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dharma-divine · 1 year

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DIOSKOUROI

Chapter II

Pairing: Twins x (Female) Reader, endgame TBD

Summary: Given your first taste of freedom in order to attend a prestigious arts academy, you befriend a sweet, charming boy who ultimately proves to be delinquent warlock, desperate to free his equally deceitful twin brother from hell after a necessary betrayal to their coven. You are essential to the brothers’ liberation and reunion, and in the process of learning of their mystic abilities and lineage, you reveal the truth of your own.

(For a more information regarding mythological references and character abilities, please click here)

WARNINGS: Mild suggestive content

Taglist: @gardenvanfleet @alwayzthere @sammygvfslut @gretavanhoney @maverick-rose @fosterkidwiththebrokenjaw @obetrolncocktails @capturethechaos @tlexx @charlesashton @garagebandvanfleet @myownparadise96 @jakeslovehandles @sparrowofthedawn @alt-jb @idk-maddie @theweightofstardust @danny-wagners-peacesign-necklace

(special thanks to Alana for being such a huge help with editing xx)

☽ ✩ ☾

The woods come creeping into your line of sight once more, along with the twists of flames lapping at the sky and the boy sitting before them.

“Help him. Please.”

The same scene plays out as before, with you wandering unscathed into the fire, following the dark figure until some unbeknownst force pulls you back into the trees.

The only difference this time is when you reach for his hand, not only do you feel his soft palm but also the band of something hard pressed between your fingers. You squint down to notice that it’s a ring, looped around his pointer finger in a stark black. It feels like stone — obsidian, with its shockingly cool touch even while being surrounded by pure heat.

For some reason, while his features once again melted from your memory by the time you wake the next morning, the image of the ring around his finger sticks, glinting among the flames appearing every time you close your eyes.

You’re pondering the image, and trying to recall the faces of the mysterious recurring characters in these strange dreams, the entire morning, your brows furrowed with thought as you sit in class with Josh.

It’s the third week of classes, and you can tell you’ve already fallen helplessly behind, though you can’t rid yourself of the distracting thoughts that drown out the sound of the professor’s droning voice.

You’re suddenly interrupted when Josh lightly nudges your arm with his elbow, before sliding his notebook over so you can see what’s scribbled on the top line.

What’s on your mind?

You blush at the thought that he was watching you ponder to yourself, jotting down a reply.

I’ve been having weird dreams lately. Too much to write down, will tell you about it after class.

How about over coffee?

Your heart leaps at the inquiry, and you glance over to see his cheeky smile and fan of lashes, his eyes remaining on the open notebook.

As classes have settled in you’ve found that you both have a perfect slot of time nestled between lectures for a quick lunch break, and the café down the hall from your lecture has been calling your name since its delicious smell first wafted past you.

Okay, you write back, to which he doodles you a smiley face.

☽ ✩ ☾

You find a cozy corner with a booth and big table, sliding your bag off your shoulder and onto the plush leather, its aroma mixing with the delicious smell of coffee.

“I’m gonna go order, what would you like?” Josh asks as he heads for the counter.

“Um…” you ponder, face flushing as you panic to think of something. “I’ve never gotten coffee from a shop before, we’re a strictly tea household. What do you usually get?”

Josh smiles, clearly endeared by your strangeness to the concept.

“I usually get a caffé ristretto or espresso, but they’re a bit strong if you’re not used to the taste,” he explains. “How about just a latte? Coffee and milk?”

You grin, nodding your head eagerly. “That sounds perfect.”

He nods, then walks over to the girl standing behind the counter to order. You can tell by his mannerisms and how a blushed smile instantly rosies her cheeks that he’s charming her, though their words are not in earshot. You hear her giggle as she hands him his receipt, and a tight, antsy feeling arises in your stomach that you recognize as jealousy.

He’s like that with everyone, you tell yourself. Why be jealous?

But the feeling ceases to fade, and it isn’t until his head turns back towards you, the girl following his gaze, that you snap out of it, giving them an anxious, awkward wave.

“She’s never had coffee from a shop before, isn’t that crazy?” you’re finally able to hear him say, followed by another bout of the barista’s swooning giggles.

You shake your head at him amusedly as he carefully carries the drinks back to your table, moving your books aside so he can set them down.

“Here you go,” he says, setting the two cups down before taking his seat.

You admire the frothy rose decorated on top of yours, the way you always see it illustrated.

“Thank you,” you reply with a smile, the sweet, creamy smell hitting your nose. “It’s so pretty I almost don’t want to drink it. What do I owe you?”

He holds up a hand, waving it at you dismissively as he takes his first sip. “Don’t worry about it, please. I’m only interested in hearing about this dream of yours. What happened?”

Your chest leaps at the reminder of the purpose of this meeting, keeping you from the chance to argue further about the money. You take a sip of your latte, finding it as comforting and wonderful as it smells, even though it nearly burns your tongue.

“Right – it’s, um, it’s really intense,” you warn, adjusting yourself in your seat. “And so, so vivid – to the point where it feels real.”

Josh sits back as he sips his coffee, his eyes above the brim of the cup set on you.

“So I start off in a forest, and my chest feels tight, as if I've just been running. Some kind of grand force is luring me to this meadow past all the trees, and a deep voice is coming from somewhere around me, speaking in a language I don’t know — I think it might be Latin? And when I make it to the meadow, there’s a huge fire in the middle that’s completely stagnant, not growing or moving, the flames just stay in place. And in front of the fire –”

You pause, trying once again to comprehend the faces of the figures you have seen so many times at this point, but ultimately blanking.

“There’s a boy sitting, his legs folded, literally inches away from the flames. His mouth moves to the words I’m hearing above me, but the voice is way too loud to be coming from just him alone. I don’t know, it’s hard to explain, but it’s so loud and powerful I feel it shaking in my chest. He starts pleading for me to help with something, and a second later another boy comes from inside the flames.”

Your breathing has picked up, the recount of the imagery so intense it’s sending you into a near panic attack, your eyes trained to the table.

“Hey, It’s okay,” you hear Josh speak softly, lifting his hand to squeeze the top of yours comfortingly. “You don’t have to continue if it stresses you too much.”

You squeeze back, flinching when you feel something cold pressing into your hand. You let go to see a black ring looped around Josh’s middle finger, and suddenly the image from your dream flashes in your mind.

“That’s funny,” you smile, a bit of anxiety lifting away as you pull Josh’s hand to your face to inspect the ring further, to which he looks confused. “Your ring— the boy from the dream had one on, the second one that was in the fire. In fact I think it was on the same exact finger. What is it?”

“Obsidian,” he says, looking a bit melancholy. “It was my brother’s, he gave it to me right before he was taken.”

You remember registering the stone in your subconscious, and the whole exchange is feeling like a strange blast of deja vu.

“Is there any meaning behind it being on your middle finger?” you ask.

“No,” he grins, twisting the ring with his thumb. “It’s just the only finger it fits on. I only wear it when I’m especially missing him, I’m afraid it’ll twist off and I’ll lose it. It’s funny that it made it into your dream, though. Our minds have an interesting way of saving little details of our lives.”

“Yeah, it’s crazy,” you add, shaking your head. “I’ve never had such vivid dreams before, like could they mean anything?”

”Yeah, definitely,” he says, pondering to himself for a moment. “The fire and the figures could represent a multitude of things; your anxieties and any obstacles holding you back, your emotions, literally anything. It’s hard to pinpoint which is which, but regardless it sounds like you’re going through a lot. I’m sorry these dreams are causing you so much stress, I wish I could help.”

“It’s okay,” you whisper, honing in on the sensation of his thumb against the top of your hand to keep you calm. “Thank you for listening, I appreciate it.”

You know it’s odd to feel so close to someone so quickly, but it feels like you’ve known Josh for years, like you’ve been best friends since you were little and taken on this life together. Maybe it’s because you’ve never really had a friend before, but you feel like you could trust him with anything. Every other man you’ve come in contact with since your freedom has had this deep violet aura around them, even when they’ve been perfectly nice, your intuition telling you that they reek with danger, and to tread lightly around them, to not let them know too much. But you haven’t had that voice with Josh, not for a single second. His aura is bright yellow, tinged with tendrils of red and orange. Friendly, adventurous, thoughtful, considerate, well-grounded, that’s him. He’s your safe space in this new world that you’re still trying to figure out.

“Do you like it?” Josh finally asks, pulling his hand from you to point at your coffee cup, breaking you out of the near trance you fell under.

“Oh,” you blush. “Yeah, I do. It’s delicious.”

You take a larger gulp now that it’s not as hot, its sweet bitterness coating your tongue.

Your notice Josh begin to sift through his book bag and decide to go back to your own studying, grabbing the moleskin you had taken out while you waited for the coffee. To your dismay, you open its pages to find only a few nonsense lines written, along with some mindless doodles sketched in the margins. You glance over at Josh’s notebook, seeing them filled from top to bottom. He has impressively neat handwriting, and even drew diagrams and pictures to illustrate each subject.

“Well, shit,” you curse quietly to yourself.

“Can I copy yours?”

“Go right ahead,” he replies, sliding it over with a grin.

You briefly reflect on the fact that you have not noticed Josh pick up his pencil once in the three classes you’ve had with him thus far, but you decide to ignore it, doing your best at copying what he has written.

An hour later, you’ve given up on the copying and gone to simply taking photos of his pages, your eyes tired and stomach grumbling.

“I think this is good for now, I should get home,” you tell Josh, flipping your notebook closed and slapping your pen down on its cover.

“Sweet,” he replies, shutting the book he was reading. “Any exciting plans for the night?”

You realize it’s Friday, and that the unfortunate answer for you is no.

“I’ll probably just stay home with my aunt, maybe watch a movie,” you shrug, zipping up your bag and slumping it over your shoulder.

“Well, wanna go to a party instead?” he asks, and you freeze at the word party, an anxious knot immediately forming in your chest.

You look up to see him standing above you, grinning from ear to ear.

“Josh you know I-”

“Oh come on,” he urges as you stand up and push your chair in. “It’s a casual affair, at a friend of mine’s house right off campus. Starts at ten, you can be home by midnight…”

You roll your eyes even though the way he pitches his voice at the end of his sentence makes a smile pull at your lip, and you know his convincing is already winning you over.

“I’ll have to sneak out, and I’ve never done that before,” you say, your voice mousy and innocent.

“So?” he quips, giving you a light push on your shoulder. “You’ve had a lot of firsts lately, what’s one more?”

You sigh, worrying your lip.

“She’s a light sleeper,” you point out. “Though…”

You think of the bundle of valerian root you saw in the kitchen cupboard recently, enough to knock out an army.

“Though…” Josh repeats as he follows you closely as you both exit the cafe.

“Okay, I’ll see,” you blush, flattered that he’s so adamant about your attendance. “Just send me the address.”

“Already sent,” he smiles, just as your phone pings with his text.

“See you at eleven?” he calls as he begins to part ways to his last class upstairs, with you on your way to your lab building across campus.

“See you,” you grin, your head ringing with nervous anticipation with how this night will play out.

☽ ✩ ☾

“So her memory is catching up to us,” Jake says after his brother explained the events of the day, his face half illuminated in an orange glow. “She didn’t question you any more about the ring?”

“No,” Josh shakes his head, tapping his thumb against the hard band. “I don’t think she’s suspicious of any of that yet, it’s still just a dream to her.”

“Well, that’s good,” Jake sighs, laying back down in his cot. “Let her figure it out herself.”

It’s silent for a moment except for the crackling of the fire , the conversation coming to a lull.

“We’re going to a party tonight,” Josh mentions through a modest smirk, and he can see his brother perk up with interest. “Oh really?”

“Mm-hmm. I’ve been to a few already, just to familiarize myself with the culture of the academy. It’s not a lavish jamboree like we’re used to, but mortals like to have fun too— plenty of spirits, plenty of vices. Princess should have a ball.”

“Well, don’t get too ahead of yourself,” Jake quips, flashing a toothy grin that Josh hasn’t seen in a regrettably long time. “She’s never even drank before, has she?”

“Nothing to this extent,” Josh admits. “But don’t worry, I’ll keep her safe. I promise.”

☽ ✩ ☾

It wasn’t easy — of course, tonight was the night your aunt wasn’t in the mood for a cup of her evening tea, a steep of soothing herbs that always has her in bed by 9 o’clock sharp.

“I think I’m going to stay up and knit,” she says to your dismay as you put the pot of water to boil. “It’s getting cold soon, and when I pulled the heavy quilts from the attic earlier today I found that the moths had eaten them to shreds — isn’t that a shame? Must have forgotten the mothballs when I stored them in the spring. Well, I can’t afford brand new ones from Mrs. Mabel this year, I have some yarn to make our own. Would you like to help?”

You purse your lips, tapping your nail anxiously at the edge of the metal stove. “No thanks, not tonight. I have a lot of homework.”

You turn to open the cupboard, slipping the bundle of valerian in your palm as you sift through the carefully labeled tea boxes.

“I’m still going to make some tea, though. How about black, if you’re wanting to stay up late?” You ask, your heart pounding anxiously for her response.

“Hmm, I suppose with some honey and milk,” she nods before heaving her knitting basket onto the dining table.

“Great,” you grin, relieved she was convinced, lifting the lid to dip the bag into the heavy pot.

You glance back to see your aunt already working vigorously at her needles, making sure she's distracted before slipping the valerian bundle in with the rest of the brew. Caffeinated tea and a heaping of sedative herbs — not your best plan, but you’re hoping for a decent outcome. If anything the reactions will cancel out, and she’ll only softly doze off instead of knock out for days.

A few minutes later and you pour the dark steaming liquid into two cups, one for yourself that you’re preparing to leave untouched on your bedside table, along with splashes of milk and stirs of honey. Your aunt takes her mug gladly, and you revel at the sight of her taking a few hearty gulps.

“Delicious,” she hums, blowing on the steam. “Remind me to get more of this blend at the market.”

“I’ll put it on the list,” you smile as you grab your mug and head towards the stairs.

“Well, I’ll probably be up here the rest of the night,” you call over your shoulder as you make your way over to the stairs, stepping carefully stepping over Lazlo who lounges in his usual spot on the first step. “Goodnight!”

“Goodnight my love!” you hear her call back. “I hope you dream sweetly tonight — none of that nightmare nonsense.”

You smile at her wish, though you know you won't have to worry about that for a while as you make it down the hall and swiftly your door behind you, clanking the mug on the nightstand before rushing into your closet.

“Casual affair…” you repeat Josh’s words to yourself as you sift through your closet.

You decide on a pair of black jeans and a white cable knit sweater, an outfit that allows you to have full agility among the obstacles you’re about to face. After touching up your makeup and stuffing your phone and keys in your back pockets, you pace around your room nervously until the clock is closer to ten. At 9:45 you pull on your denim jacket and heavy black boots and trek quietly to the window that sits in the middle of the far wall of your room.

“Okay,” you sigh to yourself, unlatching its lock and pushing it open, the cold air quickly wafting in.

You take one last glance behind you for good measure, before stepping your foot through the windowsill and landing on the rough surface of roof shingles. You hold the top of the windowsill to steadily pull yourself through, crouching down to slide the window shut once you’ve made it through.

“Easy,” you praise yourself, before realizing the next part is the most treacherous; sliding down the incline to reach its edge.

You sit on your haunches with your legs outstretched in front of you, your hands bent behind you for leverage as you carefully scoot yourself to the edge. It takes maybe a minute at most to get down, even though it feels like an eternity with the gravelly shingles digging into your palms. You panic once you make it to the edge and feel hesitant to jump in such an awkward position. With no other choice, you flip your body around in one swift move, your knees sinking into the wet mass of leaves stuck in your gutter as you prepare to jump.

“Fuck me,” you curse at the icy wetness hitting your skin, pushing them past the edge one by one, your hands now gripping the edge of the gutter as your body dangles along the nearly 8 foot drop.

You don’t even let yourself think too much about letting go, you just do it, bending your knees to break the impact of your boots hitting the soft grass.

You spring up to standing, giving yourself a moment to catch your breath and dust the dirt and debris off yourself before quietly scurrying to your truck, avoiding walking in front of any of your front windows to the best of your ability.

In a blur you make it inside the truck, shutting its door with the lightest slam. It isn’t until you make it to the main road that you let out a sigh of relief, your first escape mission a success.

Before you know it, the tire of your truck skimming the edge of the curb designated the address Josh had sent. You nervously attempt to parallel park, settling on a good enough job in your book, with your right front tire perhaps sticking out a bit for others' likings.

You switch off the ignition and hop out, your breath clouding in the damp cold air that clings to your skin. Your boots scuff against the pavement as you walk up to the respective door, your heart clambering in your chest.

I’m here, you text Josh, too nervous to enter and be greeted by stranger’s faces. A second later, you hear it open, Josh appearing with his eyes heavy and glossed pink, his smile as white as ever.

“Welcome!” he greets, pulling you into a hug.

He smells like something earthy but unfamiliar, the scent sticking to his breath when he continues to speak as you pull away.

“Come in, would you like a drink?”

You feel a pleasant shiver go down your spine. You`ve never been offered a drink, save for the glass of birthday wine.

“I would love one,” you smile, following him down a dark, barren hallway.

The hall leads to a living room, lit only by a string of fairy lights and a lamp in the far corner that glows a deep, dark orange. In the center sits a well-worn leather couch where two couples lounge, a boy and girl chatting on one end, and two boys making out at the other. A few more people are splayed amongst the room, some standing in a little group while chatting and sipping from their red plastic cups, a few others sat around the round bohemian rug that lays in front of the couch, their legs tucked under the glass coffee table on top of it.

“Attention, everyone,” Josh announces, his voice seeming to carry over the others with ease and quiet them instantly.

He introduces you to the group, making sure to mention how this is your first year at Acaber, and does his best to rattle off the names of everyone else, though the nerves of having so many eyes on you prevents you from registering most of them. They all seem very nice, welcoming you with a cheers of their cups.

“Drinks are this way,” he informs, ushering you towards what you soon find in the kitchen.

An array of sodas and juices in colorful bottles are splayed out along one of the countertops, basically all of which you have never tried before as your aunt has an unofficial ban on any artificial products at home. Along the opposite counter is a similar sight, though you recognize their ornate glass bottles as being full of liquor.

“What’s your drink of choice?” Josh asks, grabbing a red cup from a stack by the sink.

“I have no idea,” you laugh, a bit overwhelmed by all of the options. “I guess whatever you’re having.”

“Right, right,” he says, clearly recalling your lack of experience in the matter. “Well this is just whiskey, and I am positive you will not like it.”

“Oh please,” you quip, taking the cup from him. “I liked the coffee, I can like this too.”

“Alright,” he laughs, an amused smile spread on your lips. “Suit yourself.”

You don’t hesitate to tilt the cup to your lips, the shallow pool of dark liquid pouring into your mouth. Immediately, it stings your nostrils, and it tastes as if you dipped one of the caramel bon bons you get from the shop on the square, except covered in gasoline.

“Agh!” you wince, shoving the cup back to Josh. “That’s awful.“

“I told you,” he giggles. “I don’t say that to be pretentious, it’s just not normally a baby’s first booze kind of drink.”

“I’m sorry,” you blush, feeling a warmth blossom in your throat and chest. “It feels good though.”

“Hell yeah it does,” he says, walking over to the soda counter with your cup.

“Here, something simple and sweet — rum and Coke.”

He pours a few glugs of Coca-Cola, the pale fizz nearly pouring over the rim, before carrying the cup to the other side, plucking a tall clear bottle with a white cap, the name Bacardi in big letters atop its label. He swirls the mixture in the cup as he walks it over to you, extending it to you with a proud smile.

“Cheers.”

You clink plastic cups, hesitating this time as the drink drips past your lips.

“Mmm,” you hum, your eyes lighting up as you take in the sparkly sweet gulp. “That’s good, like candy.”

Josh hums at your comment, clearly amused.

“You’ve never had a sugar high like this before, kid,” he quips, giving you a wink.

The pet name catches you off guard, along with how easily it slips off his lips, lacquered with an inflection you’ve never heard from him before.

“Are you high?” you ask, the question blurting out once you notice how his eyes are practically gleaming with a sheen of pink.

He acts offended, placing a defensive hand to his chest.

“Now, I know you’re new to all this,” he says, stepping closer to you. “But surely you know not to ask something so patronizing. How dare you think I’m under the influence.”

He speaks in a cadence as if he’s performing a dramatic acting role, raising his hands to dramatize every other word.

You simply stare at him a moment, unsure of what to say or if you’ve truly offended him, until he bursts into a bout of laughter, his giggles filling you with warm relief.

“I’m just kidding,” he says, placing a heavy hand on your shoulder. “I’m fucking stoned.”

“Oh,” you chuckle back, trying to ignore the fact that he glanced at your lips the moment he learned into your shoulder. “Well I’ve never been stoned before either, but maybe that’ll change too.”

“It will,” he nods with blissfully shut eyes, tapping your shoulder once more before letting go. “Not tonight, but it will.”

“Why not tonight?” you ask as you follow him back into the living room, which has somehow doubled in capacity in just the short period of time you were in the kitchen.

“One vice at a time,” he calls over his shoulder, before slouching onto the couch that’s now half vacant, the two boys still perfectly comfortable lapping at each other's faces.

You try not to be rude but can’t help but look over at them for a second, glancing back at Josh with raised eyebrows.

He gestures to you to lean closer even though you’re still standing, so you simply hover over him, with him looking up at you through heavy lashes.

“Grey and Everett,” he says as he nods to them. “They’re in their own world, we’re used to it. Why condemn the act of love? It’s beautiful and natural.”

You nod back, trying to normalize it yourself. Sure, he has a point.

“So is this all we do?” you ask, stepping back to glance around the ever-filling room. “We just sit around and talk and drink, and…kiss?”

“Sure!” Josh exclaims, suddenly pushing himself back off the couch and raising his hands in the air. “Relishing life's luxuries while we’re young and still have some brain cells to lose. Speaking of — want a shot?”

You ponder the daring request for a moment, glancing down to see that your cup is already almost empty

“Alright,” you say, before finishing off the rest. “Let’s do it.”

☽ ✩ ☾

Much to your delight, you find that you love tequila shots. Dressed with salt and a lime, it’s a delicious mix of sweet, salty, and heat, the burn of the liquor hitting your throat making your cheeks flush and limbs feel loose. You’ve had three so far, and even though Josh is proud of your natural ability to shoot the liquor right down your throat, he warns you to pace yourself.

“It feels great right now,” he says into your ear, yelling over the noise of the room that’s now nearly filled to capacity. “But it hurts in the morning.”

You’re both standing in the corner of the room by a tall potted fiddle leaf, having a brief conversation earlier about how well it appears to be taken care of. It’s a quarter to one, and you have no plans to go home anytime soon. You’re relieved every time you check your phone and don’t have a thread of calls and messages from your aunt, hopefully proving your sleep tea concoction to be a success.

“I want to dance,” you blurt, your limbs tingling with the desire to move.

Josh raises his eyebrows, before promptly setting down his drink on the floor.

“Say less,” he says, before grabbing your wrist and pushing into the crowd.

You don’t know the song that’s playing, but the beat makes your body vibrate. You’ve never danced outside of the comfort of your bedroom, and you’d be self conscious if it weren’t for the liquid courage currently surging through your veins. You rock your hips side to side, your arms raised and wrists twisting to the rhythm. Your eyes are closed, soaking in the moment when you feel a gentle hand on the small of your back. You open your eyes to Josh, a grin spread in his face as he gently grabs at your waist to pull you closer to him. Your arms fall to land atop his shoulders and his forearm slinks across the small of your back, the pads of his fingers pressed into the plush side of your waist as you both rock to the rhythm. No words are shared, not that they could be even heard over the music, but you share a different kind of nonverbal communication between your bodies that feels deeply intimate. Touching him is electric, your body buzzing with every squeeze he gives to your hips.

You can’t help but press yourself even closer into him, practically grinding into him as your fingers slide up the nape of his neck before raking through his mess of curls. You feel Josh lean in as your eyes once again shut for a moment, but they shoot open with a gasp when you feel his wet lips against the side of your neck. You instantly melt, the sensation incredible, and you feel a pulse somewhere deep within your core. He pulls away for just a moment before finding a different spot, the next kiss coming with a suction that makes the spot sting deliciously. You tug gently at the roots of his curls signaling you like it, and you swear you feel him smile, the skin below his lips vibrating at the frequency of his muffled chuckle.

He pulls away, lifting his head to look you in the face, his lips pink and swollen. You marvel at them for a moment before glancing up to see his eyes admiring your own lips, and you know what is to come next. You both lean in, your lips barely grazing when a loud banging comes from the entryway and bright beams of light come shining in through the entrance windows.

“Shit, not again,” you hear Josh curse among other distressed voices in the room, many of the people around you retreating into deeper rooms within the house.

Though the bright light and authoritative voices coming from behind the door are threatening, you recognize that you aren’t as concerned as you maybe should be, giggling to nothing in particular as you cling onto Josh’s arm.

“C’mon,” he tells you right as the music turns off, and you stumble behind him as he leads the way past the kitchen and into another darker room, still having your arm gripped around tightly to his bicep.

After a few moments in the pitch black, simply trusting Josh keeps you from slamming into a table or other obstacle, you make it to another door, its curtained window glowing a moonlit violet. He twists the knob slowly, the wood creaking as the door leaves its frame, and you see his silhouette motion for you to walk through.

“Shhh,” he scolds as you begin to giggle once the two of you cross the yard into a small patch of woods behind the house. “They’ll be here for a bit, we have to wait it out.”

You both stop at the trunk of one of the larger trees, Josh leaning against it as he observes the direction you both just came from.

“I’m cold,” you complain with a slurred, pouty voice as you rub your hands together frantically, having ditched your jacket inside at some point.

“Here,” Josh says, before grabbing your hands and folding them together.

He then proceeds to place them to his lips, inhaling deep breath before blowing it between your palms to warm them. You can’t help but let out a loud cackle at the gesture, and Josh suddenly pulls you forward and into him.

“You can’t do that,” he says, trying to be serious even though a laugh grazes his voice. “They might come outside, or the neighbors will call in another noise complaint on top of the one they’ve already clearly made.”

“I’m sorry,” you blush, your whole body weight leaning against him and the tree.

“How are you so warm?” you ask, feeling his hands that still remain wrapped around yours. “It’s like you’re by a fire, not standing in 20 degree weather.”

He shrugs, letting his thumbs brush against the tops of your hands.

“I’m warm bodied, I guess.”

You both continue to stand there for a few minutes, ducking around the other side of the thick tree once you hear the back door open and flashlights shine across the yard. Eventually the sound of their cruiser doors slamming shut echos from the other side of the house, their headlights casting across the front line of trees as they drive away. Josh holds out a patient finger for a few more beats to make sure the coast is clear before he relaxes himself with a sigh.

“Alright,” he says, looping your arm around his. “Let’s get you home.”

☽ ✩ ☾

You don’t remember how you ended up perfectly tucked under the covers of your bed, or when you changed into your pajamas, but it’s the state you find yourself in once you awake the next morning. You groan at the first throb of a pounding headache, squinting as you reach for where you left your mug of tea the night before even though cold tea is the last thing you wanted to drink. Your eyes open when your hand wraps around a tall glass instead, realizing it’s fully filled with water. You look over to see a bottle of ibuprofen sitting beside it, two pills already sitting on its lid.

You struggle to sit up higher to grab the pills and swallow them down with several big gulps of water, looking around your room, trying your hardest to recall the majority of your night. It comes back in bits and pieces; the tequila shots, the dancing, Josh’s hands on your hips and his lips on your neck. You put your hand to the spot that’s still lingering with a soft ache, the skin raised and sensitive, and you feel your cheeks flush thinking about how good his touch felt. You never understood how a pain could feel pleasurable, but this was it, and you can’t help but push on the fragile skin to feel the sting just a bit more.

Your memory is completely black after a blurry image of you in the woods, shivering and pressed closely into Josh as he waited for the police to leave. Your heart lurches at the fact that you couldn’t have possibly driven yourself home, and you fly out of bed to get a look outside your window that faces the driveway, pulling the curtains open even though the stark brightness blinds you for a moment.

To your deep relief you find that your truck is parked in the exact spot it’s always in, sitting right behind your aunt’s old buggy that she rarely touches.

The mystery of how you ended up home, and if Aunt Edith caught you and you’re grounded for eternity still stands, and your anxiety crawls right back into your stomach as you reach for your phone to text Josh.

Luckily his name is already in the thread of notifications once you turn it on, and you anxiously click it.

Call me when you wake up, his text says.

Everything is okay.

You dial his number, your heart still pounding as the ringer beeps.

“Good morning, princess,” you hear him smile through the phone, and you blush at the pet name, though your anxiety doesn’t give you much time to acknowledge it any further.

“Everything’s alright?” you ask, still not convinced. “Aunt Edith didn’t wake up, you-?”

“Yes, everything is totally fine,” he assures with a chuckle. ”Never heard a thing from your aunt, the house was silent except for a few stumbles and giggles coming from you. You were very adamant to do your skincare and change into comfy clothes.”

You blush deeper, too embarrassed to ask if he helped you in any way.

“But my car?” you decide to ask instead, walking back over to the window to look at it once more. “How-?”

“I had some friends help,” he explains. “They were sober and drove us and the car home. Everything is alright, okay? You made it home without a hitch.”

“Okay,” you say, letting out the breath you realize you’ve been holding.

The line goes quiet for a second before he speaks again. “So did you have a good time? Did you need the pain meds this morning?”

“I did, and yes,” you reply, cracking a smile and fiddling nervously with the hem of your sleep shirt. “It was amazing — everything I could’ve hoped for, but perhaps minus the headache. Did you enjoy it?”

“Hell yeah,” he says. “Best night I’ve had in a while.”

He pauses again, and you can hear him inhale before he speaks.

“Is—uh, is your neck alright? I’m sorry if I got a little—“

“No, it’s fine,” you laugh, your whole body buzzing at the fact that he remembered what had happened. “I actually haven’t even looked at it…”

You walk over to your mirror and lift the phone from your ear momentarily to get a glimpse of it, your eyes widening at the deep red splotch stained onto your neck. You press your fingertip into it again, the red specks of broken blood vessels disappearing for a brief second with the pressure, before returning a deeper purple once it’s removed.

“Oh,” is all you can think to say back into the phone, a bit shocked by how dark and obvious it is.

“Does it hurt?” he asks, and you can hear the concern in his voice.

“No it doesn’t, don’t worry. It’s a bit noticeable, but I have some arnica flower,” you assure him, having used it for a scrape you got in the garden a few months ago. “Please Josh, don’t worry about it.”

You admire the rest of yourself in the mirror, and how sexy it feels to have a reminder of the night before, even though you’re going to have to hide it before you even leave your room.

“It felt good,” you think to yourself, and you don’t realize you’ve said it out loud until you hear Josh huff a laugh into the receiver.

“Tequila makes everything feel good,” he quips, and you want to ask him to elaborate when you hear the steps of the staircase down to the hall creak with your aunt’s heavy footsteps.

“Shit, I have to go, I’ll talk to you later,” you tell him quickly before ending the call, shutting your curtains and running back to your bed.

You’re fully nestled under the covers with your head turned from the door as it begins to creak open.

“You’re sleeping in late,” you hear Aunt Edith say, and you act as though she’s awoken you, letting out a sleepy yawn and stretch.

“Stayed up really late studying,” you tell her, sitting up as she hands you a cup of tea. “Got it all done so I can enjoy the rest of my weekend.”

“Oh, you have plans?” she asks, walking over to fully open your curtains, the bright white light shining in.

“Well, not particularly,” you say before taking a sip of tea. “We’re due for a farmer’s market trip, aren’t we? The vintage booth I really like is there today, and I’d like a few more sweaters for school.”

“We can do that,” your aunt replies, smiling at you.

She looks cheerier than normal, her round face glowy.

“Did you have a nice night?” you ask her, pulling your legs out of the covers and slipping on your house shoes.

“I did, got sleepy by around ten so I abandoned my knit—“ she begins, but stops suddenly when you lean over to set your tea down on your nightstand.

“Oh no, honey,” she says, suddenly sounding deeply concerned. “What happened to your neck?”

Your blood runs cold, completely forgetting to hide your neck from her even though you were just discussing its state moments ago. You try your best to play dumb, giving her a questioning look.

“What do you mean?” you ask, your hand grabbing for the front of your throat rather than the side.

“No, over here,” she says, before going over to you to get a better look herself. “You have an awful bruise, go look in the mirror.”

You furrow your brow, walking over to the mirror and letting out a gasp.

“I have no idea,” you try your best to fib, staring at the wound wide-eyed through the mirror. “I had a dry patch there yesterday and I was itching it, I guess I scratched it raw.”

“Well, let me go get you something to soothe it, some aloe,” she says, rushing to the door. “Go to the bathroom and rinse it with some warm water.

“Okay,” you call back, getting up from your bed to meet your aunt in the kitchen. “I have arnica flowers in the cabinet, that may help too!”

You smile as you walk to your door, proud of yourself getting away with something so salacious.

Just as you’re about to walk through the doorway, you notice a tiny flicker of light coming from atop the dresser to your right. You focus on the source, and between a vase of dried bouquet of roses and a rabbit figurine you see a small tea light, its wick burning a deep auburn flame. Your face drops to a confused frown, and you walk over to it. The wax below the wick is fully melted and halfway evaporated, meaning it must have been lit hours ago. You glance around your room as if you’ll find any hints why or how it was lit, because surely your aunt did not do it — she always scolds you for leaving candles burning for more than a few hours. When you ultimately find nothing, you decide to simply extinguish the flame, dabbing the pad of your index finger on your tongue and snuffing it, the flame vanishing in an instant. You rub the smooth ash between your fingertip and thumb as you set the candle back down, staring at the tepid pool of amber liquid for a beat more before turning and continuing to descend down the hall.

☽ ✩ ☾

Her skin tasted so sweet, like cherry wine sucked between his teeth. She lingered on his lips for hours after he left her, after he switched a matchstick from his back pocket and ignited a cluster of brambles, her lapse in consciousness blinding her from asking any questions as to why he’s starting a fire in the middle of the woods. With a whisper of a spell, they were transported from the woods to the closest flame she had to her house, a barrel fire in a homeless commune a few blocks away. He was amused by the looks of bewilderment the vagrants gave him when they emerged from the flames, but he paid them no mind, hitching her over his shoulder and trekking the rest of the way on foot.

After managing to get up her roof and back through the window of her bedroom, he rested her limp body gently onto her bed, not a single creak coming from its wooden frame. He stood up and took a moment to the room, breathing in her scent, having waited so long to finally be in this house. He walked over to the opposite side of her room where a long cabinet sat against the wall, and it took him no time to find a candle among her assortment of trinkets and treasures atop it, a small tea light that gave him just enough time for his pyromancy.

Lighting it with another match from his book, Josh grabs the candle and carefully walks over to her bedside. He meditates in his intentions for a moment before taking a deep breath, shutting his eyes, and waving the flame once over the top of her body. When his eyes open, she’s in a cotton t-shirt and sweatpants, her feet bare. He shuffles back over to the cabinet and delicately sifts through its drawers, finding a pair of wool socks that he gently pulls up to her ankles. He then lifts her body from the bed to pull back the thick blankets, nestling her in the crevice of the sheets and tucking them under her chin.

He didn’t want to leave yet, and decided to take the time to remove the darkness around her eyes and her rosied cheeks himself, grabbing a tissue and pot of lavender balm from her nightstand. Dipping the fine paper into the thick substance, he gently rubbed her face clean, the smell of the flower sweetening the air. She looked beautiful when she slept, her chest gently rising and falling with steady breaths, her eyelids dancing with dreams she’d surely forget in the morning because he wasn’t there to let her remember.

He left her room an hour later, leaving the candle lit to continue admiring her from a distance, the flame remaining a gateway between his reality and hers.

Now he watches as she scurries out of bed, and how frantic she is to call him.

“Everything is fine,” he assures as she worries her lip, glancing out her window at the truck once more.

It wasn’t an easy feat — he’d never driven a vehicle before, taking the flaming route to wherever he needed in the mortal world, but he managed to get it there all in one piece and without any suspicions from others on the road.

He knows she liked it, but he asks concerned questions about her neck anyway. He melts at her parapraxis, a smile curving his lips as he watches her study herself in the mirror.

He had to do it — to tease her into the idea of deviance. He’s known of deities who force their power unto their quarries, who thrust their phallus and abuse their power in favor of a selfish gain, but he’s vowed to never be like them. She will be seduced, as no enchantress of vestal virginity has ever been successful in her sorcery, but it will be by her own volition. It’s already painful enough that he’s had to avoid the real reason for his presence in her life thus far, any more pain and he’ll simply have to admit himself to the gates of hell, joining his brother to burn for eternity.

To his delight, her warden falls for her endearing performance of pretending to be unaware of the mark. He chuckles at the faux look of shock and horror she puts on, catching the flash of pride in her smile when she’s at once left alone.

Though he wishes he could watch her forever, he revels in the moment she discovers the flame burning, her beautiful face engulfing his entire line of vision for a split second before everything goes black.

#dioskouroi #josh kiszka fanfic #jake kiszka fanfic #kiszka twins fanfic #josh kiszka #jake kiszka #greta fan fleet #gret van fanfic #greta van fleet fanfic #thank you for your patience besties #mine #fics

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dharma-divine · 2 years

Text

DIOSKOUROI

Chapter I

Pairing: Twins x (Female) Reader*, endgame TBD

(For a more information regarding mythological references and character abilities, please click here)

WARNINGS: None at the moment, though this series will eventually contain adult content. (*this is a love triangle situation, no sort of in*estuous content occurs)

Thank you @garbagevanfleet and @godlyvia for editing and being my betas xx

Taglist: @gardenvanfleet @alwayzthere @sammygvfslut @gretavanhoney @maverick-rose @fosterkidwiththebrokenjaw @obetrolncocktails @capturethechaos @tlexx @charlesashton @garagebandvanfleet @myownparadise96 @jakeslovehandles @sparrowofthedawn @danny-wagners-peacesign-necklace @alt-jb @idk-maddie @theweightofstardust

FLECTERE SI NEQUEO SUPEROS, ACHERONTA MOVEBO

The words echo in your mind in a deep, thunderous voice as your vision manifests into a thicket of evergreens. You look up to see an orange glow beyond the treetops, specks of ember rising to melt with the stars. Tendrils of rich foliage loom above you, their sunken arms dusting you with crystalline dewdrops as you maneuver through them. You’re winded — you don’t recall running, but your lungs burn as they gulp in the frigid air, your chest heaving staggered breaths as they try to recover.

You’re getting closer.

You look down at your feet as they continue to guide you towards the entrancing voice; they’re bare, numb to the nettles and other debris of the forest floor. You curl your stiffened fingertips into tight fists, your nails digging into your palms once you know you’ve reached the last row of trees. You hesitate to reach forward, to push through the remaining branches and step into the clearing before you, the massive beacon of fire blazing in its center.

He’s sitting at the base of the inferno, his legs crossed neatly in front of him, his fingers splayed over his knees. The flames cast dancing shadows across his face, and you realize as you approach that his eyes are shut, his eyelids fluttering frantically as his lips move to match a thunderous voice that is entirely too powerful to be coming from just his small frame alone.

FACTUM FIERI INFECTUM NON POTEST. VENI AD ME, TE ARCESSO

You don’t know what they mean, but the foreign words strike something deep within you.

“I’m here,” you answer, your voice sounding meek and distant from where it escapes from your lips.

His eyes suddenly open, irises blazing with the same fire that begins to magnify behind him, as if someone just doused it with gasoline.

“Help me. Save him,” he replies, in a tongue you understand.

As he breathes the last word, a figure appears within the flames, casted black, but you can tell by the broadened silhouette that it’s also a boy. He just stands there, only his shadow visible within the sweltering heat, but you know that he’s looking at you. You suddenly feel the magnetic pull you’ve been experiencing strengthen, your legs continuing to guide you towards the fire despite the light being nearly blinding. You walk past the boy sitting in the grass, feeling his gaze follow you as you dare to step into the flames. Your watch as you place your foot on the glowing embers, but you don’t feel the burn. You realize you’re numb to the fire entirely, despite the flames lapping up your legs as you venture further. It feels as though you’ve dipped your body in a warm bath. It’s almost comforting. You look up at the dark figure to see that he has an arm extended towards you, his palm facing upwards. You reach out and grab his hand with your own, and you’re shocked to feel the sensation of skin, of calloused fingertips and a plush palm, even though he only appears to be a shadowy void in front of you. You squeeze it as he pulls you closer, leading you deeper into the fire.

You’re finally starting to see his features as you get closer – round eyes, plump lips, wisps of hair that lay gently on his shoulders. He’s a beautiful boy, just like his brother – they have to be brothers. You let go of his hand and start to reach up to caress his cheek when a dull, heavy pain starts to gather in your chest. You clutch at the area, though nothing is there. You start to panic as the pressure quickly grows into a deep pain, and you begin struggling for breath. You frantically grab at your chest, desperate for the pain to stop, and you begin to cry with frustration. You look up at the boy in front of you, wanting to beg for his help, but when you open your mouth, another force suddenly yanks away and out of the fire entirely, dragging you back into the dark woods.

You’re swallowed back into the night at once, stifling sobs once your eyes meet the expanse of the eerie woods once again.

You feel tired, and hopelessly alone, stuck inside some sick, sick time loop. You want nothing more than to collapse onto the forest floor, to decay and become one with the earth below, your soul seeping into the dirt.

But your skin pricks at a rush of cold wind, another menacing voice carried with its blow.

Run.

You awaken with a gasp, your hands clutching the pressure on your chest, only for them to meet a pelt of soft fur.

A shrill yowl sounds from the void rested upon you, two yellow eyes blinking open to meet yours.

“Get off,” you scold, sitting up so the lanky black cat is forced to slide off of you, hopping down from the bed and scurrying across the wood floor.

“Why don’t you just let Lazlo love you?” you hear your aunt call just before she enters the open door across the room, steadily carrying a tray in front of her. “He’s sat at your doorway all morning.”

“I’m sorry,” you mumble as you attempt to clear your mind of your nightmare, the same one you’ve experienced every night for the last week and a half, rubbing your eyes as she sets the tray across your blanketed lap. “I‘ve told you, I’m just not a cat person.”

She sighs.

You’re rubbing sleep from your eyes when you feel something heavy set in your blanketed lap, and you open them to see a glorious breakfast spread set atop your wooden bed tray, the lucious smell of its contents wafting up at you and melting away your tiredness.

A white, porcelain kettle with dainty pink roses sits in the center, along with a matching teacup and saucer. Two more plates sit on either side of the tea set, a heaping stack of pancakes on one, scrambled eggs and charred bacon on the other — just how you like it.

You smile at the beautiful spread of food, plucking a strip of bacon and crunching down on it.

Aunt Edith bares a teabag from her gingham apron, placing it in the little porcelain cup before tipping the kettle to pour steaming hot water over it. You catch sight of the tiny slip of paper attached to the string of the teabag, the word protection written across it in black ink.

“Aunt Edith I really appreciate your concern, but I don’t think tea is going to offer me much protection,” you laugh as she dunks the bag a few times to help it seep, the clear water gradually turning a rosy pink color.

“Just drink it please, for me,” she pleads, suddenly sounding distressed as she runs her hands down her apron.

Though her anxiety is usually quite exasperating, you consider it justified today. It’s the first day of your semester at Acaber Academy, a prestigious fine arts school that you had begged her relentlessly to let you apply for, practically threatening your life if she didn’t let you.

You have been homeschooled by your aunt your entire life, up until you graduated a little over three years ago. It was hard enough growing up alone throughout grade school, but at this point, you’re absolutely yearning for a life beyond the cottage tucked in deep in the woods that you’ve resided in your whole life. You’re miles away from any big cities, the suburbia you read about and watch on film seeming like an entire different universe.

With it just being the two of you (she never married, never had the desire to), it’s pretty easy to sustain most of your food and other necessities yourself. She tends to her lavish garden in her front yard everyday, rotating her crops every season — right now with autumn in full swing, she’s just about ready to harvest her carrots, potatoes, and cabbage. You have a sweet old neighbor a few miles up the road that’s a butcher, and she exchanges some of her fruits and vegetables for fresh meat and milk. She has a chicken coop out back for eggs, and she makes her own soaps, shampoos, and cleaning detergents out of herbal oils and other ingredients she grows.

Despite the autonomous lifestyle, Aunt Edith lets you wander into the nearest town, a sleepy town still a good twenty minutes away, every so often to buy rice, flour, and other dry goods that she can’t grow herself in bulk at a farmer’s market that congregates at the beginning of every month. The tiny field with dozens of vendors sits just on the edge of the town’s main square, and the visit is always the highlight of your month. Though Aunt Edith is always adamant about you only going to the market, you’ve admittedly let yourself venture into the surrounding shops and bakeries when your purchase leaves a few dollars to spare. You have a painful sweet tooth, and love to stop for ice cream at the creamery that sits on the very corner of the square — a scoop of classic french vanilla in a waffle cone always being your favorite, or to stuff your pockets with bonbons and other candies at the shop next door, with Aunt Edith never keeping sweets in the house that are not of her creation. You always sit on a bench in the center of the square, right next to the courthouse, watching couples and families go by, wishing you had a life like theirs.

When you were younger you would have to make sure every wrapper and receipt was thrown away by the time you get home, ridding yourself of any evidence of intermingling with the real world because you were certain that Aunt Edith would kill you if she were to find out about your solo adventures, though in recent years you’ve found that you don’t really care. You’re a bit resentful of your aunt for keeping you so sheltered for so long, but you’re willing to let it go now that your freedom is here. It’s been a long time coming, but it’s finally here.

“Did you sleep alright?” she asks, walking over to your closet and flipping through your assortment of coats and sweaters. “You looked a bit startled when you woke up.”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you assure, waving your hand dismissively. “Just another weird dream.”

You try to deter them, but the images of the fire and those figures flash back into your memory. This is the third time you’ve had these strange dreams, and they’ve all played out exactly the same way – you running through the forest, entranced by that mystical voice – though the duration of the dreams seem to extend with every night, with tonight being the first time you actually made it into the fire. You recall how surreal it was to not feel the burn of the flames, only a pleasant warmth as they lapped against your skin.

The first one occurred on your twenty-first birthday, which just passed a little over a week ago. The day wasn’t anything special, as most birthdays aren’t, but Aunt Edith did let you have a sip of red wine she had stored in the basement cellar, serving it in her nicest crystal chalice with your favorite buttercream cake after dinner.

“Just one glass,” she had ordered, and honestly, one glass was all you needed.

The bittersweetness was pleasant on your tongue, and after only a few gulps, you had a fuzzy, warm feeling in your chest, your cheeks flushed. You went to bed promptly after, prancing up the stairs, your head full of giggles.

You fell asleep as soon as you hit the bed, your mind suddenly entranced in vivid visions of fire and night. You've never had such lucid dreams before, and you rarely ever recall them the morning after, but these are so clear they feel as if you’ve actually lived them. The only details blurry to you are the faces of the figures, and though the thought of reliving them again scares you, you hope for them to be revealed eventually. You feel bound to them, almost as if they were a part of a past life.

Aunt Edith justifies these dreams as your unconscious anxiety for starting school, and for eating too many sweets before bed. At this point, you don’t care to elaborate on them anymore.

She hands you the teacup once it’s seeped, urging you to place it against your lips.

“Well, there’s no need to ponder on it. Drink up.”

The tea is earthy and bitter, and you struggle to get it down. You wish for a spoonful of sugar or honey, but you don’t see any in the spread before you, and don’t care to bother your aunt any further after the effort she made with this breakfast. So, you gulp it down until you feel the grainy sediment of the herbs hit your tongue.

After breakfast, you walk out onto your front porch to get a feel for what weather the day will bring. The painted wood of the deck is cold against your bare feet as you step onto the porch, stretching your limbs when you catch a ray of sunlight that slips between the clouds above. It’s a brisk fall day, but pleasantly so, a chill running through your body only when a swift rush of wind wisps around you.

After a few minutes of soaking in the fresh air, you step back inside and pad over back to your bedroom, swinging your closet door open and eyeing your eclectic arrangement of clothes. You decide on a black and white plaid dress with tights and knee socks, along with your favorite black loafers with the silver buckles. You pull a coat with fur trimmings over the whole ensemble, as well as a red beanie and scarf.

You walk over to your bag and do one last run through of all the items you read that you needed online – a journal for each subject, a zipper pouch filled with your favorite assortment of pens and pencils, a few folders, and – contributing to most of the weight – your hefty textbooks, which you hope you will not have to carry the entirety of the semester because just heaving the bag over your shoulder makes your back ache.

“Alright,” you call out to Aunt Edith as you walk into your entryway, grabbing your keys from the hook. “I’m leaving.”

“Oh, look at you,” she gushes as she walks in from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron. “You look beautiful, so grown up. Be safe, sweetie. I know you drive into town sometimes but it’s a lot different where you’re headed. Watch for traffic, especially since you don’t have a license yet — we need to get that done soon. God, I should’ve done a test drive with you first. Don’t talk to strangers, maybe make a few friends but don’t go out to any parties they invite you to. And please —“

“I got it, I got it,” you laugh, unlocking the front door and stepping out. “I promise I’ll be safe. Love you too.”

The wind nips gently at your legs through your thin tights, though you don’t mind. You trot down your gravel driveway, admiring the garden that is already beginning to sprout with gourds and autumn greens.

You get to your truck parked at the very end of the gravel, hopping in and shivering at how cold the leather seat is against the exposed bits of your body. You quickly turn the ignition and switch on the heat, rubbing your hands together once the warm air begins to pipe through it.

When you pass the street you usually turn on to go to the farmer’s market, you have to fish out your phone to pull up the directions to the academy. You find your maps app and typing each letter of Acaber Academy into the search bar, flicking your eyes from your screen to the road with each letter. You get to the second ‘a’ in academy when you start to feel panicked and that you should just pull over. You sigh, tossing your phone in the passenger seat and focusing back on the road.

Just as you’re about to veer over to the stop lane, a brown figure dashes in front of you, and you slam on the breaks. Your tires screech to a halt, stopping just inches from the startled deer that stares bewilderingly from the street. Your heartbeat roars in your eardrums, your shaking hand pressing down on your horn to scare it back into the woods where it came from.

“Holy fuck,” you breathe to yourself, chest heaving as the adrenaline leaves you trembling.

You stare blankly at the road for a second, trying to refrain from thinking what would have happened if you had still been distracted with the directions on your phone.

☽ ✩ ☾

After a few laps around the parking lot, you finally find a lucky spot at the very front. You hastily pull into it, shutting your car off and falling back into your seat with a huff.

You look at the campus that’s laid before you, and at all of other students zipping around you, en route to their own classes. On top of the waves of anxiety from earlier still washing over you, your stomach is full of anxious butterflies, having rarely ever been around so many people your own age. After giving yourself a few affirmations, you push open your door and step out into the brisk autumn air. You sling your book bag over your shoulder, the action exciting you — you always saw it in movies, the outcast main character, their heads bowed low, anxious to face whatever adventures await them in the halls before them. You hope you’re in for something exciting.

You pull up a map of the campus on your phone, then the screenshot of your class schedule that had been emailed to you the night before.

9a-10:20a — Maple Lecture Hall, Room 444 — Professor Stalenberg

You squint as you look for Maple Hall on the map, finally locating it on the far left. You begin your trek in the general direction, trying to use the buildings and landmarks you pass by to guide you. Pollock Library, Cypress Performing Arts Center, Eden Sculpture Garden, the signs for all these unfamiliar places start to overwhelm you. You don’t see them labeled anywhere, and you begin to panic that you’ve gone the wrong way. You know you look frantic, your face buried in your phone as you attempt to read the tiny letters on the map, your eyes wide as they dart around to see where you are in relation to it. You’re so distracted in fact, that you don’t notice the person stopped in front of you, and you end up slamming right into their back, your phone flying from your hand and into the grass in front of the both of you.

“Oh, god,” you blurt, cupping your mouth in embarrassment. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it,” a cheery voice responds from over their shoulder, bending down with their back still to you. “It’s my fault for stopping on such a busy sidewalk.”

They turn around, extending a slender arm with your phone in hand. You look up to see the sweet face of a boy, a toothy grin spread across his lips, the tight curls of his hair bouncing with the light breeze.

“No, it’s—” you stutter, taking your phone from him. “It’s fine.”

You can’t help but freeze for a moment, stunned at the sight of him. He’s enchanting, his dark lashes batting from your tattered phone to you, his irises pools of warm amber that glint charmingly once they meet yours.

“You need help?” he asks, leaning forward to look at the map that’s still pulled up on your screen.

He smells like a wonderful mix of amber and vanilla, his curls coming only inches away from tickling your shoulder.

“I do, actually,” you nod, trying your best not to look flustered as you hand the phone back over to him. “It’s my first day.”

“Like, ever? You don’t look like a first year,” he says, studying you for a moment.

Your cheeks warm at his gaze. You nod, a smile curving your lips. “Like, ever. I’m twenty-one, I guess most twenty-one -year-olds are in their first or third year, but I had a bit of a late start.”

“No shame in that,” he nods back. “Better late than ever. What’s held you back, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“My aunt, she,” you begin, trying your best to word your thoughts correctly. “She’s a bit overprotective.”

“Mmm,” he purses his lips, looking past you as if he’s contemplating your reason. “Well, welcome to Acaber. I’m Josh.”

The boy extends out a hand, and you reach out to squeeze it, the scratchy wool on the cuffs of his coat tickling your fingertips.

Josh continues to study your phone for a few more moments before handing it back.

“Maple is right this way,” he chimes as he starts walking, to your dismay, in the exact opposite direction you were going in.

You feel your cheeks blush with embarrassment but you quickly brush it off, falling into step next to your new friend.

“So, Josh,” you say, your breath billowing from your lips against the chilled air. “What year are you?”

“Well, I guess I had a bit of a late start myself,” he explains, glancing over at you. “This is only my second semester, I transferred last spring.”

“Oh,” you say, raising your brow. “Well what are you studying?”

“History,” he says, flashing a smile at you.

“That’s so vague,” you laugh. “What kind of history? American? Literature?”

“Classical” he answers, turning a corner and chuckling when you shuffle to follow. “Classical studies.”

“Oh, and what does that focus on exactly?” you ask.

“Ancient civilizations, linguistics, art, mostly of the Greeks and Romans–”

He pauses to look at the building he has suddenly halted in front of.

“Which includes our Art of Ancient Greece class that we have together,” he says, giving you a cheeky smile. “What are the odds?”

“What are the odds,” you beam, following him up the steps to the building.

You watch fondly as his hair bounces with each step up the stairs, turning back to you once to make sure you’re keeping up. You anticipated making friends, but certainly not this quickly, and not with someone this cute.

Josh catches one of the front doors as someone swings through it, holding it open for you to walk through it with a toothy grin.

Upon entering, you’re wafted with the smell of old books, mahogany, and to your delight, coffee, the expanse of halls and corridors much more grand than you anticipated. Two more sets of stairs are laid out before you, one set leading up to the second floor that winds above you, another that descends into the vast space below, rows upon rows of desks ornamented with glowing lamps, students gathered around some as they mingle.

“This is gorgeous,” you breathe, gazing around the ornate ceiling and sculptures displayed along the walls, some of philosophers, some of deities you recognize from skimming through your textbooks.

“Yeah, this is not your average college campus, I suppose,” Josh chirps, leading the way up the ascending staircase.

When passing the second floor, you notice where the coffee scent is coming from; a small counter is nestled into the far corner of one of the rooms, a handwritten chalkboard and collection of old leather seats and booths making it the perfect burrow to study or have a quiet break.

On the third floor the library, which you only pass by briefly so as to not disturb anyone. It’s much quieter there, and you only see a few students wandering around the massive rows of shelves that ascend from its furthest wall, all stacked tightly with tomes and other old, worn books.

You finally reach the fourth floor, and you’re admittedly out of breath as Josh finally takes a turn down one of the dark corridors, the seceding pattern of arches along its ceiling making it feel like a never ending tunnel. You catch glimpses of each classroom as you walk by their opened doors, all occupied by their own handful of students, and you wonder what each of them are here to study, and if any of them are as new and anxious as you are at this moment.

You eventually make it to the end of the long hall and Josh turns towards a set of large double doors, one slightly ajar.

“Here we are,” he says, somehow not heaving for breath like you are. “Room 444.”

He pulls the door open to reveal a massive lecture hall, the seats nearly full at this point except for the very back rows, the quiet murmur of voices echoing off the expanse of walls around you. You glance at the time to find that it’s about five til.

Without a word, Josh leads the way down the middle aisle that separates the rows of seats, before shuffling down a few chairs. You follow closely behind him, dodging each seat as it pushes against his hip and springs back. He finally plops down into one towards the back left corner, and you slump into the one to his left.

In that moment, you hear a door towards the front of the hall clammer open, and in walks an older gentleman, dressed in a gray tweed suit and a brown briefcase gripped firmly to his side. He walks confidently, his head of grayed hair and stern face held high as he makes his way to the podium at the front of the class.

“He’s a great professor, from what I’ve heard,” Josh whispers to you as he leans forward and pulls a black notebook from his bag. “But he grades a bit tough.”

“Then why are we sitting all the way in the back?” you ask with a laugh as you follow suit, also pulling a notebook and pen from your bag. “Isn’t it statistically proven that students who sit in the back do the worst?”

“Don’t worry about your statistics,” he jests back, flashing you a grin and a wink. “I wouldn’t get to guide you through the basics if we sat at the front, we’d be too disruptive.”

You nod, noting how his voice seems to naturally carry itself, and you’re already a bit anxious that people can hear you, even though the closest person is at least five rows in front of you.

“Plus, all we gotta do is get the information and study together in the library at least once a week, and we’ll be golden?”

You blush, turning to him to look him in the eye.

“Are you already planning our study dates? I just met you fifteen minutes ago, who said I’d be studying with you?” you joke, and you’re impressed with your ability to flirt.

His eyes widen, a devious smirk crossing his face.

“Of course you are,” he says matter of factly, tapping his pen against the slab of wood above his lap. “I’ve already got it all planned out. You won’t be able to survive this place without me.”

☽ ✩ ☾

It’s about 6pm when you’re finally pulling into your driveway, your eyelids heavy with sleepiness. To your surprise, you find your aunt in the garden, bent over and fiddling with one of the plants, a wicker basket full of a variety of vegetables at her side.

“I’m home,” you call out, and she pops her head up in surprise.

“Oh, wonderful!” she leaps up, standing up to brush the soil off her knees and walking over to you. “I was just getting a few veggies for dinner, we’re having stew. I’ve already got some tomatoes simmering inside.”

“That sounds fantastic,” you smile, your stomach grumbling at the thought of dinner, having not eaten since Josh's granola bar.

“Go get washed up, and you can tell me all about your day, I can’t wait to hear about it,” she sings, motioning you inside.

Thirty minutes later, you are sitting at your dinner table with a big bowl of steaming stew and a slice of fresh garlic bread.

“So, did everything go well?” Aunt Edith asks, sliding into the seat across from you with her own bowl.

“Oh my gosh,” you beam, mixing around the hearty chunks of potatoes and carrots with your spoon. “It was amazing. I got a little lost when I first got there, but this really nice boy helped me find my way around.”

You blush a bit when Aunt Edith raises her eyebrows at you with the word boy.

“His name is Josh, and I feel like we’re gonna be good friends.”

“Is he handsome?” She asks, clearly not able to help herself.

“I mean…” Your face grows warm as you take your first bite of stew. “Sure, he is. He has a really nice smile, and a cute head of curls. But it’s not like I’m looking to date — not yet, at least. That’s definitely skipping a few steps in my independence, and I think I need to get my bearings first.”

“Good,” your aunt says, smiling between bites.”I’m glad that’s how you’re going about this. Better to play it safe.”

You nod, but you can’t help the tingly feeling that arises in your stomach at the thought of where your newfound friendship could go.

You make it to bed at around eleven after doing a few introductory discussion posts for your art history class. You find it fun getting to write a little blurb about yourself, mentioning your love of romance novels and gardening. You scroll through a few of the posts already listed, your heart leaping when you find the one you were looking for.

Greetings, my name is Josh and I’m a second year student here at Acaber, studying classical history. In my free time, I enjoy indulging in a good film, attending one of our stunning theater productions, or perhaps debating the nuances of life with my fellow peers. I hope this semester goes swimmingly for everyone. Yasou!

☽ ✩ ☾

“You’ve finally found her,” Jake repeats as he stares up at the ceiling, the flame dancing across his features

“I have, and she’s everything we hoped for,” Josh replies, smiling down at his brother. “She’s strong, beautiful, and so smart. It’s going to take a bit more time for me to gain her trust, but we’re almost there. “

“Please.” Jake insists, turning his head to look at him. “There’s no rush, we’ve already come this far, and I don’t want her to feel betrayed and back out when you break the news to her. Let everything come naturally. Remember that she’s a gift, not just a tool used to fix our problems. I’ll be fine, just take your time.”

He sits up while trying to croak out the last comment, letting out a gravely cough into the crook of his elbow.

Though he knows Jake is trying to be strong, and he certainly has a good point, it’s becoming increasingly difficult for Josh to focus on anything other than getting his brother the hell out of, well, hell.

Even with the countless times Jake has told him to not worry, and that he’s fine, he knows he is struggling immensely at this point. They’re twins after all, and the perpetual weight of guilt for Jake’s pain sits in his chest like a heavy stone, making it hard to even breathe every time he looks at him.

He sees how much his demeanor has changed so much since the fateful night they were separated. He used to carry himself with such a jubilant confidence, a shimmer in his eyes that danced with mischief and a lust for thrill, which has now frosted over into dull gloom, worn by reparations for a sin that was not his own.

The heartache is what keeps Josh going, even though part of him worries that if it’s not done soon, it’ll be too late, that Jake will be withered to dust by the time he finally reaches him.

“I have to go,” Josh whispers, deciding to cut their meeting short, his voice almost catching in his throat as he holds himself together.

“See you later,” Jake sighs, his voice heavy with sleep, his eyelids slowly blinking closed. “I love you.”

Josh grabs the snuffer from the hook on the wall, looking at his brother one more time before extinguishing the flame with its cold metal bell.

“I love you too. We’ll be together again soon, I promise.”

And just like that, Josh is back in his room, hunched over at his study desk as he stares at the silver thread of smoke that dances above its charred wick, the sweet vanilla of their meeting tinged with a bitter, ashen goodbye.

#it's here!!!!!#let me know what u think my besties #so excited to finally be posting this #also let me know if i missed u in the taglist!!!#josh kiszka #jake kiszka #kiszka twins #kiszka twins fanfic #gvf fic #greta van fleet #greta van fleet fic #greta van fanfic #mine

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