#it does t lag at all to the point i had forgotten i had the krita window open | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

hanadolphieron · 3 years

Text

HOGWARTS AU~

a/n- i do not support jk rowling. this is your (my beautiful, show-stopping, magnificent followers’) christmas gift and i hope she’s annoyed by the fact that a liberal pansexual and a lesbian fanfiction writer wrote a giant post centered around a universe she created ;)

another a/n- i hope all of my oomfies enjoy this, i spent an entire month writing it because i love you guys so much! you have made my year so much better!!!!!!!! big heart!

another another a/b- i started writing for ateez after i finished this, so that’s why they’re not on there. i would put them in, however i have written fifty-four of these and am a wee bit drained :)

_______________________

GRYFFINDOR~

colors; scarlet and gold

traits; bravery, daring, nerve, chivalry

element; fire

symbol; the lion

head of house; chungha

members; nayeon, chaeyoung, jisoo, yeji, ryujin, yuna, mia, sakura, yujin, heejin, chaewon, chungha, winter, somi

_______________________

HUFFLEPUFF~

colors; yellow and black

traits; hard work, dedication, loyalty, patience, fair play

element; earth

symbol; the badger

head of house; haseul

members; sana, dahyun, rosé, lia, e:u, onda, chaeyeon, chaewon, nako, wonyoung, jinsoul, haseul, chuu, yeojin, giselle, ningning

________________________

SLYTHERIN~

colors; emerald and silver

traits; ambition, leadership, self-preservation, cunning, resourcefulness

element; water

symbol; serpent

head of house; eunbi

members; jeongyeon, momo, jihyo, jennie, sihyeon, eunbi, yena, minju, yves, olivia hye

________________________

RAVENCLAW~

colors; blue and bronze

traits; intelligence, curiosity, knowledge, creativity, wit

element; air

symbol; eagle

head of house; mina

members; mina, tzuyu, lisa, chaeryeong, aisha, yiren, hyewon, hitomi, yuri, vivi, kim lip, hyunjin, choerry, karina

________________________

PROFILES~

nayeon is a prefect, of course, she used to be the head of house but chungha succeeded her after nayeon decided to focus more on her studies

headcannon that nayeon and chungha are are lowkey besties

they don’t talk much, but they respect each other and always like to have nice chats about the school

but other than her leadership roles, nayeon is like the older sister of the gryffindor house

sort of has no idea what’s going on sometimes but tries her best because everyone asks her for advice

cries at graduation because she loves hogwarts so much

ends up working at the ministry of magic

she’s so perfect help🥺

________________________

definitely has a hufflepuff s/o

i refuse to believe anything else

is everyone’s crush, ryujin follows in her footsteps

is the slytherin seeker, probably flusters the other seekers because she’s intimidating but so gorgeous and charismatic

sorry for projecting my love of jeongyeon but i had to

is excellent at potions and has taught the class at some point

really enjoys hogwarts and takes advantage of all the fun magic it has to offer

is always in the library finding mystery books to read

dark, gothic academia hhhhh

snuck in two kittens along with her owl because she didn’t want to choose

nobody noticed because everyone’s too scared to go into the slytherin common room

________________________

famous for bringing a whole ass snake as a pet instead of you know, the legal pets like toads, owls, and cats

starts a dance team

except everyone’s mildly terrified to join because she looks really intimidating

when in reality the only bad thing she’s ever done is stealing sana’s cat because she wanted something to cuddle

and when sana took her cat momo dragged sana over inside to snuggle

as a first year she cried in front of her class one time for some reason that her brain has forgotten to protect her because she freaked the fck out

because she was afraid of tarnishing her scary slytherin reputation

now, she’ll have a good swig of butterbeer and wipe a tear away over how good it tastes (because finals)

________________________

has most adorable cat, like seriously it’s almost as cute as her🥺

gets drunk on butterbeer constantly

it’s becoming a slight issue

but it’s hard for anyone to stop her, as she works part-time at the three broomsticks and will make you pay more taxes if you annoy her

acts like a slytherin sometimes

because she’s good at everything the slytherin’s do

but sana’s a true hufflepuff at heart, she’s always looking to make people smile

her pranks are always to create a good atmosphere, not to aggravate people

makes hand-made scarves for everyone at christmas

________________________

thought she was a gryffindor her entire life

and then the sorting cat called out “slytherin” the second it touched her head

jihyo went 👁👄👁

but she ended up loving her house, and fit right in with her new friends

hates all the cats but they cling to her for spite

(she highkey actually adores them)

LOUD because she’s obsessed with quidditch

like seriously, obsessed, she will never shut up about the chudley cannons (i hope that’s their name) and will talk your ear off for hours just chatting about one game

sits in the library for peace and quiet, but sighs constantly and keeps getting glared at

couldn’t care less though, she needs deep breaths to sustain her sanity

________________________

everyone loves her!

she’s one of those people you bring up in conversation just to compliment? because she’s so respectable and wholesome and nice and beautiful and perfect?

leads ravenclaw so well :(

will stay up all night helping younger kids with their classes or subjects that they’re wildly interested in

makes quizlets for everything, her account lags because so many people are using it at one time

goes into the forest at night and dances as a way to relieve stress (we love an aesthetic queen)

________________________

gets into trouble so much

will risk her education to make people laugh

everyone respects her for it, even the teachers, so she never has many consequences because everyone needs some laughter in their lives

a beater for hufflepuff we love to see it

painted her bat like a badger and calls it tommy

has fallen off her broom more than once because she gets really distracted

the only class she truly focuses on is transfiguration

she loves it for some weird reason and does extra lessons with professor mcgonagall

no one questions it though, because she’s kim dahyun

________________________

the one who comforts everyone in gryffindor

sometimes expectations to be brave and self-assured can be too much for her fellow house-mates, so chaeyoung takes the role of making them feel safe and helping them relax

the expert at caring for the cats

something about her makes them flock around her feet

they’re always swarming around her feet

one time she actually tripped over one them and broke her shin

but luckily, professor sprout (aka her best friend) helped her through it with some medicinal herbs and long conversations about plants

always wearing comfy clothes

wears a scarf in the dorms for some reason

________________________

has the prettiest owl to ever exist

and its eyes match up perfectly with hers

everyone has a headcannon that they’re actually twins

which would entail that tzuyu was born a bird but somehow turned into a human

but no one really dwells on that

caught mina when she was dancing in the forest at night

but vowed never to tell anyone

and now mina invites her to come watch and dance herself

tzuyu actually drew her one time and mina just about melted of embarrassment and pride and happiness because tzuyu? just drew a picture of her? and it makes her feel so cool and magical?

________________________

empress cat (along with hyunjin and chaeyoung)

those three have the sweetest relationship, you can always find them cooing about the cats together (while holding the cats themselves)

has an obsession with the whomping willow

always sits next to it after she managed to tame it

reads and does her studies there

is undisturbed and loves it

knows all the staircases for some reason, like has given them names and nobody knows how she’s memorized them all

but if you’re ever lost, jisoo will appear out of nowhere to help

________________________

somehow manages to make time for everything

spends most of her time in the library, but also excels at quidditch? and makes it to all of the practices? like jennie stop being so talented (but please don’t we love it)

everyone’s like what an ambitious slytherin smh

cast her patronus on the first try

and screamed because she had a snow leopard! and they’re so adorable!

probably started crying just being honest

intimidates everyone but is a huge softie

has a close-knit group of friends

reminds me of a wolf? for some reason

________________________

a master at quidditch!

plays chaser on the hufflepuff team and is the captain as well

along with those leader positions, chaeyoung is also prefect

basically, she loves to p r o t e c t

what a hufflepuff smh

laughs so much it’s worrying, you can always hear her giggling throughout the halls of hogwarts

brought a frog

does not regret it at all, she loves zucchini (the frog) with all her heart

keeps it in her jacket pocket

ribbiting noises erupt in the middle of class

________________________

a beater for gryffinor i mean what were you expecting

was the first person to join momo’s dance team

which scared even more people away (youth with you anyone?)

but lisa is still so sweet, always helping people out

smiles at every single person she passes

her cheeks hurt by the end of the day, partly because of what i just mentioned and partly because rose makes her laugh so much

chases all the cats around

they act tormented but when have cats ever been honest when they like something a human is doing for them

they need the exercise, rose feeds them too much

________________________

looks like a slytherin because of her eyes

but is a true gryffindor at heart, always being brave and kind to her friends and standing up for everyone

almost all of her friends are in gryffindor :) except for lia, who is arguably the most chaotic but stops them from doing anything too dumb

and chaeryeong, who helps more with the excitement management

yeji is a chaser on the gryffindor quidditch team (we been knew) and scores so much the point keeper (?) loses count

definitely has a cat

who snuggles with her in the common room and everyone wants to cry over how cute they both are

everyone talks about how she looks like her cat ;0

is pretty popular, although she’s still so humble

________________________

gosh this ADORABLE HUFFLEPUFF

will tackle you if you wrong her, her friends, her plants, or steal her food

got lost on her first day and missed the whole day of classes

was so embarrassed and probably cried poor jisu

but haseul to the rescue! came and comforted her, we love a supportive hufflepuff family

daydreams all the time

professor sprout (is that her name i haven’t read these books in a while) is her best friend and she eats lunch with her sometimes🥺

all the teacher’s love her

except she’s pretty quiet in class, except for her maniacal laughing at chaeryeong sometimes

her and chae are The Best Friends TM

________________________

everyone’s crush who are we kidding (fboi ryu)

a beater, always protects yeji and she loves it, always getting flustered over ryujin

even though ryu’s been doing it for years (however the winks she throws in yeji’s directions would make anyone falter)

the best in class at defense against the dark arts

got her patronus, a black bear, within a few minutes after learning the lesson

and everyone was like 👀 but honestly not that surprised, because come on it’s shin ryujin herself!

shows off her skills (in everything she attempts) all the time and everyone loves it

in general very well liked, her vibe is so comforting and realistic, and she always says the rights things

________________________

patronus = ostrich

chae was so annoyed with this honestly, i mean she’s trying to be this cool light academia ravenclaw and her patronus is an ostrich...

like really. really.

everyone laughed at her disappointing patronus, but chaeryeong didn’t care, she was actually beginning to love its uniqueness

throughout the school, chae is known for her adorably caring personality akin to a hufflepuff along with her wisdom

she helps everyone :(

friends with everyone despite being introverted

probably eats lunch with professor flitwick

she’s just too nice

her aesthetic, as i said, is light academia and she pulls it off so well

organizes all the chants at quidditch games

________________________

fred and george but one person

the gryffindor common room is in absolute chaos whenever she’s present

her laugh is contagious and can be heard all throughout the dorms, creating a beautiful sense of togetherness and happiness

keeps everyone’s faith in humanity

the loudest at al the quidditch games

teases her friends 100% of the time but will always hug and comfort them when they’re down

can make anyone smile within a few seconds

hangs out in the kitchen

terrorizes all her dormmates cats

they still sleep with her at night though, her bed is covered in cat fur

________________________

spends all of her time in the kitchens

her friends are always begging her to bring food back to the common rooms

and she normally does

in fact, she bakes pastries or cooks something for them most of the time because she’s sweet like that

ran into a painting one time and got yelled at by the person in it

it was the sole most terrifying experience in her life

she almost fell down the stairs

now, she’s actually friends with the people in the painting

and they have (maybe) forgiven her for smacking into their tea table and ruining their lunch

(which they’ve been eating for years but jiwon did not mention that)

________________________

on the quidditch team

changes positions every single year for some reason (she’s such an ace)

because she has BIG TALENT

loves being a seeker the most (obviously, because she gets all the glory and she’s a leo with a scorpio mars)

has a black cat with the exact same personality as her

one time it ate her ramen and boy was she mad

but the cat, who was named orange (despite not being orange) really liked the noodles

so jiwon convinced sihyeon to let her make feline-friendly noodles for the cat

which sihyeon agreed to

because seeing orange slurp up a bowl of noodles really makes her day

________________________

is professor mcgonagall’s child

i mean not literally, but still

eunji has been taken under her wing

in fact, she actually taught mia how to be a metamorphmagus

eunji managed to turn into a badger

which wasn’t exactly enjoyable at first, since being a badger doesn’t have many benefits other than being able to dig a hole faster than anybody you know

however, eunji used her badger form as a way to relax, because she could escape from all her problems by turning into a woodland animal and going to take a comfy nap in some flowers

her friends were ecstatic when she told them she had become a badger

e:u immediately made her morph into said animal so she could give mia a hug because fluffy

________________________

accompanies jiwon to the kitchen most days and prevents her from getting bored with her antics

these “antics” involve things like crouching on the counter next to jiwon and crunching down on carrots

to which jiwon just shakes her head and pulls the carrot right out of her mouth

loves the toads! she has a speckled one and treasures it with all her heart

steals jiwon’s pastries to feed to them

serim is also always in different places

she’s completely unpredictable, moving all around the school throughout the day

you can’t find her in the same place twice (except for the kitchens)

everyone thinks she’s part fairy because of this and her compassion

________________________

spends all her time daydreaming while looking up at the sky from the observatory

i don’t blame her, it does have an exquisite view and even sports a bunch of cushions and blankets on the floor for the sole purpose of taking naps in the sun like a cat

anyways, yoorim is lost in her head most of the time

but always takes a trip back to reality during the day, where’s spotted encouraging her friends 24/7

and laughing nonstop at them

(especially sihyeon)

because while she’s a ravenclaw, loved ones are the most important things in her life

________________________

joins aisha in her imagining sprees up in the observatory

but gets bored and leaves to go sneak into the slytherin common rooms because she wants to spot the giant squid

who she has made friends with from her constant trips to see it

its name is jerry, for anyone who’s wondering

the slytherins have adopted her as one of their one

and yiren takes great pride in it

because she now has a massive posse of people ready to protect her from anyone who would dare to make her sad

________________________

keeps everyone in line because she finds everyone annoying

collapses on the sofa at the end of the day

probably snores

has the best self confidence of the whole school

i mean some of it is because she wants to be a good role model, but she really just doesn’t care at this point

her owl would rip any enemies to shreds

because it is pretty fearsome, even if it’s the smallest one professor mcgonagall has ever seen

and she’s seen a lot

probably a tutor ngl

________________________

the most passionate gryffindor you’ll ever meet

sakura definitely makes a name for herself cheering at all the quidditch games

and with the fact that she won the triwizard tournament!

keeps the cup in the gyrffindor common rooms

because she sees it as something the house should be proud of, not just sakura

so sweet i can not with her

actually didn’t bring a pet and now regrets it

but she’s busy so she wouldn’t have time to care ofr it

but still

🥺cats🥺

________________________

the seventh years surrounded her on her first day because of her “must protect” energy

and the fact that her toad escaped as soon as she came through the door

which resulted in school-wide panic

they found the toad luckily

well, it actually came running back to hyewon

for some reason, it actually bit her! which made her laugh

the devious amphibian apparently had a habit for escaping, which hyewon learned about after multiple attempts from it at running away

which never worked

because hyewon would get so sad and said toad would feel bad

thus meaning it would turn around and bound back to hyewon

________________________

immediately fell in love with hogwarts once she saw the great hall

one, because it was full of food

and two, because it’s so pretty! and the starts reflect on the ceiling! and magic!

tried to bond with the sorting hat

and it most likely worked because she is choi yena and can do things like that

a social butterfly without realizing it, everyone wants to talk to her all at the same time and she is b i g s t r e s s e d

helps with homework even if she has no idea what she’s doing

it aides her in picking up the subject because no that she’s having to explain it it clicks in her mind

strategy peeps

________________________

the sorting hat knew she was a hufflepuff the minute she walked through the door

her bright energy and happy-go-lucky charm made her a friend magnet, everyone wanted to be her bestie

dances to cheer people up

is friends with all the ravenclaws and joins them in their all-nighters when they’ve discovered a new obsession

wins every single lottery/game/anything that involves chance

her nicknames is felix felicis (i hope i’m spelling that right)

racks up all the house points because the professors can’t help but praise her for everything

and she deserves it to, always running around helping others

________________________

the seeker for hufflepuff

surprised the class and left everyone open-mouthed with her quidditch skills

had no idea she was so good, but after a while begins to take a lot of pride in her talent

the sorting hat considered slytherin for chaewon, but decided against it

which may seem like an odd combination, but it wasn’t uncommon

befriends all the slytherins and has them head over heels in love with her

same with the gryffindors

in fact, chaewon doesn’t know actually know many hufflepuffs, she’s always gotten along better with the other houses

________________________

joins vivi in at night whenever she’s in the astronomy tower

has an admirable amount of ravenclaw friends and has practically become one at this point

goes in the common room all the time because she can figure out the riddles

smh their security system really isn’t that good

becomes obsessed with random subjects

has a different best class every year

comes up with her own spells

hogsmeade weekends are her favorite :(

and minju stuffs herself with butterbeer every time

eunbi’s the only person who can keep her in check

________________________

i mean all hufflepuffs are cute-

but nako really takes the cake

because no one can look at her adorable smile and not think she’s the cutest human to ever exist

drew on the walls of the hufflepuff dorms because she accidentally drank a potion yuri had been brewing

which caused her to go loopy and delirious

eunbi was summoned and forced to tuck nako into bed so she could sleep it off

lights up the room whenever she walks in

everybody swears that the candles actually brighten whenever nako appears

________________________

loves the ravenclaw tower with all her heart :(

almost fainted when she first saw it because of how pretty it was

peak house spirit

ravenclaw only wins the house cup if hitomi has a good year

because she’s just so happy to be a ravenclaw and all the teachers are like yeh hitomi yeh and give her lots of points

became a prefect the first chance she got

doens’t get anyone in trouble though

but no one takes any chances because they don’t want to disappoint her

________________________

a master at potions

spends half her time concocting liquids to do a bunch of (benevolent) things

has suspicious stains on her robes

nobody questions it

because she’s a ravenclaw, which means she will feel extremely put off at any sort of accusatory remarks and you won’t be able to understand her answer because of her big brain words

jumps 10 feet in the air if you interrupt her magic

screams too

makes you swear to never tell anyone

but it’s happened to everyone so at this point it’s just common knowledge

________________________

a beater for gryffindor and goes beast mode whenever ravenclaw is playing

because for some reason they make her eye twitch

even if she’s friends with a bunch of them

she’s still just BIG GRR

spends all of her itme in the gryffindor common room

greets everyone when they come in

is on a first-name basis with the entire school and no one knows how she can remember them all

and she’s so sweet to people? how does she deal with it

whenever she comes in the room there’s a chorus of “ahn yujin, the woman, the myth, the legend!”

________________________

thought the common room actually had badgers in it

and was extremely disappointed when she found out they didn’t

haseul felt bad seeing wonyoung’s sadness and invited her on a badger hunt

they found two

and bonded with them by feeing them food

i don’t know what badgers eat so i won’t specify

but the badgers followed the two home and now the hufflepuff house has two pet badgers

wonyoung takes great pride in that accomplishment

even more than when she (effortlessly) won the triwizard tournament in her sixth year

________________________

super into astronomy and astrology

will stare at the stars all night

has seven telescopes and has no shame

seems quiet at first, but the ravenclaw dorms are always filled with the sound of her laughter (even at 3 in the morning)

daydreams in class all the time

and is confused over everything

but still makes it through with her sweet personality

fell off a broom the first time she ever got on one

because she was so busy watching the instructor that she didn’t realize her head was tilted so far to the side that it unbalanced her and caused her to slip off her broom

________________________

snako right here wanted to play quidditch her whole life

but sadly, she wasn’t too good at it

however, yves soon realized her true talent transfiguration

seriously, she can change anything into anything

zapped lippie into a mouse one time

professor mcgonagall was not happy

just kidding she was ecstatic and gave sooyoung a detention to teach her how to perfect her skills on turning people into mice

just not jungeun

holds a grudge against the gryffindor quidditch team but won’t ever admit it

but everybody knows

but it’s okay, because sooyoung can get away with anything (and no one wants to be turned into a mouse)

________________________

famous for winning the triwizard tournament

because first of all, she didn’t even want to apply, yves and heejin had forced her to as a joke because there was no way she was going to be picked

but low and behold, she was picked

and somehow managed to win every task with pure luck

(and an ungodly amount of encouragement from chuu)

this has made everyone scared of her

which she doesn’t mind a lot of times, because it’s nice to be left alone

and she can easily filter out peole she doesn’t want in her life

but still

to people who aren’t aware of her winnings

she’s about as terrifying as a duck eating lettuce

________________________

overworked as the head of house but deals with it because she loves taking care of her fellow puffies

i miss her so much

was on the quidditch team at some point

she can’t remember when

third year maybe

her first four years went by in a blur

she was so enveloped in her studies and loved learning about magic with all her heart

100% got a job at the ministry once she finished her seventh year

there was zero question when choosing the head of house for hufflepuff

everyone immediately nominated haseul

________________________

The Scary Ravenclaw TM

no one messes with her or her posse

a beast at magic has legit something like an 8.0 GPA

everyone’s like jungeun that is hecking impossible

not for her apparently

whipped for all the hufflepuffers and is known to trudge into their common room whenever she’s grumpy

because she knows at least sixteen people will volunteer to hug her

(preferably chuu is in that group)

denies it though

like heck no i hate hugs what are you talking about

________________________

the definition of a hufflepuff

was the talk of the school the first day because of how big of an impact her positivity and cheerfulness made

she turns heads and doesn’t even notice it😔

didn’t bring a pet, surprisingly

but steals everyone else’s

no one bothers to reprimand her whenever their cat disappears and is found cuddled up next to chuu

because honestly if i was a cat that’s what i would do

her patronus is probably something like a pufferfish

which she thought was the best thing ever

because “it goes poof whenever i stop the spell!”

________________________

A CHASER FOR GRYFFINDOR AND EVERYONE AND THEIR DOG IS WHIPPED FOR HOW WELL SHE PLAYS QUIDDITCH

acts like she struggles with school but is actually top of her class

spends a bunch of time with her professors because she loves talking to them

such a libra smh

brought a toad

was so embarrassed at first but is now shameless

about the fact that yes, she does kiss her toad on the forehead before she leaves for school each morning

even if most of the time she keeps the toad in her pocket all day because she doesn’t want to leave it alone

________________________

head owl caretaker

spends all of her time with hagrid :(

there are multiple stains on the floor from when they’re drinking tea together and hyunjin does something that makes them both spit out their drinks in laughter

fang cleans it up though

the animals are her favorite thing

created a spell to remove fur/hair from her clothes because she gets bad allergies

steals whole loaves of bread from the kitchens

the cooks turn a blind eye

________________________

has eaten all the crackers in the kitchen in one go

no one was really mad (except for jiwon) because how could you be upset with her?

her crunchy voice is adorable, even if she’s lying and blaming it all on yeojin

does her own thing most of the time

one of those people who will memorize 1800 spells but tell no one

and then shows everything off at the perfect moment

loves watching quidditch

will go to the practices just to see people play, she’s that enamored

a HUGE fan of the chudley cannons

________________________

friends with all the hufflepuffs

stole their badgers one time because she wanted to test the theory of “hufflepuffs are good finders”

they would have found their pets

but were too scared to accuse choerry

even if they knew it was her

choerry felt bad and sneakily returned the truffle-hunters during the night

she heard chuu disgruntledly ranting to haseul about how rude it was to steal some poor defenseless badgers

she turned them invisible shortly after that for another prank

but gowon exposed her

yerim’s never forgiven her for it

________________________

the sweetest slytherin you’ll ever meet

loves to sit in the common room and stare at the water in the lake

but always gets scared by people walking in

even though she’s used to it because it happens every 10 minutes

but it’s still

ahh!

wanted to be on the quidditch team so bad when she was younger but now does not see the point she would much rather sit in the charms room and make up dumb spells with chuu

professor flitwick helps them

and always has cupcakes on handy

________________________

the mind of a slytherin and is the head prankster

no one suspects her because she looks and acts to sweet to do anything

but despite their “fair play” thing going on

hufflepuffs are the best jokers you’ll find

yeojin has started a pranking service

makes a bunch of money off it

enough to buy all 11 of her besties bags of candy at hogsmeade

(along with getting herself one because she deserves it)

oh!

and some for hufflepuff’s badgers too!

________________________

i put her in gryffindor at first because aries

but she really has the personality of a ravenclaw :)

and she definitely brought an eagle/hawk to school

convinced everyone it was an owl

i mean no one really thought it was an owl because it obviously was a different kind of bird

but

how the heck do you take away someone’s bird and prevent it from going back to them?

and where do you put it?

that was karina’s plan

she knew no one could outsmart her

the riddle thingo at the entrance to the ravenclaw dorms was very proud of her

they’re friends

________________________

the sorting hat spent five hours deciding on whether to put giselle in slytherin or hufflepuff

i’m exaggerating but you get the picture

because she values all of the things that the houses represent?!

but hufflepuff was still the best fit

loves to wander around the halls and staircases so she can discover the infinite amount of corridors and rooms inside hogwarts

she’ll never find them all

which is a little dissatisfying

but it’s still fun!

and ningning accompanies her a lot of the time, which can be incredibly distracting because neither of them end up going the direction they want to because they see something cool and go !!??

________________________

a chaser for gryffindor

although no one knows about it?

winter just never mentions it so whenever she plays there’s an uproar because that’s minjeong out there!

she loves the compliments from the outcome/ending of her accomplishments rather than the encouragement along the way

an ace at sneaking around the school

has gotten into all of the houses’ dorms

no one found out

although the fat friar did see her and lecture her on privacy

she sort of listened

by which i mean she stayed out of the hufflepuff dorms and instead wen to the ravenclaw ones

________________________

the pride of hufflepuff for her quidditch skills

she’s so good at it

no one really expected this from her, but her determination blasted away any competition

and the team needs her badly

for her quidditch skills

and her constant encouragement and cheering

giselle ended up giving her a microphone to wear during games so the whole school could hear how amazing and sweet the hufflepuff house is

smiles at everyone she walks past and the entire population of hogwarts knows her name

________________________

mcgonagall’s favorite

a role model for everyone, chungha has a posse of first years surrounding her at all times

her becoming head of house was no surprise, everyone expected her to and no one was jealous or envied her position since she did such a good job of leading gryffindor

used to be on the quidditch team as a blugder

which no one expected from sweet chungha

she was average, not a prodigy but not bad either

ended up quitting in sixth year to focus more on her studies, namely charms

________________________

in about 18 clubs

started 15 of them

for some reason she just loves the thrill of being part of a group more than others

and really enjoys having people around her

excellent at charms! it’s her best subject and professor flitwick uses her as an example all the time

she loves it

probably had to give her animal away to someone else (big sad) because she’s so busy

it was hyunjin who took it

now they’re really good friends and somi can see her cat whenever she wants to

________________________

132 notes · View notes

galaxyofmyown · 4 years

Note

Okay so I just tripped and fell and ate sidewalk so! Maybe reader is helping hotch train for another marathon and they eat shit on the pavement??

oh my god. oh my GOD. this request was so so so fun to write. it’s just so fresh and fluffy and yayyy. and i’m actually very proud of myself for this one. if i’m honest YES i did write me and my friend in as a cameo because we were in dc yesterday morning making fun of all the runners, so i felt it needed to be done. i hope you love it and i’m sorry that i know nothing about running.

warnings: language, cheesy-ass confession

aaron hotchner x reader - marathoners

“I have a theory.” You pant, huffing and puffing as you struggle to keep up with Aaron Hotchner, your boss and King of Quarter-Zips.

“Oh yeah? What’s that?” He replies over his shoulder, and you resent how even his voice sounds after 6 miles. Six. Fucking. Miles.

“I think you’re evil. I think you’re an evil little man with evil little powers who magically coerced me into training for this stupid marathon with you.”

Hotch laughs, and your resentment grows. If you laughed right now you would probably pass out.

“And why, do you theorize, would I use my assuredly limited powers to make myself listen to you complain all morning, every morning?”

“Because you’re obsessed with me. You can’t get enough of me. You would hear me give a four hour lecture on my favorite sedimentary rock if it meant you could hear my sweet, sweet voice.” You tease, and Hotch looks at you, two-thirds amused, one-third… something else.

Your profiling game was off this morning.

“Whatever you say, (Y/L/N).” He retorts, and you groan.

“Can you please, please, please stop calling me by my last name? It makes me feel like a high school football player.”

“Fine, (Y/N).” He says cheekily, dragging your name out in a way that makes your stomach twirl.

“Okay, well, since you’re in such a compliant mood do you think we could stop running? And then also never run ever again?” Hotch laughs again, and his good mood lifts your spirits. It always does. He checks his watch graciously.

“Five minute break.” He says, and you immediately fall onto a nearby bench. Hotch joins you but doesn’t sit, taking this time to stretch a bit.

“(Y/N), you should also use this time to-”

“No.” You say with a smile, letting the light breeze cool your overheated face.

“But-”

“Hotch?”

“Yeah?”

“Shut. Up.”

He hits his foot against yours, more of a playful nudge than a kick, and you bask in the short moment of contact.

You secretly love running with Hotch. The actual running part is… eh. But the Hotch part is great. You can rarely convince him to spend time with the team outside of work, so you jumped at the opportunity when he offered to train with you for the next marathon. But it also made you wonder.

“Hotch?” You ask again, cracking your eyes open. His body is blocking most of the annoying morning sun shining onto you, and you fleetingly wonder if he was doing that on purpose.

Hotch nods to show he’s listening even as his fiddles with his fancy running watch.

“You know Morgan runs, right?” You ask casually, fiddling with the hem of the oversized t-shirt you wore with your favorite leggings. Hotch looks up.

“Uh, yeah. I think I remember him mentioning it. Why?” He says, uber casual. You shrug.

“I’m just wondering why you chose to train with me when I obviously slow you down.”

“You don’t slow me down-”

“Oh, please. Remember the day I had a cold and couldn’t get up that morning? I heard you telling JJ how much you ran. I can’t get close to that on my best day.”

“Well, that’s why. Challenging you challenges me.”

“That makes literally no sense, but alright big guy. I’m ready to keep going.” You say, standing up despite the pain in your legs.

“We don’t have to if you’re too tired.” Hotch’s voice sounds distant all of a sudden.

“No, I really don’t mind. As long as you buy me breakfast after. Let’s go. We’ll run to the Capitol building and then back around to the smoothie place you like.”

You start off without him, focusing on the sound of your feet hitting the pavement. You hear him trailing after you, and you run the crosswalk to the National Mall, the sand and small rocks crunching under your feet as you brave the rectangle of pain.

Hotch, of course, passes you easily, and after a bit you’re back to lagging 20 feet behind him. It rained fairly hard last night, and the ground is slushy like half melted snow. As Hotch turns in front of the Capitol Building, you opt for the marble-esque surface that separates the grass from the sand in an attempt to cut a bit of the corner.

You regret your decision immediately. The damp toe of your running shoe catches on the white material and you slip, your body slamming into the ground not two seconds later. You break your fall with your forearms, but the sting of gravel digging into your skin makes you wince.

“(Y/N)!” You hear a voice call, and now you officially want to die. You had briefly forgotten about your boss, your crush, the witness to your awkward fall. But now he was right in front of you, squatting down to make sure you’re okay. So you do what you always do when you find yourself in a painfully awkward situation.

You laugh.

It’s loud, and some of the other 6 am joggers shoot you odd looks. But it seems to make some of Hotch’s worry dissolve.

“You okay?” He asks with a small smile. Grabbing your hand to help you up. You nod, still giggling, and ignore the way your hand feels like it’s been set ablaze.

“Yeah, I’m fi-”

Except you don’t get to finish your sentence. Hotch takes a step back as he pulls you up and his foot makes contact with the same demon marble from which you met your demise. He slips backwards, yanking you with him.

You fall back together, fortunately hitting the grass. Hotch is under you to break your fall, which is a good thing until you realize you’re on top of him, one leg slotted between his.

Hotch clearly had the breath knocked out of him, and he groans, which, okay. It is clearly not the time for a noise like that.

“Oops.” You say, moving to get off of him. As you adjust yourself, you find your face is positioned directly over his, just inches apart.

How cliche.

Hotch, regaining his bearings, looks right into your eyes. You stop breathing for a moment. It isn’t often you get a free opportunity to just look at Hotch, but both of you have stopped moving. You admire his dark eyes, his slightly flushed cheeks, his strong nose. You wonder if he’s admiring anything about you.

(He is.)

You snap out of your reverie and realize how uncomfortable you must be making your superior feel.

“Sorry, sorry,” You say, embarrassed, and roll over to the side as gracefully as you can manage. You’re off of him but your thigh is still pressed against his hip, so you go to scooch away. He gently grabs your wrist before you can, however. Your breath catches as he runs his thumb over the irritated skin where you arm hit the ground.

“You know why I really invited you to train with me?” He asks, seemingly resigned to just… being on the ground now. You twist towards him and adjust so you’re sitting cross-legged, curiosity piqued.

“Why?”

Hotch sighs and makes a face. It’s the same face he makes when he’s about to say something he really doesn’t want to say.

“I wanted to see you. Outside of work. I just… I never had an excuse.”

You frown, confused, “We always invite you out with us. You never come.” You say, not in a mean way, because it’s just the truth.

Hotch falters and props himself up on his elbows. He isn’t looking at you anymore, his eyes steadily trained on the building before us.

“I don’t want to see you in a crowded bar surrounded by our coworkers. I wanted- I wanted to be alone with you.” He confesses, and you freeze.

“What do you mean?” You say quietly. Because you think you know what he means. But you need him to tell you what he means because if he doesn’t mean what you think he means you’ll fling yourself into the Tidal Basin.

“(Y/N), I know you aren’t oblivious, and I know I’m not subtle. I’ve liked you since you first walked in the door to the BAU.” He says, finally, and you want to cry and dance and-

and kiss him.

Which you should probably do, since Hotch has obviously taken your silence as rejection and looks like a kicked puppy.

So you pull him in by the collar of his quarter-zip, kissing him enthusiastically on the mouth. He responds after a moment of brain failure, placing one hand on your thigh and the other on your waist. You know it must look ridiculous for two fully grown FBI agents to be making out like teenagers on the lawn of the National Mall before 7 a.m., but you couldn’t care less. Because it was you and Hotch, a glowing light after all these years of pain and loss and longing. You pull away after a long while, both of you giddy and smiley and bright-eyed.

“You too?” He asks like he can hardly believe it.

“Of course me too, always me too,” you respond, “even when you make me run.”

He laughs, kissing you again, to which you respond enthusiastically. Hotch pulls away and moves his mouth close to your ear.

“We have some onlookers at three o’clock.” He murmurs, and you slowly turn your head to see two girls, not older than 20, trying to enjoy their picnic barely 15 feet away. One of the girls scoffs.

“And people think we’re weird.” She says. The other girl nods, and they go back to eating their breakfast. You laugh.

“Okay, yeah, maybe they have a point.” You say, getting up and brushing the grass off the back of your t-shirt. Hotch does the same.

“Okay, so what do you say, two more miles before the smoothie place?” He asks, and you laugh in disbelief.

“You never learn, do you? No. We’re walking, let’s go.” You say, grabbing his hand because you can now. He surrenders, entwining your fingers and swing you arm slightly as you stroll.

“Aaron?” You ask, trying on the unfamiliar name for size.

“Yes, (Y/N?)”

“Now that you don’t need an excuse to see me, do we still have to do the marathon?” You ask, tone casual. Hotch laughs and bumps his shoulder against yours.

“(Y/N), (Y/N). Have you no shame? Actually, don’t answer that.” He says.

“I”m not hearing a no.” You say.

“We’ll talk about it. Later.” But he kisses you on the forehead, so you take it as a win either way.

(You end up agreeing to run the marathon. It’s awful and hot and long but when it’s over Hotch is still there with you, kissing you and smiling and promising that you never have to run again in your life. So you think it’s worth it.)

#criminal minds #criminal minds imagine #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner imagine #ssa hotchner #hotch #aaron hotchner x reader #hotch x reader #hotch imagine

267 notes · View notes

piracytheorist · 3 years

Text

A Kiss for Good Luck (11/16)

Summary: So this is the story of one born lucky, and one born unlucky. Fate will keep making them cross paths, but is it to bring them together, or to test them? Captain Swan AU.

A/N: I wrote a short epilogue for the end, so chapter count and total word count has gone up again! XD

Rating: T (make sure you’re okay with the warnings on AO3)

Word count for this chapter: 3.7k (51k in total) AO3

Read from the beginning: Tumblr | AO3

Chapter 11: Emma Swan and Killian Jones, May 19th – May 25th 2016

When they pull apart, the strap on Killian's bag breaks and he hustles to keep it from dropping to the floor. Emma quickly finds an empty luggage cart that looks forgotten and brings it to him.

“It's not that heavy,” he says. “But thank you.”

As they start rolling it towards the exit Emma says, “You got my message?”

“Aye. Everything all right?”

“My car broke down. We'll need to take the subway-”

“Emma?”

They both turn at the sound. Emma's face breaks into a slight smile as she recognizes Jefferson and his daughter Grace, two neighbors from her block. They had gone on a weekend trip and offer Emma and Killian a ride home.

“That was lucky,” Killian comments to her as they get in the car.

Emma takes the week off work; she meant it when she said she wants things to go slow, but there's so many actual things she wants to do with Killian.

As in, spend her time on.

Killian is still reserved; the broken bag strap and the feeling of jet lag as soon as he steps into Emma's apartment are not signs he considers good.

Maybe that will help more in encouraging him to go slow. He needs that time, but it's still not the easiest thing.

Conversation flows as naturally as it did in their video calls. When they finally decide to call it a night at three in the morning, Killian jokes about how they're finally getting sleepy at the same time.

Emma offers to take the couch and let him sleep in her bed, but Killian isn't having it.

He doesn't tell her he has the bad feeling he'll break it the first time he sits on it.

Emma takes him for late breakfast at her favourite coffee shop – the one she met Ruby at, in fact – and they eat in comfortable silence. It's not easy for either of them to admit that the previous night they spent about an hour each, lying in their respective beds and looking at the door separating them, with a little voice in their heads telling them to go knock on it.

They exit the coffee shop and Killian notices how Emma, at first on his left side, swaps so she can walk on his right side. Following her, he looks more at her relaxed hand on her side than on the road – she's the one who knows the city, either way. He's so surprised when she reaches to take his hand in hers that he doesn't wrap his fingers around hers until she looks at him and smiles.

Emma nearly teasingly asks him why he thought she swapped sides.

That night, Emma lies in her bed, still feeling guilty she didn't insist that Killian should be sleeping there, and still looking at the door separating them, as if it would give her the courage to go to him. Would he be asleep already? Would he even be jet-lagged?

Feeling alert, she jumps up when she hears soft noises from the other side. She runs to the door and puts her ear on it; the sound of the tap being turned on, then off, then a glass being put down.

She pulls away, quickly runs her fingers through her hair, and opens the door.

Killian looks at her, almost guiltily. “I... got thirsty,” he says. “Did I wake you up?”

“With the running water? Hardly. It's just... you know, we were doing things all day and I still feel a little restless.”

He rubs his forehead. “I was rolling around until I decided to come get some water. I don't think I'll be sleeping early tonight.”

If only there was another reason for that.

“Water won't get you through the night. You need something stronger.”

He swallows hard. “Swan.”

“I'm just talking about hot chocolate,” she says casually, hoping her panic didn't show. Not that she didn't have the instinctual thought to add some rum to it; she'll have to settle for cinnamon, and get used to it for now. “Cinnamon?”

Killian can't lie, he feels a little nervous. One ought to, he thinks, when being welcomed as a guest somewhere. But Emma didn't intend to make a joke about his rehab, nor did she try to get him to drink, though she had the perfect opportunity to.

Since he lost his hand, he's found himself wearing his prosthetic hook over it more and more, only exposing his arm in the presence of his family or when he had to for check-ups and security reasons. It feels special that he's sitting on Emma's couch now, with his stump out in the open, casually watching her as she moves around her kitchen preparing their chocolates.

She hasn't even commented on it. She saw it at some point during their video calls, but didn't react nor ask anything about it.

“I put less sugar in yours,” she says as she gives him the cup, “for your 'bitter' tooth.”

He smirks at her.

“But if you change your mind...” she points at a bag of marshmallows over on the kitchen counter, then sits next to him.

It's warm enough for a t-shirt and shorts, but the warmth from the cup feels comfortable, cozy. Homey.

“Would you mind, if I shared something?” he says.

She shakes her head, a soft smile on her face.

“I never told you about this.” He raises his left arm. “How come you never asked?”

“It's your business. If you wanted to talk about it... I mean, I'm here, if you want now.”

“I lost it nearly five years ago. It was-” A lump forms in his throat, and he looks down. Bloody damn, it still hurts.

“It's okay. Don't pressure yourself.”

“You remember I told you I went through a dark phase? Losing my hand was the start. And it's... connected to so many negative thoughts that I wanted hidden and tucked away. I rarely let people see it, even with- with that woman I was with, I never took the brace off fully.”

And he lets Emma see it. She breathes out slowly.

“So I just... wanted to thank you for your discretion. It means a lot to me, to be myself without having to worry about someone's nosy looks.”

“I know nosiness. I think sometimes we carry our pain on our faces too, and that can attract a similar, kind of way, nosiness.”

He finally looks at her.

“Prison teaches you a few things,” she admits.

“I've got to give it to you,” he says. “I don't know where I'd be now if I had gone in jail for that time for breaking and entering.” He purses his lips. “I'd probably still be in there. But you...” He points around her flat; he didn't know bail bonds agents make that much money, and she still gets to travel to Europe at least once every year.

“I started with a yellow Bug, don't forget,” she points out. “After a few too close hits, you just start going with what you have, you know?”

He does, very well so.

They finish their chocolates, and Emma takes his cup to put it on the coffee table with hers; she then sits back on the couch, and they just look at each other in the soft light from across the kitchen.

They don't take their eyes off each other when Emma wraps her fingers around his. She moves forward and captures his lips in hers, and he sighs at the way the chocolate tastes from her; it's the sweetest flavour and he can't complain. Besides, it's not just his lips that respond to that taste.

He turns a bit to the side, disguising his effort to hide his excitement as a way to wrap his other arm around her middle.

Emma holds his face, breathing hard into his mouth when their lips pull apart. She's damn near to push him back and climb astride him. His hand is on the small of her back and moves, dragging her shirt up a bit and she sighs at the touch of his fingers on her skin.

They pull away together, though still keeping close. Her hands go to wrap around his neck now, and he lowers his hand again, now resting on the fabric over her hips.

“Not ready yet,” she whispers.

He leaves one small kiss on the corner of her lips. A consolation, a tease, or a thank-you? She moves a bit, opening her eyes to look at him.

Holy hell, the way he just looks at her.

Look, look, look. She's too emotional and horny to remember why there's something haunting about that word.

She kisses him again, short but soft, then she moves again, settling her head on his shoulder. He wraps his arm around her, hand resting on her shoulder, left arm resting on his lap.

She moves her hand slowly, giving him time, allowing him to see; he doesn't stop, doesn't move. Her hand rests over his blunted wrist, and she can feel him exhale deep. He leaves a soft kiss on her hair, and she has to close her eyes to stop the tears before they fall.

Maybe it's just her idea that something warm and wet seems to land on the crown of her head.

Killian shakes her awake about two hours later.

“Hey, love,” he tells her, and she straightens up lazily. “I think we might need to lie a bit more comfortably.”

He nearly shivers in his sleepiness; did he say too much?

“I think I hear your bed calling for you,” he says teasingly. There. That should do.

“Hmm,” she mumbles and presses her forehead on his shoulder, softly patting his other shoulder with her hand. “Goodnight,” she says. She stands up, grunting softly, then gives him one last look before she walks through her door, leaving it ajar.

Suddenly feeling sleepy but not sore from sleeping seated up with Emma's head on his shoulder, he lies down on the couch and looks at his left arm.

The way she touched it, held it... bloody hell, he'll start crying again. It was all he didn't know he needed. He wasn't sure what to expect in his days here, but he certainly didn't expect to feel that wonderful, so carefree, so loving and loved.

He loves her, and he's certain he feels her love. All from a simple touch, and not the one his body asked for, but the one Emma's soul offered.

Her soul. Her beautiful, wounded, caring soul.

Once again, he feels the spark of hope in his heart, the one that makes him want to put himself together again, to make himself worthy of such devotion.

He can only wish Emma already sees herself worthy of the same.

The days go by, quick but fulfilling. They still sleep in separate beds but they don't shy away from kisses. The feeling of that night carries over when they cuddle on the couch to watch each other's favourite films; Killian's right arm wraps around Emma's shoulders, and her hand reaches over to hold his left wrist.

They talk mostly about everything, allowing almost every thought out in the open, even about how they plan to continue. Maybe Emma will visit him in the summer, midway through her trip to Norway and/or back.

And, Killian thinks.

Maybe they can organize a vacation together.

“It's a shame there's really no middle for us to meet. Except Iceland, I guess,” Emma jokes.

There's one thing no-one comments on, even though it's the first time it happens for them both; usually, it was either stepping on poop or finding money on the street for, well, years at a time. It's the first time in their lives that both things may happen in the same day.

It's Killian's last morning in town; tonight he'll have to board a plane and hope his life won't fall apart again. Maybe third time's the charm.

They're walking down along a beach when they see a very young couple, probably teenagers even, run hand in hand to dive into the water, giggling as they do so. Killian turns to Emma and asks,

“I've been curious.”

“Hmm?”

“When was your first kiss?”

Emma huffs. First kiss in what way? “It's, uh... I guess you could say when I was eleven years old. It was in a game of spin the bottle, though I never got that boy's name.”

“That's a very specific memory.”

“Well, the whole thing kinda stuck with me. That was the luckiest day of my life.”

“How so?”

She smiles softly. “Ingrid adopted me.”

After a short pause, Killian says, “Spin the bottle, you said?” Then he stops walking. “When you were eleven?”

Emma turns to him, oblivious to his racing mind. “Yeah. Why?”

He's sure he must be looking at her like an idiot.

He is.

“Where were you living then?”

“Uh, still here. I was already living with Ingrid-”

“Emma, my first kiss was in a game of spin the bottle. In the summer of 1995, I was in Boston, I visited a friend's birthday party... and I kissed a blonde girl whom I never talked to.”

Emma's eyes widen. She shakes her head, but amusement bubbles in her, especially seeing Killian's face light up as well. “No way.”

Killian just huffs a laugh.

“You were my first kiss?!” Emma says, unable to contain her smile. “Oh my God! What were the chances?”

“Of all people!”

Emma shakes her head again and continues walking. “It would be crazy, but, since you lived in London first, you wouldn't happen to have been dressed as a pirate on Halloween of 2000, would you?”

For one single second, Killian is glad for all the difficult years that led to him being able to construct a cool, indifferent exterior. For half that second, it hits him how that was the day he considered his luckiest, when he got out of Silver's house and was moved to Nemo's... and it wasn't much later than that that Emma started getting into trouble, as she told him once.

He just shrugs. “No. Not much of a Halloween fan,” he says, struggling to keep his voice normal. He mentally screams at himself as Emma's brows furrow. What kind of an answer was that?! he thinks.

Could it really be?

“You'd wish you were that pirate boy,” Emma says in a teasing tone. “He was so shy but just the way he looked at me has stayed with me.”

“What were you dressed as?” he asks.

She flinches a bit, still awkward at the memory, but smiling. “A zombie princess.”

Fuck.

This time, not even the sight of the sea can calm his racing thoughts.

After the first time they met, Emma got adopted and Killian went through the worst time of his life. After the second, it was Killian's life who started going for the better while Emma struggled.

And then... then after they met in the concert, things were already bad for him, and probably good for her, and it switched. Immediately after they met, he thinks, as he remembers Emma's still cracked phone screen.

Emma notices how lost in thought he is, and maybe it wasn't as good an idea as she thought, to confess so much.

“Was that weird?” she says, breaking him out of his thoughts.

“What?”

“That we kissed when we were little.”

Killian wants to slap himself; her nearly worried face is little punishment for him right now. “No, no, no. I just...” The alternative thought that is also truth comes at him at the right moment. “I just thought that, today we will have one last kiss. For a little while, at least.”

Emma relaxes. “It doesn't have to be too long,” she says. “We can meet often and take it slow at the same time.”

Emma smiles, and Killian uses it as an excuse to keep her walking and her eyes hopefully away from his face. Words cannot describe how much he wants to both stop taking things slow and stop things entirely.

If it is true, if they've somehow been doing this to each other... he can't keep taking good things away from her.

And he's terrified to think that if she knows, she'll think the same.

He focuses on Emma and on making sure she doesn't get suspicious. He can act happy for a few more hours and pretend it's just that he'll miss her that gets him down, and not that he fears he'll have to stay away from her for good.

Despite his efforts, Emma notices his distress, but is none the wiser about the reasons. Is it because he felt weird about their first – very first – kiss, because he doesn't want to leave, or because he can't wait to?

She knows he's hiding something, and though she feels she knows him better than she'd know anyone else after just their few months of knowing each other, she can't read his mind.

Despite how much he can't seem to stop talking.

Killian tries to distract his thoughts by talking, and talking, and talking. It's halfway into the evening that he thinks it's as if he's compensating for later, for when he won't be able to tell her anything... because he'll have to cut himself out of her life.

On their ride to the airport, he allows the small heartbreak at the thought that he has to leave her. Emma is focused on the road and he looks outside his window. Used to the cars back home, he's thrown off at how he can't hold her hand when she's the one driving.

Emma keeps her eyes on the road, hands gripping hard on the wheel. Occasionally she throws glances at Killian, wishing the wheel was on the other side so they could hold hands.

Her worries disappear when they arrive one hour before his flight and he stays with her, talks to her and holds her until she has to practically push him to the airport checkpoint fifteen minutes before his gate opens.

“It's a big airport,” she tells him.

“But you know it well, and you said my gate is very close.” He gives her that smile again that makes her melt.

“It's your flight to miss.” She leans towards him. “I wouldn't mind having you stay longer.”

He lets out a short laugh and kisses her, and she can't help feeling a deep longing in his kiss; with his departure so soon, it doesn't feel out of place, and she reciprocates, wrapping her arms around his waist.

“I'll miss you,” he says.

“Call me when you arrive,” Emma says. “No matter the time, I will have WiFi on.”

She smiles, but she sees the reserved one he gives her back. He gives her one last, short kiss, then he turns for the surprisingly empty queue for the checkpoint.

His back at her, he finally crumbles and allows himself to think. He started out lucky, she unlucky. It swapped when they met at that birthday party when they were eleven, then at that Halloween party when they were seventeen.

Then... when was it? When did they meet again?

It must have been in New York City, before Milah was killed. Was Emma there? She told him once how she was very lucky to get the job she has now and to reunite with her adoptive mother only four years ago. Those same years that he spent mourning Milah and despairing over Gold not paying for his crime.

Then it was when they met at the concert. And all these days... they've been both lucky and unlucky. It's like with them being together, their luck didn't know which one to choose to bless.

Every time they met, their luck swapped. And especially for him, that meant that someone he loved died. He was lucky this time, between the concert and coming here, so it's no doubt that when he goes back, he'll be unlucky once again.

And Nemo...

Killian drops his head. Is this a punishment for allowing himself to fall in love again? But it's been a cycle of change since... since they were born? They were born very close to each other, weren't they?

As slow as he took his steps, there was no queue in front of him and he's crossed the belt barrier corridor in seconds. He picks up a basket for his backpack and notices a twenty dollar bill lying in the basket underneath.

Killian looks at the security guard in front of him. He just shrugs at him, smiling slightly.

“Find a penny...” the guard says.

Killian's gaze freezes at the bill.

No. He wasn't supposed to be lucky this time.

How does it work? If it's not just them meeting, or travelling to each other's countries, then what determines where the luck will go?

He looks back at Emma, who's still standing where he left her. She appears confused, then she makes a 'what' gesture with her hand.

“Are you alright, sir?”

He turns to look at the guard, who's now looking at him worried.

Of course he'd be worried, instead of annoyed at him, as well as the people behind him in the queue.

He's lucky, after a meeting with Emma. How-

He's ducking under the belt barrier before his thought is even complete.

It was not just them meeting.

It was the one thing they shared every time – a kiss.

How could he forget? The thing that has haunted him since Milah died – that before she did, the last person he'd kissed was a stranger who had been just as drunk as him. Drunk enough to not remember him, and not recognize him when she met him again.

Emma.

Emma is still confused when he reaches her, but he immediately leans down to leave one single long kiss on her lips.

“Just this last one,” he says.

“For now,” Emma says softly.

Killian just nods, then turns away before he's tempted to say 'For good luck'. The less she knows about it, the better.

He doesn't turn around to look at her this time, certain that she'll see the despair on his face if he does.

#Captain Swan #captain swan ff #cs ff #ouat ff #akfgl #captain swan movie marathon #piracytheorist writes

15 notes · View notes

georgescatcafe · 3 years

Text

the rising chariot — 3

rating: t warning/s: none pairing/s: platonic dream team, karl jacobs/sapnap genres/tags: percy jackson and the olympians au, friendship, angst summary: Nick Pappas isn’t sure it’s normal for teenagers to be sent across the United States on a quest that could potentially kill them, but Nick has started to realize that everything he thought was normal is entirely false. George Davies doesn’t particularly want to spend three consecutive days with this new camper and that son of Hermes who snagged his win in Capture the Flag two weeks ago, but he knows he has to suck it up and go with them, no matter how irritating they may be. Clay Bryce just wants to prove himself and show that he’s more than that troublesome kid from Cabin Eleven, but even as the leader of this quest, he’s not sure how to when Nick has fire powers and George is practically capable of mind-control.

Yet what they feel and want will mean nothing if they don’t complete their quest. When a petty feud between gods has Apollo threatening to take the Sun from the sky, the three must head out to stop him, but not just that—they’re in a race against an ancient enemy of the god, one who definitely will try and kill him if it gets to Apollo first.

New York City was as terrifying as it was large. Which means very. Floris, luckily, knew the city well, and he led Nick past block after block to their hotel.

“Don’t people normally take a cab?” Nick asked once they had their bags set down on their respective beds. “Like… that’s an NYC staple?”

“I’m a native,” Floris replied, distracted as he dug through his suitcase. He grinned when he pulled out a hoodie. “I forgot how cold it was here, even in the spring.”

“Is it?” Nick asked, only wearing a t-shirt and sweatpants. “I thought it was nice.”

“It is nice,” Floris agreed, even as he tugged the hoodie on over his head, “but I get the chills when I’m here. Can’t help it.”

“So is it cold or not?”

“Yes,” Floris said, talking his bag off the bed and setting it on the floor. “Anyway, get your nap in, your jet-lag settled; I’m giving you a full tour of the Big Apple before dinner.” He settled atop his bed, arms stretched behind his head, and Nick made a face at the shoes touching the covers.

“Seriously, man?” he asked. “Shoes in the bed?”

“Not in the bed,” Floris replied smartly. “On the bed.”

Nick made another face, but didn’t argue.

His nap was poor, tossing and turning, never properly falling asleep, while Floris snored on, feet kicking and fingers twitching. Nick wished he slept as good as the other. But instead he ended up staring at the ceiling, waiting for the other to wake and take him on this tour.

When Floris did wake, he looked refreshed, and he pranced around the room getting everything he needed (which was apparently just some cash, an umbrella, and a change of shoes, except he went into the bathroom to change them, which Nick thought was weird, but he didn’t comment on because he just wanted to get out of the stifling hotel room). By the time Floris came out, Nick was standing by the door, hands shoved in his pockets to keep them from moving restlessly.

“Ready?” he asked.

“I’ve been ready,” Floris replied, allowing Nick to pull the door open and letting it fall shut behind him.

They made their way down to the lobby, where it was clear it was a new shift, a new receptionist sitting at the desk. Nick wondered what went through the man’s head, with the way he fixed a piercing stare on them. Floris didn’t seem to notice the stare, however, as he kept on his merry way, beginning to talk about all the things New York had to offer. Nick couldn’t help but glance over his shoulder one last time, though, before they exited the building, catching the eyes of the receptionist. A chill went down Nick’s spine. Quickly, he turned away and hurried to follow Floris as he began to walk down the street.

“Obviously we can’t see everything, and we definitely can’t do it all tonight,” Floris was saying when Nick focused on him once again, “but we can just walk around for now, and I can give general directions. Also, I personally am not a fan of the subway, but you can go on it.”

“I,” Nick looked around, “don’t need to go on the subway. Are you sure about the cab thing?”

“Does it matter?” Floris asked.

Nick guessed it didn’t.

Floris was an alright tour guide, if you overlooked the fact that he didn’t say much about any actual landmarks or places you’d find in a NYC guidebook. Nick wondered if that made him a better tour guide or not. They stopped at a nondescript deli and had sandwiches and soda for dinner. Nick stared as Floris happily ate a veggie sub, tomato juice spilling down his chin.

“Is that actually any good?” he asked. “It’s like… salad between bread.”

“It’s good,” Floris reassured. “Is yours good?”

“Duh,” Nick replied.

When they got back to the hotel, the receptionist wasn’t there, but Nick swore he could still feel those eyes on his back. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up as he and Floris got in the elevator, heading up to the fifth floor.

“That receptionist from before,” Nick said when the doors slid shut, “did you see how he was looking at us?”

“The receptionist?” Floris echoed, thinking. “No. Why? Was he looking at you weird or something?”

Nick frowned, but he shook his head. The guy probably just had a staring problem, or maybe he thought Nick’s t-shirt was stupid or something. He ignored that feeling in him saying that not telling Floris was a bad idea. Besides, if Floris didn’t care, it probably was fine, right?

The doors slid open and Floris led them back to the room. Nick flopped onto his bed, now properly ready to sleep.

“I hate walking,” he said. “My legs hurt.”

“Sleep it off,” Floris replied, disappearing into the bathroom. He stuck his head out. “Might go downstairs to get more of that fresh air. Is that okay?”

“You’re really weird,” Nick answered.

Floris smiled before his head went back through the doorway. Nick never saw him leave, eyes slipping shut, breath going even, sleep overtaking him.

He was back in the hotel lobby. Nick looked around, for the receptionist, for Floris, but it was just him. He took a seat on the bench.

“You’re late.”

Nick jumped, and when he turned, a woman sat, one of those small, yappy dogs held in a purse on her lap. When Nick waved at it, it growled and spat. He made a face. “Nice dog,” he said.

“What dog?” the woman asked.

Nick looked at her before pointing. “The one in your purse.”

“I don’t have a dog,” she replied.

Nick looked to her lap once again. There was no purse, no dog.

He stood. “Um, my bad.”

“Are you okay?” the woman asked.

“Fine,” Nick snapped, irritation culminating under his skin. “Who are you again?”

“Did you forget me already?” she stood too. In her seat sat that dog in the purse. Nick stared at it, and again, it growled. Nick looked at the woman. “It’s rude to forget people, you know. Fills people with a certain rage; you’ve felt rage before, haven’t you?”

“Not because someone’s forgotten my name,” Nick answered.

“So you’ve felt rage,” she continued, “and what did it do to you? Did you feel rage when they took your mother? Did you feel rage when that new woman came to replace her?”

Nick took a step back as the woman took a step closer.

“Hot and burning inside you, you scream and no one hears, what a weak little boy you were.” She laughs, and it’s a witch’s cackle, high-pitched and grating. Nick stumbles as something nips at the backs of his heels. The little dog, eyes rimmed red and crusty. It’s teeth trying to cut through his pants.

“Your dog,” he said, trying to kick it away from him, “make it stop.”

“Isn’t it cute?” she asked.

“You said you didn’t have a dog.” Nick managed to send him flying off, claws skidding on the polished tile. It ran back towards him.

“I don’t,” she replied. “Are you sure you’re okay? You keep doing something strange with your legs.”

The stupid dog was gone, and Nick was kicking and tripping on air. He cursed. “What’s up with you, lady? Seriously, you’re freaking weird.”

“Am I?” she asked. “I’m sure you know all about weirdness. Your friend, for instance, weirdest of all. Though he pales in comparison to you.”

“Floris?” Nick screeched when that stupid dog bit at his ankle, sweatpants now basketball shorts, ankles exposed perfectly for the dog to sink its teeth into. “Get your dog!”

“Yes. Floris. Forgot.”

“It’s rude to forget people’s names,” Nick echoed back to her.

The woman smiled, showing teeth tipped in red. Nick choked on a breath. “You’re absolutely right.” She snapped her fingers, and the dog was back at her side, yipping and yapping at her to pick it up. When she did, she stroked a calming hand down its back. It looked at Nick, and that’s when he realized there was foam around its mouth. His own mouth dropped open in horror.

“Who are you?” he demanded. “Am I going to die?”

“This is a dream, stupid boy,” she answered. “And if you don’t remember me,” she laughed, that same spine-tingling cackle, “you’ll figure out who I am soon enough.” A sudden shriek pierced through the air, and Nick stood at attention, eyes wide and heart pounding. The woman’s smile stretched to a grin, those red-tipped teeth glinting in the bright lobby lights. “Best wake up now; you don’t want to be late again.”

Nick’s eyes blinked open. He was in the hotel room, in bed. He shoved the covers off him and hurried to put his shoes on. Everything in him screamed to go find Floris. Without a single look back, he flung the hotel door open and ran.

He avoided the elevator, fearing it would take too long, instead finding the door to the staircase and prying it open, the metal heavy but not enough to stop him. It’s cool where it is pressed to his skin. He rushed down the stairs.

The closer he got to the first floor, the louder the noises that come from the lobby were. Nick sped up as much as he could without tripping.

“Floris!” he shouted, unsure if the other could even hear him. He was breathless and panting by the time he reached the first floor but he shoved it open, the metal bar digging uncomfortably into his skin.

“Nick!” Floris shrieked. “Watch out!”

Nick moved out of the way just in time to miss a barrage of spines being flung at him. He sucked in a breath. “What—”

“Move!” Floris screamed, and Nick obeyed, dropping to the floor when a large paw came at him, claws extended. When Nick looked, he saw Floris’s hoodie had been torn in multiple places, hanging off his body loosely, in tatters. Nick took in another breath.

“How are you still alive?” he asked, crying out when more spines came at him.

“Who is this, Floris?” the monster growled. “You’ve brought another course? How delicious!” His lips curled into a treacherous grin, and when he spoke, his breath came out and hit Nick straight in the face, rancid.

Nick gagged against the smell, trying his best to get over to his friend.

“We need to,” he stuttered, “I can’t—fire, I can’t—”

“You have to,” Fundy replied. Nick shoved him and dropped to the floor when the monster ran out them, rolling under the massive body. (The mom lifting the bus for her baby.) His heart pounded. Floris had crawled behind the receptionist’s desk. His head poked up over the top. “You have to, Nick!”

“I’ll burn this place down!” Nick shouted. “I can’t—”

“But you have to!” the monster mocked. “You have to! You have to!”

Nick bared his teeth, anger beginning to boil his blood. “Yeah!” he replied. “And you have to die!” That was the only way—this thing was an abomination, the head of a man, the body of a lion, spines shooting from its tail with a single flick, leaving Nick dodging and ducking like nobody’s business.

Without fire, he was left defenseless, left to tire out the monster, but he knew it’s a lot more likely it’ll tire him out instead. Floris ran at him, then, and tackled him, sending the two of them through the sliding front doors. Even at night, the streets of New York City were bustling.

Floris grabbed him by the arm and took off, tugging Nick through the crowd. “This was a bad idea,” Nick just barely heard over the sounds of traffic.

When Nick turned back, the crowd was parted like the red sea, and charging right at them, the monster.

“A manticore,” Floris said, “one of the deadliest monsters out there. Just our luck.”

“I don’t want to burn down New York,” Nick replied.

“I know,” Floris tugged them down an alleyway.

“If he catches us, we’re dead,” Nick realized.

Floris looked at him. “So we can’t let him catch us.” He leapt onto a dumpster, and Nick was left to hurry after him. Floris scaled the building like nobody’s business. Below, the manticore shrieked and yowled as Nick climbed up as quickly as he could after his friend.

“How can you,” Nick sucked in a breath, “climb so fast? I thought you had,” another breath, “some kind of leg issue.”

Floris’s foot slipped. Nick yelled. Off came Floris shoe—foot—what? Nick stared at the hoof waving in his face.

“Come on!” Floris cried. “I’ll explain later!”

Then, Nick felt the back of his sweatpants rip straight down the middle, and pain flared hot and heady in his left leg. Shock flooded his body. He doesn’t know if he screamed. But he did know what he had to do.

Floris was already near the top of the building.

Nick climbed.

When he reached the top, Floris was waiting for him, arm outstretched to pull him up. Nick accepted it. Together, they ran, uncaring of the manticore they both knew continued to climb up after them.

Salt from his tears and wind stung in the corners of his eyes. He grit his teeth as he followed Floris across rooftops, biting back a pained groan every time his injured leg met the ground. Behind them, the manticore followed, chasing after them on all fours, calling to them, taunting them. Nick took a deep breath, preparing himself for the next jump.

“There’s somewhere you can go,” Floris said, his remaining ‘shoe’ left behind two buildings ago, hooves now carrying him easily. “It’s safer—monsters, like the one chasing us, they can’t get in.”

Nick looked at him before Floris stretched out an arm to stop him from falling off the edge of the roof. “Seriously?”

Floris nodded, then dropped his arm. Nick backed up then got a running start, stretching his legs as best he can as he jumped to the next roof. Floris followed not long after. And the manticore not long after that. Nick cried, genuine crying, not tears from the winds that whipped around them, as he reached the edge of another roof. The next building was across the street.

Nick turned to Floris.

“We won’t make it,” he said. “We won’t make it.”

Floris returned his stare. “We have to try to make it.” He wrapped his arms around Nick and sent them plummeting from the roof.

#sapnap #fundy #karlnap #dreamnotfound #pjo au #mcyt #updates every friday #fic #fanfiction #hfh

7 notes · View notes

pierregasly · 3 years

Note

Would love to hear your full take on Pierre,,,

Sorry this took me a few days to get to, I meant to answer it immediately but never found the motivation :( Anyways, onto Pierre.

I believe you are commenting on a post of mine where I stated my fear that the Middle Generation of drivers (Charles, Carlos, Pierre and Max specifically) have/are going to miss out on opportunities and will never reach their full potential in F1. This is similar to what happened to the “Lost Generation” which is comprised of drivers such as Daniel, Kevin, Nico and Checo. To reiterate something that another asker was confused about: it has nothing to do with talent. The generations are not lumped together based on talent but based on their similar ages/entrance into F1 and I am speaking on the wasted potential that this group never got to achieve. (For example, Nico’s full potential was podiums--he never got here. And Daniel’s full potential was a championship--which he’ll never get.)

I am not going to waste your time and state what I said briefly about Charles, Carlos and Max but I will go into depth more so about what I hardly touched upon with Pierre. As I said, Pierre is a phenomenal talent. As much as his podium and race win may have proven it to the world, many still call him a “luck driver” who is not good enough for a higher team. This is, obviously, because of his time at Red Bull dramatically overshadowed his career.

I started following Pierre around 2017 when I first got interested in F1 because of the history. In 2017 he wasn’t racing in Europe but in Super Formula so I took the time to catch up on his career thus far (I will go into depth on this in a moment). I didn’t start watching F1 until 2018 and the only driver (non-historical) I really was attached to was Pierre (others would comes later). Obviously, if you remember, Pierre ended up taking P5 in qualifying and P4 in a Toro Rosso in front of the whole world in only a few races at Bahrain. It was absolutely incredible and for the rest of the season until his Red Bull announcement, Pierre was dishing points place after points place after points place in only his first full season in F1. Therefore, while it was only his FIRST FULL SEASON, the jump to Red Bull ultimately felt justified.

Of course, this did not end up being the case. Our joy over Pierre getting to be in a higher team made us completely and utterly forget the track record Red Bull has left with its second drivers. For those of you who are new to F1 (either coming in 2019, mid-2019 or 2020) you missed out on Pierre’s debut season which was fantastic for the car he was given. Furthermore, if you came in during mid-2019 or 2020 and you think that the treatment RB gave to Alex is horrible--you are hardly touching the surface. The treatment that RB is giving Alex versus Pierre is like taking your sons on summer vacation and then having one of them sleep on the comfy twin bed with two blankets and the other kid on the floor without so much as PJs. We haven’t even touched upon Daniil. Daniil would be like the parents leaving the kid outside to sleep.

Let’s move on. It is very easy to look at Pierre’s season and tout only negative things. It was not his best moment and, yes, he certainly could’ve done better. However, with what he was given? Are we even sure about that? For example, Pierre become open with the media following his demotion. Not only did RB leave it to the very last moment but they also would:

1) Use Pierre’s car and car parts to test Max.

2) When Pierre requested a more experienced engineer, he was denied. However, when Alex requested the same thing, he was given it.

3) RB consistently spoke horribly of him in front of the media. They constantly spoke that he needed to do better and never tried to build him up.

4) Emotionally pressured Pierre to his breaking limit.

Now the difference between RB and many other teams is that when the going gets tough for their drivers, many teams choose to build their drivers up to set them up for success. RB’s method is to tear their drivers down and hope that they can pick up their own pieces once they become annoyed with humiliation. The demotion was far, far too quick. Think of Alex--he has been getting worse and worse and worse with a year and half of time at Red Bull. Pierre managed half a season before they gave him the boot. The boot was also without warning even despite Pierre getting better and better each race.

This is all information you probably already know, I said earlier I would touch upon his younger career and how this has been overshadowed and forgotten due to his time at RB. Here are some facts/statistics that will be important for my point later:

Finished 3rd in the French F4 championship with four wins, two poles and seven podiums over the course of only fourteen races despite having three retirements (the 2nd placer had 0 and the 1st placer only had 1).

In his first season at Eurocup Formula Renault 2.0 he finished 10th of 51 different racers and every person but one who finished before him in the championship was older than him. Pierre was only 16 when Stoffel V was 20, Daniil K was 18, Oliver R was 20, Norman N was 20, Nyck V was 17, Paul L was 21, Oscar T was 16, Melville M was 18 and Alex R was 18.

In his second season of Eurocup Formula Renault 2.0 he finished first in front of the likes of Esteban Ocon, Oliver Rowland, Jake Dennis, Nyck de Vries, Luca Ghitto and Alexander Albon.

Finished 6th in the 2013 Formula Renault 2.0 Alps Series despite missing half of the season and there being 42 competitors total (everyone ahead of him completed the full season).

Finished 2nd of 28 competitors in the 2014 Formula Renault 3.5 Series and lost to none other than Carlos Sainz Jr.

Finished 1st in his second full season of GP2 (now formally classified as F2).

The GP2 race he won in Silverstone happened right after a huge roadcar accident in which his mother ended up in the hospital. Pierre himself fractured his vertebrae and still went on to win the race while his mother was in the hospital and he had a broken bone.

Was called in to replace a Renault edams driver in Formula E. He was jet lagged, tired and got only a few hours in the sims. He still managed to secure P4 in qualifying and then was set for a P3 finish but he crashed into the wall on the last corner of the last lap and came home in P4. THIS WAS HIS FIRST TIME EVER IN AN FE RACE OR AN FE CAR.

Finished second in Super Formula in 2017 but lost by only half a point. One of the races in the season was abandoned when he was set to win because of flooding and storm. Had it not been abandoned he would’ve finished first at the end of the season.

All this pretty much brings you up to speed to when he entered into F1 (which all his amazing stuff you should be familiar with). Moving more onto my “take” regarding Pierre. I have shown evidence for why he is an incredible driver, however, now we’re moving onto the not so great bit. I suppose I must answer one question before I move on.

Do I think Pierre is good enough, against all the rest of the talent in F1, to get consistent podiums if given the proper car? Absolutely. Do I think Pierre is good enough, against all the rest of the talent in F1, to get consistent wins if given the proper car? Absolutely. Do I think Pierre is good enough, against all the rest of the talent in F1, to fight/win a championship one day if given the proper car? This I firmly believe is possible (other thing I’ll get into if someone wants).

The reason I worry and am distressed about Pierre is because I don’t believe he’ll ever get a go at a higher team again. RB really put a shadow over his career, a shadow that is going to worry other teams from placing him into their cars. He has ultimately proven himself with podiums and, of course, the race win. However, seeing as there is so much young talent coming into F1, I don't see there being a place for him.

Mercedes is set to most likely be Max and George when Lewis retires. Red Bull would never dare to put him in that seat again. Ferrari has their “golden generation” of Charles and Mick to look after. And those are the seemingly “top teams” (if you can even all Ferrari that). Let’s look at the others. Racing Point is going to be Lance and Seb until Seb retires. I don’t see Pierre ever going to Alpha Romeo. And McLaren is set up for the next few years with Lando and Daniel. Haas--I don’t think so. This is ultimately dangerous for Pierre’s career because RB likes to keep fresh meat in their B team car (or if you trust Horner it’s their “sister team” lol). Pierre’s best chance is the escape the RB family. AND I UNDERSTAND that the regulations could make things VERY different in F1 for the future. These are just my hypothesis and guesses--all is subjective and up to interpretation so @ anybody reading this--relax, buddy. So where does Pierre fit in in the future? These are some scenarios I have conjured up.

1) Mercedes. Let’s say that, possibly. Max never ends up moving into that second Merc seat and instead remains at RB wasting away until they can get him a better car for the rest of his career (ooo burn sorry it’s for the scenario don’t hate me). This would open up a place at Merc for Pierre to truly shine his potential. Most likely, he would play second fiddle to George but hey--it’s still a seat where can utilize that potential.

2) Red Bull. This would be if they get desperate. I don’t think if given a second chance, Pierre would say no. If Max were still in the team, he would be second fiddle. I can see Pierre going to RB if Max leaves for Merc in the next few years and they want him to lead Yuki or if Yuki doesn’t shine in AT and they end up dropping him they are going to be slim Pickens... I don’t know if being at RB will give him a place where he can utilize his potential but it’s a possibility.

3) Ferrari. This would be only a chance if Mick doesn’t do great in Alpha Romeo and they need someone to fill the seat of their obvious place holder Carlos. He would be alongside Charles. Other than that.... Ferrari seems pretty set and there isn’t any space.

4) McLaren. This I don’t see as very possible? I would love to see him in orange but they seem pretty set with Daniel and Lando. I think Daniel is probably going to ride out the end of his career there. Lando seems very integrated into the team and I can’t see him leaving unless he got a better offer like Merc. If Max didn’t end up taking the second Merc seat in the future and remains at RB then Lando might be given an offer which would open up a place that Pierre could possibly take. Do I count this as realistic? Not really, but it could happen. At McLaren I could see Pierre utilizing his potential.

5) Renault. This is one of the options that seems most realistic to me. They're set with Fernando for the next few years. If they decided, after 2021, to give the boot to Esteban, that would open up a place for Pierre in a French team that would love a French driver (they already have one but Pierre is a FRENCH WINNER). You know that teams loves their nationalism.... Anyways. Or, possibly, Fernando retires after two years (again lol) which would open up a seat for Pierre to take along Esteban. However, I don’t really see Esteban staying long term because Renault probably needs to put one of their Renault babies like Guanyu or Christian in there.

6) Williams. Lol. No.

7) Haas. I don’t see it happening really??? I have my reasons but my gut just says... Au revoir.

8) Racing Point. THIS. This I see as 100% 100% a possibility. Let’s say that Seb retires after two years--this would open up a seat. Pierre is a strong, consistent and stable driver who doesn’t make mistakes. Here he could really use his potential!! #PierreInGreen!!

9) Alpha Romeo. As I said... I really don’t see it. They seem pretty busy with all their young guys.

So to conclude, the future for Pierre lies at either Renault or Racing Point (less chance but possible includes Merc to McLaren). To not take up any more of your time, this is what I mean by Pierre being an incredible talent who may or may not get a chance at a higher team. He deserves to have more and to have a second chance. He has really proven himself and is pulling the absolutely maximum out of himself. I really want to see him with more, like he deserves.

Even Charles wanted him as his teammate at Ferrari back in April... that’s saying even more. Everyone on the grid except Esteban rate him highly as a person and as a driver. His potential deserves smth better. He has proven himself time and time again against everyone who told him he wasn't good enough and who still say it was all just luck. There exists luck. But firmer than luck, there exists skill.

Pierre Gasly is a race winner in an Alpha Tauri. Do not forget that.

#oh fuck this is long lol #pierre gasly #flood pressles box #sincerely anonymous

20 notes · View notes

illeee-girl · 3 years

Text

La La(chimolala) Land Chapter Two: Over My Iced Vanilla Latte

jimin x reader genre: fluff, fluff, and more fluff word count: 1.5k warnings: none

[Inspired by La La Land]

Read on Wattpad

Read on Ao3

“I still don’t understand,” Jessenia says, stopping in between generous applications of mascara to shoot you a doubtful look. “You met some Korean tourist dude on the top of City Hall, just gave him a copy of Red Writer, and now you’re meeting him at a Starbucks to hear his feedback?”

You attempt to square your shoulders, though it doesn’t quite work. Your roommate—sweet as she is—can be a little intimidating. “That’s about the size of it.”

“That’s about the size of it,” she mocks. “Listen to yourself! You sound just like Sybil from Downton Abbey.”

“Life goal achieved, then.”

Jessenia lets out a heavy sigh. “I just can’t believe you literally handed a complete stranger a copy of your work. He could totally just steal it! Sell it to a film studio, or make a movie out of it himself—”

“That seems a little unlikely, seeing as how I’m unable to sell it to anyone.” She walks over to where you sit on your bed, completely interrupting her makeup routine. Now you know it’s serious. “Y/N. I’m only telling you this because I love you. Be careful. You don’t know squat about this guy.” “I do indeed! I’ve watched him walk away. He definitely does squats.” If you’d delivered that line in any other situation, Jessenia would have been doubled over in laughter. You always made her laugh. But this time, it didn’t have that effect. She sashayed over to her closet, digging through halter dresses and high heels. She had an audition that afternoon. “Don’t let some cute butt distract you from the reason you came to LA.” You suppress a laugh—but not a smile. “Jess,” you start, forcing yourself to be serious. “You’ve known me since college. You know I’ve never let anything—let alone anyone—distract me. This is just . . . I don’t know, Jess, it feels like a breakthrough. An outsider’s perspective will be helpful. Maybe he’ll give me an idea for something—something good—that’ll finally sell Red Writer.” “Maybe,” she responds, “though he sounds like just a himbo to me.” “We don’t know squat about him, remember?” She rolls her eyes, but smiles. “Even himbos can do squats, Y/N. Boy ever can they do them.” _________________________ The Metro ride downtown is longer than you remember—probably because you don’t have a manuscript to pour over to pass the time. Jimin has the only print copy of Red Writer. That fact—and Jessenia’s words—make you more than a little anxious. Sure, you’ve got soft copies backed up on your hard drive and files placed on approximately 5 USB drives—you’re not stupid—but him having the paper manuscript feels a little . . . strange. Out of place. Intimate, almost. No pantsuit this time. There’s no need for it. This isn’t a business meeting—at least, not technically. You opted for a pair of loose-fitting jeans, a pastel purple t-shirt, and a whitewashed denim jacket. It’s not a bad look on you. But when you walk down the Grand Park stairs and spot him through the fountain, you realize you’ve greatly underestimated the level of fashion called for in the situation. He’s in ripped, black jeans; a thin, white shirt that somehow looks both loose and form-fitting; and a silvery-gray leather jacket. And he’s wearing jewelry—a Harry Styles amount of jewelry. Stud earrings. A black Chanel necklace. Rings on almost every finger. Like before, you think: Who is this guy? He sees you across the way and waves. Too late to turn back and try to throw together a better outfit. You’re suddenly mindful of how bulky your denim jacket is, but why should it matter? You fit in with the crowd of Californians much better, while he sticks out like a sore thumb in that getup. A surprisingly sexy sore thumb. Never mind that. You’re the writer in this situation. You’re the one who’s created something amazing. He’s just the reader. Assert your dominance, Y/N.

“Hey,” he says as you approach. “Love the jacket.” “Thanks. Nice . . .” you trail off, gesturing at him awkwardly, not sure where to look. “Nice outfit.” “You don’t think it’s too much?” “You look like you should be riding horses down Rodeo Drive with Usher.” He puts a hand over his heart. “You have no idea how much of a compliment that is for me.” Enough chitchat. The sun is starting to get lower in the sky, and you don’t particularly want to have to ride the Metro home in the dark. Besides, you’re starting to look at him—like, really look at him. And you think—though you figure you’re probably mistaken—that he’s starting to look at you. “Want a drink?” He asks. “I’m buying.” “Too late in the day for caffeine,” you respond. You need to make this as fast as possible. “Then get a decaf, or a tea.” He opens the door to the Starbucks, leaving you no choice. Once you get your drinks, you pick a table back outside; the weather’s too nice to pass up the opportunity. Besides, whoever’s running that Starbucks chose to play mood music over the loudspeaker. Quite the departure from the ambient, helps-you-focus stuff they usually go for, you think. The current playlist, in the current situation, with the current company, will surely not foster productivity. “So, what comments do you have about Red Writer? Is Marianne too headstrong? Are the bandmates too stereotypical? Is it too early 2000s to appeal to a modern audience?” He holds up a hand. “Whoa, slow down. I have yet to touch my Americano.” You decide to be straight with him. “I don’t have time to prioritize coffee over work. Every second that passes, someone else gets closer to becoming a successful screenwriter, and I lag behind while they take my place at the writer’s table—” “Whoa there. Take a sip of that iced vanilla latte, and breathe.” You do as he says, but not without rolling your eyes. After a swig, you look down at your cup. You have to look somewhere. The setting sun’s starting to backlight his blonde hair. It’s as if nature’s purposefully trying to complement his beauty. “I loved it,” he says softly. You look up. He’s smiling, and it’s real. It’s genuine. He isn’t teasing. “You do?” “Are you kidding?” His dark eyes light up as he begins to recount the plot of your screenplay. “Nerdy college girl is a journalist by day, songwriter by night. Her best friend’s in a small band from the Valley, and she basically begs this friend to let her write their lyrics, so she can get experience points. The band absolutely takes off, and the girl gets tons of gigs as a lyricist for struggling performers who’ve recently signed with big labels—only to find out that her real dream is to sit in coffee shops and play the simple, acoustic music she writes herself, just to uplift and relax people.” It takes you a minute to register that he’s praising your work. You’d forgotten what that felt like. It’d been years since someone had given you positive feedback—outside of your close inner circle of family members and roommates, that is. Panel after panel of producers had taken one glance, said “no,” and put your manuscripts through the shredder. But no more. Someone not only liked what you’d written. He loved it. “I devoured it in one night. Couldn’t go to bed until I finished it.” “That’s how I felt when I read Pride and Prejudice for the first time!” “Nerd.” You choose to disregard that last little comment. Someone felt the same way about your work as you’d felt about Jane Austen’s. I’ve made it! “I just have one little criticism.” Uh oh. Here it came. “What’s that?” “Your description of the bandmates . . . it’s not accurate at all.” _________________________ “So let me get this straight,” the manager of the Starbucks in Grand Park stared Park Jimin in the eye. “You’ll pay me how much to play this CD?” “You heard what I said,” responded the fashionable, blonde Korean man standing on the other side of the counter. “And I’ve got cash.” The manager shook his head, but acquiesced. “Okay, man. I’d be a fool not to do it, I guess. You know how much cannabis that kind of money can get me?” Jimin chose to ignore that last little bit. “One question, though. Why? What you’ve got written on here seems pretty standard. Chris Brown, Boyz II Men. . .” “It’s . . . none of your concern.” Jimin ran a hand through his hair, looking a little nervous. “But since you’re being so kind, I’ll tell you this much: it’s undoubtedly worth it.”

#bts fanfiction #btsfanfic #bts #BTS jimin #park jimin #jimin x reader #park jimin x reader #jimin fanfiction #jimin fanfic #bangtan sonyeondan #La La(chimolala) Land #inspired by La La Land

2 notes · View notes

moonlit-raven-haven · 5 years

Text

Chapter 2: Memories

A/N: Here’s Chapter 2 of the John Wick series! Sorry for the lag, I’ve been pretty busy and I was thinking of where this was gonna go (although I honestly have no clue still). Anyways, I hope you guys enjoy it. Also, I don’t think we talk enough about that turtle neck/suit combo in Chapter 2 enough.

Warnings: angst, some swearing, drinking (I think that’s it)

Word Count: 3,463

“Do you still love me?”

John’s words ring in Blair’s ears. Yes, she still loves him, but she can’t admit that, and if she does, what would she say? Her feelings of anger and hurt were above all right now, so she looks down at her glass of bourbon before tilting her head back and chugging the bitter liquid.

“Yes, John, I still love you...but I’m afraid that’s fading now.” Her words are soft but contain an edge to them as she stands from her seat and walks over to the small bar, grabbing the bottle of bourbon and pouring herself another glass, staring directly at John as she leans against the oak bar. His expression is unreadable to her, or maybe it’s been too many years that she has forgotten how to read him.

John can’t help but feel a tinge of joy as he hears her words and not his full name since he first saw her today, but then a pang of pain as the last words fall from her lips. He looks at her intently, hoping to get some type on answer from her, a trace of a lie, but all he can see is her straight facial expression, not giving away her true feelings.

“Fading?” John questions, keeping his emotions well hidden from her as he walks over to the bar where she’s leaning, pouring himself another glass of bourbon and placing it on the bar top, his palms against the dark, smooth wood as he stares down at the honey liquid.

“Yes, John. My love for you is fading. You left for five years, did you just expect every ounce of my being to be devoted to you?” Blair asks in an exasperated tone of voice as she slams down her glass of bourbon next to John’s hand, spilling some of the alcohol in the process. She walks away and goes into the bathroom, beginning to wipe her mascara and lipstick off of her face. Once her face is free of makeup she walks over to her closet, grabbing some shorts and a loose t-shirt before going back to the bathroom and slamming the door in an aggressive yet calm matter. She doesn’t mean to sound so cold towards him, so careless and rude, but she can’t help it. Her pent up emotions are beginning to break through her usually cool demeanor.

John is silent while she moves around the bathroom and room before slamming the door in his face. He didn’t blame her, what did he expect? He left for five years after all of their history together and now he’s back, without an explanation, although everyone knows why he’s back. He can’t help but feel bad, he has affected her greatly despite her not showing it, but he could see it. The way she doesn’t let a single emotion shine through any part of her, or how cold she is towards him, even the way she decided to settle down at the Continental when she once told him she would never settle down in the place. She wanted a life outside of being an assassin. John frowns as his thoughts invade his mind, finally moving his hand towards his own glass and taking a sip before moving it back down. He grabs a napkin and cleans up the spilled alcohol. He had fucked up, big time, and there is no definite way of telling if it has a fix now, five years later. A sigh escapes his lips as he moves and throws the napkin away before making his way over to the small couch, settling down on it, after all, he hasn’t given her a response.

Blair had now undressed, her sore muscles aching as she did so. A few bruises and cuts scattered over her body and tattoos, but it’s nothing she isn’t used to. Her legs carry her over to the shower which is located next to the bathtub. Her hands glide over the glass door and pull it open before moving over to the knobs, twisting the hot and cold water until it reaches a warm temperature. She steps inside of the shower, closing the glass door gently as the warm water hits her sore muscles and minor injuries. Suddenly, she can’t help but feel overwhelmed, not because of the life she is living, but because John Wick was back, and for the first time in years, her eyes well up with tears and fall down her face, mixing in with the warm water.

To say that their past is complicated is an understatement. They had met many years ago when they were both coincidentally working the same contract. Blair Havoc still didn’t have the status she has now, but was nonetheless well known, except by John Wick.

•Flashback•

Blair’s heavy black boots hit the ground without a sound despite their weight. With her gun in hand she walks through the abandoned building to where an open contract is located. A husband has sent her to kill his wife in order to inherit her fortune and the underground drug business attached to her. It’s sad, what people will do for money, but then again, here she is, gun in hand, walking to kill some poor woman who has a price on her head of $500,000.

Blair walks down a lengthy hallway before turning and seeing two guards. Before they notice her she quickly cocks her gun and shoots both of them in the head, blood, pieces of skull and brain splattering over the dirty graffiti covered walls. It was the most beautiful and disgusting sight that only became less disturbing the more times she did it.

She continues to walk quickly but quietly, finding guards at almost every turn she makes, swiftly putting bullets straight through their hearts or heads. Finally she reaches a room with double doors, covered in more graffiti than any other door or wall in the building. Blair swiftly opens the door, which to her surprise is unlocked.Upon the opening of the door she finds her target slouched in a bloody chair, a gun in her stiff hand and the back of her head blown out. Someone had clearly beaten her to the “apparent suicide” contract.

Blair begins to leave the building, keeping her guard up as she walks through the eerie hallways before reaching the exit. She opens the heavy metal door as it makes a loud croaking sound and walks out into the cool night breeze. She walks over to her black, 1967 Chevrolet Impala, moving underneath the car to grab her key which she always hides within a car part when she works a contract.

With her key and gun in hand, Blair rises from underneath her car, quickly cocking her gun back upon hearing a voice.

“Nice car.” A smooth, deep, gruff voice says as she whips around and points the gun straight at the man’s head. Upon seeing him, she’s taken aback, it’s John Wick, the Baba Yaga, but despite her shock, she keeps her gun pointed to his head.

“Thank you. Do you need something?” Her voice is loud and strong as she locks eyes with him, her gun not wavering at any second.

“No, I don’t. I’m just appreciating your car. You could lower your gun.” John says as he maintains eye contact with her.

“Thanks, but what makes you think I’m going to lower my gun in front of the fucking Baba Yaga?” Blair asks in a cold voice. John is taken back by the tone of her voice and unwavering confidence. She knows him, but then again, every assassin the world knows who John Wick is. And somehow, John Wick was not aware of the woman before him.

“Nothing makes me think that, but if I wanted to kill you I would’ve already done so. I was only here to kill the open contract.” John states as a matter of fact. Blair only nods her head and lowers her gun, after all, he did have a point. From what she’s heard, John Wick is no man of hesitance.

“Well, in that case, I’ll see you around Mr. Wick.” Blair says with a slight upturn of her lips as she puts the safety on her gun and climbs into her car. She puts the keys in the ignition and turns them, the roar of the car engine being loud as the car came to life and she drives away, leaving a curious John Wick behind.

The individual car ride back to the Continental is quick and quiet for both John and Blair. Somehow they end up arriving at the same time, Blair a few minutes before as she climbs our of her car and the valet drives it away. As she starts walking up the steps of the Continental she hears the roar of an engine pull up in the front, making her turn around. Suddenly, her eyes land on a gorgeous gray-silver, 1969 Mustang GT. She walks down a few of the steps she had walked up in order to get a better look at the car; it was absolutely stunning. Blair was so focused of the car that she didn’t even notice that the owner of the beauty had climbed out until valet drove it away.

“It’s quite something, isn’t it?” John asks, a smirk evident on his face as Blair looks up at him with wide eyes.

“Yes it is. I guess I understand why you have a taste for cars now, Mr. Wick.” She says with a grin as she waves at him before continuing up the stairs and towards the door, but just as she’s about to open the door, John opens it for her and motions for her to go inside. Blair nods curtly at him and heads inside, John following closely behind and ignoring the stairs around them, after all, it isn’t every day that you see John Wick pursuing a woman, especially someone he doesn’t even know. Blair makes her way towards the elevator pressing the button as she waits for the elevator to descend. John Makes his way over to her and gently taps her shoulder.

“You wanna go get a drink?” His words are straight to the point as he stands in front of her with a new found confidence. Blair looks at him with a raised eyebrow, grinning at him.

“Is this a date? Or are you just trying to get into my pants Mr. Wick?” Blair can’t help but tease him. Despite how intimidating he was to everyone, she couldn’t help but feel comfortable at him; it was an odd thing to feel.

“Why can’t it be both?” John asks boldly.

Ding.

“I’ll go on a date with you, Mr. Wick, but I don’t sleep with anyone on the first date.” She says in a flirtatious manner before getting into the elevator.

“I’ll meet you at the dining area in an hour.” Blair states as she blows a kiss at John before the elevator doors close and take her to her floor, leaving John with his mouth slightly agape.

Once Blair reaches her floor she walks down the long hallway until she reaches her room. Unlocking her door she walks in and walks over to her bed, taking out any weapons concealed on her body before heading over to the bathroom and stripping the grimy clothes off her body. She lets her hair go from her tight bun and turns the water on in the bathroom to a warm temperature before climbing in and sliding the glass door shut. She scrubs her body clean of dirt and blood, careful to not be to harsh on any bruises and small cuts on her body. Blair massages her scalp and runs her finger through her hair, being sure to get rid of any tangles, dirt, and blood from the people she had so brutally killed.

Climbing out of the shower, Blair wraps a robe around herself and blow dries her hair, leaving a mess of frizz before brushing it out and straightening it to what she considered perfection considering she did it within 30 minutes. She applies some thin, black, winged eyeliner onto her eyes and curls her lashes as much as possible before applying mascara. Grabbing a bright red shade of lipstick she applies it onto her plump lumps before looking at her make up. Being satisfied with it she goes into her room and into the closet where a black zippered bag is it. She unzips the bag and pulls out a sparkling red dress, gently she lies it on the bed and lets her robe slip off her shoulders, being sure to put on undergarments before slipping the dress onto her body. Finally she puts on red heels and looks at herself in the mirror. “Damn, I look hot...” Blair says to herself proudly as she grabs a small red clutch, throwing in her phone and some gold coins before exiting her room and walking down the hall towards the elevator.

Blair presses the elevator button, waiting for the elevator to descend from its current location. She can’t help but feel nervous, out of all the woman that were lusting after John Wick, he decided to ask her out.

Ding.

The elevator doors open in front of her and she climbs in, pressing the lobby button as they close again and the elevator starts to lower itself towards the lobby. Once the doors opens she steps out and walks to the dining/bar area, her heels clicking against the marble floor as she arrives. Pulling the door open, Blair descends down the stairs, her breath hitching as she walks towards the bar; there is John Wick looking incredibly handsome. His hair is slicked back and his beard is trimmed to perfection. A black turtle neck with matching black shoes adorns his body with a gray suit jacket and pants.

Blair walks over to him and sits at the seat next to him by the mostly empty bar, smirking to herself as he sees John’s eyes widen at her appearance.

“You’re very punctual Mr. Wick.” Blair grins as she orders herself a glass of whiskey.

“Please, call me John, and you’re fashionably late Miss...” John trails off, and Blair blushes, realizing that she never introduced herself to him.

“Blair Havoc, but please call me Blair.”

“Well, you’re fashionably late Blair, because you look absolutely stunning.” John says as he looks at her, a slight upturn of his lips visible only to her.

“Thank you John. You don’t look too bad yourself.” Blair states, a blush on her face as she looks down at her drink before taking a sip and looking up at him.

“So how did you get past the guards and to the target?” Blair asks with a small smile as she leans rests her arm on the bar and listens to John as he begins to talk. It’s going to be an amazing night.

•End of Flashback•

Blair laughs dryly at the memory and wipes her tears as she finishes her shower and turns the faucet off, that was the beginning to the most wonderful relationship and friendship she has ever experienced. But then he met Helen and decided that he wanted to get out of the life and be with her, and Blair couldn’t help the string of curses that left her mouth that day he left. They weren’t dating any longer when he left, but it hurt her more than any job ever could.

She dries herself off and dries hair her to the best of her ability before putting in some products and letting her curls dry to her natural form. Putting on undergarments and a loose t-shirt with shorts underneath, Blair walks out of the bathroom and walks over to her bed, sitting down on it and staring at John, waiting for him to say something. John turns his body to her but doesn’t look at her.

“I didn’t expect you to be devoted to me still, especially after the way I left.” John says in a gentle voice as he finally looks up at Blair who is now staring down at the bed sheets. Now looking at her, he can’t help but notice that her hair has grown longer and more scars cover her exposed arms and legs, most of them from bullets or knives, but nonetheless she look just as gorgeous as she did back then. But her face is masked with restlessness and exhaustion, the two seemingly having a battle on her face.

Blair looks up at him once again. “Then what did you expect? I couldn’t wait for you forever.” Her voice cracks slightly but she tries to hide it, but nothing can get passed John, he heard it, and she sounds just as fragile as she did the day he left.

Blair knew what she was saying was a lie, she had hoped that one day he’d come back for her, take her out of the life, and maybe even reconcile their relationship once again rather than being just friends. But that day never came, so she became restless and begin to bury herself in work, and no mater how exhausted she has become, she never gives herself a break, only indulging in sleep for a few hours before getting back to work.

John doesn’t know what to say anymore, she has a point, and he knows that their issues aren’t something that can get fixed in one night. She lost trust in him, and despite knowing each other so well, there are things that have happened in the past five years, things that have shaped them to become different.

“I should get going Blair...” John rises from the couch as he speaks.

“Go ahead...leave like you did back then...” Her voice is quieter than before, and this time the crack is loud and clear in her voice.

John can’t help but feel angry despite knowing it’s his fault that her distrust towards him exists. He walks over to her bed and sits down next to her, grabbing her face and forcing her to look at him.

“I’m back, isn’t that what matters? I came back, and I’m here with you.”

Blair grips his hands and pulls them off of her face, springing out of her bed.

“That isn’t the point Jonathan! The point is that you even left in the first place, you left me for Helen. I don’t care if we weren’t dating...I needed you as a friend, I needed your support, and you fucking left!” Blair’s voice fluctuates from yelling to softness, the mixture of emotions evident in her voice and face as she lets a few tears fall out of anger and sadness.

“I’m sorry, okay?! I loved her Blair, and I didn’t want her to get involved in this life, so I needed to get out in order to have a life with her.” John can’t help but regret his words once he said them. He should’ve worried about Blair first. She had always been there for him, and he left her for someone he had barley known. Now he was here, struggling to reach one of his only friends and past lover.

“I wanted a life with you outside of this! Even if it was just as friends. You know what? Screw you Jonathan!” Blair yells at him as more tears fall from her face before laying down on her bad, her back facing him. He’s the only person she ever felt comfortable around, even now after five years, but she can’t help and mutter a soft “get out” despite not wanting him to leave.

John’s heart aches at the sight before him, and his anger dissipates. She’s right, every word that she just said is right. Instead of leaving, John quietly walks over and takes his shoes off, still in his uncomfortable suit as he lays down next to her, pulling her close to his chest cautiously, expecting rejection. But Blair doesn’t push him away or pull away, instead she turns her body and buries her face in his chest, crying silently into his chest and wetting his expensive suit with tears, but in that moment, he could care less.

“I’m so sorry Blair. I’m so fucking sorry.” John whispers softly as he pulls her closer to him and strokes her hair. He knows that things will go back to how they were earlier, cold, full of hurt, and lack of trust, but he lets Blair cry; silently promising himself to never hurt her again.

Maybe things won’t be how they were in the past, but maybe one day they will be.

•

Tag List (Let me know if you want to be added!)

@red-pill-blue-pill @meetmeinthematinee @childrenofthegun @fanficsrusz @romanovia @shinyprunebagelathlete @jardaniwicked

#john wick #john wick x oc #john wick fanfic #john wick series #keanu reeves #keanu charles reeves #original character #oc #series #fanfic #fanfiction series #fanfiction

55 notes · View notes

juleswolverton-hyde · 5 years

Text

Aftermath (NJ x Reader)

Genre: Smut, Angst, Guesthouse AU

Pairing: Guesthouse Manager!Namjoon x Foreign!Reader

Warnings: Dirty talk, possessive behaviour, rough unprotected sex on the kitchen counter (ALWAYS use precautions, lads and lasses), accidental voyeurism, squirting, fingering, swearing, breeding/impregnation kink, dom!Namjoon

Summary: The sequel to ‘’Dionysian’’

Every aftermath is different, ranging in variety to all its extents. However, this one experienced by a silver tongue no longer numbed by blueberries does not nullify its need to speak the truth. Thus, the blonde wolf holds on to beliefs made explicit in drunkenness and hopes for physical conviction in sobriety.

By means which carry a sober soul into a former mutual intoxication.

Masterlist

The impact of an aftermath all depends on the reason for its cause, so naturally, it follows that the bigger the agent, the grander the effect of the afterburn. A jet lag tried to be cured by reading, for example, does not have as much if any unpleasant side effects aside from a sense of discombobulation, this is disregarding the fact that what followed the leisurely activity does make walking not all that easy, while the smoky blueberry hangover causes a major headache on top of muttering grumpiness. Withal, and perhaps this is fortunate regardless of the oppressing morality of reality, the negative mood in case of the latter seems to lessen quite a bit when exhausted pained espresso eyes shrouded by haphazard platinum meet drowsy sheepish irises containing various travel stories in the second living room upstairs.

‘Y/N,’ it comes out as a surprised reaction, not having expected to run into the person indirectly involved with the lingering effects of rice-based clear alcohol contained in emerald if that is remembered at all considering the vague forgetful haze shrouding an always comforting gaze, ‘I thought you’d be out and about by now.’

The remark signifies last night has been forgotten and with that the strangely meaningful act that turned out entirely different than expected, oddly making the heart sink with the stone of knowledge that even the genuine passion and devotion has been erased. ‘No, I’m here sleeping off the jet lag. But, uhm, can we talk?’

‘Sure, but,’ a palm presses against the forehead in a futile endeavour to push the likely agonizingly pulsing hurt into retreat, ‘can we do so at a low volume. My head is killing me.’

More than that is currently being figuratively murdered, but there is a voice inside which says that the tall guesthouse manager does not have to know about the events of the past twilight for they are best left in the past. Henceforth, it stays at a consenting nod before two pairs of bare feet ascend the stairs to the stylish though small area both functioning as a hallway, living room, dining room and kitchen all at once.

Along the way, a brief spark of hope is ignited when fingers brush against each other in an absent-minded fashion, hoping for them to entangle entirely or mayhaps go beyond that chaste boundary, falling into the sin left behind in oblivious dusk. A straying digit encourages this renewed type of contact.

But is disregarded as opportunity fades away directly when the wanted big hand swerves away towards the front door where a few coats hang neatly in a row to retrieve a small box of Marlboro Red cigarettes. ‘I’ll be right back. Maybe a smoke will help me clear up.’

The spring weather is warm enough to allow going outside without a jacket provided the upper body is in the least covered by a T-shirt, so the grey long-sleeved shirt on top of loose navy pyjama pants more than suffices when the front door briefly opens and closes without another word to carry on the communication seemingly unaffected by the sensual encounter.

The silence that sets in is cold, the warm lingering affection normally shown nor the traces of the rough version present to calm an anxious heart fearing being abandoned by the handsome manager despite being bound to a gentle ocean artist. Hence, for a moment that feels longer than it truly is, eyes begin to water at the sight of the closed entrance as arms wrap around the shivering body to keep it from unjustly falling apart, barely shy of sobbing when asking the rhetorical questions of the emptiness. ‘Why can’t you remember? Why did it have to mean nothing?’

And with those very same haunting unanswered inquiries, the task of making two decent cups of instant coffee is taken up while fighting the tears that inevitably stream down the cheeks. Shivering hands retrieve a pair of matching crimson and ink black mugs from the cupboard that is slightly too highly installed for the short person determinedly trying to grab a hold of the china, eventually succeeding by standing on the tips of toes. Soft hiccups get lost in the loudly boiling water and the dimmed sobs in the pouring that brings the caffeine to life.

However, a new noise is audible over the tinkling of spoons mixing the powder and water to create a godly beverage: bare feet rapidly padding over the Alaskan white cedar floor after a shocked gasp. Before the door has closed with a hardly audible click, unusually physically affectionate strong arms clad in grey have wrapped around the middle and pulled a fragile figure against a worried chest scented with fresh smoke. ‘Why are you crying?’

‘It- It’s nothing. Do- Don’t worry.’ To move on from the stupidly prominent hurt at the hand of lying fancies, a trivial detail is asked after while continuing to keep the whirlpool in the cup alive, moving. All consuming. ‘Do y- you drink it black?’

‘Y/N, please tell me what’s bothering you. I hate to see you like this.’ The warm breath on locks makes teeth bite down on the lower lip in a desperate attempt to withhold another heavy heave evoked by the genuine loving imaginations it conjures, gravely reminding the mind Taehyung already has an allegation to the title of significant other.

‘Namjoon, re- really. It’s o- okay.’ The handsome tall tree was never meant to be a selfish girl’s lover anyway, so the mourning of the fact is nothing but superfluous information to the man who cannot even remember how amazing and wanted he made her feel. How good it felt to lose control.

‘Is it about last night?’ A plush mouth no longer ghosts over strands grown haphazard by slumber, pressing down on the back of the head in a sincere loving smoke-scented kiss.

A weak nod confirms the suspicion, bravely trying to speak up to ask the question previously asked to the nothingness in a blonde wolf’s wake. ‘Have you forgotten what we did?’

‘I was far gone, too drunk to memorize what happened.’ Had it not been for what follows the statement, the crying might have commenced in earnest without ever giving a proper explanation for it afterwards to neither the platinum giant nor anyone else. Fortunately, the sorrowful chill fades from limbs at the heated reassuring mumbled words. ‘But I remember everything we did, all that I said. How gorgeous you looked while riding me, solely mine instead of his.’

The hug loosens enough to allow for turning around when noticing the urge to do so, needing to see the truth of the claim beneath the soju aftermath.

The dark reminiscent glint says more than enough, emphasizing the wanting has not been nullified over the course of sobering during the remnants of the nightly hours. Especially the barely held back anger pointed towards the artist called a “blueberry” in drunken rage signifies still wanting to be the sole one for a taken travelling individual living on a deadline. ‘I do hate it, you know? Hate it how he’s your boyfriend and I have to watch from the sideline. It should have been me who fucked you when you two came back from eating ramen. In fact, that could have been our second date if only you had recognized the trip to ARTBOX meant as much to me as a first.’

The embrace is made entirely undone as palms move upwards over the upper arms, following the curve of the neck and at last coming to rest on the cheeks where two kind thumbs wipe away the remaining brooks. ‘I don’t care how many men fuck you, but, in the end, I want you to be mine. That, out of all the times another touches you, it’s only meaningful when it’s me. I want you to be mine.’ Lips connect in a kiss tasting of smoke, old alcohol and restless sleep with a fruity hint of blueberries. Not really a preferable combination due to the sharpness of rice alcohol, but otherwise as pleasant, if not more, than the turpentine and lavender experienced each night before going to bed, every morning at waking up and all the little shared moments in between. ‘Leave him. Leave him for me, baby.’

‘I promised he could stay with me.’ Attention shifts to the side, staring at the floor in conflicted self-loathing for wanting to give up for Namjoon but wondering whether it would even matter since the blue-haired art teacher was turned on by the idea of being shared. Said he could learn how to love this body and soul better that way. However, it begs to ask the question where the line is drawn, at which point even this explanation no longer applies.

‘And he still believes that when I’ve clearly marked you as mine? Made him watch you getting a good pounding by me?’ Focus is shifted back by suddenly being picked up and put on the counter, the contact with the cold surface beneath the thighs making a shuddering tingling run down the spine. ‘I want him to stand by and watch, know there isn’t anything he can do to take you from me.’ A tanned hand creeps up the inside of dangling legs, gripping the upper part firmly at the last statement with a concoction of rage pointed towards an absent party and lust towards the present one. ‘Make him feel as I have all this fucking time.’

Helpless palms try to futilely push away the persistent shoulders leaning in to retrace the wonderful path of marks left behind in the twilight purple past, kissing each plum sign of belonging created in the craze of desire, hovering above the gradually heating skin and increasing the temperature by tickling warm breath. Without a second thought, in spite of Sense urging against doing it, fingers acting on muscle memory entangle in soft fluffy platinum locks like they had done before as the foreign body mindlessly bridges the small space between it and the local one.

The obvious hunger for the wolf disguised as a nice guesthouse manager evokes a tangibly bright smile on full lips while the oversized piece of clothing which is the property of a rival is endeavoured to be removed. ‘I think I like this complacent you more, baby. Now take this damn shirt off, I dislike lavender on you.’

‘You will have to deal with it. It keeps me warm.’ The smugness of the dark has not faded since talking back to Namjoon when the man thinks there is no courage to do so is actually quite amusing. Furthermore, it is also another way to avoid giving into the sensual craving stirring in the gut, fueled by the sensations of wanting to be possessed.

‘Hm, maybe not so obedient, after all.’ Clearly, the attitude is not tolerated even in a sober state. Yet, the caressing of the sides combined with a pondering hum forms an example of actual care about wellbeing. ‘I don’t want you to catch a cold, though. Hold on, baby, I’ll be right back.’

Just briefly a handsome face can be regarded fully in earnest before it rushes up the stairs and comes back down with a gorgeous creme-shaded silk kimono with intricate patterns in complementing colours and black bands at the ends of the sleeves. Quick as lightning, making sure there is no opportunity to resist at the last second, the crisp white shirt is almost torn off to be replaced by the personal piece of clothing.

Withal, before the new garments are donned, espresso eyes are drawn to the mesmerizing sight of the revealed chest, grand palms enveloping the two sensitive cushions perfectly as if made exactly to fit the broad-shouldered human tree’s hands. ‘Why did you hide this from me? You’re beautiful.’ The head dips down to take the swollen right rosebud into the mouth, teasing it by nibbling and licking the agitated bud of nerves, while left digits glide over the stomach towards the source of the hedonic scent as their right counterparts curl over the edge of the counter to remain balanced though they rapidly shift to the hip closing in with the ache to be closer. ‘So incredibly beautiful.’

When the coy amusing ministrations over cotton becoming sticky with uncontrollable wanting bring bliss almost too close, the desperate grip on hair that has to be renewed with every novel angle of exploration begins to shake and the chest is falling and rising heavily with laborious breaths mixed with pathetic whimpers and surprised gasps at harder bites or pressure on extremely sensitive spots, the sorry excuse for panties are torn off and the kimono embedded with a trace of nicotine blueberries put on. ‘Look at you, Y/N. Naked but for my clothes, marked as mine, blushing all cutesy with the need for me.’ Legs spread automatically and with a lewd squelch, two fingers slide in embarrassingly easily, soon joined by a third when notice is taken it can be done without problems. ‘So hungry for my cock, craving a good pounding.’ A too eager nod. ‘But first, I’m going to make you squirt all over my fingers and only use you as my personal fucktoy when you’re all nice and complacent, sensitive. Begging me to stop, whining for me to pull my big cock out, crying when I pump you full again. After all, you’re nothing more than my little breeding machine.’

It does not take long for the first promise to come to fruition, the remaining restraints of reality rapidly let go of once that special mind-boggling spot is found and touched over and over after the betraying whine, compelled to watch the obvious watery effects of pleasure by means of an unrelenting controlling grip on hair and baritone growls that shatter every thought in a white haze. ‘You’re such an easy fuck. Already cumming so quickly, making such a mess. But it’s also perfect, because it makes it that much easier to force myself into you, for you to handle me.’

Keeping the earlier given word, loose marine blue bottoms alongside the once fresh pair of boxers - now ruined by the transparent sinful sign which was only noticeable in a tangible shape - are pushed down to the ankles to give free reign to a sober part of the body that the one of the self is already well-acquainted with. Without warning nor inquiry about consent, making use of the floating trance which causes every reaction to be slowed down immensely due to the ignorant bliss exerting a hypnotizing influence on the consciousness, a more intense version of the renewed physical bond is established. The sole reaction that can be managed is hands tightening the hold on the buff upper arms that were already previously held tight when it were only long digits bringing about sexual ruin, hot tears on the brim of falling at the burning sensation of being stretched open again which is intensified by every nerve still standing on edge by the plunge into sensitivity. ‘Namjoon! It- it’s too much. I- I can’t- please, pull out.’

A dark chuckle falls from full lips at a pained whimper evoked at the hand of overstimulation, corners of the mouth curled up in a satisfied devilish grin. ‘You feel even better than I remember. So fucking tight. I said I’d give you a good pounding when you’re nothing more but an obedient little thing, flinching at every contact because it’s too overwhelming.’

Honey-toned digits fold themselves perfectly over the waist, scooting the infiltrated persona closer with ease and thus deepen the union with another pained outcry contrasting with the gesture of holding on tighter to the intoxicating offender driving out any thought dedicated to Taehyung and Jungkook, muffling the beginnings of crying in ashen nicotine fabric, finding comfort in the characteristic scent. However, the hiding place is merely temporary as the counterpart of the shackle on the middle forms around the jaw, ensuring with force that stares remain locked under any circumstance. ‘I want you to keep looking at me as you beg for me to stop. Just know that it won’t actually help, so you can whimper and cry all you want but it only turns me on. You’re going to take my cock like last night, let me empty entirely inside you, and there is nothing you can do about it. You’re gonna take every last drop,’ the hold tightens yet is not fought against as the effect of the sheer strength is as good as a drunken stupor, obliterating the last slivers of the old hypnotizing veil and immediately replacing it with a new blindfold, ‘milk me till I’m dry and your pretty pussy, swollen and sore, is leaking again with my seed.’

A sloppy kiss in combination with the last spoken words before a devastating act of love commences in earnest unintentionally already shows how wanton personal longing has become, endeavouring to enhance the intimacy even further and satiate the uncontrollable craving which is at war with the urge to end it here merely on the grounds of the searing agony below. A brief repose would also be a good alternative, but the primal spirit within neglects the idea altogether and listens instead gladly to the platinum wolf. ‘So, spread your fucking legs like a good deprived bitch and let me breed you.’

Muscles loosen enough to heed the command, an awful joy the determining factor in keeping up with the directly set relentless pace between the thighs of which the ankles wrap around a carved waist that stirs up a paradoxical storm of pleasure and pain in the gut with its movements. Pleads for a halt mixed with sobs about how much it hurts, not lying despite also clearly showing the need for more, made to a beautiful face are returned with praise. ‘Keep begging like that, baby. I’m not going to stop, not when you’re taking me so well.’ The hideous snarl returns with the memory surfacing at a newly discovered detail, a trace thought to have been made undone when restoring the ruin of the night but which only evokes jealousy spurring on the desire to imprint it all over again. ‘When he’s erased every trace of me inside.’

‘N- Nam- Namjoon, pl- please. I- I’m taken. Tae- ah!’ The mention of the sweet artist’s name is obviously unappreciated, the roughness increasing at the attempt to involve a third party if only in speech alone and pushing the burning further into a novel depth. Whatever was about to be said about Taehyung having the right to cover every sensual track made by another on a beloved, albeit solely for a piece of peace of mind, is nullified in the scream preceding heavier heaves disrupted by more pleading while the body behaves in a contrasting manner.

The caramel compelling lover is held near with the tightening of shaking legs around a sculpted waist and cute howbeit flat tummy, hands meekly tugging at the powerful wrists to convince them to break off the harsh grip on the jaw in favour of an unbreakable clinging embrace, the idea of which is consented to and allows fingers to entangle in platinum fluffy strands. Withal, even though it is allowed but a warning is threateningly whispered into the ear almost deaf with the enchanting sounds of low grunts mixed with high-pitched whines against a background of skin meeting skin in the lewdest of fashions. ‘That blueberry doesn’t have the right to erase me from your system. Besides, baby, if you’d really love him, you wouldn’t be taking my dick.’

And in that is a truth universally acknowledged, because if there truly was devotion to a single soul, another one would not be enjoyed as much as it is. There would only be the chemical sting of turpentine made smooth by lavender and the ironically currently affected combination of nicotine smoke, fresh soap and sharp mint kept at bay in mere friendship.

But it is not.

‘Is everything alright? I heard someone... oh.’ The front door is unsuspectingly opened with haste by a panicked classic pastry and sweets maker, cheeks colouring a bright rosy pink matching the neatly arranged hairstyle when realizing what the source for the outcry thought to be in distress really is.

‘Get out.’ Possessive fevered irises glare at a stunned Jimin, frozen in place by awkwardness and ignorance as to how to proceed to come out of the situation as unscathed as possible, full lips parted in pure paralysis. ‘We’re busy.’

Hard-handed, the almost affectionate hug is broken off with a renewed hold on the jaw to unresistingly shift attention from desperately holding onto broad shoulders with black sensitive blindness to gaze at a flustered face lit up the bright Seoul spring sun. Though murmured at a low volume against the reddish-purple bruises on the side of the throat, what is being said is nevertheless audible for the unwelcome visitor with hair like the cherry blossoms around the concrete jungle. ‘And don’t you dare try to interfere. Y/N’s taking my cum, she’s my slut.’ A seemingly misplaced nuzzle under a primal trance makes it undeniable whom the ravished body belongs even though the intricate gorgeous kimono also gives off a clue. ‘Mine.’

‘Well, actually-’ The rest of the sentence is broken off when the risk of the manager’s wrath becomes too real again, sheepishly settling for something else before rushing off to God-knows-where after shutting the just opened door with a slam. ‘You know what? Never mind. I’ll, uh, leave you to- to it.’

‘I swear, if he also comes after you. Which he will, just like the others, even Yoongi, and that desperate boy trying to pretend he’s actually a cop.’ The continuation of the threat gets lost in a dangerously displeased grunt accompanied by a harsh thrust. The grip shifts from the underside of the face to the throat, closing the airways just enough to not suffocate in fueled rage taken out in passion. ‘However, I. Don’t. Share.’

Climaxes can be triggered in various ways, but the need to possess of a strong-willed wolf and the craving of a traveller to be controlled by the blonde animal in disguise because the ocean artist is too sweet throws entangled forbidden lovers violently off the cliff, on the edge of which has been tethered with words pushing the wish to achieve the lewdly described goals.

And just like during the last twilight and at the start of relived furious jealous love-making, the overstimulation is ignored as pained whimpers and repeated pleads for pulling out continue to function as an aphrodisiac until yet another promise is fulfilled, once more made to watch how it is established when not staring into raging deep brown.

‘Breath, baby, breath. Easy, easy, shhh.’ After the last release, shaking all over with effort which makes it hard to remain upright, a heated gradually calming chest is collapsed against in an explosive limbo as a hand transformed from rough into gentle caresses messy locks. Cushion full lips place an appreciating kiss on the temple, an action that is quite a contrast with the claiming biting, while every last drop of thick undoubtedly unclear fluid is attempted to be absorbed regardless of the soreness. ‘That’s it, baby. Milk me. Good girl, you did so well. I’m proud of you.’

When having regained consciousness enough to straighten the spine and be somewhat coherent in the reality that slowly sinks in, another chaste kiss is placed on a sticky forehead as upper arms clad in clinging silk are rubbed kindly before slowly sliding up to cup a tear-streaked face and wipe away the last of tears, now shed thanks to the impactful severing which results in the wished for outcome of leaking with white. ‘God, you’re beautiful. That kimono also looks wonderful on you. You should wear it more often.’

The smug smirk at the comment fades away into severity as fast as it appeared, baritone voice stained with a certain gravity when requesting something that cannot be easily consented to due to committing promises. ‘I meant what I said. I don’t share, especially not the girl I love. Even if this ends up in a polygamous relationship if you decide to sleep with any of the other guys or they persuade you to, know that I’ll hate each and every one of them for knowing what it’s like to be with you when I want the privilege of it. Furthermore, if they make you do anything you don’t want, I’ll beat them up and turn them out onto the street.’ Absentmindedly, the collar of the robe is corrected, fabric put around a shivering speechless body with genuine care. ‘For now, leave him. I really do want you to leave him for me. Be mine.’

‘I can’t, Joon. I promised Taehyung we’d be more than a spring affair, that he can stay with me.’ A shuddering sigh almost makes the rediscovered voice disappear again with the realistic afterthought. ‘At least until I have to go.’

‘You can make the same promise to me and I’ll guarantee we can stay together. I got a solid income from the guesthouse, a place to call home and which can be our home whenever you’re in Korea.’ The kiss that follows is grave, acting like the last bastion in the fights against determined realism. Espresso irises scented with dewy nicotine laced with fruit gleam with pleads held out of speech. ‘I promise. Please, leave him.’

‘I can’t.’

Fists clamping Japanese clothing.

‘Why?’

Brooks on caramel cheeks.

‘Sorry.’

Clad in silk and traces of another that also cannot be.

Such is the devastating aftermath of two lonely broken hearts.

#BTS #BTS smut #btssmutclub #hyunglinenetwork #kimnamjoonnet #BANGTANARMYNET #BTS x Reader #Namjoon #RM #Kim Namjoon #Joon #Guesthouse AU #Guesthouse manager!Namjoon #When the Petals Fall

196 notes · View notes

knybits · 5 years

Text

A Murder of One

Chapter:

Summary:

Time is the most beautiful dancer of all. So why does it weep?

Previous Chapter | Origin | Next Chapter

“Tanjirou! I’m back!” Akiko’s tiny arms weary at the fact that she’s still cranking the window down, standing on her seat to stick her head out of the window.

Her mother scolds her, but Akiko pays it no mind, waving her arms and shouting Tanjirou’s name over and over again with even more enthusiasm when his head pops out of the house.

His eyes light up and his cheeks flush a rosy red before he stumbles out of the house. Nezuko and Takeo follow after, shouting Akiko’s name as the Tamura’s new Model-T pulls up to the small house.

Akiko hops out of the car and into Tanjirou’s arms, where he swings her in circles. The two laugh in delight as Akiko buries her head into the crook of his neck, arms tightly wrapped around him.

“I’ve missed you!” Akiko’s voice sounds richer than before, and Tanjirou blushes again before squeezing her a bit tighter as a response.

“Oh my! Ray-san, Hiratsuka-san! I didn’t think you’d be back for the summer!” Rie wipes her hands on her apron and Ray ruffles Tanjirou’s head with a fond smile.

“Akiko isn’t used to being apart from Tanjirou for so long, so we thought it best to let her see him again before she has to go back to school.” Hiratsuka explains, her kimono pristine and new.

“Besides,” her hand finds it’s way to Tanjirou’s nose, tapping it lightly as Akiko giggles at her mother’s teasing nature. “His birthday is soon, is it not? One year closer to double digits!”

“Tanjirou, let your fiancée breath.” Tanjuro struggles to stand by the doorway and Rie helps to support him. Ray walks forward with his bag, ready to perform a physical, as the other kids rush to their father’s side.

Tanjirou gently pulls Akiko along to urge his father back to bed while Tanjuro waves everyone off with his usual kind smile. Akiko smiles despite her concern when Tanjuro’s big hand strokes Akiko’s head. She grasps his kimono and he understands to return to his futon for the sake of his future daughter-in-law.

Nezuko goes to brew some tea while both parents sit and talk. All the children rush outside to play as the day’s chores have been forgotten.

“Akiko, let’s go into the mountains!” Tanjirou pulls his fiancée along and she frowns lightly.

“But won’t there be bears?”

He stops in his place, turning to face her and holding both her hands before kissing her forehead. She blushes fiercely when he smiles, sparkling in the sunlight.

“Don’t worry! I’ll protect you, okay? You’re my fiancée after all!”

“Y-Yeah!”

“Ewww!! Tanjirou’s being mushy!!” Takeo points at the two, who both flush with embarrassment. All the kids laugh as Tanjirou presses Akiko’s face to his chest in an attempt to hide her away, yelling at his siblings to stop their teasing.

Akiko blankly stares out the car window, hands folded in her lap as the crow follows the car.

Those happy times have been ripped from her, and she can’t even respond to her parent’s concerned calls all throughout the car ride to the mountains.

The crow suddenly diverges from the car and Akiko blinks, her memories reeling to a stop and Tanjirou’s high pitched voice torn away from her.

“Why aren’t we going to the Kamado house.” Her head doesn’t move and her mother takes her daughter’s hand, but Akiko pulls away.

If it’s not Tanjirou’s hand, she won’t accept it.

“Your grandmother-”

“Driver. The mountains, please.”

The family driver glances at Ray with concern and Akiko furrows her brows in frustration, screaming in her head for the driver to just do as she ordered.

Ray lets out a slow sigh before nodding his head, and the car turns course with the crow by its side once again.

Akiko finds herself zoning out again, mindlessly counting the times the crow flaps its wings or when it opens its beak to cry. Without any warning, she finds herself free falling back into her memories.

Her hand is tightly wrapped around Tanjirou’s, throat choked up as Tanjirou gently wipes her tears away.

“I-” She hiccups, “I don’t wanna go back to Tokyo...”

Her few weeks back in the countryside is coming to a close, and she’s spending her last night at the Kamado house again.

Tanjirou smiles helplessly at her as the two sit on a stump outside the house. He can see her under the moonlight, her golden eyes a bit paler with the low lighting.

“I wanna stay with you! I don’t wanna go back to Tokyo! The people are tall and no one knows who I am! The classroom is filled with boys but they only wanna be my friend because of papa! Either that or they think I’m dumb! I’m just as smart as them!!” Akiko cries even louder, her face a mess and her handkerchief sloppy with snot.

“He-Hey! Don’t laugh at me!” She moves to shove him off the stump, but Tanjirou still laughs when he catches her hands, bringing her into his arms and turning her body so that she sits in front of him between his legs.

She’s still a few centimeters taller than him, but their heights don’t matter when they sit with each other.

“I think you’re smarter than them.” He smiles down at her, his green and black checkered haori wrapped around the both of them. Akiko puffs her cheeks out, her head poking out of the haori as Tanjirou rests his chin on top of her shoulder.

Akiko sniffles, “Really? You’re not lying?”

She can feel him shake his head, “You’re really smart!! Smarter than me!”

Akiko gasps, shifting in his arms to face him before clasping his cheeks and squishing them.

“No way! You’re smarter than me! You know how to cook!” He laughs dryly in response, slowly removing Akiko’s hands from his face as she turns back around to sit in between his legs.

“Isn’t that something you’re supposed to know how to do?”

Akiko shakes her head, “When we get married, you’ll be living with me! We have maids to cook for us, and we can sit like this the whole day!”

Tanjirou hums, wrapping his arms around her and moving to rest his chin on her shoulder again.

“But I’d like to eat some of my fiancée's cooking. Ahhh, I’d taste your love in every bite and feel all fuzzy when I come home from a hard day’s work!”

Akiko chokes a bit and Tanjirou laughs when she mutters out a bitter, “Guess I have to learn how to cook then….”

Akiko never did learn how to cook after that. She was taught arithmetics, she perfected her English, and she learned both Europe and Japan’s history. Most importantly, she learned science and medicine, most of it thanks to her father.

This was in hope that she become her village’s doctor.

Personally, she wanted to cure Tanjuro’s disease so that she could happily eat dinner at a large table with the whole family. A warm setting filled with endless chatter and teasing and good natured laughs that she never experienced back at the estate with her grandmother.

This doesn’t happen.

At the new age of 12, she received news of Tanjuro lying on his deathbed.

The Tamura family rushed to the house in the mountains for Ray to see if he can save Tanjuro’s life, but Akiko saw the crow perched on the roof of the house.

Tanjuro’s heart stopped beating the minute Ray placed his stethoscope over Tanjuro’s heart.

Akiko stayed at the Kamado house for a week, begging her parents to stay a little longer each day so that she could comfort Tanjirou.

“Akiko…” Her mother warns, a cross look on her face as Akiko cowers behind Tanjirou, her hands grasping Tanjirou’s sleeve.

“But kaa-san! I need to stay! Just a bit longer, please!” Akiko begs for the fourth day in a row. Tanjirou holds his fiancée close to him, heart aching at the thought of not seeing her again the next day like his father.

Ray and Hiratsuka look at Rie with a helpless expression, and Rie chuckles weakly, her figure frail. Her face is gaunt and her fingers are bonier than before, and she shakes whenever she takes a step, but she continues to smile for her children.

“I don’t mind. I rather she stay for a few more days, actually.” Rie says, and Akiko brightens at the thought. She lets go of Tanjirou’s haori to throw herself into the arms of Rie, who chuckles softly at Akiko’s affectionate behavior.

“Are you sure? We don’t want to be a bother in your time of mourning.” Hiratsuka murmurs, but watches as all the siblings hold on to a little piece of Akiko’s kimono.

Rie pats the heads of her children, her heart full of love when looking at their faces. She stares at Akiko with the same amount of love, tucking a lock of hair behind Akiko’s ear.

“Be a good girl, love. We’ll be back by the end of the week, alright?”

Akiko hesitantly nods her head and the married couple steps into the Model-T, driving down the mountain and back to the Tamura Estate in the village.

But by the end of the week, her studies lagged behind, and she was forced to return to Tokyo.

Tanjirou assured her that his heart had healed by the end of the week, but she could see the way that his eyes were still the least bit bloodshot, and the way his hands shook behind his back, hair messier than usual and the fact that he’s bitten his lips enough for them to have traces of dried blood, that he’s lying through his teeth.

What an awful image of her fiance she has stuck in her mind, and she hopes that he was a lot happier when he-

The crow suddenly lands on top of a roof, and Akiko comes to the realization that they’ve arrived.

“Love, I don’t think we should be here.” Ray puts his hand on his daughter’s shoulder, pulling her back from the door. Akiko stubbornly shrugs his hand off, eyes blinking away tears at the smell of rotten blood.

Her feet feel sluggish against the snow, and she looks to the nearby stump, almost catching sight of a faint Tanjirou, swinging his legs over the edge and waving at his beloved finance.

Akiko can see that the door is closed, but there’s no point. There are punched in holes and dried blood staining the wood.

Someone most likely propped the door back in its place to keep passersby from looking inside.

Ray steps out of the car, bag in hand, at which Akiko solemnly glances at.

“There’s no point.” Her voice is hollow, and Ray looks at her with an all knowing look.

“It’s not for them.” He says, standing by the car and allowing Akiko her own time.

She takes another step, stomach turning and sweat pouring down her face. It’s cold and her hair sticks to the back of her neck.

Her hands shake violently, gripping the hem of her kimono, grasping strands of hair, moving to clutch the cloth above her heart as it burns with pain.

Small puffs of air blow out, but they’re uneven and she even forgets to breathe a few times. There’s no rhythm and Akiko finds herself swallowing her saliva more often than usual, but oddly enough it still feels as dry as the winter air.

The beating of her own heart roars in her ears and Akiko’s eyes blink multiple times, begging to cast a different image than the one in front of her.

The sight of an empty house with no love or warmth.

No Nezuko to braid hairs with and talk about her brother till the moon’s high in the sky.

No Rie to hug as her own mother.

No Hanako to read books to.

No Takeo to tease and make blush.

No Shigure to carry through the mountains when playing games.

No Rokuta to help rock to sleep.

No Tanjirou to share a futon with.

No Tanjirou to cry with.

To celebrate with.

To hold hands with.

To love.

She opens the door and the two week’s worth of dread pours out of her mouth.

Akiko throws up.

---

“Urokodaki-san.”

The tengu masked trainer looks up from the hotpot he’s cooking, staring at his new disciple.

Nezuko is sleeping in the other room, and Tanjirou has finally finished writing in his diary. But there’s a folded up piece of paper in his hand. Urokodaki raises a brow at it, but it obviously goes unnoticed.

“If it’s not too much to ask…” Tanjirou bows his head, arms outstretched with the letter in hand for Urokodaki to take.

“I’d like to send this letter to my fiancée. She-She’s probably worried sick about me, and I want her to know that I’m still alive.”

Urokodaki doesn’t say anything before taking the paper in his hands, “You have a fiancée?”

Tanjirou flushes a deep red before meekly nodding his head and quickly rambling, “Sh-She’s studying in Tokyo. She should be 13 now, and we send each other letters all the time. We’re supposed to be wed when she comes back at 16. But, uh…”

Urokodaki nods his head in understanding, his soft smile going unnoticed once again and Tanjirou asks him to send it to the “Tamura Estate” for Akiko’s grandmother to forward to Akiko. That way, if Akiko’s grandmother knows, then the whole village will be told.

This is Tanjirou’s first mistake.

Tamura Higuchi blinks curiously at the crow that swoops in through her window. It hops over to her seiza sitting figure before sticking its leg out to display a tied up piece of paper. Carefully, Higuchi unties the letter from the crow before the crow bows its head and flies out the window.

“Whatever could this be-” She glares at the letter before reading it aloud to herself.

“Gracious grandmother-to-be. I hope this letter finds you in good health. This is Kamado Tanjirou, and I’ve sent a letter to you in hopes that you will tell Akiko as well as the rest of the village that I as well as my sister, Nezuko, are alive. I don’t wish to worry her, and hope you will take the time to forward this message to her. With respect, Kamado Tanjirou.”

Higuchi stares at the letter a minute longer, wrinkles deeply set and annoyance flaming deep within her.

To say she doesn’t like Tanjirou is an understatement.

“Lady Higuchi.” A servant calls, knocking on the shouji to capture the mistress of the estate’s attention.

“Your daughter’s family is here.”

“Hm. Kakera, take this letter and discard of it. Burn it, tear it up, bury it, whatever you must.” She hands her servant the letter before making her way to the front entrance

Her face is complacent, unbothered with the way she’s turned the tides of the future.

lmao yeah fuck higuchi ig

hope you guys liked this chapter!! its cute but also yeah fuck im sad haha.

i have akiko’s pin/mood board created so im excited to release this story on wattpad :,,) i made the cover of the story too!!

#bittle's murder of one #kny #kimetsu no yaiba #demon slayer #tanjiro #kamado tanjirou #tanjirou #tanjirou kamado

41 notes · View notes

satorisa · 5 years

Text

Lift the Veil - Chapter 12: Easily

Rating: T

Summary: After living in Tokyo for the past six years, she decides to head back to Azumano to escape the big city. However, she now has to face everything that she tried to flee from all those years ago. How exactly will she fare when the pages of a long forgotten book start turning once more?

Alternate links for reading available in my description!

Hover over the chapter title if you’d like some easy listening to compliment this spicy update! ;)

(please take this before finals hell hits me because feelings hell already has and i am currently drowning in them while clinging onto anything to get me out of it.)

Chapter 12 – Easily

Coming and going, inside out, back to front all tangled and messy: that’s how we’ve been

The morning following our return, I received an e-mail asking me to head into the news station first thing in the morning. And so, stricken with a terrible case of jet lag, I trudged in looking as fierce as I could to mask the tiredness, greeting the ever-present security guard and coworkers I’d barely spoken to until I arrived at my superior’s office. He greeted me, all smiles, insisting that I sit down despite telling him I was fine standing up; if I sank down into that ottoman, I knew I’d pass out immediately.

“I’m sure you’ve heard about Sugisaki-san’s retirement last week.”

I remembered Takeshi mentioning an old coot finally leaving a while back and skimming through an e-mail while in Vienna about someone’s many years of hard work, but I didn’t recall who exactly it was, so I just nodded. At least I had an idea.

“That old coot’s been here longer than I’ve been in charge, and it was something to see that man churn out broadcast after broadcast with those bony hands of his!” He laughed. “We’re sad to see such an integral part of our team go, but it’s better he leaves before he actually breaks like a twig!” Yet another round of laughter. “However, his departure has opened up a spot on our broadcasting team and so, with our station’s best interests in mind, we decided to have you take his role!”

This didn’t come as a surprise from all the office gossip I had heard so, with a practiced smile, I thanked him. He tried to make small talk, but I told him that I needed to delegate my work to the other editors and talk to the team to understand what my promotion entailed, so he let me go.

I headed to my cubicle and took out my phone to share the news. I called Takeshi first since he deserved (and needed) to hear the news before anyone else. He picked up not even after a full ring, asking me what was holding me up.

“Good morning to you, too,” I answered.

“Don’t give me your sass. I know you’re back; is it the jetlag? Still at your apartment?”

“Nope. I’m actually at the news station; I’ve been promoted to become a part of the broadcasting team.”

“Congratulations, Risa! I mean, I’m not surprised because of all those rumors that were floating around, but damn, I wish I could be super happy for you.”

“What? Jealous of me going places in my life?”

“Nah, I’m perfectly fine living the life of a groveling reporter. I just wish they’d given me some prior notice about your promotion; I’m gonna miss ya, Risa.”

“Aw. I appreciate your sentiment, but you really should save that for Akane.”

Takeshi groaned. “I swear, you and the Chief always have to ruin a good thing with ya’lls sarcasm. Anyhow, I should probably—Chief!”

“What the hell do you want?” I heard Hiwatari grumble softy from the receiver. Yikes.

“It’s Risa!” I could imagine Takeshi shoving his phone in front of Hiwatari’s unamused face.

“…why should I take it?’

“Dude, I know you woke up on the wrong side of the bed, clearly, but just briefly entertain me. Please. You won’t be disappointed.”

Hiwatari sighed, and I could hear him grabbing the phone from Takeshi. “Hello, Harada-san. Has jet lag pinned our one and only editor to her bed, which explains her absence this morning?”

“Haha, very funny,” I drawled. “Don’t doubt I’ll be pinned to some sort of seat soon because yeah, it’s killing me right now, but no. I’m actually at the news station right now. I just got promoted a while ago.”

“Really? Congratulations, Harada-san. I’m finally free from your extended company in my station. Takeshi, grab the salt so we can cleanse this place of her presence.”

I heard Takeshi cackling in the background while I rolled my eyes. “In all seriousness, I’m happy for you. Really. I’m sure Takeshi’s planning something for your lunch later underneath that bed head of his, but I have a prior engagement, so I won’t be able to be there. How does dinner at my apartment sound?”

“Oh my, Hiwatari-san! So forward! You’re making me blush!”

“Ha. Ha.”

“You’re no fun.”

“Glad to disappoint.”

“But yeah, that sounds good.”

“I’m glad. I’ll see you later then.” I heard him hand the phone to Takeshi.

“Yo, how the hell did you manage to cheer him up so quickly? He looked about ready to kill everyone within a meter of him when he walked in this morning slightly late.”

“Happiness is contagious?”

“Are you sure it’s happiness, or is it—”

“No.”

“Come on! Lemme have my fun here.”

“And risk having Hiwatari return to his foul mood because he overheard you spouting nonsense?”

“You right. Anyways, stay hungry because I’ve got a feast planned for you later!”

“Hopefully packed with caffeine and B-12 vitamins to help me get through this day?”

“Does tiramisu work?”

“Good enough.”

“Anyways, you should—huh?” I heard muffled mumbling. “Hey, Chief said to make sure to call your parents about it.”

“Huh.”

“Weeird. Anyways, good luck with today! You’re gonna kill it, Boss.”

With a smile on my face, we hung up. I decided to message Riku, Daisuke, and Ritsuko since I figured they’d be busy. Hiwatari’s words hung in my mind as I pulled up my mother’s number. My thumb hovered over it until I took a deep breath and decided to call her.

I expected to get her voicemail, but she picked up, greeting me with that light-hearted tone of hers. “Good morning, Risa, dear. How’re you?”

“I…um…got promoted. I’ll be working on the broadcast now instead of editing stories.”

“Congratulations! Have you told your father yet?”

“No. I was going to call him after I called you.”

“Well, we should celebrate this! Is there a day when you’re free for dinner?”

“I’ll…um…I’ll let you know later. Thanks, Mom.”

“You’re very welcome!”

We said nothing for several seconds, and I gulped. Did she have anything else to say? Did I have anything else to tell her? I—

“Well, I’ll leave you to call your father. Have a nice day, dear!”

I heard the disconnected line and sighed before calling my dad. He picked up quickly as well: right after one ring.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Dad. I, uh, just got promoted. I’m working on the broadcast instead of just editing stories.”

“Good.” There wasn’t much fanfare compared to when I called Mom; I didn’t expect there to be. He had expected excellence from me the moment I was born and, for most of my life, I really couldn’t offer that to him. Only when I was accepted into Todai and worked at the NHK did he acknowledge me, ever so briefly because of how hell bent I was to become estranged from anything related to Azumano, so his praises never fully reached me.

Clearly, my parents were not the only ones at fault here, but I digress.

“Congratulations. You’ve done well.”

He it said it with that gruff voice of his, tinged with subtle pride, that sparsely echoed through my childhood. I nearly choked up hearing it. Was I deprived of parental attention? Totally.

“I’ll let you go. If you come back early tonight, we should talk.”

“Yeah. Thanks, Dad. Bye.”

“Goodbye.”

Yet another disconnected line. Glad I had gotten those awkward interactions out of the way, I started getting to work, hoping that I wouldn’t burn myself out before lunch arrived.

…

At noon, I started packing up, expecting to meet Takeshi at the police station when I saw him leading Daisuke, Riku, and Ritsuko towards my cubicle. Daisuke had a vase full of flowers while Riku carried bags full of food from the restaurant she worked at. Ritsuko paraded her small balloon bouquet around, and I couldn’t help but laugh.

“Missing the Chief already?” Takeshi snidely asked once in my cubicle.

“No? Why would I?”

“You did spend a whole week with him in a foreign city.” Ritsuko pointed out.

“So?”

“Well—”

“Continue that sentence, Takeshi. I dare you.”

Takeshi pouted while everyone laughed before placing their gifts in my cubicle. Lunch was a nice affair, especially since Riku had brought exactly what I was craving, but it was cut short when lunch break ended since Daisuke, Riku and Ritsuko had to head back to work, leaving me with a very, very curious looking Takeshi.

Oh no.

“Now that everyone’s gone, I need the deets.”

“On what?”

“Your trip with the Chief! I knew something was up after you called earlier this morning, but he then spent the rest of the morning gushing over you like some poor, love-struck bastard.”

“Now I know you’re embellishing it.”

“Okay, maybe I am, but still! He was in a much better mood after talking to you, so explain!”

“There’s nothing to explain? We just got closer because of the circumstances of our trip.”

“Because you two shared a room?”

“Um, no?” Takeshi looked at me, expecting me to elaborate. “Even if we did have to sleep at a hotel, I’m pretty sure Kosuke-san and Hiwatari-san would’ve booked me a separate room.”

“…then where the hell’d you guys sleep if ya’ll weren’t at a hotel?”

“Did Hiwatari-san not tell you?”

“Sorry, he was a little busy gloating about you all morning to tell me about whatever juicy detail you’re hiding from me—spill!”

“Kei duped us into thinking that he died, so we stayed at his fancy apartment while we were there.”

He blinked before his face ran through a range of emotions. Eventually, he settled on some level of discomfort before leaning back in his seat.

“Ah, so he’s here. That’s explains it.”

I only looked at him in confusion, expecting him to fill me in especially since I so graciously satiated his curiosity earlier, but he didn’t. Takeshi just jumped up before stretching his arms over his head.

“Well, if anything, I’m glad you two are getting along again.” I opened my mouth to say something but Takeshi finished stretching. “Well, I’ve got a story to type up so I’m gonna go slave away in my cubicle. Happy working, Boss!”

He disappeared with a dramatic wave, and I couldn’t help but question what was going through his mind. But I had better things to worry about than the little mystery Takeshi brought up, so I went back to working, reenergized from the food and time with friends.

…

I walked out of the meeting room with a splitting headache, frustrated at my stubborn coworkers who refused to listen to my opinion. Maybe the old men were intimidated by my quick promotion. And, while the women were probably feeling the same way, I also wouldn’t put it past them if they were jealous that I worked with Hiwatari. (For whatever reason, that man was a hot commodity for all the single ladies in the office, some sort of idol figure for those who weren’t, and many of them were quite desperate to fill my old position assuming HR wanted to keep it.)

My phone rang, and I picked up without looking at the caller ID.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Harada-san.” Hiwatari? What did he need? “When will you be getting off of work?”

“After the broadcast. What’s up?”

“Is it fine if I accompanied you back to my apartment?”

I laughed. “Is this what you called me for? Really?”

“Yes. After what happened in Vienna, I’m not quite sure—”

“Hey. Stop bringing it up and making this awkward for us. Please. We’ll deal with it whenever it decides to rear its ugly head at us again which, considering our track record, might happen pretty soon, but don’t you dare jinx it. Knock on wood for us if you’re able to.” He laughed. “Anyways, I’ll let you know when I’m about to head out, so don’t pass out on me or anything.”

“I might…I am—”

“Don’t try to spite me, boy. I’ve got a headache, and I know damn well you’re more than capable enough to keep yourself from keeling over on the streets.”

“Yes’m,” he replied like a dutiful child after a scolding. “I’ll see you soon. Good luck.”

“Thanks.”

We hung up before I sat down in my cubicle, leaning in my chair and looking at the speckled ceiling. Why were my coworkers being so unresponsive now? I offered friendly suggestions and recommendations that they were receptive to back as an editor, but the moment I began planning our daily broadcasts, they all decide to throw a hissy fit.

Straightening up, I looked at the monitor, staring at the schedule for the primetime broadcast. Everything looked in order, but who knew what could occur leading up to it. Taking a huge gulp of my tea, I gathered my papers and notes before heading to the broadcasting room.

I need to be ready for hell, whatever that may entail.

…

The broadcast was awful in terms of how unpolished everything felt which made me feel equally as, if not more so, awful, so I had politely declined the after-work party my coworkers were hosting to celebrate my promotion (which wasn’t improving my reputation any for sure, but I’d rather they judge me for that than a rage-induced, drunken tirade during which I would proceed to make them feel as insignificant as possible) before heading back to my cubicle to pack my things. Takeshi had long left, leaving a poorly drawn doodle of himself on a sticky note he placed on my monitor, making me feel marginally better.

I lounged in my chair, mentally decompressing until I felt my phone vibrate to see a text from Hiwatari saying he just arrived at the news station. I quickly packed my stuff before heading down, waving good-bye to the security guard—one of the only friendly faces left in this building—before stepping out into the evening air.

“How was the first day of your promotion?” he asked.

“Terrible. The moment you’re put in charge of something, people’s attitudes change. Isn’t it ridiculous that something so simple can change someone’s perception of you?”

“Indeed. Titles can change everything.”

I pouted, hating how true it was. Did Hiwatari ever have to deal with that working at the police station at such a young age? Or was it something he’d dealt with for his whole life?

Hiwatari joked around the whole walk back to his apartment, spouting some crap about how he was the life of the party and, had he been present at lunch, would’ve livened the whole place up. He was being stupid, needlessly so that it was equal parts concerning yet entertaining, but he got my mind off of my train wreck of a day. If that was his sole purpose, then I applaud him for nobly sacrificing his dignity.

And, without him knowing, thank him for his kindness.

When we arrived at his apartment, I saw a man, nearly the spitting image of Kei, sitting on the sofa. He stood up and smiled at me, but I hid behind Hiwatari, trying to compose myself from seeing this doppelganger.

“Satoshi said to expect company over, but I didn’t think it’d be the one and only Harada Risa!”

Ick. He even sounded like Kei with that saccharine tone of his, veiling the jab his words carried. To anyone else, it would’ve been a wonderful compliment, but considering the context of my relationship with Hiwatari, those words were loaded. “One and only” meant that I was a very, very special girl to Hiwatari. And no, that special wasn’t meant to praise me at all.

Wait—

“Are you Hiwatari-san, biker extraordinaire?” I asked.

Kazama laughed. “Yes, indeed! I am Uncle Kazama, biker and lawyer extraordinaire. Pleasure to finally meet you!”

“It’s, uh nice to meet you, too…”

Well, that explained his overbearing presence. The cheerfulness exuding from someone who looked almost like Kei only made it worse, so I forced an uncomfortable smile. He headed to the kitchen, checking on whatever was cooking while Hiwatari dismissed himself to his room.

“So, Harada-san, tell me: what spurred my nephew to invite a fine woman such as yourself over for dinner?” Kazama asked with an insinuating tone.

“Um…Hiwatari-san invited me over to make up for his absence during lunch.”

“Sorry about that; he had to go pick me up from the station.” Kazama tasted his food and nodded approvingly. With how wonderful it smelled, I was nodding approvingly inside my head, too. “So, is lunch together with him a regular thing then?”

“Oh no. My friends held a lunch celebration earlier to celebrate my promotion today.”

“And his absence from that so happened to give him an opportunity to celebrate alone with you? Spicy!”

I cleared my throat. “Anyways, what brings you here?”

“Just checking up on my nephew and catching up with old pals.” Takeshi’s reaction to Kazama being in town earlier told me there was more to his words than he let on, but I understood why he was so guarded. I’m the “one and only” Risa Harada. From his point of view, I was probably just a tick that just needed to explode and die from being too greedy.

Hiwatari decided at that time to walk into the living room wearing a ratty t-shirt and faded plaid pajama pants. I couldn’t hold back my laughter at seeing him so…so…

“Now I know Emiko taught you better!” Kazama called.

“I can dress myself perfectly fine when I choose to, but there’s no one I need to impress here, and I want to be comfortable in my own—goddammit, Harada-san. Stop laughing!”

If he didn’t need to impress me, then Hiwatari probably didn’t see me as anything more than a good friend. And anything that reassured me about the platonic nature of…whatever the hell this was, comforted me. Even though our interactions hadn’t changed much from high school, they didn’t carry any extra meanings.

Consciously, anyway.

Eventually, I calmed down, and the three of us had dinner. Kazama’s cooking was delicious: much better than anything Hiwatari and I could make even if we cooked together. And when we finished eating, queued by the end of a hilarious story about Hiwatari as a child, Kazama said he had plans and left the apartment, leaving me and Hiwatari in charge of the dishes. And it gave me space to breathe from Kei’s look-a-like.

“God,” I gasped as I stacked the dirty plates. “He’s, um, something.”

“It’s a shock, isn’t it?”

“Yes!”

Hiwatari laughed as he stood at the sink, ready and waiting for the dishes. “You’re not the only one; it took everyone a while to finally get used to him when he started visiting Azumano.”

“I can imagine. That’s not a personality we’ve come to associate with that face, but he’s on par with Kei with that presence of his.”

He laughed again as I handed him the first set of dirty dishes. Thankfully, nothing occurred while we cleaned up, and we eventually migrated to the sofa once we finished. Hiwatari placed two of cups of scotch on the low table in front of us, and I cautiously eyed him as he took his first sip.

“Is there something wrong, Harada-san?”

“…I’m not going to see that side of you tonight, am I?”

“I guarantee you won’t. It takes more than this to get me to that point, so don’t worry.” He took another sip and sighed with content, like an old, successful business man. I almost expected him to surprise me and pull out a pack of cigars to finish off the image, but he pulled out his cigarettes and lit one.

“Are you stressed?”

“I love Kazama, but his ‘damage control’ visits tend to be very…stressful. For everyone. He’s quite good at it, I suppose, but he takes those words far too seriously.” Before I could ask what he meant by that, he stood up and opened a window. “Enough about Kazama though. Sorry if I overstep a boundary, but you don’t seem too enthusiastic about your promotion. You’re one step closer to achieving your dream of becoming a news anchor and, knowing you, you’d be more excited about it; your coworkers’ attitude wouldn’t even bother you.”

I frowned at him bringing that up before taking a sip of my drink. Yikes. That was strong and disgusting. Hiwatari shot me a look, probably offended by my instinctive reaction. “Okay, wow. That was something. And um, yeah. I appreciate your bluntness but, uh, you bringing that up is kind of stressing me out more than your uncle right now. Are you sure you’re not the one on damage control right now?”

“Sorry. Um…” Hiwatari Satoshi, reduced to a bumbling mess. What a sight to behold. “I was just concerned. And, if I were on damage control, you and I both know we wouldn’t be talking about your job.”

I groaned. “Can you guys just let me leave it in the past? Please?”

“I’m just warning you about Kazama should you ever find yourself alone with him. Trust me. He’s going to find a way to bring it up one way or another.”

I gulped down the scotch, coughing as it burned down my throat: the epitome of the taste of regret. No one told me that an innocuous invitation for dinner could possible lead to me getting burned and grilled by Hiwatari’s uncle as the coup de grace to this awful day. Granted I couldn’t have possibly known when I had accepted it, but still!

Shit!

“Harada-san, I’m offended that you’ve disrespected my drink twice already. But must you treat it like a shot? It’s meant to—”

…

Growing up, I knew I wanted a job that would make me famous. I had this huge obsession with becoming noticed in the world that I set my sights on stardom.

The attempts I had in child modeling and acting, despite my talent for it, fell short when many of the gigs that would propel me to the public’s eye required long stays in Tokyo that neither of my parents had the time to allot for. (And, frankly speaking, my father thought was nonsense.) I wasn’t limber enough to get anywhere in dancing, and my singing voice with its normal timbre and average range would only land me a semi-regular gig at a café or bar at best. Whatever attempts I had with playing instruments or creating art failed because I didn’t believe in practice, only perfection at first try, and I hated sitting down for such long periods of time. And so, after turning on the TV and watching the news that one fateful day, I set my sights on becoming a news anchor.

It was a dream that carried me through middle and high school, eventually landing me at the prestigious University of Tokyo. However, after deciding to double major for both the extra experience and added job security, I found myself enjoying Japanese Literature more than Journalism.

So much so that I wondered why I decided to intern at new stations instead of publishing companies. Maybe I was so transfixed on carrying out my childhood dream to its end that I became oblivious to how much I had changed.

This certainly wasn’t the first time my attachment to the past had sent me down a path I didn’t think was the right one to take. And if I only continued to stay in the past, it was no wonder that I kept losing sight of my present, hindering the future full of opportunities I couldn’t see.

…

When Kazama returned, Hiwatari had just finished drinking the scotch he poured for me. Honestly, I preferred having a beer or a fruity cocktail whenever I drink, so Hiwatari procured a can of beer for me before graciously indulging in my portion. By this point, he had gotten somewhat talkative and disturbingly smiley, and his intermittent giggles started to terrify me, so I was glad for Kazama’s arrival.

“It’s about time for me to head out,” I said as I started to stand up. “Thanks for having me over.”

“You’re welcome.” Hiwatari placed the crystal glass on the table and stood up, stretching his arms. “Let me—”

“I’ll walk her back, big boy.” Kazama offered. “You go sober up and get some rest. You’ve got work tomorrow!”

Hiwatari hesitated, probably worried to leave me alone with Kazama. But he complied, maybe realizing that there was no way he could help me weasel out of this, bidding us goodnight (and offering me an apologetic smile) before disappearing into his room.

Me and Kazama? What could possibly go wrong as I leave the boiling pot, only to find myself in the frying pan?

Kazama offered me a polite smile, probably out of courtesy before tears me apart. “Well then, shall we?”

Nodding, we left the apartment for the cool, evening air that only got colder with Kazama next to me. He started the conversation easily, making small talk that obviously skirted around his true intention. Only when we reached a stoplight did he shoot me yet another polite smile, so eerily close to Kei’s, that it sent shivers down my spine. And, from my experience with Kei, I knew that this was a precursor of great doom for me.

“Would you like to grab coffee with me?” he asked. “There’s a café called Mizuame de Noisette that I wanted to try.”

“I, um, don’t like coffee all that much.” I cautiously replied. Why the hell did he want to invite me to that specific place? Did he know?

I scanned his expression, but I couldn’t discern anything from that stupid smile on his face. He was waiting to strike, and I knew exactly what he would do from Hiwatari’s well-meant warning earlier, but I didn’t know how badly this viper’s bite was. Nor did I want to find out that day. Or ever, to be honest, but this was inevitably going to happen because old men liked to dig their nose into my business with Hiwatari.

What a fate.

“Then perhaps tea?”

“I’m trying not to spend too much this month.”

“My treat.”

“Honestly, I just want to go home right now.” The light turned, and we started walking. “Stop trying to invite me somewhere, and just come out with it.”

He let out a hearty guffaw. “I like your spunk! So, I’m assuming you know why I’m here then?”

“I have a vague idea, so what’s your deal with me?”

“Oh, I’m sure you know all too well. I actually don’t like you all that much, Harada Risa-san. You’ve done enough to Satoshi, and you decide to crawl back to Azumano for no particularly compelling reason and literally break my perfectly functional nephew with just the sight of you. And please don’t give me that victim bullshit; you’re not the only one who suffered from the consequences of your fever-induced kiss.”

I shot Kazama a look. God, he was even more like Kei than I thought. Scratch that. Kei was an angel compared to this fire spewing demon. I didn’t realize that this was what that bubbly personality was hiding.

“Don’t you dare scold me right now,” I growled. “Just get to the damn point because I barely know you, and you’re meddling far more than I’m comfortable with you doing.”

“You and Satoshi are like Cesium and water: contact with each other not only causes an explosion but also breaks everything surrounding the two of you. There was no need for you to come back; you literally ruined the equilibrium that everyone you left had finally reached. You deserve whatever loneliness you feel when you’re here because you no longer have a place here.”

“Fuck. You,” I snarled. “I left my family and friends here to try to move on with my life! Did you think I wanted to do that?! Todai be damned; if it meant that I could finally feel at home here, if it meant that I didn’t ever have to leave so that no one would find out and be torn between two sides, then I would happily trade my degree in for that peace of mind. I was so, so miserable in Tokyo, and I wanted come back home despite Hiwatari-san’s presence because I deserve to be happy, even if that meant having to finally face the consequences of my past decisions. And if I’m going to have to put work into these relationships, then so be it, but I don’t need some hotshot lawyer who knows jack shit about me saying that I have no place in the town I grew up in!”

Kazama laughed again, but that only made the anger festering inside me grow. “Feisty! Kei warned me about that but—”

“You didn’t think I’d be a total bitch? I’ve had an awful day and you, smarmy bastard who has no fucking right to smear me like that, decide that the best thing to do is to provoke me about this. I understand your belligerence, but this is just a prime example of why I never wanted people to find out. And for god’s sake, grow up and act like an adult instead of throwing this hissy fit and solely blaming me for something your ‘oh-so-perfect’ nephew has equal fault in!”

He went silent, hopefully reflecting on what I’d just said. I expected an apology or some snide comment about respecting one’s elders, especially after I had just blown up at someone older than me, but he wouldn’t relent on this damn topic. Was he just hell bent on pissing me off to the point where I might act on that niggling thought to push him onto the road, timed perfectly so that a passing truck would squish him into oblivion?

“You know you’re going to have to tell everyone about your not-so-secret secret if you’re going to open up to them.”

“I’m aware, and that is a bridge I will cross when I get there.”

“This is probably one of the worst decisions both of you have made to date.”

“You’re preaching to the choir here.”

“You two are bound to make the same mistakes again.”

“Maybe so, but people learn from their mistakes.”

We had finally turned onto my street, and I had never been so happy to finally see my house looming by the cliff since I had arrived. I quickened my pace to get away from this man who, honestly, was worse than Kei. Genuine or not, at least Kei was nicer and meant well.

“You two finally learned the important art of communication!”

“Oh, shut your—what is that?”

In front of my house, so close to escaping the company of this rancid man, Kazama pulled out a necklace from his pocket. An intricately decorated pendant depicting a blue bird in a cage hung from a delicate chain, but I shot him a look of both confusion and disgust instead of enjoying the jewelry’s craftsmanship.

“Hikari artwork.”

“Should you really—”

“It’ll do you better than the one Kei gave you. I was originally supposed to give this Satoshi, but you clearly need it more than he ever could right now.”

“Thank you,” I bitterly said.

He stuffed it into my purse before walking away. “Have a good night, Harada-san.”

“I hope you get run over by a truck.”

…

The rest of that week, after my terrible conversation with Kazama, was pretty uneventful and light-hearted outside of work. Takeshi visited me during lunch every day, bringing along Daisuke, Riku or Ritsuko if they were able to drop by. “To make up for the Chief’s absence,” Takeshi explained as if me, him, and Hiwatari had become some important lunch trio. The lunches were lovely though, minus that one time Takeshi only brought Ritsuko and they fought the whole time.

To make up for Hiwatari’s absence during lunch (which other furthered my question as to how the three of us having lunch together became a thing), he would invite me over for dinner. I tried turning him down whenever he said Kazama would be in, but Hiwatari promised that he’d made sure his uncle was on his best behavior, so I somehow endured relatively normal and tame evenings at Hiwatari’s apartment either alone with him or with Kazama’s added company. How that man effortlessly hid his nastiness behind that stupid, laid-back demeanor of his was beyond me.

And work? I didn’t realize that each and every day would amount to the same amount of stress caused by completely different things. One day it was the people. Another day it was the broadcast itself. No matter how much I tried to get everything under control, whether it be kissing up to my team or asserting myself to prevent the mayhem from getting out of hand, something would slip through my fingers and proceed to wreak havoc.

The night before Riku and Daisuke were going to fly out to Zurich, (also conveniently the night before Kazama would finally return to Tokyo) my parents decided to hold my celebratory dinner for my promotion. Takeshi, Akane, and Ritsuko all had plans that evening, and Kazama thankfully had a fun-filled night at the Niwas in store for him, so it would just be me, Hiwatari, and the couple along with my parents.

This was totally an ideal set up. Not.

While running errands that afternoon, I conveniently bumped into both Daisuke and Hiwatari, both equally frazzled in the midst of their own errand runs. (Ms. Emiko strove for absolute perfection as a host whenever guests came over, and Hiwatari only had the time and energy to perform these stupidly trivial tasks during the weekends.) We embarked on a grand adventure across Azumano, knocking off item after item on our own respective to-do lists until we arrived at the Harada mansion: our final destination.

I opened the door, greeted by the sound of clinking dinnerware and the lovely smell emanating from the kitchen. Hiwatari and Daisuke parked themselves in the living room while I headed to the kitchen to tell my family that I was back. It was empty but impeccably clean, the way my mother always wanted it, so I headed over to the dining area to see Mom and Riku plating the table. Dad stood in front of the wine cabinet, perusing our selection before deciding on several different white wines. He turned around to see me, offering me a kind smile, while Riku and Mom talked amongst themselves, grumbling about placement as they kept moving things around.

“Risa…”

Mom and Riku looked up, frazzled, before they shot me smiles as well. My mom returned to busying herself while Riku came over to me and pulled me into a hug. “Congrats, sis.” She let go of me before holding my shoulders. “Sure, your job may not be as snazzy as the one you had back in Tokyo, but it’s still reason to celebrate!”

I pouted, but Riku laughed before urging my mom to come over to me while she fixed the table, nearly undoing everything my mother had done.

“I’m so proud of you,” she said, smile gentle and eyes shining before pulling me into a hug. It felt awkward at first, but I relished in it shortly after. And when my father returned from calling our guests over, he joined in as well, and I saw Daisuke, Riku, and Hiwatari behind us with knowing smiles as if sensing how much this meant to me.

Daisuke and Hiwatari sat next to each other, the former also next to Riku and the latter next to my dad, while I chose a seat between my sister and my mom. Dinner felt like a scene from those American holiday movies, feeling simultaneously homey yet foreign at the same time. I still felt slightly out of place amongst the conversation, hearing anecdotes of events I never knew occurred, of topics that required background knowledge, gained from first-hand accounts or lofty rumors, that I didn’t possess, and the familial setting imposed upon me had made it exceedingly clear that I had been displaced, and I couldn’t help but have Kazama’s words echo inside my mind every time I had to force a laugh.

Once we finished dinner, Riku and my mom dismissed themselves from the table only to return to with gifts. Daisuke and Riku gave me a matching journal and pen set while my parents gifted me a large, fashionable designer purse that I could use for work. Hiwatari didn’t have anything for me, but all the free meals he’d been treating me to that week were more than enough.

My parents left shortly after the gift exchange since they had made plans to see Kazama at the Niwa’s, leaving the four of us left to clean up. Daisuke and Hiwatari tided up the table while Riku and I washed the dishes. I could hear Hiwatari shooting terrible joke after terrible joke at Daisuke, embarrassing the poor man who didn’t need his good friend to make fun of his plans to propose to Riku soon.

“They’re ridiculous,” my sister muttered as she scrubbed the dishes.

“Leave them be. Unless you’re jealous, of course.”

“Me? Jealous of Satoshi? Risa, you must be out of your mind.”

I laughed as I dried the dishes, sorting them out so that it’d be easier to put them back. There was something soothing about this monotonous activity, and I was glad that it had gotten my mind off of dinner.

“So, how was the food?” she asked.

“Absolutely delicious. Thank you!”

“You’re welcome!” She handed me a plate. “You know, Mom and Dad are trying. They just don’t know how to approach you, especially considering how you were when you left.”

“I know. And I’m grateful for it, really.” I forced a laugh before placing the dry dish in its respective stack. “Doesn’t feel like we’ve gotten anywhere though.”

“Well, it can’t be a one-sided thing, you know. You have to try, too.” She handed me yet another plate. “It wasn’t easy for me either when they decided to barge back into my life after being practically non-existent for our childhood. ‘Family’ was contained in our Sunday brunches, formal and habitual just like mass: present and relevant for an hour only to be forgotten for the rest of the week until Sunday came around again. They nagged at me to do this and not do that, to strive to be exactly like the prodigal daughter who went off to Tokyo despite being an emotional wreck instead of dutifully playing the role of a smitten girlfriend.”

“No…”

“Yup,” she chirped. “We fought a lot in the beginning, going around in circles and arguing about the same things over and over again, but it helped to clear out the air, and we started to get better. Granted, I have a six year head start, but you’ll get there eventually. And you’re starting out on a civil note with them, so it can only be smooth sailing from here! I’m sure it’ll be a breeze compared to you and Satoshi!”

Riku, how could you bring him up in the midst of talking about our parents? I’d rather talk about them than him on any day!

“Honestly, I was so worried about you two going off to Vienna, but I’m glad it worked out for you!”

If you meant having him confess he was in love with me, us vigorously avoiding that he brought it up by coping with humor, and getting grilled at Kazama for even bothering to fix things with Hiwatari as working out for me, then sure! I was perfectly peachy.

“The two of you looked so pained that month before our high school graduation, but you two were bickering over the silliest topics over dinner that it felt like nothing changed. And if you could patch up whatever happened between you and Hiwatari, I feel like anything’s possible!”

I appreciated Riku’s vote of confidence, but I wished she’d used something else to reassure me. Anything was possible because everything had changed. My relationship between Hiwatari, while fundamentally identical on the surface, was inherently different. My parents were making an active attempt to make up for their lack of presence in my life growing up; Daisuke was planning on proposing to Riku in the coming week; I actually enjoyed Takeshi’s company: everything was different. Years had passed and, sure, some things haven’t changed, but the past was out of reach. And no matter how much we worshipped those nostalgic, rose-colored days, they were gone. I could never go back to them, thankfully, and nor did I wish to.

I wanted to be free from them, and yet it had become some arbitrary gauge to determine how “stable” Risa was. And I knew Riku meant well, but the intersection of my past with my present terrified me more than anyone could understand, more than I even wanted to admit to myself.

“…but everything has changed,” I mumbled, kind of hoping that Riku wouldn’t hear and kind of hoping she would.

“Well, yeah, but isn’t it nice to see things that have lasted the test of time and distance? It makes us think that there’s such a thing as a forever, huh?” Riku laughed. “Look at me getting all mushy! I probably had too much wine to drink.”

She went back to talking about our parents, laughing about something hilarious they had done on a Christmas morning during my absence, while I listened and laughed along, forcing myself to solely focus on the task at hand.

Forever, huh?

…

Riku and Daisuke had already retreated to her room for some alone time, leaving me and Hiwatari downstairs, drinking beer and watching dramas. While Hiwatari winced at every romantic cliché that popped up, I relished in each and every single one of them, breaking Hiwatari down until, he too, shed his repulsed demeanor and turned into the helpless sap he had admitted, on several occasions, that he was.

Once the credits rolled, playing a super catchy theme song, I let out the laugh I had been repressing. Hiwatari shot me a frown.

“Had I known you would laugh at me, I would not have let you see me like this.”

“No, thank you.” I tried to control my giggles, but they wouldn’t stop. “The great—ha—Commissioner Hiwatari—ha ha—turning into emotional putty at an excessive shot of the main couple l-lovingly staring into each other’s eyes!” I let loose, curling up into a ball to ease the pain of laughing too hard while Hiwatari just looked on with judgment.

I apologized once I had calmed down, still in awe at the karma returned to Hiwatari from needlessly heckling me about my romantic daydreams, but he still had that expression of disgust on his face. He quickly eased into an entertained smile, and I wondered just how hard it was for him to feign being upset with me.

“I’ll be driving Daisuke and Riku to the airport tomorrow morning and Uncle Kazama to the train station if you’d like to come with,” he started before turning off the TV.

“How early are you taking them to the airport?”

“Extremely.”

“I’ll pass. I don’t want to accidentally spill Daisuke’s plan in a 4AM stupor.” Hiwatari nodded. “But I’ll accompany you to drop Kazama off. I’ve got some choice words for your uncle.”

“Sorry. I should’ve stopped him.”

“Don’t worry about it. He would’ve done it sooner or later, I’m assuming, so it would’ve been pointless to delay the inevitable.”

He nodded before smirking. “So, how awful as he when he walked you back?”

“Worse than Kei who is actually a sweetheart compared to that nasty devil. He tried to lure me to my favorite café to go off on me! I eventually forced him to grill me on the streets so that he wouldn’t taint my favorite place in Azumano with his rude-ass self, but still! I get it! You love our nephew and, second to Krad and everything pertaining to the Hikari curse, I was the Worst Thing to have ever happened to him, but I’m human, too! Damn!”

It was Hiwatari’s turn to laugh now. How dare he have the audacity to laugh at my pain! “More damaging and controlling than actual damage control?”

“Yes! Could the hotshot, biker of a lawyer keep that behavior contained inside of the courtroom, please? Yeesh.”

“I warned you that he was overbearing.”

“That’s an understatement. Riku is overbearing. But Kazama is—I have no words to adequately describe him. No wonder he stresses you out.”

“You have no idea. He literally screamed at me until I told him about you. And when I finished, he continued screaming at me because I had hurt you so much.”

We both laughed at the image of Commissioner Hiwatari, a genius, fledgling adult in charge of a whole precinct, being screamed at like a child who had just shit their pants or something. I couldn’t fault Hiwatari for having a smoke when I visited the day Kazama arrived; that crazy man was too much for a single person to house for a week.

“So…Kosuke and Kei found out about us through their deductive abilities. As did Grandpa Daiki, I’m assuming, if my last interaction with him is anything to go by, and Kazama forced it out of you. Hiwatari, I was under the impression that this was top secret considering that I’ve never told a soul about it.” I looked at him, cutting the levity in the room with the serious tone of my voice. “Who else knows? And please be truthful here. I promise I won’t get mad. I just don’t want to keep having the rug pulled out from under my feet.”

He bit his lip, averting his gaze away from me. “Do you want to know the reason why I’ve been banned from excessively drinking around other people?” Oh no. “After Daisuke had turned twenty, I had invited him out for drinks and gotten so drunk that I talked about everything that happened between you and me.”

Goddammit, Hiwatari! I didn’t need to know that you were the type of drunk to spill your dirty secrets! Nor did I want to find out that it was Daisuke on the other end of it. I mean, I wasn’t surprised, but that was hitting way too close to home. One wrong move on Daisuke’s part and Riku would find out, eventually telling my parents and—nope. I did not want to entertain that thought.

“I made him promise not to acknowledge it ever again, so please don’t worry. Or try not to worry,” Hiwatari explained. “Takeshi also knows a little bit, but not enough to be a huge problem. Harada-san, please, you look like you’re about to faint.”

“I’m trying not to,” I said. “But thank you for telling me.”

We heard footsteps and turned to see Riku and Daisuke heading down the stairs. The former caught Hiwatari’s attention to confirm tomorrow morning while my eyes met Daisuke’s briefly.

“What’s up, Risa?”

“One wrong move, and you’re dead to me.”

…

Hiwatari and I followed Kazama to the tracks. The older man had his leather jacket precariously hanging off on shoulder. His suitcase stood next to his slim legs decked in a nice pair of skinny jeans, and he had a smirk plastered on his face: the perfect image of a douche bag.

“Didn’t expect to see you here, Harada-san.”

“I just wanted to wish misfortune upon you back in Tokyo, however that would manifest itself for you.”

Kazama laughed before patting Hiwatari on the shoulder. “Just let me know if you need me.”

“I will.”

Kazama then returned to me, and I snarled at him. If he had anything rude to say to me, I’d push him onto the tracks.

“Harada-san, take care of him, will you? If I find out that either one of you hurt the other, you’re both getting it.” He flashed a smile. “Accountability’s important, yanno!”

“At least Hiwatari-san’s going down with me?”

Kazama only laughed before patting me on the head. “Sorry about our talk that night, Harada-san. I have a bad habit of overstepping boundaries in the moment, so I know everything I said was uncalled for.” I pushed his hand off, glaring at him for being overly familiar with me. “But you know? Both of you are trying, and that’s all that matters at the end of the day. Not many people can do what you two are doing, and that’s something to applaud. Really. It’s hard for people stick to their decision when they know the whole world will be against them for taking the road less traveled.”

The train had pulled into the station, and Kazama boarded, waving goodbye before disappearing into the cabin. Hiwatari and I stood there until the train pulled out of the station, leaving us to feel the sea breeze blow by.

“Maybe this was a mistake?” I innocently asked before looking at Hiwatari.

He just returned my gaze and shrugged. “Mistake or not, this is the path we’ve chosen. We can only move forward from here.”

“Do you think it’s a mistake?”

Hiwatari raised his eyebrow. “How I feel isn’t pertinent.”

“I’m not asking that. I want your honest opinion.”

“Then yes. I do. It’s illogical, and I feel like I’m setting myself up for an unfathomable disaster. You feel the same way, I’m assuming?”

“Yeah.” I let out a breathy laugh. “We’re such idiots.”

“I only have you to blame for dragging me down to your level.”

“Hey!”

#satorisa #dnangel #satoshi hiwatari #risa harada #My writing #fanfiction #lift the veil

3 notes · View notes

sixhours · 6 years

Text

Dreaming Hours

Author: 6hoursgirl Category: V Subcategory: MSR Rating: NC-17

A companion to Waking Hours; six vignettes from Mulder's point of view.

Mulder shuffles down the narrow corridor, every step an effort as he makes his way to her makeshift room at McMurdo Station. The windowless hallway doesn't hint at the time, but his body cries for sleep. The lingering trauma of his head injury, jet lag, and the effect of full-body exertion have left him bone-tired and weary.

But she's alive.

The thought moves him, draws him toward her like a moth to flame.

He knocks lightly, nudging the door open to find her curled on her cot. He doesn't mean to wake her, isn't sure what he would say if he did. The last sixteen hours are a blur of cold and pain, but he wants to see her—needs to see her—to convince himself it wasn't a dream, that they really clawed their way out of the bowels of an alien craft, only to watch it disappear beyond the Antarctic skyline.

Her eyes flutter open before he can steal away, realizing he's been standing in the doorway for what could be seconds or minutes or hours. Her very presence warps time, an X-File of its own, one he isn't yet brave enough to investigate.

"Mulder," she says. Her face is mottled, shiny from the ointment meant to soothe the frostbite across her cheeks. Her hair is matted, caked through with a yet-to-be-identified substance that wouldn't wash out in the shower.

She is still the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.

"Are we…going?"

He shakes his head, the gesture so painful he has to suppress a wince. "They're not expecting the plane for another six hours at least. Rest up."

She closes her eyes and nods, a testament to her exhaustion that she doesn't protest. Her voice cracks on each syllable like the weakened shell of an egg. "Stay with me?"

He takes a seat by the foot of her cot and tips his head back, resting it by her knee, a pose reminiscent of their first case in Oregon.

"Mulder…about before…I shouldn't have left—"

His head spins, he'll blame it on the angry red scab on his temple. "Don't, Scully."

"Listen to me—"

"You have nothing to apologize for. We don't have to talk about this now," he continues more gently, shifting on the concrete floor. He's not sure if he's more embarrassed about having tried to kiss her, or for lacking the presence of mind to think something as fleeting as a kiss could convince her to stay.

"Let me…finish," she says, unexpected strength at the ragged edges of her voice. "I shouldn't have quit. I was—"

"You have nothing to—"

"No," she says, and he can see her desperation as she leans up on one shoulder to look him in the eye. "I'm glad you didn't…let me off the hook."

He swallows his protest, a hard, bitter lump in his throat. Her loyalty is too much to accept, but he nods and reaches for her hand. She sighs and eases back onto the cot, satisfied the message has gotten across.

"We have a long trip. You should rest while you can," he murmurs. "I'll stay."

"Wake me…when it's time to go," she whispers, already drifting off.

Their breaths mingle in the stillness, but he can no longer sleep, heart thrumming with the miracle of her presence and the burden of his guilt.

They hadn't even been drunk.

Sleep-deprived, sure. High on the natural antioxidants found in black tea? That was a stretch. But she was naked in his bed, and neither of them were intoxicated, injured, or otherwise traumatized.

He hasn't dared close his eyes since she came to him, drifting into his bedroom like a hesitant spirit. If he closes his eyes, she'll fade away.

She'd be unhappy to know she's contributing to his insomnia, but watching her sleep is far more entertaining than staring at his reflection.

Her lips twitch and a furrow forms at her brow. Does she have nightmares? They've slept together once, and suddenly he doesn't know anything about her. He wants to wake her to ask what she's dreaming, what she's thinking. He wants to know everything.

He looks away, feeling like an intruder. Unwilling to be caught staring, he eases out of bed, pulls on boxers, and goes to the living room. The blanket he'd tucked around his partner's sleeping form is crumpled on the couch; he picks it up, bringing it to his nose. It smells like her; warm and sweet.

His stomach growls, reminding him that it's been several hours since he's eaten. He's reaching for the fridge when her voice, rich and low, carries into the kitchen.

"Looking for a midnight snack?"

"You spying on me, Scully?"

She chuckles. "Seven years, Mulder. If I'm a spy, I'm doing a terrible job."

"Or you're playing the long game. Work your way into my good favor, get me into bed, make me spill all my dirty secrets in a fit of post-coital transparency."

She arches an eyebrow in reply, and he shifts his weight, unable to hide what this exchange does to him. She's standing in his apartment at three in the morning wearing nothing but his t-shirt and the smug, satisfied look of a woman who knows exactly what she's doing.

"I, uh, think there's leftover Chinese," is all he can manage to say. "It's breakfast in London."

"A man after my heart," she murmurs.

Minutes later, they huddle over steaming plates of fried rice and orange chicken. She's curled into the corner of the couch, bare legs tucked underneath her, his shirt long enough to pull over her knees. There's orange sauce on her upper lip, and he resists the urge to lean over and kiss it away.

"Y'know, we never finished our conversation…before we…before I passed out," she says lightly. "And I don't think there are any wrong choices."

"So you're saying you believe in fate? That the outcome is inevitable?"

She shakes her head, chewing thoughtfully. "No. I'm saying that when we get to a point isn't as important as how we get there."

He watches her, momentarily lost in time, thinking of the how; seven years of signs, all of them pointing back to her.

"Oh, I didn't ask about your crop circles," she says, licking an errant grain of rice from her thumb. "What did I miss?"

"Nothing," he shrugs. "Kids with too much free time on their hands."

"I'm sorry it didn't work out."

"It did, though," he says, smiling slightly. "Just…not in the way I expected."

Understanding paints her face like the dawn, a gentle blush across her cheeks in the dim glow of morning. The future spills out in front of them like sunlight.

The sun has yet to peek over the horizon, not yet stealing into their motel room through cracks in the curtains, when he wakes to her fingers splayed on his lower abdomen, her mouth lapping at the sensitive skin along his collarbone.

"Feeling better, I take it," he whispers, a morning-rough voice that reminds him he hasn't slept. He should turn over and try to catch a few more hours, he'll be wrecked without it, but her hand slides lower and her tongue is worrying his earlobe, and he's already forgotten what he was going to say.

"Mmm," she purrs, intent on the task at hand.

He opens his mouth to protest, but five soft, tight fingers have already tugged down the front of his boxers and wrapped themselves around his cock. He pushes up into her fist involuntarily, barely suppressing a groan.

"Thought we had a rule about this."

"You want me to stop?" she teases, deftly stroking her hand along his length with just the right amount of pressure.

"God no," he gasps.

She brings him to the brink, circling the head of his cock with her thumb, sliding up and down until he has to push her away to settle the racing of his heart. He turns over, slipping open the buttons on her shirt as she settles back against the pillows. Her hair makes lazy red swirls against the crisp cotton, ivory skin against the arctic white of the sheets.

He returns the favor, letting his lips play along the line of her jaw, at the sensitive spot just behind her ear, before capturing her mouth in his. His fingers trail along her sides, her breasts swollen and heavy in his hands. She whimpers when his tongue scrapes the sensitive peak of a nipple, but shakes her head when he asks if he should stop.

He kisses the spot over her womb and has a blinding flash of intuition, and he knows—he knows—that something vital has shifted. It blossoms in his chest, faint hope pressing against his ribs. He smothers his words against the soft, sweet skin of her stomach. It's not possible. He can't drag her back into the darkness on a hunch, and their miracles are too few and far between.

The thought is lost in a pleasure haze as his mouth meets the juncture of her thighs, as her hands grip at his hair, fingernails scratching an erotic brand into his scalp. She tastes different, sweeter. The faintest sweep of his tongue along her clit renders her gasping, arching, hissing through her teeth. If he didn't know better, he'd think it had been weeks since she'd been touched. With the diligent thrust of his tongue between her legs, she comes, stifling her cries in the pillow.

"God that was—was—" she reaches for the words, the shock evident on her face.

"Shh," he murmurs, nuzzling his way back to her, his mouth skittering over the gentle swell of her belly, hips coming to rest in the cradle of her pelvis. She kisses him with a thirst reminiscent of their first time. Soon she's writhing underneath him, reaching between them to stroke his cock. "Need you," she gasps. "Now…"

"Easy, easy," he whispers, letting her guide him inside with a mutual groan of pleasure, shuddering at her soft, wet heat. He rocks into her at a languid pace, content to watch her expressions, her swollen lips open and inviting. He leans down until his chest is pressed to hers, hungry to taste her, to enfold and protect her from the inevitable harm that awaits.

She hums her approval into his mouth, the hollow of his throat, her breath coming in short pants as he feels her swell around him. She comes with a whimpering cry, muffled by his collarbone. The graze of her teeth against his skin and the shuddering contractions around his cock send him over the edge.

In the aftermath, he won't remember the strange and unspoken flash of insight, or the hope so briefly ignited inside him. He drifts off with her back to his chest, fingers absently tracing the curls at the juncture of her thighs before coming to rest over the gentle swell of her abdomen and the nameless beat of a second heart.

She's in the bathroom again.

It happens every night; he counts the seconds, and tonight he gets to somewhere in the six-hundreds before he throws off the scratchy blanket and meets her at the door.

She blinks, hiding her shock, a fleeting glance of fury buried from the moment she meets his eyes.

"Scully…"

It's been weeks, faceless motel to faceless motel, pseudonym after pseudonym. She only leaves the bed when she thinks he's asleep, but he never sleeps. The muffled sound of her keening is an abysmal lullaby.

Their son should be resting between them, but they only have a phantom, a ghost, invisible and impenetrable as steel.

He's blocking her way; she shifts left, he goes right.

"Scully, please."

"What?" she snaps. Her eyes go from dull, muddy gray to bright, angry blue. "Mulder, move."

He shakes his head. "Scully, we need…I need…"

"Sleep," she says. "We need to sleep."

"We won't sleep," he sighs. "We need to talk."

"There's nothing to say," she says, ducking her head. The line of her jaw pulses with unspoken rage.

"There's…everything," he insists, the words refusing to come. "I can't…we can't do this. If we're going to live like this—"

"This isn't living," she says. "It's nothing. Nothing," she spits, brushing his left side roughly as she squeezes between him and the narrow wall.

He grabs her arm, spins her around. "Scully, I need you to talk to me. It's been six weeks—"

"There's nothing to say, Mulder," she says, voice rising, eyes shimmering like the pavement on a hot day. "Everything is the same. Every day is the same, there is nothing to say, nothing to talk about that we haven't talked about a hundred times, and even if there were—"

She stops herself, clenches her fists.

"Even if there were, what?" he whispers, readying himself for a blow that doesn't come.

She wavers, barely restrained. "Just…let's go to sleep."

"No."

"Mulder—"

"No, Scully. I'm not losing you over this. I need you with me, I need to know you're—"

"I'm with you! I can't be anywhere else because I'm with you. What else do you want from me?"

There's a banging from next door, muffled voices yelling through the thin walls. "Keep it down!"

Mulder glares at the source before turning back to his partner. "I want…I want this to be OK."

She looks at him incredulously. "Things are not OK, Mulder. There is nothing even remotely OK about this."

"You think I don't know that?" he hisses. "I'm just trying to help."

"Our son is gone," she says, each word sharp enough to cut. "Gone. There is nothing you can do. There is nothing. We have nothing."

"We have each other."

The tilt of her head and the ragged rush of breath in and out of her lungs reminds him that it isn't true. It isn't enough.

The words escape before he can stop them, born of too many sleepless nights, of bitter resentment and despair. "You gave him up!"

The slap barely registers; the sound of her hand meeting his cheek, the sting at his jaw. He stares at her in dumb disbelief.

The knock at the door is like a gunshot in the aftermath.

Mulder glances through the peephole. "What do you want?"

"Just makin' sure I don't need to call the cops," the motel manager drawls, the threat ringing clear.

Mulder closes his eyes, clenches his jaw. "We're fine. Sorry for the trouble."

A long pause. "M'am?"

"Fine," Scully says. "Everything's fine."

Another heavy pause as they wait for the verdict.

"Alright then. But if y'all can't keep it down, I'm gonna have to ask you to leave."

"Won't happen again," Mulder says, catching Scully's eye. She nods in silent agreement.

He waits for the sound of retreating footsteps before reaching for their bags. Scully is already gathering supplies from the bathroom. They're packed and heading west within minutes, Mulder at the wheel, Scully curled in the passenger seat.

They drive the long road in heavy silence, until a glimmer of golden light spills over the horizon. When they've put another two-hundred miles behind them, Mulder pulls over at the side of a narrow desert road. He opens the door, unfolding his long legs and stretching away the hours.

He leaves the car and walks to the edge of the unending landscape. His cheek burns, marked by his own shame.

There's the creak of the car door opening behind him, footsteps in the gravel. Her arms come around his waist, face pressed to his back.

"He's gone," she whispers, so soft he almost doesn't hear.

He looks over his shoulder, catches a glimpse of her rusty, tangled hair. His voice is thick from the dry air and lack of sleep. "I know we wouldn't be here if it weren't for me. I know you…you did what you had to do," he murmurs.

Her fingers knot in the fabric of his t-shirt, and he feels her tears seeping through. He doesn't turn around for fear of what they'd have to face, but he can hold her, if only for a moment.

His hands find hers, stroking over the familiar ridges and valleys of her knuckles, the landscape of his heart cupped in the palm of his hand.

He'd planned this trip as a celebration of their freedom. Two weeks of white, sandy beaches and the warm blue waters of the Caribbean, and yet, something hovers over his partner like a black cloud. He can feel it when he sits beside her, when she barely shifts at his presence, instead staring off into the distance. It reminds him of a not-so-distant past, lonely motel rooms and endless desert highways.

They're supposed to have put that behind them.

He walks onto the balcony, perching on the lounge chair next to hers with his hands clasped between his knees.

"Hey. You lost the sun."

She looks surprised at his presence, as if she doesn't expect to find him here, as if they hadn't made love on that same chair not eight hours prior. "Hmm?"

Mulder gestures to the encroaching shadow. "You're in the shade."

"I hadn't noticed," Scully murmurs.

"Mm. I was thinking we could walk down to the beach later. See if the water's as warm as it looks."

"Sure," she says distantly. "That sounds nice."

He swallows, looks out at the rolling ocean, trying to see what she sees.

"I was reading the hotel guide—we can rent a rowboat and explore the bay," he says, attempting to draw her into conversation.

She shoots him a look. "The last time we rented a boat, it ended up at the bottom of a lake. They docked our pay for six months."

"This is a much smaller boat, Scully"

"That's supposed to make me feel better?"

"C'mon, Starbuck. I thought you were the sailor."

"You're thinking of my father."

"No, I'm most definitely thinking of you. I don't think your father would fit into that skimpy little outfit I saw in your suitcase, either."

She forces a smile but doesn't take the bait.

"What's wrong, Scully?"

It's impossible to tell what she's thinking on the best of days, but today her eyes are hidden behind dark glasses, her brow shaded by the wide brim of a hat. At first he doesn't think she'll speak up; when she does, her voice is flat.

"He didn't make it."

"Who?"

"Christian."

He swallows hard.

"He passed in his sleep," she continues. "I got the call Wednesday night."

They'd left Thursday morning. "You didn't say anything," Mulder says. "Why?"

"There wasn't anything I could have done. His parents aren't pressing charges, but they didn't want to see me. Father Ybarra suggested I take the time off. We'll discuss the consequences when I get back."

"Consequences? What, like—"

"It was a risk. I knew that going into it," she frowns, toeing at the sand. "It's done."

"The parents signed a waiver, right?"

She nods. "But I went against the hospital board. And I don't think I could stay there even if they weren't planning to fire me."

The injustice burns in his chest, but he bites the inside of his cheek. "Hey, it'll be alright. We don't need the money."

"He was twelve," she says hollowly. "A boy. He didn't deserve—"

She doesn't finish. Mulder reaches over to take her hand, to touch her through the fog. "You did what you could," he whispers.

She shakes her head and pulls her hand away, a tear sliding from beneath the dark shades. "It wasn't enough."

It seems too bright to be discussing this; the sky is offensively blue, the sea a perfect turquoise against the white sand beach. No amount of darkness should be able to touch them here.

"Scully—"

She swipes at her eyes, then gets up, signaling the end of the conversation. "I'm going to get a drink. Want anything?"

You, he thinks. Our son.

He follows her to the kitchen, watches as she pours herself a glass of wine. His new passport lays open on the countertop, but the face glaring up at him is unfamiliar. It's been years since he's had a form of ID that wasn't forged and delivered in a plain manila envelope with no return address. The man on the sleek plastic paper is old, weathered—a far cry from his younger self.

The lines around Scully's eyes and mouth tell a similar story. Without the glasses, she looks tired. She leans against the counter, sipping her wine. There's a sigh, as if in resignation, before she squares her shoulders and forces a smile. With the gesture, her mask falls firmly back into place.

"We should be celebrating," she says. "Take me out, Mulder."

Something in the back of his mind cries for him to confront the ghost in the room, but outside, the warm water beckons. The prospect of smoothing sunblock onto his partner's naked back weakens his resolve.

"Why don't you put on that skimpy little outfit, and we'll go find that boat rental place?"

She puts down her drink and takes his hand. "Only if you promise no sea monsters."

Age has only served to worsen his insomnia, so Mulder is awake when she shows up on his doorstep on a Sunday morning just before dawn, carrying a tray of fancy coffee—hand ground, fair trade, and nothing like the Folgers crystals he buys in bulk.

"Scully…?"

"Can I come in?"

He steps aside, opens the door. She moves carefully, like a guest rather than the name on the deed.

"To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"I, um…I went out for coffee and got halfway back to the apartment before I realized I'd bought two."

He quirks an eyebrow. "So you drove an hour out of your way? It's probably cold…"

"If you don't want it—"

"No, no, I'm glad you came—thanks," he says, cursing his big mouth, reaching for the proffered cup and taking a long sip. It's lukewarm, barely palatable, but he'll drink the whole thing. Both of them, if she asked.

God, he's hopeless.

She watches with a mixture of hesitation and amusement, shrugging off her coat before taking a sip from her own cup. Extra cream, no sugar, he thinks. He knew her coffee order long before he knew what kind of underwear she wore, before he knew what color toothbrush she kept by the sink. That was a lifetime ago.

Lightened of the coffee, she stands by the table, eyes flitting about the room. He's suddenly glad he cleaned up yesterday. It never used to bother him that she was privy to his mess, but after she'd left…well.

A lot of things changed after she left.

She glances down, tilts her head in a silent question. He follows her gaze, realizes he's wearing his workout sweats, the knees stained dark with soil.

"Oh, uh, I was pulling weeds. The garden," he gestures outside to the overgrown vegetable patch.

"You never liked gardening."

"I don't. I mean, I didn't. But there's only so much running I can do at my age, and my therapist says it's good to keep busy," he shrugs.

"Ahh," she nods, ducking her head. They talk around these things now; therapy, co-dependence, the impossibility of them.

"Mulder, about the other night…I just wanted to say thank you. For being here," she says, and he can tell from the flush in her cheeks how much it took for her to come. Knows the coffee was an excuse, rather than a reason.

"I've always been here," he says, hoping he sounds kind, rather than bitter. He's not bitter, he realizes. It had taken them working together to see that.

She nods, sips at her drink, thinking. "I also wanted to apologize…"

"What for?"

"When I left…" she says, drifting off, not meeting his eyes. "I wanted you to know how much it hurt that you couldn't…stop searching. I wanted us to be enough, and when it wasn't…"

She trails off, and he waits, afraid to move for fear of breaking the spell.

"The hurt didn't go away," she murmurs. "It was still there, under all the resentment."

She bites her lower lip hard enough to leave a mark, the skin turning bright pink. The silence stretches out, winds itself around Mulder's ribs, makes it impossible to breathe.

"I thought—" she begins, but fumbles, hands betraying her as her coffee cup hits the floor.

"Fuck," she gasps. She drops to her knees, plucking the cup from the growing puddle.

"Here," he grabs a roll of paper towels from the counter. He kneels beside her and begins to wipe up the mess, studiously ignoring the way her shoulder brushes his and lingers. He's had a lot of practice at ignoring her proximity.

"I'm sorry," she says, and he knows she's not talking about the spill.

"Don't worry about it, I'll get the rest." He stills her hands with his own, the touch eliciting a careful in breath from her.

They stand, and she makes a show of brushing off her slacks. Her lip pokes out in a frown. She catches him watching, and he resists the urge to smooth back his hair, wonders if he has something between his teeth.

He clears his throat. "I can make a fresh pot."

"I'd like that."

He goes to the kitchen, finds the canister of grounds. He takes an inordinate amount of pleasure in measuring out a portion for two, and is reaching for the mugs when she speaks.

"I didn't know you had a copy…"

She's staring at something with such intensity that for a fleeting moment, he's envious, then guilty when he realizes she's holding the picture of William. He'd pulled it out after their conversation, suddenly desperate to see their son, to remind himself that the person they dreamed of was real, and not a shared figment of two troubled imaginations.

"Yeah," is all he can manage. "It's, uh, him."

Her face changes then, an expression so unexpected he wonders if he's dreaming. She smiles.

"I took that a few weeks before the adoption…he was so riled up that night, I couldn't get him to sleep. He wanted to play, he was talking…he always reminded me of you when he was like that," she says. "Once he got started, you couldn't calm him down."

"Babies don't listen to reason either, huh?"

"Not ours," she snorts, fingering the softened edge of the photograph. "No, I think he inherited a double dose of stubbornness. He came by it honestly."

"I wanted more," he says, surprising himself.

She looks up at him in disbelief.

"More kids. One more. If you'd wanted…once things settled…I mean."

"You never told me."

"I never…there was your residency and I wasn't…exactly, uh, legal," he says, rubbing at the back of his neck. "I guess things never really settled."

She considers this with something like curiosity and sorrow. "Would having another child have changed anything?"

He swallows. "It wasn't about that…about us. I mean, it was about us, but it wasn't…I wanted to be a dad. I wanted to be his dad."

This earns him a sad smile. "I know."

Something about the way she looks at him gives him hope. When the coffee has finished brewing, they sit at the table, the picture of William between them.

"Look, Scully…I can't let you take the blame. I should have said something when it mattered. Maybe if I had…you'd be here. And you wouldn't have to bring me cold coffee."

She smirks. "Well…this isn't so bad. I can think of worse ways to spend a Sunday morning."

When their mugs are empty and the conversation slows, she reaches for her coat.

"I should get back. It's laundry day, and I still have a stack of case reports to read. I'd forgotten how much of the FBI is paperwork."

He resists the urge to ask her to stay; tamps down on it, wrestles it into submission. "Oh, sure."

She lingers by the door. "Thanks, Mulder. This was nice."

He stuffs his hands in his pockets, nods as she's turning to go. "Hey," he blurts out, only faintly aware of what he's going to say before he opens his mouth. "What if we made it a date? Same time next week?"

She arches an eyebrow. "A date, Mulder?"

He swallows, a subtle heat creeping up his neck. "Not a date-date, just a—"

"Sure," she cuts him off, smiling. "I'd like that."

He returns her smile, feels the delicate burn of hope in his chest. "I'll have the coffee ready."

#oh look i wrote a thing #The X-Files #fanfic #my writing

208 notes · View notes

lsmithart · 4 years

Text

Research: Dream Dictionary Interpretation of Symbols

The importance of my exploration into the unconscious and its links with conscious existence is not necessarily to pin point the meanings of my dreams; as of course this is subjective. However I still felt it was important to explore this notion in response to the points I had taken from my dreams upon waking. There are many dream theorists who consider different meanings behind specific dreams. The main theorists in history are noted in my handwritten notes in a previous post. However I have found the most notable to be Freud and Jung. I attempted to read their books ‘Dreams’ and ‘The Interpretation of Dreams’ in order to reap specific symbols from them relating to my own dreams however, due to their structure, this was not possible. Instead therefore, I decided to focus my research into Freud and Jung’s theories about dreams and the unconscious, rather than trying to find out what their ideas are about specific symbols. Instead, I focused this aspect on the ‘Dream Dictionary from A-Z’ book by Theresa Cheung as this is designed specifically for looking up keywords and symbols. This book was also written in consideration of Jungian and Freudian theory.

As stated, the theory of the links between dreams and the unconscious is more pertinent to my practice at this juncture so I am not too concerned with incorporating their specific meaning just yet. However, I feel it is an interesting point of departure to consider what these dreams represent in the context of understanding the relationship, and ‘space’, between the conscious and unconscious self. As my work is always approached from an autobiographical perspective, the purpose of acquiring meaning and understanding of the unconscious voice is to allow for growth within myself which, in turn, allows for growth within my practice.

I have decided to tap into key words from the dreams whose themes are reoccurring or more prominent within my notes as I feel these are the ones that must represent the most important meanings that are being spoken by my unconscious. To do this, I am utilising ‘The Dream Dictionary from A to Z’ by Theresa Cheung. Cheung is a modern New Age writer and spiritualist who specialises in dream theory and symbols.

Tidal waves:

Water - a common association with the fluid of the womb and its role in evolution. An archetypal symbol in the dreamer’s emotional life. Also a symbol of the spiritual life force. Healing waters and spiritually cleansing. As the governing element of the Zodiac signs Cancer (my sign), Scorpio and Pisces, it is said to endow people with the feminine qualities of gentleness and changeability. Deep water are symbols of the unconscious or of being out of your depth. Strong winds creating a stormy sea - symbolism suggests you might be contemplating human emotion in general, with all its ebb and flow from rage to calm and rage again.

Tidal waves - “This frightening image can suggest that your personal problems have raged out of control and that your place in the world is uncertain and shifting.”

Tornados:

Symbolises emotional turmoil occurring in your waking life. Symbolic of verbal arguments, fighting and emotional tension in a relationship. The presence of tornadoes or hurricanes suggest that you are an extremely emotional person and that either you or those around you are prone to emotional outbursts. Alternatively, you may feel as if you are being swept along by forces that are beyond your control. It can also represent the power of your own passion or passionate belief.

Conflict:

Argue - “Indication that you are feeling conflict about some aspect of your life and that you are perhaps not releasing or expressing these feelings of conflict in your waking life.”

Anger - May express the tension between your conscious and unconscious urges. The aggressor in the dream will often represent the part of you that is demanding to be acknowledged.

Just missing something (late), e.g. a train, a lift in a car:

Cheung: Suggests you feel others are moving ahead of you and leaving you lagging behind. Can also symbolise frustrating at having missed an opportunity.

Being left behind:

Jung:

Freud:

Cheung:

Violence:

Any violence in dreams is a reflection of your own inner feelings about yourself and sometimes about the situation around you. Dreams about being attacked or being threatened may be a warning of an attack in waking life, e.g. on your integrity or character.

Dismembered body part - Indicates emotional and mental distress. Perhaps you are tearing yourself apart over something or someone. Half a body dream images suggest a lack of balance in tour life between your outer and inner life.

Pregnancy:

To dream you are pregnant is an example of wish-fulfilment. Pregnancy dreams if you are not pregnant suggest a yearning for unconditional love and acceptance. They can also indicate a period of waiting before the completion of a project. A new area of your personality or potential is developing or ‘hatching’.

Trains:

To dream of missing a train may suggest missed opportunities.

Losing things:

A dream if losing something important can suggest lost opportunities, past relationships or, according to Jungian analysis, forgotten aspects of yourself. Losing something suggests that you have become distracted in waking life and have lost sight of what really matters. What does the lost thing symbolise? It may be a symbol of something that is missing from your life that you never had in the first place. Try a free association exercise (write down 10 or so words that immediately come to mind in relation to that symbol) to decipher the lost object’s symbolism.

House from childhood:

The homes in which you once lived can become symbols of certain factors that shaped the person you have become. Houses in dreams often represent parts of your mind or personality.

REFERENCES:

Cheung, T., (2019). The Dream Dictionary from A to Z [Revised edition]: The Ultimate A–Z to Interpret the Secrets of Your Dreams. HarperCollins UK. Available at https://play.google.com/store/books/details?id=wtyxDwAAQBAJ.

#202

0 notes

allbark-nevada-blog · 7 years

Text

TASK #001 : CHARACTER QUESTIONNAIRE

What is their MBTI type?

INFJ

What is their moral alignment?

Neutral Good

What is their zodiac sign?

Aries

What TV tropes describe them?

Drama Queen, Little Girls Kick Shins (hahaha so tru), Deadpan Snarker. Idk I am sure there are more but I am bad at searching and they are lagging.

Which Hogwarts house would they be in?

33% Slytherin, 32% Gryffindor, 20% Ravenclaw, and 15% Hufflepuff (I honestly was not sure so I did a quiz)

What is their worst nightmare?

If you ask her then nothing. But honestly being forgotten about, being left behind or pushed aside. Nevada keeps everyone at arms length but wants more then anything to be accepted and her nightmare would be that never happening.

What is their favorite movie?

Uhhhh. I am so horrible at questions like this. Nevada really isn’t a big tv or movie person. She watches whatever is on tv for background noise when she finds it too quiet at the house but I honestly cant think of a favorite movie.

Do they have any treasured items?

Nevada had moved around so much in life she lost anything she original had. Nevada never really got attacked to items because they never stayed like people. Now her most treasured items would be her bed room furniture. When Nevada officially became a member of state pack she made a comment in passing on never owning a new bed or anything like that. The next day Delaware has bought her a brand mattress and Lanta was forcing her out the door to go shopping for stuff for her attic room. She has never treasured anything more then items she got that day.

Where would they fall on a politeness/rudeness scale?

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA Okay but like is this a real question? Have y'all not met my rude af bae??? Scale one to ten. One being not rude at all. Ten super rude. She is a fifty.

What is their favorite drink?

While Nevada loves pumpkin lattes her favorite drink is flavored sparking waters and what she drinks most. Pineapple is favorite flavor.

Do they have an recurring dreams?

Nevada doesn’t sleep much. She normally pass out when too exhausted too stay awake to avoid dreaming. For a while after she triggered she would have nightmares about the accident. She knows she woke up yelling a few times and is glad no one in the pack house mentioned it.

What is their clothing style like?

Jeans, flannel, light sweaters, plain t-shirts, leggings as pants, converse, and flats.

Are they a morning person or night owl?

Again Nevada doesn’t sleep much. She learned as a child she can survive well on four or five hours of sleep. Nevada will stay up late and normally wakes up early. Though if she doesn’t leave the house super early she will stay in her room or on the roof until mostly people have left or the morning rush has calmed down.

What is their guilty pleasure?

One Direction (she refuses to admit she liked them), anything pumpkin, and the Just Dance video game.

What is their favorite kind of weather?

Fall. Overcast or rainy. Cooler and darker weather.

Do they hate anyone? Why?

Nevada dislikes and distrust a lot of people but hate is just a lot of energy. The only person she truly hates is the fourth or fifth (she lost count) foster family she had. It was before she started acting out to much. The guy had a gambling problem and when the women started noticing money missing he blamed her and another foster kid of stealing. Nevada was sent to a group home for delinquents and was there for a few months before placed with another family. The group home was by far worse place she had lived and she still thinks of getting pay back somehow on that guy.

Can they remember much from their childhood? If yes, what fond memories do they have? What bad memories?

Nevada sadly remember everything from the age of five up. When she heard some people don't get memories back she was pissed she did. Nevada doesn't remember good memories though. Just the bad, pretty much because she doesn’t think there were any good memories.

Do they have any special diet requirements? Are they a vegetarian? Vegan? Any weird food preferences?

Nevada is the least picky eater. She wasn't given much say growing up just told to eat what was in front of her. It's rare for her to dislike or complain about anything food related. Which is shocking since she will complain about anything else.

Do they like musicals? Music in general? What do they do when their favorite song comes on?

Nevada thinks musicals are stupid but she would die without music. She almost always has music on in her room, lightly when others are home, much louder when she thinks she is the only one there. She always normally can be found with headphones in when she walks around too.

What’s their sexuality? What do they find attractive, physically and mentally? What do they like/need in a relationship?

Super demiromatic. Gray-asexual or asexual (honestly not sure but heavily leaning to straight up asexual). Nevada has never been in a relationship, never had a desire too. She never let anyone close enough to get romantic attracted to anyone.

For triggered wolves: how long does shifting typically take? Do they dread the pain of shifting, or look forward to the freedom of being in wolf form?

It takes Nevada normally around 17-19 minutes to shift. She hates every second of it. Dreading the pain much more then looking forward to the freedom. She doesn’t mind being in wolf form but hates the time to get there and get out of wolf form.

What are their thoughts about full moons? Do they have make any particular preparations, have any traditions?

Nevada luckily never had to deal with a full moon without the state pack. She hates it just as much as shifting, except at least she blacks out quickly on a full moon so she thinks it hurts less. She only follows the packs prep. Never does anything more for it.

What thoughts do the have on the existence imprints? Love them, hate them, indifferent? What are their feelings on their own imprint, or lack of?

Nevada doesn’t understand the point of imprints but she also doesn’t understand the point of relationships. She is glad she doesn’t have one. And is pretty sure she would be happy if she never got one.

Do they have any alpha blood?

Nevada knows nothing of her wolf blood line but no.

How often do they voluntarily shift?

Define voluntarily?? hahaha. Nevada shifts 2 to 3 times a week for training which she was told she had to do.

What is their favorite part of being in wolf form?

Nevada like the freedom that she feels once she has been in wolf form a bit and the pain has worn off. It clears her head more then anything else has.

Do they prefer wolf or human form?

Human form because even if she likes being if wolf form, getting there is to hard to make it worth it most times.

Do they prefer running in human or wolf form?

Neither? Nevada doesn’t care for running much either way but would rather in wolf form, mostly because running human form reminds her of gym class which she skipped a lot.

If they could create their own pack, what theme would they use for names?

Ummmmmmm. Wow this is harder then favorite movie question or tropes question. Maybe something like super villains to be a butt face? Or colors.

Which enhanced sense was the hardest to grow used to?

Does hearing people’s thoughts in wolf form count? Because that would be weirdest and having people be able to hear hers. Nevada normally says what she thinks and like instantly thinks things so it be bad.

#mstask001

2 notes · View notes

medproish · 6 years

Link

On a weekday waking up to fulfil the duties of daily routine is an exhausting and yawn punctuated process. Roll out from bed, yawn, into the shower, yawn, dress, coffee and run to the station to catch the 0733 train to Waterloo – miss it and stand in the rain for another 9 minutes whilst yawning. Life.

I am writing these seemingly bizarre words 32,000 feet in the clouds after being awake for 17 hours. The pretty girl to my left struggles to sleep like a restless kitten and the youth to my right is choking me with body odours I assume are similar those of a sumo wrestlers wedgie prone mawashi – I’m wide awake. Adrenaline has me on a high any classified drug prescribed by a doctor or street dealer could not match.

Porsche 911T Zaid Hamid

I woke up this morning, checked traffic reports and smiled. It was 4am – the roads were clear and Channel Tunnel trains to Calais were available in abundance. I tiptoed out of the house and immediately undid my ninja endorsed skills by starting the car – the Porsche Carrera T. The cold start sequence burst into life as the exhaust gurgled to clear its throat with a bass heavy mechanical drone. My stomach is empty, the fuel tank full. No time for a full English, there was fun to be had.

The T had been with me for a few days already and proved itself to be everything I had wanted a base Carrera with added magic to be. It continued to prove that despite downsizing, turbo charging, electric steering and other controversial penguin friendly innovations that the 911 can still be something remarkable that rightfully carries the baton that every other sport car manufacturer continues to chase.

I drove it in London traffic where there Guards Red paint grabbed attention with contrasting agate grey highlights and stickers boosted inquisitiveness. This ‘basic’ Carrera turbocharged 6-cylinder, 3-litre setup mated to a manual gearbox should be enough to have you salivating. Yes, the power and performance stats are modest in the batshit crazy world where hot hatches are senselessly bludgeoning one another to brandish the title of most powerful – mature, just like Nurburgring lap times.

At 365 brake horsepower an Audi RS3 and Mercedes-AMG A45 will have the T licked on power and 0-62 times. If you care about that, move your mouse to the top right corner of your screen and close this story now. This is not about power, stats or any figures for that matter. With the speed-freaks out of the picture we’re left with the so called ‘purist’. The people that care for how a car drives, not how it looks or how fast it is in a straight line.

Let’s talk about ‘purity’. Manual gearbox, thinner glass, no sound deadening, no back seats, no radio, no navigation, no USBs – hell, there are no door handles. Must be great for weight saving right? Erm, not really – limited slip diff, sports exhaust and Porsche Active Stability Management (PASM) dampers all in and you save…5 kilograms. Better pack your lightweight nomex underpants and gorilla glass sunglasses.

It seems that the Carrera T is not very fast, powerful or light – parameters that are key to a driver’s car. That is still not the point. To help me understand and articulate why Porsche glued a letter we haven’t seen since the late 1960s on the back of this car I went for a Sunday drive. A long one. Having been frustrated in London traffic for three consecutive days, the darkness, silence and emptiness of the 5am country lanes began to bring the T into its element. The balance, poise and exposure to the external environment is palpable. Sport+ on the Sport Chrono selector makes the car fizz, the exhaust shout and the turbo blare at high pressure. The electrically power assisted steering is remarkably eager, there is even a smudge of feedback. The thin glass heightens the senses as the intoxicating noises from the brawny exhaust, magnificent engine and debris pinging inside the wheel wells smelt into a cacophony of ecstasy.

The last time I had felt this much of a visceral tie-in with a car was in a purple 991.1 GT3 RS doing outrageous speeds on the open straights of the Abu Dhabi desert. Halve the speeds of that experience, chuck in a glorious manual transmission and the tangible connection to the T’s 1,500 kilograms of metal proved stronger. This is by no means a car to be compared to a Porsche GT product, those are different cars for different circumstances. The T makes it apparent that you don’t have to break every speed limit or be on a track to interact with a chassis and spawn an umbilical cord with a car. Every element is well judged – raw but not an assault on the body.

Prior to turning the key, and waking up the entire street’s inhabitants, including dogs, I sat and deliberated my route. This is something nostalgic that reminded me of my mother and father running their fingers along roads in an A to Z map book attempting to understand which way was up before inevitably getting lost and having an argument more animated than a Looney Tunes sketch. Google Maps is more composed and allowed me to plan a route that suggested three options to my final destination – Stuttgart, where I would say a sad farewell to the car I was becoming increasingly infatuated with. Option one would take me through the heart of speed hating and toll heavy France, option two via congested Luxemburg and the third longer than both but staying in France for the shortest time before heading into Belgium and into the Mecca of speed – Germany. The decision was not a difficult one.

Porsche 911 Carrera T Zaid H

English Channel crossed, boring French AutoRoutes navigated, co-driver collected, it was into Belgium where the T began to show a less than attractive trait and one that was not best suited to what would become a 1,000 kilometre, 11 hour drive – highway cruising. With the exhaust valves shut at the touch of a button things are not too eventful in the cabin. That is until the road surfaces start to deteriorate in quality. The issue is twofold as the reduced sound deadening does little to shelter the cabin from tire noise. The lack of speakers meant there was nothing to drown out monotonous hums and buzzes.

After a single fuel stop, and far too many toilet stops, Germany and the A61 provided welcome relief with smooth quiet tarmac. The benefits were also twofold as the grey striped white circular signs meant speed limits had surrendered themselves to the brute force of the combustion engine and the bravery of the driver behind the wheel. The Google Maps ETA began to tumble as the speeds built. As much as I pine on about the T not being about power, the German Autobahns are the perfect place to exploit such a trait and the 911 did not fail to impress with its 332lb of torque making power delivery strong throughout the rev range with little feeling of lag up to the vmax of 292km/h. This was not the natural habitat of the car but one it did not stumble at…assuming the road surfaces were kind.

With a flight to catch and a passenger with a strict curfew to be home for, there was not time to explore the more interesting ribbons and knots of tarmac as I had done before sunrise. As hour 11 and the 1000th kilometre ticked on the trip computer we crawled onto PorschePlatz and rid the T of the banana skins and water bottles we had emptied enroute to the birthplace of the car. The mix of a mild headache and severe exhaustion did not stop the farewell to SGO4030 being an emotional one as I trembled with adrenaline and my muscles ached. Such a car and a journey in a single day is an experience that will not be forgotten.

That is the point – this is a machine that is based on one of the most well rounded sports car in history and is greater than the sum of its parts. The removal of creature comforts brings things to life, everything is heightened and is many times more accessible than other cars I have enjoyed to such an extent. The power is usable, you can reach the peripheries of the cars capabilities with ease and feeling in control. There are adrenaline rushes induced by the desire to drive hard and feel the rush of the car coming alive at speeds on the roads that even a Carrera GTS would take in its stride with minimal fuss and drama. The Carrera T is a drama queen that makes a scene at every given opportunity.

As the kitten to my left and the smelly teenager to my right wake for landing, I feel that the Carrera T is misunderstood. That may be down to the rather strange pricing strategy – when speaking to the owner of the yellow 911T from 1972 it became clear that the original T was designed to maximise sales of the 911 and allow it to be a more accessible way to own a 911. The modern T should be the same.

Instead of allowing the seats, navigation, infotainment and other creature comforts to be added back in for free and pricing the car above the Carrera, the T should come as an entry point. That being said, this is a special machine that will have adrenaline junkies and drama queens, like me, excited and wanting to drive until the road runs out. This is what cars are about, for me the T is a trailblazer, an example of what can be done when manufacturers want drivers to be focused on what matters. There is beauty in simplicity and the beauty of the bare boned, no options Carrera T is something I will yearn to feel again. Keep your power, keep your statistics. Let’s drive for fun, not to boast about numbers we will never make real.

Let’s block ads! (Why?)

Source link

The post Special Report: 1000 Kilometers With The Porsche 911 Carrera T appeared first on trend views word.

#IFTTT #WordPress

0 notes

night-mtg · 7 years

Text

Sirus’ Origin: Crimson Honour

Run. Just run.

Don’t stop for anything. Not for blood, not to rest. Nothing!

Can’t stop. Not now. If I do, they’ll take me... Like my home village did Mother and Father so long ago.

OW!

Crap! Got a cramp! Great timing that. Gotta hide... There!

Sirus ducked behind a tree, gasping for breath. He peered from behind, watching a group of well-armed cathars speed by on horseback. He sighed, rubbing his left leg. Despite the over 200 years of experience, he still wasn’t used to long distance running.

“Damned cathars... Can’t leave me alone for more than a week. Then again...” He smirked. “I wouldn’t either.”

A few more minutes passed. Once again, Sirus looked from behind his tree. He sighed with great relief. Nothing and no-one in sight. He could get away easily and get back to the hideout without the risk of being killed. At least, that would’ve been the case had one cathar, a recruit lagging behind, not strode up right in front of him. He cursed under his breath, wiping a strand of black hair from his eyes. The cathar glared at him, taking out a crossbow.

“You move, I shoot.”

Sirus rolled his eyes. “Well that’s not a very creative threat, now is it? You lot really need to change it up every now and again to keep me terrified. I mean, you’re the fifth one to say that today. and I was bored by the second time.” Wisps of red started to form around Sirus’ hands.

The cathar pulled back his crossbow, training it on the vampire. “I’m warning you!”

He had failed to notice the red cloud leaking from Sirus’ hands up until that point. “What the-?” His question was interrupted by the feeling of his very soul being sucked out. The cathar struggled, firing the crossbow bolt into a tree, before falling to the ground, dead. Sirus chuckled.

“Idiots... Tasty, though.”

He beckoned at the cloud. It shuddered before being sucked back into his hand. The cathar had little knowledge of the major detail of what made Sirus a threat: his sangromancy. A bit of blood and mana, he could create a deadly red mist that, should it be necessary, drain the life force from any unfortunate soul caught in it. The catch was if it wasn’t reabsorbed, then it would dissipate. Let alone the cumulative effect of using the mist at all Too much use, and he risked exsanguination...

“ Stupider than simply biting them, but it gives me access to more victims at once...”

The sound of hooves pounding against the ground snapped Sirus from his thoughts. He turned and ran like hell, not wanting to get caught. After a bit of running, he found it: an abandoned fortress, formerly under the control of the Voldarens. The Falkenraths had since taken over for their own purposes in order to plan for the reclamation of Castle Falkenrath from the ever annoying church. He knew what his task was: whenever these meetings took place, he was to help guard the fortress. He thought he heard the sound of a twig snapping, but calmed down when he saw nothing. The droning of the Falkenraths inside failed to drown out the new sounds of a few cultists praying to demons of old.

Madness. Unadulterated madness. Makes the Emrakul shit and what happened with Markov’s pet project look sane.

Sirus drew his weapon: Bloody Glory, an iron broadsword that he’d been using for a long time. He’d forgotten how long he had it, or when he’d last sharpened it, but it did its job well enough.

The sound of snapping twigs confirmed what he had brushed off: there was someone else here.

“WHO GOES THERE?!”

No one replied.

“I KNOW YOU’RE THERE! SHOW YOURSELF!”

A nearby bush rustled, as a young man and woman emerged from behind it. The man had short scruffy black hair and simple clothing, but not anything native to Innistrad. The woman seemed to sparkle with the moonlight, even in the shade. Sirus snarled.

“Who are you?”

The man was taken aback by the vampire’s anger. “Whoa! Hey now. No need to be angry. Just calm down.”

The woman, however, smirked. “You don’t look so tough.”

Sirus glared at her. The man elbowed the woman in the ribs. “Altea, we don’t need him going off at as. If he does...”

“If he does, I’ll kick his ass,” she interrupted.

Sirus growled, lunging at the woman, whose name he now knew was Altea. “For your insolence, I’ll have your head.”

The man intercepted Sirus’ blow with his own sword, his eyes ablaze. “We don’t want trouble. Just. Calm. Down. Or it won’t be her head being taken.”

Sirus’ eyes glowed a dull red. “Fine...”

A hiss echoed throughout the area. The man was surprised. “What in the multiverse?”

Sirus didn’t know what this newcomer was on about, but he knew that hiss. “Voldarens... A lot of them.”

Altea laughed. “Perfect. New training targets.”

The man muttered, his eyebrows furrowing. “Great... Hate those uppity bastards. And Altea, I don’t think you could take on an army’s worth of Voldarens. Know somewhere safe?” He turned to Sirus. The vampire, taken aback by the fact they wanted his help, thought about it.

“Yeah. I know a place. Shadowgrange. Not too far. Come on.”

For the second time that night, Sirus ran for his life. His heart was pounding, his legs were burning, but he couldn’t stop. Not if he wanted to see the next sunset. The man and his partner followed close behind, the latter taunting the Voldarens. The small group was joined by a second man, who seemed to pop in out of nowhere. Sirus’ jaw dropped.

“Where the hell did you come from?!”

The first man looked to the second. “Ah, Jorge. Good to see you again.”

Jorge looked at his friend. “Same with you, Lotran. What exactly are we running from?”

“A hefty number of Voldarens.”

Jorge scowled. “Them again?”

Lotran nodded. “They always seem to know where we are when we come here.” Sirus was thoroughly baffled. He had no memory of seeing any of these people before, and yet they knew of the Voldarens and how much of a threat they posed.

Forget it, he thought. I’ll ask when we reach Shadowgrange.

When the quartet arrived in the village, they were all panting heavily. The townsfolk were, for the most part, able to ignore them. But what none of them knew was that one man was hiding. Watching. Waiting...

Sirus looked at the three strangers. “Ok. Now I want answers. Where did you-”

Lotran interrupted him. “Thank you for that. Hey, I never asked. Who are you?”

The vampire smirked. “I’m Sirus. Sirus Falkenrath.”

“Ah. Well, again. thank you, Sirus.”

Sirus was still curious about where these people came from. Altea looked at Jorge. “Do you think the Gods would be able to do anything here?”

Sirus looked at the woman. “Gods?”

“Altea, I don’t think the Gods have any influence outside of Theros.”

Altea frowned. Sirus had grown more confused.

“Theros? What are you on about?!”

Lotran smiled at the vampire. “You’ve never seen or heard of a planeswalker before?”

“Planes-what?!” Sirus’ curiosity was well and truly peaked. Lotran laughed at the confusion in his response.

“Planeswalker. You know, people who can traverse the empty space between worlds to go from one to another. All three of us are, in fact” The other two nodded, then went back on with their chat.

“I see. So you can go to other worlds. I don’t know whether to envy you for such a unique skill, or pity you as you can never really settle down into a normal life.”

Lotran chuckled. “I never said it was an easy life, did I?”

THUNK! THUD!

Screams echoed around the village as they watched a man on a balcony crash to the ground, a crossbow bolt sticking from his head. The four looked in the direction the bolt came from, Sirus locking eyes with the possible killer. The green eyes had a craziness about them. A familiar craziness...

“Lucius...”

Sirus only had time to say this as, with another THUNK!, a bolt found its mark in Sirus’ stomach. The others looked at him, each a little concerned. Sirus closed his eyes, thinking that he was about to embrace death as though it were a long lost lover. But, he had no such luck. Instead, it felt as though his entire being was pulled apart, atoms evaporating, cells vanishing into smoke, and a great burning sensation coursing through what remained of him. Sirus bellowed, but nothing heard his screams.

After what felt like hours, Sirus opened his eyes once more. He was somewhere he didn’t recognise. Great trees surrounded him, the ground thick with undergrowth. The only thing he knew was he was in a sort of forest. But... Where?

A pair of strange creatures, one male and one female, that looked like a mix of man and cat answered his question... Well, sort of.

“You trespass in the Anima’s land, strange one.”

“Anima? What are you on about?”

“Hazeer, he’s clearly not Nayan. He doesn’t know what you mean by the ‘Anima’.”

“All should know, Mair, whether they’re from Naya or Esper.”

“Esper? Naya? I’m... Very confused.”

The male scruffed Sirus. “Smart guy, eh? Let’s see you be smart when I throw you to a God!”

“Hey! Get off!”

The female looked concerned. “Hazeer... Leave him alone. The boy must be terrified.”

At least she makes sense, Sirus thought. Hazeer snarled, raising Sirus. The vampire thrashed about, frantically unleashing his sangromantic mist in the process. Hazeer laughed, then choked, then screamed, then went silent as he fell to the ground, releasing his grip on Sirus. The female panicked, then looked at Sirus. Judging by the frantic motions of his headand the look on his face, he was incredibly lost, scared, and confused. She took pity on him. Mair approached him. Sirus backed away.

“Please... Don’t hurt me.”

“Hurt you? Why would I?” She placed a paw on Sirus’ shoulder. “I won’t hurt you. Just trust me on this. My name, as you heard him say, is Mair. I’m a mystic. Who are you?”

“...” “Come on. Don’t be afraid.”

“... Sirus.”

“There. That wasn’t hard, was it?”

Sirus shook his head. He still didn’t know where he was, or what in the Heron’s name he was looking at, but it seemed logical to just shake his head.

“Good. Now, how about I take you to the tribe? The other leonin in particular will be most intrigued.” She started to walk away.

Leonin, eh? Probably what the species calls themselves, Sirus thought as he followed Mair deeper into the forest.

#fanwalker #mtg #fanfic #sirus falkenrath

0 notes