#who were present in the wedding I just added everyone for later chaos

[morefictionlesslife]

Till death brings us together (part 2)

Aoife/Niten

The swordsman reminded himself to take his own advice when he sweated in front of the altar. Everything was going to go fine. He had almost called the whole affair smooth, but then the Japanese remembered, who they had invited to the wedding and if the guests weren’t enough trouble, then it was Aoife’s wedding. Something was bound to go wrong. But he would rather fight off all the Dark Elders by himself than letting anything keep them from marrying.

The chosen place was a high ground that overlooked the quiet Pacific Ocean. Although it was January and the temperature was not the warmest, with the help of magic the whole place was heated up nicely. The altar and the seating area was hidden from the sun and the rain with a strong beautiful white veil.

Niten’s heart was about to explode. He had to calm down. How did the other grooms keep their cool, the Japanese asked himself, when he could barely hold his footing and he was 400 years old.

Niten tried to focus on a different thing. He scanned the place. He didn’t remember the last time so many immortals and Elders had been under the same roof. Niten could name just a few: Billy the Kid, Niccolò Machiavelli, who, the Japanese was surprised to learn, was now his partner, the Flamels, Black Hawk, Joan of Arc, her husband Francis Saint-Germain, Tsagaglalal, Palamedes, Shakespeare, the warrior twins’ grandmother the Witch of Endor, their uncle Prometheus and Scathach.

He had no idea, why some people decided to show up at their wedding, but if they didn’t cause trouble, the Japanese would not kick them out. Prometheus had managed most of the wedding preparations, occasionally consulting with them. Niten had showed more interest in the planning than the woman, whose only want was it to happen and see Scatty wearing that hideous pink dress as she liked to call it. Still, seeing the guests, Niten did admit, he should have kept a vigilant an eye on the list. Who knew that the Elder who claimed to be a useless old man, who had nothing, but his family left, to have such a large social circle? There were few unfamiliar guests amongst the crowd, which alerted the Japanese. Not knowing who had a beef to pick with who at his wedding wasn’t good.

And who had invited the French couple? Maybe Flamels? Or Scathach? Both Aoife and Prometheus hated at least the man, but he guessed the woman also. Niten himself had no quarrel with them, but he was ready for an open confrontation.

This was going to be a long day, sighed the man. And who knew what was going to happen at the reception, when the alcohol was on the table. He had hidden a little knife in his kimono, just in case. The immortal was sure his future wife would not mind.

Niten had out of courtesy suggested that they invite Aoife’s brother and parents to which the woman told him to do as he pleased, but they never answered. Aoife had brushed over the topic like it was nothing, but the swordsman could tell she hurt. It saddened him also, because when she hurt, he hurt. Niten couldn’t make her parents love her.

He could however comfort her with hugs, kisses, and secret trips to fight some monsters. So that’s what he did.

The multilingual chatter ended quite abruptly making the man’s heart almost jump out of his chest.

That was it. The moment he thought would never come. And yet, here they were.

He completely missed a few tears that escaped from his eyes. Hold it together, Niten.

The traditional music from Aoife’s childhood began to play and Niten’s mind emptied. The last thing he knew he thought about was his clothing as Scathach walked down the aisle and threw flowers trying hard not to show that she was crying. If he had brushed of every tiny speck of dust and hair from his clothing…and then there was nothing.

And everything at the same time.

The only thing he saw was his beautiful bride.

His Aoife, he thought selfishly.

She almost floated to him in her gorgeous green dress, which was adorned with spirals and motives long forgotten by human race but remembered by the immortals and Elders. Her red spikes had been toned down a little and her hair was decorated with a few simple golden hairpins.

Niten couldn’t identify the previous hesitation for she looked fierce, wild; like she had a price to claim.

She beamed at him, and he was lost.

Or found.

Both.

If someone was to ask him anything right now, he could not answer. Niten’s only thought was of her.

Was he supposed to do something? He didn’t know. He just stood there and looked at Aoife with all the love he had.

Prometheus walked beside the bride and when they reached to the Japanese, Niten bowed deeply to both to show his respect and honour to be able to stand beside Aoife forever. The Lord of Fire put his niece’s hand into his slightly bigger one. Her, no, their uncle offered him an encouraging wink with a watery eye, patted him on the shoulder, hugged Aoife tightly one last time and retreated, leaving two lovebirds to gaze at each other.

“You look lovely and, if I may, surer of yourself,” commented Niten unable to tear his eyes away from his fiancée, when they had taken their place before the altar. Aoife was smiling so widely; he didn’t want to miss any of it for it happened so rarely. Maybe more often from now on, thought the man smiling back without holding anything back.

Aoife, who had to have the last word even now, whispered: “Surer of us.” Niten felt something sting in his throat as he swallowed with difficulty. “Someone swore I had nothing to be worried about.”

The tables had turned; before the Japanese had looked more put together while they were in the dressing room and the woman had looked rather nervous (not that she would ever admit it), now however, Aoife was the epitome of fortitude while Niten was willing himself not to cry from happiness.

“And if it’s alright with you I’m not going to let you go. Ever,” said Aoife firmly while grasping both of his hands.

How did she do this? She only had to say one sentence and the immortal swordsman was putty in her hands.

The blushing Japanese uttered only one word: “Please.”

Aoife nodded and was about to say something when the Priest conducting the union asked unamused: “Are you two going to get married or am I going to come back next week?”

Niten raised his head to look around and saw many immortals and Elders grinning, non-more so than his future uncle in his horrible orange suit. He blushed when the realisation hit. They had been in their little world and forgotten everyone else.

He was embarrassed, but his wife…not yet…fiancée was about to snap at the Priest, her vampire teeth visible and face grimaced with murderous intention. Niten held her back gently. “If you kill the priest, who is going to marry us?”

The warrior looked sheepishly at him regretting losing her temperament at something so unimportant in her own wedding. She offered quietly still scowling at the man: “Flamel?”

Finding a person, who knew about the immortal world hidden in plain sight in the humani world and who had the power to marry them, was not an easy feat. The first person, who Niten thought of, was the Alchemyst, Nicholas Flamel, who at some point in time had worked as a priest and had some knowledge in that area. However, when he introduced this idea to Aoife, she disagreed strongly. She had no love for the man and had called him a useless bookworm. So, that option was off the table. Niten tried to find another person, but to no avail. Sometimes, Aoife could be completely unreasonable. There was always a possibility to go a humani and get married in their world like he heard Joan and Francis had done, but considering the number of immortals they (read: Prometheus) were planning to invite, it could only lead to a catastrophe.

One day the Japanese visited an age-old shop, where he learned of a certain humani priest, who did occasional favours to the immortal side of the world. He was known only as the Priest. And for a price he agreed to Niten’s plea.

“What was the price?” had Aoife carefully asked. They both were very cautious about the pricing as this was a nicer way of signing your life away if they were not cautious.

But this time, the price, apparently, was the honour of the Aoife of the Shadows. The Priest wanted a drop of a vampire’s tear. Aoife had to cry. The first time she heard this, her reaction was expected by Niten, she wanted to separate the Priest’s head from his body. On the second consideration…the result was pretty much the same, but Aoife had changed her way of killing him. On the third, Niten finally got through to her and the vampire agreed to cry only one tear. No more no less.

Till this day she hated the Priest with a burning passion, but as she had followed through with her side of the deal, she couldn’t let him not follow his. Aoife had admitted to the Japanese immortal that she hated the man more than the Alchemyst at that point.

And so, two people who couldn’t tolerate each other less were forced to be in each other’s presence, both too stubborn to back out. And poor Niten was in the middle of it. But it had been his idea, so maybe he deserved it.

“If you will,” said the swordsman to the Priest.

And so began the rest of their lives, irrevocably bound to each other.

Scathach tried to hold back the red tears but found the adorable scene unfolding before her eyes too much to bear and so, a few red spots appeared on her otherwise flawless pink dress. Everyone, besides the Priest, had tears in their eyes. Prometheus, who sat with his sister and Tsagaglalal or Aunt Agnes as she was known in the humani world, wept more than anyone. He whispered something to Dora, who snapped at him for not letting her concentrate on the ceremony.

As the time for the vows came, both had prepared a little speech.

“The vows always get me. Especially with these two. I knew they were meant to be from the start. I did my best to encourage them, but they were so stubborn. I’m going to cry,” swore Prometheus and pulled out a fifth handkerchief from his suit.

His sister snorted: “You are already crying. And do shut your mouth. I want to hear them to decide if I must turn Niten into a cupboard or not.” She pointed a glass mirror towards the altar.

“That would make Aoife furious,” pointed the younger Elder out.

The Witch of Endor scoffed: “The twins do not scare me, and a little punishment never killed anybody.”

“Unless it’s from you, who changed their physical appearance by moulding them into household items,” finished Prometheus. He knew perfectly well his sister’s temperament.

“Exactly. My letterpress is getting lonely.” Tsagaglalal raised an eyebrow at the woman, who had to clarify. “He used to be a tax officer. The last I heard the city was struggling to find a new one. In my defence he was rather a rude fellow. Had the guts to laugh at me. Hah. What was that humani saying? The one, who laughs later, laughs better.” Almost. Tsagaglalal, who had adapted humani ways a little bit better, didn’t correct the woman. “And I laugh at him all the time.”

Across the aisle, behind the Flamels, who were sitting at the middle of the row, onto an empty seat appeared a caped man. “Am I late?”

It was Nicholas who answered: “They are about to give speeches.”

“Let this awful day end with something beautiful,” commented Marethyu resting his hook on the chair’s armrest. He smirked at the happy couple remembering his little masquerade in Coatlicue’s Shadowrealm.

“The groom first,” instructed the Priest at the front.

“Certainly,” agreed Niten hoping his words didn’t betray how nervous he was.

The swordsman had written and unwritten this vow almost a thousand times. He had read many ancient and not so ancient books trying to perfect his vocabulary on the field of love. Nothing seemed to fit or even began to grasp the feelings for Aoife. Then his own advice popped into his mind: their love wasn’t defined by someone else’s. Niten wasn’t going to find his words from elsewhere.

But how could he put something into words that couldn’t be put into words?

So, the Japanese did a risky move praying it would not fail him.

Niten pulled out three little papers from the inside of his kimono. He began to ramble: “I, um, thought and thought of what I should write and found that a few words could hardly convey my feelings. And if I know anything, then I know that if something works, one should do it again. It’s purely strategical. But not so much that the enemy could use it against us.”

His proposal speech had been spontaneous, so he is doing it again with three pictures.

“My previous speech wasn’t planned. I had fully expected to be dead by that time.” Aoife gave him a warning glance. She didn't like being reminded of that moment. “But I wasn’t, and fortunately, you accepted my proposal. Even if it was “purely for tactical reasons”.” The man added the last bit with a smirk to his wife. Aoife rolled her eyes but gave him a soft smile.

Niten looked down at the very first card. There were two warriors engaged in a heated battle surrounded by low mountaintops.

“Today I am going to partly improvise my vow, but it is guided by three pictures or rather by the three most important moments of my life.” Niten raised the paper higher so the audience and Aoife could somewhat see it. “The first depicts the Battle of Sekigahara in 1600.” The woman in front of him understood immediately why he chose that moment. After the car ride to save Josh from the clutches of Coatlicue and reuniting after his short death, they had shared stories to boost each other’s (read: Aoife’s) memories about their meeting.

Niten began to fear his method was going to let him down as it was hard to find words. However, when the Japanese raised his gaze and looked at his love, he got his courage back. Aoife gazed at him with those beautiful green eyes that had trapped him the very first time he saw those. Her love went straight to his heart that began beating even more rapidly.

He forced himself to start talking lest they never finish the ceremony. He said to the vampire through the stinging in his throat that threatened to make him cry: “It is the most important moment of my life, because I met you.” Niten got choked up when he revealed the last part. His hands were shaking, so he took a deep breath to calm himself.

That sentence made even the people in the audience, who until now had somehow avoided getting too emotional, shed their first tears, not to mentioned those, who already cried before the bride had even set a foot outside. Prometheus and Scatty were the worst. Scathach still tried to convince everybody that she was just checking her make-up that she had on for the hundredth of time and their uncle didn’t hide his feelings when he sniffed audibly.

“I am not going to comment on the fighting because I lost.” Some guests, who weren’t busy blowing their noses, laughed, including Aoife, who blinked away her tears. “How do I say this? You came, you saw, you conquered.” It was a little bit cheesy, but Niten was proud of himself that he could talk at all considering how nervous he was. “The moment you had your sword at my throat I knew I had met one of the best warriors of my time. Oh, how wrong I was. I had fought with one of the best warriors of all time.” Scatty snorted, still sulky because of her defeat. “But you won something else that day. You had taken a piece of my heart. And continued to do so until all of it was with you. There is an untranslatable phrase in Japanese for what I felt when I first gazed into your forest green eyes – Koi No Yokan.”

Those who understood in crowd, which was most of them, gasped. Aoife looked on the verge of crying again but tried holding it together. “I knew instantly you were going to matter to me. That you were going to be a big part of my life. Maybe I even knew I was going to love you. It didn’t matter when or how, but I was positive, we were going to meet again. And I was right.” Niten remembered the feeling he had, when he first caught a glimpse of the young girl or so he thought; he had felt…right. Like wherever this person was, he was also meant to be. Which made the Japanese bewildered as the first time he had fought with her; he didn’t have that feeling. When their swords crossed and it became obvious this was not the same person form the previous fight, the confusion cleared. Only a gut feeling about a total stranger remained. Later, he was almost convinced that was the reason he lost. “I never could have imagined the life I got, the adventures we would share, the memories we would make. And yet as strange as it sounds; I never doubted it.” At the end of the battle and many nights after that, the young warrior couldn’t shake the image of a redheaded warrior who moved like a shadow from his mind.

The Japanese switched the cards to reveal the second picture.

The redheaded woman sat on the edge of a white cliff somewhere in Spain looking at the Atlantic Ocean. It had been a beautiful sunset painting the sky orange, when two travellers arrived from their adventure in one of the Shadowrealms. It was supposed to be a peaceful trip, but Aoife had, of course, found a way to fight some unnatural beings and because of that had been in a good mood. She had hummed an age-old tune despite repeatedly saying she couldn’t sing.

Niten had found himself entranced by the vampire, who seemed so carefree at that moment. Aoife had rocked her feet over the edge and had even smiled to the falling sun. The man had stood quietly a few steps behind her while smiling at her softly. Such had been their relationship from the start – she would rush into dangers without much thought, and he would follow her as a distant, but deadly shadow. Always one step behind.

This was the sweetest agony he could think of. Never beside her, never having her full attention on him. There was always some demon or a monster or a war or a warrior that had fascinated her more than him. Something more…interesting than the quiet immortal. The man could count the times she had shown an interest in him. That only happened when Aoife hadn’t had anything else going on. Niten was only a temporary amusement to the warrior.

It hurt. Of course, it had.

Niten didn’t want much. Just one gaze or a sweet word and he could live off that moment for the next hundred years. He knew that. He almost wished he didn’t. He really was pathetic.

Then the Japanese calculated, how many mortals or immortals Aoife would trust to watch her back. To keep her safe. She trusted some, her family and even the sister who had brought her so much pain. But all this time, she had chosen him. And thus far, he hadn’t failed her. He prayed in the future he would not betray that trust. He would be worthy.

Lately, Niten had sometimes found his heart singing for no apparent reason other than Aoife being happy or satisfied. Like at that moment at the edge of the world with the reddish sun falling behind the horizon.

There was no place he would rather be than behind Aoife of the Shadows. As long as she let him.

Seeing the great warrior swing her legs and hum in a childlike manner was a sight only a few could witness, himself included. Her short hair reflected the sunlight making them seem on fire. Usually, she hid from the sun, but tonight she didn’t mind it. Aoife gazed over her shoulder to catch his eyes with her own and offered the Japanese a smile. It was the most beautiful sight he had seen during his mortal and long immortal life. He couldn’t bear to tear his eyes away as he revelled in her attention. He smiled back and the last part of his heart flew to Aoife.

Oh.

So that’s why he found it hard to control his heart around her these last few years. It didn’t belong to him anymore.

It was hers.

“Niten,” said Aoife beckoning him closer making him jump a little. “Come here.” The vampire noticed that she had caught him off guard and decided to tease him. “Aren’t you the one that says that a warrior should always be aware of their surroundings?”

Niten blushed. Part of him scolded himself for acting selfishly. Because of his incompetence someone or something could have jumped him and took him down. He had no doubt that whatever would come her way, she would easily defeat, but still the thought of failing her was unbearable. So, he quickly checked the surrounding area and only when he was completely sure they were safe, he complied to her request.

The other part of Niten was in total chaos. His feelings for her that he was only partially aware of before and totally inappropriate came to light in him. And oh boy, he was in trouble. These feelings were so much bigger than him. The swordsman had a difficult time containing them, now they had a name. Now that he finally allowed himself to feel.

And suddenly everything made sense.

Why he knew how many times a day she cleaned her knives. Why he knew she had 36 freckles on her lovely face (they were more dominant when she had been in the sun, after which she always, without exception, complained). Why he seemed to hurt so much more than her when she got hurt.

Why he had her every little routine, like, dislike and wish memorized like they were his own. No, even better than his own. Because one notices their beloved more than oneself.

He loved her.

He had loved her for a long time. The reality hit him hard and wanted to drag Niten to his knees. The swordsman was sure Aoife could hear his heart beating rapidly. His heart ached when she smirked at him playfully.

The woman patted the grassy ground beside her: “Come, sit down.”

Aoife grinned at the Japanese when he took a seat next to her on the edge of the cliff. The swordsman was glad to be sitting down lest his knees gave up and he made a compete fool of himself. The two painted a rather unique picture – one mischievous redhead in a brown fighting costume and one all in dark still figure.

“Well, that was fun. One of the best undertakings of the last century or so.” She leaned back and put her hands behind her for support. Aoife radiated happiness at that moment making Niten’s heart clench painfully in his chest.

Did she know he would have done everything for her had she only asked?

The woman gave him a puzzled look and commented: “Is there something on my face?” The swordsman blushed deeply for the second time as he dragged his gaze away to look at the calm blue ocean beneath them. He had a hard time watching anything else, when the one he loved was beside him.

“No,” uttered the man contemplating every little thought running through his head. She hummed at that not really believing, but not prying further. One small part of him that increased every moment wanted desperately to voice his feelings. It knocked on his heart demanding an action. But Niten was nothing if not stubborn and held his tongue behind his teeth for now was not the time. It would shatter their hard found peaceful relationship and the man didn’t think he could survive if Aoife cut him out of her life. He would rather forever remain behind her and watch the vampire take an interest in something or someone new every week and let the poisonous arrow of jealousy pierce him than not knowing she was alive and well. Knowing she hated him.

“For the next trip we should go to France. Heard my sister had some trouble there.” Niten detected longing from Aoife. She always got emotional when talking about the Shadow. The man still didn’t know, what exactly had happened between these two, but one thing was certain – Aoife loved Scathach and kept an eye on her. She huffed: “I don’t see what is keeping her here. I mean the humani are all so selfish, with their constant wars and fighting between themselves for a tiny bit of land they have destroyed entire continents. And my sister continues to reside here and even fight for them. In my opinion, the humani will one day destroy themselves, they have done so before. Maybe it’s for the best.” Aoife scratched the back of her head. “Imagine loving humans,” she spatted the word out, “hah. Nothing good could come from it.” What Niten heard was that nothing good could come from Aoife loving him.

“I loved my family and brothers in arms. Still do,” commented the man simply when his companion forgot who she had beside her. The vampire did that a lot. “There are good things we embody as well. Though, a lot of bad also. Nobody is only good or bad.”

The vampire looked sheepishly at him. “Ah, right, you were a humani.”

When Niten also attempted to lean back pain shot through his body drawing a hiss out of him. Right, he had narrowly avoided an arrow, which instead of killing him, had made a slash across his right arm. At the time, he couldn’t afford to heal it with his aura as he had to rush after Aoife. After the fight he found himself to be too tired to even consider using the aura. Niten decided to heal it after a little break. The blood tripped down his chosen black suit and onto the ground.

Aoife turned herself to properly look at him faster than the speed of light. Her eyes widened as she said: “You are bleeding.” She raised her gaze while revealing sharp vampire teeth and demanded. “When?”

“Ah, it was when we were under attack from the wraiths and their servants,” explained the man trying to ignore the goosebumps caused by Aoife’s hands forcing him to undress so she could examine the wound. The fact that these same hands could kill somebody without difficulty but were now so gentle with him made serious damage to his already vulnerable heart. When her right hand slipped behind his white linen shirt that became visible after removing the top layer of his clothing and touched his bare skin to help the hurt hand out of it, he felt a shock go through his entire body. His breath hitched as he unconsciously followed her every movement. Niten didn’t remember the last time someone had touched him without the intent of killing him.

“You idiot. Why didn’t you say something?” came a furious question when Aoife finally had a full view of the damage. At that moment, Niten could not care less about the wound and more about the way she was watching him. The shadow warrior’s lips trembled, and hands held his forearm in almost careful grip. Her vicious facial expression towards his arm almost indicated that she tried to burn away the wound with it. For once, he was the centre of her attention.

Was she worried for him? This possibility made his heart jump.

He debated whether to mention the possibility of healing it with aura or let the Aoife do her thing. The part of Niten that desired to let her do whatever she decided was best won. The man answered quietly as not to spook the vampire more: “I wasn’t seriously hurt, and you wanted to follow the wraiths. I simply didn’t wish to slow you down. I would have…”

His calculated tone didn’t have a desired effect as Aoife went from anxious to furious. “DO YOU THINK THAT FIGHTING WITH MONSTERS IS MORE IMPORTANT THAN YOUR HEALTH?” yelled the woman getting on her knees in front of him to tower over the sitting man. Niten’s only answer was to follow her captivating eyes, which even in rage shone like the brightest stars in the sky. His traitorous gaze flickered downwards to her pink lips. What would they taste like? They looked… “DO YOU?” The question brought it back up.

The time slowed as the two looked at each other under the pink light with blowing wind messing up their hair. Behind Aoife’s raging expression was hiding a hurt one.

“I think that it is my duty to watch your back,” offered the man gently putting his uninjured hand on her shoulder to calm the vampire. Could she not see that one insignificant wound didn’t compare to her safety? “How could I have done that if we had separated just because my arm had a scratch?” He tried to soften it with a shy smile. “Hmm? It’s not like my head was cut off.”

“This is a duty for you?” was the vampire confused before the anger took its place. This was the moment he realized he had made an error. “Are you with…Are you here because you consider it your duty?” She jumped to her feet and began to walk around the edge while saying the most hurtful things. “Are you here because you think you must be? Do you think you have to, I don’t even know, die for me?”

The man stood trying to defend himself, but the hot-blooded woman cut him off with a blazing gaze. “Because I never asked for that. I don’t need anyone to keep me safe. Least of all you.” That statement was like a Spartoi spear through his heart. Aoife was too busy yelling to notice the man’s wretched expression, which he wished away with pure willpower. “I am the Aoife of the Shadows. My long list of titles reminds everyone that picking a fight with me is to mess with Death itself. You shouldn’t worry about me. I’ll be fine on my own.” The woman promised all those things, but in the end, she crossed her arms and stayed only a few steps away from the swordsman. “I’ll release you from your duty, you for some reason think you have to me. You have kept me safe, and you have kept your honour. You can go wherever you like and do whatever you desire. I don’t need you. I am not shackling you to me.” The woman pointed to the darkness as she challenged Niten to leave. She couldn’t be more wrong. Aoife cursed under her breath: “Should have known nobody wants to be with me voluntarily. Nobody ever has, nobody ever will. Even Scathach was forced into it because we are twins. She made that very clear during our last meeting.”

Niten waited calmly for her to finish lashing out, before attempting to talk to her again. And he had dreamed of love. He would be lucky if he could remain in her presence after this. The swordsman asked quietly: “But don’t you want to?” Don’t you want me?

“What?” snapped the angry vampire peeping at him from the corner of her eye still.

“Don’t you want anyone to at least watch your back?” The woman was taken aback by that question. Niten could easily decipher her reaction. He had learned to read the vampire over the years. She really hadn’t considered her wants before, only what her reputation demanded of her. It made him sad. “Aoife, I am not here because I think you can’t defend yourself or because I am bound by duty.” I am here because I though you wanted me to be. “I am here because I enjoy our adventures. With that said, I also want to keep you safe.”

The woman didn’t look convinced. She bit: “Why? Why would you care if I live or die?”

And there it was.

Because I love you and couldn’t bear to see you hurt. I would die thousand times over just to keep you out of harm’s way, he ached to confess.

But who was he to care for her? Why would she want him to care for her?

Who was he compared to Aoife of the Shadows?

Nobody.

A humani. She always spat that word out like a curse. And every time it etched a hole into his heart.

A guard behind her.

In some instances, he would have even been brave and called them friends. Maybe the woman also considered them friends, but he doubted that. Once in a Shadowrealm in a court of an Alwrikkiran king, who had asked about Aoife’s personal life, she had in passing mentioned that Niten was there to guard her. After a while, Aoife also stated she had no friends.

Alwrikkira was a kingdom in a rather large Shadowrealm that had called Aoife of the Shadows for help. Their king sent a message to the warrior that contained a plea to defeat the rest of the kingdoms for him. In return, he would give her a centuries old sword Aoife had been searching for. Both had a feeling something was fishy with this call. But as it was Aoife, she wasn’t one to give up a challenge when delivered to her doorstep. Or rather, his, because they were residing in Niten’s temporary lodgings. The fact that the king knew, where to find her, was the first clue the man was not so helpless he claimed in his letter to be. While in the king’s castle, they had a terrific banquet in her honour and pointless chatter was not missing from there either. Niten, who had rather despised the whole grand affair in a kingdom whose people were suffering, was glued to Aoife’s side searching for potential threats.

The vampire’s fleeting comment to the king had struck Niten deep, because before that day he had assumed that in her eyes they were equals. At first, he assumed the guard statement about him was just a meaningless comment, because he fit the part rather well. Later, the no friends statement began his spiralling thought process. If not friends, then…what was he? Then again, the letter had been addressed to her. Every enemy they encounter flees because of her. Or they see her as the bigger threat. He is just a nobody in comparison to her, to Aoife of the Shadows.

After that Niten adopted this self-destructive duty driven mindset. He didn’t see himself entirely as a guard for she didn’t need one but almost subconsciously assumed that role when they were on an enemy territory or Aoife decided to be unwelcoming with her wordings which was always a quick way to make enemies. He would be useful to the vampire, however she wished. If she wanted a guard, he would be a guard.Why else would she keep him with her? What other uses he had? The Japanese had an unconscious fear to be replaced if he didn’t perform well, but the woman had never made any indication for that to be the case. So, Niten did his best to be a shadow of the shadow.

And now she said she didn’t want anyone to protect her. The woman had been right – she hadn’t asked him anything. The swordsman had just assumed.

Aoife let the bitterness overtake her again. “As far as I understand if you were not with me, you wouldn’t have to suffer meaningless wounds just because you think you need to do your duty…”

“Because I care for you.”

Aoife’s eyes widened as she was rendered speechless. Niten was afraid he had crossed the line. Why did he say that? Because it was the truth, whispered his traitorous mind. But what if that truth would push her away from him? The immortal cursed at himself in Japanese. He should have just admitted that his health was more important and let her tend to his wound. This thought pushed the pain from his arm to the forefront of his mind and the man shifted uncomfortable trying to ease it. Aoife’s softened gaze was drawn to his blood-soaked shirt.

The woman turned to look at his own brown eyes once more. Her expression was not that vicious and suspicious anymore. It was open. “Why?” She truly wanted to know. “Many often say the complete opposite about me. They would pay entire Shadowrealms worth of gold and jewels to see me dead.” He detected a hint of sadness, but then Aoife smirked. “No one has succeeded…yet, they have tried though.” They locked eyes.

“Because I consider you my friend. A dear friend,” concluded the swordsman allowing himself to take one step forward in their confusing relationship. It wasn’t a lie per se. He enjoyed her occasional banter and a companionship as a friend would. Other times she drove him crazy just as a friend would. It’s just that…he also had romantic feelings for Aoife, which he kept to himself.

“Really? Nobody has ever wanted me for a friend before,” said the woman approaching Niten.

The Japanese nodded sadly: “I know.”

“My own sister despises me; my grandmother prefers her over me and I will not even talk about the rest of my family. Only one who tolerates me is my uncle. So, it’s on your own responsibility. You can’t take it back after you decide you don’t want me anymore,” warned Aoife, but Niten saw trough her defences. She was afraid of failing or disappointing another person.

“I have followed you this long. I know you, and I still want to be your friend,” assured the Japanese with shy smile.

“Alright. So, you are here because you want to be?” Aoife’s voice still sounded a little bit unsure about it. Clearly, she was unused to people worrying for her.

The swordsman swore without a shadow of doubt: “Yes.”

“Good,” breathed Aoife, “I already thought I had forced you into something.” She bit her fingernails.

“Never.”

Finally satisfied, the woman dragged the swordsman once again to the ground to start cleaning the wound. In the meantime, Aoife demanded: “Where did that idiotic duty thing come from?” Niten desperately tried to ignore the puffs of air coming out of her mouth every time she talked that tickled his right ear due to their proximity. He forced himself to look the ocean rather than turning his head towards the vampire. It was tempting, though. Too tempting. But the Japanese held his ground against the part of him that begged him to take the chance. The fear of the uncertainty helped. They were finally after almost two centuries talking not just hunting different creatures and resting. He was not going to ruin it. No matter how soft Aoife looked at that moment.

“You said it yourself.”

“I did?” exclaimed Aoife while examining the wound. She frowned when something caught her eye.

Niten elaborated: “In the court of that Alwrikkiran king you admired in the 1730s. You said you had no friends and referred to me as your guard. After that you never refuted it. I was at a loss of where I stood.” He hissed when Aoife removed a small piece of the arrowhead stuck in his arm. The vampire soothed the wound with gentle fingertips as an apology and blew on it, and it destroyed his heart. Why is she doing it? Attending to the wound doesn’t require blowing on it.

Does she do it every time she treats somebody’s wounds? A hot jolt of jealousy went through his body when he unknowingly pictured the scene – a helpless man mooning over the vampire as she sooths his pain. His gaze turned dangerous, and posture rigid. Aoife scanned the surroundings as she sensed the sudden change in the Japanese. She didn’t find any dangers.

As quickly as the thought came to him, it left him. Niten wanted to kick himself for imagining nonsense. Aoife of the Shadows and blowing caring onto some stranger’s wound? Unheard-of. And if someone tried to make her, they would end up in even worse shape. The man smiled. That meant…he was special. His crushed and ignored heart leaped in joy. A blush creeped back onto his face.

“Me? I said that?” The man looked into her surprised green eyes and nodded. The swordsman turned back to the sea.

“I don’t remember it,” referred the woman so casually to a moment that had been carved into his heart. It was hard to forget when her sentence repeated itself almost weekly in his dreams that often turned to nightmares. Sometimes she married the king in front of Niten, who was forced to watch. Sometimes the king killed Aoife and sneered into his face that he had failed the vampire warrior, who lay unmoving on the cold marble floor with a sword in her chest. Either way, he would wake up sweaty with a pain in his chest of which he now knew the name of – heart break.

Then suddenly Aoife’s memory about that trip began to come back. She stated: “Oh, it was the king who wore that horrible yellowish dress. I said it because I was sure he was going to use every information he could get against me, including the people I cared about. Not that there were many. As soon as I stated I had no interest in killing masses for him, he clearly tried to force my hand. It would have been very stupid on his part, but then again, he didn’t sound nor look smart. Still, I didn’t want to risk it. I, personally, would target a friend rather than a guard.”

“Oh,” was the only word Niten could get out. She didn’t mean it that night? Aoife didn’t consider him her guard or something similar?

Hope that soothed away all the invisible wounds began to bloom in his heart.

Aoife began carefully wrapping his arm as he followed her every movement with loving eyes. The revelation had shattered every bit of self-control he had not to reveal his secret. As she raised her gaze Niten averted it, not being courageous enough yet to confess. “Did you really take that seriously?”

After failing to deny the accusation she cursed: “I swear that right now I just want to smack some sense into you.” The man chuckled. If she only knew how many times, he had had the same thought about her. “And I didn’t admire him.” She shrugged. “Eh, maybe a little at first. But he wasn’t that admirable, not after I found out what he did to those defenceless children. Luckily, we were able to save the rest of them.” Aoife shook her head when they were reminded of those atrocities. It was one of the first and only times, Niten had completely agreed with her violent suggestions.

The couple remained in silence as the surroundings began to darken and the woman finished wrapping his arm. She put the necessary things for tending to Niten’s wound away before claiming the spot beside him once again to gaze at the last moments of the sun.

Once the sun had settled leaving only red sunrays to light the sky and land, Niten couldn’t help but ask: “What am I to you? Who do you consider me as? You are my friend, but am I yours?” Knowing his companion, a chance like this to talk things out would come around in the next hundred years.

The vampire snapped revealing her two long sharp teeth: “You are not my guard, I’ll tell you that much, you stupid man. You better bury that thought or I will do it for you!”

Maybe, just maybe, his love wasn’t doomed. Aoife cared for him. She had demonstrated this by almost biting his head off for keeping silent about his wound. His judgment on the Japanese being her guard was also completely wrong. He thanked the deities for that. One time, he was fine with being incorrect. Did she consider them friends? Could something more ever develop between them? First time after deciphering and understanding his feelings, he was hopeful.

The warrior snorted. “I still can’t believe you thought you were my guard. I could get better guards than you. And not all of them would be in the human form.” They both knew that while it was not impossible to find someone better than Niten in a fight, it was difficult. Too this day, Niten was the only humani to win Scathach in a duel.

“I don’t doubt that. Their prince seemed quite keen on the idea,” said Niten bitterly remembering an uncomfortable conversation with an overenthusiastic young man, who didn’t leave the man alone.

Aoife burst out laughing: “The prince! Hahaa! That man couldn’t even hold a sword.”

The Japanese was not done yet, not even close. He continued dryly: “And the king’s right-hand man and the main guards from Talissia and the moustache man from Gaullia, not to mention the entire population of Flinna.” Niten wrinkled his nose as he counted many more Shadowrealms. “Most of them also had one other proposal in these seemingly innocent and not so innocent suggestions.”

An unbelievable amount of people wanted to try Aoife of the Shadows. It was a curiosity for them. They would whisper things like how is she in bed, does she scream, which position she prefers and with how many she has been with. Generally, Niten would chase them away with cold stare or with promises of pain.

One of those hundreds of voices had brought out a reaction from the usually calm or at least collected man.

I just want to try her, the man had said, I have tried so many others, but none of them had her reputation. I often think of her when I’m alone. I’m sure you know. When Niten through gritted teeth said he didn’t, the vile man continued. You see, it’s good that she looks so young, gets me going. The Japanese cut him off with a threat to decapitate him if he only breathed one wrong word. The man clearly didn’t take Niten seriously as he purred his next sentence. I usually like them younger; their screams make me… He didn’t finish because the Japanese had made good on his promise. The swordsman trembled from anger as he gazed at the man one last time. Nasty creature.

Niten wished to bash in the head of every single one of them. Aoife was not a thing to be tried and then disregarded of. She was a living (not breathing, though) being, who had feelings. Not that she would admit it. Though, she could be cold and calculating, her thoughtless comments have caused pain, he knew that part of her temper very well, and her often snarky attitude making Aoife repulsive to many they encountered, she was also incredibly brave, kind, when she wished to be, and loyal to a fault. To all those, who desired to bed her just for her fame, she was but a trinket. A thing to be conquered. None of them wanted to get to know her, none were interested in her personality, which, even Niten had to admit, was difficult to say the least, and none were worthy of her. The Japanese had nothing against one-night encounters, but those slimy man and occasional women were different.

“And how many have approached you with these lewd comments exactly?” was the vampire curious, but not offended.

Niten didn’t even try to hide the fact that he had memorised all of them. “To this day 42 individuals wanted to become your guard, 183 suggested…the intimate activity and 129 suggested both.”

“You can say sex, Niten,” scoffed Aoife. “None of it reached to my ears.”

“I would imagine not.” Now it was Niten’s time to give her a smug smirk.

“What did you do, you wicked man?” picked the warrior up his cues, suddenly very interested in what he had to say. Aoife leaned closer to him. Her green eyes seemed even sharper in the darkness that slowly, but surely covered them.

He raised an eyebrow not hiding his satisfaction. “Well, firstly, I described in depth what I would do to them if they tried anything, and then what you would do if there was something left of them by that point.”

“Hahaha. Served them right. I would have liked to see their faces,” she found it hilarious at first, but as Niten made a summary of what he learned from them, the vampire snarled. “Who did they think they are? Buying me or making bets like I was some piece of meat. I am the one who puts others in my list. Not the other way around! And for what, sex, intercourse? Shameless. I have a list for defeated enemies and victories, and they have a sex list? What would they say? Oh, look at me I slept with Aoife of the Shadows. Those weaklings could not handle me in bed.” Niten was at a loss of what to think of that statement. “Should have killed the entire court of Alwrikkira.” The woman jumped up and pulled out her knives with a practiced movement.

Niten continued to sit calmly by the ocean. “Calm down.”

“You will provide me names and locations.” The woman had leaned down to try and intimidate the immortal, but it was futile.

“I will do no such thing, Aoife,” scolded the man softly. “Sit down.” She sulked, spun her knives, and tramped her legs on the grass. The man followed her steps from the corner of his eyes. She always acted like that when she didn’t get her way. The vampire would kick something or just storm around whatever building they were close at. Niten found it rather cute. It didn’t happen often though as she backed down only in some rare instances. After a while she stuck her weapons back to her belt and took a seat still gritting her teeth.

“I do wonder how many of them were assassins. Seduction is not a new strategy,” thought Aoife suddenly.

“If that were the case, they would have approached you directly. But then again, you do look unapproachable.”

The vampire smiled bloodcurdlingly: “All thanks to my charming personality that I have polished during my long life. And if I were approachable everyone would try to murder me.”

“Many assumed we were…intimate. Some even suggested a threesome.” If she knew that one time, he gave the impression that they indeed slept together, she would be disgusted. It hadn’t been his intention, but the Japanese hadn’t denied the rumour either.

“Nobody ever tells me anything. I’m always the last to know. Especially when it’s something about me or my sister. Remember the time when there was a price on my head and I knew only when I accidentally entered the palace of the king, who orchestrated the entire thing?” wondered Aoife.

The man sighed and dropped his head: “You were told three times. You brushed it off or just didn’t listen.”

“No, I didn’t,” was Aoife convinced and didn’t listen to him. Nothing new.

Thinking about the incident Niten had revealed to her, the woman very much looked like she wanted to stab something or someone. “You should have said something to me. But what’s done is done.” Then she glanced at the Japanese slyly. Niten raised an eyebrow. Aoife leaned in as close to Niten’s face as possible without touching him. The man focused on breathing though her lips were one palm away. “My knight in shining armour.”

“Hardly,” breathed the Japanese as she compared him to the long-gone European soldiers.

The woman grinned at his reaction. When she smiled like that and especially at him, it made it difficult to maintain his composure. Niten’s back was straight with his hands in his lap lest they did something stupid like caress her rosy cheeks. The vampire on the other hand didn’t find their closeness a problem and leaned even closer to his right ear, clearly playing with him. “Mm, so it was not your intention to scare off any potential suitors?”

“Suitors? They were not even brave enough to talk to you, but wished I would suggest them to you,” spat Niten suddenly enraged at the possibility. “Any honourable person who had the right intentions would not act that way. If they don’t dare converse with you directly then they hardly deserve your attention. In my opinion.” The Japanese added the last bit because the last thing he wished to do was telling her, what to do. It was not his place.

Aoife looked positively amused by his outburst. “I agree.” The vampire spread her arms to the sky. “What did they hope to accomplish? Bunch of honourless imbeciles. A good beating would benefit all of them. Niten, if I promise not to kill th…Fine,” Aoife spat out clearly not agreeing with the man’s decision after he threw her a look.

After a few cursing rounds she clarified her wants. “I don’t want anyone to become my guard, nor do I want anything sexual from them. Just so you know.” Good, thought the Japanese selfishly. Part of Niten had pondered if he had turned down suggestions, she wanted to accept. None of them would have lasted a minute with her, while he had been with her almost two centuries. He hid a small smile from the woman.

She sighed grievingly letting her gaze stop on the ground. “Anything feelings related, especially romantic ones, is also off the table. I will never let love have any power over me. It’s not worth it. Love can only ruin you. Many great warriors have perished because of it. Familied torn apart, brothers, sisters. The only one I will love is my sister.” Aoife bit her nails as she was flooded with memories, but Niten was flooded with gloom. If he had a chance before, however tiny, it was gone now. She would never reciprocate his love. His fate was sealed.

It hit particularly hard after tonight’s bonding moments when he had celebrated their relationship moving forward. The swordsman had been so happy to learn that Aoife cared. That if he was to fall, the woman would at least be a little affected. That he was special to her.

And he was. Just not romantically.

Niten’s hands balled into fists as he tried unsuspiciously blink away the unwanted tears. Aoife sat down again being oblivious to his torment as their surroundings were lightened only by the lights from a nearby village. “Niten. I am sorry you had to listen to that, it must have made you uncomfortable.” The woman cursed in her mother tongue. Niten understood some words; the vampire didn’t take kindly to those opportunists and promised them faith worse than death. The woman’s rant went mostly past him as he swallowed in self-pity.

That’s what he got for hoping for the impossible. He was an experienced warrior and should have known better. Instead of hoping one should take matters into their own hands, then the dream was more likely to come true. Ha had no such choice as Aoife very clearly stated. A warrior should also know when they have been defeated. When their only moves were to surrender or retreat. Niten recognized his position, and he didn’t like either of the answers.

She sighed. “Of course, you are my friend. I don’t fight beside one person for years when I don’t care for them or don’t like their presence. I enjoy our adventures too.” Aoife grabbed him by the shoulders pulled him towards her with little force. The man let it happen. “Let me make this simple for you. You are not allowed to die and when you are hurt, you don’t act like a mindless hamster, you tell me. If I am not by your side, then you take care of yourself so you could return to me.”

Did she know, what those promises did to his heart? Did she phrase them so that he would feel even more miserable? Return to her? It sounded like a lover demanding a soldier to return to her from the war. But perhaps it sounded like it to him because he was madly in love with her. That had to be it. He had just accepted his defeat. He couldn’t do this. His chest hurt more now than when he got stabbed because that bleeding could be stopped, the injury could be healed. This wound ripped right through his soul making it impossible to be reached with mortal devices. But Aoife’s love wasn’t from this world. It was heavenly to him. And just as unobtainable as a real Heaven was. He would never be blessed by something like this.

Right now, the famous Miyamoto Musashi was out of strategy on how to end his suffering.

“You know very well that we can’t promise such things,” stated Niten with rough voice.

Aoife grimaced and shook her head trying to find a better solution. He let himself bask in her strong grip one last time knowing he would never get closer to the woman he loved. “Then promise me you’ll treat yourself as you treat me. For whatever reason you seem to treat me better than yourself.”

Yes, why, asked Niten sarcastically in his mind. The answer was the age-old reason of unrequited love.

Niten, who couldn’t muster up his usual calm everything is under control tone, answered coarsely: “I promise. I will do my best to stay alive.”

“That didn’t sound very convincing, but I’ll accept it,” said the woman. Then Aoife threatened the Japanese: “If you ever put yourself in danger for me, you won’t like the outcome.”

She let go of him. Please don’t, wanted the man to plead. He didn’t. He kept his mouth shut. Like always.

“I can’t lose my best and only friend,” she stated. It was ironic that a few years before that sentence would have made Niten’s whole century. Now, with this evening’s revelation and letting himself explore only a fraction of his feelings for Aoife, this seemed like a prison sentence. A prison of his own making. One, he would never escape.

To cover up his sour mood, the Japanese murmured: “There really isn’t that much of a competition to that position it seems.”

“Shut up!” shouted Aoife. “And if someone approaches you again tell me, and I will cut their head off. The rest will scatter after that. To let them know that harassing you will only make me angry, not secure their place in my inner circle or in my bed. Pah!”

“You do understand that violence is not the only way to solve problems?” muttered the man giving her a dry look.

“But if it works then why change the tactic? Aren’t you the tactical one here?” Niten shook his head. Why did he love that impossible woman again?

He stated: “I have a better one.” The woman raised her eyebrows in question. “I would wait until they get to know you, then they would quit on their own.”

“Oh, shut up, Niten!” She, annoyed, hit him in the arm but was careful of his injury.

After a while Aoife got up, swept away crumbs that stuck to her clothing, and stretched her body as the moon rose behind them. “We should go…” She caught herself and peeked down at the man. “If you want to join me?”

“I would not be here if I didn’t want to, Aoife. You are not the only stubborn one here, nothing can make me do thing I don’t want to,” smiled the Japanese at his friend.

“Good. Since we, my sister and I, went our different ways, I have been alone. And besides her nobody has wanted to stay with me for longer than a few years. More like tolerated me more than a few years. After a battle, where everyone would kill to have me on their side, they scatter. Few tried following me for couple of years, but all of them were so incompetent. It was like I was their guard and I hate those who slow me down.” Sitting warrior raised his brows. For once, the woman seemed to grasp the contrasting meaning of her words. “Unless it’s you and you have been shot by a deadly arrow, then yes, you will tell me. You can’t compare yourself and those halfwits. You are capable. They were not. End of story.” The vampire looked at Niten as he finally rose elegantly.

She eyed the man as she sighed: “I don’t need a defender, but I could use a friend.”

If she wanted a friend, then a friend he would be.

The smile she gave him warmed his chest.

“Also, was that self-awareness from Aoife of the Shadows?” teased the man and was immediately buried under insults.

With that, Niten promised to seal off any form of romantic gestures or sayings. He would be a good friend, a supportive friend, a best friend. She would not learn the truth about his feelings. As Niten gazed at the immortal warrior, who desperately tried to hide a smile after declaring them friends, he swore he would not make it harder for her. She was so cheerful right now with her new, maybe first ever, friend. And when she was happy, he was happy. The Japanese immortal only had to ignore the feeling of his heart being crushed. If he was to open about his affections, she would be uncomfortable around him.

In the end, there was no choice to be made. There was only one option.

It was enough. It had to be.

It wasn’t.

“It was an eventful night,” declared Niten gazing at his own drawing in their wedding. Considering how he felt departing from the white cliffs, this was literally a dream. Niten had learned about the wounds Aoife had suffered from Cuchulain that had yet to heal by the cliff-talk time causing her to swore off love forever and breaking the Japanese heart in the process.

Niten tried to hide his feelings as best as he could, but quite a few times, he found himself in the verge of confessing. Most of them in dire situations, where they were about to be killed. So, even if Aoife hated him, they wouldn’t live long enough for the man to be affected by it. And he would die without regrets. Similar instant occurred when the Dark Elders tried to take over the Shadowrealm of Earth, but then Aoife had not been by his side.

His love for her only grew as the years passed. Talk like that as he had predicted didn’t happen again for quite a while. They were busy in France, then in countless Shadowrealms and with ancient gods that Aoife had a beef with. Niten as her trusted friend always by her side. He almost wished he could turn it off for sometimes love consumed him and trying to pretend he didn’t love her was impossible. When that happened, he often retreated to his favourite activity – boat painting. Niten would skip a few adventures and take a time out. While he enjoyed travelling, he also occasionally revelled in peace and stability. He had acquired a boathouse in the New World in the 20th century, which became his number one getaway destination from…well everything. And to focus on his other love, which was painting. He considered himself to be more an artist than a warrior he had been while mortal. And sword fighting itself was also an artform if one was to do it correctly. Once he was rested and collected or she needed his help, they would join their forces as Aoife liked to call it and take on another trip or two.

While his love was a new sensation, it burned like an open fire threatening to spill out or eat him up inside. After a century, Niten’s heart had been burning for so long that he almost became immune to it. As time passed, his unrequited love would settle as an old wound would. Insults to humani didn’t poke a hole through him anymore, her teasings were met with a smirk or a comeback not with an illusion in Niten’s mind that maybe the woman felt something for him, and Aoife’s harsh words in the times of trouble that were directed at everyone including him were taken more as a situational insults rather than personal ones. Love was always there, but it had become a part of him as the Japanese learned to live with it. Hide it better. A curse of his own making. One, he was sure would perish when he did.

But unknowingly to him, Aoife began to heal. Began to feel. Began to reciprocate his affection. Began to love.

In the end, Aoife (and Tsagaglalal) had saved his life, he finally had the guts to ask for her hand and now, they were at the altar.

“It was, yes, the wraiths were quite vicious. They even got you, if I remember correctly,” commented Aoife as she forgot that this was Niten’s time to speak.

Niten sighed: “I am talking about the changes in our relationship, Aoife.”

“Oh.” Quite a few guests smirked at the vampire’s surprised answer.

“The bride should not speak during the groom’s speech,” warned the Priest Aoife.

As expected, the woman snapped: “I will speak when I want to speak, humani. I can still…”

“Aoife, will you let me finish?” asked Niten politely cutting her off.

“Mhm,” murmured the vampire. The crowd found her compliance funny as quite a few bursts of laughter were heard.

While Aoife straight up hated the man, Niten himself wasn’t the biggest fan of the shifty priest. “If my wife wants to speak, she will speak,” warned the swordsman the Priest, and catching Aoife’s eyes added, “not that anyone can stop her.” She smirked but stayed silent.

“I have never felt so many strong emotions in such a short period of time,” began the man.

Scathach smiled as she muttered to herself: “She does that.”

“It was the day I realized I loved you and was in love with you. That I had been for a very long time.”

“Wait, but that was…” exclaimed surprised Aoife trying to remember the date.

“20th of June 1790 by the old calendar.”

“All this time? You never told me.”

The man raised the second card and turned it to her before lowering it. “My answer lies in this conversation that I was about to describe. If you would let me…well begin.” The Japanese waited for the dramatic effect before dropping the news. “It was also the day we officially became friends.”

“Been there!” shouted someone from the crowd. Then a second later came a quieter continuation. “Still am.”

“I have a feeling we invited too many guests,” sighed Niten.

Aoife said: “I couldn’t agree more. And you and my uncle invited too many, I only invited three.”

“Yes, dear,” practiced Niten the global calming method on Aoife. It worked.

“The boy is learning,” commented Nicholas.

Perenelle turned to look at her husband and demanded: “What is that supposed to mean?” Marethyu leaned back, away from the drama.

“Nothing, my dear.”

Niten finally got a chance to speak: “At that time I did not know where we stood or why were you keeping me with you. You were an ancient warrior that the whole world, every world trembled before, and I was…me. Famous in the human world as a mortal, trivial in the immortal one. I was always in the shadows. I didn’t let myself believe you kept me with you because you enjoyed my company. It didn’t help when you referred to me as you guard.” That brought many questionable looks from the crowd. Especially from Scatty and Prometheus. “You didn’t deny it afterwards and I didn’t ask. I guess we are both guilty.” He cleared his throat.

“I’m supposed to mention we were at the edge of a white cliff in Spain near the town of Getxo,” Niten shyly at the guests, when he remembered he had begun without mentioning the place. “Forgive me.” He made a mini bow to them.

“I drew only you on this card because it was my view of you when I realized I loved you. You were sitting on the edge of the world and hummed a song. For once, you didn’t hide from the sun and let it adorn you. A quick thought of capturing the moment flew to my mind but I buried it when I realized I could never recreate it perfectly. I remember your hair being the colour of a flame as your legs were swinging over the edge. You were happy. That was the moment I found out that my heart belonged to you. It had known that from the first moment we met. I just caught up later.” Aoife cracked as the first tear was quickly swept away. “But who was I? A friend? A guard? Someone else? First two centuries I relied much on you to name myself. A vice that wasn’t exactly healthy.” The woman’s eyes widened. “Don’t worry, I grew out of it. So, there I was, a shadow loving the Shadow. And I don’t mean you, Scathach,” smirked Niten to the woman in the first row.

“You better don’t!”

“While I was under the impression you considered me your guard or not as important, I accidentally stumbled with my wording, and you found out. You were furious because you thought I was with you only because of a duty. I assured you it was because I considered you a friend and cared about you. It was half the truth. While I would help any friend in need, my feelings for you were beyond of what one would feel for a friend.” The man breathed in as the once fiercely hidden truth came to light before the sea of people. “The truth was I protected you because I couldn’t bear it if something happened to you. Especially, if it was in my power to stop it. I told myself many times if someone was to fall first it would probably be me. That didn’t stop me. It didn’t matter who I saw myself as or who I thought you saw me as; I would have always protected you and been by your side. I irrationally feared that if I failed, you would replace me.” The last bit wasn’t intended, but the Japanese immortal began to ramble.

“Replace you?! You absolute idiot of a man!” hissed infuriated Aoife.

Niten smiled as he bowed gently: “Forgive your stupid husband.”

“You are not a dog to be replaced after it dies. I wasn’t with you because of what you could give me, I was and am with you because it’s YOU!”

She clapped her hands over her mouth the second the vampire realized what she had said and where. Niten’s eyebrows raised almost to his hairline, and he wasn’t the only one. Even he had trouble getting Aoife to say anything remotely romantic in private to him not to mention in front of someone else. A few sentences before the start of the ceremony didn’t count as they were more whispering to each other than making loud promises. And while her vow was still coming, his heart still exploded with love as his beloved turned bright red.

The crowd loved it as well. Prometheus clapped his hands with joy, Scatty smiled while she shook her head not believing what was coming out of her cold sister’s mouth and even Dora had to join in with a small smirk.

“You can continue,” ordered the vampire quickly, “I’ll stay quiet.” She tucked her unruly red hair behind her ears which were as red as her face and hair.

“Or you could continue stating why I was so stupid for thinking all those things,” teased the Japanese immortal knowing he played with fire. “Please, do enlighten me, my darling wife.”

“Niten!” cried the woman. “It is not my time yet.”

“Oh, so is this something I can look forward to? During your vow?” He never did know when to stop with her.

Aoife snapped: “You are not going to hear it at all if you don’t finish yours!”

The man laughed audibly but gave up teasing. “Alright.” Niten got back on track with his speech. “Finally, I got an answer out of you that I was indeed your friend not a guard and that you, in fact, cared about me. We became friends. If it were only that, I would have leaped with joy, because maybe my love would someday be reciprocated. I hoped to become as important to you as you were to me.” The Japanese immortal stopped before revealing his most painful memory. “My happiness was short lived. You also mentioned that you would never let love have any power over you. I’m not going to lie, it hurt.” His voice wavered recalling the depressing darkness that overtook him. Aoife tried desperately to remember the conversation, which had shaken him to his core. “Still your friendship was and is one of the greatest things that have ever happened to me. How could I have risked it just because of my feelings?” He snorted, the feeling of unrequited love washing over him once more. How it had burned him. Only soothing had come from Aoife’s constant presence and choosing to return to him. Every time. “I didn’t. I swore to be a good friend. To never put you into an uncomfortable situation because of me. I couldn’t bear you cutting me off. I apologize for keeping it from you.” Niten bowed. “Many times, I tried to put a stop to them to no avail. I couldn’t cease my love for you. It was impossible.” The Japanese stopped speaking for a moment to blink back his own tears. His throat slammed shut by the tightness brewing there. It threatened to end his rather emotional reveal. Niten took a deep breath.

“I didn’t bring it up to criticise your choices and feelings, you have every right to feel how you want, but rather thank you for trusting me with your love. I know it was not easy. For people like us, who constantly live in and for danger,” Niten referred to his wife, “to care about another person, it seems like a burden. Unnecessary feelings that can only cause heartbreak in the end. I know it well, as do you.” The swordsman thought for a second to conclude. It’s a time like this, he regretted not having a concrete speech. He believed himself to be a quite decent spokesperson, but right now he had overestimated himself.

“Considering all, I think it is still worth it. Because the only thing worse than losing the one you love is to not have known them at all. To have walked this long immortal life alone without the one who constantly makes your heart beat and smile for some stupid reason.” Niten smiled when an enraged Aoife trying and failing to use a coffee machine came to his mind. Her goal wasn’t to drink the coffee, but to show she could do it. She even tried to threaten the machine to which it didn’t respond making Niten laugh. “To be completely emotionless. Losing you would be nothing short of losing my heart. An unbearable pain I would rather not think about tonight. But to not have met you at all…is unthinkable. While I would live the rest of my life in mourning, the memories of you would keep me warm. Happy.” He caught Aoife’s eyes, filled with unguarded emotions. “So, thank you for being brave. For letting me into your heart. I now know I have been quite selfish with my sacrifices. Making you worry.”

“Yes, you have! And you are welcome!”

After offering a watery smile to his wife, Niten switched to the last card. A bridge in the fog. The third time his life irrevocably changed. Or the fourth time if he counts his Awakening.

“Well, the third moment is rather obvious, isn’t it?” Aoife frowned. “The Golden Gate Bridge.”

“You died.”

“You accepted my proposal.”

Aoife and Niten spoke at the same time.

“I died, too, indeed,” commented the swordsman dryly. The vampire scowled at him but chose to keep her mouth shut. “Before the attack your uncle asked me if I had any regrets. I said that I should have asked for your hand. I should have done that many times before that, but I was terrified you would have said no. The last thought I had before falling under the constant Spartoi attack was of you. Of course, who else? I should have told you. Even if you had hated me or just rejected me, it would have been better than dying without you knowing. It was ironic that many years it was my desired end – a secret that would be buried with me. But I guess, I began to crack. To hope.” The Japanese smiled sadly. “But it was too late. You were stuck in a Shadowrealm and I was marching to my very possible death.” A breathing pause. “And then I died.” Aoife inhaled loudly, not that she needed the air, but it was a protest against mentioning the incident. She didn’t appreciate the talk about him dying. And it was going on a little too long right now.

“The next thing I saw was your face. I was not sure of where we were, but I knew we were going to be alright. We were together. As you like to say – nobody can stop us two.” The two lovebirds gazed at each other. “I had survived, and I was gifted another chance. One I fortunately did not waste. After your uncle’s encouragement,” Niten looked briefly at the crying Lord of Fire, “I proposed to you without any practiced speech or thought,” he elaborated that, “I was just back from the dead. Or without having done any other proper courtship steps like dates, giving gifts, or making sure you felt the same way. But when have we ever done things the normal way? The moment you accepted my proposal, after scolding me for not taking care of my wounds, which sounded a lot like a rejection in the mind of man, who, like I mentioned, lacked any coherent thought process at the time, was, without any doubt, the happiest moment of my life.”

Niten lowered the cards to improvise the ending of his vow. For one silly moment, he was speechless and trying to conjure up inspiration, when he realized that the only inspiration, he needed, stood right in front of him, ready to be his wife and to take him as her husband.

How had he gotten so lucky?

“It’s hard to name one or even a few things that make me love you. There are so many; the way you smile, the way you laugh, the way you snap, the way you have no patience for anything. It’s the little things, not all of them good, but then I ask myself: who else I know like I know you. And the answer is – not even myself. I have surprised myself countless times because of you.” He gathered his thoughts. “The simplest cause I know to name is – you make me happy. I am the happiest when I’m with you,” stated the immortal simply, because it was. Loving her had brought different feelings to him. Pining, hatred, jealousy, hurt etc. But loving was never difficult. Falling for her was the easiest thing he ever did. It made other things hard. Extremely.

“Really?” asked Aoife unbelievingly and stepping unknowingly closer to the man. The golden hairpins in a pleasant contrast with her fiery hair.

“Yes. I promise to try and make you as happy as you make me. Every day from this day onwards.” This time Aoife didn’t hold back her big smile nor did Niten.

“You are the most arrogant, unthoughtful, and selfish person I have ever met.” His love was a little bit confused of the sudden theme change. Scatty nodded approvingly through tears. Knowing well her sister’s temperament. “So please, keep my heart tightly with you and never give it back.”

“I’ll do that. You will never get it back even if you want to,” vowed the vampire, though her newfound confidence in them seemed to begin to waver again as her tone became defensive. A tone that the Japanese immortal recognized in an instant. Contrastingly, Niten had gained confidence during his vow, turning the tables once again.

Niten broke the unsaid wedding rule of not approaching the intended before the vows were done and was time for the official “you may kiss the bride” kiss and walked confidently to Aoife. He wanted to see who was going to stop him from comforting his wife. The Japanese brought his lips to her forehead and gave her a sweet, comforting kiss.

“I have loved you for over 200 years and been beside you for almost my entire immortal life.” Niten took her hands and looked into the red rimmed green eyes filled with adoration for him, but also vulnerability that he never wanted to see again. The Japanese immortal whispered touching her forehead with his own: “Aoife, I am not going anywhere. You don’t have to wonder if I’m going to be there the next day. I have seen the absolute worst of you, which is not as bad as you yourself think, and I am still here. I will always be here beside you.”

Aoife looked up and for once, Niten found complete honesty in those green eyes. “Promise?”

“I promise. You will always have a home with me.”

Aoife broke down in tears as she reached for him. Niten wrapped her up in his strong, warm embrace hiding her head on his shoulder, not caring that his impeccable kimono was going to be tainted by the red tears.

She had been abandoned by her parents and brother, left by her sister, but still bearing the responsibility for her in the shadows, and overall, had been Aoife of the Shadows. It was too much, even for her. And making friends and good impressions wasn’t her forte. The Japanese had no illusions – she was quite the headache when she wished to be and even unknowingly causing chaos with her words and actions. But being always reminded of how unpleasant and even evil one was; it went to their heads. So much so that Aoife began believing nobody wished to be in her presence without a reason, that usually being a bad one. She began to believe the stories about her and behave accordingly. Always being the meaner twin, the evil one. Always repeating the same sentence that she was not her sister; Aoife was the worse twin. It broke Niten’s heart. There was so much goodness in her also that Aoife didn't see.

So now, Niten had recognized her vow of never giving his heart back as a poorly hidden fear. He had thought that maybe his earlier talk in the dressing room had faded Aoife’s last doubts away, but no. Threats and promises were a usual companion in the vampire wording, and she didn’t only use them on enemies. The warrior also used them as a defence mechanism. How many times had Niten heard the phrase like it was his decision to become her friend; he was responsible if something bad happened because of it or it was his decision to choose her? Too many. Like she was not to blame, if she took advantage of his and everyone else’s decision to accompany her. Like only bad things could ever come from interacting with her. She began to believe nothing good could ever come from her because if that weren’t the case, then why had she ruined every relationship she ever had.

The man had finally gotten through to her and persuaded the vampire he loved her and didn’t regret anything. And yet, she still unconsciously believed she must remind him of every possible fault she had. Like it was his idiotic decision to offer his heart to her and he couldn’t take it back even if he desired to. Like their relationship was ultimately going to fail because Niten was going realize she wasn’t good enough. But Niten knew everything about her and was still stupidly in love with Aoife.

Niten stroked her hair gently trying not to undo the work of whoever had styled her hair tufts when he heard a quiet sincere murmur against his kimono. “Thank you.”

A dark shadow that had haunted the vampire all her life perished in the words and promises of love.

It had always whispered questions like why would anyone love Aoife, why would the perfect Niten choose her, the one, who only brought pain and death, and for how long that lasted before she managed to ruin it. Before the ceremony, she had managed to tame it with his sweet declarations and actually believe in their love, in them. Believe that just her was enough. For once, the vampire accepted his affection with everything in her and had been so excited to declare it to the Japanese.

But with Niten’s speech she had let the doubt loose once more. When she learned how she had hurt him, the darkness found a crack in her and began to surface. It had whispered to her – you only hurt him; he said so himself. But this time, Aoife wasn’t alone. She had Niten, who recognized it and helped her.

In her mind she answered to the darkness – yes, I hurt him by not loving him or at least not letting him know I loved him; I am not going to make that mistake twice. I have a home now with him and I will throw you into the abyss if you ever come between me and him again. With that, she kicked its ass if it had one and let herself hope that maybe, this relationship was there to stay. Well, she was going to do everything in her power for it to remain so.

The dark shadow that had only grown within the vampire with every broken relationship had finally been defeated.

That was the moment Aoife truly accepted Niten’s love and believed in it. She hugged him tighter.

After a little while, Aoife composed herself to exclaim victoriously without a shadow of doubt in her mind: “My turn. And you, my dear husband, are not ready.”

Niten had no doubt of that.

[cacoetheswriting]

champagne problems, ch.1

Spencer is in love with you, but you’re engaged to someone else. 

Chapter One: Bloodsport: You announce your engagement to the team, shattering Spencer's heart. A/N: chapter is titled after this song if you want to listen while reading. Word Count: 2.3k Warnings: mild cursing, heartbreak, unrequited / unreciprocated love, very angsty, this series is going to be a real slow burn babyyy

series masterlist

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Today was like any other day.

You woke up at your usual time to the sound of your alarm. You had coffee, and a quick bite to eat while aimlessly scrolling through the social media apps on your phone. You showered, brushed your teeth, got dressed, did your makeup. And when it was time to leave, you walked out the front door locking it behind you, hopped in your car, and drove to work. 

Today was like any other day. Except that it wasn’t. 

Today wasn't like any other day because while you carried out all of your menial morning tasks, you felt a little heavier. Rather your hand did. 

It was your birthday a couple of days ago. And while you had planned to spend with your boyfriend, Ethan, the universe had other plans and you were stuck out of town on a case. You weren’t mad about it, it was your job after all, and Ethan understood. His work hours were also unreliable.  

Plus you got to celebrate with the other people that mattered the most to you in world; your team. It may have not been they day you had envisioned, because who wants to spend their birthday at a gloomy prescient looking over gruesome crime scene photos, but your team made it special. Takeout, gallons of coffee, and shortly before midnight they surprised you with cake - which Luke slipped up was all Spencer’s idea. 

Little did you know the surprises would continue upon your return home. Ethan, down on one knee in the middle of your living room, surrounded by candles and about a dozen bouquets of roses.  

You took a deep breath before getting out of your car, and heading inside the building. Knowing your sudden engagement would come as a shock to the people you worked with, your second family, you were quite anxious about telling them. You were worried about how they would react. They didn't really know Ethan. They only met him a total of three times throughout the duration of your relationship meaning all the information they possessed was what you had told them - which in reality wasn’t all that much.  

Sitting down at your desk, you kept your hand on your lap. As usual you were the first to arrive meaning you had some time to figure out exactly how you were going to go about this. Your gut feeling was to tell Spencer first. You owed him at least that much giving everything the two of you had been through. 

But once again the universe had other plans. 

“Good morning sunshine!”, Garcia chimed as she crossed the bullpen. “It is so lovely to see your beautiful beautiful face. How was Scottsdale?” She asked stopping beside your desk. “You know, apart from all the murder.” 

“Uhm, it was-” 

“Wait! Before you answer me.” She interrupted while reaching into her handbag. “I wanted to give you this.” Seconds later she retrieved a gift, wrapped perfectly in glittery pink paper with a bright bow tied around it. “Happy Birthday!” 

“Penelope, you didn't have to.” 

“Shush now, of course I did.” She smiled. “Come on. Take it, take it.” 

Which is exactly what you did; completely forgetting about the two carat diamond that now graced your ring finger. 

The shriek that came out of Garcia’s mouth was enough to make you remember. But before you could snatch your hand back, hide it on your lap once again, she grabbed it and the ever so present smile on her face widened even more. 

“Oh my god! Oh my god!”, Garcia was jumping now, her hand still gripping yours as she examined the ring. “When did this happen? How did this happen? Oh I have so many questions!” Another excited shriek escaped her lips. “I’m going to hug you now, and then you’re going to tell me everything!” 

Garcia let your hand fall before bending down slightly to wrap her arms tightly around you. “Congratulations honey, this is so exciting!” She swayed the two of you side to side.

“What’s exciting?” Luke’s voice caused the two of you to break apart. 

“Well newbie, you should invest in a tux.” Penelope beamed. 

“I have a tux.” Luke furrowed his brows, slightly confused. “Wait, what?” He glanced between you and Garcia, waiting for an explanation. 

Taking in a quick breath, you got to your feet and lifted your hand to show him the ring. “Ethan proposed last night.”

Luke’s jaw fell open. “Holy smokes! Congratulations Y/N!” Dropping his bag to the floor, he pulled you into a quick embrace. “That’s huge news. I’m so happy for you.” 

Penelope cleared her throat. “I think you mean we are all happy for her.” Luke chuckled and rolled his eyes at the blonde. “Yes, yes.” 

One by one the team arrived. One by one you shared your news, and one by one they each congratulated you. 

Matt joked about giving him a hefty amount of notice so he could organise a babysitter. Luke asked how you’d feel if his date was Roxy. Dave offered his house as a possible venue; ”Won’t be the first wedding I host kid.”. While Tara, JJ, Emily, and Garcia were deep in discussion about organising your bridal shower.

In the midst of all the chaos you hadn't even realised that one person was missing. The person who’s reaction might not be as cheery as the rest of the group currently huddled around you.

Spencer was late for work. He cursed under his breath while waiting for the elevator. He didn't like to be late. Which is why it didn't happen often. Not because time-keeping overall was important to him. No. He made sure to arrive early each day because it was the only time of day he got to spend with you. Alone. 

It was the only time of day he had you all to himself.

As selfish as it may seem, it was the truth. Although he would never admit it to anyone because that would mean admitting his true feelings. And he couldn't do that. He had his chance. He blew it. Maybe he would get another in the future, he secretly hoped he would, but for now those interrupted mornings with you had to suffice. 

The brunette agent immediately noticed the team gathered at your desk. He thought the worst, but was quickly reassured you were okay when your honey-like laughter filled the bullpen. The sound was music to his ears. If he could, he’d listen to you laugh all day.

“So are you going to keep us guessing forever?” Tara asked intrigued. “How did Ethan do it?” 

Garcia clapped her hands. “Yes, tell us. Was it romantic? Oh, who am I kidding of course it was romantic. All proposals are.” 

Proposals? Spencer shook the thought away. No, he must have heard that incorrectly.

“Did he get down on one knee?” JJ asked with a smile. 

“I gotta give it to Ethan though cause that ring looks expensive. Being a surgeon must be nice.” Luke noted, causing Garcia to smack his bicep. “What?” He retorted shrugging his shoulders. “It’s just an observation.” “Keep your observations to yourself newbie.” 

“Why don’t we let Y/N breathe for a second?” Rossi chimed in. “I’ll treat everyone to lunch later and she can tell us the story then.” He suggested, glancing between the team. Everyone nodded in unison and scattered; just as Spencer approached. 

The second your gaze landed on him, you noticed the solemn look spread across his face. A sick feeling spread through you and you quickly wondered just how much he overheard. 

“Good morning doctor.” You greeted him, your lips pursed into a half-smile. 

“Good morning.” Spencer replied without looking at you. 

“How are you?” You asked as he took off his bag and placed it on the desk beside him. “I wondered where you were this morning.” You added, making conversation.

Spencer didn't respond. He couldn't bring himself to say anything. He couldn't even bare to meet your eyes; which were currently burning a hole into the side of his head. 

While he thought he misheard Garcia say something about proposals, he definitely heard JJ’s question and Luke mention Ethan, and the ring. Spencer usually stirred away from making assumptions, but this time all the evidence was there. He didn't have to ask. He knew. You were engaged. 

“Can-” You cleared your throat. “Can we go somewhere private and talk? I have something I need to tell you.”

“I can’t now.” He rasped. Before you got a chance to protest, the brunette doctor turned on his heel and rushed away. 

The reason he dashed away was you. Your engagement. He figured it out, overheard it, and now he needed to process this new information. You should have let him go, do it alone. You knew you shouldn't have followed him, that it would only make things worse, but you couldn't help yourself. There was a time where you thought Spencer was the love of your life. That the two of you would be getting married. And even though that didn't work out...

You grabbed his arm and using all of your strength you pulled him to a halt. The brunette doctor ran a hand through his already ruffled hair as you stepped in front of him. 

“Spencer, can we talk about this?” You asked, your hand falling back down to your side. “There is nothing to talk about Y/N.” Spencer huffed. “You’re engaged. I’m happy for you.” There was a distinct hurt in his voice. 

“This isn’t how I thought you would find out. I wanted you to be the first one to know but-” “It doesn’t matter Y/N.” He interrupted. 

“It matters to me Spencer.” 

“Why?” He asked in an ominous tone. His eyes darkened. “We broke up a long time ago. You don't owe me anything.” “Our breakup has nothing to do with this.” You protested. Spencer scoffed. “I don’t believe you. You’re not chasing down any of the other members of our team.” “Yeah, because they’re all genuinely happy for me.”

“You don't think I’m happy for you?”

“I know you're not.” 

Silence. Heavy-sitting, unbearable silence. The two of you simply stared at each other as if fighting an inaudible argument. Blood pressure rising, your heart was now hammering in your chest and you were sure he was even angrier than you.

Perhaps that last sentence came out harsher then you intended it to, but in your eyes it was the truth. Spencer had every right not to be happy for you. In fact, a large part of you expected him to react badly which is also another reason why you wanted him to be the first to know. 

You were right of course, you just didn't know it. 

The pain in his chest was insufferable. The jealousy, the anger, the sorrow. All of those feelings mixed inside of him and spread through his body like wildfire. He thought he was heartbroken before, back when you first started dating Ethan, but he was dead wrong. His head was spinning. He felt nauseous. It was hard to breathe. This was heartbreak.

See, Spencer was there when you and Ethan first met. Which in his mind made all of this so much worse. The team was working a local case, and the brunette agent got hurt. Not severely, but it was enough to make everyone worry so you volunteered to drive him to the hospital. While Spencer got checked out, you went to fetch him some jell-o. When you returned about twenty minutes later, you weren't alone anymore. 

You never told anyone the full story. Just that the surgeon spotted you in the cafeteria, and asked you out for coffee. Honestly, there wasn't much more to it than that. Well, apart from the tiny detail that your initial thought was to decline Ethan’s offer because you were secretly hoping to get back together with the brunette agent. 

The only reason you said yes to Ethan all those months ago was because he was a surgeon, and with both of your hectic schedules combined you never thought it would progress any further than that one coffee date. But it did. And overtime you moved on from Spencer, and learned to love the surgeon. The feeling isn't quite the same, but Ethan makes you feel good and at the end of the day that’s all that matters. Right?

“What do you want me to say Y/N?” Spencer asked, finally breaking the uncomfortable silence. “Do you want to hear how I think you’re rushing into this? Do you want me to tell you I think Ethan is bad for you? That you can do better?” Pause. “It’s not like my opinion will change anything.” 

You opened your mouth to say something but no words came out. Spencer sighed. “You’re engaged now. You’re going to marry Ethan, and I’m respecting your choice.” 

The look that spread across Spencer’s face was pure sadness. He tried not to show it, but you could read him like an open book. He was in pain. He was in pain and there was nothing you could possibly do that would in any way help him or make him feel any better.

“We both moved on Y/N. You deserve to be happy, even if I think the guy is a jerk.” Spencer stated. It was harsh, he knew that, but in his defence it wasn't entirely true. Yes, he thought Ethan was an ass but it was primarily because Spencer loved you still, and he knew he would continue to love you until the end of his days. In his eyes, Ethan didn't deserve you.

And Spencer tried to get over you. Once he knew that you and Ethan were serious, he really tried to get over you. Yet nothing he did worked; it is as if you are imbedded deep in his soul. If he was a selfish man, he would let you stay there forever making it your permanent home. But Spencer Reid wasn't selfish, far from it. And now you were engaged to someone that wasn't him. He had to cut the cord. Even if the feeling was going to crush him. 

“The only thing we share now is our work Y/N, nothing more.” And with that the brunette doctor walked away leaving you feeling lost, confused and slightly hurt. 

You at least thought he considered you a friend.

Loving you is a bloodsport. Fighting in a love war.

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A/N: starting off the new year right with this angsty mini-series. honestly, i couldn't get the idea out of my head over the holidays so i hope you enjoy reading it as much as i am currently enjoying writing it! hope you liked the first chapter. i’d love to hear your feedback and what you think will happen next! if you would like to be added to a taglist, please let me know. thank you for your continuous support. with love, mal. x

main masterlist | series masterlist

[readyplayerhobi]

Flower | 40 | End

; Hoseok x Reader

; Genre: Fluff, angst

; Word Count: 6.9k

; Warnings: Slight anxiety attack, mentions of panic, slight body issues

; Synopsis: You finally decide to take a dip into the world of online dating and find the Flower dating app. One of the top matches for you proves to be a guy who looks to be your complete opposite; tattooed, pierced, a metalhead and oh…incredibly handsome. What happens when you throw caution to the wind and reach out to him?

; A/N: So...this is it 😢 Flower is officially over! I started writing this on November 15th, 2019. Almost a year later, here we are with 40 chapters, 3 drabbles and 180k of words. Can you believe I actually finished it? I hope you’ve all enjoyed reading it and the journey of the MC finding herself and falling in love with Hoseok. It’s been so fun to write and it’s sad to let it go. If you’ve enjoyed reading this, please let me know with a comment or an ask! I’ve loved reading how much you’ve all felt seen or embraced by the MC with her struggles and I’d love to hear your thoughts on not only this chapter but the whole fic! Feedback is what keeps authors going and I came very close to leaving writing once Flower was finished but I’m still going to carry on. I’m not sure if this chapter is good or not, but I hope you enjoy it anyway and think it a fitting end to the story!

; Flower Masterpost

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“Okay...okay. Let’s do this...you can do this. It’s easy. Just...walk down the aisle. I mean, what’s the worst that could happen? Well, Hoseok could not be there or I could have a heart attack and drop down dead. That would suck. But it would resolve a lot of my issues, I wouldn’t have to worry about everyone watching me. On the other hand...I’m going to marry the love of my life. As long as he turns up” The soft sounds of your muttering are probably barely heard over the soft playing music through the speakers in the room, YouTube playing mindlessly to itself.

It was a good job, as it meant that no one else in the room could hear your panicked thoughts that were being verbalised. Hoseok and you had decided to get married at an exquisite mansion hotel with the ceremony itself being in the elegant gardens outside. There was a full-sized maze alongside a stunning fountain, the centrepiece being a marble depiction of Aphrodite rising from the shallows.

You’d taken a walk around the perfectly groomed gardens the night before, taking in all the decorations that you’d painstakingly picked out over the months that had been artfully arranged by the staff. The flowers in the gardens were beautiful, a smorgasbord of pinks, oranges, violets, reds and yellows that brought the whole area to life. Alongside it looking visually perfect, it also smelled amazing as well with the soft scent of different flowers mixing.

At night, the tiny fairy lights that had been strung up around the building front and the metal trellises that were organised in the garden gave off a soft, golden glow. It made the whole place look ethereal and you were excited for everyone else to get to see it during the reception tonight.

The actual wedding ceremony was scheduled to start at two in the afternoon, with only friends and family invited for that. It would be outside as well, with Hoseok and you standing at the end of a make-shift aisle on the lawn section of the hotel’s garden. Temporary chairs had been arranged on both sides for your guests, dark wood with ivory silk draped over everyone. At the end of the aisle, each chair had a silk bow in ivory and deep purple alongside a bouquet of specially arranged flowers. 

It all looked perfect and you’d marvelled at it yesterday, amazed that they’d managed to bring your vision to life. Now all you had to do was walk down it and get married, which was where you were a little panicked.

The room that had been assigned to the bridal party was on the lower floor of the hotel, reducing the risk of you potentially killing yourself by tripping over your dress while walking down the stairs. It was technically two hotel rooms connected through a shared bathroom, which you found bizarre.

Your mom and Hoseok’s mom had taken the other room for their use to get changed, the hairdresser and makeup artist they’d hired working there to make them look their best for the ceremony. Even now, you could hear them chattering and laughing away with each other. Even through your anxiety, you can’t help but smile as you hear them get on so well.

Any fears you’d had about them not liking each other had quickly disappeared. Instead, they’d become good friends and liked to meet up now and then to have a talk over coffee or something. It pleased you to see your mom getting to have more friends.

Eden and Amelia had also chosen to get ready in that room, not wanting to crowd the one you were in too much. It was already full of dresses and a ridiculous amount of makeup and hair product with only four of you so you couldn’t even imagine the chaos with five of you.

In your room was Soyeon, Chungha and Dahyun alongside you. Dahyun was currently three months pregnant, having successfully been inseminated with Jungkook’s sperm. He’d agreed to their request and after a few months of getting prepared for the attempts, Dahyun had undergone the procedure. What it had been exactly, you didn’t know because you hadn’t felt it was your business to pry into something like that.

It was a privilege to even know they were trying before anyone else. Their announcement had come at your bachelorette party when Dahyun had refused alcohol, immediately leading Soyeon and you to be suspicious. You’d never seen Chungha’s beloved ever turn down a drink so it had been a clear sign of something at least.

Needless to say, your party had happily become a celebration of their impending baby. Thankfully, you weren’t one of those people who got overly annoyed at others announcing things at events. Or at least, not big events. Your bachelorette party had been a perfect time to find out, whereas you might not have been so amenable if they’d told everyone today instead.

That was normal though, right? Today was your day. Yours and Hoseok’s. People who felt the need to co-opt special days like that were a special type of self-absorbed in your opinion.

Given it was so early into her pregnancy, Dahyun isn't showing that much. Which meant her bridesmaid dress hadn’t needed to be altered too much. None of them has gotten into their dresses just yet, instead currently in the process of getting their face and hair done. Chungha’s hair has already been done, elegantly styled into a beautiful updo with a few tendrils curled around her face.

The makeup for the girls was a smokey eye with subtle blush and contour, alongside a neutral lip. It wasn’t anything flashy, but you’d loved the concept of it all. Particularly with the small and delicate crystals that dotted along their waterline, adding a little sparkle to match the tiny crystals on their deep violet dresses.

As a present to each of them, you’d bought them a gift set from Pandora. In each one was a pair of dainty stud earrings with a heart design alongside a matching heart-shaped pendant necklace. All the hearts were encrusted with brilliant-cut stones, making the perfect gift that could be used again in the future for casual use.

They’d all been in awe of it and surprised at being given presents as well. You hadn’t even known it was a thing until you’d looked up wedding preparation online, discovering that you should also buy something for Hoseok. Which had led to you buying him the fancy watch he’d been drooling over for months now. It had been eye-watering expensive, but it had been worth it for his excited text this morning.

Along with the watch, you’d also written him a letter. It was meant to be light-hearted and fun, but you’d ended up writing way too much as you’d poured out your love to him alongside everything you felt for him. To your eternal embarrassment, you’d ended up crying while writing it as you’d told him everything you’d never been able to vocalise, including writing possibly a million times that you love him.

He’d been instructed to not read that until just before the ceremony.

His present to you was a gaming table, which might not seem to be very sentimental to anyone else but you’d been ecstatic over it. For years now, you’d been saying that you wanted to buy a proper table that was designed for board games and that could then be used as a normal table when converted. They were super expensive so you’d resigned yourself to never getting one, but he’d printed out the receipt of what he’d ordered and put it into an envelope for you to open tonight.

Neither of you had ever been a traditional couple, and that certainly wasn’t about to change with marriage.

“Hey, you okay?” Amelia asks, interrupting your intense thought process as she sits down next to you. As usual, her aura is warm and reassuring as she reaches over to gently squeeze at your hand. You don’t spend a huge amount of time around her, but you knew both Eden and her enough to want them in your bridal party.

“Yes? No? Maybe? I don’t know. I’m just…” Trailing off, you struggle to find the right words and instead gesture towards the air. It makes no sense but you can’t quite figure out what you’re trying to say. Mainly because you can’t figure out what your mind is thinking.

“It’s okay to be worried, don’t feel like you shouldn’t be. If you’re anxious or nervous then that’s okay as well. Don’t let anyone tell you how you should be feeling, just feel what you are. Trust Hoseok, trust yourself and all your family and friends. We’re all here for you and we want you to have the best day possible. Tell us if anything is wrong, okay? I have no doubt that Chungha and Soyeon would strong-arm everyone into whatever was necessary to make you feel comfortable.” She says, smirking as she nods over to the two women who are chattering away in their respective chairs.

“I know, I know. I’m trying. It’s just...god, everyone is going to be staring at me and I hate being the centre of attention,” Looking down at your hands, you chew at your lips. “What if I mess up the vows? Or I freeze or drop the ring?”

“Hey, it’s normal to feel that. I doubt there’s anyone who’s gotten married who wasn’t at least a little bit anxious about messing something up. Yes, everyone is here to watch you, but they’re for Hoseok too. I’m sure he’s just as worried that he might make a mistake, and if you do then, so what? It’s not going to ruin anything, it just means your human. If anything, people will probably find it endearing. The only person you should concern yourself with is Hoseok, and I doubt there’s anything you could do today to ruin the day for him. Unless you don’t go.” Amelia laughs when you give a shocked gasp, jaw-dropping open and eyes wide.

“I would never do that! But what if he decides he doesn’t want to get married anymore?” Now the worry that had wiggled itself deep inside your mind comes to the fore and you find yourself almost whispering the words. It feels like a betrayal to Hoseok for even thinking he’d do that, but you can’t help the fear.

You must not have been quite enough though as Chungha speaks up, facing you in her chair with a stern expression on her face as she wags her finger. “Lady, do not think that. I don’t want that thought to even enter your head. As if Jung Hoseok is ever going to back out now. I think that man would’ve eloped with you if you’d asked instead. He’s going to be standing at the end of that aisle, probably bawling like a baby.”

“Maybe not that far.” This is from Eden, who’s laid out on the bed in the centre of the room, playing Zelda on her Switch. She’d had her makeup done earlier and is now waiting for the hairdresser to be free while Amelia is waiting for her makeup. All of you had decided that you’d be last to get ready to make sure that everything looked as fresh as possible.

“Want to bet? That man is gonna be sobbing.” This starts up a whole ten-minute discussion about whether or not Hoseok was going to cry at seeing you. Namjoon hadn’t cried but Jimin had during their weddings, surprising no one. But Namjoon had cried at the birth of his daughter.

You weren’t sure, to be honest. Hoseok didn’t cry all that often and you could probably count on one hand how many times you’d seen it over four years. On top of that, you weren’t entirely sure that you wanted to see him crying. It made your chest hurt when he did and you always ended up crying too.

Something about seeing strong and proud men cry was just heartbreaking to you. 

For a while, you just sit back and let the conversation wash over you as they all debate and borderline argue, intensely amongst themselves. They’d all switched around now and they’ll soon start getting into their bridesmaid’s dresses, which meant you’d be finally getting ready.

Your nails had been done the night before with a beautiful design in the same colour scheme as the wedding. They looked so pretty and elegant, which was a surprise to you every time you looked at them as you never really bothered doing your nails. While you liked to do fancy makeup looks now and then to post onto social media, nails were not something you were interested in.

Maybe you should reassess that thought.

“Anyway, what we’re all trying, and failing, to say is that Hoseok loves you and if he doesn’t cry then he’s crying inside at how beautiful you are.” Soyeon states firmly, sitting next to you and admiring your nails as well. All the bridesmaids had the same style to keep the theme going and she wiggled her fingers with a bright smile.

“I’m not even ready yet, you don’t know if I’ll be beautiful.”

There’s dead silence in the room after the comment, with even the hairdresser and makeup artist turning to stare at you. Between the six other women in the room, you’re pretty sure that they’ve got every emotion from shock to annoyance to incredulity covered. Feeling yourself get warm at their attention, you look down to your lap in embarrassment.

Obviously, the wrong thing to say.

“Okay, we’re going to ignore that you just said that. You don’t need to be dolled up and in a wedding dress to be beautiful, it’s just going to enhance what you already have. And I don’t want any arguments on that.” Poking your side lightly, you playfully wince at Soyeon as she scolds you. Everyone else is nodding along solemnly before they carry on with whatever they’d been doing.

“Seriously though, I overheard your conversation with Amelia. She’s right. Embrace your feelings but don’t let them overwhelm you. Standing in front of a crowd is nerve-wracking for anyone, but you’ve got the love of your life standing there with you. Just focus on Hoseok, he’ll get you through it. He always has, right?” Soyeon said.

Giving her a half-smile, you nod and do a remarkably good job of looking like a scolded child or something. You know it’s just because she loves you that she doesn’t want you to berate yourself, along with the fact that she knows what you’re like. If someone doesn’t verbally acknowledge your problems then you’ll just obsess over them.

Your phone screen lights up in your lap before it begins to vibrate suddenly, Hoseok’s name visible on the screen. Frowning down at it, you wonder why he’s calling before a multitude of emotions and thoughts runs through your mind.

“Go take it in the bathroom.” Pulling you up, Soyeon practically pushes you into the bathroom before giving you a smile and a thumbs-up as she closes the door.

Seeing the other door is also open, you peek out and let everyone in that room know that you’d be using the bathroom for a few minutes and to not come in. Once you get the acknowledgement, you close and lock it as well before pushing up to sit on the counter.

“Hobi! Why are you calling?” Leaning back against the mirror, you frown deeply as you question him. The first response is just his familiar deep chuckle, the sound already helping to soothe some of your frayed nerves.

“Amelia texted Joon, who told me. I don’t want you to stress yourself out! Not today, today’s meant to be a happy day. No stress. Or anxiety.” Snorting, you roll your eyes as you trace an invisible design onto your thigh.

“Sure, like that’s gonna happen. You know me. And why are you calling? We’re not meant to see each other until the wedding, it’s bad luck!” There’s a brief pause and you can practically hear him rolling his eyes, the deep sigh he lets out telling you all you need to know.

“Meeps, I’m pretty sure that only counts for physically seeing each other. I can’t see you right now. I don’t recall anything about not being allowed to hear you, or talk to you. Besides, we make our luck.” He sounds so nonchalant and now it’s your turn to sigh at him.

“You’re going to get us hit by lightning or something.”

“Impossible, the weather schedule for today is meant to be sunny with a little bit of cloud later on. Nice warm temperatures that aren’t too hot but also not too cold. Perfect. No lightning.” His immediate rebuttal has you laughing, unable to stay mad at him for too long. Not when he’s trying so hard to take your mind off things.

“Seriously though, are you okay? What are you worried about? Talk to me.” Hoseok asks, his voice calm and steady as he stops joking around. There’s a brief moment of resistance, the thought that you don’t want to bother him with your silly thoughts or annoying emotions before you remember that you can trust him. No matter how ridiculous it sounds in your head, Hoseok will listen and he won’t make fun of you.

“I’m just...scared. Of all the people. Like, they’re going to be watching me or staring. What if I look fat or ugly? Or I fuck up saying the vows? Or I drop the ring or my dress splits or something? Or if I trip down the aisle?! Or if you decide you don’t want to marry me anymore?” As you begin to reel off the questions that have been plaguing your mind, you can feel your chest getting a little tighter and your breathing shallower.

With the practised ease of someone who’s dealt with your panic attacks over the years, Hoseok makes calming and reassuring noises over the phone until you’re silent. Just listening to him, you take in the comforting words as he lets you know that you’re okay and everything is fine. Finally, once he thinks you’re calm enough, he carries on.

“Meeps, that’s fine. Don’t be upset that you’re having those thoughts. I’ve had every one of those thoughts today as well. I mean...not the dress one. Substitute that for pants splitting or something, which is even more embarrassing because my underwear is not black today. But the point I’m trying to make here is that it’s normal to have those thoughts today. I’d probably be more worried if you weren’t having them.” He pauses to laugh before you hear shuffling noises.

There’s no doubt he’s probably not even getting into his tuxedo just yet and you curse the fact that men take far less time to get ready than women. He’ll probably only start like...an hour before the ceremony begins or something.

“But all I’ll say is, it doesn’t matter if anything goes wrong because we’ll fix it. You and me, just like always. You won’t look fat or ugly because you’re neither fat nor ugly anyway, instead, you’ll be the most beautiful woman here. Which you always are to me but don’t let my mom hear me tell you that. And I’m going to be standing at the end of the aisle, I promise you that. I’m the one who proposed to you and I will be there, waiting for you. That’s one thing I can assure you of completely.” Hoseok says this firmly, his voice perhaps more serious than you’ve ever heard it before.

You can practically feel his determination to make you understand that he’s going to be there. That he’s going to marry you today, no matter what happens. It makes your heart swell with love and emotion, causing you to press your hand against your mouth.

Hoseok takes your silence as a positive, choosing to let it carry on for a little longer before speaking once more.

“I love you, Meeps. And by the end of today, you’re going to be my wife. We’re going to have a great day with a beautiful ceremony and a fun reception before probably going to bed drunk. Or at least, I’m going to be drunk. Not entirely sure if I’ll be able to take you to Poundtown tonight-”

“Don’t ever say that again.” 

“But if not tonight then definitely tomorrow. Unless you don’t want me to drink, in which case probably tonight if you’re up for it.” Shaking your head, you can’t help but smile at his stupid comments. He always knew how to cheer you up, even if it was with the most ridiculous thing you’d heard today.

“You can drink, I’m not going to make you sober throughout the entire reception. I want you to have fun with everyone, so if you end up drunk then that’s fine. Just don’t go overboard.”

“Choosing to ignore my Poundtown comments, I see.” 

“Jung Hoseok, I am going to hang up now. I will see you later, okay?”

“Okay. Love you.” Feeling a little shy, you murmur your next words into the phone.

“Love you too.”

-

The ceremony is officially about to start and you stare at the open door, knowing that outside all your guests are waiting. Not only that, but Hoseok is at the end of the aisle. You’d been reassured by everyone there who had peeked out to make sure, quelling your fears and worries.

All the groomsmen had come inside upon finding out you were here, lining themselves up alongside their specified bridesmaid partners and chatting away happily. They all looked incredibly handsome in their suits, the colours matching the bridesmaids perfectly and you felt a little pride at having thought of a good colour scheme.

Your mom is fussing around you, making sure that your dress looks perfect and that your bouquet hasn’t fallen apart or anything. Sighing, you gently push her hands away as she tries once more to move your necklace.

All of them had given you something as part of the tradition for the bride. Dahyun had lent you a beautiful Cartier bracelet, glowing with diamonds, as part of the ‘something borrowed’ while Chungha had bought you diamond earrings for the ‘something new’. Your mom had given you the bracelet she’d worn for her wedding, now occupying your other wrist and Hoseok’s mom had provided the necklace adorning your neck.

It was a beautiful silver necklace with a dainty leaf design, leading to the main piece in the centre which was dotted with tiny diamonds. Each leaf spreading out had either amethyst or an aquamarine gem in alternating order. She’d ordered it specially made for your wedding, matching your engagement ring with the gems and fulfilling the ‘something blue’.

You’d been amazed at everything they’d given you, understanding now why they’d all told you now to buy any jewellery for the day. They’d all decided to make sure you had everything you needed anyway.

But you knew that your mom’s need to keep straightening out your dress or brushing away unseen dust was just to keep herself preoccupied. She’d already cried once when you’d come out in your wedding dress, makeup and hair all done. That had earned her an exasperated sigh from the makeup artist.

“Mom, mom, come on,” You coo to her, smiling before taking her hands and squeezing. “You gotta go out there, go get your place.” 

She hesitates for a moment, unwilling to leave you before nodding. After a few words of reassurance from her to you, telling you that you’re going to do well and it’s all going to go fine, she turns and hugs your dad tightly before kissing him. You’d feel embarrassed at the sight of it, never quite being comfortable with your parents' displays of affection, but it just causes you to laugh softly.

Once she’s out the door, you hear the music begin from outside, the notes flowing through the door faintly. Everyone inside quietens and you can almost feel the excitement ramp up. It just makes you feel more nervous though, particularly when they start to head out in their pairs slowly.

“Are you ready?” Your dad asks, his eyes already going glassy with tears as his lip wobbles slightly. Giving him a concerned look, you immediately reach up to wipe the tears as they start to fall, feeling your heartbreak at the sight of your dad crying. He never cried.

“Dad! Don’t cry, oh my god. I’m sorry.” Cleaning up his face quickly, you’re stopped by the gentle way he grasps your wrists. For a moment, you think that he’s going to push you away but instead, he pulls you closer and carefully hugs you.

It’s a little awkward as you’re trying not to ruin the carefully done hair and makeup, but you can’t deny your dad a hug. Especially when you’d never really been much of a hugger growing up. You would be cruel to deny him one, especially on your wedding day. Your parents were feeling emotional that their little girl was getting married today.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. It’s just your old dad getting sappy. You look so beautiful. Hoseok is so lucky, you better remind him of that every day.” He’s pulled back now, giving you the softest smile that is still a little watery. His hands move to your shoulders and he stands back to examine you fully, his eyes taking in everything.

Before you can respond to him, Yoongi is disappearing out of the door and heading towards the aisle. He’s alone, as you’d planned, but in one hand is the bouquet that Hoseok’s sister would’ve held had she still been alive. It had been his suggestion to hold it, symbolising the family member that Hoseok didn’t have anymore and you’d been more than willing to agree.

You wondered what Hoseok thought when he saw it as neither of you had told him that Yoongi would be holding it. Hopefully, he was happy with it, along with his parents.

Turning back to you, your dad squeezes your shoulders reassuringly before smiling at you. Ironically, all it does is make you more nervous as you realise that now you’re the one who’s going to have to walk down that aisle next. 

“Come on, it’s time to make your fiancé cry.” His words in a teasing tone, your dad turns to face the door before offering you his arm. Standing there, you stare at him before looking at the door with trepidation. Nerves roil in your stomach as you hear the faint sound of music playing, knowing that everyone out there is waiting for you.

Which in turn means everyone will be staring at you.

Those nerves quickly turn to anxiety and your breath comes faster, chest feeling a little constricted by the tight bodice of the dress. Without even realising it, your hands start to shake and the bouquet in them shudders visibly.

Quickly, your dad takes the bouquet from you to make sure that you don’t accidentally deflower them or crush the stems. The last thing you needed was to ruin your perfect bouquet only minutes before you were supposed to walk down the aisle.

It frees up your hands and you find yourself flapping them as you stress, trying to shake out the negative emotions as you pant. Your dad’s eyes widen, obviously panicking himself at your obvious distress. He’s never had to deal with you struggling like this before and he doesn’t know what to do but his paternal instincts kick in quickly.

“Hey, come on, sweetheart. Breathe, breathe. Take a big breath in, come on, that’s it. Not let it out slowly. And again, that’s right.” Talking to you in his comforting voice, tone level and low, you follow his instructions and start to feel a little calmer as you force yourself to calm your breathing. It’s hard, and you still feel the anxiety but it feels a little more manageable now.

Closing your eyes, you run through all the tips your therapist had given you for how to cope with anxiety attacks. What worked for you was to sing in your head, the lyrics, whatever song you were loving lately. It probably takes longer than you’d have liked but finally you feel like you can cope with your emotions enough to carry on.

When you open your eyes again, your dad is giving you an expectant, yet worried, look. Shaking your hands once more, you reach out and take the bouquet from him before taking a deep breath. Linking your arm through his, you straighten your shoulders and lift your chin before smiling at him.

“Okay, okay. Let’s go.”

-

Walking down the aisle is surprisingly less stressful than you’d imagined. The famous wedding song plays through the air as you walk slowly and the whole atmosphere feels almost like a fairytale. The soft lights twinkle even in the daylight while the gentle, warm breeze makes the ribbons on the chairs flutter delicately.

Along the floor, the white and purple rose petals that Namjoon’s daughter had spread in her role as flower girl were strewn haphazardly. A few of them caught the breeze and rolled delicately to a new place, making it seem like the floor was consistently changing. You liked it, smiling at the sight of how beautiful everything looked.

Everyone was staring at you, as you’d expected, but surprisingly it wasn’t as intimidating as you’d thought. You didn’t exactly enjoy it but it wasn’t terrible. Probably because you were more focused on initially admiring how perfect everything looked. How months and months of thought and money had finally accumulated into the perfect wedding.

But mostly, you weren’t as bothered by the staring because you were focused on the end of the aisle. There was no real altar here, given that it was being held at a hotel and everything, but the metal garden arch at the end had been decorated in delicate flowers, ribbons and lights to make an even better end.

And beneath it stood Hoseok.

If you’d ever thought Hoseok looked handsome before then it paled in comparison to him today. His black tuxedo made him look tall and slim, every part of him looking perfectly put together and elegant. The deep purple waistcoat beneath his jacket contrasted with the white of his shirt perfectly; the colour combination making his skin almost glow with health and happiness.

There was only the slightest hint of tattoos at the edge of his collar, leaving to the imagination the artwork he had permanently on his body beneath his clothes but you didn’t need to imagine. You’d seen them all, traced them delicately into your memory over the years until you could point out where they were without even seeing them.

Finally reaching him, you paused to look at your dad and gave him a bright smile of gratitude before giving him a second hug. This one was a little tighter than before and when you let go of him, you saw that he was crying once more. He didn’t give your hand to Hoseok, instead just gave him a stern look while trying to surreptitiously wipe away his tears.

“You look after her, Jung Hoseok. You make sure she’s the happiest woman.” There’s iron in his voice, telling Hoseok that it wasn’t a question but more a command. But there’s also love and affection in it, something Hoseok can tell as well by the way he nods his head.

Handing your bouquet to Chungha, you take Hoseok’s proffered hand. Up close, you can take in the details of his face better and you take a moment to simply admire him and imprint him into your memory.

The sides of his head had been shaven, the undercut short and seen with the style he’d chosen to wear today. His hair had been styled back, pushed away from his forehead. It was a look that had made you weak in the knees many times over the years and you’d practically begged him to have it for the wedding, knowing that he’d blow everyone’s mind with how handsome he looked.

Hoseok had a face that looked like it had been hand-carved by the gods from the finest marble anyway and this hairstyle showed off all the highlights of his face. The high cheekbones that made his smiles so animated, his cutting jawline, the clean slope of his nose, the heart-shaped smile that lit his entire face and the dimples that made him seem so human. 

His lip ring was still in, the silver shining in the sunlight. He’d been unsure whether to wear it but you’d told him to embrace himself and keep it. You’d fallen in love with him as he was, and you wanted him to show himself how you saw him. Which included his piercings and tattoos.

Your heart clenched though when you looked into his eyes finally. Hoseok’s eyes were one of your favourite things about him. The crescents they turned into when he smiled brightly, pushed into the shape by his cheeks and the way his eyes could practically dance with delight when he was happy.

Today though, those beautiful and expressive eyes were watery with tears. The wet streak on his cheek told you that he’d already had some of them fall and you frowned at the sight of them. Everyone had been right; Hoseok had cried upon seeing you down the aisle.

“Baby.” You whisper, unsure if you’re meant to talk to him. Deciding you don’t care, you reach up to wipe away the tears and smile when he kisses the palm of your hand before nuzzling into it, uncaring of everyone else.

“Meeps, you look perfect. I read your letter, I love you too.” Before you can stop him, he’s leaning forward and pressing a quick kiss to your lips. There’s a murmur in the crowd, alongside some laughter and he looks over at everyone with a raised brow.

No one says anything though and he gets a satisfied look, ignoring your shy expression as you turn away from everyone.

“You’re not supposed to do that.” Keeping your voice low, you give a hesitant smile to the official who will be taking you both through your ceremony. Hoseok lets out a snort of laughter as he squeezes your hand tight, letting his thumb run along the back of your hand lovingly.

“I don’t care. It’s our wedding, I’ll do what I want.” And before you can stop him, he turns you and gives you another kiss, this one lingering a little longer. Eyes widening, you can’t help but giggle as you hear yet more laughter.

You should be annoyed at him, but you know he’s a force of nature. Plus, you don’t care. It feels nice to know he can’t help himself.

“Okay, let’s get married, Meeps.” He grins at you before facing the officiant once more. Staring at him a moment longer, you smile at him and nod.

“Let’s get married.”

-

Hobi Hobi,

We’re getting married today! Are you excited? I hope you’re reading this when I told you to, if not then you’re cheating >:[ it feels weird to write a letter. I don’t even know if I’ve ever done this before, so I’m sorry if it sounds really cheesy and lame. What do people write in these normally? I’m just going to write what comes to mind so if it ends up sappy then you’re not allowed to tease me later about it. 

Anyway, I want you to know that I’m sorry that I suck so much at telling you how I feel and my emotions. I wish I could be one of those people who’s telling you every moment how handsome you are and how much I love you but I can’t. I’m sorry :( I’m trying, I swear! Even if I don’t get to tell you as often as you deserve, I hope you know that I love you more than anything in the world.

Don’t ever forget that, okay? Even when we’re arguing over something silly or we go to bed mad at each other, don’t forget that. I know we’re pretty good at talking things out but there’s always that chance that we could have a big blowout. So I want you to remember that I love you. 

I’m still not entirely sure what I did to deserve you, but I don’t regret sending you that message. If anything, I think I should send the Flower team a big bunch of flowers or something for creating the algorithm that brought you up as a match. Imagine if it hadn’t and I’d just deleted the app, we’d have never met and I’d still be lonely and sad.

But we did meet, and I took a chance on you by sending you that embarrassing message. And then you took a chance by actually meeting up with me and going on that date. I still remember it, and I don’t know if I ever told you but I still have the ticket for the escape room. I know you still have yours in your wallet :) Thank you for giving me your time, even if I wasn’t your type. I hope I’m your type now.

I’m not sure that I will ever be able to tell you how important you are to me. Not only myself but my life. You’ve helped me to embrace myself and learn to love myself over the years through kindness. I know my limits in terms of my mental health now and you’ve helped to support me with the medication and the therapist. Neither of those were things I’d been comfortable with doing before your encouragement. But you also gave me a safe space to break down in; somewhere that I knew I could be at my most vulnerable mentally without having to risk being hurt even more.

You held me when I cried, you comforted me when I panicked and you calmed my anxiety over the years. I can never thank you enough for helping me to understand that these aren’t deficiencies and I’m not broken. I just need a little help to get through things sometimes. At the same time, I hope that I’ve become that safe space for you as well. I know that you’re not as emotional as I am, but I feel that you’ve opened up to me about things that hurt you. I’ll keep your secrets safe and I’ll always be here for you!

I hope you’re happy with your life now. With me, and our home and our furbabies. I hope you stay happy, and if you don’t then talk to me. Please. I don’t want us to ever realise that we’re making each other unhappy and I don’t want to ever be the reason for negativity. I want to spend the rest of my life with you in our little home, growing old together as we play board games and dote on our animals while you increase your tattoo collection even more. I know that people like to say that they can’t imagine their lives with their significant other, but I really do feel like that.

My life without you would be hollow and monochrome, as you bring colour to my world and fill it with joy and happiness. I’ve never laughed as much as I have these last few years with you and I know we’ll keep that in our relationship if we try hard. 

I don’t really know where this letter is going and I’m babbling now. But I guess the main thing is just that I can’t wait to marry you. It may not be very feminist of me but I can’t wait to take your name and be your wife. I can’t wait to call you my husband. I’m going to be terrified in the ceremony and so nervous but I’ll be happy too, I promise! I still can’t believe that you picked me, out of all the women you’ve seen, to be your girlfriend and then decided that you wanted to marry me.

Jung Hoseok, I solemnly swear to treasure you for the rest of your life and make sure you know how much I love you. I might not be able to tell you all that much, but I’ll show you. I’ll make you smile and laugh, I’ll buy you things that make me think of you, I’ll hug you tight and cuddle you until you’re complaining.

So in case it wasn’t obvious enough, I love you. I just want you to know because I know I suck at telling you, like I said. I’m also bad at writing letters but what’s new? I’ll finish this off quickly so you’re not spending too long reading this. Don’t want to make you late for our wedding after all.

I love you. I love you, Jung Hoseok. I love you, Hobi. I love you, I love you, I love you.

Lots and lots and lots of love, your soon to be wife <333333

[sparklingchan]

Prologue|| Stormbringer- Stray Kids Demigod AU

Pairing : Reader(fem.) X Felix

Word count : 1.2k+

Warnings : Family issues, mentions of mythological monsters, not edited.

Genre : Romance, Demigod AU, fluff, angst.

Description: Two twelve year olds kids with apparently normal lives find themselves in a rather uncomfortable position when they are told the truth about their not-so-normal parentage.  

A/N : FINALLY I managed to post this!! I haven’t been feeling well lately so hope I didn’t keep anyone waiting too long. This prologue doesn’t necessarily connect with the main plot of the story but it does lay the backdrop for it so this part might come off as plain. 

Hope everyone’s been keeping well, given the current situations. If you need anyone to talk to, I’m right here!

SERIES MASTERLIST ||  Click here for introduction to the story and glossary and here for the Stray Kids demigod diaries!

Lighting in the Sky

"Before the world existed, there was nothing. Only a primary void, a nothingness and ..chaos. "

Your glazed, intrigued eyes follow every word from the new book your mother reads out from, your curiosity unable to handle the wonderful way your mother always turns every story into a mystery.

The bright green cover of the book looks attractive, and smooth like glass. Instinctively, you hold your finger up to its surface.

Its cold.

" 'Famous tales from Greek Mythology ' " you read out its title, now no longer paying attention to your mother's words, "Mum, do you think the people in these stories are real?"

Your mother stops mid sentence, not really surprised when a rather familiar memory finds its way back to her. Thunderstorms, a handsome young man, rapid heartbeats, a little baby girl.

"I'd like to think so," she runs her fingers through your hair, "But not all of them are as heroic as they're made to be in these books."

You wondered what her words had meant for a long time after that. For a 12 year old girl, you'd been way too curious, way too hard to deceive. But truth is something that cannot be hidden for too long.

You remember that day as clearly as if it were yesterday.

It was your 13th birthday , a joyous day for a young girl who'd always wanted to experience the so called 'exciting' teen years. Your mum had prepared an amazing celebration for you- a small picnic by the seaside, a chocolate cake (your absolute favorite), the second edition of 'Famous tales from Greek Mythology ' as a gift. It was almost perfect.

Almost.

While on your way to the parking lot, a dog pounces at you. Except it wasn't just a dog. It was a Hell Hound.

You'd only seen the likes of it before in your story books and in your nightmares that were as vivid as memories. But you know exactly what a hellhound really is. Hellhounds are dogs that guard the Underworld - world of the dead .

"Get off of me, you dog!" You scream as the monster claws at your face.

Viscious creatures and brilliant killers these dogs are and if it weren't for two boys showing up to your rescue, you are sure you'd have become the hellhound 's food that day.

"Are you okay, y/n?" The boys ask you.

"H-how do you know my name? Who are you people?" You pant, on the verge of tears, "What was that thing?"

The taller of the two boys - Hyunjin, as he would introduce himself to you later sends a look of confusion over at the shorter boy - who also introduces himself as Minho later. "We have a lot of talking to do, y/n. Where's your mom?"

Your mom is not one bit fazed when she drives the three of you back to your small apartment. It's almost as if she'd been expecting it all along.

Once you reach your house, your mom who's usually extremely cheerful and loud, sits you down quietly on the couch and tells you the truth. Of who you are, what you are capable of.

"Sweetie, your father is not the book author you think he is. I'm so sorry I lied to you. " she sucks in a deep breath, almost scared, "Honey, your dad is...a God. A Greek God. The ones we read about."

And that one sentence turns your entire world upside down. Everything you've ever known just changes.

But sometimes changes are for the best, you'd like to think.

Minho and Hyunjin reveal that they come from a place called Camp Levanter - a home for kids like you, demigods is what they're apparently called.

"A-are you like me too?"

"Yes, y/n. We're like you." Minho says, "I'm the son of the Greek God Dionysus and Hyunjin over here is the son of the Greek goddess Aphrodite."

Hyunjin pats your head ever so gently and in an alluring voice says, "Do you want to come with? We could be your friend. How does that sound?"

You find yourself nodding almost immediately.

And just before you walk out of the door, you give your mom the tightest hug, assuring her that you'd do just fine.

"By the way, mum, what's dad's name? You never told me."

You mom sighs, as the skies outside rumble with thunder, "Your father is Zeus - the God of sky and lightning. "

*

The symbol of Love

"Are we going to die tonight, Nana?"

Felix shivers into the embrace and pulls his greying, old grandmother closer, her weak body already completely corrupted by the cold and snow.

"N-not you, Lixie. You have things to do." She mumbles, holding the 13 year old kid to her chest, hoping to find some kind of warmth in this freezing cold weather, "I-its not your time yet. You will go back to your father, you hear me? You didn't have to come with me anyway!"

Felix's father wasn't the nicest person - to put it decently. He didn't so as much bat an eye towards him. Perhaps he was ashamed of having a child out of wedlock or worse, he was reminded of Felix's gorgeous mother he so dearly missed everytime he saw Felix.

Anyhow, parental love never made it into Felix's life from his father's side so instead he grew up under the warmth of his grandmother's love.

On his 13th birthday, Felix receives his first and last gift from his father; a step mother. That fall, his father marries an old colleague in a small ceremony. And Felix would later go on to hate himself for ever thinking that this new addition to the family might fill up the blank space his birth mother had left behind.

Not ten days after the wedding, his new step mother 'accuses' his grandmother of being rude and unwelcoming and begs his father to throw her out of the house.

Which all comes down to this moment, where his grandmother is freezing to death and he cannot do anything but watch silently.

"Hey, do you need help?" When Felix hears that voice, his first instinct is to brush it off as a hallucination, for who would help two homeless people in this bone chilling weather?

"Felix, do you need help?" A few rapid footsteps and two boys present themselves in front of him, panting as if they'd been running all the while.

"W-who are you?" He stutters, hugging his grandmother closer, "How do you know my name?"

One of the two boys reply gently, "I'm sure you have a lot of questions, Felix. How about we go to my place? Your grandmother might like a warm cup of tea, don't you think?"

And so he agrees to go with the two boys.

Once they'd warmed his Nana up and fed her, Felix gently tucks her into the bed of the guest room they'd been given. As scared as Felix was to accept their help, he knew he had no option. His grandmother meant the world to him and he couldn't watch her succumb right in front of his eyes.

The two boys are very careful in approaching Felix, making sure to not scare him more than he already is.

"What are your names? How do you know me?" They let a whole hour pass by as the three boys sit on the dining table, occupied with plates of untouched food and full bottles of water, letting Felix be the one to start conversation. And when he finally does, Changbin breathes a sigh of relief. Really, he was starving but he didn't want to seem rude in front of their new friend.

"I'm Chan," Chan introduces himself, and then Changbin speaks, "I'm Changbin. And why do we know you, you ask - well the three of us have quite a lot in common, you see. More than what meets the mortal eye."

Mortal eye? What's this all about? Felix finds himself more confused than he already was.

"We're the children of Greek gods, Felix. " Chan sighs, " You, me and Changbin. Is it hard to believe?"

Felix is about to say 'yes' out of pure impulse but he holds his tongue this time ; these guys don't seem like the kind to make such obnoxious claims, even as a joke. All his life, Felix had spent as an outcast, among his friends, among his cousins, among his classmates. His father had treated him like he were a monster. And his estranged mother who his father never said anything about? Felix finds suspicion knocking at his door.

Whilst its still extremely hard to believe, Felix responds,

"I want to believe you."

Chan and Changbin exchange a look of surprise, complete astonishment since none of them had expected Felix to even listen to them. And now that they have his attention, they find themselves a tad bit pressured as well.

"But don't disappoint me," Felix mutters, more to himself than to the boys, "Don't give me hope just to snatch it away."

And much to his surprise, he isn't left disappointed this time. These two boys manage to change his life completely, and now when Felix goes to bed at night, he finds a rather foreign feeling of fulfillment in his heart.

and for the first time in forever, he lets himself hope. Hope for a new family who would make up for the love his father could never offer. Hope for better days to come now that he's finally found a new identity and a new life.

****

Taglist: @chogiwow​@ctrlaltfangirl​@blueprint-han​@whattaweeb​@bigskzz​@judewalid​@kpopssuregi​@crispy-chan​

Note: Please DM or send an ask if you wish to be added to the taglist!

[maxwell-grant]

Have you read the short story Norvell Page wrote as a wedding present for a Big Name Fan about Dick and Nita's first meeting? Any thoughts on it? My main is that Page does not go where you expect him to based on that description.

I did! Actually it was one of the first Spider stories I read. And yeah, to an extent, it's absolutely not what you'd expect from something set in The Spider's world. And on the other hand, it's absolutely what makes the most sense for these two characters. Because, yeah, Norvell Page could have done what he usually does, and written some over-the-top action where Dick and Nita happen to meet during it.

But no, that wouldn't work. Because, for all the turmoil and chaos in The Spider, for everything that he and Nita go through, there are many times when, sturdier even than Dick's resolve is their love for each other, the deep understanding and affection that carries them through hell itself time and time again.

And so, when it was time to showcase how such a romance started, Page wisely deviated from his usual narrative style, and instead told a very, very intimate and personal story, a long and extended conversation between the two, and more importantly, between Page and the reader. Between The Spider, and You, peering into The Spider through the eyes of Nita van Sloan.

I think for a start, it's an interesting coincidence that this meeting takes place on a cruise ship, and it involves Dick rescuing Nita from suicide. I say this because Margo Lane's first meeting with Lamont Cranston, in the pulps, was stated to have taken place on a cruise ship, and of course, the first time we see The Shadow in the pulps, he's rescuing Harry Vincent from suicide, and both Harry and Margo are The Shadow's main supporting characters. I'm not saying it was intentional, but it's an interesting fact. And more so because Dick doesn't really rescue Nita.

Her scarf whipped in the wind on deck, and it blinded her... and a hand touched her arm, and a voice spoke to her.

"If it's intentional, don't let me stop you," the voice said, "but you're heading straight for suicide."

Nita looked then at the stop toward which, blindly, she was going, and it was a chain barrier beyond which was the sea. And she looked at the man who had stopped her and it was Richard Wentworth. And his words had been a shock to her.

"You wouldn't try to dissuade me from suicide?" she asked.

Wentworth's brows were tilted whit a hint of mockery, but his eyes were very grave. "Every man is master of his own soul, and hence of his body," he said. "And your eyes are wide open and awake. So it would be a considered action. I'm not sure, under those circumstances, that I would have a right to meddle in another's business."

Nita said, "I think you can help me."

Wentworth shook his head. "Only you can help yourself," he said, "but it may be that someone else could help you find the way."

The whole text is a great example of how wonderfully realized of a character Nita van Sloan is in ways so unlike the typical pulp or superhero girlfriends at the time, because the text is written from her perspective, and half of the text reads like an extended character breakdown of who Nita is as a character and person. And the other half of the text is almost entirely comprised of Dick Wentworth spouting philosophy and talking in-depth about his reading of her and what's upsetting her, talking about God and fate and so on. And like so many other attempts to explore serious theological/psychological/philosophical/etc concepts explored through pulp fiction, half of it is bullshit, and half of it is fascinatingly disturbing and thought-provoking bullshit.

"Self-contempt," Wentworth's words were very quiet now. "Is second only to self-pity among the greater sins. Self-analysis is a dangersous thing. You need so much charity. And any person who is advanced enough to think about himself at all is apt to be over-stern in his judgment of himself."

He said to her, "If you don't honor youself, who will honor you?" And, a few moments later, "There is conceit in ruling others, but none in mastering yourself." And, "There is no arrogance so great as self-righteousness."

Nita clashed with him violently, "You are being self-righteous in judging me!"

Wentworth laughed. "I am speaking only truism. It is you who judge yourself, not I." He was serious, then. "My dear," he said, "I would be presumptuous to try to teach you. No man can teach another. But one who has been along that same trail would be less than a man if he failed to mark certain signposts and certain places where there is water to drink so that another, traveling that same road, may know where another struggled and what he has learned. But, as no man can travel a road for another, so no man can teach another. You must work out your own salvation."

"That sense of separation between the inner and outer self," Nita rushed on, "between yourself and the world ... while you were talking, I could almost feel that difference disappearing. The feeling is gone now, but ..."

"All progress is three steps forward and two back," Wentworth said, slowly, "and this is good because thus all ground is three-times covered and triply learned."

And I should probably clarify by this point that, it's not so much Dick Wentworth talking in this story, as it's Norvell Page himself. In fact, he admits as much in another letter he had sent to his readers that he was prone to talking philosophy by this point.

There was a time when the burden of writing just one more Spider seemed too much to undertake. (After all, the magazine is in it's ninth year!) But I never feel that way any more. I know now that the Spider actually does help people; that there are those who appreciate his idealism even though it is expressed in violence.

Especially in the last half dozen Spiders, beginning with the 100th I believe, I have tried very earnestly to teach a little of the philosophy and faith, of which we all need so much in these days.

Here's the thing about The Spider: It's not that the character is mad. Well, okay, he IS mad, I don't pull these over-the-top maniacal cartoon meme descriptions out of thin air, but that's because he lives in a batshit insane disaster horror world where there IS no sane response other than joining the carnage to overcome it. It's not just that Wentworth who is a madman. It's that Norvell Page was a mad man, and Dick Wentworth was Norvell's Page alter-ego, by the man's own admission.

Friends have informed me that I moved about the company as one in a trance: there were some who were concerned about my health, so oddly did I behave. Of course, only my body attended that occasion. My mind was entirely engrossed in Dick Wentworth's big problem - back in my study on a sheet of paper stuck in my typewriter

I did not dream that night; in the morning I restlessly paced my floor thinking, thinking, thinking. I sat down at the typewriter, stared at the words and the keys. Suddenly, as if by magic, Dick Wentworth seemed to move of his own volition. My hands raised, my fingers literally flew over the keyboard.

No matter how ridiculous it seems, I will always feel that Dick Wentworth, creature of my own fabrication, guided me through that tough scene.

No two people can live together without being influenced by each other to some extent. So constantly has Wentworth been in my mind, it is as if we were roommates - partners in everything.

Page has talked about how close of a connection he feels to the character, about many ways he's emulated his mannerisms, even some pretty embarassing anectodes where he claims to have "accidentally" used the character's "indomitable will" to scare waiters or drawing connections between The Spider's cast and real people he's met. Others who met him remarked that he talked of the "Spider" characters as though they were members of his family, or drinking companions.

Even before I got into The Spider, I had heard of rumors that he used to present or discuss stories in his office by putting on a cape and jumping from desk to desk, swinging a yard stick in his hand, and I can't find any source that confirms it, but I don't doubt it in the slightest. A lot of pulp writers had really weird lives, and Page was no exception. He was a journalist who frequently dug into his newspaper clippings for grisly stories to incorporate into narratives. I mean, just look at the dude's eyes, he's seen some shit.

When he was 3, his mother fell down a manhole while they were walking down a Chicago sidewalk. Norvell, terrified, thought she had dissappeared and never quite got over the experience.

When he was a little older, according to some family members, his parents had tickets for the Titanic and escaped disaster when Norvell begged them to cancel the trip for reasons unknown.

Norvell again played a hand in the family's escaping disaster when, one Christmas the family home caught on fire. Candles on the tree had been left burning. He quite arguably saved everyone's life. Waking first, he threw his mattress out of his window, grabbed his infant brother and sister and ran screaming through the hall as he went back to jump to safety. His screams woke his parents who then jumped to the mattress themselves.

Norvell lied about his age and experience to the Norfolk "Observer", claiming to have been writing for Richmond's "Times Dispatch" and was hired there.

His father managed Thomas Edison & Hugo Wurlitzer's ad accounts, and had always encouraged him to write, envisioning him as another Poe, whom his Great-Uncle had worked with as an editor

It is rumored that, in NYC, while at the "World Telegram", he became involved in fellow editor Varion Fry's effort to rescue artists and scientists from occupied Europe. President of the American Fiction Guild, he edited their newsletter for some time. Among his closest friends were fellow writers Ted Tinsley and L. Ron Hubbard and Surrealist painter Max Ernst.

WRITER'S REVIEW 35.08: Norvell W. Page, whose bloodthirsty Spider novels would do justice to Ghengis Khan, demonstrated his bloodlust the other day by accidentally killing a sparrow.

He wrote until 1943, when he abruptly stopped without warning. He dissappeared, for all intents and purposes, from both New York, the arts world and the pulp world for good.

His wife of 20 years, Audrey, had died and this, along with the U.S. involvment in WWII, led to his returning to VA where he would go on to be an intelligence worker in the Truman, Kennedy and Eisenhower Administrations.

He died suddenly of a heart attack in August of 1961.

Surviving family members do not know where he is buried.

I think this is a story that Page might have told differently had he written it earlier in his career, before he got tired, before he underwent his depression and loss of weight that caused him to briefly stop writing pulps all together, in a time period before the World War had cast an oppressive miasma on the world. In a time period where most of the horrifying nightmares he infused into the stories were really just that, nightmares, that he didn't live long enough to see turn into prophecies.

Because that's another thing about The Spider that makes the character more than just a batshit vigilante: As over-the-top as the stories were, a lot of them also inevitably turned out to predict some form of catastrophe in real life.

Written with an eye to the horrors festering in Germany at the time, The Mayor of Hell now reads as an infernal vision of the Homeland Security Act.

The poisoned products found in The Red Death Rain and The Pain Emperor call to mind the Tylenol killings of the summer of 1982, and the hundreds of poisoned products cases that followed.

Bio-terrorism plays large in the Spider mythos, with bubonic plague in Wings of the Black Death, rabies in The Mad Horde, and cholera in The Cholera King foreshadowing the Anthrax scare of 2001. The same could be said of the terror gases from Kingdom of Doom and Green Globes of Death and the nerve gas attack in the Tokyo subways in March of 1995.

Masters of the Death Madness unfolds as a nightmare meditation upon suicide, which has become one of the principal weapons of modern terrorists. One scene involves suicide bombers.

Another scene chillingly presages the Jonestown massacre of 1978: a grand procession lines up to drink from a bowl of poisoned wine while surrounding gunmen pick off anyone who refuses to drink.

The modern reader will recognize the psychological and sociological effects of a citizenry living under the threat of terrorism, so chillingly evoked by Page: the grating loss of safety, the imminent threats lurking in familiar objects, the way security can no longer be taken for granted, the kind of skittishness that empties a building at the first sign of an unknown white powder.

The eeriest of all the modern terrorist parallels appears in a novel called The City Destroyer, originally published in 1936. It features a set piece involving the collapse of a fictitious gigantic building, supposedly the tallest in New York City, called “The Sky Building.” When it fell, it wiped out five city blocks and claimed 1,000 lives. And perhaps it’s worth noting a further parallel that occurred in the 1970’s, when Pocket Books tried to revive the Spider; they repackaged him in a paperback series, striving for an image of what was then cool and thrusting Richard Wentworth into a contemporary setting.

When Pocket Books reprinted and updated The City Destroyer in 1975, the collapse of the Sky Building was replaced with the collapse of the World Trade Center - Stuart Hopen's essay on The Spider

Regardless of how much reality Page was infusing into his stories (because, again, he took a lot of his material from newspapers) or how much he foresaw intentionally or not, writing The Spider definitely took it's toll on him, and as the magazine neared it's final stretch with him on the helm, certain parts did began taking a more philosophical or religious tone, as more of Page's own beliefs, more of Page's attempts to use it as a vehicle to do good, began to bleed through the page.

And ultimately I think that's also what the story of Dick and Nita's first meeting is about, sort of an extended analysis not just of Nita, who Page himself said was a character he conceived as "the epitome of womanhood" and everything he thought admirable about it, but also of Wentworth's own character, and the things Page wanted to get through in his time.

Religion crept deeper into the series with each succeeding year. By all accounts, Norvell Page was a man of deep faith and spirituality who just happened to be writing the exploits of a hero whose idea of mercy was a bullet in the brain instead of the stomach.

In the 100th novel, Death and The Spider, Wentworth battles Death itself - or so it seems - and on Christmas Eve, he is shot so badly while protecting the President from assassination that everyone believes he's dead - including himself.

Dead or not, he forces himself to fight on, sustained only by reciting the 23rd Psalm over and over again.

Nita laughed and accepted a cigarette. "I don't know how to thank you."

"Don't," Wentworth's voice was sharp. "I told you I am only a channel. Don't confuse me with the Source."

It stopped words on Nita's lips, and it gave here a new respect and a new and sudden attitude toward this man beside her, this man who could laugh and jest with everyone about him, and who could teach like a very oracle ... and who carried about him such a sense of dedication to high purpose. He might seem apart from the world, but he was utterly and completely of it.

Nita said, half-laughing, half-serious, "May I like you? And may I admire your ... adjustment?"

"Don't envy my adjustment," he grinned at her. "Have one yourself." He snapped flame to her cigarette with his lighter, and his lean, strong hand was steady and sure as his eyes, as his voice. He was speaking to her but he was looking at the lighter. "I have found my mission," he said quietly.

[helltalia-inc]

RULES + LIST OF CHALLENGES

RULES 

1. Pick a challenge from the List of Challenges;

2. Create whatever you want, as you want;

3. Use the tag #helltalia-inc and @ with the name of the page;

4. And don’t forget to have fun!

Not that hard, right?

 More info:

· There are no language barriers here, so feel free to use the language that you feel the most comfortable to express yourself;

· Bad behavior will not be tolerated;

· Feel free to use any characters and any ships;

· Take attention to tag your ships, any warming or triggering content;

· And for the last, but not least… support the “CONTENT CREATORS”!

 LIST OF CHALLENGES

(This list will be updated occasionally. Feel free to search for the number of the challenges, for example like #1, or #20, I made sure to tag every work with the number of the challenge. So, if you want to see the works related to each challenge, you just have to search in the page by the number. And, of course, feel free to use the challenges to inspire your future works.)

 1. Favorite Character

2. Egg Themed

3. Books + Favorite Trio

4. Your living country + his national flower

5. Crossing the line with the Star Wars Universe

6. Pajama Party + Female Characters Only

7. Revenge the Hetavision

8. Wedding dress

9. Child’s Day

10. Recycle, Reduce, Reutilize

11. Nordics appreciation challenge

12. LGBT Respect Day

13. “If you meant it, kiss me”

(Just to record it: starting from here, it was added as option, the “challenge quote”) 

14. National Animal + The Country where you live / “No matter where I go, my heart will always be yours”

15. Healthy Food Habits/ “But loving you had consequences”

16. World Day of Friendship/ “It’s okay if you don’t like me. Not everyone had good taste.”

17. REVENGE FIFATALIA/ “I’m so sick of lying. I have to tell you…”

18. ROCK IN HETALIA / “the music is the language of feelings”

19. Stuck on a desert island/ “I’m so sorry I kissed you, my mouth just slipped”  

20. ICE CREAM AND WATERMELON/ ”I wouldn’t do that if I were you”  

21. Pirate and Mermaids AU/ “That’s the summer when we first met”  

22. Aquarium park / “It is easier to pretend we are strong; it is much harder to admit we are weak; a true friend, by loving every part of us, teaches us to love our weaknesses”

23. Crossover with one of your favorite movies / “The two of us, we’re the best kind of disaster. Apples and oranges. Well, more like apples and machetes.”

24. Alice in the Wonderland AU / “I really did think you were cute when you were jealous.”

25. Improvised Olympic Games out of Season/ “I’d find you whenever you were.”

26. Ancients Countries Appreciation Challenge / “Chaos isn’t meant to be understood”

27. University AU / “Never say “Goodbye””

28. Color’ (or body or personality) swap / “Puns are the highest form of literature.”

29. Crossover with Sesame Street or The Muppets / “I’ve missed you. But it seems like you’re not happy to see me.”

30. Alter Ego AU / “If it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t have even come here tonight.”

31. Your favorite writer + his respective nation / “I wanted to end the world, but I’ll settle for ending yours.”

32. Candle in the dark / “I’m pregnant”

33. Orchestra AU / “You can run, but you can’t escape”

34. Trapped in a maze / “Can you keep a secret?”

35. Wingtalia / “Lying is the most fun a girl can have without taking her clothes off”

36. Space, stars, moon / “You’re better than you think.”

37. Villain AU / “I don’t want to sleep alone today. Will you sleep with me?”

38. African nations / “You promised that we would always be together… now, how I’m supposed to live without you?”

39. Love potion / "We didn't realize we were making memories, we just knew we were having fun"

40. Treasure hunt / “The only thing you’re good at is fake crying”

41. Asian nations / “You can see me?”

42. National desert / “Nice try. Better luck next time”

43. Death note AU / “How long will you keep me waiting?”

44. Kabedon / “What is your problem?”  

45. Siblings / “Don’t just say nice things, give me advice.”

46. The 7 deadly sins / “Take that stupid grin off your face”

47. Reincarnation AU / “We have only one chance at life. And I want to live a life with no regrets.”

48. Autumn / “You said I could do whatever I wanted.”

49. Red apple / “I want to crush anyone who dares to touch you. I want to hide you, monopolize you.”

50. Hot chocolate / “It’s too late now.”

51. Tarot Cards / “Take your hands off of me.”

52. Summon Demons /”Have I done something wrong?”

53. Ouija / “That’s the one thing I regret the most in my life.”

54. Underworld / “If you want, we could swap secrets.”

55. Supernatural creatures / “Close your eyes and listen carefully.”

56. Hunter / “Even though it isn’t a big deal now, it will be later.”

57. Shadow / “You helped me become who I am.”

58. Bloody sunset / “If you took well care of it from the beginning, then none of this would’ve happened.”

59. Ghost mansion / ”What the hell do you want from me?”

60. Mysterious box / “It’s not extreme, it’s the most effective way.”

61. Scream / “What makes you think I’ve changed?”

62. Evil laugh / “I thought I knew you better than this...”

63. Superstition / “There are times when it’s dangerous to approach something or someone when you don’t have sufficient knowledge about them.”

64. Roses / ”My understanding is that faith is something that one builds up through actions.”

65. Destiny / “I don’t want to live like that.”

66. Coincidence / “Growth always follows hardship.”

67. Broken heart / “They want me to find happiness more than anyone else.”

68. The wedding day / “You don’t have to worry about me anymore.”

69. Slow dance / “It’s better to spend the rest of my lifetime alone, than being stupid and crying over someone who broke my trust.”

70. By my side / “Time flew by.”

71. Holding hands / “I gave you a chance to pretend that nothing happened.”

72. Friendzone / “I won’t run away this time.”

72. Rejection / “Sorry, I let my emotions get the best of me.”

73. Forever alone / “If they’re your friends, they’ll understand and be happy for you. Just like how you were for them.”

74. BDSM / “Whatever you choose, I’ll respect your decision.”

75. Dirty talking / “You’re just taking advantage of the people around you.”

76. Love letter / “Money and Status... you’re nothing without those things.”

77. First love / “Seeing you happy means the world to me.”

78. First time / “Friendship isn’t about whom you have known the longest, it’s about who came and never left.”

79. Crush / “I’m in a threesome with anxiety and depression.”

80. Decorations / “Just fantasizing about it isn’t enough for me.”

81. Presents / “You just have to work hard to turn it into a reality.”

82. Traditions / “Anger cannot be dishonest.”

83. Family Dinner / “Relationships are like glass, sometimes it’s better to leave them broken than trying to hurt yourself putting it back together.”

84. Friends / “I’m glad I at least left an impression on you. Though apparently, it’s a negative one.”

85. Figure skating / “The mirror is my best friend because when I cry it doesn’t laugh.”

86. Snowboard / “The saddest people have the brightest smile.”

87. Ski / “I don’t think we wasted a single second.”

88. Hockey / “I wish I knew I was in the good old days before they became the good old days.”

89. Snow globe / “Those who are already dead don’t care about those who are still alive.”

90. Acts of kindness / “People only listen and believe in what they think is entertaining.”

91. Aurora Borealis / “If this is for the best.”

92. Church bell / “The more envy you show, the worse you look.”

93. The little match girl / “Whatever you do, I’ll never be disappointed in you.”

94. Twinkle Twinkle Little Star / “When people brag so openly about their past, if often means, that they have nothing to brag about now.”

95. Heart made of ice / “You should be ashamed of yourself.”

96. Message on a bottle / “I never truly fell in love with anyone.”

97. Bubbles / “This is all very suspicious... extremely suspicious.”

98. End of the world / “I was afraid kindness would make me weak.”

99. Halloween dolls / “No hard feelings but I hate you.”

100. Redemption / “I should apologize for this. But I won’t.”

101. Femme fatale / “Do you think you can handle it?”

102. (more challenges will be added eventually. If you want, send your challenge’ suggestions to the Ask Box)

 Note: Most of the quotes aren’t mine and have no source.

[an-absolute-travesty]

Royal Screw-Ups

It’s time, the final chapter is here 

*Sobbing*

I won’t get too sappy on you guys here, since I got pretty sappy at the end of thing on Wattpad

But yeah. Thanks if you’ve been reading this long. I have more plans for this world (i have some plans for a few oneshots) but for this moment, we are closing out this story

If you’re looking for the rest of the story, it can be found on my wattpad @ohwowhatethis, under the tags “kotlc fic” and “keefex” on my blog, or under the cut on my pinned post

Tag list (tell me if you want to be added or removed, just for this story or as a whole): @you-are-the-vacker-legacy @ruewen-and-rising @lemontarto @a-lonely-tatertot @clearlykeefitz @percabetn @vibing-in-the-void @sewersewersewercouch @everyonehasthoughts @imaramennoodle @enbies-and-felonies @blxckh0les42​ @rainbowtay-11 @callas-starkflower-stew @impostertamsong @appalyneinstitute1 @stars-and-splendor @anna-without-an-e

Chapter 8:

Word count: 3,677

Warnings: swearing, cassi-ass being an ass, destruction, fire, chaos, etc.

Three months of planning later, servants scurried around the property in preparation for the ceremony the next day. A glass dome had been built in the center of the property to house it.

Tam and Linh had arrived soon after they had their first meeting, luckily Tam and Fitz weren’t as lovey-dovey in real life as they were in their letters. However, Marella and Linh very much made up for it. The moment they met the guard and the princess had a connection, the sweet talk was almost too much to bear.  

In fact, all of them had grown quite close over the past months. Who knew low-level treason could bring people together so. 

Of course, not nearly as close as he’d like with a certain person, but closer for sure. Every week they met back up at the library to work out bumps in their plan, clean up the absurd amount of paper Keefe used in drawing out his first plan, or just sit and talk. Today would be their last before the big day. 

Keefe watched over Dex’s shoulder as he made his final tinkers on the device he had been working on.  

“How’s it looking Techmaster?”

“Eh, having more metal makes everything easier but...it’s one use only, so I can’t test it. We just have to hope for the best.”

“Well, I have faith in you. Your genius brain could make anything.”

Dex rolled his eyes. Keefe wanted to subtly touch him to see if his blatant flirting had been noticed, but it felt wrong to. He had been stuck in the dark for the last 3 months. 

Everyone else ran their lines around the room. Everyone besides Sophie who, as typical of her, looked half way sick in the corner. 

Keefe sat down next to her on the floor.

“Alright, what’s up Foster, have you acquired a stomach bug?” 

She giggled. “No...it’s just…” She sighed. “It feels wrong, y’know? I mean...I don’t want to hurt anybody.”

“You’re really doing the opposite of hurting people though, I mean you’re making them happy.”

“Not happy, hysterical. Yeah it can be happy, but not in the way we’re doing it. Trust me, it’s not fun to watch.”

Keefe thought for a moment.

“Hey...your parents have that griffin, right?”

~*~

The sound of a wedding march echoed through the castle lawn as Sophie was led down the isle by her father. Keefe guessed she looked quite lovely in her dress, Biana, who stood as her maid of honor, was looking at her more like a husband would than him. He stood frozen at the alter, Fitz beside him as his best man and everyone else interspersed within the crowd for optimal dramatic effect. 

Sophie reached him at long last. Surprisingly enough, she didn’t look sickly this time. Her face steeled with determination gave him confidence. 

The guy marrying them together was one of Cassius’ officials. Keefe didn’t bother to remember most names anymore, but this one was a...Moland? Noland? Something like that. 

Everyone winced in unison as the man started talking, Keefe’s ears began to ring a bit at the volume.

“Lords and Ladies, we are gathered here today to celebrate the joyous union of our young Prince Keefe Sencen and the lovely Miss Sophie Foster-Ruewen.”

Keefe only realized he was fidgeting when Fitz subtly reached out and held his hand down from where it had been tapping on his leg.

“We are honored to be joined by so many friends and family. The Goom and Bride are overjoyed you all could be here to participate in this most important occasion.

“There are few greater joys in life than finding someone we truly connect with. Creatives have many names for this, a spark, clicking, but let us say today what it truly is: love.”

Keefe looked out into the crowd, he caught the eye of Dex. The redhead’s brow was crinkled and his cheeks flushed slightly. He pat the pocket of his coat in confirmation. 

“Love is what these two young souls have found in each other. In love, our truest selves are revealed. We open ourselves up and break down our walls. The veil we present to the public is lifted so we can be loved for who we are, not who we pretend to be.”

Keefe struggled to not roll his eyes. He took a final look around the room, each person nodding as he met eyes with them.

“Over these months, our Bride and Groom have developed a strong bond. This bond will only get stronger throughout the course of their marriage. Let us revel in the joy and love displayed in front of us today. May we treasure these memories as Prince Keefe and Miss Sophie get set to begin their new life together.”

Keefe took a deep breath, knowing the next words out of his mouth.

“If anyone has cause to object the forming of this union, speak now or forever hold your peace.”

3, 2, 1…

“I object!” 

0.

Stina first. “This marriage was meant to be mine! She’s just a dirty commoner!”

“How dare you!” Fitz cut in before anyone else could. “I object because I love her! Sophie is meant to be with me. Maruca has admitted her love to Keefe, let her marry him!”

Biana gasped dramatically. “Maruca you snake! You knew I loved him.”

“You only loved his title!” She screamed, standing up to match the rest. “And Fitz, if you’re so concerned with what Stina has to say about Sophie, you should hear what Wylie has to say.”

Fitz walked in Wylie’s direction and he stood. “Why you little-”

Just then, Keefe heard it. 

Beep. Beep. Beep. BEEPBEEPBEEPBEEP.

BOOM.

An explosion burst a small part of the glass dome’s ceiling. Sophie let out an ear-splitting whistle and the griffin flew straight through the hole as the glass fell. Screams erupted through the room as the animal landed on chairs and destroyed the alter. 

The screams only got louder as the room was lit up as bright as the sun before swiftly being plunged into darkness. Those involved in the plan used the opportunity to gather themselves at the exit. With the exception of Biana and Marella who, if all went as planned, stood prepared by the very flammable reception tables. 

The darkness lifted and people quickly ran out, some of the more stuck up nobles guided by guards. Once everyone was out safely, Keefe watched as a red glow started and grew. Marella wasn’t visible, but anyone paying attention could see the two sets of footprints forming in the grass.

People ran farther from the dome swiftly filling with fire. It spread quickly, but before it could reach the outside, Linh yelled. 

“Everyone back up!”

She pulled water from a nearby pond, making a large wave that, while it put out the fires, crushed the dome in its entirety. 

~*~

Two hours later, the guests sat huddled in the ballroom of the castle, many wrapped in blankets and eating soup the kitchen served to recover from what they had been through. Through the window, Keefe saw the Ruewen parents attempting to calm their griffin after taking a long time to wrangle it. 

They were good at keeping secrets, they brought the animal here in the first place. 

Just as he started crossing the room to go talk to Dex, he felt a heavy hand grip his shoulder.

Cassius looked at him with a glare that could kill ten men. He wordlessly guided Keefe in the direction of his office and the prince obliged. 

When Keefe walked in the door, it was messier than he had ever seen it. Even his father himself was disheveled, his typically slick-backed hair uncharacteristically sloppy and his tunic smudged with soot. He sat down at his desk and heaved a sigh.  

“Do you know why I brought you in here?” 

“Because my wedding was destroyed?”

“Because we are going to plan a new one. I need you to collect everyone who had objections to get this idiotic drama cleared for the records. I’ve sent for Councillor Bronte, he can officiate you. You will have a wedding today, whether you get the ceremony or not.”

“One problem with that, Biana and Marella haven’t been found.”

Technically the truth. They were to hide in the Queen’s Gardens until further notice, but the Guard Force didn’t know that. 

Cassius was silent for a moment, his face hidden in his hands.

Then he started convulsing.

No, not convulsing.

Laughing.

“Of course!” He got up from his chair in one movement. “Of course they haven’t been found! Why am I even surprised anymore.” He threw his hands in the air. “Nothing ever goes right!” He spoke through his teeth as he pushed everything off of his desk.

“MY MARRIAGE” He cleared a bookshelf with one arm, dumping the junk to the ground. 

“MY LEADERSHIP!” He knocked over his chair.

“MY SON!” He grabbed the painting from the wall and threw it down. 

“ALL DISAPPOINTMENTS!” He pushed over his desk, it landed with a loud crash.

“And now this too? Nothing ever goes right! No matter how hard I try! No matter how much work I put in! Everything ends in failure!”

“It’s a good thing this was my wedding and not yours then.”

The door behind them opened without a knock. 

“King Cassius, is this a bad time?” Bronte looked at the office with contempt. 

“No, now works.”

Despite not being formally invited in, Bronte sat down on the overturned desk and pulled out a folder of paperwork. 

“So...we’re trying to do an emergency wedding, yes?”

Cassius nodded.

“And from my understanding, there were 1,2...4 objections that haven’t been cleared?”

Cassius nodded again.

“Then I’m afraid I can’t perform a wedding. Legally or morally considering the fact that fate itself seems against this union. It is traditional, when a wedding goes so badly, to accept that something in the universe is not accepting of the marriage and call it off.”

“I understand, Councillor. However, I am the goddamned king and you will do as I say!

Bronte was unfazed.

“Actually sir, with only a month until the coronation you have resigned some of your duties, as is customary. You don’t have full control over the law at the moment, you signed a contract.”

He pulled said contract out of his pocket, displaying the signature, before putting it back in.

“Prince Keefe and you now have split control, as you had when you had a spouse. You both must agree if you are to override a law.”

Cassius hid his face once again.

“Go. Get out of my sight.”

Keefe turned to leave but his father grabbed him.

“Just Bronte.”

The man shrugged and closed the door behind him.

“Keefe...do you know why I was so eager to get you in as king?”

Keefe said nothing. That was one thing he couldn’t figure out himself. 

“I am a shitty, shitty, king. I was never made to rule. Your mother? Yes. Yes she was. Me? No. Not at all. I thought I could do this job, I thought it would be cushy, I thought I’d have all the power in the kingdom as well as riches upon riches without having to work. I was wrong.

“I wanted to train you to do this better than I ever could. I wanted to make sure you were going to be prepared.”

“No.” Keefe’s eyes started to water in anger. “You wanted to train me up to take your job as soon as possible. You didn’t want the responsibility so you decided to hand it off to your child. It’s just like...it’s just like Mom. You were the judge and the jury but you were too much of a coward to be the executioner or even a mourner. You hand off all your problems for someone else to deal with. You’re a fucking coward and nothing else.”

“I cared Keefe!-”

“NO YOU DIDN’T.” Tears streamed down his face. “You never cared about me, you never cared about Mom, you never cared for anything or anybody but yourself. 

“I don’t love Sophie and I never will, but you tried to make me marry her because you loved the idea of the strong son with a quiet woman. That shows how much you care.”

“It was what I thought was best.”

“WELL YOU WERE WRONG.”

Keefe walked out and slammed the door. 

~*~

Keefe went to his room and sobbed. He rarely indulged himself in crying but today was one of the days he let himself. It was maybe an hour later, when he was out of tears and just laid staring up at his ceiling, that he heard a knock on the door.

When he opened it, no one stood there. Just a small note in scratchy handwriting. 

“Meet us at the library, midnight”

~*~

Keefe carefully sneaked through the castle halls, only the candle he held lit his way. He slowly cracked open the library door.

“SURPRISE!”

Suddenly a whole group of people attacked him in a hug, rainbow lights filled the normally dull room. 

“W-what is all this?”

“It’s a surprise party silly!” For the first time since he’d seen her, Sophie looked truly happy. “We don’t have to get married! And we got out of it without any serious injuries.”

Fitz pulled him over to a table. “C’mon, Bi stole some leftover cake no one ate from the kitchens.”

He looked around for Dex hoping to see his beaming smile and instead saw him sitting solemnly in the corner. He didn’t look Keefe’s way. 

“Hey Fee, are you okay?” Apparently Fitz just now noticed his still puffy face.

“Yeah um...just my dad being a jerk again. Don’t worry about it.”

Fitz shrugged it off, he knew about jerky dads.

Or he used to, anyway. That bastard Alden ran away a long time ago. 

Keefe tried to partake in the festivities but he found it hard. He was going to be king in a month, and hopefully a good one at that. Just about anything was better than Cassius. He should be celebrating right now. But...there was still something bothering him. 

It was approaching the wee hours of the morning as people slowly trickled out. Wylie had long since dropped the rainbow lights. They had been celebrating for hours, Dex was silent nearly the whole time. 

“Alright.” Fitz said through a yawn. “I’m tapping out. Night Fee. Last one standing has to clean everything up.”

Keefe nodded. When he finally left the room and they were all alone, he approached Dex. Still silent in the corner.

“Okay, what’s going on Techmaster? You seem down.”

“No it’s just...it’s hard to explain.”

“Take your time, if you’d like.” Keefe sat down criss cross in front of him.

His lips went pouty in a way that made Keefe realize he was staring at his lips.

“You’ll think I’m weird. And clingy. And jealous. Honestly I shouldn’t even be saying any of this right now but I make bad decisions at 3 A.M. I guess.”

“Hey, you can tell me anything.” Keefe started to reach his hand out to Dex before remembering he shouldn’t read his emotions. Dex grabbed it before he could pull away. A lot of sadness and hurt there. He quickly stopped reading, though their hands stayed locked. 

“It’s just...there’s this person. This guy. And...and I thought maybe he liked me but now I think he has a boyfriend. I’m not sure though.”

Keefe’s heart dropped. “Well...boyfriend status can be changed.”

Dex chuckled. “I don’t know, they have nicknames for each other and everything.”

“Sounds serious.”

“Looks serious.”

It was silent for a moment, then Dex spoke.

“Look...don’t worry about it, alright? It’s really no big deal. I’ll get over it, I guess.”

“Maybe he likes you back.”

“I highly doubt it. I’m...I’m not good enough for him. I’m just a servant. He deserves someone better.”

“Why does being a servant mean you’re bad? I’ve met some nobles that are real assholes. You’re way better than all of those fuckers.”

Dex laughed again, wow Keefe could listen to that forever. 

Dex sighed. “You know what? Screw it.”

He seemed to steel himself before saying his next sentence. He squeezed his eyes shut tightly. 

“Are you dating Fitz?”

“What?” Keefe laughed awkwardly. “No, no, no. He’s just a friend.”

“Oh. Then...who were you talking about at the gardens? I- I thought it was Fitz and you guys got together and-”

“No, goodness no. Fitz is great and all but...well he’s just not my type. And he’s been dating Tam for a while now.”

“Oh I uh...I didn’t notice.” Dex’s face flushed furiously. “Who were you talking about then?”

Keefe met his eyes. “Depends, who were you talking about?”

He didn’t answer but his silence spoke more than any words could.

Keefe scooted closer and cupped Dex’s face in his hand. He looked into the boys periwinkle eyes.

“Dex, can I kiss you?”

“Please?”

And they did.

When Keefe heard descriptions of kissing the same gender, they always said that it felt wrong somehow. But this...this only felt right. Like he had been waiting his whole life for the moment when he met the gardener boy’s cracked lips. They weren’t soft, and the kiss was a bit awkward, but it just felt...correct. Keefe chased the kiss slightly when they finally had to pull away. 

A shy smile spread across Dex’s face.

Keefe leaned back in.

~*~

Keefe walked out onto the newly-built stage in front of the castle and looked upon his people. His ceremonial robe was itchy and too large for him.

Cassius was no where to be seen. He had just...run away. The day of the wedding was the day he broke. The kingdom had been sovereignless for the last month, coronations couldn't be rushed. 

Typically the previous king would place the crown upon the head of the new ruler. Because Cassius seemed to run away in the night with nothing more than a clump of riches, Keefe got to choose who would crown him. 

“Friends and subjects of the Kingdom of Eternalia,” Oralie started. “Today, we crown a new ruler. A ruler to put the people first. A ruler who will not sleep until every one of his people is fed. A ruler to unite us.”

Keefe never realized how long winded Oralie was. Looking into the crowd, he spotted Sophie. She wore a sour expression.

Sophie never was a fan of Oralie, she wouldn’t tell him why. 

“Prince Keefe has shown a care for his people deeper than any king before him.”

She could say that again. Keefe found Dex in the crowd, absolutely beaming.

“In the time I have had the honor of teaching him in my lessons, he has shown a willingness to learn. An ability to adapt. And a knowledge of the system as well as its successes and failures deeper than anyone else his age.

And yes, it is truly a shame that a king must be crowned this young, but I have no doubt that in time he will do right by our great kingdom.”

Oralie walked over to him, her pink flowy dress trailing behind her. She picked up the ceremonial crown off the pillow that a servant was holding.

“Prince Keefe of Eternalia, do you promise to uphold the law and do what is right for your people to the best of you abilities?”

“I do.”

“And do you promise to preserve the honor of our nation?”

“I do.”

A loud voice came from the crowd.

“AND DO YOU PROMISE TO NOT LET CASSI-ASS BACK INTO THE THRONE ROOM?” Keefe could tell it was Marella, but no one else had to know that.

He cracked a smile. “I do.”

Oralie chuckled too.

“In that case, Keefe Sencen of Eternalia, with this crown I deem you King of Eternalia. May you have a long and peaceful reign.”

The heavy crown was placed upon his head. The crowd cheered and chanted, his friends yelled the loudest. Keefe saw as Fitz lifted Biana on his shoulders, they all hugged and screamed excitedly. 

Who he noticed most of all was Dex. His bright smile in that moment was worth everything he’d been through. 

Maybe he had found someone he didn’t mind being with.

~*~

Like most days, it was a somewhat quiet day at the castle. 

Keefe looked up from his painting to study the gardens, once called the Queen’s Gardens, but that was ages ago. The wall that once surrounded the beautiful landscape was knocked down a very long time ago. 

Keefe smiled as he spotted Dex tending to some ivy that had grown on one of the ancient statues. Even being a king couldn’t keep his husband from assisting the gardeners. 

Tomorrow, some old friends were visiting. That in itself wasn’t particularly special, as they visited at least twice a year (usually more), but tomorrow was special because it was the anniversary of the Great Wedding Destruction as historians had come to call it. 

How many years had it been? 300? 400? One tends to forget. 

After 50 years or so, they admitted to planning the whole event. By then, Keefe had already convened with the councillors to pass same gender marriage and gotten married to Dex. The law couldn’t exactly do much, it had been a while and no one was injured so any fear of being charged with treason was history.

A few minutes later, Dex trudged into Keefe’s art studio. 

“Hey lovey, do you know where I put the high-power garden clippers?”

“I hope in your lab, but you might want to check the kitchens.”

“Why would they be in the kitchens?”

“Heard some buzzing coming from there and last time I saw the nieces they had frosting all over their faces.”

Chaos ran in the Dizznee family. 

Dex sighed as they heard a loud bang followed by an “Oops.” from downstairs. 

“Gosh if Rex doesn’t pick up his children soon...I won’t do anything but I’ll be sour about it.”

Keefe chuckled. “You might want to go check on them, wouldn’t want them to break your invention. If they haven’t already.”

Dex hummed noncommittally. “Whatcha drawing?”  

“Just a boring landscape...that happens to include a dragon.”

Dex leaned over the easel. “It’s a very pretty boring landscape that happens to include a dragon.”

“Thank you very much, dearest.” Keefe leaned over to kiss him on the cheek. “Now you may want to actually check on the girls. I don’t think Elwin can heal severed fingers.”

“Yeah, okay.”

As he walked from the room that used to be Cassius’ office he yelled, “Emily! Leah! Please don’t be killing each other-”

Keefe just smiled. He did that a lot nowadays. 

He hoped these days would last forever.

[yeonchi]

Kisekae Insights #14: Dealing with changing Doctors

The main incarnation of the Doctor in my project is the Fifth Doctor, who is largely based on the BBC Eleventh and Twelfth Doctors. After Steven Moffat and Peter Capaldi announced that they were resigning from the series, I decided that it would be time to begin planning the endgame to my project. This also meant that I would not be adapting the BBC Thirteenth Doctor.

Since my project relied on the BBC episodes, I had to find ways to transition the Doctor into a different character without regenerating him. Take a look at how I got around the regeneration storylines for my project.

For context, the picture at the top is meant to show the Fifth Doctor’s appearance in the Moushouden Series, which is essentially Matt Smith’s face on Peter Capaldi’s costume. I remember someone posted something like this on Facebook years ago. Saving it never occurred to me and by the time I wanted to find it, it was either lost or deleted, so that’s why I decided to recreate it myself. I may not be an artist, but I know a thing or two about putting transparent PNGs on other backgrounds.

Eleventh to Twelfth

The Next Gen Series largely takes place between The Day of the Doctor and The Time of the Doctor, but without Clara. Clara was dropped off at home just after Hiroki and Akari’s wedding and she would not return until Series 10.

So how did I deal with The Time of the Doctor? The Siege of Trenzalore happened concurrently to the events of the Series 9 finale, which was a lot shorter than the 900 years as shown in the original episode.  Like in the original episode, the Daleks ended up being the only aliens fighting against the Doctor and the Silence; the downscaling of the timeline makes the other aliens look like absolute jokes. Hiroki would have interactions with the Doctor in between his involvement in the Battle of Sekigahara and the Ōsaka Campaign.

At the same time that Hiroki and his comrades are attacking Honnōji and Nijō Castle, the Daleks are unleashing an all-out attack on Trenzalore. A Dalek confronts the Doctor at the top of the clock tower and accidentally taps into his hatred for the Daleks after scanning him, leading the Dalek to begin exterminating some Daleks before being exterminated himself. Handles dies when a Dalek shoots him.

The Daleks only retreated from Trenzalore after Hiroki enters an Osterhagen Station some distance away from Honnōji. The Time Lords also close up the crack in the wall as well. The Doctor heads back to Earth as it is destroyed and restored by God in a literal deus ex machina. He goes back to Earth to find Hiroki and the story continues from there.

That was the first part of the transition which I did in 2014. The second part of the transition took place in 2017 with the first episode of Series 10, The Advent of the Doctor, which was partially inspired by Deep Breath. Clara rejoined the Doctor when she answered an ad in a newspaper (that was placed by Missy). When Hiroki and Akari were firing cannons at each other, the Doctor threw his coat in the way, causing it to be destroyed. His new costume debuts at the end of the episode.

The regeneration scene in the TARDIS did not go to waste as I used it in an alternate telling of Hiroki’s regeneration into his final incarnation. In the original version, I used the War Doctor’s regeneration to show Momoka’s regeneration into Hiroki, but in the alternate version, the regeneration reset Momoka into her previous incarnation before he went back home to say goodbye to Akari.

Twelfth to Thirteenth

This was a bit more complicated to plan out, but the execution is less complicated because unlike the last section, it doesn’t involve a lot of things happening at the same time. I also aimed to answer a question that was raised with The Name of the Doctor – if the history of the Siege of Trenzalore was changed, how could the Clara echoes have existed?

The background to this stems from the fact that the Fifth Doctor’s incarnation is the final one. With the Doctor being born from Hiroki, a pocket of regeneration energy remained in the latter, which he would use to regenerate into his various incarnations and prototypes (using up portions of that pocket in the process). When the First Doctor was forced to exile, he was forced to regenerate even though his subsequent incarnation was still considered the same as his previous one. Additionally, as stated in #2, timeline splits caused Doctor Whooves, the Pony Doctor and Jee Gun to be spawned from the Fourth Doctor’s regeneration into the Fifth. They were given a pocket of regeneration energy each, which would allow them to regenerate once (the Pony Doctor gave his to Doctor Whooves, so he could regenerate twice). As a result, the Doctor was only able to regenerate six times (including the War Doctor’s regeneration), though he had enough regeneration energy to spare, which he used to heal River Song’s hand and give strength to Antoni (who would attempt to steal it to give to the Daleks).

In order to set up the transition, we need to go back to the Series 11 (BBC Series 9) finale, Hell Bent. In that episode, the Doctor had Rassilon and the High Council banished from Gallifrey. They ended up on Earth in 2003 just in time to bear witness to the start of the Last Great Time War on Earth. While three members of the High Council stayed in Hong Kong to observe the Time War, Rassilon and the remaining members inserted themselves into higher positions at UNIT Central Control in Geneva. They ensured that the authorities would turn a blind eye to the chaos going on as a result of the Time War (because children fighting in wars is an issue in other countries but not in my project).

We then move to the third Space Squad movie, which takes place following the end of Gokaiger. In 2018, Rassilon became obsessed with getting his revenge on the Doctor for banishing him from Gallifrey and allied with Fūmakūdō, the villain group of the Space Squad movies (Fūmakūdō is the project’s counterpart of Genmaku and the name is derived from the villain groups of the three Space Sherriff series, namely Makuu, Madou and Fuuma). He goes to UNIT HQ and tells them that they are decommissioning the Superhero Project. At the same time, he has the Doctor’s TARDIS taken from the UNIT hangar (as he was on the GokaiGalleon for the duration of the series) before he brings it into the Makū Dimension.

Rassilon then uses the TARDIS’ Eye of Harmony to power up the Axis Converter, causing the console to explode and expose the heart of the TARDIS as the Makū Dimension expands throughout time and space, opening up portals everywhere. Later, Rassilon confronts the Doctor in Trenzalore. Before the Doctor can morph, however, Rassilon uses his gauntlet to freeze him in place before fast-forwarding time around him. The alien fleets attack Trenzalore and the TARDIS becomes the tombstone the Doctor saw when he first arrived on Trenzalore. Rassilon lets go of time and disappears.

The Doctor goes into his TARDIS and discovers that its history has been damaged along with the console. He decides to merge himself with the exposed heart of the TARDIS, causing the centre column to become a direct link into his timestream. At the same time, he also discovers that the TARDIS’ timestream has been split in two between himself and Hiroki, allowing Hiroki’s version of The Name of the Doctor to happen alongside the original version.

Being inside the heart of the TARDIS for too long is no better than looking into the Time Vortex. The Doctor plans to use his regenerative energy to repair the TARDIS and the timelines, but he is forced to stop when the events of the episode happen. The Great Intelligence damages the Doctor’s timeline, but Clara undoes the damage. When the past Doctor goes in to save Clara, the present Doctor uses his strength to maintain the stability of his timeline. The Doctor’s timeline has been fixed, but there is still a little damage that the Clara echoes forgot to fix, specifically around the start of his current incarnation’s life.

It is then that Ritsu Tainaka learns of her alternate self’s status in 1968 New York as an echo of herself. By the time everyone meets at the damaged TARDIS on Trenzalore, the Doctor’s past self has already left. She goes into the Doctor’s timestream and sends an echo of herself to patch the last of the damage. With his timeline repaired, the Doctor repairs the TARDIS and brings Ritsu out of the heart as they join with their comrades to defeat Rassilon for good.

Following the Monk invasion (which Australia managed to fend off for six months), UNIT summons the Doctor as they need the TARDIS to process the physical checkups of all Rangers and Riders. They discover that the Doctor is in his final incarnation and that he had built up a resistance to severe injury through fighting as GokaiRed. He passed on his powers to Kai following Rassilon’s defeat, meaning that he has now lost that resistance over the seventy years he spent guarding the Vault.

The events of the Series 12 (BBC Series 10) finale happened and the Doctor regenerated, but his appearance didn’t change. Upon crashing into the Barrier Base’s core (without damaging the Base itself), he is met by Hiroki, Akari and Brigadier Cheng Xieyun. The Doctor is taken to the sickbay, but when three generals from UNIT Central Control (namely the three members of the High Council) take over, they have the Doctor teleported to Geneva.

During a fight with the High Council, who were working with Madame Kovarian of the Silence, the Doctor is shocked by a group of Silents before being finished off by Kovarian. The Doctor is killed, but he comes back to life, now knowing what happened to him and why he didn’t change his appearance when he regenerated. When the Doctor merged himself with the TARDIS to repair it, it knew the Doctor had no regenerations left and so, gave him energy from the Time Vortex to repair both itself and the Doctor, but the full potential of his abilities wouldn’t be awakened until his regeneration, of which an extra one was gifted to him by the TARDIS.

As a result, the Doctor and his TARDIS are now one with each other. The Doctor is immortal as long as the TARDIS isn’t destroyed, although the same can’t really be said for the opposite because it would be too overkill. The chameleon circuit has been repaired so that the TARDIS can change its internal or external appearance at will. At the same time, the Doctor has also become a part of the chameleon circuit, meaning that he can also change appearance at will. However, the Doctor can decide to keep his and the TARDIS’ current appearances for the sake of familiarity.

Following this bout of exposition, the High Council are defeated and Madame Kovarian was taken to the Papal Mainframe, where she was tried for her crimes before Mother Superious Tasha Lem. The Doctor rejoins the Gokaigers and alternates between the TARDIS and GokaiGalleon. Technically, this new incarnation is known as the Infinity Doctor, but for all intents and purposes, he will continue to be known as the Fifth Doctor.

This has been my way of getting around the Doctor’s regeneration storylines for the sake of my project along with an alternate interpretation of what happened to the Doctor after Twice Upon a Time. Timeless Child, eat your heart out. I’d take this over that confusing storyline about the Doctor’s ascension and descension from absolute godhood.

[lilyvandersteen]

Out of the Blue: Chapter 3

Cover art: @redheadgleek​

Beta extraordinaire: @hkvoyage​

Author’s Note:

I'm in a terrible mood whenever I haven't slept enough, and Blaine in this story is just as moody and irritable when sleep-deprived :-) You have been warned!

Chapter 3: Mr. Grumps Down in the Dumps

Mr. Bingley had soon made himself acquainted with all the principal people in the room; he was lively and unreserved, danced every dance, was angry that the ball closed so early, and talked of giving one himself at Netherfield. Such amiable qualities must speak for themselves. What a contrast between him and his friend! Mr. Darcy danced only once with Mrs. Hurst and once with Miss Bingley, declined being introduced to any other lady, and spent the rest of the evening in walking about the room, speaking occasionally to one of his own party. His character was decided. He was the proudest, most disagreeable man in the world, and everybody hoped that he would never come there again. Amongst the most violent against him was Mrs. Bennet, whose dislike of his general behaviour was sharpened into particular resentment by his having slighted one of her daughters.

(An excerpt from Pride and Prejudice, by Jane Austen)

That Saturday, Blaine was in a horrible mood. He’d been woken in the middle of the night by loud squeals. Cooper’s latest conquest was a screamer, it seemed. What’s more, she hadn’t left discreetly after the hook-up. Instead, she stayed for breakfast, never noticing how her shrill peppiness made both Anderson brothers wince, and she addressed Blaine like he was a child. Now, he’d be the first to admit that he wasn’t too tall and that he looked young, but he looked teenager young, not toddler young.

When she exclaimed over his ‘cute curls’, and threaded her fingers through them, he gritted through his teeth, “Don’t touch me!” and stomped away, his stomach growling in protest when he left his breakfast half finished.

He was working on an essay for school when Cooper came in and flung himself onto Blaine’s bed. “She’s gone, squirt.”

“Don’t call me squirt,” Blaine snapped. “And good riddance. You sure know how to pick them, ugh.”

“She had great boobs.”

“That must have been the only great thing about her.”

Cooper tilted his head to the side, conceding the point.

“And now I’m starving because she chased me away from breakfast!”

Cooper chuckled. “Aw, Blainey, you didn’t like having your curls played with by a beautiful lady?”

Blaine shot him a dark glare, but it only made Coop laugh out loud.

“If you’re only coming here to laugh at me, you can clear out. I have work to do, and I don’t need any distractions.”

Coop rolled onto his stomach. “I came here to touch base about our plans this evening.”

“Plans?”

“The wedding! It starts at 6.30 PM, it says on the invitation. And it’s in Brooklyn, so we should probably leave by 5.30.”

Blaine groaned. He’d forgotten all about the wedding.

“I got you your guitar!” Cooper said, dashing out of the room, and coming back with a gleaming guitar case. “Here you go!”

Blaine’s fingers itched to open the case and try out the guitar, but he had school work to do, so with another groan, he turned away from Cooper and his bribe and focused on his research.

“And I’ll bring you a sandwich. And coffee. Okay?”

True to his word, Cooper brought Blaine food and coffee five minutes later. Blaine grabbed the sandwich right away, bit into it and mumbled a fervent thanks.

“5.30, squirt, don’t forget!”

Blaine, his mouth full to bursting, just nodded, letting the ‘squirt’ slide for now. Getting food in his system was more important. Ah, but he was hungry!

K&B

At four o’clock that afternoon, Cooper bounded back into Blaine’s room.

“Blainey… Shouldn’t you be getting ready for the wedding? I know how long it takes for you to fix your curls and make yourself pretty!”

Blaine let out a deep sigh. “All right, all right, I’ll stop working and hop into the shower.”

Cooper beamed. “I’ll be in the living room.”

“Oh, Coop? What did you buy them as a wedding present?”

“The pet pavilion, of course! They’re going to be so pleased!”

Blaine rolled his eyes. “If you want me to tag along, buy a NORMAL present in my name, please. You can waste your money on this ridiculous overpriced cat stuff, but I want to give the brides something useful.”

“Like what?” Cooper asked.

“Like a nice duvet. Or a set of bath-towels. Or some top-of-the-range kitchen stuff. Let me see the invitation, please?”

Cooper went to fetch it, and handed it to Blaine, who looked up the wedding registry. He was pleased to see that the brides had, in the meantime, added regular stuff like pots and pans and a clothes hamper.

“Get me that set of fruit bowls. That’s a nice gift.”

                        Cooper saluted. “Consider it done. A fabulous gift from me and a boring one from you.”

By the time Blaine was showered and groomed and suited up, Cooper had bought a beautiful bouquet of flowers with a congratulations card for the brides as well, and handed it to him with a wide smile. “All set now! Let’s go!”

When the town car came to a halt at the address mentioned on the invitation, Blaine frowned as he got out. The neighborhood looked derelict. And the people hanging around seemed a little too interested in Cooper’s gleaming car, which stood out like a sore thumb.

Blaine shivered and hoped they wouldn’t get mugged. That was all he needed to ruin the day further.

Cooper seemed to get the same vibe, and said to their chauffeur, “Best not stay here, Bill. I’ll call you when I need you to come pick us up.”

“Right, sir. Good evening, sir.”

And the car drove off. At once, Blaine felt very vulnerable. Holding the bouquet, he wouldn’t be able to fight if someone were to attack him.

“Let’s go inside,” he urged Cooper.

The building looked just as run-down on the inside. There was no elevator, and the stairs were worn and creaky.

The apartment numbers weren’t clearly indicated, but there was music floating down, so they only had to follow the sound to find the right place.

When Cooper knocked, nobody seemed to hear him. Not the first time, not the second, nor the third. After five tries, Blaine huffed, shoved the flowers at his brother, and tried to open the door. It slid open easily to reveal a loud and colorful chaos. All the guests were clapping and dancing, and in the middle were two gorgeous women in white dresses, singing Valerie and dancing with each other and giggling.

“Well, nothing like jumping straight into the party,” Cooper said. He put the flowers and the card on the nearest table and joined the dancers.

Blaine stayed where he was, looking at the brides and their guests and feeling very much out of place.

“Ooooh,” the brunette bride sighed as she sank onto the sofa after the song. “You know, Britts, that was the first time. That I felt like… I wanted to be with you forever. You were dancing with Mike, and I came to dance next to you, and you smiled. And I just knew. That you were the one.”

“Awwww,” Cooper cooed loudly, and more than just the brides’ heads snapped up.

“Oh, the last guests have arrived!” said a clear, high voice. “Welcome, welcome!”

The voice belonged to a tall man with blue eyes, a high coif and a clear complexion. He was dressed in a velvet burgundy three-piece suit that hugged him in all the right places.

Blaine felt attraction flare up bright and wild, but squashed it quickly when he saw that Mr. Gorgeous only had eyes for Cooper. Figures. Who’d see me next to Coop?

He wished he could just disappear. Nobody wanted him here anyway, not even Cooper, who was charming everyone already and having a splendid time, so it seemed.

But he felt himself grabbed by the arm as Coop loudly proclaimed, “And this is my younger brother Blaine. He was in show choir too!”

Blaine, taken off-guard, could do no more than say, “Uh, hi!”

Coop whispered in Blaine’s ear, “Smile! I saw you looking at the fashionable guy. If you want him, hit him with that Anderson charm!”

Blaine did as he was told, but he might as well have been invisible for all the reaction he got - a few polite nods and a once-over from a few of the girls. Mr. Gorgeous didn’t even spare him a glance. He was too busy sucking up to Coop, and mentioning emphatically that he was single, and hadn’t had much luck in love so far. Unlike Ohio, where he was from, New York City had plenty of gay men, but none that wanted to commit, it seemed.

Coop nodded. “I know what you mean. I’m not ready to settle down yet, but my brother is, and he tells me the same as you.”

Coop helpfully pointed to Blaine again, but Mr. Gorgeous didn’t look his way.

Blaine sank deeper into his sulk, scowling when Mr. Gorgeous urged everyone to head up the fire escape to the roof for the ceremony and then went up the stairs right in front of him, flaunting his endless legs and perfect ass in pants that seemed painted on.

He paid little attention to the ceremony, though he noticed that the man officiating was delectable too, tall, dark and handsome, and with a smile that rivalled Cooper’s in charm and intensity.

After the ceremony, Mr. Gorgeous and a tiny loud brunette went around with sparkling wine and platters of hors d’oeuvres. There was a wide assortment of finger food, all of it delicious, and for dessert a cake that was light and fluffy and so scrumptious that Blaine indulged in it until his stomach hurt, and then he felt disgusted with himself and even grumpier than before. He sat down on the nearest chair, feeling queasy, and hoping that Coop wouldn’t stay too long.

The brides’ first dance was beautiful. Even in the midst of his sulk, he had to admit that. Their faces were radiant, their moves were flawless, and they were perfectly in sync at all times. After the dance was over, they stayed put for another while, holding on to each other and whispering in low voices, punctuating each sentence with a kiss.

It wasn’t until the others joined them on the makeshift dance floor that it dawned on Blaine he had seen hide nor hair of the brides’ parents. Wasn’t it customary to have a father-daughter dance? And where were the drunk uncles and the loud aunts? Come to think of it, Blaine hadn’t seen anyone around from another age bracket than his own. Well, except for Cooper.

Even the officiant looked student-aged. Hmm…

Blaine looked around at the terrace. Tastefully decorated, yes, but it had clearly been done on a shoestring budget.

The food, too, however stellar, had all been clearly home-made, including the wedding cake. The sparkling wine had tasted great, but it had definitely not been champagne.

When he heard police sirens cut through the music for a moment, all his misgivings about the neighborhood came back with a vengeance, and he wondered who on earth would want to get married in a place like that.

It was nice enough for a party, he had to give them that. Lots of room, good acoustics. But it had more of a party vibe than it screamed wedding.

He headed to the table that held the presents from people who hadn’t bought something from the wedding registry, and got even more suspicious. The only decent gift on the table was a set of crystal champagne glasses in a silver bucket, donated by someone who called herself Sugar. The rest was a mishmash of cheap kitchen accessories and low-quality booze. How anyone could think a six-pack of Budweiser constituted a proper wedding gift, Blaine couldn’t fathom.

Nearby stood a tray with wedding favors. Blaine raised his eyebrows at the tulle bags holding a few tea lights. It was elegantly done, yes, calligraphed with the brides’ names and a romantic quotation, but again, they had kept their expenses as low as possible.

If they were all this poor, how on earth had they gotten acquainted with Cooper? The Andersons were an old money family, and Cooper had struck out on his own and become richer still. He hung out with celebrities and other billionaires all the time. When and where would he have met the brides? Did they actually know him at all? Or did they just send the invite to angle for a handsome gift? That was it, wasn’t it? Cooper had been duped into spending a fortune on that stupid pet mansion, or whatever it was! And they probably weren’t even getting married for real, and this was all a sham for Coop’s benefit!

Blaine was livid in Cooper’s stead, and stewed in silence until the brunette bride tapped on the bedazzled pink microphone they were now using for karaoke, shushed everyone and thanked all the guests for coming, and in particular Kurt (pointing to Mr. Gorgeous), who was the best friend anyone had ever had, and who had planned the whole wedding, apparently.

Cooper whooped and clapped, and Blaine couldn’t keep it to himself any longer, so he let it all out.

“Okay, this charade stops NOW! Maybe you fooled Cooper, but I can see right through you. This whole party is as fake as all get out! If it were real, you’d be getting married with your family surrounding you, not with just a handful of friends! If it were real, you’d have chosen an actual wedding venue, instead of this… this dump in the middle of nowhere! If it were real, you’d have had everything handled by professionals, instead of taking advantage of your friend to whip something up on the cheap for you. And all that for what? For that ridiculous pet pavilion that Cooper shelled out good money for? Is that really worth all this deception? You disgust me! You’re awful to take advantage of my brother this way, and I won’t stand for it!”

As soon as Blaine had gotten it all off his chest, he looked at everyone’s shocked faces and felt awful. Had he misjudged? The brides seemed aghast at his accusations, the guests looked at him like he was a train wreck happening, and Kurt… Gorgeous Kurt glared at him as if he wanted to tear Blaine limb from limb.

[unimpressedperson]

ishin-denshin

(I found that picture in @seoulicons . Thank you for posting that)

Genre: Fluff, Angst

Warnings: I mentioned Expensive Girl and sex, so yeah, nothing here is pure. Also, there are mentions of self-harm, so please, if it’s triggering tell me and I’ll change it :) Your mental health should always come first :)

Pairing: Min Yoongi x @emerson-moonchild, Min Yoongi x Reader

Word Counting: 6.2k

Synopsis: Min Yoongi and Emerson had a profound connection, so deep and supernatural that not even themselves understood it. However, nothing is pure bliss and flowers, when everything seems wrong and the connecting fades with time, then their love shall be proven with no otherwise.

A/N: Hey Em!! It’s finally here! I finished your oneshot + poem. Yes!! I mentioned The Chaos Club and paired them with BTS, but tried not to focus on them. Even though it finished with over SIX THOUSAND WORDS, I had to stop myself and not include random and unnecessary stuff, like interactions between characters without the starring roles presence (Yoongi and Emerson). Oh, before I continue, I changed the band’s name, it’s shitty, but I even wrote one verse of ‘Clarividencia’ (the BTL song mentioned). Hope it’s good! You deserve the best Em, or should I begin calling you ‘cutie pie’? Lol Sorry for my bad grammar and hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing :)

- x - x - x -

Min Yoongi took a long sip on his coffee, dark and, ironically, sugar-free. He enjoyed small ironies and always drank from them, maybe it worked as fuel to his personality. Despite from the cute face and artistic name, Yoongi enjoyed how people were amazed about the personality flashed: rebel, serious, sarcastic, a human with a stone cold heart pumping blood and rage to his organs.

Well, that's how outsiders saw him, reality was insanely different. Emerson knew it, she dig down so deep in Yoongi's emotions, finding a butter heart with so much love stored. Whilst drinking tea from a ridiculously adorned cup, she analyzed his soft expressions and occasional wrinkling nose whenever the bitterness hit his taste buds.

– Tea is just leaf juice, you know, right? - Yoongi asked, not glaring straight at Emerson.

– So what? It's delicious. - Emerson answered, taking a long and loud sip from the salmon and cream coloured cup, raising her pinky. - Coffee is just juice from beans. Water is juice from ice cubes.

– You are so british sometimes. - The man said and turned to look at Emerson, grinning slightly at her cuteness and rosy cheeks.

– Well, my identity backs you up on that. I'm british, living in London, drinking tea in a british coffee shop, listening to british news on television, presented by a british journalist, graduated in a british university, working for a british television broadcast channel. You are the foreigner here, love. - She said serious, but smiling, fingers stuck around the cup, steam warming her face.

– I know. Everything is so british. Even our songs are getting british. - Yoongi said and finished his cup of coffee with a short sip. - Yesterday Taehyung sang with british accent, even the verses in korean. We were surprised and Namjoon almost collapsed cuz one of the words sounded like 'yadong', which is porn in korean.

– I'm surprised one of your songs never mentioned 'yadong', since it's a rock band with pretty explicit musics. - She giggled remembering the first time Yoongi allowed her to listen 'Expensive Girl', their first song that exploded in SoundCloud, and as soon as Bangtan Lads made a career outside Korea, the track was deleted, only officially existing in personal files from every member.

– Don't you throw 'Expensive Girl' at me, it was Jin and Namjoon's idea to release it. - Yoongi said and raised one of his eyebrows slightly.

They were sitting on a table close to the window, sun shining bright outside, breaking through the typical whitish smoke accumulated all over London's atmosphere. The cafè was one of those overrated places, charging abusive prices for a cup of plain coffee, walls painted in a very dirty shade of cream, matching the fancy cups (the owner would never admit it, but Emerson knew they were bought in Walmart, part of a special edition paying homage to Duke William and Duchess Kate wedding), wooden floor well polished, and secondhand machines.

– Why do we insist in coming here anyways? There is nothing special or marvelously tasty, and the prices are salty, even for my rich ass. - Yoongi said, listening the annoying creek sound from the old, and possibly thriftshopped, brown chair.

– Because it's small, quiet and mainly because your fans won't flash boobs outside the window, since they would never imagine rockstar Min Yoongi having a coffee with his girlfriend in a place like that. - Emerson said, staring the street along with Yoongi.

– Yeah, that day we went to Starbucks was insane. Who would imagine someone is actually willing to lift the blouse and get arrested in exchange of an autograph? - Yoongi said and chuckled.

– That day was intense and weird. Her boobs were beautiful, though. Round and symmetrical. Your face tattooed on the nipples also looked good. - Emerson said and smirked in a dorky way, leading Yoongi to chuckle even louder. - Who would ever guess that your nose has the exact shape of a nipple? The fan was a genius, we got to admit.

Yoongi left all the weight from his upper body heavy on the chair back, staring at the ceiling and inhaling deeply, exhaling and repeating. He swallowed a puddle of spit pooling on his tongue and looked back at Emerson, finishing her tea with a short sip and folding back the napkin.

– Fame is so good sometimes. Don't take me wrong, I love making music, being rich and travelling around the globe, but the occasional harassment bothers a lot. - Yoongi said tapping his fingers on the table.

Emerson reached his arm and caressed lightly the skin covered with a sweatshirt. Yoongi inclined to the side, laying his head on table, feeling his girlfriend's fingers petting his black hair. Sometimes words weren't required, silence had a lot to say, loud, actions could hold even more significance.

– I love you, cutie pie. - Yoongi mumbled, cheeks squeezed against the wood, but words still bright and clear.

– I love you too, Yoongles. - Emerson replied, still feeling his smooth wires against her skin. Soft touches coming from both sides.

Whoever saw Min Yoongi up spitting on a microphone, saying raw words about political struggles, sex, mental health, life and a few songs based on stories, possibly thought of him as a rough person. No one would ever imagine his soft side, everyone always glanced over and focused on Suga, not Yoongi. The opposition between personality shown and stage name enchanted and intrigued.

Yoongi only allowed a few people to witness his actual personality.

Opening up and letting someone unknown in his personal space, oh it always represented a problem to Yoongi. A lonely soul that hardly had friends, only close to a few people. Bangtan Lads represented friendship and family.

Namjoon, Hoseok, Jungkook, Seokjin, Jimin and Taehyung flew from Korea to England with him after achieving worldwide success, for the sake of their fame moving to a place rather connected to alternative rock sounded as a clever change. Seven korean boys, carrying a bag with worn-out clothes, instruments and golden discs. Simplicity and luxe. Millions of fans, artists and new faces, yet Yoongi only felt truly comfortable around his bandmates.

After a few months living in England, conceding daily interviews and working like horses in new musics, Yoongi decided to try and join a dating app. Hoseok met a few women through Tinder, but happily found Taylor, friends with benefits at first, but a few months later his girlfriend. Witnessing one of the lads glad in a relationship inspired Yoongi, he even paid for Tinder Gold, regretting immensely after two dates and realizing sex could be good, but lacked connections. He needed to connect with that person, deeply to a point where her heartbeat felt like music.

Lonely and slowly giving up, Yoongi felt his heart flutter when Emerson appeared like a butterfly on his eventful yet boring life. Emerson emerged from a calm life working as music critic for Rolling Stones, to the love of Yoongi’s life and his main inspiration.

Everything began when Emerson went to work and received the task of interviewing a korean band. Apparently someone was sick and everyone else had more important stuff to do. She accepted and decided to use the original agenda, adding a few questions and studying every member.

Those who believe would say it was love at first sight, a connection between souls. Not even a word flew across the room, but Yoongi felt butterflies on his stomach and heart beating faster. For a single moment, he even considered the idea of end having a heart attack, because in years no one ever made him feel like that. Emerson lost words and suddenly, there were only Emerson and Yoongi in a room, not the whole Bangtan Lads.

That same day they had dinner together. Chatted, danced and traded cellphone numbers. Instead of going back to his place, Emerson took him to her home and they watched a movie.

For the first time in a almost a whole year living in England, Min Yoongi felt a connection.

- x - x - x -

– I swear that Zeus’s nutsack is the best position ever. - Namjoon said and threw the notebook in Jungkook’s direction, watching him grab it and read all lyrics written down.

– And why should we sing about that? - Seokjin asked raising one eyebrow, expression deadly serious, grabbing his can of Coca-Cola and sipping from the white straw. - I love doggy style, but would never write a whole goddamn song about it.

– I agree with Jin, the world doesn’t need to know what you and Bárbara are up to. I never wanted to know. - Taehyung said and nodded in Jin’s direction, whilst curling a lock of brown hair on his fingertip. - Honestly, I think you need vacations, your ideas are getting cornier, hornier and grossier.

– Let the man live, you guys! - Hoseok said and took the notebook off Jungkook’s hand, being punched in return. - I don’t even know how the fuck is Zeus’s Nutsack, but if our smartpants wants to write about his experience, allow him to do so. - He gazed down at the lyrics on his hands and chuckled. - Sorry Joon, but this time I’m with Tae and Jin, I won’t sing it.

– Please guys! We are an alternative rock band who has three songs about sex, we need something to bring sexy back during the concerts or fans will feel bored. It’s been two tours since Jimin showed his abs during ‘Clarividencia’ for the last time. People are commenting on Twitter. - Namjoon said and pouted.

– Let’s vote. It’s a democracy, isn’t it? - Yoongi asked, emerging from his big and fluff chair and bending down, his upper body supported by the elbows firmly planted on his skinny thighs. - I vote to burn that shit and never mention it again.

Everyone in the studio laughed, except for Namjoon, he shrunk on his spot and turned the page, sketching and randomly drawing circles, looking for inspiration in something other than intercourse. Yoongi watched everyone leave the studio and sat beside him.

– Remember when we first recorded a full-length album and korean managers wanted us to become a pop? They saw potential in every single one of us, but wanted a profitable artist. - Yoongi laid his head on Namjoon's shoulder. - Thankfully we took our content and moved to an indie recording studio. Can you possibly imagine us as Bangtan Sonyeondan? BTS not BTL? We discussed the idea, and the first sketch of success wasn't the right one. Maybe that song is like BTS, a bit more of thought and time may turn it into BTL.

– Are you saying that I should focus less on the movements itself? The song is pretty explicit, so should I use better metaphors? - Namjoon asked, still not looking at Yoongi, but the older man saw a sparkle run through his eyes, like a lightbulb shining with new ideas flowing through his synapses.

– We can work on it later, right now I want to prepare a surprise to Emerson. Can you believe we've been together for 5 years already?

– Yeah, half a decade. - Namjoon said, sighing deeply. - What do you have in mind?

– I'm gonna propose. - Yoongi smiled, a gummy grin with feelings running off the edge. - I've been planning it for two years now. When we completed our third anniversary, Emerson wrote a post on her personal Tumblr about our relationship, mentioning a few situations and funny moments from day to day. That same day I wanted to make a song, but it's easy, within hours I could finish a masterpiece and the effort would be almost none, so I decided to step up my game a little and began writing a book. Poems about her, our partnership, my feelings, everything.

– It's really thoughtful of you, Yoongs. - Namjoon wrote a few random lines on his notebook and turned to look at his friend. - And some folks still dare to claim you are not a romantic guy.

In fact, not even Yoongi saw himself as someone surfing on romance, usually writing about politics and books. Focusing in feelings and matters related to relationship never appealed. He became responsible for most tracks talking about issues of immigrating from Korea to England, emphasizing that fame changed how they saw him, but xenephobia still existed. Bangtan Lads received a Grammy Nomination for ‘Golden Borders’, a whole album shoving in people’s ears how shittily they treated immigrants, but still wished from heart to live in USA.

Using ‘Golden Borders’ as the soundtrack, Emerson made researches and released a documentary about immigrants, showing the ridiculous racism and highlighting double-standards in how right-wing parties treated foreigners victims of war and those just running from economic crisis, but still wealthy. She also reported how politicians like Donald Trump vertiginously changed the meaning of “immigrants”, not differing someone legal from the illegals.

Yoongi was possibly the proudest boyfriend ever accompaining his significant other during the premiere of ‘Invisible: The Truth on Immigrating’. Emerson invited a few famous people who immigrated from their home-countries, along with “common” folks.

Maybe he wasn’t the most romantic boyfriend ever, but still knew how to encourage Emerson. During their relationship, Yoongi convinced her of writing two books, one script for a movie, produce two documentaries and demand her own column on Rolling Stones site. Whilst she inspired and gave ideas to two albums which earned them four Grammy Awards, abetted him into trying something solo, and produce for different artists aside from BTL.

Even though both of them worked massively with media, Emerson and Yoongi never thought about conceding interviews as a couple. Daily invitations for appearances in shows together popped up on their e-mails, but without discussing it they already knew the answer: No.

When asked the reason, Emerson and Yoongi agreed to keep their personal life, well, private. They already shared a few cute moments on Instagram and Tumblr. Why would someone want to dig more into the relationship? Snooping isn't good.

- x - x - x -

– In conclusion. Communism wasn't planned for over populated countries, or planets. - Jade said and chopped in two the turkey sandwich she was holding, taking a bite from one half of it.

Emerson shrugged her shoulders and nodded, agreeing with Jade. Accompanied by Shmailah and Zariah, they were waiting for the reunion with some other journalists from Rolling Stones. The weekly meeting for coming up with ideas to articles, reportages and new ideas for photoshoots to use in scheduled interviews, was about to happen, but only a few professionals were already there.

Usually, the boss bought some goodies to complement and cheer every meeting, but that day in question had food and sandwiches provided by a new diner across the street. They were lolling on burgers, sandwiches and chips, also milkshakes and cherry fizzy drinks.

– My article about nigerian culinary is going smooth. - Zariah said and took a sip from the vanilla milkshake in front of her. - That restaurant I contacted to ask for primary informations, the old lady sent me fried yams. I’m totally sending her a Christmas card and gift, and candy canes for her grandchildren.

– Great! It's so nice when someone values our work and spoils us with small, yet adorable gifts. - Emerson said and dipped one chip in the ketchup sauce. She was sitting curled up, knees touching her chest, not very excited. - By the way, mine about Bollywood is almost done, but I need some new informations. Can you help me, Shims?

– It's not right to assume I know a lot about Bollywood, only based on my bangladeshi heritage… But yes I’m a fucking Bollywood nerd and would love to help. - Shmailah grinned perversely, caressing Emerson's cheek with love, noticing that she seemed a little down lately. - What's up, Em? You don't seem very happy, not even surrounded by your best friends and a whole lot of free junk food.

The parallel conversation between Zariah and Jade quit, suddenly all three pairs of eyes were gazing at Emerson, who felt her cheeks getting warmer. She took another chip and started talking, whilst shaking the potato around, like a wand, before taking a bite and continuing.

– I don't think Yoongi loves me anymore. - She sniffed, swallowing the growing knot in her throat with chips. - We've been together for five years now, but in the last few months he's been a little distant. I know, I know, Yoongi sometimes loses himself inside his own brain, but not distant like that. Far, you know? We used to be so connected, now that connection seems a little faded.

– Oh Emerson. I don't see that happening, ever. - Jade said, bending over the table to grab her fries-less hand. - Yoongi seems so passionate about you. Whenever we go out in group, he only has eyes for you. Like, when Yoongi notices you barely had the opportunity to speak, he always tries to bring you into the conversation. Jimin already witnessed your boyfriend getting distracted and spend several minutes staring at his lockscreen, which is you.

– Totally agree with Jade. Not even dead Yoongi would stop loving you, he would probably find his way back into our spiritual plan only to make sure you are aware of his love. - Shmailah said, watching a shy tear run down Emerson's rosy cheek

– It's so complicated. In the past two months he spent days without showing up at our place, and not caring to tell where he is. Whenever he is around though, the office's chair receives most attention, since Yoongi locks himself there and if I try to get in, he scouts me outside saying it's something related to work. - Emerson tried to swallow the knot again, but now not even milkshake worked, and she sobbed. - Why couldn't I see if it is about work? When he was recording and producing his solo mixtape, I slept on the studio's couch for four days straight, trying to support him. I'd never do anything to ruin whatever he has been working on. We had coffee today at a cafè, but the experience felt so shallow. Small, verging insignificant, talk.

– I’m so sorry to hear that, baby. What if he’s been working in something for you? Like a gift and doesn’t want you to see and spoil the surprise? - Jade asked, raising one eyebrow. - You shouldn’t conclude always the worse, sometimes it is just something you can’t put immediately put together. Consider it and give time to time.

The conversation silenced in the moment everyone else invited to the meeting showed up. Seven other journalists gathered, including the boss, whose appeared holding another tray full of cookies and cupcakes.

– For what it seems like, that diner also has bakery goodies. - Jackie, also know as The Boss, said pushing the tray up on table. - I love so fucking much my job. Whoever don’t can totally stand up and leave, more cupcakes and chips for me, há!

- x - x - x -

Emerson had no time to think about her situation with Yoongi during the afternoon. Work consumed every disposable piece of brain cell, fulfulling a whole week of articles for her column and completing one reportage about self-made millionaires.

However, after leaving the building and heading home, the empty apartment made her shatter out and cry, sobbing and feeling a sudden urge to destroy something. Not only a random object like a glass cup, but something stiffier and harder to fix, like herself. In years working, dating Yoongi and being friends with so many great people, she never felt that need again, honestly, considering the idea of hurting her own body sounded weirdly appealing, after so much improvement, going back felt like a failure.

Maybe the past years left her brain so occupied with every new information, that negative thoughts had no actual space, a little tab in the corner that was muted by Yoongi’s voice. Now, without his presence and strong connection, Emerson silenced all other tabs, only listening to the one where haters were loud, depression and self-harm spoke freely.

Years of self-improvement faded within a pinch, a thin drop of blood coming from her thigh stained the beige pants, and Emerson left the small, yet painful, piece of skin go from between her long nails.

Weak and sobbing, she reunited all forces and stood up from the front door, walking slowly in bedroom’s direction, wishing only to lay down, curl up inbetween the duvets and sleep, ignoring any bad temptations, observing them disappear along with conscience.

Old monsters, some she saw as teenage ghosts, showed up. Emerson felt stupid for harming herself over such a small reason. Independent woman, smart, successful, amazing close friends, and yet the major breakdown in years was happening because of a man. What kind of mean joke could that be?

She wished so hard to pull herself together again, living happily and not getting to precipitated conclusions over small situations. That's it, maybe she was only overreacting. What if she is not? What if the connection between them is, indeed, fading? What if? What? What?

What was their mistake?

What was her mistake?

Was there a mistake?

Cruel trick her own brain was playing. Blackjack with sanity. Poker with happiness. What did she had to bet? Of course, Emerson conquered a lot in years, how much of that could she lose? Golden Globe? Literature prizes? All had her name embedded in wood. Friendships? Weekly night-outs proved that their bond didn't change within years. Why then only Yoongi seemed to slip through her fingers? The only thing she would miss the most, fading like smoke on the water.

Sometimes, the smartest, strongest, toughest people can go through menaces with delight and peace. Though, their inner monsters exist, and can seem small for whoever witnesses from outside, but a spider is a huge matter to a fly. Struggles and fears, perspective changes them.

Judging someone's feelings and fright isn't up to us.

- x - x - x -

That night Yoongi meant to crash down at the studio, but Namjoon showed up close to midnight, accompanied by his girlfriend, a small and chubby woman with wild brown hair, and also followed by Jimin and Jade, Jin and DiLayla. Their Instagram revealed that everyone had dinner, sponsored by a fancy restaurant trading food for audience.

– Why is everyone here grating me with the grace of your presence? Is there a party happening in my studio and I'm not invited? - Yoongi asked sarcastically, saving the new poem written before anyone could ruin it.

– Cut it out, Yoongi. - Jade said taking her thick beige coat off, leaving it on the black couch. - Don't you think you've been spending way too much time working? Stuck in your office or studio?

Her tone seemed mysterious, as if she meant something more than what was actually voiced. Yoongi felt intrigued watching everyone getting comfortable. Were they intervening?

– What is that? An intervention? I don't do drugs. - Yoongi joked, only him laughing, everyone else seemed morosed.

– See Yoongs, we were having dinner and suddenly Emerson became a subject of discussion. - Jin spoke trying to look chill, but very tense. - Jade mentioned that Emerson has been feeling a bit… Ignored lately. Bárbara and DiLayla agreed...

– Let me speak, love. - DiLayla touched Jin's shoulder and stood up. - Emerson mentioned to us that you’ve been working way too much, even at home, and she thinks you don't love her anymore. Basically, she feels like your connection is slowly vanishing.

– Namjoon told us what you've been planning for proposing to her, and honestly, I will take note and use a few of your ideas someday. - Jimin gave a side grin to Jade, watching how she blushed and continued. - But maybe, just maybe, you focused so much on something to her, that kind of forgot her? Not literally, we know you love Emerson with every beat of your heart, your maeum [마음, something like feelings], but you know, you can't starve a man before feeding him…

– What? Emerson is feeling neglected? - Yoongi asked, chocked and feeling his heart breaking.

Yoongi turned the chair around when tears verged to fall, not wanting to face his friends whilst crying. Jin, Jimin and Namjoon only saw him emotionally shattered in two situations. Feeling raw and vulnerable always made him uncomfortable, mainly being stared by people he had no intimacy, like his friends’s girlfriends, they were cool, but not close enough to watch him with guards down.

The young man hated this aspect of him. He despised how inadvertently his mind let things pass without noticing, facts around that could vastly affect his life, personal or professional. Having Emerson always picking up on him about unhealthy habits made it easier to don't die after spending three days living off hard liquor and olives, and overworking.

He wasn't someone mindless, or easily distracted, but Emerson helped him to focus in more than one thing at once, like working, but still resting enough, or channeling the best from every situation. Hiding something from her, avoided the warnings. Without realizing, Yoongi evicted his girlfriend from working aspects of him.

Maybe Jimin was right. He focused so much in doing something for Emerson, that he forgot to live with Emerson.

Goddamn it, Yoongi!

Namjoon looked around and politely asked everyone to leave the studio for a moment. He pulled a chair and sat beside Yoongi, caressing his trembling shoulder.

– I don't think I ever saw you crying over something so simple to solve. - Namjoon whispered, still petting his friend's shoulder. - You know nothing is lost and what to do is actually easy. The solution may ruin a huge surprise, but it is going to soothe a small injure caused by itself.

– What if Emerson has been considering to break up? Oh fuck, Joon! What if I ruined it all? - Yoongi used his sleeves to dry off his tears. - What if everything is so lost that not even all poems I wrote could fix it?

– See, a few weeks ago me and Barbs were talking about couples that gathered together along the past years. - Namjoon said and stopped caressing Yoongi's shoulder. - First, Hoseok and Taylor, then you and Emerson, Jade and Jimin, Di and Jin, me and her, Zariah and Jungkook, and Shims with Tae. I think we created an equilibrium in universe. Everyone is such a great and right match that if at some point one these couples break up, a new Big Bang would happen, cuz the mutual decision could ruin the universal balance.

“I'm not being far-fetched, I swear in the name of Stephen Hawking. - Namjoon spoke and made a cross in his chest. - Sometimes a long-term relationship can go through challenges. Two different people sharing a life of experience cannot live without occasional fights, bickering or arguing. We are human, even the most rational ones can be stubborn. All you have to do is insist. Although, it seems like Emerson loves you as much as you love her, so the only struggle here is distance.”

– You are right, but I’m still feeling like a sucker. - Yoongi snuffled, cleaning the coryza from his runny nose. - But as Emerson already told me, I should learn from my mistakes, then use it on an inspirational song, making my fans wander on what actually gave me the idea to it. - He grinned passionately and turned his cellphone screen on, staring at the lockscreen: a stunning picture of Emerson in Japan, smiling, using a flower crown and surrounded by cherry blossoms. - I love her so much.

Next thing processed by cameras around the building was a very hurry Yoongi grabbing his stuff, leaving a group of friends behind. A determined face, quick steps and then driving fast through the parking lot, tyres screaming like Robert Plant in the beginning of ‘Immigration Song’.

- x - x - x -

Emerson woke up in a startle after hearing the front door banging loudly. Still sleepy, she had no energy to stand up and check what was happening. Sleep whilst crying is exhausting, you wake up psychologically weary. After a few minutes and heavy steps, she heard someone calling her name, more specifically, Yoongi calling chanting her name.

She stood up, bringing one of the duvets along, and walked to the room, where Yoongi was crouched down, sitting on his calfs, typing something on the laptop he settled on the coffee table. When the man side glanced Emerson, he got up on his feet and hugged her, feeling his heart shatter with the small, yet present, dot of blood staining her beige pants.

– I’m so sorry. Forgive me, please… - Yoongi whispered, trying not to cry again, not before actually accomplishing his new goal for the night. Also, his mind was worried about the blood on her leg. - Did you hurt yourself, baby? Oh fuck, did you?

– Why? What did you do? - Emerson questioned feeling his arms around her, resisting before letting the duvet down and hugging him back. - I pinched myself a little too hard, but I swear it wasn't serious. Sorry...

– I was distant and absent from your life, and now you are convinced I don’t love you anymore. - He swallowed the knot on his throat, still trying not to cry. - It’s so dumb, because the only thing I love more than you is my music, but you are the inspiration for my work, so you are my music… And I made you hurt yourself.

– No, please Yoongles, it was a small relapse. Not worth of a fuzz. It won't happen again. - She felt his uneven heart beat against her ear, touching his chest. - Who told you that? Who told you how I was feeling? - Her arms quit hugging him, a tension running through both bodies.

– I don’t know, today I was finishing a project for you in my studio and Namjoon, Jin and Jimin showed up, they were accompained by their girlfriends. They told me how you were feeling and made me realize how far I’ve been, and how cold I acted earlier. - He seemed uncomfortable revealing his sources of information, but the truth would end up appearing anyways.

– Wait a second… - Emerson dried the single tear left running down her cheek and stared Yoongi. - Have you been working in something for me? Like, a surprise? A gift?

Yoongi shrugged his shoulders and nodded. His mind was hazy and the urge to just kneel and propose to Emerson without previous background was slowly taking over his guts. He couldn’t predict her reaction, since every brain cell were occupied on finding the right words. Fortunately, the woman grinned shyly and blushed, gazing down on the laptop.

They sat down in front of the open laptop, his arms around her shoulders. Yoongi sighed and pressed the ‘enter’ key, watching Power Point opening and a clear book cover appeared, mint coloured like his hair.

The book Yoongi worked for two years was almost ready. Whilst looking for good names and aesthetics a japanese word loomed from his pre-teenage memories: ishin-denshin (以心伝心) and his book title fitted like a glove. A compilation of poems and the last one, in Yoongi’s humble oppinion, the most majestic one was named after the piece itself. He planned on proposing whilst reading to Emerson.

– You asked me nothing, but I feel the need to explain what’s in front of you. - Yoongi cleared his throat, watching Emerson’s eyes scanning the screen. - My gift for our fifth anniversary was a book. I’ve been planning it for two years now, and in the last two or three months I reached the final details, which were cover and last poem. I never allowed you to see it, because I wanted it to be a surprise. I guess old habits never die, because during the time spent working on that book, I isolated myself from you and gave a wrong impression. Sorry.

– It's so beautiful, even though I don't even know what the title means. - Emerson said and sobbed, smiling through tears. - If the whole book is in japanese, then it would be good if you taught me how to read.

– Oh, cutie pie. I love you so much. - Yoongi snorted and kissed the top of Emerson's head, whose felt so loved, more than she felt in months. - It's, indeed, in japanese. Ishin-denshin, it's a kind of interpersonal communication, unspoken, but the understanding is still mutual. Something like, heart transmits what mind thinks. That word was a trend back in my pre-teenage years, never thought I would use it.

Emerson turned to look Yoongi. His eyes were watering, but no tears falling. She smiled, happily and kissed him. In months, they kissed plenty of times, but none of them had the same meaning as this one. It wasn't sexy or teasingly, if we are going to be honest, the kiss was salty with tears and, well, coryza. Emerson and Yoongi were slowly reconnecting.

The kiss stopped when their lungs claimed for air. After a few smooches, they got back to stare the screen.

– I love you so much, Yoongles. - Emerson felt a magnetic force making her back look for support on his chest, diminishing the space between them. - I know it's dumb, but I firmly believe we are soulmates, there is a supernatural connection between us, and considering the idea of losing you… it made me so desperate and sad. I know I would keep living, but my soul would never feel completed again.

– I know baby, I feel the same way, but instead of voicing my feelings, why don't you read a few poems I wrote? -Yoongi leaned and wrapped one of his arms around her shoulders again, smiling passionately whilst seeing skinny knees touching the chest, covered by a fluff light pink sweatshirt with ‘Treat People With Kindness’ written in a plain white font. He remembered the day they bought the piece of clothing after a Harry Styles concert in London. What a fun night, hanging around with him after the event. As Yoongi said earlier, being famous has its perks.

Emerson felt immersed in deep feelings, some of them not even voiced during their relationship. Yoongi wrote small poems about every aspect of her: from her cute moles, to how he loved petting her hair before sleeping, or how her voice was sweet like honey and face cute as a mochi. Everything, he wrote inspired by moments they shared, like the trip to Japan during spring, or New Year’s Eve in China. The first time Emerson tried kim chi and how her nose puckered when the spicy taste finally hit her taste buds. When she first attended to Bangtan Lads concert and fanchanted along with ARMYs, taking a few of them to backstage. Travelling to Brazil and messaging Bárbara instead of using Google Translator.

They lived so many precious moments together. Yoongi made sure over 100 of them became art through emotional poems.

The last one, named ‘Ishin-denshin’. She took a deep breathe, still sobbing with happy tears running down her face. The silence only broken by occasional snorts and chuckles. However, Yoongi was getting more tense, staring at her eyes.

Ishin-denshin

Once upon a time in the far land of England

A woman gave birth to love impersonated in flesh, blood and gold

No one knew how important she was and how lucky they were

Until chaos from Korea arrived and trapped her in maeum.

Connections can cross the border of space and time

Voices and signs

Touches and sights

You and me, hands holding tight.

Love is a matter of ishi-denshin

Ability to communicate from mind to heart

Open up on a gaze

Not a sound to be heard from mouth.

Thankfully chaos and peace mingle and complete each other

Yin and Yang united by their differences

Perfecting what was already sculpted with dust and water

Remodeling and always improving, resulting in brand new peculiarities.

Love and connections are the result of fighting

Nothing good comes easy

Nothing easy is good

Once you find balance, universe rewards you with love.

Continents separated us for most part of our days on earth

Wandering uneven, looking for the half that best fit our soul

Happily odds were and allowed what resulted in balance

Only imagining myself without you, even my brain in plain conscience feels afoul.

Don’t you dare saying you are not good enough

Cutie pie, you are unique like flakes of snow

Every drop has its own shape

Unique, you never see two looking the same.

My heartbeat is in sync with yours

Slow like when we sleep

Or when we kiss after a long period apart, tumbling in ribcage, rhythm vigorous

I thank everyday for finding my soulmate in a sweetheart like you.

Stay for as long as you want

I feel lucky only by having in my life as a constant

Luckily it won’t change much

When I finally make you a Min like me, everything mine will be ours.

When Emerson finished reading ‘Ishin-denshin’, Yoongi didn’t quite gave her time to think broader and stood up, pulling the woman together. Standing side by side, he kneeled in front of Emerson and proclaimed, among tears and sobs, holding one hand whilst looking for something in his back pocket.

– Emerson, after all those words you’ve read, would you give me the honour of becoming my Mrs.Min?

– The only possible answer is yes.

- x - x - x -

P:S I purple you <3

[wolfpawn]

When Ghosts Come for Us

Chapter 52

NOTE This is based on the movie Crimson Peak, so if any of the subject matter in that was uncomfortable for you, you will find this similar. I will *NOT* be describing incest in this, it will only be implied, same as the movie.

As I have stated already, my laptop is broken at present so please excuse grammar mistakes and the lack of GIFs and pics.

Also, I do not own any image or gif used in this story.

HERE is the link to Chapter 1 on Ao3

Rating - Mature

Charlotte looked out the window forlornly. Thomas had not arrived, he said he would try and come by the Wednesday, that was a fortnight previous. Every day she waited patiently, and every day she was met with long hours staring out the window, only to be disappointed. She turned and walked over to the fireplace, sitting beside it.

She was still weak, tired and taking deep breaths hurt but she could walk around her room in short journeys, that was a considerable amount of progress. She was completely downtrodden. Dr Halford, the man that had tended to her in her sickness had to be called twice more since to Foxgrove. Lucille had begun to act incredibly oddly after a few days, shivering and gagging and all sorts of other things, he ascertained that she had become addicted to her opioids, something he was not privy to until he recognised the symptoms, then he suggested they wean her slightly from them, thinking her physician in Cumbria to be too heavy-handed. The second call was when she tore at her nurses viciously, her limbs thankfully not too strong but she screeched like a creature possessed and Dr Halford declared the opioids more than required and immediately drugged her again. Her speech was slurred from lack of use, but he thought her mad for her accusations that her brother and his wife had done it to her. With Dr Percival and Dr Thompson claiming her to have had strokes and seizures, he took her thoughts of what she thought to be attacks on her to blurred memories of Thomas and Charlotte aiding her, restraining her for her own good. When he explained this to her, Charlotte played innocent and stated that she and Thomas knew he would suggest a sanitorium had he been given all of her documentation, they hoped that they would not have to. Of course, Dr Halford immediately stated there was a wonderful and beautiful one in the area, that would tend to her very well, but Charlotte declined, stating that she did not want to make such a decision for Lucille, especially in her current weakened state.

She had yet to see Thomas Jr that day, causing her humour to be all the more glum. She had more staff than she knew what to do with, there was always someone flitting in and out of the room, but yet she felt more lonely than her days in Allerdale Hall before Mrs Phillips and Margaret came to work there. She wanted to go home. As a result of it all, she swore to herself that should Thomas not come by the following weekend, she would demand to return to Allerdale.

Sitting by the fire, hoping to stay warm, she felt herself doze off into a light slumber.

When Charlotte woke a time later, it was not from nightmares, cold or even a maid entering her room but from shouting out in the hallway. Frowning for a moment, she listened to the cries worriedly, thinking Lucille had done something mad. When she heard a cry about a “dog and the baby” she became worried some rabid animal had come to be in the house and was a risk to Thomas Jr. She forced herself from her chair and walked to the door as quickly as she could, worried about what she would meet on the other side, she braced herself, then opened it. There were maids acting as though the Viking invaders of old had come to purge the building of all souls within when Mr Matthews called from the bottom floor that he had a shotgun readied, she became worried for people’s safety.

“Lady Sharpe, get back into your room before you get harmed.” One of the maids ordered as she passed her.

“What is this of a dog and my son?” She whispered, her voice still recovering.

“There were a dog trying to get into the nursery, Ma'am. Some mud covered mutt, he were mad to get in there. When we tried to stop it, he ran off and is about the house now wrecking the place.”

“What is some random dog doing here?”

“I have no, idea Ma’am.”

“My house is descending into chaos.” Charlotte shook her head, hating the loud shouts and knowing they would be upsetting Thomas Jr, who was not used to such madness. “Honestly, everyone needs to…” Her instruction was interrupted by a bark. “No, it is not possible.” She whispered to herself. Another bark followed and a yelp. “Blake!” It hurt to shout but she did it at hearing the yelp. “Blake!” A moment later, there was a flurry of commotion before a chocolate coloured blur rushed the stairwell, the maid and servant at the top trying to prevent it coming up. “Out of the way,” Charlotte ordered them, walking swiftly to them. With them and their weapons of house cleaning utensils of a broom and mop, the dog made it up the stairs, panting excitedly and looking around. As soon as it saw Charlotte, it rushed to her and she fell to her knees. “It is not possible.” She beamed as she cuddled the muddy animal to her. “How are you here?” He barked excitedly and rushed into the room she had just exited, her following after. With another bark, she noticed he was at the window. Looking out, she saw the answer to her question.

A lone horse and rider were cantering the laneway up to the house. She knew immediately, from the very pits of her soul who it was riding the horse. With energy she should not possess, Charlotte walked as swift as she could to the stairs, Blake on her heels and walked down them.

“Lady Sharpe, you should be in bed, and that animal…” Mrs Matthews growled.

“I will return to it soon, and that is no mere animal, that is my Blake and he has just arrived from Cumbria. He is to be washed, dried and fed immediately.” She whispered as she passed her.

By the time she reached the end of the stairs, the rider was in her hallway, taking off his hat and looking around. When he saw her coming toward him, he gave a weak smile. “Lottie.”

“You are late.” She stopped descending the stairs to admonish him.

“I can only apologise profusely.”

“You could not have written?”

“I hoped to be faster than the mail.”

“I have been waiting like a fool for a fortnight.” She growled.

“I have been feeling remorseful for my delay since the Saturday morning I was supposed to depart.” He walked forward towards the stairwell. “I was also worried with only the shortest distance left in my journey, Blake ran off a mile or two from here and I could not find him, I can see he made his own way.” Thomas indicated to the muddy pawprints on the floor.

“He wanted to see Thomas.” Charlotte continued her journey down the stairs, looking at him as she did. “I am not dreaming still, you are here?”

“We are. Late, tired, bitterly cold but we are here.” Thomas confirmed. “We are all here.”

“You have been ill?”

“I have not done well in your absence,” Thomas confessed. “I see you decided to give yourself pneumonia in mine.”

“Planned, of course,” She scoffed.

“Obviously.” He took off his riding gloves and gently touched her cheek. “I have missed you beyond words.”

“As I have you.”

It was not proper, it was an utter social faux pas, but Thomas leant forward and kissed his wife, even with the majority of the staff of Foxgrove looking at them. “Where is our son?”

“Being held like a besieged prince in a tower.” Charlotte joked. “None knew Blake to be his guardian and have been ‘protecting’ him as a result.”

“He has missed his charge, he sniffed the cradle more than once for him.”

“He had his chance to come.”

“I needed him, he knew that before I ever did,” Thomas stated, causing Charlotte to look at him. “I will explain after I get some tea.”

“I think we can do that.”

Thomas smiled as he held his wife to him, clearly able to see she was weak. “Wonderful.” He turned to the startled looking Mr Matthews who was still brandishing his shotgun. “Good Sir, I do not think that necessary now, there is little threat here.”

“No, there is not. My apologies Sir Sharpe.” He caused the barrel of the shotgun to part and no longer be a risk to any.

“Mr Matthews was simply trying to protect Thomas.” Charlotte smiled.

“Of course,” Thomas ensured his face was one of relaxed demeanour. “Mrs Matthews, how wonderful to see you again.” He gave a slight bow as he addressed the startled housekeeper. “By any chance, may I have some tea?”

“Of course, Sir.” She extended her hand and took his hat and riding cape. “Sandwiches Sir?”

“Please, no dried meats though, I find them tough. Darling, let us get you sitting and we can talk more then.” He urged Charlotte to the drawing room they spent time in on their visit after they wed. “After, I would very much like to see Thomas.”

The house stood stoically still for a few moments longer as it tried to process the sheer madness that had descended on it a moment before.

“Someone catch that blasted dog.” Mr Matthews ordered as Blake continued to evade those trying to catch him to do as Charlotte had ordered. “And bath it before it wrecks the place.”

“Blake!” Margaret, who was the only one to recognise the dog, called him. Immediately, Blake recognised her and rushed over, sitting by her feet. “Bath.” She smiled. He barked happily and followed her.

“You wanted a loud and eventful home, My Dear.” Mr Matthews stated to his wife as she looked in horror at the mucky boot and pawprints that now littered the house. “Beware what you wish for.” He added as he went to put his shotgun away.

*

Thomas trotted most of the journey, stopping often on route to rest his horse. He could not acquire a carriage, so he simply took his horse. It meant travelling in horrid weather but seeing as the alternative was a winter without his family, to him, there was simply one option, to get there.

Blake ran most of the way beside the horse, tongue hanging out of the side of his mouth happily. As a hunting dog, it was in his very nature to run for hours on end. When they got close to Foxgrove, Thomas became worried when Blake rushed off through the trees. He could not follow on horseback but was relieved to see his chocolate coloured form rush in direction of the house. Often, Blake surprised Thomas, he seemed to know things a dog should not know. He watched as the dog made his way to the house, putting his heels into his horse’s sides to urge it into a gallop to end his own journey a tad faster.

When he arrived at the house, there was something akin to bedlam apparently occurring inside. He rushed the steps to see maids and servants acting as though mad and descending the stairs, her voice barely more than a whisper, her hair falling loose and looking pale and exhausted, yet incredibly hopeful, stood his Lottie. As soon as his eyes met hers, the darkness that had consumed his world, his shadows and ghostly cries all left his mind. Her brightness, her light banished them and all he felt once more were joy and happiness.

He did not care if their servants were there, he could not have cared less if the world was watching, he needed her embrace, her lips to his once more and heavens help whoever stood in their way. He wanted Thomas Jr too. He wanted his son but he knew he would not be able to hold him until he warmed slightly, so tea would see to that.

He sat her down close to a fire, moving a chair across from hers to face her. He looked at her face, realising her fight with her illness had stripped some of the bright youthfulness from her face.

As he looked at her, she too was looking at him. “When did you last rest well?”

“The night before you left, with you against me after I declared my adoration of you and your body physically.” He answered immediately. “I have not rested easy without you.”

“What happened?”

“I got snowed in, for two nights. It started just as we shut the mines and did not stop until two feet had fallen. Mrs Phillips could not get to me and I could not get out. On the Sunday, I was attempting to find food when the doors opened, Mr Parsons, Mr Carson and Edward were standing there, they came to get me from Allerdale Hall.”

Charlotte’s face was a mixture of shock and joy. “Edward?”

“Yes, He assisted them to get to me and allowed me to remain in his home for a week or so.”

“You stayed in Edwards?”

“He stated he could never look you in the eye again had he not tended to me.”

“Why did you require tending?” Charlotte asked, concerned for her husband. Were she to have lost her sight, she would have still been able to see his less than healthy state.

“As I stated, I have not done well without you, Lottie.”

“How so?”

“I...Let us just say, it was not pleasant and I may have slept all of two hours most days.”

“And I feel like I slept more like twenty-two. So between us, we slept for a day and neither of us is the better for it.”

Thomas chuckled. “It appears not.” He toyed with his hands slightly. For a moment, he contemplated telling Charlotte of his nightmares but thought not to in the end. Instead, he looked at her and smiled lovingly. “So, tell me of all that is occurring here?”

“I do not know, I have, until this time, been confined to my chambers in an attempt to recover. All of Carmarthenshire, Pembrokeshire and even London could have been here and I would not have known. Though I must warn you, Mr Longley has business he wishes to discuss with you. I was told to inform him of when you arrived to arrange such a meeting.”

Thomas frowned as he recalled the man from the previous autumn that ordered him, with utter clarity to have Charlotte with child post haste, he knew the man had no faith in Charlotte as a person, he had little idea was that based on her gender or her ability to play the fool, but either way, for all their acting to give the impression she was such, he despised people thinking such of his wife. She was an incredibly smart creature and he found it one of her most alluring qualities.

*

After their tea together, Charlotte’s exhaustion became too much for her once more and she had to be brought to the bedchambers for a rest, Thomas assisting her as he did so. He also cleaned himself and changed, relieved to have planned ahead and have sent some clothing with Charlotte on her journey. While she rested, he checked on Lucille, his jaw clenching when he was told of her attempts on a carer’s life when the opioids had been decreased. Then he went in search of his son. It took two maids to tell him where his son was even housed and he was startled to see that the nursery was very much kept away from the rooms he and his wife slept in.

On arrival at the nursery, he was allowed into the front area which housed the seating and such for Thomas’ nurses and wet nurse. Charlotte had informed him that due to her illness, she was not able to feed Thomas any longer. He saw the heartache in her features at that and knew that to Charlotte, it was an immense sadness, he consoled her by saying that it was a small price to pay for her to be well again. When he asked the nursemaid to see his son, he was startled by her answer.

“Sir Sharpe, we were not made aware you would ask to see him today, he is not fit to be presented.” She responded.

Thomas frowned for a moment as he processed her words. “What of my wife, was she not to spend time with him today?”

“I...well she was resting at the time allotted for such so we thought it best…”

Thomas rarely gave intimidating looks, but at that moment, he fixed one of ire and intimidation on the woman in front of him, causing her to silence. “Allotted? Allotted? And may I ask, who allots this time for my wife to see the child she carried and birthed?”

“Well, he has a schedule we must keep to…” The nurse answered.

“I asked who allots this time?” Thomas refocused his question.

“...Well….”

“Did my wife, the Lady of the house ‘allot’ it?” He practically spat the word back at her.

“No…”

“So she is to be dictated to, that is what you are telling me. The hired help tells Lady Sharpe when she is permitted to see her son. A nursemaid dictates Foxgrove Park, that is what you are telling me?”

“...I….”

“And when I, his father, your other employer state I wish to see him, I am told no also, that is what you are saying?”

“He is not fit to be presented…”

“He is a young infant, he is not being shown to society as a young gentleman for courtship. I am his father. I have held him as he has slept, as my wife prepared to feed him, for the first two months of his life, he slept in the same chambers as me, there is nothing of my son I am not aware of, his leg included, as well you know, so do not give me such excuses. I have gone the past two months without seeing my son. Half of his life I have been forcibly separated from him and then for some woman that I have never met of employment here to tell me no, that I, his father, a Baronet am forced to wait to see him on her command, his mother, a Lady of immense wealth is declined also by a person she pays…” He shook with rage as the woman in front of him quivered in fear.

“Sir, Sir he is sleeping at present.” Another less senior nursemaid informed him. “He will wake in the near future, we can have him brought to you then?”

Thomas inhaled deeply to calm himself before looking to the other nursemaid to speak. “I want my son given to me as soon as he is fed and cleaned. Am I clear?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“I will be in the bedchambers, keeping my wife company.” She nodded nervously. He then looked to the head nursemaid who was still petrified on the spot. “I will not be so lenient in the future. If you deny a reasonable request by my wife or myself again regarding our son, you will be fired on the spot and I will ensure you will never be able to receive employment in Southern Wales and all of England for the rest of your years, am I clear?”

“...Yes….Sir.”

Thomas stormed out of the nursery wing without so much as a second glance. In the hallway, a terrified Jane, Mrs Matthews and a servant looked worriedly, having heard his angry tirade at the nursery staff for their insubordination.

Those who worked in Foxgrove were left under no false illusions after that day. The Sharpes were not going to conform to social norms regarding those of higher standing and their children and if it displeased Lady Sharpe, Sir Sharpe would rain down fury on any who displeased her.

*

When Charlotte woke from her rest, she heard Thomas’s voice before she even opened her eyes, telling her it was no dream, that he had arrived to her in Foxgrove. When she heard the words he was speaking, she turned to look at him and smiled.

Thomas Jr was on his father’s chest, his fingers toying with the lapel of his coat as Thomas told him of what he had been doing with the mines since their departure. Telling him that the day would come that he would be the Baronet of Allerdale hall and that the mines would be his. Thomas Jr simply seemed to be enjoying his father’s soothing voice. Beside them, on the ground looking cleaner and happier, was Blake.

“You’ve woken? I’m sorry, did we wake you?”

Charlotte looked at her worried husband. “No.” Her voice was broken as she attempted to speak so she said nothing else, instead of turning herself more and tried to lean up.

Thomas walked over to the bed with their son in his arms and sat beside her. “Lottie, what has been occurring here? The nursemaids would not allow me to see him and informed me you only are allowed to see him when suits them.”

“Before I got sick, they complied, after…”

“No more. I am here now and we will have our orders on him adhered to.” She smiled at his words.

They looked at their son, who seemed eager to go to his mother. Gently, she and Thomas orchestrated a manner for that to occur. He sat to the side so there was no chance of Thomas rolling off the side of the bed. “He misses you.” He noticed her tears. “Lottie?”

“I have not held him since, they...I was too weak.”

Thomas swallowed. Their son meant the world to her, she loved him more than her very being, to force her to be separated from him was a fate more cruel than even the worst of deaths for her. He had not experienced such a bond with his mother, she had fled Allerdale Hall mere days after he was born, her duty fulfilled, but Charlotte adored Thomas and he would not have her forcibly parted from him.

This to him was a reason to miss Allerdale Hall. As good as it was to have people tend to them in many ways, the fact many of those tending to them were forcing their ideals on them caused him consternation. Come the spring, he had little doubt but that Charlotte would yearn to return to Cumbria to continue a prefered life with their son.

He watched as she spoke with Thomas Jr, her voice loving and kind, making her face far more expressive so to invoke a reaction from him. More than once he seemed to look for his father too, smiling brightly at him as he did. A sense of contentment enveloped Thomas for the first time in some time.

TAGS; @ilovekingt @sigridlaufeyson @lokiloveheart @lokilover9 @whovianwookie86-captainxev @wolfsmom1 @perpetual-fangirl @texmexdarling

[newstfionline]

U.S. allies have killed thousands of Yemeni civilians from the air.

After 22 died at a wedding, one village asks, ‘Why us?’

By Sudarsan Raghavan, Washington Post, July 26, 2018

RAQAH, Yemen--The ground where the wedding tent once stood was covered with children’s slippers, broken musical instruments, pieces of festive clothing and other detritus of destroyed lives. Teeth, still attached to the jawbone, lay near some tattered decorations.

An airstrike hit the wedding in this remote mountain village on April 23, killing 22 civilians including eight children, and injuring dozens, according to interviews with 17 villagers in late May. More than three years into Yemen’s civil war, over 16,000 civilians have been killed and injured, the vast majority by airstrikes, the U.N. human rights office estimates, adding that the figures are likely to be far higher. The deaths are continuing unabated, with as many as hundreds of casualties per month, despite assurances by a U.S.-backed regional coalition to better protect civilians amid mounting criticism within the United States and the international community.

That coalition, led by Saudi Arabia and the United Arab Emirates, is backing Yemen’s exiled government in its conflict against rebels known as the Houthis, who dominate the capital and the north. The United States is playing an essential role in the war, supporting the coalition with intelligence, refueling, technical assistance, and billions of dollars in bombs and other weaponry.

The coalition is the only actor in the conflict that uses war planes, mostly American- and British-made fighter jets. The airstrikes have struck hospitals, schools, markets, motels, migrant boats, gas stations, even funeral gatherings, raising questions about the coalition’s ability to abide by humanitarian laws that calls for civilians to be safeguarded.

A month after the airstrike in Raqah, the destruction on the ground remained eerily preserved. The lives of the survivors, however, had been forever altered.

“We lost our minds that day,” said Amna Yahya, the groom’s mother. “I still can’t comprehend what happened. Why us?”

The growing civilian casualties across Yemen have led to widespread denouncement of the U.S. role and calls in Congress to halt or regulate American weapons sales to Saudi Arabia, a close U.S. ally in the Middle East. Despite the concern, President Trump announced $110 billion in new arms sales last year to the kingdom, weapons that most analysts expect will be used in Yemen.

In the hours following the airstrike in Raqah, local media published photos, provided by the Houthis, showing the bomb was a GBU-12 Paveway II precision-guided bomb, manufactured by Raytheon, the Massachusetts-based defense contractor, according to Bellingcat, an investigative website.

Visits to other bombed sites by Amnesty International and Human Rights Watch confirm that American-made munitions, including banned cluster bombs and Paveway bombs, have been used in attacks that have killed and injured civilians. The Post saw remnants of U.S.-made bombs in the capital, Sanaa, and in the southwestern city of Taiz.

After the Senate narrowly approved a $510 million first installment of precision-guided munitions to Saudi Arabia last June, the kingdom said it would launch a training program to reduce accidental targeting of civilians. But in the year since that announcement, civilian deaths were 7 percent more than the year prior, U.N. data shows. In April alone, there were 236 civilians killed and 238 injured--the deadliest month this year so far.

A U.N. report last month found 1,316 Yemeni children were killed or injured last year, and that more than half of the casualties resulted from airstrikes.

A Saudi government official disputed the U.N. figures and said the coalition is “implementing the highest standard measures to prevent civilian casualties,” including “continuous training” of its staff and efforts to improve rules of engagement.

Human rights activists welcome such efforts but say the coalition’s probing of the aftermath of airstrikes remains hollow. “There is no genuine follow-up on their international human rights obligations and their commitment to respecting humanitarian laws,” said Rasha Mohamed, Yemen researcher for Amnesty International.

Raqah is in a rugged region in the northern Yemeni province of Hajjah. The sprawling village of about 700 residents is about a three-hour drive from the provincial capital, a place so remote that to reach it requires crossing dry river beds and driving up goat paths.

The civil war that emerged from the political chaos that followed the 2011 Arab Spring revolts hardly touched the villagers, mostly farmers and herders. Many supported former president Ali Abdullah Saleh, who was ousted in 2012. But even after the Houthis swept into Sanaa and pushed out the internationally recognized government, the conflict never came to their area, villagers said.

They said they would often see and hear war planes and unmanned drones fly above their huts, but they never felt threatened. They had nothing to do, they said, with the Shiite Houthis or Iran, which is backing the rebels.

“There are no Houthis here,” said Yahya Ahmed, a villager whose nephew was killed in the airstrike. “Did you see any checkpoints in our area?”

Across northern Yemen, rebel checkpoints are ubiquitous. But in and around Raqah, there were none. Nor were there were any visible signs of military activity. Villagers said there were no military bases in the area and none of their men were fighting with the rebels.

The only time they had seen rebels in recent memory was the morning after the airstrike, when some Houthis officials arrived to assess the damage.

“We refused to join the Houthis,” said Mohammed Yahya, the groom’s uncle. “One side says, ‘God is Great.’ The other side says, ‘God is Great.’ We don’t know who is right.”

The wedding of Yahya Jaffer and his bride, Fatma, began auspiciously enough. They were both 20 years old, both from the al-Musabi tribe. Like their parents and grandparents, they were marrying within their community. They are cousins.

The families had spent much of their savings on the wedding. A large white tent was erected in front of their home. More than 150 guests drank soft drinks and water and feasted on lamb and other delicacies. A group of local folkloric dancers and musicians entertained, according to the recollections of villagers present at the event.

Many villagers said they heard two planes circling above their homes throughout that day, as well as just before the attack.

“An hour later, one of them hit us,” Amna Yahya said.

It was shortly after 10 p.m. By then, most parents and the elderly had left the wedding. The youth clapped to the rhythm of drums and lutes. Some sang, others chanted, as the dancers skipped and leaped in celebration. Then, a thunderous sound.

“I saw a flash of red, and I lost consciousness,” Jaffer recalled. “When I woke up, I heard people screaming in pain. People had lost arms and legs. There was blood everywhere.”

Those who could searched through the rubble for survivors, pulling them to safety. Others struggled to find the dead: Most were coated by ash or torn into pieces.

The only way Aitan Suwaed said he recognized his 17-year-old son, Hamdi, was “from his clothes, the parts that weren’t burnt.”

The 22 fatalities included 12 of the dancers, four musicians and six villagers, including one who played the lute. Most of the children killed were in the dance troupe.

The dancers all belonged to the Muhamasheen, Yemen’s most marginalized ethnic group. Performing at weddings was among the few jobs they could find.

For 10 of them, only pieces of their bodies were found, so they are buried in two mass graves. “It’s all my family,” said Ahmed Rifaei, 37, a dancer who survived.

The living, too, are in bad shape.

Some of Raqah’s residents have lost their hearing. Children have lost limbs, while others carry shrapnel from the missile inside their bodies. The nearest hospital is in the provincial capital, and most villagers cannot afford the three-hour journey.

Yahya Ahmed not only lost his nephew. His wife, Noora, was four months pregnant. When she heard the bombing, she started screaming uncontrollably. The next morning, she had a miscarriage, he said.

Other women and children in the village report having nightmares where they relive the bombing. One woman was in such shock that she feared leaving her bed. Whenever she needed to go to the bathroom, her relatives carried her. Other villagers said they now sleep outside their houses at night out of concern their homes would be targeted by airstrikes.

“What happened to us, happened to everyone in the village,” said Amna Yahya. “Everyone is full of fear.”

Many are also filled with anger, not just at the Saudi-led coalition, but at the United States. “If it wasn’t for the American aircraft, Saudi Arabia would never strike Yemen,” said Mohammed Yahya, the groom’s uncle. “America gives them weapons, and the Saudis hit us.”

Some villagers have fled to other areas rather than risk being targeted by another airstrike. But the vast majority don’t have that option, including the bride and groom. With their family house destroyed, Jaffer and Allam live in their animal shed, next to cows and goats, their abode reeking of hay and animal urine. They are married in principle but not legally: They can no longer afford to pay for their wedding certificate. So it hasn’t been signed by the local marriage official.

On a chair in the shed is the white traditional Yemeni robe that Jaffer wore at his wedding. It is now bloodstained. He has no intention of cleaning it.

“I will keep this to always remember what happened,” he said.

[ganglylimbs]

Small Talks Of Something

Fandom: RWBY

Pairing: Jaune/Ruby

Notes: Future AU with fluff and small amounts of angst. I don’t know if this info is really needed but in this AU, Jaune is a teacher at a newly reformed Beacon, Ruby is still a Huntress with a new team, Weiss had started a new company, Yang is also a Huntress and Blake leads the new White Fang (they live in Menagerie and are also getting married so there’s some slight bumbleby)

“...Ok. Now that we can see how the armies are set, with the red chalk being Army 1 and the blue chalk being Army 2, can anyone tell me what a smart first move is?” Jaune Arc asks, turning around from the chalkboard set before him to look at his students. He stands tall, with long blond hair pulled back into a bun. He is one of the more casually dressed teachers at Beacon, with his worn jeans and t-shirt, hoodie tied around his waist. But Jaune figures as long as he is comfortable and can move around freely than it’s fine.

His classroom is set up in a wide half-circle, his students spread out. This is a class for third-year leaders, so there is only a handful present. A few hands shot up, a few more following as he waits a minute. Finally, he calls out. “Ms. Alice?”

A young girl with short, spiky pink hair speaks up. “If Army 1 could split their forces, then half could distract Army 2, while the other half flank them.”

Jaune nods. “Ok, that’s a pretty good move. Can anyone tell what could be wrong with this strategy?”

A few more hands. Jaune points to another student, a boy this time. He also stands up, answering  “If you halve the army, that halves the manpower. Army 1 will be crushed before they can fully flank.”

“That’s certainly a worry.”

“But it depends on the army.” Alice pipes up again. “If the distracting half of the Army can hold their own, and if the flanking half of the Army is quick, then the strategy still works.”

Jaune moves to sit on the edge of his desk, watching Alice and the boy (Cadet) argue back and forth. He smiles as a few more students started adding their own suggestions. Just as he is about to break in, the door to his classroom bursts open.

On instinct, he reaches for Crocea Mors, the sword is a comfortable weight against his side. But his hand stills at the sound of a familiar voice. “Jaune!”

“Ruby?” Jaune asks, a frown waring with the smile that threatens to take over as Ruby strolls into his classroom, seemingly oblivious to the commotion her appearance is making.

“Is that Ruby Rose ?”

“That’s totally Ruby Rose! I can’t believe she’s here!”

“Do you think I could get an autograph?”

“Do you think she could teach me some moves?”

Jaune ignores the whispers of his students. Instead, he walks forward to meet Ruby. “Ruby, what are you doing here? I wasn't expecting you until tomorrow?”

Ruby shrugs, taking Jaune’s hands and giving him a peck on the check. “I rushed home to see my husband. Is that so bad?”

The frown wins out. Jaune looks her over. “And you aren't hurt? Right?”

Ruby grins. “Yep!”

Jaune purses his lips. “Uh-huh.”

Ruby doesn’t relent. “Jaune, it’s fine. I’m here now, right?” She grins, wide, spreading her arms out. Jaune runs his eyes over her quickly. She doesn't  appear to be hurt beyond a few bandages on her hands. Jaune has no doubt that she had been well taken care of by her teammates while away on her mission, but he still worries.

Sighing, he lets it drop. He could take a closer look later. “So what are you doing here?”

“I came to surprise you.” She exclaims. “And to tell you that you now have the rest of the afternoon off.” There is a mischievous look in her eyes, a twinkle even.

“Really? I’m finding that hard to believe that you got that cleared.” But Jaune can see that the damage is already done. At the promise of the class getting out early, his students start to get antsy. Combined with facing the great Ruby Rose, no one is paying attention anymore. Scrolls are out and friends have clumped together to talk.

“Come on.” Ruby pleads. “I’ve been gone for two months. Don’t you want to hang out with your wife?” She batters her eyes at him.

Jaune can feel his resolve crumbling. Taking one more look at his students, seeing the way they are looking at him, anxious and hopeful, makes the last of his willpower disappear. Taking a deep breath, his shoulders slump. “Fine.”

Chaos breaks out. Students rush to pack their bags and leave. Over the sound of rustling and talking, Jaune tries to call out their homework. “Please write a half-page of what your first move would be if you were the leader in this situation. It will be due by next class period.” He feels Ruby pull at his arm, trying to force him out of the room. He digs his heels in, still calling out assignments. “And please remember, your essay on weapons and war is due next week.”

Eventually, Ruby hauls him out the room and down the hallway.

                                                       ~

They end up having lunch at a nearby cafe. Hidden between two larger buildings and only a few tables wide, it wasn't the most well-known place. But the sandwiches are like heaven to the tongue and Jaune loves their coffee. He watches, with a small smile as Ruby digs into her food. He knows that food on the road isn’t the best, that the rations that are often given to the Hunters were better used as ammo. So he doesn't say anything as Ruby orders another plate of fries. Instead, shrugs his shoulders at the waitress.

When Ruby finally settles back in her chair with a happy smile and a pat on her tummy, Jaune knows it's safe to talk. “So tell me about your adventures.”

Ruby’s eyes lit up. She leans forward. “Oh Jaune, you would have loved it. I mean, not the Grimm part but you should have seen the view. And I got to meet some new Hunters. Just out of school. A bit cocky, but good kids. They should go far.”

Ruby babbles on, sometimes tripping over her own words in her haste to get them out. Jaune continues to listen. He loves the way Ruby talks, the high pitch of her voice as she describes fights, the way other’s names are cradled on her tongue, the one place they can always be safe. Comrades who have fought side by side with her for years now. Her hands are just as expressive. They cut through the air, showing Jaune what her words can not say.

“And guess who I ran into?”

“Who?”

“Weiss!” Ruby’s grin turns bright as she leans in close. “I was even able to get coffee with her.”

“Oh? How’s she doing?” It’s been a few months since Jaune last saw Weiss was when she had come to stay with them during her business trip in Vale.

“Good. She had another breakthrough with some weapons she's been designing, something to help the metal from wearing down. And she made top ten Women of the Year for science and technology for the fifth time, which is exciting. I'm pretty sure I convinced her to hold a party for the event Oh. And I think she broke up with her latest boyfriend. Again.”

“Wait. I thought she was dating that Atlas Huntress?”

“No, she broke up with her early this year, remember?”

Jaune chuckles at that. Weiss still holds a Huntress badge and would go out time from time to help protect Atlas’ borders. But she had given that up as a full-time job years ago. Instead, she focused her attention on creating a more equal and powerful dust company than that of her brother’s. Jaune was glad for her, Weiss was determined and inspirational, a force to be reckoned with. She was well on her way clawing to the top.

She also seemed to be taking those same traits into her personal life. She made no secret of the line of lovers she had coming into her office. As she told them one day, “Why should I keep it a secret? Whitley would find out anyways and use it against me. Might as well get it out in the open.”

Jaune figured she was still revealing in being free from the restrictions of her family.

“Considering she just released her new line of dust based battle gear, I’m sure she’ll be fine,” Jaune says.

Ruby shakes her head, smiling. “That’s what Yang said too.”

“How is she by the way?”

“Stressing about the wedding. So the usual.”

“She knows it’s going to go off without a hitch, right? Especially because Kali and Taiyang are busting their ass off to make sure it goes well.”

“Oh, she knows. But she’s sure that something is going to go wrong.”

“I thought Blake was the one to get uptight about these kinds of things? What happened to carefree and adventurous Yang?”

“I know! It’s so weird. It’s like they switched personalities or something. It’s freaky.” Ruby shudders. “Anyway, I offered our help if she ever needs it.”

“I’ll bring my muscles,” Jaune says, flexing. Ruby snorts and Jaune pouts at her. “Hey.”

“Aw, I’m sorry but do you think Yang needs help moving anything.” Ruby reaches across the table to grab Jaune’s hand. “And besides, I’m pretty sure if she needs extra muscles, she’ll call Nora.”

“Ok. Fair.”

“Or maybe Ilia.”

“Sure.”

“Sun, too.”

“I get it.”

“Probably Ren.”

“Now you’re just getting insulting.”

Ruby smirks, sticking her tongue at him before bringing his hand up for a light kiss. Jaune smiles back, enjoying their shared warmth, the way a light breeze blows through his hair, the way everyone else seems to disappear. “I’m glad you’re back.” He whispers. “I missed you...missed this.”

“...I did too.” But something flickers in her eyes and suddenly Jaune is sitting straighter.

“You. You are staying, right? At least for a few weeks?” He asks.

Ruby looks away. He silence is answer enough. Jaune looks down. “How long?”

Ruby clears her throat. “They want me in Mistral by the end of the week. I’ll be taking a ship in two days time.”

“Two days?” Jaune wrenched his hand away, leaning back in his chair. “You only get to rest for two days? Ruby. Don’t you think that’s pushing it a little?”

Ruby frowns. “Jaune, they need me in Mistral.”

“Do they?”

“Yes.” Ruby reaches her hand across, reaching for Jaune. “They need all the Huntsmen they can get. I know...that I haven’t been spending a lot of time home but I need to do this. I need to.”

Jaune sighs. “I know you do. But, Ruby. You can’t keep doing this. You were gone for two months. Then before that, you did a three-month mission. Before that, it was five weeks. You barely get a rest in between each. You’re going to burn out.” But he holds her hand again.

“I’m fine.”

Jaune is silent for a second. “Do I need to stage an intervention with Yang, Blake, and Weiss?”

“You wouldn’t.”

“I would and you know it.”

Ruby slumps in her chair. “That’s not playing fair.”

“When it comes to getting you to take care of yourself, I can’t afford to play fair.”

“Oh look who’s talking.” Ruby sticks her tongue out at Jaune before giving him a small smile. “You’re still seeing that therapist, right?”

“Yep. She thinks I’m making great progress,” Jaune says. “I don't as anxious anymore when you or Ren or Nora or anyone else leaves. It would help though, if I knew you were taking care of yourself, though.” He gives Ruby a pointed look.

“Point taken" Ruby shakes her head. “I’m am glad that you’re still working on it. I would like to keep having you in my future.”

“Likewise.” Jaune gives her hand a squeeze. Ruby looks away for a moment but quickly looks back.

“One more mission. Then I’ll request for time off.”

“Not just for a week?”

“Not just for a week. A couple months at least. A proper vacation.”

Jaune’s shoulders drop, all tension leaving him. “Thank you.”

“Anything for my nagging husband.”

“Your nagging husband who loves you very much.”

“My nagging husband who loves me very much, yes.” She brings Jaune's hand up for a kiss. “I love you, Jaune, nagging and worrying and all.”

[runenc03]

HH - Sean’s seventh year (part 7)

Writing date: January 2020

Genre: Fluff? I mean war, the typical last year on the run.

Warnings: As I said, war

Word count: 6.4k 

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Summer

"How do I look?"

She was swirling around the room, the skirt of her bright yellow dress flaring out, and he knew it was her subtle way of teasing him about what was underneath that skirt. In any other circumstance, it probably would've worked, his girlfriend was gorgeous after all, but today, his brain was clouded with worries that were most definitely too heavy for a 17-year-old boy.

"Breathtaking, as always. Kaycee, don't go."

She promptly stopped swirling, her smile vanishing as snow does under the sun.

"Sean, no, we've talked about this already. We're not going to fight about this again, are we? I don't....I don't want a fight to be the last verbal exchange we have and right now, every word could be the last one. You know I can sense it."

He closed his eyes, as if to protect himself against the truthfulness of her words. He didn't wish for a repeat of last Thursday. No, it was just that since that night, nightmares had been plaguing him, forcing him to tiptoe to Ginny's room, in the middle of the night, hoping no one would catch him creeping around the house. The only thing he wanted to do was check on Kaycee and her sister anyway, but he doubted Mrs. Weasley would believe that, coming from a teenage boy with a girlfriend who, coincidentally, lived under the same roof.

Last Thursday was the night Hermione, Ron and Harry had agreed to take Kaycee with them on the horcrux hunt -as she requested- because the extra, now trained capacity of her mind could be handy, and therefore, it was the night of their first ever fight as a couple. He had ignored her at first, not knowing how to deal with the thought of losing her for an unknown amount of time. He hadn't been ready to let her go. After the ignoring, he'd gone to yelling, throwing all his fears like daggers in her face, not even stopping when tears were streaming down her face and her upper lip was trembling. When he had finally stopped yelling, he'd crumpled down, and she had, too, there in that small, stuffy room on the second floor of the Burrow. He'd been stupid enough to assume she wouldn't go, since she had broken down then as well, but when he had voiced that thought, she'd suddenly stood up, raging, making heated hand gestures and screaming in such a pitchy tone that he was convinced someone would come and check on them within 10 seconds. Kaycee had stormed out of the room and hadn't said anything to him at first. Gradually though, she'd started acting normal again, and so they didn't speak about it anymore. But now, barely 4 days later, he still hadn't been able to let go of all his fright. An icy blanket had seemingly wrapped itself around his chest since that evening. He remembered Kaycee once comparing her actual blanket to a prison, and thought bitterly that she couldn't have been more accurate.

"Sean? You okay?"

It was Kaycee, and Sean suddenly came back to the present time, to Kaycee's yellow dress, to the excited chatter from outside that slipped through the creaks of the windows, to the bed he was currently sitting on, to his tie still laying on his lap.

"Yeah, yeah I am. Considering the circumstances."

His voice sounded hoarse, but he didn't really care. He wouldn't have to talk during the ceremony anyway. Kaycee smiled again, and even though it was a somewhat sad smile, it was genuine, and Sean was grateful for that.

"Let me help you with that tie."

She walked towards him, grabbing the tie and sitting down on his lap in its place. Soon, he felt the fabric being tied around his neck, not too tight, just right. Kaycee's hands glided to his chest, and they sat in silence for a few seconds, both trying to close themselves up in this moment where everything was still relatively well.

"Let's make tonight a good night, okay? Give me one more good memory to remember you by, please."

It was all such a contradiction, his dark mood, starkly contrasting with Fleur's excited chatter with her sister in the room next to him. Sean knew she was determined to make her wedding day a happy day, and he admired her for it, but in the meantime, all he wanted to do was crawl in bed with his own love, and never come out again.

"O-okay...I'll stop being annoying now. I just want you to know that it makes me sick knowing you'll be in danger while I'm not with you. And I've come to realise that you're not going to change your mind and that I'll have to be okay with that. I'm not asking you to agree with me, but I would like you to understand."

Kaycee nodded, connecting their foreheads and rubbing his jaw with her thumb.

"I do, Sean. I consider myself lucky, you know. I won't have to worry about where you are or who's chasing you, if you're hungry, or wounded. I know you're going to be as safe as possible, and I'm very grateful for that. Thank you for letting me go. I love you."

He kissed her swiftly, knowing their little bubble would soon be broken by someone walking in or coming to get them for the ceremony, and afraid he wouldn't be able to distant himself from her physically if he continued now.

"I love you too darling. Now, let's go, I'm pretty sure the ceremony is going to start soon, and I want to be able to show everyone how gorgeous my girlfriend is before everyone looks at Fleur."

Her sweet laugh sounded like music to him, and he realised that this would be one of the memories that would keep him going until she would come back to him.

"Fleur's the bride, it's only natural everyone will look at her, it's not supposed to be any different Sean! Besides, if it's up to me, we don't have to wait that long after this is all over. Then you can show me off on your own wedding."

She clambered off of his lap, skipping to the door and giving him one last wink before making her way downstairs.

As he heard the old staircase creak under her weight, he vowed to himself that he would make a good day of today. It was going to be hard, but he would damned if he didn't at least try to make the best of every second he got with her.

And so he kept his promise. They danced all night, under the stars, only eyes for each other, until the chaos started, and the only thing that was left for him was the haunting memory of his arms wrapped around her tiny frame.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

It had all happened too fast.

The death eaters, the chaos, the screaming, the light flashes. She'd expected it, of course she had, but not that soon. She had actually felt like they would come in about 48 hours from then, but she could kick herself now for not thinking logically.

Of course her sister had. She was the clever one, after all. Thank God for her precautions. She shuddered upon thinking about what would've happened otherwise.

Candles floating all around them were illuminating Sean's face, his eyes sparkling with not only love, but hope as well. They were dancing, swirling around the dance floor, and for just a second, Kaycee couldn't help but allow herself to imagine that this was their own wedding.

A shiver ran down her spine, both from horror and just plain cold. She wasn't having second thoughts about coming with her sister, Ron and Harry at all, but right now, after the last 48 hours in which she'd escaped death eaters in a diner, found a locket that caused her severe anxiety, and broken into the freaking ministry, she'd give all her possessions for a warm couch with Sean sitting in it. The worst thing, however, was that she was well aware that this was only the very beginning.

"Kaycee, are you okay?"

It was Ron, worries visible by the wrinkles on his forehead. She smiled, only slightly and definitely not happy, but grateful for a friend like him. And then, when another term for him flashed through her head, she decided to brighten the situation a little. They could all use it.

"Yes, probably future brother-in-law. Thank you for asking."

And, after checking that Harry and Hermione were still busy setting up their tent, she added:

"Don't you want to go warm your lady up a bit, instead of having to babysit her little sister?"

Ron blushed at that, looking at the ground, but shaking his head slightly.

"I'm not babysitting you Kaycee. You're every bit as mature as Harry and I are. Mione...well, she's just on another level. Besides, talking to you is much easier than talking to her, unfortunately."

Kaycee grinned at that, knowing how much of a hard time he really had talking to her sister. She wished it was different, that they could just admit what they felt. It would make the whole horcrux hunt a lot more comfortable for both of them. Not being able to be with Sean hadn't made her bitter, she still wanted Ron and Hermione to find the love they both craved so badly in each other.

Love.

Sean had said he'd help her with her shoe. She was wearing ballerina-ish ones, with a ribbon tying the shoe around her leg. One of the bows had gotten untied and before she could really react, he'd put himself on one knee in front of her. She didn't even think about what other people would think when they saw them, didn't even notice how much this looked like a completely different event. He tied the ribbon carefully, tight enough so it would keep in place, but not so tight that it would hurt her.

"Sean! This is not a good moment to propose to your girlfriend!"

They both looked up quickly, in the direction of Bill, butterbeer in one hand, roaring with laughter.

"You wouldn't want to have to share the attention with me, now would you?"

Sean had stood up now, laughing as well. Quickly, he walked forward, giving a friendly hug to the oldest Weasley child.

"I haven't had a chance to congratulate you yet! You have way too many aunts swarming around you, Bill. Anyway, congratulations. I hope you'll be really happy together."

"Hey Ron, seeing as talking to me is apparently easier than talking to Hermione, fancy telling me why all your aunts found it necessary to swarm around Bill all the time? Sean and I weren't able to reach him! He had to come to us, and then Sean talked about it with Bill after the...well...incident, but I still don't really get it. I mean, is it only because he's the oldest?"

Ron laughed at that, while giving one of the bags to Kaycee and carrying another one with his uninjured arm to what was now a fully standing tent.

"Well, that's a long story. You sure you don't want to talk about Sean's little stunt? That conversation would be a lot more sensational."

They reached the tent, giving the bags to Harry and Hermione, who were going to unpack them while Ron and Kaycee went for another one.

"No, my day was sensational enough. I'd like to hear some stories about your family. By the time my sister marries, I'd like to know at least all the names of the guests."

This time, Ron didn't comment on her teasing. He just smiled.

"Alright then."

And so they talked all evening, about the normal things in life. And it was well that way, just sitting in their tent with a warm tea cup in their cold hands, telling each other stories. It could be the tea, but Kaycee doubted it. It was probably because of her family, which definitely included Ron and Harry as well by now, that once again, a little seed of hope was planted in her heart.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

Autumn

The by now familiar red hue woke her up.

Kaycee opened her eyes, looking around the tent to see what the matter was. She'd soon found the source of the problem: Harry was tossing and turning in his cot, a few feet away from her. She'd learned throughout her sessions with Professor Dumbledore that her extra mind ability always chose to let her know a specific part of the situation. If she was unlucky, it would only tell her that there was something wrong. Those were the worst ones, since she had no clue how to fix whatever was wrong. Sometimes her mind told her what was wrong in particular, but didn't help her with how to fix it. The best thing her mind could do, however, was telling her what she had to do in order to fix whatever was wrong.

Fortunately for her, it was the latter this time.

Quickly, she got up, tiptoeing to Harry's bed, careful not to wake the others. When she reached him, she gently put her hands on his shoulder, slightly shaking him.

"Harry....Harry, wake up. You're having a nightmare. Harry!"

His bloodshot eyes shot open, his breath ragged, and at first, he didn't know where to look, His eyes randomly and desperately darting around the room. In that moment, he reminded Kaycee of the poster of Sirius in Azkaban, and she knew in that moment the sight would haunt her for a long time to come. It took a while until his eyes locked with Kaycee's, but when they did, Harry calmed down a bit.

"It was....it was about G-ginny. Death eaters were hurting her and I wasn't....I wasn't there for her."

He kept silent after that, breaking their eye contact and touching his chest with his left hand. It was only then that Kaycee noticed the locket hanging around his neck.

"Take off the locket and give it to me."

"Kaycee...if something happens, you're the only-"

But she cut him off, having already expected this objection.

"Don't give me that nonsense, Harry. We both know the hue tells me every danger that's about to come in the next 24 hours, I didn't eat chocolate frogs when I visited Professor Dumbledore. Well, that's not the only thing we did, anyway. The point is that I've trained to know a lot by just a few seconds of red hue, and since I've already had the hue now, I know what's important. You can give me the locket."

Harry gave in, putting the chain over his head and giving it to his friend. She immediately put it on, the cold metal instantly numbed the extra part of her mind.

It was something they had discovered a few days after they visited Godric's Hollow, or more specifically, when they were attacked by Nagini. Kaycee hadn't seen it coming at all, hadn't had a red hue in a week. She'd felt so so guilty, until Hermione had demanded her to take off the locket, since it was her turn after Kaycee. As soon as the locket hadn't hung around her neck anymore, the red hue started, way more intense than normal, but also over much sooner. She had seen images, flashes, almost, of everything that had happened in Godric's Hollow.

The red hue had tried to catch up to its normal pace after the locket wasn't able to suffocate her mind anymore.

It was a revelation that had her sister shouting, already making schedules to make sure Kaycee would never be able to wear that locket again, but Kaycee had objected, for the first time in her life standing up against her sister. In the end, she could convince all of them that she would keep wearing the locket, if she promised to give the red hue enough time to come through on a regular basis.

When she looked back at Harry, he smiled, relieved.

"Thank you. That was definitely a misleading dream."

She nodded her head, indicating it was no problem. And then:

"I do it for Ron as well."

Harry cocked his head to the left side, eyebrow raised. Quickly, she checked if Hermione was still asleep, scared she'd start a fit if she discovered her and Ron's secret. Then, she continued.

"Okay, first of all, I want you to stay silent about this to Hermione. She can't know, it's not an option, okay?"

Harry quickly nodded, urging her on.

"About a month ago, Ron and Hermione had an argument. Ron was wearing the locket. You and Hermione stayed inside, not wanting to upset him any more, but I felt a hue coming up again, and so I followed him. The locket had convinced him it was better for him to leave us, Harry."

She could see his eyes expand, her words shocking him to the core.

"Ron does still wear the locket sometimes, one of you would undoubtedly have noticed otherwise, but not as much anymore. And I still take care of giving the hue enough time to come through, it's just way better for all of us this way. Ron...I've learned that he is very insecure. And for me, the locket doesn't feel like a threat at all, it just numbs the extra capacity of my mind, but just because it put its energy in that activity, it can't hurt me anymore."

Harry had an amazed smile on his face, slowly shaking his head as if in disbelief. Kaycee didn't really know what to make of that reaction. Then Harry spoke, whispering in a breathy tone.

"You are one wonderful human being, Kaycee Granger."

She hugged him then, her famous but incredibly genuine friend, and for the first time ever, she really believed the compliment she had received.

----------------------------------------------------------------------- Winter

"Don't listen to it Ron!! It's not true!!"

Kaycee didn't think she'd ever heard Hermione scream this hard. As if on instinct, she took her sister's hand, trying to mitigate some of the pain Hermione was experiencing, seeing Ron there, fighting not only against the locket, but his own insecurities as well.

She knew all about the pain of knowing your love is in danger.

"Kill it, Ron! Now's the time! Do it!"

This time, it was Kaycee who was screaming, letting herself get filled with the last remnants of the hue to tell her friend what he had to do. The real hue had made itself present about half an hour ago. They had been eating dinner when it came up suddenly, urging her on to tell everyone Ron had to go to the lake nearby, with the locket. They had all left their camping place with him, of course, anxiety swirling in the pit of all their stomachs. And now they were at the lake, Kaycee, Harry and Hermione on a safe distance, while Ron was directly in front of that hideous form made of air, feeding him lies.

Ron did nothing.

"RON!!! DESTROY IT!! IT'S NOT REAL!!!"

And then, he finally did.

Kaycee saw him lunge forward, the newfound sword of Gryffindor above his head, a soul wrenching sound coming out of his throat. He lifted the sword, slowly, as if to calculate his next move. Time didn't stop, but it definitely slowed down in that moment. Kaycee could only concentrate on the sword in Ron's hand, floating above his head.

Suddenly, time caught up again, everything happening at once. Ron fell to his knees, bringing the sword with him and successfully slicing the locket in half. The vision of Harry and Hermione that previously floated in the air, the fragments exploding, shattering in a million broken pieces, leaving only the truth behind.

The truth, in this case, was Ron, sitting on his knees on the frozen ground, his shoulders heaving, the sound multiplied a hundred times by the eerie silence of the wood.

"Come here."

Ron's voice sounded hoarse, undoubtedly damaged by the animalistic scream of just a few seconds ago.

They complied, of course they did.

Hermione, however, was a little faster than Kaycee and Harry were. She actually ran to him, turning on her heels as soon as she reached him and facing Ron. Before anyone could really register what she was doing, she fell on her knees, half on top of Ron, half of her jeans already getting covered in the mud. And then, she kissed him.

It was something Kaycee really should've seen coming, but somehow hadn't thought of amidst all the chaos. Now, all she could do was stand still, enjoying this rare moment of happiness, not caring that it was surrounded by a scene of danger and mystery.

Ron had taken Hermione's waist by now, making sure she wouldn't slip off of his lap. The kiss itself had looked pretty passionate, which made Kaycee grin. Hermione never did anything without giving her all. Apparently, that included making out as well.

From the corner of her eye, she saw Harry gesture to her that it'd be better if she just went with him, back to the tent, to give Ron and Hermione some privacy as well. She silently agreed, her smile only broadening as she saw Harry's. Finally, there would be no more beating around the bush from those two.

Just as they were about to walk away, Ron's voice made them come to a halt.

"Stop. Stay, please. Kaycee..."

She turned around again, curious as to why Ron, a guy with 6 siblings, wouldn't appreciate the little alone time she and Harry were giving them. She met his gaze, and was shocked by the amount of happiness radiating off of him, like he was on fire, but in a good way, his positive energy lighting up the forest, and her soul. She wanted him to feel this good all the time.

"Thank you."

And while Harry and Hermione probably thought he was thanking her for sending them here and therefore finally getting rid of the locket, Kaycee knew better. It wasn't only a thank you for transmitting the message of her hue. It was a thank you for lifting his self confidence when he was sure Hermione hated him, it was a thank you for convincing him to stay with them, to convince him that he wasn't too much, but in fact very necessary for this mission. It was a thank you for wearing the locket in his place.

It was a thank you for wanting to be his sister.

"I love you. All of you, so much."

And while they all told her they loved her too, she knew that she would do everything in her power to give these people the long, happy and loving life they deserved.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

Spring

Mudblood.

Kaycee traced the letters on her sister's arm with her thumb, gently rubbing in the ointment Fleur had given her. She'd insisted on being the one to take care of her sister as soon as she heard about Hermione's injuries, ignoring her own ones. She felt guilty, so guilty, for not being able to help her sister. For the past few days, everyone had been saying that she'd been incredible, there in that cellar, but she couldn't shake the feeling that it hadn't been enough.

The darkness was shocking after the brightly lit room they came from, and if Hermione hadn't just been taken away from them, Kaycee would've thought the darkness was comforting.

"Kaycee Granger, I missed you."

She looked around abruptly despite not being able to see anything. It didn't really matter. The voice was enough to give her hope, and let her see a bit more clearly amidst all this chaos.

"Luna. Oh dear God, Luna."

And she'd opened her arms then, not knowing where Luna was but trusting her to hug her, and Luna did, wrapping her arms around Kaycee's body.

She had to stop herself from flinching when she felt how unhealthily skinny Luna had become.

And then, she'd heard the sound that would resurface in her worst nightmares for the rest of her life. Hermione's scream filled the cellar, heck, the whole house had probably heard the echoes of her pain by now. Behind her, Ron stormed to the bars that contained all of them, tugging on it, screaming almost as hard as Hermione just had, over and over again, even when his voice was rough and his throat was undoubtedly sore.

A knock on the door brought her out of her reverie. She looked up, ready to snap at anyone who dared to intervene, but when the door opened and Luna's head appeared out of the creak, Kaycee relaxed. Luna wouldn't tell her what or what not to do.

"Come on in, Luna."

Luna smiled lightly and opened the door completely with her elbow, a plate of food balanced on one hand, Fleur's medical kit in the other. It was the first day after they had all been rescued from Malfoy Manor that she saw her friend again, because Fleur had insisted that Luna needed enough time to sleep and eat. She still looked very skinny, but Kaycee took comfort in the fact that her eyes had that same sparkle in them that they had always had before, and that the gloss on her cheeks had somewhat returned.

"I brought our food up here, because I thought you could use some company and I was craving a conversation with someone who doesn't see me as a sweet but crazy girl."

Straightforward Luna. Kaycee loved it.

"What's on the menu today?"

As an answer, Luna put down the plate, showing her 2 apples, 2 piping hot bowls of oatmeal, 2 bars of dark chocolate and a large jar with water in it.

They started eating, both slowly, Kaycee because she wasn't really hungry and Luna because her stomach wasn't used to much food anymore. For a while, the high pitched sound of their spoons scraping against their bowls was the only one filling the room, until Luna decided to speak.

"I knew about your hue, of course I did, and I trusted it way before Malfoy Manor, but I'd never realised it was this strong, Kaycee Granger. So thank you, for being a part of the reason why we're all here. I really appreciate not being in that cellar."

Kaycee looked down, suddenly shy. She really didn't know how to deal with the praise. For some reason, it felt weird to see what she did as anything different than a normal reaction, but that was probably because the hue did feel like something normal to her. She supposed it was different when you had been in that dark cellar for more than a few hours indeed.

"How long had you been in that cellar before we came?"

Luna's answer was light, without tears or much fuss, but it made Kaycee feel as cold as she had in that cellar all over again.

"3 months, one week and 4 days, 5 if you count rescue day."

She hugged her best friend, the tears rolling over her cheeks instead of over Luna's, who was, as always, much stronger than people thought she was. She was, after all, the person who made it possible for her to do the things she had done, there in Malfoy Manor.

Ron's screaming was unbearable to listen to, but Kaycee knew she was never going to be able to shut him up. Not while his Mione was upstairs, receiving God knows which treatment. She was pacing, going from one end of the cellar to the other, desperately trying to block out the noise in order to come up with a solution. She had asked herself a million times why the hue hadn't come up to prevent all of this from happening. She thought it had something to do with the fact that Harry had said Voldemort's name so suddenly, it didn't even count as an event for the hue, but the consequences were so grave that Kaycee still felt guilty.

"Everyone shut up right now!"

And surprisingly, everyone did. Kaycee looked around in astonishment, locking eyes with Luna, who appeared to be just as calm and collected as always, nothing revealing the fact that she had yelled that sentence throughout the cellar at a volume no one had heard her use before.

"Kaycee is about to experience a hue. If we want to get out of here, it's wise to let her think for the next few minutes."

All eyes were on Kaycee, but Kaycee could only look at Luna in surprise, and slight fear, because she hadn't even thought of getting a hue here. Now that the possibility crossed her mind, she realised that it had been at least 24 hours since she had experienced her last hue, which had been about the fact that they shouldn't eat pasta that day because Hermione would get sick. Nothing important, which surprised Kaycee, because the hue always chose to tell her the single most important thing within the next few hours.

Around 30 seconds after Luna had all promised them Kaycee would get a hue, she started feeling it herself, and the only thing she was able to register before she succumbed to the red light, was that Luna knew her so well that had been able to predict Kaycee's hue.

Then, it came crashing down on her, intense like never before.

The hue had definitely saved some of its intensity these last few days.

She closed her eyes, trying to make sense of all the things penetrating her head. One of the only things that came back repeatedly was Dobby's form, his voice, the Hogwarts kitchen in which he was washing vegetables right now. Strangely enough, there was a statue of a house elf in knight equipment in the middle of the room. And then an off-hand mention of Luna, a few years ago, telling her house elves had special powers normal witches and wizards would never be able to possess, unless there was something extremely peculiar going on in their mind.

When the hue stopped, she knew what she had to do.

As quickly as possible, she sat down on the cold floor, trying to ignore the intense cold creeping up her legs. She closed her eyes, balled her fists, drowned out Hermione's screams from upstairs. She called for Dobby, not out loud but in her mind, feeling silly for doing so, but hopeful because she had come to trust her hue, and what it told her. For a second, nothing happened, and her faith rapidly turned into despair. When she heard something, she opened her eyes, only to see everyone she knew in that cellar sitting around her, their faces encouraging, their fingers crossed.

It was all she needed to try again.

She called for Dobby, once, twice, over and over again, forgetting everything and anything else. Dobby. Like a mantra in her head, sounding louder and louder, until she suddenly had a vision in her mind. It was the same image she'd seen in her hue, Dobby washing vegetables while humming to himself.

'Dobby!'

And this time, the version of him in her mind looked up, surprised. The elf turned around, watching his friends all do their task. No one in that kitchen had called for him. Kaycee knew she needed to say more.

It's Kaycee, Dobby. Harry and the rest are in Malfoy Manor. I had a hue and therefore knew that we need-

Suddenly, the connection was broken. Kaycee could feel it, there was a void in her, like a meaningful phone call you had accidentally ended. The image of Dobby wasn't in her mind anymore either, no matter how hard she tried to get it back.

She had let her friends down.

Hermione's scream pierced through her, like she had only been listening through a wall, but was now standing right next to her. Kaycee wished she was, then at least she would've been able to help her sister, maybe even take her place. Anything was better than this suffocating feeling of failure.

"Dobby has come to help you."

It was faint and high pitched, coming from the other side of the massive cellar, but everyone turned their head in synchrony, and in disbelief. There stood Dobby, the free elf, the shiny metal of the exact same knight gear she'd seen in her vision covering his entire body. He looked ready to save them all. And while everyone ran to Dobby, helping and praising him, Kaycee felt a hand take her own. She knew, without looking, that it was Luna's. She felt her best friend squeeze her hand, and she knew what it meant.

She hadn't failed.

She had succeeded.

---------------------------------------------------------------------

The cold breeze that raged through Sean's hair felt refreshing, like it was blowing away his worries, and replacing them with new ideas, possibilities. A future.

He looked out over the landscape surrounding Hogwarts, the Great Lake, Hagrid's hut, the Forbidden Forest. It had been his home for the last seven years, and while his first few years here at Hogwarts had been quite the adventure, the castle had still felt like a good place. The last year, however, had been hell, worse, it had drained him, sucking all colour from his life, reducing all his positive energy to exhaustion. Now though, it all felt different. He felt the wind again, saw how the green leaves gently swayed to different sides, noticed the ripples on the surface of the water beneath him. He felt alive again.

"You okay, mate?"

The sound came from Ron, standing beside him. Sean closed his eyes, smiling at Ron's familiar words. It was crazy how aware he was of everything right now, how little he took for granted. Even Ron asking him how he was doing brought a smile to his face. It was different, he guessed, when that same friend had been away from him for 10 months.

Somewhere above him, a lark sang, and Sean nodded to his friend. He didn't return Ron's question, though. He knew Ron wasn't okay, and that thought made his stomach clench. There wasn't anything he could do, however, so he just squeezed his shoulder, and he knew Ron understood.

"When Harry and Ginny get married, Hermione and I will train any Hogwarts house elf who wants to participate in dancing, and they'll bring a beautiful show on their wedding."

Sean's head turned around as quickly as possible, his eyes locking on her form. He'd seen her right before and during the battle, but that was only briefly, and his mind had focused on finding horcruxes and making sure as little people as possible died. Only now that the war was over, he could look properly at her again. She'd lost weight, her hair had never been this dirty and the bags under her eyes had never been this prominent, but the brightness of her eyes hadn't either. She was breathtaking, and he was at a loss for words.

"Wait...is that the hue telling us this? Because I actually like that idea!"

It was Hermione who spoke this time, she was standing beside her sister, hair just as messy, dirty smears covering her cheeks. He saw Ron move, crossing the width of the bridge and engulfing the brightest witch of their age in his arms. It was in that moment that Sean knew Ron would be okay. It'd take a lot of time, but from now on, it'd go only better. He was already healing.

Kaycee spoke up again, and Sean revelled in the sweet sound of her voice.

"No, it's not the hue. I'm creating this with my fantasy, because I hope it'll happen one day. Hermione...we're allowed to dream again."

A single tear fell on Hermione's chest. Sean knew it wasn't from sadness. It was because of what Kaycee had just said. He decided right then and there that that was the most beautiful sentence he'd ever heard in his entire life.

They were allowed to dream again.

"When Kaycee and I get married, we will argue a lot about whether Hermione can be my witness or hers. In the end, I get Hermione as my witness, and she asks Sarah to be hers."

He hadn't even meant to said, it was just an image that had come to his mind. The effect, however, was immediate, Hermione carefully unwrapping herself from Ron's arms and giving him a hug. From the corner of his eye, he saw Ron smile, and his heart warmed.

They stayed on that half broken bridge for the rest of the day, even when it had become dark and the stars had appeared. At one point, Luna and Harry had come to them, bringing blankets, and they joined them in 'creating their future'. Ginny found them too, eventually, as well as Neville, and the 8 of them sat there, the stones cold but their love for one another warm.

Just when Luna was describing how she'd take all their kids on a road trip with Auntie Luna to teach them more about all kinds of mysterious animals, Sean looked up at the stars. Just like that night when he confessed to his love, a star seemed to flutter without falling down, almost like it was winking at him, and Sean was overcome with one thought, crashing over him like a wave of crystal-clear water.

From now on, all these things were finally possible.

[ofsparksandwings]

Sensing

Jan 1, 2017 – Of Vietnam, from Nom Khiaw, Laos

And now I exhale. Before a 1,000 foot looming karst that plays hide and seek in the mist of the Laos cloud forest, I embrace the rainy day while I sit on the thatch-roofed porch of my well-appointed bungalow at the interstices.  These spaces in between, neither of this world nor outside it, not attached to past or future, breed reflection like no other.  

Preceded by a particularly immersive weekend meditation retreat, this travel experience, more than most, has allowed me to almost watch the ebb and flow of my reactions as a detached observer.  I always find that displacing oneself from the familiarity of home conjures feelings of every extreme.  The elation of a strong, steaming shower, after days without, can be replaced with shocking swiftness by the devastation of a boat trip to a coveted landscape cancelled due to unseasonable rain.  Just as mercurial was the titillation I felt, on Christmas Eve in Vietnam, when my hotel staff performed a hilarious choreographed version of Uptown Funk in Santa suits – too soon followed by a sleepless night because India’s bureaucratic and labyrinthian e-visa website threatened to thwart my ability to gain entry in the country where I am committed to deliver a youth arts project in just 2 weeks. 

However, I am no longer surprised when such unabashed joy erodes the moment another travel aspiration is dashed. I’ve ventured far from creature comforts often enough to realize that my daily happiness on the road is inextricably linked to the management of my expectations.  And so I secretly hoard my hopes, like one does their vices (whisky under the bed or sweets in a hard to reach cookie jar).  And instead I strive to absorb each travel experience like a sponge – neutral and receptive, as open to saturation as I am ready to be wrung out to dry.  

Hanoi boasts more cafes than Vancouver, Seattle, and Portland combined.  And one of our favorites was the Notes Café. Visitors are invited to leave messages on pastel sticky notes that wallpaper this three-story, 10-by-10 sliver, in the centre of town.  On mine I wrote, “live every day like a traveler” by which I mean to savor every sensation like it’s the first time you’ve ever encountered it.  

A lofty goal, but one far more easily achieved when a routine day includes the blood-curdling squeals of a giant pig as Hmong tribesman try to tie it, alive, to the back of their moped; the ubiquitous smell of fish sauce, cigarettes and singed flesh; the glories of a woman’s firm hand kneading all of your worries from between your toes; the taste of a liquid hot coconut pancake bought on the street for a quarter; or the hourly site of a mother tenderly picking lice from her child’s hair on the sidewalk, their family’s “dirty laundry” laid bare, the way it seems everyone lives their lives in this part of the world – in public, proud and shameless.  Perhaps it’s why all their café chairs face outwards, where an endless array of stimuli abounds.  Weddings are held in open downtown patios; men can get a shave or a haircut on every street corner; electrical wires hang in exposed, tangled webs draped from block to block; and cyclists ride past, dwarfed by enough wares to fill a whole floor of a department store.  I envy such candor.  We could all learn from their honesty.  And I think such transparency lends itself to much deeper compassion.  

Sense-making

Jan 1, 2017 – Of Vietnam, from Nom Khiaw, Laos

Another favorite aspect of travel, for me, is sense-making.  It was three days before we learned that the balloons cryptically sold at every Hanoi bar were filled with shisha (a flavored smoke enjoyed in Hookah clubs around the world).  The same amount of time was required to realize that the amplified chant which woke us every dawn was communist propaganda emanating from the loud-speakers of their garbage trucks.  Conversely, the donut ladies and shoe repair boys were a much quicker read.  Not two minutes off our airport bus, we were accosted, unawares, by a woman in a triangular straw hat who popped free TimBits in our mouths.  This seemed like a friendly welcome, but it turns out the same ruse happens every 15 minutes in Hanoi. So, we learned to keep our mouths closed when we passed them to avoid the pressure to buy more.  Just a minute later, with our sore-thumb status confirmed by our rolled suitcases, a sharp-eyed, young male bent at my feet and proceeded to glue the sole of my shoe, near the toe, where it had begun to detach.  While I reached for a 5,000 dong note (30 cents) to thank him, he had already grabbed his needle and mismatched thread, ripped my sneaker off my foot, and continued to repair the undamaged heel. Then, he asked for the equivalent of a whopping $10 for his unsolicited 2 minutes of labor and mismatched gold scar which he left on the treasured shoes that I’d bought on my last adventure, in Colombia.  We settled on a buck, and I chocked it up to a great tale.  Now, I’m just hoping that I’ll get them polished in Kenya then stolen in Paris so I’ll eventually collect a story from every continent.  

There are sensations I count on as sort of traveler’s homing-devices in every part of the world.  Rooster wake-up calls, unidentified prickly fruits, chromatic bird calls, steaming street food, traffic chaos, and smoky sunsets.  Then, there are those unique to certain regions.  And I have to confess that Asia’s tickle me most.  The constant waft of Buddhist incense.  The colorful light that paper lanterns lend to almost every setting.  The gorgeous silks and embroidered textiles that line the markets like flags attesting to the efforts of the women who have toiled over these precious pieces.  And then, of course, the delectable food that no amount of Delhi belly can deter me from trying.  There is noodle soup, sticky rice, hot pots, curry, sweet iced coffees, teas, and fried bananas to name a mere few. My mouth is watering as I write.  So much so, I think it’s time to break for dinner….

Travel Lessons

Jan 5, 2017 – Of Vietnam, from Luang Prabang, Laos

Certain insight can be revealed about a culture through one’s own eyes.  The art nouveau propaganda posters that abound in Vietnam act as souvenirs that loudly scream of their unabashed hatred for the US during the “American War”, as they aptly call it.   Conversely, a crowd of children yelling in a public park turned out to be a game of Tug of War – an ironic demonstration of their more peaceful present times. Thoughtfully restored French colonial structures and fresh baked baguettes at every café infer a certain reconciliation with their former imperialists.  As did our experience on Christmas Eve, when we accidentally happened upon thousands of locals singing Silent Night in front of a jumbotron outside St Joseph’s Cathedral, where several hundreds more attended the service.  Though a vestige of their colonizer’s religion, the profound sincerity of their adopted faith gave us chills.

Other truths have to be gleaned from more deliberate research.  Hanoi’s impressive Women’s Museum (an institution I wish existed in every nation) taught me that females have been leaders in Vietnam for centuries (politically, militarily, scholarly and otherwise).  Perhaps influenced by the history of numerous matrilineal tribes, women seem largely respected and included in Vietnamese public life – not only relegated to domestic responsibilities as we’ve observed more in places like India and Morocco.  Of course, along with this has come grueling physical and low-paid labor, in sweat shops, on farms, and everywhere on the streets where you see them carry burdensome wicker baskets dripping with vegetables or chickens or toys, balanced by a mere bamboo pole that rests on their probably thickly calloused shoulders.

But I always learn the most interesting things from my direct interactions with locals. Hanoi is not without its hipsters. Microbrew culture is budding. Latte art and mojitos are easy to find. And the trendy Tadioto Bar was certainly the best example.  This dimly lit, art-gallery-slash-20-seater drinking hole hosts Vietnam’s artsy literati types, along with the few foreigners who can find it.  The 27-year old manager, who did not look a day over 16, returned to his hometown to swap philosophical banter with his clientele after a grad school stint in Wisconsin as a poetry major.  And we were privileged to a long chat with him once the place had emptied.  He spoke about a small but thriving educated class, eager to study abroad.  He criticized the hypocrisy of the blatant consumerist values he perceives in Vietnam while it remains a Communist state.  His female companion, (an actual 16-year old far too big for her britches, sipping tea amidst her adult peers while home on holiday from her New Jersey prep school), added that many of her compatriots were quick to capitalize on the ease with which a clever person could make good money in her country.  And when we asked about the danger of dissent (like we’d previously observed in Cuba, for example), they shared that because many “revolutionary” thinkers can relatively maintain the comfortable lifestyle they want, within the current regime, their objections remain more ideological than action-based because their need to make waves is not great enough. Of course, such a conversation is merely a glimpse of their political reality, and received only through the lens of a few select opinions.  However, it still added much richer hues to the picture of Vietnam that I had before my visit.

Tours and Chores 

January 6, 2017 – Of Vietnam, from Luang Prabang

While I travel primarily to gain cultural insight, not all of my travel choices have such lofty intentions.  I am also hungry for new experiences and certainly allow myself to indulge in occasional not-to-miss attractions along the way.  In Vietnam, one of those was HaLong Bay, where thousands of mythically shaped karst mountains hold court in the South China Sea, like creatures out of a horror film.  One can’t avoid sharing this World Wonder with 2,000 other travelers who dot the coast in orange-sailed junket boats on any given day.  And whether you want to or not, you are shuttled through an action-packed itinerary that includes a cave trek, kayaking, and a cooking class. Not a bad combo at all, but the constant demands on our minute-by-minute behavior had me wondering if they’d dictate when I could pee or even breathe too.  Such guided programs do, however, offer some surprises.  And while I dreaded the visit to a cultured pearl farm, for fear of aggressive sales pressure, I was astounded by the lengths to which our species manipulates nature to mine it for the tiniest gems.  After a test tube baby-like breeding process that mixes a dead oyster’s shell lining with organic flesh, they inject this into a living mollusk in the hopes that a drop will fuse with sand and other solid ocean matter to produce the coveted pearl.  Of course, it only works 3 out of 10 times, and then only 10% of those pearls are “perfect” sellable specimens.  So, with a 3 % overall success rate, it’s no wonder this laborious process reaps such expensive jewelry.  I was left wondering who ever thought up such craziness and why, but that’s a disorienting state in which I often find myself as I travel, and I invite it.

At the end of our two-day tour, we were mildly disappointed with the overcast weather that never lifted. But, for the most part, this only meant one less screen saver shot than we’d hoped.  And, of course, that is never a real reason to travel.  Meanwhile, the shrouded look did lend its own magic, and I still feel very grateful to have seen this one-of-a-kind landscapes.

Insights

January  9, 2017 – Of Laos, from Siem Reap, Cambodia

There are few places that can surprise anymore. Facebook, Instagram, the Amazing Race, our intrepid friends’ travel slideshow parties, and much cheaper, easier flights than ever before mean that at least someone somewhere has told you/showed you about nearly every place on earth.  And though Laos is far less traveled to than most spots, surely some of our adventurous buddies had already ventured there.  However, we’d resisted looking at their photos, or others, as much as possible prior to our trip.  So, the country’s fifty shades of green, which barely resemble the same number that paint BC’s Sea to Sky corridor, were wonderous to discover.  

The design sensibilities of the tribal weavers, the Buddhist temple-builders, and the interior decorators of Luang Prabang’s stylish cafes constantly exceeded our expectations.  And the unwavering calm, clear-eyed joy of the Laotian people continued to amaze us while we failed to witness an exceptional case by our tenth day there.  

But most shocking was the 100-year-old film, Chang, that documented daily Hmong life, deep in the Northern jungle, in a way that has not been rivalled before or since.  It follows a loving family of four, in a scant stilted home, who lived at times in harmony and at others in discord with a host of creatures that surrounded them.  Chickens, pigs, goats, giant lizards, pet baby bears, and howler monkeys they counted as friends or food.  But leopards, tigers, cobras and a full herd of 400 elephants threatened them daily. It’s difficult to say what astounded us more - the boldness of this courageous filmmaker, or the preposterousness of this family’s efforts to outwit their far fiercer foes.  Even more strange is the fact that the film is virtually unknown, and went entirely missing for almost 65 years until its recent rediscovery.  So, while part of me wishes to keep Laos’s secrets amongst the few who are willing to go there and see for themselves, it would certainly benefit the study of Mekong’s indigenous people, and perhaps the anthropological understanding of other aboriginal cultures if this deserved film were to receive global circulation. However, for now, it is only available in the most quaint and romantic bike/walk-in theatre ever, each night at 7:30, in the garden of one of Luang Prabang’s most chic hotels – popcorn, beer and all.  

We were granted another privileged and intimate peek into Laos culture when we took a slow boat up the Nam Ou river with our guide Wong, whose story spoke volumes about his people.  Wong was born in a remote Northern farming village, the middle child of 11 siblings – the boys outnumbering the girls by only 1.  Raised by parents with a strong value for education, Wong woke at 3 am, from the age of 5, to have enough time to steam rice for his “lunchbox” and then walk a whopping 3 hours to the nearest primary school, only to study from 7-1 and then repeat the whole journey home, every afternoon, before dark. Wishing to improve his access to learning, Wong chose, of his own volition, to become a monk at the age of 11, which meant that he had to move to Vientiene, 600 kilometres from home, to study at a temple school there.  He generously shared that he cried non-stop for his first 3-days, but his homesickness abated when he soon began to make close friends.  It was 7 years before he even once returned to his village, but his parents did make the long bus trek, once per year, to see him.  

At 18, again by choice, Wong incurred a self-imposed fast, during which he remained in his room for 8-days of contemplative meditation, to determine if the monastic life was truly for him.  He emerged spiritually strengthened but physically weakened, and his retreat was followed by a 6 days in the hospital.  But his resolve to seek further university study and to one day marry caused him to disavow celibacy and asceticism.  Most Laotians follow Therevadan Buddhism which allows for men and women to enter and exit monastic life (unlike the Dalai Lama’s Mahayana branch which requires a lifetime commitment), so Wong was not alone in his life transition.  More than half of his childhood mates also left the monkhood and he sadly lost touch with all of them.  His desire for love has not yet panned out either.  He confessed to his discovery of Lao whisky and beer when he nursed a broken heart after his first love ended because he could not abide a possessive or jealous girlfriend.  But his career aspirations did successfully lead him to complete degrees in English and Law.  He also acknowledged that he knew he could be much more effective as a lay person, providing legal counsel to people in villages like his own, because many hill tribe people are not Buddhist and are thus less receptive to Buddhist monks.  

So now, he has reached the arduous internship phase that his country requires of all bureaucrats.  And this means that he must work full-time, without pay, potentially for several years, until he passes a very demanding exam to qualify as a legal officer. Meanwhile, he has to work weekends to pay for his living expenses, which is why we found ourselves scrambling into a limestone cave, swimming in jungle waterfalls, passing gargantuan 10-inch amphibious millipedes en route to a jungle waterfall, and kayaking cavernous river valleys with our charming guide who taught us so much.

View from Two Wheels

January 10, 2017 – Of Laos, from Siem Reap, Cambodia

Life is always observed most vibrantly for me from a bicycle.  This slower two-wheeled pace, though faster than walking, still allows for careful observation of the people, places and things you pass along the road. And rather than to simply watch it, you are truly in it, moving as so many others do in the world, by human-powered pedal.  Our Laos trip covered 300 k in 4 days, a manageable distance that still enabled us to cover some real ground.  

Slipping towards and away from the Mekong and then Nam Ou waters, we were hugged by stunning views at every turn.  But a few sights stand out in particular, for better or worse.   -Triangular-hatted women working impossibly green rice fields, just like you might mythically imagine in any rural Southeast Asian scene.   -Formerly-adorable, brown and black decapitated goat heads, on sale at the side of the road for god knows what culinary purpose.  -Straw roofs covered in drying river weed to prepare one of our favorite Laotian treats, kaiphen, a scrumptious nori-style roasted greens served with sticky rice.

-Another seemingly unnecessary gas station, no less than every 10 k (5 times more prevalent than guest houses, for sure).  We figured this gave the residents of the tiny villages en route a way to fill up their motor bikes without having to travel too far, but the infrastructure for these fossil fuel beasts seemed incongruous amidst the primitive nature of the surrounding communities. -And Hmong tribal children honoring their New Year celebration (Pei Mei) in incredibly festive traditional dress. 

But the worst blight to our senses were the series of imposing dams which the Laos government has hired China Energy to build all over the country. I don’t think that there is any edifice that serves as a greater physical manifestation of humanity’s raping of Mother Earth than a giant concrete dam.  And the thoughtless red spray-painted numbers scrawled across hundreds of families’ homes, slotted for demolition, were a stark reminder of the displacement such projects incur.  Even more tragic is the fact that Laos is overdeveloping its hydro power for its population’s needs.  So, it plans to sell it to its neighbors.  Little beautiful has been built in the name of greed and these Mekong scars are no exception.

Massage Dynamics

January 10, 2017 – Of Laos, from Siem Reap, Cambodia It seems unfair that the aches and pains gained from a one-week bike tour could be so instantly and cheaply alleviated at your destination.  But Luang Prabang is, indeed, the perfect landing spot for saddle sores, throbbing quads, and nagging shoulder injuries.  The full menu of body treatments is available there (foot, Thai, Swedish, hot stone, or head massages).  And we availed ourselves of all of them.  When I pay a pretty penny for this luxury at home, I think I take for granted the true preciousness of the exchange.  But somehow, when such bliss is doled out for less than $10 an hour, I am struck by the intimacy and privilege of having a complete stranger come into such close and loving contact with your flesh.  Usually these are wordless encounters delivered by nameless people, which should not seem so touching (pardon the pun).  However, the Laotian touch moved me.  And because some of my former foreign masseuses have so mindlessly dialed it in (checking Facebook as they annoyingly rub the same 4 inches of my calf for ten minutes), I know the difference when I feel it. Such a blessing.

Post-massage bliss:

Expat Reflections

January 11, 2017 – Of expats I met along the way, from Kuala Lumpur

So, I’ve taken to waiting to record my travel thoughts until I reach each subsequent country – letting the tastes of Vietnam marry before writing about them in Laos; weaving the lessons from Laos into a story once I’ve arrived in Malaysia.  And so it is here, in an Aussie style coffee shop in Kuala Lumpur, complete with its chalkboard menu scrawled in trendy font and wistful songstress tunes, that I sip a flat white and continue my reflections from Luang Prabang.  And oh, how I love to let these foreign place names tickle my tongue.  My next destination is my favorite – Kaliyampoondi, the Indian village where we will lead our youth arts project.  And if the piece we create with the kids there is anywhere near as musical as its name we’ll be in great shape!

Throughout the journey we’ve met a host of ex-pats, (living and working in these countries).  And I’ve become increasingly interested in understanding the dynamics of their lives abroad.  So, since it is during this phase that I am the guest of my KL-based friend, Lisa Sauer, (the most intrepid traveller I know , with only 3 countries left on the globe unvisited) and her husband Jeff, I have been able to gain a keener insight into this topic. As someone who has had at least temporary residence in 7 countries, I am sensitive to the rewards, challenges and ethical quandaries that foreign living can pose.  And each of the characters we’ve met on this trip have handled these in quite disparate ways.  

Harps was a brawny Aussie who served as the virtual impresario of Nong Khiaw – a hostel owner and an expert on everything from the best river guide, to the coolest locals’ New Years Eve party, to the cheapest beer in town.  He was already three sheets to the wind when we met him, at around 6 pm on December 31st, which added several hues to his usual colorful delivery.  And he tipped us off to the riverside ritual, where locals floated banana leaf boats decorated with flowers, candles and incense to send their new year’s intentions down the Nam Ou.  

We gratefully joined in, then later saw him at the town’s midnight bash, participating in a traditional Laotian dance (that oddly resembled American square dancing) while the mayor and his wife provided “musical” accompaniment with completely tone-deaf karaoke (seemingly the only kind in Laos, as I documented on the attached sound file recorded in Luang Prabang two days later).  Harps seemed fairly well integrated into the culture, but was also quick to criticize several locally-run outfitters who he warned were out to fleece tourists. Interestingly, we met one such local competitor the following day, and this charming 32-year old bar/hostel/travel agent owner had similarly controversial things to say about foreign business owners (though, respectfully, without naming names).  So, these two simple exchanges revealed volumes about the tensions that arise with ex-pat ownership.

I was made aware of another ex-pat conundrum in Siem Reap, Cambodia when I checked out a yoga studio in the town’s tourist hub.  Paul was the South African owner of Ahimsa Yoga.  And while the Sanskrit word ahimsa translates as non-harm, his demeanor was anything but harmless.  When I inquired about the class style, schedule, etc. I was barraged with an uninvited litany of complaints about the LA hard-body divas who come to his classes thinking they have nothing to learn, the phony instructors who have commercialized yoga world-wide, and the foolishness of the scantically-clad co-eds that prance through his studio as well as the Siem Reap streets and then complain when local Buddhist men (not accustomed to seeing a women’s knee or shoulder in public) harass them.  I took that as my cue not to return for the sunset flow class and chalked it up to another angry escapee, seeking refuge from the discontent of home only to swap it for frustrations of another ilk.

We did, however, meet several far more exemplary models of ex-pats doing genuine good abroad.  The Aussie manager of Luang Prabang’s Saffron Café, another perfectly first-world styled coffee shop, partners with a local owner.  They use only Laotian beans, roasters and staff and contribute 100% of business profits to Laos communities of need.  And Joanna was the British owner of Ok Pok Tok, a divine respite perched over the Mekong, where we stayed for two nights.  The four romantic villas are surrounded by lush gardens and adorned with top-quality textiles crafted by the tribal women they employ from around the country at the weavers coop which is located on the same grounds.  Sandra and her Laotian business partner travel widely to discover and support indigenous artisans.  From some they purchase wares in their remote communities and take on all the risk to sell them to tourists in the city.  And for another 30 villagers, they offer a home and a job on their beautiful premises.  

Inspirations

January 11, 2017 – Of Southeast Asian NGO’s, from Kuala Lumpur

Foreigners were hardly the only philanthropic folks we met either.  Local social enterprises abound in Laos and Cambodia. Friends International is an awesome organization that provides drop-in centres, transition homes, and education to marginalized youth.  It also trains street kids from both countries in gourmet cooking and then employs them in one of their 8 restaurants (in LP, Siem Reap, Phnom Penh and more).  We ate at Luang Prabang’s branch, Kaiphen (named after the aforementioned riverweed snack).  And it was hands-down our best meal in South East Asia.  Laotian-style fish tacos with mango salsa, smoked eggplant puree on homemade baguettes, as well as prawn corn fritters offered us a delectable twist on local cuisine.  And I scored a funky wallet, repurposed from Cambodian magazines, at their gift shop too.

Another notable project, and one quite relevant to my work, is Phare, the Cambodian circus troupe we saw perform in Siem Reap.  Their pole climbing, silks flying, fire juggling acrobatics were astounding.  But even more impressive was the Art for Social Change aspect that similarly trained street youth in circus arts intent on creating professional opportunities for them.  The act included high-quality live music, dance, acting and storytelling as well, because their school provides a fully interdisciplinary training.  And the end product, whose narrative had a powerful social message about bullying, could easily rival Cirque de Soleil standards too.

But the most fascinating NGO I discovered is run by Fi, who sat next to me on my flight from Siem Reap to Kuala Lumpur.  His company’s innovative app, AgriBuddy, is serving thousands of rural farmers to digitally track their GPS location, size, crop inventory, fertilizer needs, etc., so that they can legitimize these small businesses and act as intermediaries to arrange bank loans for growth and sustenance. All very inspiring as I embark on my next social venture abroad.

Nature of Memory

January 12, 2017 – Of Southeast Asia, from Kuala Lumpur

I find so fascinating the fleeting nature of our memory stores.  Images, senses and experiences which I have not called up in years come flooding back with the simplest triggers when I travel. Particularly with unfamiliar or infrequently encountered sensations, my brain scrambles to make associations, perhaps to ground my mind and body into my new surroundings.  The Bugs Café in Siem Reap immediately conjured up reminiscence of the ground ant coated fish we ate in Oaxaca or the larvae Geoff accidentally ingested in Thailand, when he mistook the honeycomb he was served for actual honey. The blinged-out Cambodian tuk-tuks, no-pun intended, took me right back to Northern India where we guiltily let a geriatric man bike us up an outrageous hill.  (Luckily, they are motorized in Siem Reap.)  The sweeping frenzy that is pervasive throughout Asia, to keep the constant dust at bay, reminded me of the great pride Cubans took to keep their small patches of land or front stoops immaculate.  And certain landscapes instantly harken an inventory of similar features I’ve seen before. As if my brain keeps all waterfalls stored in the same folder, Laos’ cascades brought me back to Bolivia, Switzerland, and of course the Sea to Sky highway in my backyard.  The harrowingly steep karsts of HaLong Bay bore a striking resemblance to Norway’s fjords and New Zealand’s Milford Sound.  The songs of Cambodia’s monkeys and frogs reminded me of my favorite critters’ croaks and howls in Bali, so much so that just hearing them made me imagine a distant gamelan.  And while I’d heard each of the individual auditory elements from Siem Reap’s Pub St. before, its syncopated soundscape of motorbikes, limbless beggars, men hand-churning ice cream, and house music blaring from its street bars was a melange unlike any other. Then, the crowds thousands deep, jockeying at the Angkor Wat night market for a myriad of plastic silliness, fried food or colorful local crafts, took me back to every other Asian market I’ve ever braved.  Finally, joining the armies of mostly tourists who flocked to the summit of Siem Reap’s Phnom Bhagan or Luang Prabang’s Pu Si mountain, for the most advantage view of the “best sunset in the world”, felt exactly like the lemmings we followed to do the same in Santorini, Greece or Cinque Terre.

Of course, I know that I may not be doing justice to the uniqueness of each of these places by comparing them so closely.  Perhaps, also, this need for recognition defies my ability to fully appreciate their nuanced differences.  However, I cannot deny my synapses’ tendency towards such filing.  And, admittedly, the fact that land formations and human behaviors tend towards common patterns across the globe actually both touches and comforts me.  I am, after all, the daughter of a Jew and a Catholic raised to look more for parallels than conflicts amongst ideologies.  So, I won’t resist doing the same when I step in mangy Indian street doggy doo and think that it smells like Yukon husky poop.

Visiting Giants

January 12, 2017 – Of Siem Reap, from Kuala Lumpur

As is often said, travel is about the journey rather than the destination.  But some end points are, in fact, the point.  And a handful actually do live up to and beyond all the hype.  Angkor Wat certainly tops this list.  Before we travel to various places, Geoff and I both resist seeing too many photos, particularly of hugely popular sites.  And though we could not avoid having seen a handful of images from these temples throughout our lifetime, the extent of their beauty and magnitude remained a secret until we were there for ourselves.  It is difficult to put into words the mystique of witnessing her majesty revealed as the sun rose over her five-crowned glory. That we shared this moment with 10’s of thousands of other tourists, mostly Chinese clicking their Canons at a shot a second, took nothing away from this experience I’d wished to have for my entire adult life.  

Extra surprising were the uniquely beautiful aesthetic qualities of several other temples in the region.  My absolute favorites were the four-Buddha faced pillars that serenely smiled against spotless skies at Angkor Thom.  

And as I wound my way around the creepy roots that have strangled but still preserved the stones of Ta Prohm, I felt I was in my own Indiana Jones adventure and am only grateful that they have not let more Hollywood producers co-opt this setting, to let it maintain its mystery for most.  

A numbers buff, I also adored the endless layers of wings and corridors at Preah Khan, whose hall of mirrors-like effect gave me the sensation of being embedded in an architectural fractal.

So, for those who shun the roads most travelled, all I can say is that this world wonder is certainly worth shedding a hang-up or two.  

New Realities

January 12, 2017 – Of Cambodia, from Kuala Lumpur We are all now bound to each others’ realities in so many ways. Internet, films, and other rapidly spread media images mean that many children in African can recognize Spiderman, and a good number of North American adults can identify a burka, a burrito, or a banyan tree by sight.  To me, the Buddhist Tree of Life, pictured below, represents the many intertwined branches that comprise humanity.  

These global ties help build empathy and break down “us and them” barriers. However, they also leave increasingly fewer mysteries and surprises.  This is why I relish, all the more, those rare new discoveries that travel still sometimes affords, even if the lessons are harsh.  The ubiquitous landmine music bands, in Cambodia, were a shocking introduction to the vestiges of the civil war under the Khmer Rouge – thousands of limbless, deformed, blind and deaf performers lovelessly sawed at violins, hammered on dulcimers, and pounded on drums in what appeared to be an empty government gesture to create some kind of paltry vocation for their injured citizens (funded only by the donations from tourists).  More cheerful was the realization that Cambodians celebrate their marriages in grand but casual style – up to 50 guests (in everything from jeans to gowns) gather in sprawling outdoor covered patios, over mounds of food and drink, with music blaring from giant subwoofers.  One of our drivers taught us that each guest is asked to give an ample minimum contribution, (generally equivalent to $40 USD or more) to cover the festivities cost and to set up the happy couple with several thousand dollars for their new life together.  

Solo Travel 

January 12, 2017 – Of Cambodia, from Kuala Lumpur

I’ve now been in Asia without Geoff for 4 days, and I’ve been surprised to find myself somewhat disoriented as I’ve proceeded with my trip alone.  I’ve done plenty of solo travel before, but rarely have I been “abandoned” part way through a journey.  So, even as fiercely independent as I consider myself, I cannot deny that I experienced an unsettling feeling of being untethered when Geoff first left. Of course, as a couple whose greatest compatibility lies perhaps in the way we approach travel, we get into a comfortably flowing rhythm on the road that, as my Grandpa Barron always used to say, “makes beautiful music together.”  Therefore, it has taken me a few days to get “in tune” with my new song. To do so, I gravitated to the familiar.   My first night I dropped into a hippie bar, where I shared pillowed papasan chairs with chatty foreigners, as we exchanged travel tales over margaritas.  Geoff and I crave connection with strangers when we travel, but invariably opportunities infinitely expand when you’re on your own.  The crew at the Asana Bar included a divorced American mom who’d taken her two teenage girls out of the US as fast and far as she could, so disgusted by the latest political turn there.  She’s got hardly a penny to her name, yet they plan to stay in Cambodia indefinitely, each finding ways to make ends meet (café jobs for the kids, a coop grocery gig for mom, homeschooling and more to learn from the School of Life than any American public school could ever provide.)  The coop owners were there too – a gay couple – one guy from Africa and the other from the UK, well settled into a Siem Reap groove.  I also really bonded with a French woman who has traveled the globe and worked remotely, for years, as a filmmaker and editor involving local amateurs in her work wherever she goes, and educating them in her art form.  

My second attempt to find my own wings, of course, involved a bicycle.  I rented a one speed for the day, for 2 bucks, and headed 12 k south of town to check out Tonle Sap Lake – apparently the most fish-rich lake in the world, and a point of pride mentioned by every Cambodian we met. Western ways are the norm in Siem Reap (short shorts and halter tops, beer drinking, and pop music).  But I should have known that exposed shoulders and knees (even in 35 degrees Celsius) would get me too much unwanted male attention the moment I was inches from the city boundaries.  Nonetheless, this venture let me see working waterwheels, rural villages, rice paddies, my first Southeast Asian mosque and more. My first day on two wheels instead of four served as a healthy refresher course in the mindfulness that solo travel brings.   And as I felt my uneasiness begin to settle, I slowly became moored to my surroundings – no longer untethered.

Austerity and Indulgences

January 13, 2017 - Of Transitions, from Kuala Lumpur

That I’m booked to leave for India on a full moon and Friday the 13th certainly adds to my trepidation about the unknowns that await me.  But now, as I take my 6th flight in half as many weeks, I marvel at the ease with which most travel plans flow.  That I can be walking in freezing rain in Canada one moment, and swimming under tropical sun only hours later never ceases to amaze me. And almost nothing fills me with greater glee than seeing a smiling gentleman in a Cambodian airport with a huge MISS LAURA sign in his hands simply because I sent my hotel an email ride request.  I still consider it a minor miracle every time a travel plan actually comes to fruition. And though I’m usually an optimist, I’ve lost enough luggage, missed enough flights, and arrived to enough overbooked hotels to almost expect major mishaps every time I set off on another adventure.  But the truth is, almost things actually do work out.  And my 90+% successful track record is what gives me the chutzpah to take some leaps even though they still terrify me in certain ways.

Geoff and I like to leave lots of room for spontaneity.  So, most of our rooms or internal fights are never pre-booked. But the greatest risks we’ve taken have been during our bike tours in Cuba and Laos, where there was no guesthouse info available en route.  And most accommodations were about 50-100 kilometres apart.  This was the case when we left Luang Prabang on rented mountain bikes, loaded with only 2 outfits each and a few repair tools for the week ahead.  65 k into our ride, as dusk approached, we had not seen a guesthouse for hours and we could tell form GPS that the next “town” was at least 10 k further.  This had me as thrilled as I was scared, while I peeked in the few barebones bungalows that we passed along the road trying to imagine how I might humble myself to ask a local villager if we could sleep on their floor for the night.  I’ve met several far braver travelers than I who’d almost exclusively survived this way, and I was always inspired by their courage.  So, It hardly seemed a bad last resort.  But it was also no guarantee.  However, just as dark set in, we came across the sparse Pak Nga guesthouse where we managed a comfy bed and a hot shower in a windowless room for just $3.  And again, I percolated with wonder at our fortune.

I’ve also always prided myself on such bargains.  And I sort of wear, as a badge of honor, my ability to endure the meagerist of housing amenities on the road. But on the cusp of my 2nd half century of life, with a lower tolerance for undesirable odors, a bum neck that whines without a proper pillow, and ahubby hubby with an excellent paying job and a penchant for good design, I’ve surrendered some of my low maintenance ways.  And I must admit that I’ve savored the subsequent perks along the way.  In Laos, we scored three different spacious riverfront bungalows with private balconies, daily fresh fruit and bottled water in the room, fragrant toiletries and safes for our valuables.  The comfort and security usually still only cost us less than $50 a night, so I could barely resist.  

I even got so accustomed to our new standards that I agreed to splurge, for our last 4 nights in Siem Reap, on an $80 room at the incredible Mulberry Hotel, the luxuriousness of which you could probably not book in North America for less than $500.  At any rate, accounting was the last thing on my mind as we finished every sweat and dust filled morning temple visit hilling at Mulberry’s glorious pool, surrounded by Buddhas, frangipani, and geckos while we ate complimentary spicy peanuts washed down with tamarind mojitos.  The good life is not so bad after all.

All that said, I have only 1 more night of spoiling, at my flutist friend Shashank’s home in Chennai.  When Geoff and I stayed there in 2007, we were treated like royalty with 3 multi-course gourmet veggie meals a days, a four poster bed, and a driver.  But after their place, it’s back to basics for me, where I’ll share a room with other Child Haven volunteers, sleep on a cot, take cold bucket showers and eat dal for most meals along with the children who live at the home.  And, of course, that is all just as it should be, and I plan to relish such immersive living. But of course, I hope my tangled curls, my belly and my cervical spine have not become too “soft” to handle it!

on their floor for the night.  I’ve met a few far braver travelers than I who’d almost exclusively survived this way, and I was always inspired by their courage.  So, It hardly seemed a bad last resort.  But it was also no guarantee.  However, just as dark set in, we came across the sparse Pak Nga guesthouse where we managed a comfy bed and a hot shower in a windowless room for just $3.  And again, I percolated with wonder at our fortune.

Loss

January 15, 2017 - Of Sparks and Wings, from India

This was far from the entry I imagined I would write today.  I have arrived at Child Haven International, in Kaliyampoondi. The distorted sound system of a Tamil film blares across the dirt field of the Home, no longer filled with young cricket players because they are all riveted to the screen inside their dining hall. This special form of entertainment is their treat for the occasion of today’s holiday, Pongal, Tamil Nadu’s harvest festival.  Rangoli designs adorn the concrete foundations of the campus buildings, each chalked in multi-colors to create the beautiful mandala-like designs that honor this festival.  And yet I struggle to feel festive today, despite the hugs and kisses and hand holding that every child and staff member greeted me with upon my arrival.  Because they should be showering Maggie too.  But instead, in a tragic turn of events, she is on a plane headed home after receiving the shocking news that her father suddenly died of respiratory failure on a jungle trek in Peru.  We were apart when she heard, awaiting our rides to the Home from separate friends’ places in India.  She learned over Facebook – something no daughter should ever have to experience.  I learned on a video chat with her, while long pauses and glassy eyes showed how little either of us were able to truly process this.  

Morton Winston was an exceptional man, and while we are often inclined to say that of people once they pass – with him it is entirely true.  For years, he served as the President of the Board of Amnesty International.  Maggie was raised in a family that, at times, harbored Burmese refugees; at others, spent years abroad helping the unjustly served in Nepal, Thailand, South Africa. Though little can be of solace in the wake of such a loss, I have to hope that her father’s adventurous soul would have wanted to come to rest in a place as wild and wonderous as the Amazon. Inspired by her father’s example, intrepid travel and community service have been second nature to Maggie. Morton also married into a remarkable family of women, each power house arts activists in their own right. Together, they have collected Canada Council honors, film and dance awards, and accolades too numerous to mention. Maggie always jokes about holiday family dinners, where simple “what’s new?” catch-up conversations rival Nobel Peace Prize presentations.  And in keeping with this generosity of spirit, amidst her moment of crisis, Maggie still managed to secure a fellow theatre artist, living nearby in India, who could take her place as my collaborating facilitator for these two weeks. She said she found it a helpful distraction while she could do little for 2 days as she waited for her changed flight to depart.  I am deeply grateful to her for this gesture.  I will meet Kaeridwyn for the first time tomorrow, where she lives in the intentional community of Auroville (below) – perhaps one of the most sustainable and successful of its kind in the world. Since the 70’s, this non-denominational autonomous society has grown to a thriving community of 5,000 from over 50 countries.  I relish the chance to learn about her alternative living, and to learn from her artistic expertise in physical theatre and some of her own forms of puppetry.  

How ironic though that, only two entries ago, I marveled that most things actually do go to plan.  Yet, of course, I’m now harshly reminded that this is only true except in those 1 % of times when they absolutely do not.  As I sit alone in the Home’s library, digesting this sad and sudden change of plans, wondering if I can still be of true value here, I pass the day reflecting and reading, as I will do until our project begins on Tuesday. And here, I quickly came upon several texts, left by former volunteers, which my intuition somehow knew I needed to discover.  

·       A Tagore verse: “The butterfly counts not months but moments and has time enough.”  

·       Gary Zukav’s Soul Stories that claims “the journey of a hawk depends on both the hawk and the wind. Sometimes the wind takes the hawk where it wants to go, and sometimes it doesn’t.  When it doesn’t, the hawk doesn’t mind.  Either way, hawks are masters at flying, always in control of their own wing and tail feathers.  This is what elegant spirts do.”  

·       And the charming biography of Child Haven’s founder, Bonnie Cappuccino, written by her “long-suffering” husband Fred.  They opened their first of nine homes and schools (serving almost 2,000 youth in India, Nepal, Bangladesh and Tibet), 30 years ago, at the ripe young ages of 53 & 60, after raising their own 21 children into adulthood (19 of which they adopted).  For their astounding efforts they have received the Order of Canada and a UNESCO Human Rights Award.  Their inspiring book’s final words read: “Glowing deep within each one of you is a divine spark.  Some of you may be skeptical, or feel you are unworthy, yet the divine spark glows.  This divine spark may surprise you as the future unfolds.  It may lead you to risk much in some wild act of compassion.  You are of infinite worth; you possess a dazzling beauty that is irresistible.  Trust this divine spark glowing in your deepest being.”

Thank goodness Bonnie trusted hers.  And thank goodness the wind seems to have been on her side when she’s needed it. Not when they found a brain tumor that paralyzed the right side of her face.  Not when one of her treasured children committed suicide.  But certainly when her second cancer surgery succeeded.  And several times, when she has managed to overcome seemingly insurmountable obstacles, immigration nightmares, civil wars, natural disasters and more to create and sustain Child Haven’s nine thriving homes.  Bonnie was on the Air India plane that left Montreal in 1985, crashing and killing 190 people.  Only she took its incoming flight to YYZ, before those fated passengers boarded on their way to London.  The wind was with her that day.  It is hard to understand what the wind intended for those 190 others.  None of us can ever answer such questions.  I guess we can only keep flying and continue to be the master of our own wings.  

Wayfinding

January 19, 2017 Of Kuala Lumpur, from Pondicherry, India

After Cambodia, Air Asia’s wings took me to Malaysia for an extended layover before my India project began.  My whirlwind arrival reminded me that finding my way in a new surrounding is one of my favorite travel pastimes.   I landed at the Kuala Lumpur airport solo, soared through immigration, collected my luggage, scored local currency from the airport ATM, located the train terminal, successfully navigated the ticket machine, boarded the correct train, managed a station transfer without a hitch, and then walked straight to my hotel front door, all in just one hour.  My feat gave me a rush equivalent to winning the Amazing Race.  But thanks to GPS and surprisingly clear wayfinding signs, this was actually quite doable and not really as impressive as it might seem.  

For my first night, I stayed in the commercial district of Bukit Bintang, in the heart of the city just meters from the fabled Petronus towers.  On first glance, downtown KL appears nothing but a conglomeration of neon, highways and malls.  The latter rival the opulence of Fifth Ave, with marble floors, high speed escalators, and posh stores like Prada and Sephora, built in post-modern architectural style.  But no amount of polish is able to hide the same litter, sewerage stench and stray dogs that one can find almost anywhere in Asia.  

My Canadian friend and Malaysian resident, Lisa Sauer let me know that her new home is a nation rapidly striving to attain first world status, but too fast for its capacity.  Thousands of luxury high-rise condos stand empty, built over-ambitiously and without proper amenities to service them.  A government program to mass distribute Western toilets throughout the country has dramatically failed to meet its targets.  And an ever-increasing disparity of wealth keeps many still living in squalor while others enjoy every continental comfort.  Craft beer, high speed wifi, pools and tennis courts in most middle to upper class apartment buildings, quinoa and kale smoothies at Whole Foods-like grocery stores, and even flat whites at Aussie-inspired cafes are the norm in the mostly ex-pat neighborhood of Mont Kiara, where Lisa generously hosted me for my final three nights.  

Such economic imbalances trouble me, just as they do at home. But I can’t deny that a few more days of indulgence did provide a welcomed breather for me as I prepared for the intensity and austerity of India.  And I can certainly understand the appeal for many to stay in this city, surrounded by the familiar while still only a $100 flight from an endless stream of exotic destinations.  Lisa and her partner Jeff are able to spend long weekends in Bali, have Christmas holidays in New Zealand, and take quick jaunts to Hong Kong with the ease of a trip from Vancouver to Seattle.  It was a privilege to witness the full life that they’ve carved out for themselves there.  It was also a treat to discuss books, share concerns and criticisms of “the orange man who will remain nameless”, and to swap travel highlights and travails. Lisa is the most intrepid person I know. She can only keep track of the countries she has NOT visited, because this list falls only in the single digits, while the count for those hundred plus principalities that she has experienced keeps changing with history’s shifting geographical borders.  Though a rhythm-loving musician and chronic counter myself, I have resisted the urge to innumerate my own travel destinations, for years, realizing that a qualified life is always more well-lived than a quantified one. However, I learned in Morton Winston’s obituary that he always aimed to visit more countries than his current age.  And that someone as substantive as he set himself this challenge gave me permission to do so as well.  So after my own tally, I realized that Lisa’s new home marked 46 for me, leaving me close to my new 50 by 50 goal, with only 16 months to go.  If all goes to plan by then, I’ll make it to Brazil for another school project, to Nicaragua for some Spanish practice, to Australia to teach some university Art for Social change workshops, and finally to Burma, where I will sail with several of my best buds to mark my passage into the second half century of my life. But I’m also open to wherever the wind might take me…

Imprints

February 8, 2017 Of India, from Vancouver

One week after my return to Vancouver, I stare at the red faded swirls on my left palm, willing the mendhi design to last just a bit longer, in much the same way I strive to keep the lessons of my trip alive. I can still practically count the hours since 15-year old Sangitha, one of our most keen Indian students, artfully applied the henna to my limbs on my last night.  Yet, I can already feel the glow of my skin, the bloom in my heart, the sparkle in my eyes starting to dim despite my best efforts.  I remember when I attended the Dalia Lama’s 10-day Kalichakra teachings, in Dharamsala in 2007, and I finally understood why people go to church.  Between five daily hours of exposure to his wise words, 10,000 global visitors engaged in high-minded discourse at every café, hostel and momo shop, inspired to live better, be better.  I got caught up in this too.  But with every passing day after leaving his Himalayan refuge, my behavior slipped ever so subtly, and I wished I could be in the presence of his radiance yet again.  I needed the nudge that I now realize church provides for the most earnest seekers, whatever their faith.  

Like then, for two weeks in Kaliyampoondi, I easily relinquished coffee, alcohol, cursing, and even ill thoughts of others while I was immersed in my purposeful existence there.  But it took only two days home for a Canadian friend’s “us and them”ing of Americans, (the very same dangerous thinking that led “the despot who won’t be named” to implement his dreaded immigration ban), to set me off into a temperamental rage, the negative effects of which lingered for several hours.  Gone seemed the equanimity and compassion that so grounded me when I faced numerous cultural differences in India and throughout my trip.  Only a day later, a string of unnecessary expletives escaped my mouth after a simple computer glitch, as I mourned for the analog-nature of my intimate face-to-face Indian exchange. And finally, a third Saturday night cocktail, sipped only out of habit not need, had Geoff and I walking home from a dinner party on separate sides of the street over a trivial thing I’ve already forgotten.

Art is my temple.  And the privilege to witness its transformative power, despite language barriers and gaping cultural differences, is what nourishes my soul.  There is also something undeniably sacred about India.  Beneath the cow dung, beyond the open sewer stench, besides the archaic gender dynamics that still perpetuate inexcusable oppression and violence towards women, there is a palpable grace.  Just to watch the sincerity in the Child Haven kids’ closed eyes and furrowed brows as they chant their simple pre-meal prayer is to truly know this.   I was reduced to tears, daily, by similar profound expressions of spirituality. Indians also bring exquisite beauty and ceremony to every occasion, as seen in the stunning saris that Child Haven students wore for their Republic Day school dance performance.

In only my two brief weeks there, I experienced 5 state holidays and 4 additional rituals for special occasions at the Home.  Pongol is South India’s harvest festival.  And I was treated to its chromatic splendor the instant I landed.  I arrived in Chennai just prior to midnight, terrified that there would be some grave error in my visa-upon-arrival form, and that I’d have no way to get cash for a cab. I’d heard that India’s prime minister had taken 5 & 10 thousand rupee notes out of circulation to prevent black market counterfeit. Consequently, this had left the country with a currency crisis and practically no working ATM’s as they scrambled to print more small denominations.  However, to my surprise, I waltzed through immigration in a record 5 minutes (faster than YVR), and successfully exchanged my last $100 USD for 4,000 rupee (a crap rate since the Global Bank quoted 6,000, but I was happy to take anything at that point).  Then, I braved the sea of pre-paid taxi stands to secure the best deal, proceeded to be accosted by a team of drivers jockeying for the right to my fare, and chose the most geriatric of the bunch figuring he was my safest option.  I gave him the address of my friend Shashank’s posh neighborhood which he pretended to recognize.   But of course, he proceeded to stop a half dozen times for directions.  Luckily though, Pongol had most families still up at that hour, diligently chalk-painting their stoops with amazingly symmetric Rangoli mandalas.  This vibrant display of communal art-making let me know I had, indeed, arrived in India.  And she instantly got under my skin.

Detours

February 8, 2017 Of India, from Vancouver

Geoff and I stayed with Shashank exactly ten years earlier, mid-way through our year-long trip around the world.  We’ll never forget our lively discussions with his family, about art, politics and travel.  And we can still taste the epic 6-course meals that his mother and wife prepared for breakfast, lunch and dinner every day, as they did on this visit too.  That Shashank is also a world-renowned Karnatic flutist only added to the richness of our visit, as we were treated to daily rehearsals in his living room.  And this time, his ten-year old daughter Swara (aptly named after a musical note, and still in Siri’s belly last we came), was the one displaying her own virtuosity on the blues guitar.  

But sadly, it is the Skype call that I had with my dear Flagstaff colleague, Michael Sullivan, on that first morning in India, January 15th, 2007, which I most remember.  With shock and horror in his eyes, Michael revealed to me that he had just learned he had a terminal bone cancer, the ravages of which took him before we even returned home in June.  So, a mere glance at Shashank’s desktop computer made me long for my friend. How odd, then, that it was on that very same screen I read Maggie’s message about her father’s death, again on my first morning at his home, this time on January 14th, 2017.  

And so the detours began.  Maggie’s to Baltimore, and mine to Pondicherry and Auroville, to meet my new artist partner, Kaeridwyn, where we’d revise a plan that would best align with our complementary skill sets.  Of course, our sessions had been scheduled to begin on Monday, but as has seemed to become the norm on these global projects, the Child Haven director neglected to mention that Pongol celebrations continued through Tuesday evening.  To lose 20% of our scheduled 10-day engagements would have normally set me into a panic.  But instead, I seized the opportunity to pivot, explore another Indian destination, and bond with my new colleague.  That I also fit in long walks on Pondicherry’s seaside boardwalk, marveled at parades of sari-clad women in their holiday finest, visited their Ghandi statue, and enjoyed one more night in a cush b&b was only a bonus.  But I’ve come to appreciate that detours are always full of such perks.

Silverware and Other Taboos

February 8, 2017 Of India, from Vancouver Another of my favorite aspects of India is her cows, who roam her city streets, lighten her chai, and transport her people and goods.  Cows were the talk of the town during my visit, as the state had just outlawed the ancient Pongol practice of jallikattu,which is South Indian’s version of “running with the bulls”.  So, while blue Americans and their global peers hit the streets to protest the horrifically racist policies of the “man who shall not be named”, Tamil Nadu’s streets were alive with their own activists. But these were not the PETA version that one might expect (animal-lovers standing up to support the abolishment of a practice that is cruel and violent to the bull, and which kills several bold and foolish men each year).  Contrarily, the prevailing sentiment of the protesting citizens (largely university students) favored the maintenance of this ritual, as these deeply traditional people feel their government too often threatens their ancestral connections.  As I’m partial to protecting animal and human rights, I was, no doubt, very surprised to learn about the nuances of this controversy.  But I realized I was ill-equipped to understand such a complex and age-old battle.

I was born in bovine country myself.  And cow-tipping was a high school pastime for me and my friends.  But our version involved only a harmless ringing of their bells, rather than a full body topple which I’d learned some rural US farm kids preferred.  For most Hindus, cows are sacred, revered for their gentle nature and agricultural assets. Perhaps this, too, inspired me to become a vegetarian as well as an ice cream fanatic by a very young age.  I virtually started my career in the industry, with jobs in five different parlors between the ages of 13-20.  With such a shining for these adorable heffers, I also invariably took a preponderance of cow photos on my routine bicycle excursions to neighboring Uthiramerur.  Most amusingly, Indians paint the horns of these honorific beasts for Pongol, the brilliance of which lasted throughout my fortnight.  And while close sleeping proximity to animal feces is not usually something I would celebrate, I was actually comforted when a Child Haven staff first walked me to my room and I was greeted by the Home’s five dairy cows whose pen was just five feet from my door.  

Eating meat was the easiest of India’s taboos for me to avoid.  But their other eating practices took more getting used to. In keeping with the rock-hard mattress that I slept on, our meals were served on the floor of a giant chairless, concrete dining hall.  So, three times per day, I joined all 250 children, 30 staff, and a half dozen other volunteers as we ate cross-legged and with only our hands to ingest the splendor they served us each day.  The puffy rice flour dumplings, called idly, which the cooks miraculously prepared by the thousands to perfection, were the easiest to eat without cutlery.  But rice with spicy mango stew, chickpea curry, or ginger chili pesto posed tougher challenges.  And I found that tearing chapati (their rice flour pancakes) one-handed was the trickiest feat of all.  But, of course, this was essential because their lack of toilet paper meant that all self-cleaning was done with the left hand, leaving only the right free for dining.   However, whatever discomfort these new habits caused became quickly overshadowed by the children’s infectious joy and gratitude during meals.

Adapting to their dress code, though, did not come as rapidly.  Kaliyampoondi is located deep in traditional Southern India where gender roles are clearly delineated.  The public domain is largely male, and the home female.  Throughout rural Tamil Nadu, girls and boys sit on opposite sides of their school classrooms, as they did in the dining room at the home. This persists despite Child Haven’s strongly imparted Gandhian beliefs of gender equality which result in their generously funding every single child’s university tuition (male and female). However, in keeping with such contradictory divisions, we were only allowed to work with each gender in separate sessions throughout our project, and this led to a variety of interesting observations.  While boys wore short-sleeved button down shirts and tailored pants to school, and then changed into Western shorts and t-shirts for afternoon play, girls (by the age of only 10) had to wear chudigar in most contexts.  This oppressive uniform included large, knee-length, polyester shirts with baggy pants and an additional shawl (or dupita), carefully pinned to their shoulders to cover even the smallest bloom of a bosom.  Additionally, these heavy layers are worn throughout the year, which peaks to 120 Farenheit in the summer months!  And girls had to wear similarly unrevealing clothing around the home, even as they ran 800 metre dashes in preparation for their State-wide Sports Day competition, which was scheduled for my departure day. Here they are with my new buddy and volunteer, Andy Rush, as they arrive home on the new bikes that every Grade 11 child was gifted under a special government program.  

This dress code was also enforced with female volunteers at the home.  And though I am eager to honor foreign traditions when I’m abroad, it was difficult to abide, while I watched male staff and volunteers wear jeans or whatever else they liked.  Some even enjoyed topless morning runs.   However, what I found most disturbing was the community policing that the girls did with each other, as well as with the volunteers, to adjust a slight slip of the shawl or accidental exposed bra strap.  Of course, I was keen to avoid being corrected or perceived as disrespectful in any way, so I soon found myself routinely fussing with my own scarf.  And I quickly came to imagine the body shame and self-consciousness that these strictures could breed.  Consequently, it became highly evident that the boys exhibited far greater self-esteem and exuberance, as well as a willingness to improvise and be playful.  That said, I was amazed how much the girls’ confidence grew throughout our project. So, I soon forfeited my inclination to fight such bewildering practices, and recognized that my time would be better spent focusing on scalable transformative change through our arts engagements rather than on massive systemic change.

Superheroes

February 9, 2017 Of India, from Vancouver

Inspired by the ideals of Mahatma Gandhi, Child Haven International was founded in 1985, by Bonnie and Fred Cappuccino, the superhero couple that I previously mentioned. Their non-profit has built nine healthy, sustainable homes for almost 2,000 children and women in India, Nepal, Bangladesh, and Tibet.   And each of these “havens” provides food, shelter, clothing, health care, educational and moral support for their residents.  Most children go on to pursue post-secondary education, and Child Haven even funds their university tuition.  The homes are fully run and staffed by locals, along with a handful of volunteers from abroad (largely Canadians).  And Gandhi’s principles of gender equality, no caste (or class) recognition, non-violence and vegetarianism, simple living, as well as respect for all religions and cultures breed a positive, life-affirming energy that I felt during every moment I spent at their homes in both Kathmandu (for a 2015 arts project) and Kaliyampoondi.  This fertile ground provided the ideal environment for our arts engagements. So, it is no wonder they resulted in, perhaps, the most impactful project for Instruments of Change, to date.

Amidst cicada and frog song, morning starts at Child Haven with the children’s 5 am wake-up bell which elicits an occasional bark from Puppy, the resident dog.  As the children are meticulous about cleanliness, they proceed to pridefully brill cream and braid their hair, wash their bodies, and press their uniforms to perfection.  These thorough ablutions are followed by meditation, non-denominational chanting, and a jog around the large grounds of the home.  Then, they queue up for their daily protein, a sweet, warm cup of soy milk, made from soybeans that are crushed, right there on the property, by the machine they affectionately call the “soy cow”.  They form similar lines to receive breakfast, lunch, snack and dinner, and this 300+ person dance proceeds with remarkable order.  

In fact, observing these young people choreograph their shared space, day in and day out, was perhaps the most moving part of my experience there.  In the spirit of simple living, each child’s entire worldly possessions (clothes, shoes, jewelry, toys, toiletries, photos) fit into one small metal suitcase. Consequently, there is little sense of “mine, mine, mine”, just like we witnessed in the Nepal home. Throughout our project, the children cooperatively shared supplies, decorations, and tools without incident. They were equally gracious about returning things promptly, in good condition and exactly where they found them.  Our limited stock of erasers presented the only sharing challenge, as they took the same pristine approach with their work as they take with their appearance.  Of course, we are always careful to dispel notions about “right or wrong”/”good or bad” art in our projects.  But habits run deep.  So, there was nothing left of our 10 inches of rubber erasers by the end of our two puppet-designing sketch sessions.  However, their diligence certainly paid off, as seen by these fanciful characters that they created.

During our project, entitled Repurpose Our Purpose, we asked kids to express their feelings about their own unique value and purpose (or, in other words, their superpowers), through story and song.  At the same time, they harnessed the value of everyday objects and trash by repurposing these materials to make puppets and instruments for a final original theatre piece.  And finally, we introduced a variety of interdisciplinary collaborative activities designed to cultivate an appreciation for the power of a collective sum that is greater than its parts.  The first of these exercises asked students to identify with certain Jungian archetypal personality types (IE. Jester, Creator, Explorer, Sage, Leader, Caregiver, Innocent, Hero, or Rebel).  Then, we organized them according to their chosen type, and these became their working groups for the duration of the project.  Subsequently, they performed physical gestures that represented their Archetype’s character, demonstrated by our Boy Jesters, with their thumbs to their noses.  

They also collectively brainstormed a vocabulary of words related to the assets of their chosen superhero characters.  And while we relied heavily on the excellent translation provided by 4 helpful staff members, Ganesh, William, Johnson, and Poppy, this activity revealed that the students had a stronger command of English than we had realized earlier in our project.  Below are their own words, placed anatomically correctly, on the Body of a Superhero that they chalked on their playground.

Ultimately, each archetype group chose the most resonant word to describe their character’s superhero, and the first letter of this word became the body shape for their puppet design (IE. M for Meditation as the Sage’s superpower, and D for Dance as the Creator’s superpower).  Then, they brought these creatures to life using reclaimed cardboard, bicycle tires, scrap paper, styrofoam and newspaper waste.  Predictably, their creations were full of saturated color and ingenuity, as is everything in India.

And the designs did not divide along typical gender lines, as the sweetness of this Caregiver Boys’ heart-balloon covered puppet illustrates. These resourceful children also took the upcycling aspect of our project to a whole new level as they proceeded to cut scrap gold metallic paper into hundreds of tiny bits to make their own glitter!

To further develop narratives for their characters, we presented the children with a scenario (much like a videogame simulation), where each puppet (1 per archetype group) had to collectively pass through a series of obstacles.  However, we set the rule that each challenge could only be solved using one of the puppet’s superpowers, (referencing the idea that the whole is stronger than the sum of its parts).  So, each archetype group invented both an appropriate problem and a solution with which their superhero could “save” the day for all their peers.  The girls and boys created separate narratives, each with their own host of diverse characters.  And some of their most memorable storylines were when the Boy Sage taught everyone to meditate so they could levitate over a cold, impenetrable river; and when the Girl Creator drank a magical chocolate soy power drink after all the puppets became immobilized by the scorching sun.  Then, she led them all in a dance that revitalized their energy.  These are both, interestingly, very Indian solutions.  I was also thrilled to learn that the Boy Hero group chose Music as their super power. In their creative storyline, after the whole puppet group gets trapped in a house, set ablaze by fire, the singing hero puppet plays his guitar and the musical notes that emanate from it magically transform into water that puts out the flames. Additionally, to develop their dramatic skills, Kaeridwyn led the kids in found object animation activities.  Below, they are enacting a “fart” scene (or “susu” in Tamil).  It was, of course, heart-warming to see that adolescent poop jokes transcend cultural boundaries.  And clearly, our young-at-heart translator, Johnson, thought so too.

Here I am listening intently to the Boy Leader’s plan out their scene.

And this is Kaeridwyn directing the whole crew of boy puppeteers in their opening scene.

Over two weeks, we were allotted one hour per day with each gender group. However, the children were so invested in our project that they went over and above the call of duty, spending several additional hours writing their stories, practicing their actions, and fabricating their puppets.  This is exactly the ownership we always strive to cultivate in our work.  

We also put in our fair share of extra time, administering puppet triage and other vital work, graciously helped by Jackie, (in the back of the photo below). It was incredibly fortuitous that she and her husband, Andy (in the bike photo from Feb. 8th’s entry) happened to be volunteering during our visit, because they are, respectively, a retired music and English/drama teacher.  They supported nearly all of our sessions with their expertise and cheery presence, and Kaeridwyn and I could not believe our good fortune to have their help.

For the music component of our piece, the kids brainstormed about qualities essential for good team work.  Then, we analyzed the musicality of this language by breaking the words into rhythmic syllabic categories, according to spoken stresses (IE. Re-spect; Leading, Sharing, Kindness; Unity, Confidence, Discipline; Following; Concentration; Cooperation). These evolved into both chants and drum beats that they performed with their voices and found object instruments.  To warm-up these budding percussionists, we used stray firewood for sticks and turned their playground into a drum kit.  And for their instrument scavenging, which I’ve previously led in Vancouver alleys and Kathmandu streets, we had to go no further than the grounds of the home itself, for they had a plethora of sonorities right on the premises (10-gallon water jugs for drums, empty 10-litre bottles and beans for shakers, damaged tin plates and cups for cymbals, and giant 5-foot rice barrels for bass drums).  

A most boisterous time was certainly had by all.  And we’ve received reports that the children have continued to chant the lyrics around the home, since we left two weeks ago. Another legacy of our project has been the re-mount of their puppet show for Bonnie, when she visited just one week after our departure. Their sports director, William, had so skillfully translated for us, that he was able to hold up the fort by himself, rehearsing and directing their repeat performances.  Jackie sent me this photo of all the kids’ animated faces while they sat through the entire hour-long show for the second time.

Excitingly, the children may even get a chance to “take it on the road” if Kaeridwyn succeeds in securing them a showcase at Auroville’s Upcycling Festival in mid-March. It is this kind of sustainability that we aspire to achieve in all of our work.  But the nature of two-week arts engagements run the risk of merely serving as “hit and run” projects, particularly with communities who have little additional exposure to artistic activity, like in Kaliyampoondi where their schools’ rigorous academic expectations emphasize a STEM rather than a STEAM (Science, Technology, English, Arts, and Math) curriculum.   In fact, on top of their 6-hour school day, Child Haven kids diligently study at least 3 more hours per day.  We even witnessed those approaching state-wide exams (Grades 10 & 12), downing chai until the wee hours of the night to pack in a few extra hours of study. Academics aside, there was at least one artistic discipline with which the kids had lots of experience - dance.  That’s because they are treated to a Tollywood (Tamil Nadu’s version of Bollywood) film every Saturday night, and they’ve memorized the moves from all of their favorite scenes. So, we knew we had to end each of their puppet shows with a dance number.

What we never could have counted on, though, was the spontaneous eruption of all 250 kids in the audience, when they began to dance along, after the boys’ last piece.  The enthusiastic Director of Child Haven, Ganesh, consistently voiced how impressed he was by the efficacy of this type of arts-infused learning.  In fact, he was the one who made the final call to keep the Tollywood music blaring after the show, lending itself to what we learned was the first ever time that Child Haven boys and girls danced together in one room, at the home.  So, maybe systemic change is not impossible after all.

In addition to the meaningful encounters that I had throughout our engagements with the children who participated in our program, there are so many moments I keep returning to, now that I am home.  Showers of hugs and nose kisses from kids young and old, never too-cool-for-school to demonstrate their appreciation, as many adolescents at home would be.  Afternoons, sitting with the other volunteers, on the kitchen’s dirt floor, thumb wrestling, hair braiding, bean cutting, and playing paddy-cakes with the kids.  And 7 am theatre games with the irresistibly adorable littlest ones who were too young to participate in our main project.  

But what remains deep in my bones, after my time in Child Haven, is the profound sense that there are potent ties which bind us all on this fractured, complex planet.  This is not to glibly say that we are all one, or that our similarities outweigh our differences.  Certainly, there are gaping distinctions, for example, between the realities of the children that I work with in Canada versus those in Kaliyampoondi.  However, I cannot escape my roots, which grounded me to see connection rather than division.  I am the daughter of a Russian Jew and an Italian Catholic.  And I was fortunate to be raised in a Unitarian church, where we were exposed to the wisdom of a multitude of global belief systems, and where social justice was preached instead of religious dogma. Understandably, this inclusive approach focused my lenses to look for common ground.  Not surprisingly, a number of volunteers that have come through Child Haven over the years have also been Unitarian.  And Fred Cappuccino even spent his career as a UU minister.   The remarkable organization that he and Bonnie have built clearly responds to the basic human truth that we all need to be loved and feel safe.  And I now believe, more than ever, that the role of the artist activist is to respond to a different basic human truth - that we all want to be heard.  That we all want to express what moves us, and we want to do so beautifully.  That no matter how different our life experiences, we want to find those deepest knowing parts of ourselves that can empathize and relate to our fellow humans and then, put them into words, or dances, or pictures, or songs.  In other words, we want to connect to our inner spark, give it wings and let it take flight.

[riyerose]

For the writing prompt: A Black Tea/Milk wedding with Cafe squad wedding planners (feel free to add as much characters and wackiness in)

Master Attendant was looking particularly pleased that morning. Tiramisu approached them and gave her usual, courteous greeting before following with a question. “You seem in high spirits today, Master Attendant. What has you so pleased?”

“Milk and Black Tea have gotten engaged,” MA said excitedly. “And they’ve left the task of planning their wedding to us!”

Tiramisu smiled rather nervously. “I’m not sure that’s such a good idea...”

“Don’t fret, Tiramisu. Everything will be fine. Now, I want you to find Coffee and Chocolate. The four of us will work out the details later today.”

“Yes, of course.”

The brunette Food Soul watched Master Attendant disappear into a different room. She felt such conflicted feelings: happiness that her dear friends were so deeply in love that they wished to bound themselves to one another for the rest of their lives, charmed by her Master Attendant’s delight at planning the best wedding and worried for what could inevitably go wrong. 

***

Not long after, Tiramisu had found her comrades Chocolate and Coffee and brought them back to the restaurant where Master Attendant was waiting patiently. The three Food Souls were surprised when MA presented a table overflowing with party planners, pretty papers and other items. 

“Master Attendant, you’re very invested in this, aren’t you?” Coffee remarked.

Chocolate chuckled a bit, brushing back his own wavy dark chocolate brown skin. “When love is involved, there is no limit to the happiness it can bring to others. Milk and Black Tea deserve the utmost joy for their big day.”

“That’s a splendid attitude, Chocolate,” MA said. “Now, they’ve already decided that the wedding will be held in the garden behind the restaurant as it’s where Milk proposed to Black Tea.”

“How sweet,” Tiramisu sighed wistfully.

“Isn’t it? But anyway, I was thinking something simple: white roses with the surrounding trees decorated, perhaps Cloud Tea would be so kind to play her flute--”

Coffee cleared his throat. “If I may interject, Master Attendant. How about having Black Tea brandish her weapons as she walks down the aisle? A vibrant, spicy way for her to approach Milk who should be dressed in the whitest, most fluffy outfit.”

“I feel you're being rather perverted, Coffee,” Chocolate spoke up.

The blond businessman reddened a bit. “I am not. I merely want both of them to look their best. It is their wedding day after all.”

“If it were our wedding, what would you want?” 

At Chocolate’s inquiry, Coffee shot him a glare with a fully reddened face. Tiramisu giggled with a soft ‘Oh my’ and Master Attendant merely looked on his amazement at the Food Souls. Suddenly, MA felt a strong tug on their arm that pulled them backward. They yelped in surprise, causing the three Souls to look their way.

“Master Attendant!”

They all cringed at Macaron’s oh so high pitched voice. She held Master Attendant by his sleeve, peering out from behind him. “Whatever are you doing? Oh! Are you planning a wedding? I love weddings! Let me help you!”

“Well, that’s so sweet Macaron but we really don’t need--”

“Everything should be pink and fluffy! Like me!” the energetic girl claimed.

Coffee made a face. “Too much pink would be quite an eyesore.”

“How so?” Macaron responded with a pout. “I’m super pink and loved by all!”

“I think it should be Jello themed!”

Everyone jumped in surprise when Omurice suddenly added his input, dressed in his latest Jello merch. He was beaming proudly and already giving suggestions to Master Attendant who was trying, and failing, to help Omurice understand that not everyone shared his deep love for the green haired Food Soul. 

“Perhaps a wedding by the ocean would be romantic,” Orange Juice said, appearing beside Tiramisu. “They could be wed by the shore and spend their honeymoon dancing in the waters. Oh, the sea is so wonderful.”

Master Attendant opened their mouth to speak only to be interrupted by Sashimi’s laugh. “Well, it doesn’t matter where they have it! If we have a magnificent cake for them, they can use my knives to cut it!” 

The young boy brought forth several unnervingly sharp knives. Somehow, more and more Food Souls began to fill the cafe. From Sanma and his desire to have everything cat-themed, including the cake, to Tempura and Spicy Gluten dying to add the hottest spices one could think of, and Yellow Wine trying to convince Sake and Vodka that they should bring heaps of alcohol to make everyone drunk and happy, Master Attendant was surrounded by delightful chaos. They watched the Food Souls interact, not knowing how to calm them all.

“Master Attendant,” Tiramisu spoke softly as she appeared by his side. “Don’t overthink this. I think...what Black Tea and Milk would appreciate most is seeing the friends that they care for so much and you, the person who has given them a reason to live and to love.”

Master Attendant couldn’t help but smile. “I think I know what to do.”

And so, at the start of the month, as the trees bloomed with plum blossoms and the air, rich with the scent of honey and rain, was warm and comfy, everyone gathered in the garden. Cloud Tea sat with Sweet & Sour Fish near the altar, one sang while the other played her flute. Milk stood with Master Attendant and Tiramisu, her snow-white hair curled on her shoulders with a slimming white dress that puffed on the sleeves and the ends of the dress. The Food Souls turned their heads and Black Tea emerged from the restaurant with Coffee and Chocolate on either side. Milk’s eyes glistened with love at the sight of her beloved. Black Tea’s face expressed the same love. The world seemed to grow still once they were at the altar. The two Food Souls looked out at their friends, some of whom were crying at the beauty of the wedding, then back to each other. Black Tea grabbed Milk’s hands and brought them close, their foreheads gingerly touching. Master Attendant recited their speech then allowed the two to give their vows.

“Milk. I couldn’t have asked for a more perfect wedding, nor could I have ever dreamed I would have someone as perfect as you for my wife. I love you, now and forever.”

“Black Tea, standing here, with our friends and our Master Attendant, I cannot fathom just how happy I am in this moment. Truly, I’ve been blessed and I’m so very happy that I will be called your wife. I love you.”

Master Attendant, on the verge of tears, spoke through a broken voice. “I now...pronounce you...wife and wife!”