnis. He himself has been known to be a great leader. And he hasn’t treated you with anything other than kindness and respect, has he?”

You cringed at the way Jin had phrased the question. Of course he had noticed the interactions between you and Prince Taehyung. The Crown Prince was admirable, friendly, and you liked him very much; but you had never been unfaithful to Jin. Nor did you ever want to. Just one look at Jin and no other man could compare. None could remain in your mind, not when Jin already had your heart. But your station forced you to listen to Jin’s words. It reminded you of your duty to your country. The position that you had been blessed with is one that made you act on the behalf of your people at all times, even at the cost of your own feelings. An alliance with Prince Taehyung would mean saving thousands of lives. The lives of your people. It could mean Jin’s life.

“No, he hasn’t.” You whispered brokenly.

#bts fanfic #armiesnet #networkbangtan #bts writing squad #bangtan bookclub #hyunglinenetwork #btssunshinenet #noonanet #jin angst #namjoon angst #jimin angst #jin scenarios #namjoon scenarios #jimin scenarios #taehyung scenarios

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witchingrey · 4 years

Text

[ ‘marry. ft. lelouch / @lightcreators ]

What is this feeling? Long forgotten and wedged within her breast? What is this feeling; as painful as the scars that adorn her body seen and unseen? What is this feeling? Buried in the cold snows of the Ancient Lands no longer known?

What is this feeling, that makes a part of her feel as if she were a flower bud opening; full of both blood and water? Wound and healing? For a minute she simply stops at the way he casually said it; but with a levity she had come to find familiar in that familiar, (cherished) voice; something half-heard in her ears; about ‘staying together’ and ‘always’ and ‘with’.

By the time he’s said anything pertaining to the word so many fruitlessly tied imaginary red strings to; the word that hung in cathedral bells, suits and white gowns.... with an effortlessness that took the same lack of hesitation to change his very name, once again C.C. finds herself on the unfavorable receivable end of being florred.

They had been bound by their red string long before ever knowing each other, and she’d be the first to dismiss such nonsense, but that did not escape the truth that unlike those couples, they were bound by the soul itself.

‘ ...... ‘

His hand is reaching for hers; but her mouth and eyes are blank; her throat dry. Eyes wide and stilled as an innocent girl’s laid stricken. A part of her emptily squandering in the crevasses of her wounded heart for him almost pleadingly to stop.

It’s enough, she wants to say, afraid that this illusion will shatter, this happiness . That at best he’s joking. When was it that she even wanted something like this? Did she? Or was it because she knew no one would ever want her in that way? At least all her existence it’d seemed that way and now .....

There were enough connotations to the naming of C.C. and ‘L.L.’ and she knew him so intimately that she’d entertained it meaning something inlaid for her to solve after all she, was his witch, his accomplice-- but this ? It was too frightening and too bright a future for someone like her; so long used to living in the dark despite eyes colored and laden towards the sun..the long nights of loneliness that counted almost a millennia...

“What?” A half - croak escapes and his eyes visibly widen; looking hesitant before she backpedals; Cheese-kun nearly loose and slipping from her hands as one half-shaking reaches for his retracting; aristocratic fingers.

“No I...I...” She would smack him if this was hardly the time. Lelouch kept his promise. Now he offered another, it seemed almost too good to be true from a pathological liar if not for knowing him to always, always keep his word if he could...but this promise he offered was an eternal promise.

C.C. didn’t know how to process it, nor understand it, only stand in its crashing, yet gentle waves as the depth of his conviction washed over her.

And it lent her to tears.

She felt her eyes sting against her willful nature; her proud demeanor, stoic and oddly regal for a girl who once slept her beginnings in a chilling, dilapidated pen for cattle half-dead, as long she had been.

‘ I was dead before I met you. ‘ She didn’t realize his own words to her would echo as [ truth ] once he he came into an existence that now....it was becoming a life wasn’t it?

A sacredness was had in that silence; her face framed in sun and illuminating the single tear trickling down her face before another followed; mouth opening and closing in a trembling breath.

“.....don’t say things you don’t mean with all your heart, foolish boy.” A beat before that familiar fire returned; eyes flashing despite them filled with tears; lips trembling with a weak smirk that turned into a crumpling frown; heart seizing in her chest. Silken voice cracking ever so slightly as she held his sleeve around the fine skin of his wrist in a tight grip to still his arm, or perhaps the subtle tremors.

“But you..you’re so arrogant you think you can just surprise me whenever you like now? Hmph! You said it too casually too, it’s a lifetime commitment isn’t it? It isn’t enough to just say it once as if talking about the weather....but you have to make it elaborate.

You have to kneel at least...at least that’s what I’ve seen them be like. Maybe kiss my knuckles, what you think I’m so romant -- “

He looks at her without any pride nor arrogance, maybe some amusement, but that tender, open look they hadn’t shared for a long time not at least since prior to his death and revival.

Gently, so gently, without any needing for his myriad masks, he took her ‘wicked’ hand and kissed the knuckles; the low thrum of air from his voice softly murmuring the repeated words and intention all the clearer.

‘ I can’t imagine anyone chasing after you... ! ‘

Was irony their fate? Had all the tossed words in vitriol or teasing or sorrow or joy now coming back to grab them both by the tail end and seal their endless red threads?

A boy, a man, a King, running after a Slave Girl, a Witch, a Woman, a lonely, lonely girl...in a field of refugees, gasping for breath, I’m coming with you, he said half out of air, but no less stubborn.

“.....But it’s...”

It’s me.

She utters it unbidden, but he does not remove his grip on her hand; in a courtly fashion, as if she had never been labeled a wicked Witch with great power and immortality. If she had never been labeled ‘wicked’ at all.

He assures her that yes, it is her, selfish, stubborn, faithful C.C. Troublesome woman, treasured companion, the one he chased, the one he chose.

The tears spill onto his knuckles as she closes her own atop his.

Shall we make a new contract, C.C.? A very, very long one?

( It’s not an eloquent proposal but it’s his proposal ... )

No, it’s theirs. Just as they had begun, and now begin anew perhaps fully and wholly. Nothing to hold them back anymore...regrets will surely follow and what-if’s, but that is the prospect of truly living, and so she raises her head to give perhaps the rare; watery, tear-streaked smile he saw once before, but even more radiant. He had already fulfilled every wish... now he simply was solidifying their bond as something that could not be broken nor separate them anymore.

And for once, the good Prince muttered enough!, in the crevices of the fairy-tale, prying open the pages to seek after and finally reach the Wicked Witch they had warned him of...for who would ever want the Wicked Witch?

“....Well?“ A pointed look before his face turns flustered; and a hoarse, beautiful laugh escapes her lips, open and unadulterated, thrumming notes of a heart he has freed.

“Hmm... This proposal ...I guess I’ll think about it...” Smooth thumbs brush against her tear-filled eyes, earning a wave of her hand as if to save some amount of pride but finds her limbs and heart has already long stopped or gone quaky; now?

It’s stilled in a sense of absolute completeness mirrored in his own. She takes a single step towards him; closing the distance enough that their hands lace naturally together.

As if it felt right, as if this was where their fingers always had belonged.

Her voice a slight tremulous; singular word, a half-disbelieving answer in joy,

-----as if somehow the very question has saved her.

[ Yes, yes, yes, you stupid man -- ]

I don’t want to be torn in two pieces again.... To think that feeling was shared.

“Lelouch?”

A beat; her tender smirk fading into that blinding smile, softer now, but thick and heady with the unspoken feeling of love, in her lips, her voice, her eyes, her very tears.

“ Yes. “

#lightcreators #.* ◇ ─ : we’ll meet again for the sake of the future.╱ ❪ verse: resurrection. ❫#.* ◇ ─ : ‘but even so; the path will go on forever. ‘╱ ❪ ic. ❫#you didn't think i forgot lelouch proposed to c.c. officially not just with calling himself l.l. according to taniguchi #now he's doing it officially she's gotta respond #and this is how i die #/ long post #tw: long post

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webcricket · 5 years

Text

An Angel’s Elegy

Characters: CastielXReader ft. Sam and Dean Winchester, Crowley, and Jack Kline

Word Count: 3448 (Act V)

A/N: Act V of a five-act series (5 acts plus a full-length Epilogue, so I suppose it’s actually six acts!). Elegy charts Castiel’s grief after losing the reader in childbirth. Despite her death, the reader remains an integral part of the story. Watch for the concluding Epilogue coming up next where we see a long-awaited father-daughter reunion and the mystery of the reader’s soul is laid to rest. Apologies for the lengthy posting gap due to the author’s crisis of confidence over the conclusion.

Summary: An anguishing journey about the intertwining of love and loss - adrift in a sea of grief and self-blame after losing his love, Castiel abandons hope. Leaving his newborn Nephilim daughter to the care of the Winchesters, he seeks absolution for your death at any cost. Will he ever find his way home?

Beta’d by: Act V and the Epilogue post un-beta’d - The Queen of Angst @willowing-love has my everlasting gratitude for her invaluable assistance, advice, and reassurance of my angst-ing ability in the first 4 acts!

Miss an Act? Here’s the Masterlist:

webcricket.tumblr.com/post/181477590760/an-angels-elegy-masterlist

Act V

The cold cast indigo hue of nocturnal sky thaws dusky gold on the horizon. Sun rising to outshine the canvas of stars with her gleaming splendor, distant crystalline dots blot out one by one as gently glimmering wisps of morn caress the dewy damp of outspread earth. The ascending light, like that defining each day before and those yet to come, illuminates an everlasting promise in its unfolding; a dawn declaration of endless rekindled potential for new beginnings no matter how dark or pervasive the clasp of night.

An indiscriminate smiling beam slithers through the budding leaves of a lanky old oak tree and bounces, refracting in brilliance off the roof of a rusted brown and beige truck to touch upon the paint-peeled pane of the window fronting the corner room of a rundown motel. In the span of a minute, it grows wider to lay a ribbon of sunny yellow across the grey opacity of glass, infiltrating a gap between the murk and blinds within to rest in rejuvenating warmth across the grief-stricken countenance of the cataleptic celestial being coiled on the floor.

Blinking his salt-crusted lashes dryly, Castiel pivots his head to avoid the shine shifting to sting his vision.

The renewing ray, insistent on delivering its optimistic message, increases with heated intensity over the vulnerable lobe of his ear. Kissing the sensitive skin thereon, the streak of sun whispers a warm reminder of the soothing words you spoke to the angel on the rooftop dawn of your last day together. “You ever wonder what a sunrise is, angel? I think it’s a promise fulfilled. A beginning born from darkness. The light is hope.”

He closes puffy tear-swollen blues; neck lolling, he submits to the velvet reminiscence of your voice hotly ghosting his vessel’s flesh and, in doing so, to the persevering brightness blanketing its blaze across his shuttered lashes. Exhaling a strident sigh, exhausted and out of energy to continue to fight, he acquiesces acceptance to the balmy hope softening the lines of lament etching his stoic façade. Haze of struggle evaporating, the dense mist guarding his heart from feeling all else in the denial of your death dissipates in concession. He understands in the lucidity of lightening day and unclouded love what you meant about the sunrise; and not merely what you said, but what you were asking of him – what he could not comprehend until he could fall no farther.

“No matter what happens, the sun always rises. Promise me you’ll remember that, angel.”

He realizes you were asking him all along to reassure you, to promise that the hope you carried, the hope you wanted him to share in, was enough for him; you were scared, and through his own blind terror of losing you he could not give you the comfort you needed most of all. You were asking him not to hold on to hope for himself, a sentiment exiled by inner reproach when he learned of the pregnancy and dubbed himself your executioner, but to nurture yours on in your stead as a torch to navigate the gloomy days ahead; you knew, tried desperately to tell him, that hope has ways of mending broken hearts.

Lying there, lashes lifting, Cas accepts you are gone, truly gone; although, not as completely as his despondent search led him to believe. Traces of you live on in his enduring love, in the memories of those you loved, and in the life you and he created – the daughter he, drowning in inky salt seas of sorrow over your death, selfish in suffering anguish, did not so much as acknowledge when she, too, mewled for you in mourning and cried out for a father’s succor – that piece of himself he could not freely give until he stumbled upon, in the darkest recesses of despair, the fragment of light leading to self-forgiveness.

In the brightness of full daybreak saturating the rundown room, basking the seraph’s fallen form in a glorious glow, facets of sapphire refract the hopefulness awakening in his eyes. He licks the cracked outline of his lips to wet them, encouraging pink to pervade the blanched petals; sliding an elbow beneath his torso, smearing the blood-flaked remnants of the demon trap on the floor, he pushes himself upright to slump against the creaky bedframe. “I remember,” he murmurs to the radiance-filled room, to you, and to the gift you gave him, the girl he’s ready now to embrace, “and I promise.” Staggering to unsteady feet, fingers outstretching toward the doorknob, he prays it’s not too late.

“Well?” Sam pushes a hand through his hair where he stands in the threshold, glancing expectantly between a bewildered Jack and your tot-statured daughter.

The girl presently sprawls on a blanket playing quietly with a stuffed bear and various other colorful baubles collected in her exploration of the library’s low-lying shelves. In three day’s absence Dean managed to miss her transition from crawling to toddling and the resultant rapid-fire scramble to baby-proof – Nephilim-style replete with Enochian warding and cabinet locks – a bunker drama that developmental milestone entailed. Sam’s convinced he missed something in his haste, so he can’t just leave her with anyone while he goes hunting for his brother.

Jack’s squint narrows further, having the effect of unifying his brow and forehead into a tense trough of pale complexion. “You want me to … babysit?” he asks, intonation a rising squeak of incredulity at the end.

“Yeah,” Sam’s answer exits as an airy burst of breath, “I need you to keep her safe. She’s … special.”

The clarification, as well as an intrinsic curiosity, alleviates some of the boy’s trepidation. “She-she’s like me.”

“Yes, and Castiel is her father.” Sam affirms, a small smile skirting his mouth at Jack’s no longer being alone in this world in terms of his being. Seeking belonging, the teenage experience, the boy enrolled at a boarding school months back to try out the stereotypical trappings of youth in lieu of the supernatural for a while. It was Castiel who barred the brothers from telling Jack about your pregnancy so as not to have him around as a constant reminder of Kelly’s fate.

Jack’s gaze blows wide in a jolt of realization. His train of thought derails aloud. “If Castiel is her father, that means Y/N, she-”

“She’s gone.” Sam sets a palm to the boy’s shoulder and gives it a squeeze.

“Like my mother,” Jack mumbles the reflection through a frown. Although he wasn’t especially close to you, he empathizes for your daughter losing her mother, and for Castiel losing the woman he loves. The past few weeks of the angel’s unanswered calls suddenly begin to deeply worry the boy. He chews the inside of his cheek.

Sam mirrors the frown, his weighted down more so with remorse. “Cas didn’t-,” he pauses to correct, firm, “we didn’t want to worry you while you were at school.”

Jack swallows hard, frets his mouth into a colorless mass and looks at the floor. “It’s okay,” he concedes, a blonde shock of hair hanging across his dampened aspect, “I understand.”

Sam loosens a sigh of relief. For being Lucifer’s issue, the boy inherited none of the archangel’s cold-heartedness and proclivity toward grudges.

Concern for Castiel rearing, Jack’s regard rises to peer around the map room and library niches visible from where they stand. “What I don’t understand is, where is Castiel?”

It’s too much to encumber the boy with, the angel’s desertion, Dean’s deceit-veiled disappearance most likely to track down the seraph and do God knows what to him with the rage that’s been boiling his blood for weeks, Sam nonetheless deems honesty appropriate given the circumstances. “He’s gone too.”

Jack’s eyes startle.

“Not gone gone,” Sam swiftly reassures. “He took off after Y/N died.”

“Castiel … left? Left his daughter alone? But she needs him.” Confusion again crevices the boy’s brow. “I don’t understand.”

“Join the club,” Sam huffs.

“There’s a club?”

“No, there’s not a club.” Sam subdues an incongruous in affront to sharing this awful news smirk of amusement; Jack’s seriousness of interpretation reminds him greatly of Cas when they first encountered the angel. “It’s, uh, a figure of speech.”

“Oh.”

“Something inside Cas broke when we lost Y/N. He went off the reservation.” Sam amends the non sequitur of using another metaphor. “Er, I mean he left the bunker.”

“And why did Dean leave? Did something inside him break too?”

“Yeah. Yeah, Jack.” Sam jostles the boy’s shoulder roughly, his rasping voice broaching on a whisper. “I guess you could say that Dean’s heart broke for that little girl. He knows how much she needs her father.”

A clatter behind the door at the top of the staircase diverts both their attentions. Dean’s jut-jawed dark-blonde freckled face emerges a few millimeters ahead of his taut flannelled frame.

“Dean!” Legging it in three steps to the base of the stairs to meet him, Sam throws his hands in the air demanding an explanation. “Where the hell have you been?”

“We have a problem,” Dean grunts, blustering past him to hurtle his duffle haphazardly at the map table and sink into the nearest chair. “Hey, Jack, how’s school?” Noticing the boy dawdling on the opposite end of the table, he flicks him a greeted salute and, rocking his neck to settle a stern look upon Sam, gestures a thumb back at him as if to say, ‘Really, you freaked out and got the kid involved?’

Jack may be oblivious at times, but he can tell Dean’s not interested in an answer.

Snorting, Sam is having none of Dean’s evasive nonsense. “A problem? No kidding! I’ve been calling you for two days. What if something happened?”

Dean got the messages, none of which expressed anything negative having happened aside from Sammy finding out he wasn’t actually with Donna on a hunt; not wanting to argue about where he was and why, he ignored them. Crossing his arms over his chest, casting a cool green gaze at his brother, he states in deflection, “Y/N’s soul isn’t in Heaven.”

“Wh-what?” Sam, dizzied by disbelief, drops jelly-kneed into an adjacent seat.

“Where is she?” Jack asks, peering between the brothers.

“She couldn’t be in-?” Sam hesitates to suggest Hell.

Dean knows exactly what Sam is thinking, he had the same thought, however heart wrenching the very notion. He shrugs, “Gave Crowley a call. No answer. Yet. Seem suspicious to you?” He quirks a brow for emphasis.

Sam’s chin wags in agreement as to the suspect nature of the demon’s avoidance. “And Cas? You get Jody’s e-mail about Oliver Pryce?”

Dean sighs, prods a thumb at his temple in frustration, then jabs the digit into his eye and rubs until the socket is furious red. “Yeah, trail went cold. No new leads, it’s like Cas went poof after the explosion.”

Jack’s anxiety palpably electrifies the room. “You think Castiel is-?”

“No … no.” Dean quickly dismisses the possibility of Castiel’s fatal angelic retirement. He still owes the damned fool a bruising wallop, and as far as his friend is concerned, there’s no chance the angel gets to die without Dean first getting a crack at him. “I checked, no wing prints anywhere.”

Jack melts into the nearest chair in a puddle of relief.

“You could’ve called,” Sam mutters again in the strain of silence.

Dean knows. He still doesn’t want to argue about it. Not with your little girl so close. “How is she?”

Sam can’t help but smile knowing how happy she’ll be that Dean is home. She’s not tactful about hiding the fact uncle Dean’s clownishness makes him a clear favorite, not that she isn’t always up for Sammy snuggles. “She’s good – great actually. Been rearranging artifacts on the library shelves with Bear-Bear all morning and saying she’s helping ‘we-search.’”

Clear blue eyes dart now and then toward the conversation of her caretakers and the newcomer, a being exuding pure curiosity whose soul and power resonate at so similar a frequency to hers as to be instantly familiar – family. Long lashes blink, shadowing a rosy-mantled cheek shyly buried in the brown faux fur of a teddy clutched in plump arms – a stuffed buffer to the bunker’s underground bleakness. She doesn’t understand all the words touching her tender ears. Sensitive to emotion though, she reads their feelings in the same manner a person might scan the bolded headlines of a newspaper.

She senses Sam’s anxiety abated with the return of his brother and the surge of urgent concern for Castiel’s whereabouts shifting into its stead. She feels the fevered frustration of Dean over his failure in finding her father, the simmering anger directed at the angel bubbling to the surface, and also the conflicting affection for him. They talk and talk, suppressing true sentiment for her sake, thinking it’s the right thing to do, thinking it cushions her from the calamity of heartbreak she was birthed into, and yet she comprehends the truth through everything they feel.

Born into a world shrouded in darkness, a child of death and doubt and anguish, she should be sad. The sleepy smile toying around her innocently plush mouth suggests she is not. Gold glints of a sun she hasn’t seen yet but knows exists, an inner glow growing stronger each day, ring her blue irises. Hope, burning bright like the sun, arises from the deepest dark.

A strange impression accosts her from the far corner of the library, flaring pinpricks of reactive fire in her gaze. Threads of avarice and a sinister inquisitiveness weave into the tailored Italian silk-suited figure of a man with an appearance alternately perverted by grotesqueness then simpering with a close-cropped salt and pepper shave. She hugs Bear-Bear tighter, tiny fingers digging into the plush pelt as the demon warily eyes the book-lined walls and, satisfied he’s out of sight line, swaggers confidently in approach.

Crouching before her, extricating his palms from his pockets, a disingenuous smirk centers above his bearded chin. This, this treasure, must surely be the source of the seraph’s sorrow and the living embodiment of your demise. He sees the halo of power pulsing from her – a Nephilim, and Castiel’s own judging by the curious blue depths of her contemplation. Crowley didn’t think the fallen angel had it in him to sire a child, especially knowing the cost for you to bear her to birth – your pleading to deal, the angel’s anguished demands of the demon at that God-forsaken motel, it makes such perfect sense he can’t believe he didn’t surmise the details of the situation before now in order to better bend them to his, and Hell’s, advantage.

Beady black eyes dash beyond the girl, gauging whether the Winchesters in the adjacent room will hear his whispered words. Deciding not, cocking his head in wonderment, he mutters under his breath, “My my, what sort of shiny trinket do we have hiding in here?”

Fear a foreign concept, she does not flinch from his reaching fingers, the flames of self-serving intent lapping her skin from their tips, nor does she duck from the thoughts of how he could bend the budding power of a Nephilim to his will. Instead, she feels emanating from the black-cordoned shriveled heart barely beating in his chest, the conflicted sentiments of a man lacking a mother’s love who spends eternity endeavoring to fill that empty space inside with concrete connection. Pitying his plight, she offers him Bear-Bear to hug.

Focus flicking to the still empty threshold, unable to see in himself as she does the stricken source driving his every action, he grins at the perceived pureness of her naivety. “I’m Crowley. Can you say, Crow-ley?” he enunciates slowly.

“Cwo-ley,” she tries in a bashful murmur.

His smile stretches. “And what’s your name, poppet?” It would be easy to snatch her away, make an escape with this unguarded prize, play out her potential – some unacknowledged sentiment stays his hand a moment too long.

“Get away from her!” A hurricane of red flannel, Dean swoops in to scoop up the girl. “You okay, sweetheart? Did the bad man hurt you?” Dropping Bear-Bear in the tumult, she loops her arms loosely around his neck and buries her flushed face into his shirt. Tears prick her eyes in sensing the alarm of emotion discharging from Dean as he does a cursory visual exam to determine if she’s been hurt.

Crowley has the unholy audacity to appear wounded at the insinuation he would mistreat the child.

“How the hell did you get in here?” Sam positions himself as a human buffer between Dean clutching your daughter and the demon.

“How the Hell, indeed,” Crowley scoffs, straightening himself, his injured pride, and his creased suit. “Considering it was you who rang me, I mightn’t have bothered carving time out of my busy day, well” –his forehead arcs upward in reflection, a smirk affecting his mouth– “carving up souls, if I’d known to expect an unfriendly reception. Not that I expect much from you lot.”

Jack, straighter to the point even than Castiel, intuiting from the conversation this is the Crowley Sam and Dean suspect knows something of the location of your soul, steps forward to sternly ask, “Do you have Y/N’s soul?”

“That, it seems, is the question of the hour.” Crowley scrutinizes the boy up and down, curling a lip in approval. “And who is this youthful Adonis?”

“Screw the games you limey little bastard! Answer him,” Dean growls, satisfied your daughter is unharmed save for being upset. “Do you have her, or not?”

The demon’s lids narrow. “Tit for tat.”

“My name is Jack,” the boy’s tongue cuts in sharp-edged reply, curtly complying with the stated terms.

“Well, Jack.” Crowley thrusts two fingers into his inside breast pocket causing both Winchesters to reactively flinch in anticipation of danger. He whips out a perfectly non-lethal silver-embellished matte black business card. He proffers the rectangular trifle to Jack. “You ever get bored mingling with the local wildlife, do get in touch.”

“Or don’t.” Twisting his torso to protect your daughter, Dean intercepts the hand off. Squinting to read the snatched card, his greens flare in exasperation. “Twitter? Really?”

Suaveness sustained in affront to Dean’s cynicism, Crowley shrugs. “It’s the digital age of deals. You think the Donald got elected to the highest office in the nation because he promised to make America great again?”

“You didn’t answer me,” Jack interrupts, unwilling to be sidetracked by the swindling demon.

Crowley summarily avoids answering. “Are you boys running a Nephilim orphanage now?” Countered by Sam’s knot-browed tight-lipped scowl, he diverts his thwarted attention again to Jack. “Are you one of Castiel’s spawn, too? The resemblance is uncanny.” Judging by Dean’s cringe, he infers he’s hit the nail on the proverbial head at least as to the girl’s parentage. A self-congratulatory smirk crinkles his eyes.

Uncertain, Jack looks to Sam, seeking his opinion on expounding upon his origins to the interloper.

Conscious of the effect the devilish origin of the information will have on Crowley’s composure given their sordid history, Sam nods.

“Actually-” A compact smirk sets up in the crook of Jack’s mouth, dimpling his cheek as he speaks. “Lucifer is my father.”

“Lucifer?” Crowley gulps, swallowing down the name hard against the too tight tie encircling his throat.

“Yeah, Lucifer.” Jack echoes.

The demon adjusts the knot of his tie to accommodate a thickening gorge. The smirk donning his mien fades to a forced feint of a smile.

“You really should answer him,” Sam menaces, peril plummeting his tone.

Rethinking the circumstances in light not of what he can gain, but rather of all he has to lose, namely his kingly title to a princely heir of Lucifer himself, not to mention his life, Crowley determines cooperation to be the shrewdest course. Coolly containing his terror with perfunctory poise, cocky glance flitting between the brothers, the unassuming teenage son of Satan, the sniffling heavenly abomination half-hidden in the folds of Dean’s shirt, and sliding beyond to where Castiel dallies in the oversized doorway to the map room – the seraph having entered into the confrontational equation through the front door only a minute ago, entrance unheard on account of demonic distraction.

Crowley trades gazes with the angel and shoots him a sympathetic frown, stunning even himself with the genuineness of the gesture. “As I already told Castiel when he summoned me, I do not have Y/N’s soul.” The King of Hell lingers several sadistically satisfying seconds to appreciate the shock value of the revelation as the individual focus of those gathered instinctively follows his to land on the wayward angel returned home.

Continue reading Epilogue:

webcricket.tumblr.com/post/181477611015/an-angels-elegy

#castiel x reader #castiel x you #castiel x y/n #castiel reader insert #castielxreader #castielxyou #reader x castiel #you x castiel #cas x reader #cas x you #spn x reader #castiel fanfiction #spn fanfiction #castiel fanfic #cricket writes cas

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sun-stricken · 11 months

Text

random little fairy tail headcanons

* Erza had sectoral heterochromia in the eye she lost, it was a small section of a murky green

Lucy has multiple patches of freckles in the forms of zodiac constellations

Gajeel is fairly good at makeup because he would do it for Juvia during their time with Phantom Lord

terrible at hair management tho

speaking of, Juvia makes the prettiest charm bracelets

she likes to give them to her friends, to commemorate what she spent so long wanting

Natsu doesnt know how to ride a bike, nor does he want to

Gray ‘I know a guy’ Fullbuster

bro for some reason knows everybody?? and those people just so happen to owe him favors

man of the community fr

Lisanna mixes up her lefts and rights so often she staryed considering getting those ‘L’ and ‘R’ tattoos

Wendy is concerningly good at lock picking

she can get into anything

Door? Vehicles? Cabinets? drawers? those little bike locks?

you name it, she can and will open it

Loke is extremely ticklish

and colorblind

cana and gray used to tease him abt it

“what color is this” “i swear to gOD if you dont shutup—“

#fairy tail #fairy tail headcanons #erza scarlet #lucy heartfilia #gajeel redfox #juvia lockser #natsu dragneel #gray fullbuster #lisanna strauss #wendy marvell #loke fairy tail #cana alberona #sun strickens ft

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jdmainman123 · 2 years

Text

How didn't I know snow? Boston? Beach? Desert city? Yacht fish here

That that transgender white hair white skin boy only worked at skinny like a tennis ball tight a******

How did I know that was the only one that worked how did I know I was in a black City BECAUSE THEY ALL WEREN'T WHITE HAIR WHITE SKIN

Yeah I know my rights when I was in Boston every white hair white skin girl and woman was a transgender and they all had a smile on their face and they had this funny story for me to give to you n****** here YOU ANGRY TRANSGENDER BLACK SKIN 300 LB THAT ONLY FINDS REVENGE AND KILLING WHITE HAIR WHITE SKIN NOW IT ALL MAKES SENSE TO PEOPLE RIGHT KICKED OUT OF THAT CITY NO NOT INFECTED WITH THE COVID FOR SATELLITE MAKER TO SET YOU UP AGAIN

And you guys think it's okay oh I understand life now it's then it's an accident I'm supposed to hate white hair white skin boys and girls right

Kiss my ass

But how did I know it only works with the skinny white hair white skin transgender that looks like a 10-year-old or a 20 year old girl THAT TRANSGENDER VOICE HOW DID I NOT KNOW THE BLACK SKIN MAN WOULD BE DOWN HERE WITH THAT F****** THING

And I looked at your minority report and I said you know what let's drop it down from 25% to 15% because we're not going to depend on a white hair white skin transgender to walk around at night and keep our neighborhood safe I COULD FIGHT I COULD FIGHT THIS WHITE HAIR WHITE SKIN TRANSGENDER GUY

And to find out I knew it looked exactly like I thought it would a little girl AND IN GRANDMA'S COVID BLIND SIDE AFTER BLIND SIDE I lost so much respect on that day most importantly I just saved 10% of my car insurance by saying you're not minority report went down to your little son Van Wilder seven years in college a white hair white skin transgender JUST KILLING LITTLE BLACK SKIN BOYS AT EASE BY BENDING OVER IN A LITTLE TINY SKIRT JUST KEEPS ON MOVING IT'S TINY LEGS

How do we not know he would be here

CHARLIE that's what it's Charlie

I think it's funny that he filled up 3/4 full of transgenders instead of he took all the kids money they were two for three inches 3 ft 4 in

I think it's like you know you leave a black skin man in the middle of the desert you come home one day the entire city is 3 foot 4 in and they're all transgender boys AND GUESS WHAT THIS BLACK SKIN MAN HAS A BLACK SKIN WIFE and that s*** is funny

Or you can just going back to talk about how you set up the black hair white skin girl and how I was I was strickened and sick in here cuz I couldn't be around her because I knew exactly what she was doing behind my back once again WAS GOLD SUN IN UTAH ASKING ME TO KILL HIS FAMILY OR THE BLACK HAIR WHITE CAN GROW NEW RECRUIT 15 YEARS OLD 2 FT 3 IN 3 FT 4 IN

YEAH I KNOW EXACTLY WHY I GOT SICK M************ AND YOU'RE LUCKY THOSE WHITE HAIR GIRLS WHEN WE TALKED ABOUT JASON WERE IN HANDCUFFS I would get my left nut for one of those white hair white skin girl girls in in Kansas and you guys know which one I'm talking about the one that they accent Dent her face that girl is from Kansas KNOW WHEN YOU'RE WATCHING TV AND THE OLD MAN OR THE OLD LADY SAYS I KNOW I KNOW THEM THEY'RE FROM CALIFORNIA because of their faces

I think the mistaken here was was this one dead white trash family covering up for on a satellite when I'm in the bathroom at an airport jerking off the f****** thing keeps talking to me and ruining my heart on IF MY MONEY TELLS ME IT WASN'T A TRAIN FIGHT BETWEEN UTAH AND LET'S SAY DALLAS

It's about you guys all coming to the rescue of this f****** man for this dead jerk off daughter satellites and I'm in the bathroom jerking off and the satellites f****** continuing to talk to me

We have to continue talking about this little black and white skin girl how she was set up? ASK ALEX TO 4TH? ARE WE DOING THIS RIGHT NOW REALLY? What's the matter all the little black hair white skin girls got caught in the ambushed by saying you don't do that to people

I don't I don't think you guys can change what they say 24/7 if you guys try to if the brown skin it's is the funny part here for me to say that in for it to actually come true AND I HAD ANOTHER ONE OF THEIR STATEMENTS MAYBE I HAVE THE STATEMENTS OF THE SPANISH BLACK AND WHITE SKIN GIRLS I KNOW EXACTLY WHAT THEY WERE SAYING TOO

And unfortunately I have been given the French things with the French brown brown girls and brown boys would be saying

THAT WAS MY NUMBER ONE ARTICLE TO TO GO INTO I'M GOING TO DIE FOR TO NEVER HAVE A BLACK HAIR WHITE SKIN GIRL SET UP KILLING A WHITE HAIR WHITE SKIN GIRL AND HER BROTHER LEAVING HER FOR SNOW TO BUILD A FAMILY OF WHITE SKIN WHITE HAIR PEOPLE WHO ALL HATE N****** NOW

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nytigress · 6 years

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— basics

▸ is your muse tall/short/average? she’s average. 5 ft, 8 inches. but in heels she’s a bit taller. ( & she’s usually in heels )

▸ are they okay with their height? she wishes she was a bit taller for runway modeling reasons ( she’s on the shorter end of the spectrum ) but with her personality, she is more suited for photo modeling.

▸ what’s their hair like? long, fine, silken crimson but can look various shades of red depending on the light. there’s tons of fine strands of hair that give it that perfect thick, full appearance without the matted, frizzy appearance without product. the longer she spends in the sun, certain strands will lighten to create blood orange highlights. it is styled various ways - the usually is blow dried into beachy waves, cut into multiple thick layers with sideswept bangs, alternating between long & short in style depending on her mood at the salon. it is NEVER artificially covered.

▸ do they spend a lot of time on their hair/with their grooming? always. she attempts to exude physical perfection.

▸ does your muse care about their appearance? always - when she is to be seen. when at home, by herself, it’s a messy bun & comfy clothes. she works out often to combat her addiction to cheese fries & various other junk foods. she is dressed well, not a hair or eyelash out of place. she attempts the natural look as opposed to the layers of makeup others may do.

▸ does your muse care about what others think about them? she does despite seeming as if she doesn’t. the majority of her interactions will fall into the role she plays which is the blissfully unaware party girl - mary jane watson without a thought in her head. pfft.

— preferences

▸ indoors or outdoors? both - she’s not a big camper though. ▸ rain or sunshine? sunshine ▸ forest or beach? beach ▸ precious metals or gems? gems ▸ flowers or perfumes? both - vanilla & peony perfume ▸ personality or appearance? both ▸ being alone or being in a crowd? in a crowd ▸ order or anarchy? order ▸ painful truths or white lies? she’s a master of white lies. ▸ science or magic? both ▸ peace or conflict? peace ▸ night or day? both ▸ dusk or dawn? dawn ▸ warmth or cold? warmth ▸ many acquaintances or a few close friends? many acquaintances ( younger ), few close friends ( older ) ▸ reading or playing a game? playing a game

— questionnaire

▸ what are some of your muse’s bad habits? her tendency to turn to alcohol when times get rough, burying her problems & issues in partying, longing to forget rather than face it & fight it. she often gnaws on her bottom lip or the inside of her cheek when concentrating. smoking is another bad habit she ends up picking up - usually it is just one here & there from a pack she has stashed & hidden away. she tries to not become a chain smoker. just enough to take the edge off. mj internalizes a lot of her own internal conflict & what haunts her from her past. mj tends to run from her problems.

▸ has your muse lost anyone close to them? how has it affected them? (+ headcanons) her mother. it was the catalyst to the mask mary jane wears, the role she plays. it sent her spiraling into this grief - stricken recklessness - partying, alcohol, drugs, anything that would numb her. why ? because she felt like she failed her mother. because my mj is mcu based in her main verse, her mother was present in nyc with the first invasion & she was exposed to various alien tech. months later her mother fell ill. mj was going back & forth from their home in pennsylvania to nyc to try to find answers from anyone who would listen, many times she ended up in the atrium of stark / avengers tower. but she was too late, she was beckoned back home, her mother passing moments before she arrived. mary jane never got the chance to say goodbye. the grief she felt could have brought the strongest man to his knees. she felt she had failed her mother. it is the underlying piece of self - hatred that haunts her & serves to destroy her. it is her mother that wanted her to chase after dreams of stardom, it was her mother who fostered the strong, resilient personality, it was her mother’s mistakes she wants to learn from & avoid ever becoming like her. it doesn’t help that every time she looks in the mirror she can see her mother staring back. she often spends nights talking up to the night sky, speaking to her, still apologizing after telling her about her day, week, relationships, crushes, auditions, etc. she wears her mother’s diamond star necklace constantly as well as carries a photo of the two of them in her wallet in all times. she has also collected her mother’s old playbills & scripts.

▸ what are some fond memories your muse has? one was when gayle would come home from ballet & teach little mj some moves, giggling as she would topple over. another was curled up on the sofa with her mother watching awful daytime soap operas with heaping bowls of buttery rich popcorn. each & every moment they spent free from their father. the day she met peter parker, harry osborn & any of her other friends she’s grown to love ( though she may hardly mention it ). another was her arrival to nyc, moving in with her aunt. practicing lines with her mother for any play she was in. the standing ovation she received for her performance as cinderella in a school play in elementary school as well as the ruckus she caused performing c.herry b.omb at a school talent show in the fashion of ms. curry’s performance while a teen.

▸ is it easy for your muse to kill? not at all. the girl is a fighter despite being simply human.

▸ what’s it like when your muse breaks down? she’s secluded, door locked, tears streaming, terrified that may never cease. the length of the breakdown depends on how long it takes her to snap out of it, regain her composure & return to her role. it could be 5 minutes to a stretch of days or small moments throughout an entire year.

▸ is your muse capable of trusting someone with their life? yes. the obvious example is with spider - man ( who totally isn’t peter parker ). she appears naive & easily trusting to others but she’s not, not at all.

▸ what’s your muse like when they’re in love? evasive yet persistent. distant yet near. she becomes a walking erratic contradiction & the subject of her love & adoration will often grow frustrated or confused with her behaviour. mj never wants to sacrifice her rise to stardom & dreams for love like her mother & sister did. she wants the closeness, the companionship, the euphoria but feels guilty & scared. her lovers will often meet many, many emotional barriers because she has to remove that mask & step away from the constant spotlight she places on herself to appear genuine, deep & allow them close enough to love her in turn. but if they know about her past, her failures, how could they love her ?

TAGGED: ---- no one . . . i borrowed it from @doublebcss

TAGGING: @fatesought / @wcbs / @wallcravvler / @yourpaljughead / @conflicctd / @avengingspiderman / @boybcnd / @ragetrusted / @microthief

#*:･ﾟ✧・ﾟ:* 「 who are you really ? / headcanon 」

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your-dietician · 3 years

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Summer dreams dry up on the Russian River, a paradise whipsawed by drought, flood and fire

New Post has been published on https://tattlepress.com/latest/summer-dreams-dry-up-on-the-russian-river-a-paradise-whipsawed-by-drought-flood-and-fire/

Summer dreams dry up on the Russian River, a paradise whipsawed by drought, flood and fire

The Russian River, just north of drought-stricken Lake Mendocino in Ukiah, Calif. (Brian van der Brug / Los Angeles Times)

If there was any respite to be found, it was here on the Russian River.

A river otter popped up next to Larry Laba’s inflatable canoe, then dived down with a plop. A yellow swallowtail butterfly, big as a hand, fluttered past.

Yet everywhere were signs of the West’s ever-intensifying drought, with the Russian River taking the early hit.

Laba, the owner of Russian River Adventures, who had paddled this river hundreds of times over 20 years, made note of unfamiliar things that made him uneasy.

Larry Laba, owner of Russian River Adventures, paddles down the Russian River in Healdsburg, Calif. (Brian van der Brug / Los Angeles Times)

The river was at a historic low. A hot wind blew through the canyon, when summer breezes here are usually gentle and cool. The leaves of the cottonwood trees made a brittle, crackling sound. The same trees, way up high, had cracked branches from a devastating flood in 2019.

Just below the water’s surface, Laba noted colonies of an algae he’d never seen. Then there was his worry over algae he couldn’t yet see. In 2015, during a terrible drought, his dog Indy — whom he described as a dumb, happy-go-lucky retriever no one could resist — died of a seizure on the river. The next week, a 2-year old golden retriever died on one of the trips run by Laba’s company. This time officials pinpointed the cause as a fast-acting neurotoxin from blue-green algae. The algae occurs naturally, but when temperatures rise and water is warm and stagnant, it blooms and releases poisons.

The Russian River area holds a panoply of California treasures: majestic redwoods, ocean mists, summer sun, famed wineries, breweries and a casual, come-as-you-are culture that mixes high-brow with hippie and a bit of barn party.

Receding water levels forced a closure of the north boat ramp at Lake Mendocino in Ukiah, Calif. (Brian van der Brug / Los Angeles Times)

It also sits at the center of climate-related disasters. After the drought, which ended in 2017, came fires that burned across eight Northern California counties, killing 23 people. In late February 2019, at the tail end of the wet season, rain pelted down without halt. Some of the area’s mountains saw 400% more than the average amount of rain for the month. The river flooded, cresting at 45-feet, the highest in more than two decades. The river valley towns of Guerneville and Monte Rio became islands, with automobile parts and pieces of buildings floating past. Restaurants that sat on cliffs 30 feet above the river were under water.

Story continues

In August 2020, walls of fire surrounded those same towns as more than 12,000 residents evacuated through smoke and ash. Vineyards burned and beloved cabins turned to tinder. Up and down the West Coast, fires raged, sparked by a combination of extreme heat and a lightning siege. For weeks, this valley — which usually has air so fresh that you can taste the ocean — registered some of the worst air quality in the world.

Laba said he avoids thinking about what all of it — drought, fires, floods, lightning sieges, heat waves — means.

Merganser ducks on the Russian River in Healdsburg, Calif. (Brian van der Brug / Los Angeles Times)

“Look, I can’t go there,” said the 69-year old. “I’m not a worrier. I can’t lay awake at night thinking about climate change. I look around and if there is something I can do —even if I know it won’t make that much of a difference — I do it.”

He spotted tall stalks of scarlet wisteria on the banks, flashing their bright flowers. He beached the canoe.

“They’re huge water-suckers. They’re invasive,” he said, trying to pull up a plant that showed no signs of budging. But Laba pulled and strained until it came up by the roots and couldn’t produce pods to scatter seeds.

Michele Wimborough, left, owner of Hazel restaurant in Occidental, Calif., chats with guests Rahna Schiff, right, and Keith Holamon. (Brian van der Brug / Los Angeles Times)

That evening, farther down river, in the small community of Occidental, off Bohemian Highway, Michele Wimborough stepped outside of a cozy restaurant that was as much a dream as a business.

She and her chef-husband Jim, former Bay Area residents, had searched for years for just the right small town where they wanted to live and raise their son. They opened Hazel, named after Jim’s grandmother, in 2015.

This night was one of their first with in-house dining since before the COVID-19 pandemic, and the restaurant was packed. Earlier, Wimborough had wondered if she’d miss when it was just her family inside, alone, making to-go meals. But she had found herself laughing and happy to be in a crowd.

Now, after the dinner rush, she stood outside, tipped up her face and breathed in a cool mist that was slowly enveloping the town.

Part of the reason was that it gets hot running around a restaurant, but the other was that such moisture was becoming rare.

A canoe floats past an exposed gravel bar, right, on the Russian River in Healdsburg, Calif. (Brian van der Brug / Los Angeles Times)

She had been caught off guard by notices pleading with residents to cut water use by 20% to 40% and the news of an emergency water regulation that cut river water rights for up to 2,300 wineries and farms. The restrictions were aimed at keeping the Lake Mendocino reservoir from going dry before summer’s end. Similar cuts are expected soon in California’s other watersheds.

While she was preoccupied with COVID-19, the drought had sneaked up on her.

“I feel like so much has happened that I can’t keep track of it all,” she said.

Just in her tight circle of friends, five families had moved away, people who had planned to stay forever, driven out by fear of disaster.

Wimborough said that by nature she is anxious. But that had changed over the last five years. Now, she steadfastly clings to a stubborn optimism.

Joseph Lustenberger, 15, jumps off a railroad bridge footing into the Russian River in Healdsburg, Calif. (Brian van der Brug / Los Angeles Times)

“I definitely believe in climate change. But I concentrate on ‘We’re going to keep going and it’s going to be OK’ — until it’s not,” she said.

“I love it here and this is a beautiful moment and I’m grateful we were safe for one more day.”

The Russian River begins in the mountains north of Ukiah in Mendocino County and cuts a winding path to the Pacific Ocean. The Pomo Indians once trapped salmon in its pools, before water was diverted. The river gets its modern name from Russian Ivan Kuskov of the Russian-American Company, who explored it in the early 19th century and founded Ft. Ross. It was the Russians who first planted grapes in the wine region.

Outside of Sebastopol, not far from the sea but worlds away from bustle, or even cell service, Eric Susswell, owner of Radio-Coteau, makes wines that he said are meant to capture place and a particular moment in time.

Land once underwater is exposed by receding water levels on Lake Sonoma in Geyserville, Calif. (Brian van der Brug / Los Angeles Times)

His water comes from domestic wells, not river allocations or a municipality, but the drought gripping this land of red barns, grapevines, goats and sunflowers will still be in this year’s vintage — if they can get the grapes to harvest. Last year Radio Cocteau barely got the crop in before smoke damage. Many other wineries lost their grapes.

Radio-Coteau’s vineyard is one of the few Demeter-certified estates in the U.S., meaning it meets a set standard for a bio-diverse organic farm. That includes methods such as mulching, no-till farming and monitoring moisture to improve soil — something akin to the farming version of holistic healthcare.

Sussman, who studied organic viticulture at Cornell and trained in France, said he considers his farm a living organism in its entirety, plants that become resilient with a good root system.

The water level has been steadily receding at Lake Sonoma in Geyserville, Calif. (Brian van der Brug / Los Angeles Times)

“There is an intelligence in their ability to adapt,” he said. “It gives me some sense of hope.”

Some vines on his property date to 1945. Sussman said they sustain his faith that seasons will pass and the vineyards will continue.

“I’m not blasé about climate change,” he said. “But I’m not watching all of this from high above. I’m down on the ground right in the thick of it, day by day making decisions about sustainability.”

Nine miles south of Healdsburg, another group of pleasure seekers had paddled down the river.

Beachgoers enjoy the cool water at Monte Rio Beach on the Russian River in Monte Rio, Calif. (Brian van der Brug / Los Angeles Times)

Mathew Knobel, 19, who works for Laba, was waiting to greet them at the end of their trip with hoots and hollers.

He tried to be supportive when they were visibly stunned by how low the river was, how there were spots where they had to get out of their boats and walk.

“People get really emotional when they see it for themselves,” Knobel said. “It’s almost shock and awe.”

It’s not a reaction he shares.

“To be very honest, in my lifetime, I haven’t been able to experience anything different,” he said. “I’m 19. By the time I was old enough to have a consciousness about climate change, it was here.

“It’s not that I’m not concerned,” he added.

“But to me, drought, fires and floods are what’s normal.”

This story originally appeared in Los Angeles Times.

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