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pinonhallow · 12 days

Text

Episode 1.02

Chad rubbed his eyes as he walked into the brightly lit kitchen. It looked almost the same. The only real difference was that a few things had been updated over the years. The canisters containing flour and sugar were different, the fridge had been replaced, the walls no longer a pale yellow—instead now a creamy farmhouse white. The coffee maker now a Keurig, and the mug tree he had remembered existing all his childhood long gone.

12 years. He had been gone for 12 years. Some things felt very much the same as they had when he’d been a teenager. He searched through the cabinets, looking for the things he needed for breakfast.

He knew his father was already off at the DI offices downtown. His mother was probably at her morning Pilates class before going into her own office at the mall. His brother, well that was a mystery to him.

“We’ve got a great day planned, we’re going to go to the Valley Garden for a hike, then we’re going to go and get some paint samples because guys we’re going to set up a new streaming spot!” Kip Davis stopped, his phone he’d been using to record dropped to the ground, screen face down. “Chad?”

“Hey Skipper.” Chad looked to his younger brother, really taking him in. Of course he’d seen some of his videos over the years. He was hard to miss sometimes.

Kip slowly bent down to pick up his phone, thankful the screen hadn’t cracked. “What are you doing here?”

Chad pulled down a coffee mug, “Decided it was time to come home.”

“How long are you staying in town?” Kip gently put his phone down on the countertop as he went to the fridge. Why had no one warned him that his brother was back? Didn’t that at least get a text message? Apparently not.

“I’m not sure. I’m hoping to catch up with some old friends. I guess it depends on who is still around.” Chad put a coffee pod in the maker and selected the largest size. “I’m working on the next book.”

“More about Wick and Sketch?” Kip pulled a few prepared breakfast burritos out. “I read your latest one.”

“Wow it’s only been out a few days. I didn’t know you read my stuff.” Chad never really thought about his family, let alone his brother reading his books. “My publisher would like another book about Wick and Sketch, I’m just not sure that’s the story I need to tell.”

“Online chatter is pretty positive towards them thus far.” Kip told him.

Chad heard the coffee maker sputter with the last drops of his drink, “Skipper, how closely do you follow my books?”

Kip pulled his phone up, “Do you not know you’re trending on booktok right now?”

“I am? Wait, what is booktok?”

“You really don’t use a lot of social media, do you?”

“I have a blog on my website, and there is a Facebook page my publisher has me post to once in a while.”

“No Twitter/X, or TikTok, or Instagram?”

“No, none of that.”

Kip chuckled, “Wow, you really don’t know anything about social media.”

“I write books Kip. I focus on that, not getting distracted online.”

“Is that all I am, a distraction online?” Kip unwrapped the breakfast burritos and put them on a plate.

Chad shook his head, “No, but that’s what online and social media is for me. A distraction. If I get distracted, then I don’t write. If I don’t write, I can’t pay my bills.”

“We have trust funds.”

“And I haven’t touched mine outside of paying for college.”

Kip nodded, “I haven’t either. Mom doesn’t believe me, but Dad helps me with my business stuff occasionally.”

“I’m glad you can go to them.”

“Why did you leave?”

Chad stared at his black coffee, “I wasn’t given a choice. I was woken up one night, told to pack my bags, and that I was leaving as soon as they were packed.”

Kip shook his head, “I know I did some stupid stuff when we were young, okay I did try to revive the cinnamon challenge recently, but nothing got me sent away. What did you do?”

Chad took a slow, long sip of his coffee, “I fell in love with a girl.”

####

Doctor Trista Silversky rubbed her eyes as she checked the last patient she had to check on before going home.

Brighton Simpson.

She pulled her blond hair into a ponytail before she went into the room. It was dark as he slept, hooked up to ventilator, and other monitoring equipment. She didn’t anticipate him waking up anytime soon. Not with the swelling in his brain, and the other damage that had been done to him.

Not exactly how she ever anticipated seeing her high school boyfriend again. Yet here he was. She made notes on the computer in the room.

“He’s going to be okay, right?” the female voice startled Trista as she looked up and saw his older sister standing in the doorway.

“Bethany, um, right now we don’t know.” Trista logged out of her computer station, “He’s better than he was when he was found and brought in. We won’t know until he wakes up and right now, he’s in a coma. We put him in it, due to the swelling in his brain.”

“Do they know how this happened?”

“No, not yet. At least as far as I know. Detective Siobhan Lane will know more, she is working the case along with Detective Lucas Becker.”

Bethany scoffed, “Siobhan is really a Detective?”

“Yeah, and a damn good one.” Trista started to move towards the door. “Visiting hours are until seven, you should talk to him. Let him know someone who cares about him is here.”

“Who is his doctor?”

“I am.” Trista told her before walking off. Of all the possible family members of Brighton’s that could’ve been in town—it had to be Bethany.

Bethany entered the room as she moved closer to her unconscious brother. “Oh Brighton, what mess did you get into?”

She sat in a nearby chair as she looked at his resting body, “Mom and Dad are aware of this. But Dad can’t come because of his own medical stuff, whatever that is.”

“What are you even doing in this damn town? I wouldn’t be here if my daughter wasn’t here.” She rolled her eyes as she looked around the room, “She’s apparently sixteen. How is that even possible?”

She looked at the smart watch on her wrist and set a timer. As soon as it buzzed on her wrist she would leave. She didn’t need to sit vigil at his bedside. Besides, she came to town for other reasons. Brighton was now just a distraction from them.

####

“We’ve got flowers for Pam Mitchell.” The delivery boy smiled as he stood near the counter of the coffee shop.

“Thank you.” Pam accepted them, looking for a clue on who had sent them.

“You’re welcome, have a great day.” He was gone before she could say anything else. She sighed as she reached up to look at the note attached. No name, no initials, no real note besides they should be delivered to her, to the shop, not to her home.

“Who are the flowers from?” Abby appeared at the counter.

“Don’t know.” Pam shrugged before breathing in the scent of the flowers. “Must be a secret admirer.”

“Do we still have those in 2024? Or would it just be the start of a stalker situation.” Abby opened her purse to pull out her phone.

“Whatever let’s go with the sweet idea. Worst thing that happens is it’s someone I wouldn’t date and I have to let them down gently.”

Abby stared at her friend, “Do you not watch any kind of true crime? This is the start of a Dateline or 48 Hours. This is how you end up dead, especially if they ask you to go hiking.”

Pam blinked trying to decide if her friend was being serious or paranoid. “Abby, this is Colorado. We go hiking. Hell, I was planning on going to Valley Garden this afternoon when my shift is done. Actually, you should join me. I have a feeling you’ve got some creative block since you’re here and not working at home right now.”

Abby sighed, “Mom is working from home again. I was going to get a cold brew and work in the café today.”

“I got you.” Pam rang her up, “Hey, we’re going to moonlight tonight. Come with us.”

Abby tried to find an excuse in the back of her mind, but she knew she didn’t have one. “I will. I should be done with this project soon, so I could use a night out.”

“Wonderful!” Pam handed her the coffee, “I will text you what time we’re all meeting up.”

“Who is actually going?”

“You, Me, Maggie, maybe Trista.”

Abby nodded, “Okay, I think I can handle that.”

Pam chuckled, “You are such an old lady sometimes. Seriously, move out of your parents’ house.”

“When the time is right, I promise you I will.” Abby took her coffee and waved to Pam as she went to go finish the project she was doing.

####

Siobhan removed her sunglasses as she entered the police department. She had waited at the hospital most of the night waiting to see if Bethany would show up. When she left at seven am, she hadn’t shown up yet. Siobhan had gone home, set her alarm for a few hours and slept. She took a quick shower; her hair was still damp now.

She could only hope that Lucas found something so that they could figure out who did this to Brighton.

She went straight to the coffee maker, pouring herself a cup and then adding six sugar packets and a splash of cream.

“Lane, glad you finally showed up.” Lucas was behind her, his arms crossed and a smirk on his face.

“Tell me you have something.”

“Oh, follow me.” He led her down the hall to a conference room.

“Becker, if this is you hitting on me, I will be in HR so fast.”

“Never Lane, never.” He chuckled as he opened the door.

The conference room was filled with several boards. Pictures posted of different players in an organization. A few silhouettes to represent the few parties that had not yet been identified. Sitting at the conference table with his legs up, was Holdon wearing a visitor clip and an FBI badge around his neck.

“What is going on?” Siobhan looked to Lucas for guidance.

He licked his lips as he sat down, “Brighton Simpson is an undercover FBI agent, along with Agent Hart.”

“You’re FBI?” Siobhan sank into her seat.

“Yup, and so is Brighton.” Holdon stood up, “We’ve infiltrated this group, we’re still trying to find a few of the players. Right now, we know that that Dr. Carla Harrison is high at the top. Someone higher than her, however, ordered Brighton to be beaten. I tried to get him out before it happened, but obviously I couldn’t.”

“Great, what do we need to do to be able to arrest the guys that beat Brighton?” Siobhan stared at her former partner.

Holden sighed, “Work the case. I don’t know exactly which ones did it. Carla has some big wig of the organization coming into town. I’m hoping to get a face or a name for this person.”

“I hope so too.” Siobhan pushed herself up from her seat, “So what do we have to work together now?”

“Yeah, we do.” Lucas snickered.

Siobhan rolled her eyes. “I’m going to go see if I can put the pieces together, maybe read that statement from that damn delivery boy.”

Lucas and Holdon watched her walk out when Holdon leaned over to Lucas, “Wait the delivery boy, that blond guy?”

“Yeah, that one.”

“She still doesn’t know?”

“Nope. She always pawns the kid off on me.” Lucas shrugged, “I keep waiting for her to go through the notes and catch it, but she hyper fixates on something or someone else every damn time.”

Holdon laughed, “One day she’ll find out and I really, really hope I’m in the room for it.”

“So do I.”

####

Abby sat at the bar of Moonlight. A country song she didn’t recognize was playing as she sipped on her margarita. She didn’t see Pam, Maggie, or Trista. Why did she agree to go out tonight? She could be in bed watching Law & Order reruns.

“Long time no see.” His voice sent a shiver down her spine.

She turned around and looked up into his blue eyes, “Holdon, fancy running into you here.”

He shrugged as he sat down next to her, ordering a microbrew before turning his attention back to her. “I’ve missed you, Abby.”

“Not enough to text me or call.” She took a sip of her drink.

He studied the logo on his pint glass, “Its complicated, you know that.”

She put her hand on his arm, “Then let’s uncomplicate it.”

He placed a hand on her leg, letting it slowly move up towards the edge of her skirt, “Abby, you’re dangerous.”

She licked her lower lip, “Embrace the danger.”

Holdon pulled her stool closer to him, his eyes scanning the room as his hand moved further up. “Abby, you are tempting.”

She leaned close to him, catching that woodsy scent of his bodywash, “I’ve been craving you.”

Holdon closed his eyes, “Come home with me.”

“Anytime you want, Daddy.” She covered his hand with hers as she looked him in the eyes, “You know I’m yours.”

He smiled, he missed this, he needed this. He’d been avoiding her, even though he’d been craving her as well. He leaned as close as he could, “I can’t wait to fuck you tonight.”

Abby smiled, suddenly a Law & Order rerun wasn’t so tempting.

#Soap Opera #divisions #Text Based Soap Opera #season 1 #Abby Adams #Siobhan Lane #Chad Davis #Kip Davis #Holdon Hart

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wildlyglittering · 3 years

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My Gift to You

I received an anonymous request to write something about Nesta and Rhys’ relationship post ACOSF and them having a conversation. The requestor said that their relationship didn’t feel genuine enough and that they had a lot of work to do before they consider themselves brother/ sister.

I mean.... same anon. Same. The relationship was definitely not one of happy families in my eyes and personally Rhys buying Nesta gifts just felt like the cheapest way to close the lid on their ‘relationship.’

I don’t know if this is what anon wanted but I just can’t write a future where those two truly bond and get along. So this is Nesta and Rhys as I feel would be most appropriate.

***

‘Brother,’ she’d called Rhys. It was not a word which drifted from her lips as easily as it did from Feyre’s when she used the term to refer to Cassian, or for Cassian himself when he spoke of his kin.

Brother.

There had been no time for thinking, not with the screaming and shrieking and the copper tang of blood filling her nose. Rhys was losing his mind and the healer, Madja, was next to useless, pleading with Feyre to fight death - an act as impactful as a raindrop at the bottom of the ocean.

If fighting death were easy, everyone would win.

Nesta knew if you needed to beg for a life, you needed to beg to what could heed you.

The memory of what transpired for Nesta, when she stepped from one form into another, had faded over time like some strange fever dream.

There had been a presence swimming next to her, a shark with a sharp fin and razor teeth, twisting and arching, waiting to tear from her what she had torn out first. But something else was with her, someone else, with a golden light to illuminate Nesta’s way.

Something given and something gained. Those were the thoughts floating in her mind once she’d been present again.

Nesta sought out the opening of Feyre’s eyes, desperately listened for a new-born’s wail and thankfully, she received both.

Afterwards, in the calm, long after she’d embraced Rhys, Nesta wondered what she had meant by that word - brother.

Even as she cradled Nyx’s delicate head in the nook of her arm, stroking the tufts of downy black hair, she didn’t think of him as someone she shared with Rhys. No, despite the hair and sleepy violet eyes, he was someone Nesta shared with Feyre.

Sister. That was a stronger word.

The first infant Nesta ever held was Feyre. She remembered a scrunched up red face peeking behind a blanket as her new baby sister was placed in her arms while a toddler Elain sobbed in the background, upset at not being baby anymore.

I already have one of these.

That was her first thought, her first memory of Feyre.

“Look”, someone had said as Feyre opened her eyes, “they’re the same as yours, Nesta. The very same.”

For a long time, that’s all they had in common. The gift of the same eyes.

Perhaps Nesta had called Rhys brother because in that moment he was. He was her mirror counterpart, not a piece of her heart or soul the way Feyre, Elain and Cassian were but something prominent nonetheless. A shard of glass slicing into each other’s bones that they just couldn’t pull out.

Thank you, he’d said and she wanted to tell him not to say those words. She didn’t do anything requiring praise, she did what she did for the love of her sister and her sister’s child.

Do not thank me for my very nature.

They drifted into an uneasy peace. A gulf remained between Nesta and Elain which Nesta had no energy to remedy, but a bridge had been built between Nesta and Feyre and the connection was one Nesta strengthened as much as possible.

Nesta walked with Feyre around her gardens, joined at dinners and was polite and nodded and minded her manners and, when she had enough, she would return to the House of Wind and let Cassian love her.

As time passed, so did Nesta’s thoughts of Rhys as a brother.

Once again, he became her sister’s mate, her mate’s friend, her nephew’s father. Once again, he became High Lord. Ruler. Overseer.

Months after Nyx’s birth, Rhys and Feyre attended Winter to visit Viviane who had recently birthed her first child - a girl and rumours had followed of secret meetings between the High Lords. Rhys had purchased numerous furs; thick, luxurious pelts in sable, fawn and silver and sent them Nesta’s way.

“I don’t want these things he gives me,” she told Cassian soon after, standing in a room filled with Rhys’ tokens.

“The furs aren’t too bad,” Cassian replied. “They make the floor more comfortable,” he said, his mouth hot on her neck.

She allowed him to distract her but at night while Cassian slept, she walked around the House, grazing objects with her fingertips and glared at the ones which seemed to shimmer too bright, too long. The House itself rippled with unease.

“They’re all junk,” Nesta said to the darkened hallways. “Jewels and silks and throw cushions.”

Feyre and Rhys had told her once, not long ago, how embarrassed they were at the quantity of their money she’d spent on her path towards destruction. Her pulse jumped underneath her skin at the memory.

There had been no love for her life back then, no begging and pleading to a higher power. No, it had been their love for their finances, their concern for their reputation, their lack of control over Nesta which spiralled into entrapment.

Die, she’d heard. Just do so cheaply and in the dark.

Although the word ‘brother’ faded from her mind, Nesta let her animosity go with it. She had the sweetness of her nephew to immerse herself in and she marvelled at the smile on his gummy mouth and the way he wriggled across the floor on his belly towards her, perfect black wings tucked against his body.

One day he would use them to soar the skies and his freedom, his life, was the best gift Nesta had ever received.

His life was the best gift Nesta would ever give.

Nyx was shy of a year old when the whispers started. One day they didn’t exist and the next – they did. They held a metallic quality as though they being spoken through the clang of steel on steel.

High King.

One night, while Cassian rested on the furs, naked and sated, she trailed her fingertips up his knee, up his thigh to where his flesh lay, warm and re-hardening.

“Tell me,” she said, circling a finger around the tip, “what did Rhys speak to Kallias about all those months ago?”

Cassian exhaled a long breath. “Rhys wants Kallias to accept him as ruler.”

“Of the Night Court?”

“No, he – ah, don’t stop – of Prythian.”

“And what was their arrangement? How could Rhys obtain Kallias’ agreement?”

Cassian’s gasps filled her ears. “Through Nyx,” he forced out, “a promise he would marry Kallias’ daughter.”

After that she listened more to what the clanging whispers told her across the breeze, to what the House told her, to what she heard outside closed doors in Rhys’ home on visits to her sister.

Nesta was as serene as the Mother herself when she drifted to Rhys’ study and lingered by the locked door where he and Amren held counsel.

“They are the same as before, inert and useless.”

“Get her to the blacksmith, boy.”

“Her ability is gone.”

“Possibly, but test her to be sure. If she forges a hundred thousand swords then at least one might be Made.”

“She won’t do it.”

“Ban her from seeing the child until she does. She’ll forge then.”

Nesta closed her eyes, clenching her fists until her nails dug into her palms and blood trickled through her knuckles.

For a moment Nesta became a blade, sharp and dangerous, mounted on a wall and viewing Rhys and Amren from a height. The shadows danced from the lit hearth onto Rhys making his face sunken and hollow. For the first time, Rhys looked every inch the ancient creature he was.

Amren walked to the blade that was Ataraxia, that was Nesta, her silver eyes reflected in the shining metal, a palm splayed outwards with the reverence a worshipper showed their god.

“Turns out she wasn’t a pathetic waste of life after all.”

From then on Nesta would listen to what the blades told her.

Rhys took them from their mounts and held them, caressed them as he should his sleeping mate, his violet eyes passing from hilt to blade tip as his pupils grew fat with want.

They spoke to him but they didn’t listen and Rhys struggled with the push and pull every time he lifted a blade from the wall.

He practiced with them in the safety of his study but the blades were too heavy and made him clumsy, leaving the usually graceful High Lord stumbling over his feet. A ripple spread through the metal almost as though the sword were laughing.

We are no advantage to him, the whispers told her and Nesta knew they were infused with the anger she held towards Rhys when she Made them. Now, they said, now he believes himself your brother and he would like a new gift.

Instead that was what she asked him for, next time she was at his home.

“Hello, sister,” and his smile was akin to a wolf’s as it waited in the field for lambs.

“Rhys.”

He agreed vigorously to her request before she even named her price. Maybe Rhys thought he could eventually turn the bee itself into honey.

“I’ve given some thought,” she said, “and I’d like something back. Eris has the dagger but you have two swords remaining in your possession. Keep the small one but Ataraxia, I would like her to be mine. I will never ask anything else from you.”

The smile on his face froze into place as though he’d gone into the depths of Winter and been lost.

Though the blade wasn’t his, he didn’t want it to be hers.

“I don’t think so,” his voice soft. “What if someone tries to take advantage of you and steals the sword away?”

“I’d destroy it first.” However much the thought pained her, Ataraxia’s destruction had been considered - a gift to the other High Lords, one they would never know they’d received.

Rhys shook his head, his eyes dark. “No,” he said, “I need them.” Despite their resistance they were the only Made weapons in his hold.

“Why?”

He said nothing.

Nesta’s lip curled into a sneer. “To be High King, Rhys?”

He glowered at her.

“You know you’re starting a war among incredibly powerful High Lords?”

“I’m the most powerful.”

“There are more of them, they will combine their powers.”

“I have allies.”

“You have enemies.”

“I have friends.”

Nesta sighed and looked to the two swords, the metal glinting as though caught by firelight although the fire was unlit. Her name was murmured, the rasp of metal on metal.

“They’re your friends now but you’re demanding they give up their people, their lands and heritage to you and for what? Why would they do that willingly?”

She turned away from him and stood before the mounted blades. Her reflection was as clear as though they were mirrors, as was Rhys’ behind her, a dark mist forming over his skin.

“This is a war your son will likely reach adulthood in,” she continued, “do you want that for him?”

“I’m doing this for him,” Rhys spat, “you’re no mother, you wouldn’t understand. This is his legacy. My gift to him.”

A calm transcended over Nesta, as though she were wading through the clear waters of a pool, a loving hand on her back reminding her of their presence.

“Your gift to him should be allowing him to live his life. To allow him to care for the people of the Night Court, to give him the chance to fall in love and choose a partner of his own calling.”

“You don’t understand,” Rhys said again, “you had power for mere months and you think you’re the authority of giving it up. It’s a choice you wouldn’t have made if you understood what powerlessness meant.”

Once, when she wore another body, she could count the ribs underneath her skin by tracing them with her fingertips.

Once, in that same body, a man had pressed himself against her, his tongue forced into her mouth.

Once, Fae had ripped away her bedsheet and dragged her from her bed while Elain’s screams echoed in the dark hallway. She had drowned in the depths of the Cauldron, she’d watched her father’s blood spray across the grass, and she’d been dragged from her bed once more to be drugged and bound with her new body useless.

“If you say so.”

Nesta repeated Amren’s actions and traced her finger against the blade, Ataraxia shivered as though Nesta were running a finger down the spine of a lover. The sword moved, almost imperceptibly, but Nesta saw and wondered if Rhys did.

She’d bargained for the lives of his mate and son and yet Rhys wasn’t satisfied. Nesta was his mirror and so he gave her gifts believing she would want them as much as he did, because he continually sought out tokens to keep. He believed she would never be satisfied because he never was.

Nesta left, leaving him with the blades. They would be no benefit for him anyway and it wouldn’t be long before Ataraxia came back to her. Nesta understood now that Ataraxia had been her gift to herself.

All gone now, the Inner Circle assumed. After saving Feyre’s life, Nesta’s gift from the Cauldron is exhausted.

Lies, she thought as she walked the paths of Velaris to head home. All lies. The Cauldron had never gifted Nesta with anything. Everything she held had been stolen, ripped from something that never intended her to have it.

The sky was black, the fae lights of the taverns and restaurants glowing amber against the pitch and the happy chatter of the city revellers emerged from behind doors. All these fae living their lives as best they could, trusting in the protection of their High Lord.

They weren’t the same, her and Rhys, they were mirrored on the surface only.

Yes, they both stole power from those who never intended to gift it but she would die for those she loved while Rhys would kill for them.

The cold air was sharp and drew Nesta’s thoughts from the corners of her mind like a knife drew blood when sliced against skin. She drew her cloak around her shoulders and wrapped her arms around her middle.

There had been screaming and blood and Nesta’s pleas. There had been the dark slithering laughter of something taking something back. But there had also been the warmth of a hand, ethereal and eternal on her back and a golden magic which poured into Nesta until it overflowed.

Daughter.

The Mother had welcomed Nesta and received her gift with open arms, re-gifting to her in return.

Death transmuted into life. Quieter but no less powerful. No less valuable in the future to come.

This is yours, Nesta was told, and will remain so until the end. This is my gift to you.

TAGGING

@live-the-fangirl-life

@champanheandluxxury

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scapegrace74-blog · 3 years

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Ginger Snap, Chapter 6

A/N Well, here it is. The last chapter of Ginger Snap. As an unplanned fic inspired by a vanity license plate, I’m happy with how it turned out. There will be a short epilogue posted in the next week or so. In the meantime, thank you so much for coming on this unexpected ride with me! This chapter’s themed title is Fire in the Belly.

Previous chapters are best enjoyed on my AO3 page, because I have a bad habit of going back and editing them after they’ve been posted.

The next five months were some of the most difficult of my life.

After our talk, Frank and I agreed that it would be best that we parted ways. The Southside flat was close to the university, plus I’d never truly felt at home there, so it made sense for him to keep it. Fortunately, we’d never combined our savings and I still had money tucked away from my time as a medical resident in Boston.

Geillis wanted me to move into her sprawling Murrayfield home, at least temporarily, but I knew that I needed a place of my own. To stand on my own two feet, as it were. Which was how I found myself moving my few belongings into a modest Morningside walk-up as the rest of Edinburgh celebrated Hogmanay with fireworks and drunken revelry.

I scheduled the written component of my medical licensing exam for February. This was likely foolhardy, but I’d already wasted enough time. As a result, almost every waking hour was dedicated to studying. The flat remained an empty box whose naked beige walls bore witness to my rudimentary existence.

Geillis called regularly, reminding me to eat and to occasionally step outside for a breath of fresh air. Returning up the high street from one of our weekly coffee dates, a bright flash in a shop window caught my eye.

I stopped and stared as the afternoon sun lit the vase like a shard of stained glass. It was a profound shade of blue: the colour of a field of indigo, of the night sky in a Byzantine icon, of Jamie’s eyes when he laughed. It sat on my windowsill, filled with the season’s first daffodils, as I pored over practice exams.

***

“Geillis, I passed! I fucking passed!” An elderly woman seated across from me on the bus muttered under her breath about vulgar Sassenachs, but I was too elated to care.

“Of course ye did, ye brilliant disaster. Now I can brag tae the neighbours I have my own personal physician.”

“Not so fast, Duncan. I still need to pass the clinical exam, and that’s no small thing.” My gut twisted just thinking about it, but unlike the written exam, there was little I could do to prepare. Either I knew how to perform as a doctor or I did not. The long months since I’d last treated a patient loomed like a large shadow over that question.

“Och, yer bum’s oot the window Claire,” my friend dismissed blithely. “Ye’re gonna do great. When do ye head down tae yer homeland, then?”

“May first.” The practical examination took place in Manchester and needed to be scheduled three months in advance.

“Sounds like ye’ve got some time on yer hands. Whate’er are ye going tae do with yerself?” Geillis asked in a singsong voice.

Fortunately for me, spring was Edinburgh’s most pleasant season. Its many gardens and laneways erupted in carpets of buds and blooms. The air smelled fresh and green, like biting into a tart apple. I took long walks and fell in love with the city I now called home. There were secondhand bookstores to explore and a weekly craft market where I gradually amassed an assortment of items that made my flat feel like a home. With each passing day, my existence felt more and more like a life; one I defined for myself.

I also started to explore my options for employment, hoping for a job offer from one of the city’s hospitals that was conditional upon my successful completion of the licensing process. It was to that end that I found myself walking down the corridor of The Royal Edinburgh hospital after what I hoped had been a rather successful interview with the deputy director of surgery.

“Claire?”

I recognized her voice immediately. Before turning around I closed my eyes and sent out a fervent appeal to the universe.

“Jenny, hi. How are you?”

She looked just the same, her straight black hair such a contrast to her brother. Next to her stood a man, but not the man I had conjured the moment I heard her voice. I was unclear whether that meant my prayer had been answered or not. Seeing my gaze stray, Jenny jumped to introductions.

“This is my husband, Ian. We’re here fer treatment on his leg.”

“Nothing serious, I hope.”

“Jes a fitting fer a new prosthetic. Jenny keeps beatin’ me o’er the head with the old one, ye see.” I laughed, instantly liking his easy-going manner, so in contrast with Jenny’s intensity.

“Ye must be the Claire I hear sae much about,” he went on, and I wondered what had been said about me in the Fraser household.

“Nothing bad, I hope.”

Ian smiled warmly. “Only good things, I promise ye.”

“What brings ye tae the hospital, Claire?” Jenny interjected.

I explained how I was in the process of qualifying to practice medicine in Scotland, provided I could pass my exams. Jenny and Ian were both delighted, congratulating me as though I’d already accomplished my goal. As we spoke about Wee Jamie’s latest exploits and the ongoing growth of Ginger Snap, I couldn’t help notice that Jenny was staring at my hands. At my left hand in particular. Finally, I couldn’t resist temptation any longer.

“And, how is Jamie doing?” I tried to sound casual, but I was certain my faltering voice betrayed me.

“Very well,” Jenny replied. “Busy, as ye can imagine, but he thrives on chaos.”

I nodded, trying to be satisfied with the news that he was well. It was the most I could hope for, really. Jenny eyed me shrewdly before continuing.

“He’s a good man, my brother. Any lass would be verra lucky tae have him. I’d like tae see him settled, but he refuses tae be rushed. Says the right woman is worth the wait.” She paused before adding, “I reckon ye ken wha’ he means.”

“Yes,” I breathed. “I know exactly what he means.”

***

I took the overnight train from Edinburgh to Manchester. It meant I was likely to arrive at the testing centre deprived of sleep, but I rationalized that most of my residency could be characterized as one long evaluation under similar conditions, and I hadn’t killed anyone yet. Still, as the velvety darkness slipped by outside my window, studded by the lights of passing farms, my doubts got the better of me.

I texted Geillis, looking for moral support. For once she didn’t reply immediately. There was one other name on my laughably short list of contacts. I deliberated for all of a minute, but the late hour and creeping panic made me impulsive.

Hello.

Best to start with something innocuous, rather than the slightly more revealing “I miss you. I think about you every day.” A reply bubble appeared immediately after I hit send. At least I hadn’t woken him up. A small tempest stirred in my gut.

Arsonist. Hello. How are you?

I tried to picture him. Was he at home? Working late? Or, in a scenario that played out far too often in my mind, on a date?

I’m alright. Well, to be honest, I feel like I’m going to puke and cry. Not necessarily in that order.

Och, lass. Do you need me to come over?

Damn it, this man. I had done nothing to deserve his unswerving loyalty but mislead him and then disappear for months on end. And yet here he was, willing to come to my aid on the flimsy pretext of a late night text. Guilt and tenderness warred for possession of my heart.

That may prove a bit difficult, Jamie. I’m on a train to England.

There was a long pause, and then a two letter reply.

Oh.

I realized at once that he’d leapt to the wrong conclusion: that I had left Edinburgh for good. I rushed to correct the error.

I’m taking the second stage of my examination to practice as a NHS doctor tomorrow. It’s all hands-on situations, and the licensing facility is in Manchester.

Arsonist, that’s wonderful news! I’m so proud of you.

I blushed, then leaned my heated cheek against the chilled pane of glass. It had been a rash impulse, but this conversation was exactly what I needed. I wasn’t alone in this. Geillis and Jamie were in my corner.

What has your stomach in a twist, then?

What if I’ve forgotten what to do?! It’s been almost a year since I’ve so much as used a stethoscope, Jamie. The exam is eighteen real-life situations and you’re given eight minutes to respond to each one. Not a second longer. I’m just... what if I fail?

And there it was. The kernel of fear that lived at the heart of everything I did. What if I failed? What if my best wasn’t good enough?

Claire, listen to me. You’re a doctor, just as I am a chef. It wouldn’t matter if I had not set foot in a kitchen in ten years, I would still remember how to cook, and I know that it’s the same for you. I believe it with everything in me.

On some level, I knew that he was right. But it still comforted me tremendously to hear it from someone I trusted.

Alright. That helps. I should let you get to bed. Thank you for talking me off my ledge, Jamie.

Anytime, Arsonist.

As I got ready sign off, another text bubble appeared.

Oh, and Claire? Don’t burn down their wee laboratory, okay? ;-)

I laughed out loud, muting my phone and reclining my seat. Outside, the stars shone brightly, tiny fires in the firmament to guide me on my way.

***

It was a lovely late spring day, and the retractable doors to the fire station were open to the warm breeze. I could hear Angus’ voice as he led a cooking demonstration for a group of young women; a bridal shower by the look of their ridiculous costumes.

“Mind the coriander, lass. Tis a verra powerful aphrodisiac, ken? I willna be held responsible if ye canna resist my considerable charms after ye eat yon soup.”

There was an outburst of giggles as I rounded the corner and entered the reception area. Jenny was on the phone. She halted mid-sentence when she saw me walk in. I rubbed my hands down the front of my jeans, trying to stay calm.

“He’s in the storeroom, in the back,” Jenny prompted before I could even offer a greeting. I smiled gratefully, relieved I didn’t have to make small talk. I had only so much courage stored in reserve, and I didn’t want to use it all up before reaching my destination.

The storeroom was long and narrow, lit by a single naked bulb and girded with shelves. Jamie stood with his broad back to the door, his curls absorbing the light like amber. He had a clipboard in one hand, performing some kind of inventory.

“Jes how many lentils dae ye reckon we need, Janet? There’s nine cans of them here already, and ye have us ordering ten more.”

I’d almost forgotten how much I loved his voice, the undulating grit and silk of it. I had to remaster the art of speech before I could reply.

“It’s not Jenny. It’s me. Claire.”

He froze, and if it weren’t for the sudden rapid flow of his breath I would have assumed he hadn’t heard me. My nerves got the better of me and I blurted out, “I like lentils. You should listen to your sister.”

“Claire.” More sigh than word. He slowly turned. It was when our eyes met that I knew nothing had changed for him. It was still there, after all these months. That look that told me I was the map to his journey, the focus to his vision, the reason to his why.

Hopefully he could read that same certainty on my face.

“I passed my exams,” I began. “I’m a doctor again.”

“Ye never stopped bein’ a doctor. This jus’ makes it official.”

“I’m still a disaster in the kitchen,” I continued. “Last week I ruined two saucepans.”

“Tha’s only a tragedy if ye dinna have someone willin’ tae cook fer ye,” he replied with a strange squinting motion I understood was meant to be a wink.

“I’m still learning who I am. How to be true to the person on the inside,” I confessed. This is what had kept me away for so long, worried that I would escape from Frank’s orbit just to be caught up in another. Jamie never once expected my submission, but that didn’t mean I wouldn’t offer it out of habit.

“I’ll let ye in on a secret. Sae is everyone else,” he replied.

Without realizing it, we’d both been moving until we were crowded together amongst the dried herbs and canned goods. My hand rested against the solid metronome of his heart. Just one more confession to go.

“I burn for you in a way I’ve never burned for anything before.”

There. It was said. A thousand wings of rapture beat against the cage of my ribs, clamoring to break free. Jamie carefully pushed a loose curl behind my ear before cupping my jaw.

“Wee arsonist. Come, set my life on fire.”

#my writing #outlander #ginger snap

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eagle-feather-2014 · 3 years

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BakuDeku SFW: “Turned to Stone”

The garden was always quiet. Too quiet really. It used to be loud and full of such life. The garden is as green as ever, make no mistake of that, but the birds and deer that used to visit have forgotten their way, and the butterflies and bees that brought fresh pollen to keep blooms bright have forgotten the pots and ponds, and the fireflies and crickets have forgotten to keep nights magical. Quite frankly, it seemed that everyone and everything had simply forgotten the garden. Forgotten him.

His feet pad softly across the grass, the lush blades caressing his soft skin, thanking him for remembering them. The morning air was crisp and cool, the ocean kissing the mainland and sending it a front of salty breezes. How he missed the sand between his feet when he would take him there. The playful licking of the gentle waves across his ankles. The endless expanse of ocean stretching to the horizon to flirt with the sky. It felt like a lifetime ago. Perhaps it was…

He wanders aimlessly through the garden, following the weaving paths of cracked and crumbling cement. The shin high walls that lined the paths were being encroached upon by the soft, dewy moss that crept higher and higher on their sheer faces, relentless in their attempt to overtake the man-made material with their natural façade. Little warrior plants, they were. Like the Spartans, abandoning creativity and intellect for mindless conquest. The fools. It was no wonder they fell. He smiles at the thought. Humans and their propensity for war… it was tragic, but it was so familiar to him. The rough, bellowing voice that yelled obscenities and declared himself the victor remained so clear in his ears, even after years of their absence. He brushed scarred fingers across the rim of fire blown clay pots, designs carved crudely into their faces with the tips of arrows. Illustrations depicted battles and wars, beasts and battles so grad he could only imagine their reality.

The wind blows by, making the reeds creak and clatter together in a ballad to break the silence he had become so accustomed to. He was very lonely, if he were honest with himself. No one dared enter the Gorgon's garden… Not since the loss of the village hero. A fiery young man with no fear… He charged into the garden, shield and sword in hand, no armor to speak of, confidently asserting that he, this boy, was the land's greatest hero, and that he would put a stop to the monster's reign of the garden that once fed their village. A silly child. He was wholly unprepared to charge up to a mere child like himself. The men were afraid of a young boy with a messy green mop of hair that snakes protruded from, idly busying themselves with their interactions with the boy they called their host. He was so small and frail, draped in plain white garments that fit far too loosely. A gorgon youth, lost and on his own. His wide emerald eyes were kind and frightened. Statues of the men who tended to the garden were strewn across the property.

The child cried out for a mother that he had strayed from, and the warrior stared. The child shrieked at him to avert his gaze and leave him be. A monster so young… They did exist. Like a snake without fangs, he was so pitiful as the boy approached. The shield was raised between them as the brat thrust a hand out at the fallen crybaby. "Get up! Why are you here?"

Gentle fingers took the outstretched hand, mumbling a teary-eyed gratitude. "I got lost… I didn't mean to hurt them… I was hungry…" Sniffled broke up his thoughts as he voiced them.

"Well you can't stay here!"

"Why not?" Why not indeed. What was the harm? Gorgons were great with nature, and the child was lost and owed them a debt for taking their farmers. Perhaps he ought to replace their labor with his own.

"Because you're a monster!"

"A monster?"

"Yeah!"

"What's a monster?"

Oh gods… How silly the whole thing had been. A child warrior marching out after a monster alone, only to meet a lost child who knew no better and meant no harm. How the pair became friends, neither were sure of themselves, but a kinship blossomed, and the gorgon child was tasked with the care of the garden, providing the village with the food he grew. He stayed in the garden, and he only had one visitor, the boy with messy golden hair like the lions of the colosseum and eyes red as the blood that he spilled in battle as he grew older, tougher. He would be at home in Sparta, but he was here, the hero of the little rundown village with a "gorgon problem." The boy was brave, and he only got bolder as years passed. The child had a friend, and the warrior had someone he could pick on without the adults scolding him.

So he came, a cloth tied tight around his head, covering his eyes, learning the lay of the garden like the back of his hand with the child's help. As he got more familiar with the paths and lay, he no longer needed those small, work worn hands to hold his as they walked, but he never spoke up about that fact. In fact, as they grew older, their touches increased in frequency and intimacy. This boy could kill him with a look, but the danger didn't deter him in the slightest. He laughed like honey and his fingertips brushed so gently across his skin that it awakened fire within the warrior.

Now, the garden was empty, and no visitors came, not even the wildlife. He passes the statues of the gardeners every day and his heart bleeds for the families he hurt. Children never saw their fathers again because of him, but he could not bring himself to dwell on it for too long. He had been a child, startled and unfamiliar with the power he possessed. They meant no real emotion in his heart.

Warriors lined the courtyard, stone bodies poised to fight, forever unable to. It had been such a terrible day, and he knew that their statues meant more families without fathers. Again, he could not dwell nor did their stir emotion in his chest.

No, the only statue in this garden that stirred despair and heartbreak sat on the wall overlooking the fields, feet dangling over the ledge several feet above the fields below. A surprised look adorned his perfect face, one that the child had never seen in flesh until the moment it no longer was. The yelling of warriors approaching had made him lift the blindfold… and their gazes met incidentally… Now the only friend the Gorgon had known was just another statue, cracked and beginning to strain to remain whole after years of weather. Tears welled and fell freely when the boy visited the warrior child that he had loved so dearly. He would hug the stone and wish it would warm into flesh… He would patch and fill cracks in the stone to try and keep him whole a while longer… He couldn't bear it if he ended up truly alone again.

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This piece is inspired by onesmoljas’s art:

https://www.patreon.com/posts/turned-to-stone-39493122?utm_medium=clipboard_copy&utm_source=copy_to_clipboard&utm_campaign=postshare

If you enjoyed this piece, consider checking me out on Patreon!

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#writing #bnha #bakudeku #bakugo/izuku #katsuki bakugo #katsuki #bakugo #izuku midoryia #izuku #midoryia #deku #greek mythology #gorgon #medusa #fantasy

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huearmy · 4 years

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Life is Beautiful - I

Summary: You are a glass half full person, your life motto is "Life is too short to... Insert something and anything here". During your whole life you wanted something more, and even not knowing what it is, you put yourself to find out and get it, experiencing everything brilliant that the world offers - within the measure of what is safe, of course. The curious thing is that your way of living ended up rousing the interest of two vampires. One who sees beauty in everything and loves to exist, currently working with suicide prevention; and another one who no longer sees grace in things, in that boring immortality that never ends, and only complains about the Netflix catalog all the time.

Pairing: Jimin x reader / Taehyung x reader.

Genre: fluff, angst, future smut (very soft, ok?)...

Words: 7509.

Rating: +18

Warnings: As much as my writing is soft and light, and as these are not the main topic of the story, treated in a non-descriptive way, there are sensitive themes from the beginning of the first chapter to the end of the fic that can trigger sensitive people, like depression, suicide, addictions in general - Jimin literally works at a suicide prevention center here. SO PLEASE! Read responsibly, my intention when dealing with topics like this is always 1) dealing with them in myself, as a way of putting out part of my own healing process 2) generating identification in other people, so they can go through the difficult time a little less alone. THIS IS A STORY THAT SEES THE WORLD WITH POSITIVITY.

Chapter II Chapter III .

After some centuries of not living, all vampires go through a kind of midlife crisis in which everything loses its grace and eternity becomes endless boredom. Nothing new happens, humans are born, sometimes they are relevant to world history, they become vampire food or they die dull. Vampires do not need to sleep or use the bathroom, nor to feed more than once a month, so the days are long, and often lonely, which leads many of them to stand still without moving, looking at nothing until their thirst quits, forcing them to go after a pulsating neck. Many go through this phase as serial killers, with killing as their only source of pleasure, others prefer to hibernate in some dark place or tomb, because false death is more interesting than false life. Some never get past the phase.

Jimin is not like that. With almost a thousand years of existence he is totally in love with life. Every day when the sun rises and the sunlight forces him to stay indoors so as not to burst into flames, he spends his hours with a smile on his face, engaging in small banal hobbies, such as gardening or online courses at distance - after almost a decade of doing this, Jimin already has fifty-two certificates in different areas, and he is pretty pride of it. When night comes and he can go out and see the world it’s even more interesting, because humans ’nightlife isn’t as hectic as daytime, so those who live in those dark hours are different. There are those who do wrong things and commit crimes, those who have double lives or who keep secrets, there are people working to protect and save, like doctors and police, there are night guards and twenty-four hours convenience store attendants, groups of friends who spend the night partying until dawn, and those who feel lonely in their empty apartments unable to sleep... And this is the part that he likes the most: people.

He likes to meet random people in the empty metro, buy a drink for a girl who doesn't take her eyes off him and then dance with her, strike up a conversation with a homeless man under a marquee because he knows the guy must be lonely. Watching and learning about other lives keeps him alive, more than the blood he needs to drink.

He likes to get temporary jobs to have some human experience. He has worked in pizzerias, both in the kitchen - he was not very good, so he was put in the dishwasher - both in deliveries, and at a gas station, as a hotel receptionist... But now it looks like he found a job he wants to stay in, so much that it has been a year and he has not yet resigned. Perhaps Jimin has found his calling.

"It's okay... You are not alone, I'm here and I'll stay until you feel good again." He said with his sweet, angelical voice. "Can you get away from the sharp objects? Please?"

The voice on the other end of the line sounded like just a choked whisper, before the answer came, fast, heavy breathing filled the air.

"No... I can't..." The female sobbed.

"Can you tell me why?" Jimin's voice was calm. "I... my legs are numb... I can't... stand up." Her breathing was erratic and desperate.

"Are you hurt? Do you need an ambulance to be sent to you?" He used his most reassuring voice possible.

"No!" She started to cry even harder. "I don't want no one... to see me... like this." Jimin bite the inside of his cheek, thinking, maybe she just wasn't able to get up because of the anxiety attack, but she also didn't say she wasn't hurt.

Regardless of the case, he needed to make the girl trust him in order to help her.

"What is your name?" He smiled, hopping she would listen to it in his voice. "... Ana" She whispered. "Nice to meet you, Ana. Do you remember my name? I told you at the beginning of the call."

One moment of silence.

"Jimin." She said with little certainty.

"Exactly, good job. Hi, Ana." "Hi, Jimin." Despite the crying voice, she was no longer sobbing.

"Ana, can you recall the last thing you did that made you feel safe? Secure?" A sigh reached Jimin's ears. As he waited for an answer his hands moved over a sheet of paper, he was drawing a beautiful face of a girl with crayons, without paying much attention, but getting a beautiful result.

"No." She said at last.

"I know you can, Ana. No need to rush. Breath." She thought some more, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. Almost a full minute passed, the two of them silent on the call. Jimin did not press for an answer.

"I was watching Friends... with my cat." "Your cat?" Jimin smiled more spontaneously now, noticing in her voice an oscillation of affection when saying the word cat. "Talk more about your cat."

"His name is Sushi, he's fat, full of himself, and loving. He likes children, food and sleeping. I recently bought him a cute collar, it looks like a pink bow tie." She almost laughed.

"Wow...He is a lucky cat." Suddenly she started to cry again, sobbing so hard that Jimin hardly understood what she was saying.

"He ran away and hasn't come back yet... He's never been away from home so long... He's all I have, there's no one else... I don't want to live... alone." "Is it just you and Sushi?" Jimin spoke more forcefully for her to hear over the sobs.

"Yes." She choked. "I can't get up... It hurts so much. I'm so-sorry..."

"Ana, do you need an ambulance to be sent to you?" He tried again. Silence.

"Yes." "So I will stay with you until they come to help you. You are not alone."

Jimin was a vampire in love with live, eager to live each day as if it were the most precious gift, so working in the Center of Valuing Life and Preventing Suicide was perfect. He considers himself an expert in convincing anyone that life is beautiful when he has the opportunity to say everything he thinks about. And not letting people feel alone is one of his favorite hobbies.

After all, eternity can be quite lonely, he knows how it is.

________________________________________________________________

That call is over. Jimin was searching for missing cat posts on social media. In the silent office room it was just him and three other people working, each at their separated personal table. Perhaps due to the nature of the work, or due to the late hours of the night, nobody spoke loudly or made a lot of noise when doing things, even when talking to each other, everything is always very restrained, calm.

Jimin's eyes followed the clock hands on the wall above the door. It was almost one in the morning, actually, to be exact, twelve minutes to go, so in two minutes, you would punctually enter that door with your heavy backpack full of books, of someone who just left college on the other side of the city, and after stopping at a twenty-four hours fast food to get a well-deserved burger spent an hour on a subway trip. He could already hear your footsteps down the hall, the characteristic sound of the rubber on the soles of your boots and your bunch of keys stuck in the handle of your backpack tinkling. He heard you putting your stuff in your closet and hanging your coat on the rack in the next room, and a smile formed on Jimin's face. When the hand on the clock struck ten to one and you opened the door trying not to make any noise so as not to disturb anyone's call, Jimin pretended not to notice you entering, not taking his eyes off the computer screen full of images of cute cats. You straightened up and held firmly the pair of coffee cups in your hands till the knots turned white, looking straight at him - in fact, from the moment you walked through the door you were already expecting to see Jimin sitting at his table, as always, and since then you haven't looked away. Walking in light steps - that he could hear by the way - to him who had his back to you, you tried to control the butterflies in your stomach, happy he wasn't in a call right now.

"Jimin?" You called softly, close to his ear, but not that close. Yet. Jimin contained a smile and turned around as if you had taken him by surprise. "Hey, Y/N, didn't see you there". As usual, his direct look made your heart race and you gave a nervous laugh before getting along with his flirty tone. "I bought you coffee." You handed him one of the cups. "To take the night shift a little better."

"Thanks, sweetheart."

You are the other reason Jimin didn't quit this job yet. A few weeks ago, when he was working long enough to decide to leave and go for the next adventure, you started working at the night shift, and right away you caught Jimin's attention, even though at first you didn't talk with him that much - in fact you only talked to the women on the team, and avoided the men. More than once he found himself paying attention to your emergency calls, how you talk, being positive without being suffocating for those in pain ... how you love life. After a while you started doing the same thing, a little less easily, since you don't have a vampire audition, but it was enough for you to acquire a platonic crush on Jimin, which resulted in you opening up, and you two start talking here and there. Now almost whenever you have time or money left over - college life is poor life - you bring him coffee. Jimin doesn't actually drink coffee at all, and he doesn't feel sleepy either, but he thinks it's cute that you worry for him. You see each other three to four times a week, depending on the schedule of work, and he is always eager to see you. Flirting is exciting, and he hasn't done that in a while... Like two centuries, and how it was done back there was quite different. Other times indeed.

"Did you lose your cat?" You asked, confused.

"Oh, no, I didn't." He closed the page with the photo of a white and gray cat wearing a pink bow tie.. "One friend of mine lost her cat, Sushi." "Poor thing. I hope she finds Sushi soon..." You slightly pouted.

"Me too. I'll help her." Jimin said, and the butterflies in your stomach thought it was beautiful.

Something on his desk caught your attention, a colorful draw of said cat made with crayon. Before Jimin could stop you - he was distracted by hearing your heart beat faster because of him - you picked up the stack of papers to get a closer look.

"And you drew him! How beautiful... I didn't know you were so talented." "Thank you. My friend who taught me, he is much better than me..." Jimin simply answered.

You moved on to the next sheet, where another sketch of the cat in different colors made your eyes shine. "So he must be awesome. Look at this!" Jimin was happy to be praised by you, the pink of your cheeks when speaking was a beautiful sign for him, but then he remembered what was the next drawing in your hands, and before you could see it, he cleared his throat and took them back, keeping them in the drawer. It was a drawing of a girl's pretty face. Your face. "They are not quite ready yet..." He pretended modesty.

"Oh, sorry. If you need help, just tell me. I can hang up posters or something. About finding the lost cat, I mean." You volunteered, and then looked around. "I better get to work before someone scolds me."

You went to your desk, across his, and your eyes met a few more times before as you sat down and turned on your computer. Jimin's phone rang and he forced himself to look away from your face, someone else needed him now. "Good night, my name is Jimin and you called the Life Valuation Center. Can I help?" He spoke, his voice welcome and full of affection. ________________________________________________________________

Jimin's shift ends before yours, just before three in the morning he puts things away and leaves the table ready for the person who will use the next shift, but he won't leave, even if everyone thinks so. Instead he goes to the roof to look at the stars and wait for you to leave - not that you know he is waiting for you. He was listening to a random playlist on spotify, stretching his body to the beat just because it feels good, thinking about nothing specific, just existing and feeling good about it.

The night breeze brought his scent to him, looking down from the parapet, he could see you leaving the building, with your scarf well wrapped around your neck, covering half of your face to protect you from the cold air. He doesn't understand you... It's beautiful that you want to help people who are going through a difficult time, and you've commented before that the night shift matches your other schedules, and that you like to stay up at night. However, he thinks you should consider it's not worth it. It's so late and empty when you go home, it's dangerous for a human woman, and as much as he knows that you have a pocketknife in your pocket, Jimin thinks it's silly of you. Usually he wouldn't think much about it, but it's you, and he is fond of you, he can't just do nothing about it. So even if you don't know it, he accompanies you home every night to make sure you are safe. He is only satisfied and goes home when he hears you enter your room. Sometimes he stays a little longer, sitting on the emergency stairs outside your building, listening to you walking up and down in your room, doing whatever, instead of going to sleep soon.

That's kind of creepy. He knows. But he is a vampire, he is already creepy in essence. But of course he would never watch you sleep, for exemple, this is a stalker limit that he does not intend to cross.

"Okay." He sighed as he heard you getting into bed. "I have one hour and a half before the sun rises... Let's find that cat." __________________________________________

You were awake for a couple of hours already, currently packing your books at the end of a lecture, really needing sugar to feel prepared before the last class of the day, and excited that instead of going to the study group you are a part of, you will take an experimental dance class and it's your day off, which means that instead of staying up until dawn working, you can stay up until dawn studying, and maybe sleep a little earlier. Life is too short to not take all the free trial classes available just because your schedule is already full and totally demanding. Anyways you are dead tired, wishing your body doesn't need to sleep... Since you started to work on the Life Valuation Center all your sleeping schedule went down the drain. At first your plan was to work the night shift only at the beginning, and then change your hours, but for some reason you always liked to stay up all night, also the movement of calls in this period is bigger and more specific, which helps in your internship report, and of course, in the day shift there is no Jimin... You've settled in, and now after months of this crazy, fickle routine, your body is feeling the side effects.

"Three of this rainbow donuts please." You asked at the college cafe. One because you want, two because one is not enough, three because you are greedy. Life is too short not to overeat your current favorite sugar source. You sigh to yourself, taking a seat along your friends. Your mantra for life is life is too short to...insert anything here, experimenting and doing things that you never imagined before and that your mother probably wouldn't approve a hundred percent is what moves you. Basically nothing scares you, since childhood you were courageous and fearless. You subject yourself to almost anything, within the measures of what is safe, to have good stories to tell. The world is too big to be content with just having good grades to graduate and have a good job. What you want is much more... so much more that you don't even know what... But it’s not just because you don’t know yet that you’ll stand still without going after it to find out.

"Hey, Y/N, what are you gonna do on the weekend?" Your friend, Becca, asked comfortably within her girlfriend's embrace. As usual, whenever you see the two of them together being all lovey dovey, you feel a twinge of pride in your heart, because you were responsible for them to start dating in the first place. Although your romantic life is not very interesting, without serious or successful relationships, you are a great cupid.

"For the very first time in months... I don't know. I didn't plan anything, maybe something will show up, if not I'm just going to sleep. Why?" You smiled your happy smile of eating what you like.

"Pool party. You need to get a tan, you look like a vampire with that pale, tired face of yours."

You laughed because it's true, since you started changing the day for the night, your skin has acquired a not healthy tone that you are not used to. You've been missing the sun a little.

"First of all, I'm too cute to be a vampire. Second, yeah I'll think about it, I have a new bikini I haven't worn yet that makes my breasts look stunning." One of your friends that was sitting by your side put his arm over your shoulder. "I changed my mind, I'm going to this party." He loudly said. The girls in the group didn't laugh at all. "Shut up, Mike." You playfully pushed him. ________________________________________________________________

This was the second night that Jimin was looking for the cat, Sushi. It was not difficult to find out the address of it’s owner, since he had to activate an ambulance for her, and with that he started looking for the animal in her neighborhood. Passing through the empty streets at night after his work shift, he could see the girl's tracks leaving "missing" posters with a picture of a kitten wearing a pink bow tie, on lampposts and bus stops. At first Jimin thought it was going to be easy, with his keen vampire senses, but all he found were stray cats that weren't Sushi. The second night of searching was already ending, the sun was rising, threatening to make him explode into ashes if he didn't come home soon, and no clue as to where to look the next night he had.

Before getting into the car and driving home, Jimin took one last look at the slightly open curtains in the girl's room, Ana, just to make sure she was okay. She had been discharged from the hospital that afternoon and was now sleeping on the couch, probably medicated. Jimin didn't want to leave her alone, but he couldn't just walk into her apartment and offer help, for now all he could do was find a way to find the cat. ________________________________________________________________ Jimin lives in an old pretty house in the wealthiest part of the city, it isn't a mansion, but it is big and expensive enough to impress anyone who sees it, privileges of centuries of saved money. It's a cliché, but vampires dress in designer clothes, ride luxury cars and live in expensive mansions, houses, apartments, and Jimin is no exception.

From one of the main rooms, behind a heavy curtain, hidden in the gloom, was another vampire, watching the street with intent, expressionless eyes. When Jimin's car turned the corner and up the wide street lined with huge trees, the vampire got uneasy, his beautiful restless hands worrying the hem of his sleeves. He was anxious and angry, if his heart was still beating it would be racing. The garage door opened and the car entered, disappearing from view, in the next second the vampire was no longer in the room but in front of the door leading to the garage, waiting in the empty, dark hall. The knob turned the door slightly opened, Jimin with his head down did not seem to notice the presence of the other before being attacked.

"AH!" Jimin screamed as long arms embraced his neck. If it wasn't for the wall behind him he would have fallen, yet he had no escape, with a body much larger than his overpowering him. "Taehyungie!"

"You are late! Is the second day in a row you get home after sunrise! Are you trying to die?" Taehyung said, and didn't let Jimin go just yet. "It's okay. I was careful, I just had to do a few things before I came home. Look, there's not even smoke coming out of me." Jimin ran his hands over Tae's back, making him relax. The other stepped back a little, taking his face in his big hands.

"You could have sent a message. I asked you to let me know if you were going to be late again, Jiminie..." Tae pouted, still distressed. "And why do your clothes smell like garbage? Take it off."

Even feeling deprived of affection, Taehyung walked away looking disgusted, covering his nose with two fingers. Jimin obeyed, taking off his sneakers, jacket and jeans, following Taehyung through the corridor to the laundry room, where he put everything in a basket to wash later, and also exchanged the shirt for a clean one too. "I went into some alleys today, looking for a cat. That's why." Jimin explained, feeling much more comfortable in not smelling bad.

"And where's it? I don't think Tannie will like to share the house with a cat..." "Where is what?" Jimin was confused. Tae crossed his arms.

"The cat?"

"Oh no!" Jimin laughed, reaching for Tae to take him by the shoulders. "I wasn't looking for a cat to bring home, as much as I would love one as a pet... It's the cat of a girl I met, and is very sad to have lost it..."

"I got it..." Taehyung mumbled.

Jimin was just helping someone. Again. And Taehyung couldn't say exactly why it bothers him so much every time, but it does, he feels distressed, almost as if the world around him collapsed, and it makes him think he's being overdramatic. Live an eternity when you can't even put your feelings out in moments of frustration. Damn, it is conflicting... If vampires could cry, he would. But never that he would let Jimin discover that he feels that way.

It was Jimin's turn to take Tae's face in his little hands.

"You are so skinny. When was the last time you fed?" Taehyung didn't answer.

"You don't even remember, right?" Jimin's eyes went worried. "Did you see that I brought some O- packs for you? I left it in the fridge."

"No, I didn't." A shy smile spread across Tae's face. O- is his favorite blood type, but because it is a not so common type, and humans need transplantation, it's not always that Jimin brings it to him, usually opting for his second favorite flavor or other one available.

Jimin has been trying to cheer his friend up with little treats. It has been a difficult phase, in which he thinks Tae is going through the vampiric midlife crisis. He hasn't been out of the house for almost two decades and does nothing without a little external motivation, even the simplest things like eating. So Jimin tries to bring the best blood types to fill the fridge, signed all available streaming platforms, updates Taehyung's video game consoles as soon as a new model comes out, tries to get him interested in new hobbies - which never works but he doesn't give up - and he even adopted a puppy so that Tae would never be alone.

"Come." Jimin pulled him by the hand to their modern practically untouched kitchen, opened the fridge and picked two packs of blood, the dark liquid shining at the cold light. “In my room or yours?"

"Yours."

The two of them got to Jimin's room, followed by the sound of four paws scraping the polished wooden floor, Yeontan chasing them closely. Jimin pulled the covers off the clean bed, on which he rarely lies down, so they could get more comfortable. Tae laid on his back, against the pile of smooth pillows, carefully opening a packet of blood to not spill a single drop, and put a stainless steel straw in the opening. Jimin turned on the TV, put the dog in the bed, and cuddled Tae's side, with his head on his chest.

"What show have you been watching?" Jimin asked.

"None. I've been looking for something interesting in this shit for days and I can't find anything." Tae took a sip of his blood with a pout.

Jimin chuckled. "I'm choosing then."

A moment of silence followed, in which the only sound was of Tae drinking the rest of his first pack, and then opening another one.

"I think I need to shower..." Jimin commented.

Taehyung's arm that was around Jimin tightened. "Not now. Later." Jimin laughed, thinking it was cute. An idea crossed his mind, another small treat.

"Do you want to bath with me instead?" He looked up to Tae.

Tae hold tightened even more.

"Not now. Later. Now we cuddle."

As if agreeing, Yeontan climbed over the two vampires, finding a comfortable place to lie down and join the cuddle pile.

"Ok."

________________________________________________________________

Tonight you didn't have time to talk to Jimin when you arrived at work, he was on a call, and it seemed really serious. You didn't have the money to buy extra coffee even for yourself, so you hadn't an excuse to pass quietly by his desk to leave a post-it written "Hi :)". In those circumstances, you went straight to your desk to work, to do your best to be a good listener.

To your surprise, making your heart melt and your breath hold at the bottom of the throat, you saw at the top of your computer screen a post-it with a "Hi, sweetheart." written on it, and another one with a "Look in the fridge.". After working with him for that time, regularly doing some paperwork like filling out documentation and such things, you could say for sure that this was Jimin's handwriting, besides, only he calls you sweetheart.

You checked the clock on the wall with an eager look and a silly smile. As you always arrive ten minutes early, there was time to go to the break room quickly, and look inside the fridge before starting to work. And so you did. The break room was nothing more than a small table with a few chairs, a small couch, a sink, an old coffee machine, a microwave and the refrigerator, all in a tight space lit by white lights that leave the place a little impersonal. None of your co-workers were there, as usual. You crossed the small room to the fridge and opened it trying not to make a noise, more out of habit than necessity.

The interior was very empty, with some forgotten lunchboxes, but that didn't interest you. Your goal was right in the middle. A big cup of iced coffee, from a franchise that you don't usually buy from because you find it a little too expensive for your student budget, with your name written on a post-it on top of it.

"Y/N, I wanted to be me treating you today. Hope you like it."

That coffee was as cold as Jimin's fingertips when touching yours, but it warmed your heart. Sometimes you question yourself if it's healthy how head over heels you are for this guy, for so little.

Back at your desk, now with your iced coffee, you wrote a post-it and pasted it on the back of your computer screen, where Jimin could see it. "Thanks :)" Then you started to work. Other people needed you now. ________________________________________________________________ On your fifteen minutes break time, you were leaving the restroom, passing a moisturizing hand cream - because you swear that the soap in this place dries out your skin, and god forbid you from harsh hands -, the sound of the break room's door opening made you lift your eyes from the floor. It was Jimin. He don't take breaks, it's not like he needs it, he doesn't get tired, but he didn't get the chance to talk to you today yet, so as soon he saw you stretching in your chair, indicating that you would soon get up to go to the bathroom - yes, he learned your routine and mannerisms - he discreetly left the room to meet you by coincidence in the hall afterwards.

"Hi, Y/N. Did you like the coffee?" He charmly smiled at you, he was eager to ask it to you, to find out if he made the right choice of flavor, or if he made a bad mistake and you hated it - he couldn't help thinking about that possibility. Anyway, he was looking forward to your approval.

The truth is that you were so stunned by his caring that it didn't matter what the flavor was.

"Actually, yes. I love vanilla flavored things. It's basic but it makes me happy." You fixed your hair, pulling it behind your ears. Jimin could tell by your smile and your heated face that you aren't lying.

"Nice. I wanted to make you happy." He approached you, more than is suitable for the work environment, and it made you nervous, and of course he noticed. But it was okay, if someone came close he would hear and walk away before they could see you, too bad he couldn't tell you that.

"Mission completed successfully." You said, without looking away from his eyes - no matter how much part of you shouted at you to do it, your heart felt like it was going to explode. Well, your heart has a limit, so you changed the subject. "Did your friend find her cat?" Sadness took over Jimin's eyes.

"Unfortunately not. I've been looking for him for two days and nothing, I swear I think I've looked in every street, alley and trash can. I don't want to think like that, but I think Sushi is no longer with us." He sighed, clearly frustrated. You had the impulse to rub his forearms to comfort him, it was the very first time you really touched him. "If he is a cat that wasn't accustomed to getting out, and didn't know how to walk on the street, it is possible that something bad happened... But! He's a cat, if he used to go out often, he might have some other house, other owners, and that's why he hasn't come back yet." You optimistically said.

A smile spread in Jimin's face.

"That makes sense! She told me something like 'He's never been away from home for so long', there's hope then. And you also gave me an idea. Thank you, Y/N." He pulled you into a hug, and you thought you could die.

"You welcome." You said against his chest, deciding not to waste the opportunity to return the hug. ________________________________________________________________ The day was perfect for a vampire walk in the daytime. Cloudy and rainy. No deadly sunbeams and an excuse to use an umbrella without calling attention to it. After the tip you gave, Jimin looked in the right place after accompanying you home that night, and in less than an hour he was outside the window of two children's rooms, in a ground floor apartment, looking inside, and sleeping between the feet of one of the children was the cat, he wasn't with his bow tie but there was no mistake, Jimin was sure. Even without being able to enter - vampiric rules, you only can get in somebody's house if invited, or else you explode as if you were under sunlight - Jimin could smell cat all over the house, and the windows all had anti-escape screens, which indicated that it was a family of cat people.

Jimin would need to come back to pick the cat during the day, knock on the front door and politely ask. That's why heavy weather is perfect. With a dark couture coat, covering all from his neck to the back of his hands, to his knees, a design hat and sunglasses, and last but nos least, a big umbrella, he approached the lower middle class apartment complex. Without hesitation he raised his hand and knocked. Some seconds passed by, sound of kids running inside and a voice of a famale scolding them muffled by the closed door, and then a little girl, maybe six-year-old, appeared in Jimin's field of vision, her eyes sparkling as she looked at him. He was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen after all.

"Hello." Jimin smiled. "Are your parents home?"

She smiled at him, but shook her head negatively.

"Jo, who is it?" An older girl opened the door wider and faced Jimin with a frown that fell apart when she saw his smile. Great, a teenager, he thought. "What do you want?"

"Sorry to bother, I really wanted to talk to an adult, but..." Jimin lifted his phone, the screen showing Sushi's missed post. "I saw my friend's cat on your window."

The older girl narrowed her eyes as she looked at the photo, but before she could answer, the little girl she called Jo before ran away.

"No!" She screamed, disappearing inside the apartment, and then slamming a door somewhere.

"Sorry for that, please wait a minute." The teenager closed the door on his face, and he could hear her shouting and scolding the girl little inside. He was starting to lose his patience. Jimin doesn't like to be ignored at all. Should he knock again and use his mind control powers to get the cat? He was pondering the idea when the door opened again, the two girls were still loudly arguing inside, and this time it was a small boy who must be the middle sibling in front of him.

"Hi, grandma said to tell you to come in." He mumbled.

"So you are letting me get in your house?" Jimin asked with a satisfied grin.

"Yeah... follow me." The boy was avoiding eye contact, being shy. Jimin thought he was adorable.

Jimin followed the boy to a tiny living room, where an old woman was sitting in front of the TV. The girls were now silent, but clearly wanting to argue some more, and the small one was with Sushi in her arms. Jimin sighed, he likes children, a lot, even though he doesn't live with many, but he likes them even more when they're not having a tantrum.

"Hello. Please, take a seat." The old lady pointed to the old couch. The vampire obliged, and almost immediately a fat orange cat jumped into his lap. In this small room alone he could see three more of them. "So, why do you want to steal one of my babies?" Steal? Jimin was slightly offended, he already explained himself, but the chaotic situation created a misunderstanding. "I'm not here to steal nothing, ma'am." He showed his cellphone again. "One of your cats is Sushi, my friend's cat."

"That's not his name!" The little girl shouted tapping a foot on the floor in anger. Jimin just raised his eyebrows at her, making her swallow hard. But he is in control of the situation, so Jimin smiled to remain pleasant.

"Of course it is. Just watch, little one." He reached out to call the cat. "Come here, Sushi." Even though the cat didn't know Jimin to trust him - and these people don't need to know that - cats are creatures of the night, strongly attached to magic and protection in the dark hours, and in the hierarchy of the night they obeyed vampires. The only things that cats respect more than vampires are witches and their own owners whom they protect. As Jimin expected, Sushi jumped off the girl's tight hold and went over to him.

"Good boy. Ana is missing you like hell." Jimin scratched behind his ears. Before someone else could say anything, he proceeded. "When he got lost he was using a pink bow tie." The old lady was still with Jimin cellphone in her hand, and he could see she was convinced he know the cat, but wasn't intending on letting him leave with him yet.

"I'm seeing it in the post, but there was no tie when we got him." She replied. "You just didn't see it, ma'am." Jimin was tired of this conversation, it was being a lot less nice than he imagined on his way there. When he looked to the little girl to talk to her, his eyes were intense and powerful, and his voice was full of authority. "Go get the tie where you hid it, little one."

Mesmerized by Jimin's power, the girl didn't even blink or say anything as she obeyed, turned around and ran to one of the rooms. Jimin doesn't use hypnosis very often but he has fun every time. She got back with it and handed it to him.

"Thanks." He removed the effect and the little girl blinked a few times before understanding what happened.

The old lady was clearly angry with the girl, but it wasn't Jimin's business. "Well I think that's all. We are going now." Jimin got up from the couch.

"Wait!" The teenager snapped. "Jo lied about the bow to keep the cat, and that's bad, but she already loves him! You can't just take him away!"

Jimin was almost on the door.

"Of course I can. Besides, it's not because what she did is bad, young lady. It's because my friend loves him, actually this cat is Ana's family. No one should live alone, right?"

"Right!" The old lady got up too. "I'll get you to the door, tell our friend we are sorry."

"I will. Thank you." ________________________________________________________________

"You found the cat!" Tae sniffed the back of Jimin's neck. "Where is it?"

Jimin was putting the clothes he was using to wash, to remove the smell of cat and the places he passed by. And to get comfortable, as is his habit when he gets home, he just stayed in his underwear and t-shirt.

"I already gave him back to his owner." In the next second Jimin was dropping himself on the leather couch.

"And how was it? Did she thank you with tears in her eyes?" Tae leaned over the back of the sofa with his chin in his hands.

Jimin chuckled, Taehyung's thirst for drama is funny, and he's always been like that. And at least that doesn't seem to have changed...

"Well... She cried a lot when she found him in the window. She looked really happy!" Jimin sang. He was really happy too. He helped someone to find their smile again, even if it is a little bit, it made him really proud of himself, a warm feeling in his chest telling him it was the right thing to do, and that he should do it again if he gets the opportunity. Taehyung's expression changed, suddenly he was disinterested.

"You didn't even talk to her? Just left the cat there for her to find?"

"Well, yeah." Jimin threw his hair back. "I couldn't risk she recognizing my voice and thinking I was stalking her. Scaring her was not the goal, Tae, quite the contrary..."

Taehyung stared at him in silence for what felt a whole minute - maybe it really was, vampires perceive time differently. "You are not a secret superhero, Jimin. You are a vampire." Said that he got back to his room.

Jimin doesn't understand. These outbursts and mood swings leave him confused. And it's not like he hasn't already tried to talk. This... This he doesn't recognize in Taehyung. It hurt his feelings and at same time he feels it is partially his faut. "I can be both if I want to!" He exclaimed.

No answer. To find somebody who would be happy for him and understand the euphoria he felt for saving a little bit that girl he went through his contact list. A lot of vampire names - a lot is maybe an exaggeration, since he doesn't have many friends at all - who wouldn't be rude, but wouldn't understand, and also some former human colleagues from past jobs with whom he hasn't spoken in a long time and maybe should erase the number... And you. Of course you are the obvious choice. You had sympathy for the case from the beginning, even offered to help. And if it weren't for you he wouldn't have succeeded...

Jimin: hey sweetheart Jimin: I found sushi! Jimin: thanks to you btw He sent the messages, hoping it wouldn't be strange. It wasn't the first time you two texted before, but it was just an exchange of memes and silly flirt... without compromise talk. And what he wanted this time was different. You took too long to answer, and he wondered if you were in class and if he was bothering you. He wanted everything but to mess it up with you right now. Maybe he should've checked your class schedule for the week to make sure he texted you when he was sure you were free. But he was so eager to talk to someone... with you. He gave up waiting and went after doing something productive. Crochet dolls. He was doing a mini Taehyung, with red eyes and little cute fangs - an apology for later, neither of them like fighting with each other, even if you can't call that earlier thing a fight- when his cell phone started to crazily vibrate and beep.

You: OMG! You: thts amazing! You: sorry i didn't aswr before You: I was taking a nap hehe You: anyways You: i'm so happy u found him You: [image.jpg] You: ur friend must be even happier :) You: what do u mean thanx to me? You: sorry i spammed u :( Jimin can't handle you. You are too cute. You literally sent him a photo of you with an enormous smile, cheering, to show him your reaction. And you were with your hair all messed and the puffy face of someone who just woke up. Precious. Jimin: no problem, sweetheart Jimin: you said to look in other owners' houses. basically. I found him with a old cat lady with three grandchildren Jimin: you are looking cute btw You: OwO You: i'm looking like shit Jimin You: BUT thats awesome You: if it was me id be crying til my eyes fall You weren't even there with him, in person, and you were putting a smile on his face. How dare you say you look like shit when you have those perfect cute cheeks? So alive...

Jimin: EXACTLY. that's why I wanted to find him so much. Jimin: and because you helped me, I want to reward you Jimin: i know you don't work today. me neither. do you want to go out for coffee in a nice place? You took too long to answer again, and that's because your heart is exploding and knees trembling while you stare at your cell phone screen, standing midway in your kitchen. You: u dont need to. i did nothing. This time Jimin took too long to answer. He was making a decision. To be more straightforward. More honest. Until now he was dictating a slow pace for your flirting, because for him romance is like that. But what if he tries to speed things up a bit? Or if he lets you command? How would things be?

Jimin: Y/N, respect my excuse to ask you out.

He knew what your answer would be. Even so, he felt anxious, hearing a non-existent heartbeat in his ear, while the three dots indicated that you were typing.

You: ok. what time do you come to pick me?

Tag List: @angrygardenerr @depressed-dude20 @milktaetae95 @tangledsparkles @wlalsrkfla @minikolima @wrecklesseuphoria

If you want me to add you to the list let me know, and please let comments :)

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another-rogue-trevelyan · 3 years

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Wow, it’s been a while!

I was tagged by @cartadwarfwithaheartofgold @kunstpause @musetta3 @noire-pandora for WIP related things in the last couple weeks, thank you all for thinking of me! Consider yourselves all tagged back for a WIP post of your choice!

I am thankfully and finally on vacation for the next week and my goal is to publish another chapter of Hearts Like Lions before I go back to work. However, inspiration comes where it comes, so I’d like to introduce something a little different today - I’ve just begun writing for Fire Emblem Three Houses because I love Dimitri and also because canon is wrong there was more romance than that dammit!

Anyway, here is the start to what I hope will become a Blake(Byleth)/Dimitri fic!

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To Blake, Garreg Mach Monastery appeared older than time itself. Of course that wasn’t the case, but there wasn’t a soul alive who remembered a time before the ancient fortress stood sentinel over Fódlan. Its walls and gardens hummed with secrets and magic, the sound only barely muffled by the chatter of the students housed within.

Like all things concerning her father, his reason for never telling her of his time here was a mystery. It hadn’t really surprised her - mysteries were abundant where he was concerned. For example, Blake knew neither hers nor her father’s age. She had been unaware that he had once been a Knight of Sieros, or why he left, or how long ago it had been, and she couldn’t guess why the Archbishop - Lady Rhea - had taken such keen interest in her and made her a professor immediately upon arrival just the day before. Regardless, Blake was unperturbed. Very little bothered her. According to her father, even as a baby, she had never once cried.

The biggest mystery, however, did not concern her father. Instead, it existed solely within her - the presence of the young woman with the green hair and eyes who had saved her in the ambush just before their arrival. Sothis, she recalled, could reverse time and speak to her, a constant presence inhabiting her mind.

But that mystery would have to wait. Blake wandered through the courtyard, having been tasked with introducing herself to the students. Lady Rhea had decided only the heads of house were to know of her new appointment for the time being, and so she had made idle conversation with those she met in passing. Or, she had tried, anyway - small talk was not a skill taught to mercenaries.

The students had been kind enough. They seemed eager, but Blake couldn’t ignore the fact that she was the same age as them, as far as she could tell. Some appeared older, and one - a red haired boy with a natural sort of swagger - had even hit on her.

The last of her assigned hellos was the young Prince of Faerghus. She found him across the courtyard donning the same blue cape and Academy uniform in which she had met him, though his blond hair was no longer so disheveled as it had been in battle. He smiled as she approached, the friendly expression a direct contrast to his regal heir.

“Please accept my apologies for the other day,” he said, crossing an arm in front of him in a slight bow. “You came to our aid, and yet I hadn’t even the courtesy to properly introduce myself. I am Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd, Crown Prince of the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus. Of course, at the academy I am simply a student,” he added quickly. “And I’ve heard word you are to become a professor here.”

“It seems I am, though I assure you no one is more surprised by it than I.” Blake still hadn’t wrapped her head around the idea.

“It’s delightful news!” the Prince beamed. “I still have much to learn, but I’m confident I could benefit greatly from your guidance. In any case, welcome to the monastery.”

“Thank you, Your Highness. The warm welcome is much appreciated.”

“There’s no need for such a formality, Professor. I am to be one of your students, after all. Dimitri will do just fine.”

“In that case, thank you, Dimitri.”

He smiled again, and Blake wasn’t sure she had ever seen a person smile so much. But then again, Blake rarely smiled. Emotions were not her strong suit.

“I hear you’re investigating the different houses here. Did any of the Blue Lions catch your attention?”

The Blue Lions, Blake recalled, was one of three houses of students at the monastery, and home to those who hailed from the Kingdom of Faerghus. Across the yard she once again caught the eye of the red haired flirt from before, who shot her a wink as a blonde girl punched him in the arm.

“Is he one of yours?” Blake asked. The Prince followed her gaze and sighed.

“Sylvain is the heir to House Gautier. He is a capable person who highly values his friends. That said… Well… he’s always been a bit of a…” A rose tint adorned his cheeks and he coughed uncomfortably. “Skirt chaser, so to speak. Pardon my bluntness. I speak with him about it often, but it doesn’t seem to help.”

“And the girl he’s with? Should I be concerned?” Blake asked, gesturing across the yard.

“Ingrid? She’s Count Galatea’s daughter. She is also a childhood friend of Felix, Sylvain, and myself. She’s more likely to make him see sense than any of us. I’d let her continue, personally. She is diligent, industrious, and principled. In truth, she is more knightly than most knights you will ever meet.”

“And what of you?” Blake asked, returning her attention to the Prince. “I’d like to know more about you.”

“Me?” He flushed again and bowed his head, suddenly bashful. “Oh, um… Please forgive me. It’s difficult to open up on the spot, don’t you think? I’m afraid my story has not been a pleasant one. I do hope that doesn’t color your view of me, but I understand if that can’t be helped.”

“For better or worse, I know little of politics and events. My life has been nothing more than a series of battlefields. It may bring you some peace to know I know nothing of your personal history.”

“Really? That’s… something of a relief. Rarely do I get to make a first impression without stories preceding me.”

“Are the stories so terrible?”

His brief look of relief was replaced with something forlorn, and Blake was acutely aware she had misspoke. Her social graces, it seemed, would need work.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.”

“It’s quite alright, Professor. It isn’t the stories that are terrible. Only the truth behind them.”

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Tagging @hawkeish @inquisitoracorn @charlatron @pikapeppa @kemvee and anyone else who wants to participate in a WIP even of their choice!

#another rogue trevelyan fanfiction #dimitri x byleth #dimitri fire emblem #blake and dimitri #fire emblem three houses #fire emblem fanfiction #wip whenever #fire emblem

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earisu1 · 3 years

Text

“Once Upon a Time” in Jennifer’s Own Words

Original date of the post: 12 of October, 2007.

Disclaimer: this ideas and theories do not belong to me but to PokerNemesis, if the owner wants me to take them down I will.

“This is the complete collection what Jennifer herself says (excluding what is written in documents) in the “Once Upon a Time” (January) chapter of Rule of Rose.

This collection includes five of Jennifer’s memories/comments that were omitted in the GameFAQs game-script faq written by TheSinnerChrono. I marked these with “####” to make them easier to find (for readers only interested in these).

This post does not contain commentaries by me (unless some of my descriptive comments count as being commentary).

If anyone finds anything I missed, or any mistakes I’ve made, please let me know in the comments. Thanks!

Filth Room:

–At the shelf:

“This letter looks familiar… Yes. it’s one of the secret letters that Wendy and I traded.” (reads letters) “Wendy… You were always so lonely. Poor, lonely Wendy… I wonder if my letters ever reached her.”

–At the central pillar:

“Tied to this pillar, unable to move, I was all alone. It took a while, but I finally freed myself. I was always the slow poke… But, that won’t happen again. I’ll never let myself be tied up again.”

–At the suitcase:

“When I came here, this suitcase was the only luggage I had… I lost everything in the accident. My mother, my father, all my possessions, and even my memories.”

–At the sunny window:

“I spent so much time in this room… Who knows how many times I woke up here? The nights were lonely and cold, but you’d always greet me in the morning… Only you greeted me warmly. Thank you so.

–At the rubbish bin:

“It’s the detested rubbish bin. No one ever suspected that something precious was hidden inside it. Nor did they know that it was the only place where I could keep my things safe.”

–At the empty corner (where Bucket Knight had been):

“It feels as if something very dear to me was here. Someone or something that always looked after me… helped me.”

Hallway:

–At the laundry shelves:

“Everyone would put their dirty laundry here, and it was my job to wash it. How ironic… The one they called “filthy” washing their filthy clothes. It all seems so silly now.”

2nd Floor Lavatory:

–At the toilet that has an eye drawn on the toilet lid:

“‘We’re watching you.’ That’s what the picture meant. But it was still scary.”

–At Bucket Knight (by the sinks and mirrors):

“Bucket Knight… A makeshift knight that Nicholas and Xavier used for sword practice. Though they may have forgotten about it, I’ve always remembered. For, I yearned for a loyal knight to come to my rescue.

Hallway (Front Stairway balcony):

–At the empty picture frame:

“There used to be a picture here, of everyone at the orphanage. It was a picture filled with hope, taken the day I was brought here. I was afraid someone would try to steal this precious memory from me…so I took the picture down and kept it safe.”

Sick Bay:

–At the drawers (these look like the same drawers as had the forbidden drawer in the “Unlucky Clover Field” chapter):

“Clara was a quiet person. To me, she looked like just another student at the orphanage…except when she spoke to Mr. Hoffman or Martha. Then, she looked scary. I wonder if I’ll be like Clara when I’m older… Will I enjoy those days?”

Sickroom:

–At the rabbit cage:

“Peter the rabbit… He was the pet that Wendy suddenly decided to take care of. It was the same time I started looking after Brown… I wonder if Wendy really loved Peter… Was she sad when she had to give him up?”

–At the lamp:

“This letter looks familiar. Yes it’s one of the secret letters that Wendy and I traded. ” (reads letters)

Balcony:

–At the birdcage:

“The red bird in the cage… The doll Eleanor treasured. ‘If only we could fly like birds and go wherever we wished,’ she whispered softly. Yet, no matter how much Eleanor wished, she’ll never be able to just fly away from this orphanage. Poor Eleanor… She was burdened by her own frozen heart.”

Play Area:

–By the chair and train-track circle:

“Thomas was always playing with his trains…They were his only friends. There were no final stops on his railroad, for that would be devastating to him. It’s rumored that this obsession had something to do with his birth, but Thomas never spoke about it with anyone.”

####By the blocks:

“No one really played with the toys here because they were all old. Only Thomas was the master of this room. ‘A new girl, a new girl!’ he exclaimed when we first met. He seemed to enjoy teasing me.

Library:

–By the white goat doll:

“It’s a stuffed goat… The white goat Mary. The black goat Sally. When Meg found her letter to Diana torn apart, she was deeply wounded and cried in Diana’s arms, even though she was the one that ripped it up… And, when Meg’s notebook was found all scattered about, Diana made fun of her, saying, ‘Mary and Sally must’ve ate it.’ Poor Meg… She was bound by the shackles of foolish devotion.”

–By the painting of the airship:

“The future that people dreamt of never came and was soon forgotten. From the blue skies of hope, it sank into the depths of oblivion. The new life born from it was an existence devoid of hope. It slowly wriggles its large body and stares at the sky with a remorseful look… That’s its only purpose.”

Sewing Room:

–At the sewing machine:

“Amanda was fond of using the sewing machine. When she got absorbed in something, she’d think of nothing else, especially sewing, which was always on her mind. If we ran out of cloth or thread, she’d just sew rags with an empty needle over and over again… And then she’d smile at the tattered rag with satisfaction.”

Hallway (2nd floor):

–At the graffiti on the floor near the Sewing Room door:

“There are doodles everywhere. No matter how many we cleaned, more would show up the next day.”

Dormitory:

–At one of the two central tables:

“The night was quiet dark and scary. Yet it was a mysterious time that aroused excitement. Some nights, we’d stay awake in secret, hiding from the teacher, and draw pictures by lamplight. It made us feel very much like adults–something not possible during the day.”

–At the other central table:

“A mermaid doll… What a proud and pure creature. Diana yearned to become a beautiful lady, like a mermaid, but as she grew older, she realized that she was straying further and further from her ideal self. Poor Diana… She was trapped by her own ideals.”

Front Stairway:

####At the ladder:

“That day when Thomas couldn’t get down from the tree, the ladder, which had been collecting dust, sure came in handy. Back then, Mr. Hoffman was a kind and admirable teacher.”

Main Hall (first floor):

–At the vase of flowers:

“There used to be beautiful roses here, picked by Wendy from the rose garden. …But, as with all things, they wilted away with the passage of time.”

–At the potted fern:

“Miss Martha used to scold Nicholas for forgetting to water the plants, and then she’d turn her wrath on me, snapping, ‘What are you laughing at, young lady!?’”

Hallway near Classroom door:

–At a bucket-headed construct:

“A silent scarecrow… It stands there quietly, not meddling in the affairs of others. It sways in the breeze, like me…a cowardly girl who was unable to assert her true feelings.”

Men’s Lavatory:

####At the blocked-off toilet stall:

“Once, Susan started a rumor about voices coming from this room at night… It turned out it was only the door creaking in the wind, but one night, sounds came from the room even with the windows shut. Susan jumped out of her bed and screamed. It was really just a prank by Nicholas and Xavier. From then on, the room was believed to be haunted and was considered off limits.”

Classroom:

–At the blackboard (which has written on it: “Hitlerism is a form of government controlled by one man’s will / Democracy is a form of government controlled / Hitlerism is a form of government controlled by one man’s will”):

“I learned many things at this orphanage…The alphabet… words… how to clean and do laundry… But the most important thing I learned… was the lesson I received in exchange for my dear friend’s life… I finally came to understand myself. My beliefs and the will to stand up for them… I don’t want to lose those ever again.”

–At the drawings on the wall (a map of Great Britain):

“The map of this country… That day we flew from England… Those memories were buried deep inside of me… The airship…and the accident… Thereafter, the story of my life became a tale of misfortune. Even when the others played ‘airship’ I couldn’t bear to join them, so I was left out.”

–At the schedule of classes on the wall:

“A brat, a know-it-all, an introvert, a crybaby, and an elitist… I know misfortune, because I tolerated them all. I thought I was the only grown up, but we were all just kids, myself included. But what does it really mean to be a grown-up? Will I ever become one?”

–At the furnace:

“On cold winter days, we all used to gather here and talk… I, of course, couldn’t join in, so I sat off to the side. Even so, it felt so warm.”

Bathroom:

–At the mirror (looking at her own reflection):

“Jennifer, are you happy now, considering how bad it was for you, back then? …That tragedy you wanted to forget. Now that you remember everything, how do you feel? Is the answer inside you? Think carefully Jennifer.”

Wash house:

–At the sinks:

“I came to this room every day to do laundry… The water was so cold, and the soap would sting my eyes, but I didn’t hate it, because clean laundry is so refreshing.”

Kitchen:

–At the table:

“If Miss Martha had disappeared, there would’ve been no one to cook… If Clara had disappeared, there would’ve been no one to tend our wounds… If Mr. Hoffman had disappeared, there would’ve been no one to teach us. You can’t live life eating snacks all day, with no exercise or studying. If you look at it that way, even the Aristocrat club needed adults around… Our world was so small.”

Martha’s room:

–On the bed:

“There are a couple of letters here. It’s a letter from the police… “(reads letter) “It’s a letter from Martha…”(reads letter) “The letter ends there… Perhaps if the matter had been addressed publicly, things wouldn’t have turned out as they did. Adults are so selfish.”

Cafeteria:

–At a fork on the table:

“Olivia, the one who cried all the time, stopped crying completely when all the adults were gone. With no teacher to give her attention and no cleaning lady to scold her, there was no point in crying anymore. …Poor Olivia.”

Inner Court:

–Site of Brown’s burial:

“It all started here, when I dug up the mound… I sensed that something precious to me was buried here… and I couldn’t stop myself… The old me… the one who didn’t understand herself… I lost my friend because of her. If… If I could go back… I’d try to save him… but what has happened can never be undone. I’ll never break a promise again.”

Cell of Remorse:

(nothing)

Cell of Pleasure:

(nothing) film projector

Cell of Repentance:

(nothing)

Cell of Solitude:

–At the central chair:

“One time, Diana was absorbed in deep thought here. She was the prettiest, the most mature of the Aristocrats. She wanted so much to be an adult… and yet she was also afraid of growing up too fast.”

Cell of Bliss:

–At the table:

“The spooky things… The scary creatures that everyone talked about… They’ll come and clean if you don’t, sweeping bad children away like dust… Well, they actually came and attacked me… I knew what they really were… but that wasn’t the problem. The real problem was my weak heart. My weakness was what drew them here.”

Closet Room:

–At the clothes hangers:

“On Halloween, we all dressed up in costumes… Everyone else wore bags over their heads, and stared at me through tiny holes… Their blank faces and muffled voices… It scared me like you wouldn’t believe… ‘Is it really you under there?’ I asked, fearing it was something else. But, no one would answer me.”

–At the mirror:

“Amanda was always more sensitive about her looks than anyone else. One day she was given a severe scolding by Miss Martha. That’s because Miss Martha’s lipstick had gone missing. The lipstick was never found, but I know Amanda took it. I’ve seen her applying it late at night.”

Hallway (ground floor, connecting Headmaster’s Room and Closet Room):

####At drawing on the floor of a big donut-shaped one-eyed person (near cabinet):

“This sloppy drawing must be Thomas’s. See what happens when you give him chalk? The walls, the floors… To him, it’s one big canvas.”

####At drawing on floor of spooky things (nearest the Headmaster’s Room):

“The spooky things… They swept away everything that’s dirty, including disobedient children. It was a scary story that started as a rumor and spread like wildfire.”

####At drawing of spooky things (nearest the Closet Room):

“The spooky things love to clean. That’s why they always carry mops and brooms. They’ll kidnap you if you don’t clean. At least, that’s what everyone says.”

Headmaster’s Room:

–At the PA system:

“Mr. Hoffman loved to broadcast over the PA system… while we were cleaning, while we were eating, and even after we were in bed. He always announced our names in the order of his favorites. We’d try our best to win his approval and be the first one to be called. But he never called my name, not once. I thought it was all rather silly, anyway.”

–At the desk:

“The book is open… ” (reads Hoffman’s diary entries). “At the time it seemed so frightening… Were those scary things that attacked me just figments of my imagination…?” (another entry) “..The diary continues, but the last page is particularly interesting… It’s Mr. Hoffman’s last entry before he disappeared.” (another entry) “…That’s the end of the diary. We never saw Mr. Hoffman again.”

–At the fish tank (a fish swims inside):

“I know you’re in a very stinky place, because that rag Diana put to my face smelled just awful. But, no matter how clever or fast you are, there’s no escaping. You’re like a mermaid in captivity… adapting to a new reality. Leaving your home behind…did you find happiness?”

Headmaster’s Closet:

–At the shelf that has shoes:

“That day, Mr. Hoffman disappeared, like he was running away from something. He had tried too hard to be someone he wasn’t. The expectations were too much for him… and he wanted to escape those restrictions. However, children and adults live in the same world, and we must both play by society’s rules.”

Reception Room:

–At the record player:

“The record player is brand new. Playing a record would fill the room with sweet music.”

–At the fireplace:

“It was a cold, winter night… I had been scolded as usual, and called into the headmaster’s room. I didn’t like being scolded, but I didn’t mind so much when it was in front of the fireplace, which was warm and cozy.”

–At the vase on the central table:

“All of us loved red roses. Even the name of the orphanage was befitting of an Aristocrat… It wasn’t until I swore the oath of the rose that I learned roses have thorns.”

–At the dish cupboard:

“This is Mr. Hoffman’s prized collection of fine dishes. We would sometimes sneak them out and play house with them in the attic, but that’s our little secret.”

–At the graffiti covered portrait:

“This is a picture of Mr. Hoffman when he was a young man. He was so proud when he showed it to us… He never caught the one who doodled on it though. But, I know who did it. I saw Thomas trying to move the ladder on the day it happened.”

Women’s Lavatory:

–Toilet stall with bird drawing:

“Red bird drawings. A red crayon and… a red broach… A red rose and… red blood… Red is the most beautiful color, yet it comes at a price. It is my most favorite color and my most hated color.”

Entrance-way:

–At the lockers:

“It’s a small locker, but it was just for me. My name was even on it. They made me feel welcome. I was so happy… I’d move my shoes in and out, over and over again.”

–At the umbrella stand:

“We never used umbrellas. On snowy days, we’d go out for snowball fights. On rainy days, we’d go out and play in the rain, and get soaking wet. Every time, Xavier would trip and get himself all muddy and we’d laugh. It was so much fun.”

–At the portrait of Hoffman:

“One day, Mr. Hoffman suddenly disappeared. Clara and Miss Martha soon followed, leaving me and the other orphans alone.”

Front gate:

–At the orphanage sign to the left of the gate:

“The Rose Garden Orphanage… That day, I was escorted from the scene by Officer Doolittle. At first, it was reported that there were no survivors… Then, word got out that, miraculously, I had escaped the tragedy… When rumor spread that I was also the sole survivor of a horrific airship accident in which the passengers were all presumed to be dead, the media went into a frenzy. and so, the tragic murder of the residents of a rural orphanage was instantly bumped from the front cover of the daily newspaper to an obscure corner… I’m sorry everyone. You don’t deserve to be forgotten… But I’ll remember you. Thank you all for the precious memories.”

Fork In The Path:

####At the sign:

“The sign has been broken ever since I came here. I guess it doesn’t matter: no one comes to visit anyway.”

Bus Stop:

–At the bus stop sign:

“That bus that brought me here… Should I try to take it the other way? …No, that’s not right. There are still things I have to do here. Wait for me, Brown.”

Outside the rickety shed:

–At the door:

“Please wait for me. I’ll be there.”

Inside the rickety shed:

(Spoken to Brown) “My dear friend… I never want to lose you again. I’ll protect you… forever and ever until I die.” (Writes on chalkboard: “everlasting/true love/ I am yours”) “I’ll protect you… forever until I die.”

Notes: some of this reposts are not showing in the tags sadly. Classic Tumblr.

#rule of rose #rule of rose mysteries #loooong post #cheers to the people that transcribed all this #it's a lot of work

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arcticdementor · 3 years

Link

I was talking to Sarah yesterday and I had a revelation I think is worth sharing.

Let’s begin at the beginning. About a month ago, Instapundit posted this.

Now, I’ve been thinking of the rise and fall of civilizations lately. I can’t think why it’s been on my mind. It’s a tale as old as time—a civilization emerges, establishes a new worthwhile order, the good things brought forth by said order soften up the people maintaining it, the softening turns to decadence, and the decadence gives way to the barbarians, who clean the slate. Where would you say things are lately?

…

In short—the federal government of the United States of America has become impotent at almost all good things.

Expanded out—There is no start to its talents. It cannot maintain its borders. Since the “election” it doesn’t even try. No surprise there. It cannot maintain friendly relationships with allies—as our recent screwing of Britain on our way out of Afghanistan shows. The “leader” of the “free world” could not be bothered to pick up the phone for our closest ally. Speaking of Afghanistan, it can’t win a war. It can’t even lose gracefully. In fact it fucked up leaving so badly some people are entertaining that it intended to fuck it up, because how the fuck does somebody above the age of six not notice that pulling the military out first and the civilians out second is not even a remotely workable strategy? Resulting in leaving millions of dollars of equipment—and—excuse me, what? Millions of dollars of dollars in the desert? Fantastic.

It makes self sabotaging and idiotic choices to stymie its own domestic oil industry, while accepting a pipeline not from Canada, but one that’s a joint Russian-German venture instead. Which means the problem, contrary to any environmentalist whining, isn’t the pipeline—it’s the pipeline with a friendly country. Big surprise— its only true interest in the environment lies in international agreements that hamstring us while doing nothing to China, the world’s largest polluter. It either can’t be trusted on energy production and the environment, or is trying to get it wrong.

It can’t manage its economy. What could have been a “V” shaped recovery has been turned into an “L” shaped one. What could be contributing? Paying people to do nothing? Rampant inflation? Meanwhile all the dumbasses running the country can think of is spending several billion more dollars that don’t exist. The country has infrastructure problems for a fact, but they’ll only acknowledge that to the extent of cynically plastering the word on an “infrastructure” bill which is in fact just a far Left wishlist that largely ignores actual infrastructure, in the hopes people will be dumb enough to support it because it has the right label.

And on.

What aptitudes does it have besides taking money, trampling civil liberties, and ignoring constitutional laws at gunpoint? News flash, dummies: We don’t need peaceful protestors incarcerated without a trial. We don’t need the weight of the federal government turned to the problem of violating states rights because Texas passed a law Biden doesn’t like. We need military egresses that look like they weren’t planned by Bozo the clown and an economic plan better than something China would design for us as an attempt to permanently sink the country. Is there anyone at all in DC who can provide that? If not, is there anything useful they can do? I’ll wait.

…

This is what decadence looks like. When the government stops even attempting competence because nothing and nobody that currently exists can replace or displace them so who cares about results? When comfort and plenty have become so common, been taken for granted for so long, that the question of utility or even basic sanity isn’t even distantly considered. When it’s assumed that self-harming policies that will obviously damage the country won’t really matter because nobody has ever known a world without America and fundamentally has no idea how the present day came to be. When the country’s most educated start chasing bizarre and unimaginably stupid ideas on economics that boil down to “inflation won’t happen if you double the monetary supply by printing money, if only you just believe hard enough”. In fact, when education stops being a means to greater insight, more useful abilities, and a better life, and becomes a cult devoted to the kind of idiocy that can survive only with strenuous censorship, the tenets of the cult being treated by the indoctrinated as a collection of sacred mysteries and deeply-thought paradoxes— while to those not similarly trained it is self-obviously a collection of contradictory and self-serving lies.

Verily, decadence is here. We can infer that what comes next is the barbarians. And we have options. Mexican illegals? A heady mixture of poverty-stricken Marxists who have never known a system that wasn’t corrupt, functionally lawless, and devoted to the tenets of voting oneself rich; and outright criminals with lives like “a demon’s resumé”? Perhaps radical Muslims? By sheer numbers worldwide they’re the most likely option. The Taliban just got a huge infusion of cash and a big boost in morale. In a few short days we’ll know whether they’ve arranged a thank you gift for Zho Bi-Xen and his kleptocrat marching band to commemorate his intended pull-out date. But even if, and God I hope, they have not, we can expect an uptick in terrorism and quite shortly. Or perhaps China? The Middle Kingdom would laugh at being called barbarians, but I call genocidal communists like I see them. Mao was morally three steps below a pig and Xi has enough power to aspire to greater depths. As is I wouldn’t dream of feeding a pig Mu Shu Xi due to the great risk of poisoning the pig.

But there is a barbarian group not considered. Us.

Hang on. Before you balk, listen. Look again at what these idiots are selling as the fruits of civilization. Defenses of pedophilia and urinals as art. And more, too—sterilization and disfigurement of teenagers in the form of sex changes. Black supremacy as a panacea to made up threats of white supremacy. Books nobody reads, movies nobody watches, paintings that exist only to launder money—even the ones not made by Hunter Biden.

What good person would not be proud to be considered a barbarian by these miserable, over-decorated Faberge people? I’d be mortified if they agreed with me! So they think I’m a sexist or a racist or whatever. Fine. They do not use these words to mean the same things I mean, so it’s a pointless argument, and they are now officially beneath my explaining myself to them. When the people who are calling me names are so morally opaque that the Taliban can make devastating critiques of them just by referencing the foundational works of their own gender studies programs, I’m done caring about the names. Fine. I’m what you think is a racist. I’m what you think is a sexist. But you think a lot of very stupid things, and as the curtain continues to draw back on the carnival of madness that’s been behind the scenes the entire time it’s occurring to me that what you think and reality overlap so seldom that the only time not to ignore you is when I can ridicule you. If that is your civilization, someone hand me a pointy horned helmet.

…

Yes, this is a moment of peril, but also opportunity. See in your country what every hostile group listed above sees in it—the makings of great civilization, along other, less stupid lines. All of it guarded by weak, fat, stupid people with no will and no self-belief. Take that mindset and go forth.

Get involved in your local systems. There is an old prayer for God to make ones enemies ridiculous. Congratulations to whomever was still praying it. Your prayers have been answered. Will you tell me that you cannot defeat these people? People who lose casual debates to terrorists not on principle but on basic facts?

…

You can’t reason with them so don’t bother. Recent events have made it clear you may as well try to talk sense into a three-day-old mackerel. Just confront them with their own stupidity so that people who see the inevitable video understand what this is about, and don’t feel that you are too good to shout them out of the room. You’re the barbarian, remember? Not like the nice civilized people with their gender-queer Tik-Tokers pushing vaccine propaganda. That means you’re excused from conversations with morons. Don’t bother trying to find common ground. Look at where they’re standing! Do you want to try to find the midpoint between that and reality? Silly. Pointless. Send them back to their walled online gardens to whine to their equally stupid friends about the barbarians.

Can we take it back from the ground up? I don’t know. But hey, it’s got to be worth a shot. Join the fun! Find some friends and locate a low-hanging political event to raid. When was the last time you went to a town hall for your town? Isn’t just a part of you curious to know whether your local county commissioner starts by declaring her pronouns? Wouldn’t it be wonderful to see someone like that made very uncomfortable? You can make that happen. You can probably do it within the next month. Bring a few friends! Or a few dozen. Some of the people reading this probably were afraid to do that kind of thing for fear of losing their job. The Biden economy might have freed up some of your time. What have you got to lose now? More importantly, the way things are going, are you going to lose it anyway if things continue as they are? Think on it.

#thomas kendall #sarah a hoyt

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shiny-procrastinates · 3 years

Text

(re)Watching Magia Record S1 - part 11

part 10 here

Hello and welcome back everyone to our Magia Record s1 watch-along! Last time, we had the aftermath of the Endless Solitude's incident, found out that Mami is now part of the Wings of the Magius and left off with the reveal that one of Ui's (Iroha's sister, for those who have forgotten) might be another one of the Magius. What is this all about? Let's watch and find out:

Puella Magi Madoka Magica Side Story: Magia Record S1 episode 11

For some reason, we are now watching Tsukuyo's club practice. Wait- Akatsuki? That's not the surname I remember. We also see a photo of Mifuyu on the club room, so they must've been club mates.

Good question, Tsukuyo. Maybe she's waiting for Sana? (lies)

awnt the whole family's on the op now. Yachiyo is even smiling!

NOW we're back to where the other episode left off. According to Sana, she sometimes heard the Feathers talking about Nemu when they came to Ai's barrier to retrieve a witch. The girls then wonder if Nemu's being forced to work with them and Iroha says that maybe Ui's being kept captive by them too, with everyone falling silent at this.

Felicia asks if they can't just catch a Feather and force them to speak, so Tsuruno says if they should keep going after the Rumors them. While the three are wondering that, Iroha remembers about Tsukuyo, who she had seen in her uniform, and we are now back to the present.

Yeah right, are you saying you were actually triplets?

So Iroha decided to catch Tsukuyo after school. If Tsukuyo had a braincell, she could've left by a backdoor or used her magical girl powers to jump over the wall, but it seems she borrowed hers to Tsukasa today.

Tsukuyo stops Iroha from outing her as a Feather, so Iroha invites her to go talk somewhere else. Tsukuyo asks if she plans to interrogate her or worse but Iroha really only wants to talk.

After changing locations, Iroha seems to have told Tsukuyo about her situation. Tsukuyo asks why Iroha would go so far as telling her that, and Iroha answers that she needs to see Nemu no matter what.

After asking who between Tsukuyo and Tsukasa is the younger sister, appealing to their point in common, Iroha threatens outing Tsukuyo to the others if she doesn't let her see Nemu. Tsukuyo is shocked, asking if she's threatening her and Iroha says she doesn't care if she sees it that way. Damn, Iroha really means business when it's about her sister.

As always when it comes to Ui, Iroha's unusually pushy, and Tsukuyo ends up giving in and promising to at least talk to Mifuyu about it.

Later that day, the Mikadzuki girls minus Yachiyo are having a meeting in Iroha's room, and decide to get Yachiyo coasters as a thank-you present for giving them the mugs. So cute.

...that's some interesting club this school has.

The next day, Iroha meets up after school with the other girls to go buy the coaster. Can we talk about the fact there's a group chat just for watching over Felicia? lol

The girls go buy the coaster, and get interrupted by a witch. Guess we can add that to the things magical girls can't do in peace. No probs Tsuruno, there's really no run-time for this.

Look how happy she is. Please don't ruin this in the next scene, show (flag).

Back at the house, Iroha's waiting for Yachiyo's return on Tsuruno's instructions. She hears the doorbell ring and answers it immediately, thinking it's Yachiyo (really, Iroha, why would Yachiyo ring the doorbell to her own house?) but, shockingly, it's Mifuyu.

This probably situation couldn't get more awkward for Iroha had they tried. Iroha tries to show some hospitality, but Mifuyu takes the lead and the opportunity to rub in that she knows the place (and its owner) way better. What's with the attitude, Mifuyu? It's not like Iroha threatened your friend or a- oh wait, nvm.

Iroha asks what business Mifuyu has with Yachiyo today, and Mifuyu asks in return if she has to have some business in order to visit a friend... no, not business Mifuyu but normally you'd warn someone before dropping by, where's your manners? Iroha points out that she hasn't visited for a long time and Mifuyu explains that she didn't come because she knew Yachiyo wouldn't agree with The Wings of the Magius. She then explains she's actually there to talk to Iroha today.

Oh, she did it, she flipped Iroha's switch.

Mifuyu asks if Iroha wouldn't join the cult if she wants to know about Nemu, but Iroha questions Mifuyu's motive for recruiting her, to which Mifuyu says it'd be good for them because she'd be able to investigate about her sister without clashing with them. Iroha presses her about Ui, which she says she doesn't know, and Nemu, but Mifuyu does not say anything else.

...aaand the other girls are standing there in the garden while all this is going on lol

*peek*

Mifuyu invites the girls of Mikadzuki Villa to attend a lecture about what exactly the cult is doing... this is definitely a trap ain't it. At that moment, Yachiyo arrives. Oooh man...

Mifuyu apologizes for the surprise and makes to leave, saying this one unpleasant remark to which Yachiyo angrily replies right away.

Mifuyu provokes Yachiyo, saying how she went back to being her old self, which Yachiyo denies, eventually losing her cool and ordering Mifuyu to leave.

Tsuruno tries to check on Yachiyo but Yachiyo also leaves. Felicia's confused and Tsuruno tries to keep a bright mood, but the atmosphere is definitely ruined.

Yachiyo has went back to her room and-

ohhwoah what is that that's creepy!

So, uhh, Yachiyo is not well at all, she's now hallucinating. Whatever Mifuyu was trying to get at earlier it definitely got to her.

Seems the other girls aren't having a much better night either... but at least they're not hallucinating.

The next day, Iroha relays Mifuyu's invitation to the others. Yachiyo, however, refuses to take part in the conversation and leaves. She's very clearly still bothered about what Mifuyu said, and now she's avoiding her team.

Iroha and the girls have each their reaction to Yachiyo's behavior for a moment, but then go back to the matter at hand. Sana asks if Iroha really plans on going to the lecture, and she says she decided it'd be best to go, after thinking it over. They don't want to fight the cult either, so it shouldn't hurt to at least try to hear them out. Felicia says it's definitely a trap but that they can just break out together then, with Tsuruno agreeing. The two laugh, but doesn't it feel kinda forced?

...and then they realize no one knows where Memory Museum is lol

Mitama! Long time no see.

Iroha drops by the Coordinator's to ask about Memory Museum, which Mitama reveals is a Rumor that's being spread around Sakae Ward.

We then get a scene about the contents of the Rumor. Apparently, the Memory Museum archives memories (who'd thought!) and you can do things with them by ringing a bell, or something. But if you see one you'll end up influenced by it. (I refuse to comment about the goat)

In any case, Momoko points on the map the probable location of Memory Museum, to which Iroha thanks the two and goes back. After Iroha leaving, Mitama advises Momoko to tell "something", at least to Rena, since Kaede is still down, and Momoko says she knows. Quite the dark clouds are on the horizon.

No, literally. It's raining.

Back at Mikadzuki Villa, all the girls except Yachiyo are leaving to go to Memory Museum. Iroha warns Yachiyo they're leaving, but she doesn't answer. Ohh Yachiyo, please, are you sure you won't regret this later?

Iroha and co. naruto run on the rain to Memory Museum, meeting Chibi Kyuubei on the entrance. Yep, definitely Rumor. I might be going crazy but I always think that Iroha looks more her age with the raincoat, despite Madoka's wei- I mean, unique art style. Gotta be something with the proportions.

Also like this detail with Tsuruno's coat folded weird and Felicia's not folded at all lol

We are platformer game now

While climbing up the drawers, the girls talk about chibi Kyuubei, eventually raising suggestions on how to name him... which is funny because that's for the player to decide in the game, so we don't have an official way to call him.

Meanwhile, Rena's meeting up with Momoko. She starts complaining like usual, but soon hesitates when she reads the mood. Momoko says she thought it was time to tell her what happened to Yachiyo one year ago. Wait, what? We never heard about anything either.

But, well... we can guess.

Back at the Memory Museum, Iroha might be the unluckiest mahou shoujo ever, because

One of the Magius is none other than one of her sister's friends.

- x -

Aaand that's it for episode 11. That last scene is a bomb drop, but it's not like you couldn't see it coming from the moment they said Nemu was part of the cult. I mean, if one of the hospital trio was erased from existence, and the other was part of the cult, what were the odds that the last one would be normal? lol

Talking about this scene, I feel compelled to post here the corresponding still from the game, because the world was robbed of Iroha's surprisingly gallant back:

Seriously, when was she ever this cool?

On the other hand, Touka looks like a cute normal kid here which is about as far of the truth as we can get, so I'll give the anime credit for that.

All that aside, we are now approaching the end! With the Magius giving a lecture about salvation and Momoko having a talk with Rena, it's quite clear that the truth about magical girls is about to be revealed to our cast next episode. The big question here is: how will they react? Felicia specially shouldn't be very happy to learn this, considering what her wish was. Exciting!

We also have left to wonder what's up with Yachiyo. Why did what Mifuyu say affect her so much? We have yet to see her backstory, so Momoko talking might just gives us the answer to that question.

With that said, I'll leave it here for today. I can't believe this ended up even later than yesterday considering I start writing even earlier. Dammit short attention span, stop getting sidetracked pls. Tomorrow we'll be watching episode 11 that's looking really promising, so I hope you'll be reading me again then. Have a good morning/afternoon/evening and bye-bye!

#Magia Record #magireco #pmmm magia record #Puella Magi Madoka Magica

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ahtohallan-calling · 4 years

Text

chapter 1 of the food of love is here!

{kristanna / t /modern au / humor and fluff / pride & prejudice inspired}

Legendary food critic Hayden West is known for their scathing reviews of restaurants and wickedly sharp wit. Restaurant owners tremble at the thought of the day the mysterious reviewer will walk through their doors-- never suspecting that Hayden West is, in fact, the redheaded woman with a sketchbook eating a quiet meal alone.

It's an easy enough job for Anna, and she's got her routine down pat, especially with the help of her assistant, Olaf.

And then comes the day she walks into Kristoff Bjorgman's restaurant-- and gets much, much more than she bargained for.

Pencil-- check.

Sketchbook-- check.

Phone, wallet, and keys-- check.

Anna took one last glance at herself in the mirror, smoothing down the navy skirt of her nondescript dress. Her hair, that couldn’t be helped; a wig would stand out even more than the fiery shade of auburn, but she’d pulled it up into a ponytail to keep it mostly out of sight. Simple makeup, plain unbranded shoes-- she appeared entirely unremarkable.

Perfect.

She hummed to herself a little as she locked her apartment and headed towards the stairs. This week’s assignment was easy enough; some new little bistro on the edge of an area that was trendy five years ago.

She liked the little, unfussy places. It was easier to hide when no one cared if she lingered with her sketchbook, easier to see what she was looking for at places where you could hear what was happening in the kitchen while still watching the manager wander around trying to figure out who Hayden West was.

The only clue they ever got was the day Hayden would be there; no photos existed of the mysterious restaurant critic, no matter how many times their scathing reviews went viral. “The Gordon Ramsay of newspaper critics,” that was what the Times had called Hayden after a withering review of a seafood place had garnered a hundred thousand retweets for its description of particularly horrible crab cakes that “deserved neither to be called crab nor cake but perhaps a vaguely saltwater scented cement patty that should be patented and marketed as an instantaneously effective weight loss supplement.”

Anna had been particularly proud of that one. It was a rare day when the food was actually bad enough to warrant such a review on its own; the fact that the manager had gotten into a screaming match that reduced a sixteen year old waitress to tears was simply motivation to hold absolutely nothing back.

She wondered, sometimes, what people would think if they knew the truth: that in fact Hayden had never existed at all and was in fact a twenty-four-year-old woman who’d unexpectedly been promoted into the gig after the man she’d been interning under was unceremoniously given the boot for drunkenly relieving himself on the editor’s lawn, where he had gotten caught by a ferocious Maltese.

The restaurant, thankfully, was only a few blocks away; her car was in desperate need of a replacement everything, but she didn’t have the heart to get rid of it, not when it’d seen her through thick and thin for nearly ten years, from her sixteenth birthday to her college move-ins to her hour long commute to the Tribune’s office for her barely-more-than-unpaid internship.

It came to a creaky halt in front of the restaurant at ten to noon; she’d have just enough time to get seated without having to wait, but she’d bear witness to the midday lunch rush and its aftermath. The place wasn’t much to look at, though she could tell by the small garden out front and the stenciled outlines on the white-painted brick wall that it wasn’t for lack of effort. It had opened only a month ago, the latest in a long line of valiant attempts to put something interesting on this block. If she remembered correctly, six months ago this space had been a design-your-own-lasagna place (wonderful idea, but impossible to execute efficiently); before that, there had been a sugar-free bakery that had been run out of business in two weeks when it was discovered that the only sugar-free thing it sold was bottled water; and even before that, it had been, like most places that were cursed with a constant “for lease” sign, a Jenny Craig.

And now it was just BB’s, a name that was so simple it made her worry that this venture would fail like all its predecessors, especially considering its lack of marketing and online presence; she’d had to send her intern to do some scouting for her to even get her hands on a menu in advance.

“This place is great, boss,” Olaf had said through a mouthful of food as he’d called her on his way back to the office. “They’ve even got cheesecake.”

“With--”

“Chocolate sauce, yeah, yeah, I know how you are. I got the menu for you and had the cute waiter circle all his recommendations, and that was top of the list. Well, not literally top, the desserts are all at the--”

“I knew what you meant, Olaf,” she’d said as she rolled her eyes, a fond smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “And thanks.”

Now, Anna found herself hoping he had been right about this place when she pushed the door open, bells jingling overhead; it had been far too long since she’d gotten the chance to write an enthusiastic endorsement of a place that really deserved it. To her surprise, only one other table was taken by two men, one broad-shouldered and blond, the other dark-haired and sporting a wide smile the second he laid eyes on her.

“Hi!” he said brightly, leaping to his feet and wiping his hands on his apron. “Welcome to BB’s! Table for one?”

“Yes, please,” she said, returning his smile after a moment’s confusion; if the place was as good as Olaf had said, why was it this desolate on a Saturday at lunchtime?

“I’m Ryder, and I’ll be taking care of you today,” the waiter said, pulling a chair out for her at a table next to the window. “Let me grab you a menu, okay?”

“Thanks,” Anna said, her focus instead on the other man as he rose to his feet and ambled over to the door that led to the kitchen. He was even taller-- and broader, Jesus but those shoulders-- than she’d realized at first.

This place must have been an old-fashioned diner once upon a time, judging by the window to the kitchen through which she could still see him. He was handsome, she supposed, if you liked men with strong jaws and broad noses and floppy golden hair.

And brown eyes, she thought, her cheeks turning bright red as he looked up and caught her staring. She jerked her attention away just as Ryder said cheerfully “Here you go!” as he put a laminated menu on the table in front of her. “The soup of the day is minestrone. What would you like to drink?”

“Water, please, and a coffee,” she said, still trying to cover her embarrassment.

“I’ll brew some fresh for you and be right back,” he said, that broad grin still plastered to his face as he bustled back to the kitchen.

Anna fidgeted a little in her seat as she pulled out her sketchbook. The whole point of her job was going unnoticed, but if she was the only customer in the restaurant today-- shit, this could blow her whole cover, considering each restaurant knew in advance that Hayden was coming that day.

For now, though, she had to worry about her notes, and so she began to sketch the interior of the restaurant in the notepad. She was no great artist by any stretch of the imagination, but it was the best way she’d found to remember her thoughts and impressions of a restaurant without having to worry about prying eyes reading over her shoulder. With each detail she drew, she thought of something specific-- friendly waiter as she scribbled the outline of the door, not busy, why? for the back of a chair, clean, good health rating posted for the box of the kitchen window.

And the menu-- she glanced over it as she doodled it. Simple, Italian-American fare; judging by the names-- Cliff’s Favorite, a deep-dish pizza with meatballs, and Ronnie’s Ravioli-- these were family recipes. She couldn’t help but wonder about what the chef’s family was like as she dared to steal another peek at him. He was working on prepping something, his forehead furrowed in concentration, and if she noticed the way his shoulders strained against his white t-shirt as he did so...well, so long as he didn’t catch her looking again, what did it matter?

The bells over the door jingled, startling her, and she turned to see a chattering group of six friends come in. A feeling of relief washed over her; she hated to see places like this go under fast.

Ryder set her coffee down in front of her, winking as he dropped a couple of creamers beside it, before scurrying over to seat the newcomers. She took a sip as her phone buzzed with a text from Olaf.

how is it?

Good so far. Decent coffee. Not many people here, though, can you send some friends?

aye aye, captain. i’ll remind them to do a better job of pretending not to recognize you this time lol

God, it was hard to remember how she’d used to do this without him. When Hans had first been fired and she’d been unceremoniously promoted into his newly vacant position, she’d spent the first few weeks scrambling to find a restaurant that actually deserved the sort of bad review Hayden West was known for. Hans, of course, had never had such scruples, but it felt wrong to Anna to make a mockery of a place and risk running it out of business when it was run by perfectly nice people, even if they did have a watery hollandaise. She’d used to rely on word of mouth and her own scouting expeditions to try and find places that really deserved it, but it wasn’t until she’d found the place with the shitty crab cakes that she’d finally found a manager who was a big enough asshole to deserve every bad review the place got.

The problem, though, was that when the review had gone viral, it had spelled a complete shutdown for the restaurant. After spending two sleepless nights worrying about the impact it’d have on the rest of the staff, Anna had gone for a second visit-- this time ordering a simple salad that still managed to be disgusting-- and pulled one of the waiters aside, asking about the plans the rests of the staff had for a next job.

And, because that had been her lucky day, the waiter had been Olaf, and he’d been just as enthusiastic as she was about helping connect the rest of the staff with new places more than willing to hire them on-- and he didn’t ask any questions about why, exactly, she cared so much. But when Anna had asked what Olaf himself was looking for as a next step, he’d blushed and admitted, “Honestly, I’m on a break from college right now. Journalism major-- not sure if it’s worth finishing, you know?”

Anna had confessed then for the very first time that she was, in fact, the legendary Hayden West-- or at least his successor-- expecting him to react with shock and, if she was being honest, a bit of awe, but instead Olaf had burst into laughter.

“Obviously,” he said, wiping at his eyes. “I saw the way you were looking around the place and heard the questions you were asking. Secret’s safe with me, though.”

She’d called her boss the same day asking to bring him on as a paid intern, and neither of them had looked back since. Olaf had a knack for finding disgruntled waitstaff in the Tri-State area complaining on Twitter and Reddit about their shitty bosses, then following up with them after Hayden’s reviews were published to make sure that they and their coworkers had a better place to work, either because their managers had seen the light or because they had moved on to greener pastures.

One of the tricks they’d developed together was sending in decoys if Anna was ever worried about getting caught. Olaf had a whole network of friends who were more than willing to show up to restaurants at a moment’s notice and eat a meal on the Tribune’s dime.

Today, though, she needed a certain pair of them to make sure this went smoothly.

Send the two improv kids, she texted back. They’ve got their work cut out for them-- this place is deserted. They have to act extra Hayden-y.

Olaf replied with only a thumbs-up emoji. Anna sighed and sat back in her seat, and a moment later Ryder appeared by her side. “Ready to order?” he asked, wearing another bright smile.

Extra attentive-- she’d add that to the sketch later. “Yeah,” she said, skimming the menu quickly again. Honestly, so far, this place hit every mark of a restaurant worth one of Hayden’s really positive reviews, which, thanks to the column’s usual reputation, went even more viral than the venomous ones-- not every day that a renowned cynic actually liked something.

There was just one more test, the one that elevated a good place to a great one, great enough that she’d come back to on her own time and money and bring her sister along for the ride.

“I’ll just have the spaghetti, please,” she said with her sunniest smile.

Ryder nodded and turned away, whistling to himself, and she glanced up at the clock over his head.

Five minutes and counting, she thought. Fingers crossed this goes the way I want.

---

a/n: THANK YOU to molly, laura, and melissa for helping me brainstorm and plan this one out!!extra thanks to molly and to johanna for helping me with some of the restaurant stuff, to ronnie for helping me decide what kind of restaurant kristoff would have, and as always, to creative director gabi :')

#kristanna #my fics #p&p&p

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the-last-cuddlebender · 4 years

Text

The Jasmine Dragons

When Uncle Iroh said in TLOK that he chose to move on into the Spirit World, I think he did so by climbing onto the back of a lionturtle…

**************************************

A/N: This started as a little hc post a few days ago, but then I remembered how much I love dragons and Uncle Iroh (and Azula and Zuko). Plus, my selfcontrol for writing hurt/comfort is non-existent:)

Rating: G (D for dragons)

Words: 1,390

ArchiveOfOurOwn

**************************************

The sun is setting in the West when the lionturtle speaks to him.

“I have heard your wish. I can help you face the next step of your journey. But only if you are ready.”

Iroh shares a cup of jasmine tea with Zuko and beats his nephew’s butt at Pai Sho one last time. He doesn’t tell him that he’s going. Zuko doesn’t sense anything strange, either, because his uncle always exudes love like his very next minute of life will be taken from him.

Azula finds Iroh before he finds her. Nothing happens in the Palace without her knowing. She looks at her Uncle like she knows more about what is to happen than he does. She hugs him and says nothing, and she holds him for a few seconds longer than Iroh thought her capable of.

Then the moment is gone, Azula squares her shoulders, and Iroh’s niece strides away towards the company awaiting her in the gardens.

Iroh gets on the lionturtle’s back (it’s the water one, by the way. The element of family and change, and the element that Iroh so closely studied after his son was killed). He glances back to see his mortal coil looking as if asleep and smiling.

When Iroh turns around to face his new world, he is a little sad, though. In fact, his heart breaks and cries.

An old friend is there to greet him—the lionturtle is gone, now, and Iroh is standing in a mountain’s valley. Little tears escape him as he pets the nose of the massive, purring blue dragon.

But then the Firebending Master, now a spirit, touches a whisker to Iroh’s brow.

He shows Iroh his red-scaled mate, also an old friend, curled up and at peace so deep in the secret passages of their cave that she practically sleeps on the heart of the earth. She purrs in her half-empty nest, and she keeps one eye open to watch her two hatchlings play and tussle about the other half of her nest. The young dragons roll in the imprint that their ancient father had left, and the smooth dip of stone smells like something familiar and safe even though they never met him.

But then the mothering red dragon moves, showing Iroh something else. And Iroh cries a little harder and is so overcome with joy that it fills him to the brim, curls into a smile, and spills over into a laugh.

The ancient blue dragon relishes his old friend’s happiness and shows him through his vision, again, the hoard of golden eggs clutched in an alcove behind his old nest. The alcove is covered walls and floor with bushes blooming small white flowers (that cradle the eggs like a bed), and crystals like those used in the Earth Kingdom—though these are gold teetering on white—line the alcove’s ceiling and bathe the bushes and eggs with light like the crystals were each a tiny sun.

Iroh laughs so hard that he would have stopped breathing if he weren’t a spirit, now, when, in the vision, the ancient red dragon turns and puffs a small gust of cinders over the bushes. Her heated breath hardly disturbs a leaf, and she settles to sleep as the faint smell of burning jasmine fills the cave.

...Zuko, much like his Uncle had once done, goes to the masters as he grieves his loss.

The Sun Warriors play the horn and drums, and Zuko doesn’t know what the hell to think when two dragons barely bigger than housecats emerge from the massive caves.

The tiny dragons circle him like vultures (not quite old enough to fly) and trip over feet they have yet to grow into as they attempt to dance.

The blue, keen and calculating for its young age, sits like the statues outside the Palace. She nods and blows a ring of smoke to voice her approval of him, and she puffs her chest and looks at Zuko like she expected him to grovel his thanks for her giving him a judgment at all.

The red circles a second more, cocks his head, and then jumps and tries to spit a stream of fire. His form is terrible, and he would have landed flat on his back if Zuko didn’t drop to his knee and catch him. The dragon’s golden eyes narrow like he’s smiling, and Zuko swears he really is. (The blue huffs and growls like she is muttering her irritation.)

The stone bridge shakes as the red Master, massive and looming and ancient, appears at the mouth of her cave. She gives Zuko a look, cocks her head, and puffs an approving ring of smoke just like the little blue dragon had. She growls something that sounds like a purr and shakes Zuko to the bone. The rolling bass of the sound is a landslide trembling his marrow, and the blue, her nose and tail high in the air, trots to her mother.

But then the blue pauses, frozen for a second.

She zooms like she is made of water up Zuko’s pants and tunic, and she throws herself over her brother. Zuko holds them both against his chest, and their weight reminds him of Bumi and baby Kya (who he had visited not even a week before).

The blue nuzzles her brother like she was both saying hello after living a lifetime apart from him and saying goodbye forever.

The red flinches as though surprised, but he returns the gesture with twice as much urgency and just as loud of a purr.

Then the moment is gone, the blue dragon nips the red’s ear as if to remind him of the chain of command, and she shakes off her fall of demeanor. She sticks her nose back in the air like royalty, and she trots to her mother awaiting her in the cave.

The ancient red Master rolls her eyes as much as a dragon can, and she cuddles the little blue close. She gives Zuko a long look that sinks into the deepest parts of him and flips through the pages of his soul.

The little red dragon, purring, clings to Zuko’s tunic. His mother looks sad but proud as she and the little blue disappear back into the cave.

Ancient eyes that have witnessed a thousand lifetimes gleam through the black at Zuko. They glint like sunlight hitting gold coins and shuffle through a rainbow of different emotions as if to show him something.

“...I understand.”

The orbs of gold blink and disappear.

Zuko smiles and holds his dragon like he was his inner fire made scaly flesh, and he tries not to trip or cry as he descends the stairs.

(His dragon smells so much like jasmine tea that Zuko’s heart doesn’t know whether to jump for joy or stop beating altogether.)

(Azula is there to greet him when Zuko steps off his ship. She doesn’t look surprised, and the little red dragon doesn’t shy away from her hand.)

(Druk makes his nest in the bushes blooming small white flowers near the turtleduck pond.)

(Ursa keeps him in the corner of her eye when she sits in the garden to read. She awaits the company soon to join her. Druk pads the space in the bush beside him like he is doing the same.)

(Azula is nothing if not patient.)

(“...I know.”)

(And Azula, like her brother, struggles not to trip as she descends the stairs with the little blue curled and clinging to her chest.)

(But Azula, unlike Zuko, lets herself cry.)

(Her heart decides to beat like her next minute of life would be taken from her.)

(Neither Azula nor Zuko—nor Ursa, especially—ever move the empty fourth seat at the table where they play Pai Sho.)

(Druk and Riyu curl up, winding over each other like a metal cable braided together, in the imprint their Flame-Brother’s and Flame-Sister’s father—not their sire—had left, and the smooth dip of wood smells like something familiar and safe even though they had never met him.)

(Ursa lights a gentle fire and brews their tea.)

(They all welcome the lazy fuzz simmering just beneath their skin that threatens them with sleep as the smell of steaming jasmine fills the gardens.)

**************************************

Riyu = "reason"...because Azula found her drive/purpose/reason...

...Azula had to find the last (Master) firebender whose kind had been slaughtered by hers.

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evergreen-dryad · 4 years

Text

like clouds passing by

7 - childhood friends AU - MDZS, Wangxian, early 2000s

—the one where WWX and LWJ are neighbours on the same street, and before WWX moves away he gives LWJ the rabbits they bonded over.

from this list of prompts here for August.

If he were to tell his story, he might have told it thus:

Once, there was a little boy who often played by himself. He lived on a street with two other houses: one red, one purple, his own blue.

When he was younger, Wang Ji had not thought much of people, or of animals. What mattered most were rules, and the fulfilling of them. When things turned out exactly like clockwork, and all words were accounted for.

Days were spent doing schoolwork, practicing calligraphy, and running through scales on the piano after his elder brother had had his turn, with their uncle providing guidance.

It was a peaceful, sleepy existence, and the trees whispered unceasingly at the doors and windows. But things never do stay the same, do they? The blue boy and the boy from the brick-red house met.

This was how it happened.

He had been absorbed in reading, as he had been prone to do as a child. Lan Wang Ji would faithfully parse through each schoolbook, carefully memorising every piece of information, so that it may be laid out for recitation. Teachers had loved him, for he had not been given to noise.

He can't remember what exactly he had been reading anymore, but he remembers he had reached the part about Yu The Great, of how he had redirected the river—

When a terrific shriek had rent the air.

Lan Wang Ji stilled. He remained seated where he was. Slowly, he craned his head outwards, leaning out of the inner shade of the porch.

The wails soon got louder as the source shot into the garden. Wang Ji promptly retracted his head, alarmed at the sight of — another child, howling his head off, hurling curses at whatever was behind him, and then honing in on him.

Wang Ji flinched. Fists tightening, he quickly scooped his book into his lap before the loud footsteps could stomp over it. The strange child, cowering behind him, was now whimpering and murmuring words— Wang Ji realised then he was screaming the same words (don't come here, get away!) – so rapidly, they almost sounded like a mantra.

“Coward!” Another voice echoed over the wall. It whistled, and the puppies that were about to trespass into his garden as well retreated, tails wagging as they bounded back to their owner.

The noisy one behind him moaned some more. He was starting to sound grumpy. “Who wants to play with you anyway!”

A disdainful “Hmph!” sounded before cooing to the puppies: “Love, Jasmine, Princess, let’s go!”

Gagging sounds. “Why did he have to name them like that… they don’t fit their names at all!” Exhaling, the intruder peeked out from behind him. Grey eyes, he realised with surprise. Their lashes were still wet from tears. This person had been genuinely frightened after all. Those eyes locked onto him then.

Silver and gold interlocked at that point.

Wang Ji did not look away. Surprisingly, he found himself holding his breath. Even more surprisingly, the boy in front of him broke into a huge grin.

“Thanks, friend! Those dogs sure were scary, weren’t they!” Once he began, it was as if a dam broke and the chattering flooded out.

Wang Ji, bewildered, and rather annoyed he had been kept from reading, decided this visitor needed showing out. Unbothered, the strange boy got up to follow him.

"Those dogs, ugh! Bark whenever they see anyone! Who says they're just being friendly, they sound so angry, clearly they're about to bite." He shuddered theatrically.

Wang Ji chose to walk faster.

"They chase every living thing under the earth, for no reason why! Just too cruel, nearly scared me and my rabbits to death-! Oh."

The boy actually pouted at him.

"You want me to go already?" Wang Ji was about to tell him to have a good day when the boy leaned in conspiratorially, as if to confide a secret.

"Want to see my rabbits?"

Wang Ji opened his mouth to refuse. He closed it again.

"Rabbits?" He finally spoke to the strange, smiling boy. At his question the boy actually lit up.

"Mn, rabbits! I've two, one white one black. They're really cute~" He said in a singsong manner, arms propped behind his mop of hair.

At this point in time, Wang Ji had still not seen a rabbit in real life, let alone met one. He had only read of them in the fairy-tale books in the library, and occasionally on the television. So he was understandably piqued.

Yet he still hesitated. He wasn't sure if it was okay to just step into another person's residence without prior permission. The boy seemed to pick up on his uneasiness, so he said:

"Wait a mo!"

And off he ran. He shrieked a little as the puppies from next door barked and lunged at him, but fortunately they were leashed this time. Wang Ji watched his back disappear into the house next to the Jiangs’.

He stood there momentarily, before returning to his book left on the porch. This time, he sat on the outer edge.

The sun has gone behind the clouds, he told himself. Late afternoon sunlight spilled over him and the pages, pleasantly warm. Shadows of leaves swayed together with the yellowing light on the grass.

A larger shadow loomed and blotted over the white paper. Wang Ji looked up to see the boy carting two little rabbits by their ears.

He came, laughing and forever unable to stay still, into the quiet garden, bearing two rabbits.

He was shocked speechless.

"What's wrong? Your face got even stiffer than before.” The boy laughed, and presented them to him as if they were hunting trophies. They dangled quietly, without protest. “That surprised to see me?”

He tensed. "Put them down."

The boy looked at him bemusedly. "Ah, so that's what you're worried about." He tucked them into the crook of his arms, hand gently petting them. They really were very docile, Wang Ji noted.

"Doesn't it hurt them?"

“Hmm, my dad likes to lift them up like that, I think they must have gotten used to it." The boy circled a finger around the delicate ear of the white rabbit. It flicked upwards, tickled.

"You shouldn't do that." He said, young face serious.

The boy peered at him, a smile playing about his thin lips. "Relax, I never do it for long. Just did it to surprise you, haha!" He sat down beside him; the rabbits let down into his lap. They scrambled for footing and blinked curious eyes at him, whiskers quivering. One pair red, the other black.

"Want to hold one?" He offered in a softer voice.

Lan Wang Ji stared as the black one sniffed one corner of his book, considering. "Mn." He gingerly brought a finger closer to the twitching nose. A thought suddenly occurred to him. Do rabbits eat paper? Fascinated despite himself, he let the wandering nose creep closer.

(They do.

If Lan Wang Ji ended up with a slightly nibbled page, he did not say a word.)

His finger made contact. The rabbit looked up at him, ears perking.

It gently nosed back, butting his finger.

Wang Ji soon found himself booping a rabbit repeatedly as it raised its head higher and higher, chasing his finger on the way up.

A light laugh drifted next to his ear. Wang Ji glanced at him briefly, and looked away when they made eye contact.

“He just wants you to rub his head properly.” He was informed with a fond smile. The white rabbit remained curled up contentedly in its owner’s lap, watching its companion’s antics with lazy disdain.

So it continued until Lan Wang Ji ended up learning how to hold two rabbits that day, instead of Chapter 7 of the history textbook. The boy wouldn’t go until he had held both in his arms and petted them to his heart’s content, which was …not easy to determine, to say the least.

The boy kept scrutinising his face for any change in detail. What was he looking for?

"You should go soon-”

“Hold them longer. Hug them to your heart! Stare into their eyes!”

“…” He complied. The boy's eyes were too insistent, so he followed each step as bidden. Wang Ji gazed down into the blinking eyes of the rabbits held securely to his chest, and felt ...comforted. It was strangely soothing to feel two little heartbeats next to his own.

“Alright,” he sighed, voice squeaking on the verge of laughter. “I’ll take that as a smile.”

Wang Ji immediately frowned, puzzled. He almost felt for his face. Is that what it was? Why was he so eager to coax a smile out of him?

“You like them, so I’ll bring them over again~” With that, the boy bounded out of the garden into the fading evening light, as silent as he had come. Wang Ji got up—

—and finally noticed his clothes were mussed with small hairs.

// I wrote this in 2019 originally for LWJ’s birthday event, but I never managed to finish it. It’s been lurking since at ~10k words, haven’t written any more of it. Not sure if I will, it’s very long. If anyone’s interested in reading more, I can post the rest of what I’ve written!

So! Much of my childhood ended up bleeding in! I’ve a lot of fond memories like that, aha. Tried to set it in China at first, remembered the 1-kid-rule was in place at that time, gave up.

-have decided to style their courtesy names in canon as their only names in this modern au, hence the space apart.

#au_gust_2020 #mo dao zu shi #wangxian #mdzs #mdzs fanfic #wei wuxian #wei ying #lan wangji #lan zhan #the untamed #cql #childhood friends au #my writing

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thorinthehottotty · 4 years

Text

The Dark - Part 1

Summary: Having landed in Middle Earth, Addie and Silvia find it to be very nice after Bilbo takes them in. Neither have a desire to return to their world until the book begins to get things wrong.

Warnings: There is no gore yet, but there will be violence and a few trigger warnings. For this part, there is only language and minor violence.

A/N: I have rewritten this part so many times. I'm sorry if it's hard to follow. I promised myself this was the last rewrite. As always, let me know what you think, good bad or ugly, I love feedback! Special thanks to @daisy-picking-lady and @fizzyxcustard for letting me bounce ideas off them for this story. I have had this in my drafts since before I started posting on here.

The Shire was a peaceful town, overflowing with flowers and herbs. It was rolling grassy hills and sweet, quiet folk. Very much the place you'd love to retire in. The vegetables and fruit were delectable and Bilbo was adorably polite. Incredibly introverted, yes, but overall, he was kind. A good friend to Addie and myself.

Addie was a gentle soul. Soft spoken and sweet. Her being easy to get along with and eager to please settle right in beside Bilbo's politeness and my own stubborn streak. Together, the three of us spent our first few weeks in summer bliss.

He'd seen us arrive like fallen stars, shooting through the night sky by fire that didn't burn.

Neither of us remember how it happened, what events lead to us appearing in Middle Earth, but it didn't take too long to figure out where we were. We had both seen the movies, though we hadn't read the books.

To be fair, it was on my reading list.

Addie and I both found ourselves reluctant to leave the Shire and return home. Bilbo asked us about it once only for us to share reluctant looks between us both. She wasn't eager to return to her overbearing mother who was growing ever worse. I had no one waiting back home myself. It was a lonely existance.

So it started off not far from what we had remembered. We were blinded by the gentle charm of Bag End casting it's shadow over the rest of the world. A pretty painted picture to hide the black mold growing on the walls. First it was Gandalf.

One late morning as I knelt in the front garden, enjoying the warm moist earth in my hands as I weeded the garden, a man began to wander up the road. I thought nothing of it for a few moments, only the nagging that he was out of place. It was only when I realized that this was the first man I'd seen, rather than hobbit that I snapped my full attention to him. Bilbo continued to puff on his pipe as the man in tattered grey robes and a flopped pointed hat meandered nearby.

Addie stops pouring the tea she'd just made to stare. She turned her worried doe eyes toward me. Slowly, I lean back onto my knees, pulling the gloves from my hand, I stick them in my apron as I rise with a basket, moving toward where the old man stands by the gate, eyeing Addie in a way I definitely didn't like.

"Good morning," the man greeted with crooked teeth, yellowed from age and too much tea. His grey hair hung in dreadlocks around his face, his beard similarly tangled.

"Ah, good morning to you as well," Bilbo chirps politely, lifting a brow at my chilling expression. Suddenly, these clothes feel all too translucent with this man gazing me over. A traditional hobbit style, skirts past the knee, tight bodices and sleeves that rolled up to my elbow. I didn't normally wear delicate skirts, but the cotton was comfortable and I quite like the blue patterns.

Only now, the low neckline made me feel dirty as this man gave an appreciative eye over it. My hand tightened on a spade as I refrain from driving it into his chest.

"It's a fine morning, Bilbo Baggins. I'm afraid I do not know your companions."

"Oh, tell me that's not..." I groan, unable to finish my sentence to turn and gape at Addie who looked just as shellshocked.

"Gandalf the Grey?" She finishes.

"Is it my reputation, or has Bilbo spoken of me?" He asks, looking much to proud of himself. Addie and I exchange glances and shrugs a bit at me.

"Color me less than impressed," I reply, and Addie finishes pouring more tea. Bilbo looks startled by my callous and rude behavior. "The tales we've head of you are very different than what I see before me." The wizard raises his eyebrows at me.

"Silvia," Bilbo gapes, his pipe weed burning forgotten in his pipe as he nearly drops it. "Sir, you must forgive my guest, she must be in a foul mood today."

"Less foul if he stopped undressing me with his eyes," I snarl. The wizard looks more amused than insulted by me.

"Feisty she is. Where might you be from, my dear," he asks. I pause for a moment, debating telling him. Finally, I decided it wouldn't hurt.

"Not Middle Earth." He nods, not looking too surprised.

"So the rumors of twin comets touching down in the Shire are true. I assume the other beauty happens to be from your world as well?"

"Yes, sir," she replies softly. His smile turns dark at her meek reply and I step closer to him, my lip curling into a sneer. He lifts an eyebrow at me.

"Bilbo, you have two charming guests," he replies. "Perhaps they should come along on our adventure."

"Adventure!?" Bilbo balks in terror. "Oh, no, no, no. Certainly not." His shrieked response relaxes me.

"You are the son of Belladona Took, are you not?"

"There will be no adventures here. You have come to the wrong hobbit!" Gandalf lifts an eyebrow in surprise.

"You are exactly the gnome I had in mind for this event. It will be a perfect fit." Bilbo's eyes darken and he stands from his bench. Those usually light green eyes turn to a dark forest as he begins to put out his pipe.

"The correct nomenclature happens to be 'Hobbit'," he rumbles out with a curl of his lip.

Bilbo normally looked soft and cute with his brassy curls and button nose. I had seen his teeth before when he spoke. Blunt white ones that were charming and a bit crooked. Cute. I was not expecting sharp needles of pearly white to sink from his gums as he bared them. When Gandalf saw our startled expressions, he smiled and drew back a sleeve, exposing the obvious scar of a bite. "Venomous as well," he had grinned mischievously.

I actually gulped at the frightening sight, hair rising on my arms. "Then perhaps you shouldn't call him that," I respond. Bilbo twisted toward me, giving me a glance that I couldn't quite read but felt a bit appreciative.

"Perhaps he should save those teeth for another day, the boggart. You haven't even heard the adventure."

"No adventures!" Bilbo shouts and turns to stamp into the house with Addie. I wait a moment, watching them disappear before turning back to the glowering wizard.

"If you bring your dwarves here," I begin in a quiet warning. "They will be polite, do you understand?" I knew of the adventure he wanted. How could I not. Bilbo was needed on the quest and I knew he would be fine.

Gandalf arches a brow at me, surprised. "And how is it you know of my dwarves?"

"Do you understand?" I demand. "I will not have them being rude to Bilbo." Gandalf smirks and nods at me slowly. With that being said, I moved into the house where Bilbo locks the door behind him.

"The dwarves are coming, aren't they," Addie asks. Bilbo frowns deeply and glances up to see my answer, his teeth had returned to normal and he looked more frightened than angry.

"Bilbo, I believe it is time we spoke of what we know of this world." And to his armchair we went.

And then the dwarrow began to arrive. I don't know what I expected, but this was certainly not it. I expected short men to crowd merrily in the dining nook. This was not the reality I discovered as dwarf after dwarf entered. Most close to my height of five feet, eight inches, but a few of them towering above at nearly six feet. From afar you might think they were short, simply because they were wide.

They were all broad-shouldered with hard muscles. Tattooed and pierced. Each and everyone of them had more piercings than us. All of the older dwarrow had their septums pierced and it made me wonder what had inspired that. I could see a big dwarf with a mohawk had even his nipples pierced, you could see them through his tight, embroidered tunic.

I saw the way one of the young ones eyed Addie. His icy gaze followed her everywhere. She had certainly captured his attention. It made her nervous, I think. She never met his gaze, keeping it cast down at all times. She stuck close to me under his intense staring. His braided mustache twitched up on one side when I met his gaze, just as coolly.

Fíli, if I remember correctly. The crowned prince. He had a long nose and the fairest hair of any of them. It was braided down his back decoratively, like ropes of white gold. He had sharper eyes than I had imagined. Almost white-blue and incredibly eerie to stare into. It contrasted starkly against his warm toned skin.

He leans back on the bench, tattooed arms stretching out bare. Most of them showed off their muscles and tattoos with their sleeveless tunics it seemed.

Bilbo was frazzled the entire time as he was ignored and jostled about. I felt terribly and when his teeth came out, I stepped right out of the way. "Such a bugbear," I grumble under my breath.

When there was a knock at the door, and the house stills. Bilbo's still too busy chasing a fat dwarf for tomatoes to answer the door. I knew who stood on the otherside and try to imagine what he would look like. It's closer than I expect.

When I open the door, I'm greeted by a fierce looking warrior. His septum twitches in annoyance when I stare at him. White blue eyes rip me apart, a gorgeously masculine face stares me down and he steps up. Challenging me to turn him away. "Is this Bag End?" He demands, not amused by my curious examination of the king under the mountain. Truly a mountain himself, only marred by the thick scar dragged jaw to temple.

"Yes, it is," I hum, curiously glancing over the tanned skin they all had and the dark hair tickled with silver that draped over him like his cloak. The wind blew in from behind him, casting me with his earthy, salty scent and I suppress my shiver of delight.

When he tries to step pass me, I step with him. "May I come in?" He spits through clenched teeth. I tilt my chin up and then glance to the little hobbit who's needle teeth are sinking away.

"Oh, what's another. They've destroyed my pantry as is." The hobbit crosses his arm, looking a little too childlike for me to take him too seriously.

"Alright," I hum back to the king, trying not to squirm under his great glare. I step back, opening the door widely for him. He wanders in, sneering at me.

"Gandalf, I thought you said this place would be easy to find?" He snarls in a deep baritone as the dwarrow prepare a spot for him.

The old man, who was much shorter and more portly than expected, lifted a challenging eyebrow. "I was quite clear in my instruction, Thorin."

"I lost my way. Twice."

"Hardly my fault. Everyone else seemed to find it just fine." Gandalf leans my way, a dirty grin on his face. "Be a dear and get me some ale please." When he tries to swat my rear I snatch his wrist away. I lean down into his face, teeth barring.

"Try to touch me again, I'll carve off your fingers one at a time." The dwarrow begin to chuckle around the table. I throw his arm away from me and move from the room.

"Are you still grabbing that ale for me?"

I didn't dignify him with an answer, just gestured to the skiddish Addie. She darts with me into the living room. Happy to get out under the heavy stares.

"What are two human maids doing in the company of a hobbit?" The dwarf king demands as I coax my friend into Bilbo's favorite arm chair.

"Bilbo, do you want tea?" I call. "I'm going to make some."

"Chamomile, please," he replies as I move into the kitchen. I listen to Bilbo tell the story of us falling from the heavens. Of the white fire that brought us here from our world and explained how he took us in, proud to find us civil. (He began to babble nervously about how I was really very sweet, I just had a temper. I think Thorin was glaring him down with skepticism.)

When tea was done, I brought a cup out for our host wordlessly. And then it began. The talk of dragons and mountains and Erebor. I was there to scoop Bilbo up when he fainted. Something about meat hooks and burning to ash in dragonfire.

"Grab the cards," I hum. And while sipping our tea, we played silently, aware of the guests slowly trickling into the room like a leaky faucet. Fíli and Kíli were the first to arrive, looking like a pair of foxes leaning by the fire place.

Addie casts me a worried glance and I sigh, turning to glare at the smirking pair. "Can we help you?"

"Fallen stars, ey?" Fíli hums, eyeing Addie's submissive staring at me.

"Bilbo likes his stories," with that, I return, playing another card. Addie reaches forward and snatches them both as the both of them approach now, curious.

"What's this game?" Kíli with his big brown eyes and messy hair chirps, settling on the coffee table.

"It's called, 'war'. You both play a card, whoever has the higher card wins the round. You play until one person has the deck." I murmur and play the next card on the top of the stack.

"The hobbit mentioned something about you knowing dwarves were coming to Bag End. How did you know?" Addie passes me a look and jerks when Fíli brushes her hair back from her flushing cheeks.

"Please, don't touch me," she murmurs. He gives an amused smile.

"Why? Because I'm a dwarf?" He challenges.

"No, Prince Asshole. Because you're a stranger that been watching her all night! You keep those hands to yourself." I match his glare.

"How did you know I was a prince?" He demands. The commotion has the rest of the company peeking into the room curiously. Thorin in front of most of them

"You're a story where we are from. Only..." I glance over them, "not quite how it was written it would seem."

Thorin approaches, very eager to learn more of this. "What kind of story?"

"An adventure. With Bilbo as the main character." This has them all staring at us. "He decides to go with you lot on your trip to reclaim the lost city of Erebor, steal the arkenstone, kill a dragon and then return home." I answer bluntly.

"Does Bilbo kill the dragon?" Addie mutters.

"No, its the pirate looking guy, remember?" I reply, then frown. "Or maybe it's Orlando Bloom..."

"No, no, I think it's the pirate guy."

"You know of our quest? You have information about how it will go?"

Suddenly, I'm not liking the way those white-blue eyes bore into us. "I guess."

"Then you will join us with the hobbit."

"Someone has to stay to watch over Bag End," I try to argue, my gut sinking at the darkening of his eyes. Tell him 'no' was exactly the wrong answers.

"That wasn't a request, woman." He moved toward me with slow steps, oddly quiet. In the stillness of the room, however, the creaking floor alerted me with how wrong this all felt. Why did so many of them look amused? "I will give you one more opportunity to join us before you regret your circumstances."

"Please, are you trying to make your journey harder?" I scoff, attempting to call his bluff. A humorless smile stretches across his face, looking more like a grimace.

"You leave me no choice then."

My gasp is cut off when he snatches me up by my throat. My oxygen already being cut off, I feel the pressure building in my face.

I don't miss the startled cry Addie gives as she reaches for me. I'm drawn so close to Thorin I can smell his dinner and ale on his breath, ever so faint. "You will both serve under me as slaves until I release you." I press up onto my toes as I claw at his arms. "You are less than the dirt we walk on. You will do as you are told or there will be repercussions. Understood?"

Gritting my teeth, I thump my hand as hard as I can into his nose. He grunts, but there is no noise beyond that, not break like I was expecting. Fuck. Maybe they were made of actual stone.

Thorin releases my neck with a shove and I cough as I tumble back onto the couch. The cards fly and Addie looks terrified, sinking back into the couch. "And what makes you think that you can?" I demand through my coughs.

"We can always burn down this house as an example." His eyes were cold and empty. "This is your last chance. Are we burning the house?"

Clenching my jaw, I meet his eyes and shake my head.

If he burned down the house we'd have no where to stay, even if he wasn't claiming us as slaves. I reach for my throat, dragging my fingers over the tender flesh. It's only now that I think I should have lied and said we were already serving under Bilbo.

Thorin doesn't say anything after that, only glares away toward the fire. Addie snatches up my hand, not bothering with the cards left abused and abandoned. In a way completely unlike her, she spits a foreign curse at Thorin and drags me away toward our bedroom.

....

Taglist: @tomisbaeholland @fizzyxcustard @daisy-picking-lady @queenofmankind @dumbassunderthemountain

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wonderland-irwin · 4 years

Text

Neighbour!Ashton

Word Count: 1862

Warnings: None

Summary: Bella gets locked out of her house when a cheeky friend from her past pops up to her assistance.

A/N: This may become a bigger story, I’m not sure what will happen. Let’s see how much people like this one! Neighbour!Ashton is not the title, its the current concept lol until I find a title. Enjoy! Let me know if you want me to continue this story line! If you wanna be tagged in other parts, let me know! (Also I tried to remove unnecessary commas! I edited the best I could)

~*~*~

Unable to get my feet under me, I slipped on the towel I’d placed on the bathroom floor instead of the bathmat and as I fell to the floor, I grabbed the towel rack for aid, and it crashed loudly beside me. Muttering curses under my breath I stood, snatching the nearest towel and wrapping it around myself.

I fumbled with the lock in the door knob, then once I finally got it open, I hurled myself into the hall. Why was I never able to do anything? All I’d wanted was a shower to wipe the thin layer of sweat I could feel over my entire body off, but I’d barely stepped in and the dogs had begun to bark and howl at something.

I crashed down the stairs, spooking Olive, our grey tabby, and I raced into the front living room. Our shih-tzu’s - a breed of small dog that should be rather chil, however ours were far from - Peekley and Mushroom were standing on the back of the couch in the bay window, heads thrown back barking as loud as they could.

“Hey!” I hollered, pulling my towel tighter around myself, “shut up!” Usually when they did this there was a person walking past with a dog or the poor paperboy. The dogs refused to stop, and I collapsed on the couch, leaning over them to pull the curtain back. Their barking was slightly valid when I saw the white mail van pull away from our house.

“Stop,” I hissed at the dogs as the van drove around the crescent. They were usually good with their barking and stopping, but sometimes they got excessive. It was ridiculous.

I pat to the front door, pulling it open, stepping into the hot summer’s day, then pulling the door shut to keep the air conditioning in. There was barely a cloud in the sky and those home during the day were doing garden work. I grinned when I saw the box on the bottom step. A few days ago I had made a large order of novels I had wanted to read on my summer break, and it seemed to have arrived. I expected it to arrive at the house’s mailbox down the road, but it was so big that they had to deliver it right to our doorstep.

Adjusting the towel around me again, I bent to pick the package up when I heard the front door click shut. I shot up, sprinting up the steps and trying to push the door open. It rattled and I cursed. Our front door had an automatic lock that could only open with a key. My dad worked for a lock company and was testing it on our door, and long story short the thing was useless.

“C’mon,” I begged, rattling the door. It refused to budge and my key was hanging on the hook by the front closet. The dogs started barking from the window, and I shouted for them to stop, the horror that it was mid-afternoon and I was stuck outside in my front garden in nothing but a towel was occupying my mind. I realized I may have left the back door unlocked, and I leapt from the porch, adjusted my towel yet again and darted down the cobblestone pathway, across the hot driveway and up the side of my house to the gate. I reached over to find the hook on the gate, then my stomach turned hollow as my fingers brushed a hard padlock fastened to the hook.

I cursed, balling my hands into fists and I stormed back to the front door. As soon as my dad got home from work I would demand he remove that lock and burn whatever prototypes his company had created. What an awful design.

My parents weren’t going to be home until that evening, and my sister was out with her friends at the amusement park. I was going to be stuck out there forever.

“Bella?”

I whirled around, grabbing the top of my towel and clutching it to my chest in protection. I stared at the person. It was Ashton. I hadn’t seen Ashton or spoken to Ashton in years. He lived across the street, and we’d grown up as best friends. We got to high school and interests changed, our lives got busier, and we started to drift apart. I missed him sometimes. Sometimes someone would remind me of him, or I’d see him when he was home from college in the dark hours of the night lit by the street lights riding his yellow trick bike in aimless circles. Sometimes I saw his posts on Instagram, or I’d simply just think about him. And I missed him.

But mostly I tried to push that missing feeling away. Tried to pretend it didn’t exist.

“Hi,” I said quietly, staring at him. He was the same as the last time we spoke, which was at our high school graduation and our mothers demanded a picture of the two of us together. He still wore dark jeans and ripped band tees. He still wore black converse. Still had those pretty hazel eyes I knew every girl gushed over. He was a little older, had a couple of tattoos, but he was still recognizable as my old Ashton.

“You okay?”

Mm, he still also had that cheeky grin.

His eyes roamed up and down me, and I felt briefly violated before realizing he wasn’t looking at me in a way that meant he wanted to rip my towel off. He was being his usual cheeky self, and was probably very concerned why I was out in the street in my towel.

“It’s a whole thing,” I told him, “but my dad’s stupid lock locked me out of the house.”

“Ah,” he nodded. I nodded in return because I felt awkward, and a silence fell between us.

“Why don’t you come over to my place until your parents get home,” he offered.

I raised my eyebrow, “are you sure?”

“Of course. You’re family.”

“Thanks.”

I adjusted my towel again, and took the steps slowly. Ashton scooped up my large box of books and quirked his eyebrow at me as he tucked it behind a planter on my porch.

“Books?”

I smiled, “of course!” He chuckled as we made our way across the street to his house.

“The water droplets on your shoulders sparkling in the sun are very pretty, Bella,” he said as we walked up his front porch and he opened the door for me to step through.

“Oh,” I said as he pulled the door shut, feeling off guard, “um, thank you.”

He flashed another smile before calling out to his mum, “Bella’s over!”

Ms. Irwin appeared from the kitchen with wide eyes, “Bella?”

I wondered when the last time was that Ashton and I stepped through the Irwin’s front door like this.

“Hi Ms. Irwin,” I waved, my face flushing.

She beamed, “hi, Sweetheart. How are you?”

“I’m fine,” I nodded, “you?”

She just nodded and said, “you two be good,” before disappearing again.

Ashton rolled his eyes with a grin before putting a hand on my back between my shoulder blades and guided me towards the stairs. As we climbed, I looked at the photographs that lined the wall of Ashton and his little sister and brother. There were photos that had been hanging there for as long as I could remember, but some, like school photos, now showed them as older kids, Ashton as an adult.

There was one photo that made my heart stutter. It was Ashton and I when we were about six. We were at the zoo, sitting on a bench laughing, my head on his shoulder, his head against mine. We each held a melting popsicle, the red and pink syrup all over our hands, around our mouths and on our chins. I don’t think a photo has been taken of me where I’ve looked that happy since.

“I love this photo.” I pointed it out.

“Yeah,” Ashton who had been at the top of the stairs, hopped down the last few to join me, “that was a fun

day.”

We looked at it for a moment, then continued to Ashton’s room. I laughed when I entered.

“What?” He asked, rummaging around his closet.

“Ashton, it looks the same!” I wandered around the room. The room itself was painted a dark blue. Ashton’s bed was unmade, clothes were in piles on the floor. He had a desk, where his laptop sat, and in one corner his drum kit, the other a black bean bag chair. Knick knacks and odd belongings sat on shelves and in odd spaces on the floor.

“Like yours doesn’t?” He grinned, passing me one of his t-shirts.

“Okay,” I laughed, “it might be.” My room was still purple and green. The doll house my dad had made me that I made Ashton play with me numerous times still sat on its shelf. I still had fragments of LEGO upon my shelves. My books cluttered every corner. Posters from movies and musicians covered my walls.

He chuckled, moving to his drawer and rummaging around. I pulled on his shirt, a Guns N Roses shirt with minimal holes, and pulled it down as far as it could go. Ashton passed me a pair of boxers, and sat at his desk as I pulled them on and ditched my towel on his floor.

I felt better now I wore clothes and stepped over to him. Folding my arms across my chest, I leant over his shoulder to see what he was doing. A message appeared on the screen once he’d logged in, and he clicked it.

_dirtycliffo: log in!

I grinned, “Ashton, is that Michael?” I hadn’t talked to our old friends in a long time.

“Yes,” he frowned, typing back.

weeniebeanie: no

I suddenly exploded with laughter, clutching at my stomach. Then I leant over his shoulder so I could see his face.

“You still have your screen names from eighth grade?”

“Yes,” Ashton grumbled. He was avoiding looking at me, but I could see in his eyes he was smiling.

weeniebeanie: i hate that game

_dirtycliffo: c’mon. Luke n cal also suck

bread: heyy

“You still act like you're in grade eight too,” I laughed, resting my chin on Ashton’s shoulder as he logged into the game.

“Here,” he said, passing me a headset that was on his deck, “listen in.”

I twisted the headphones so we could both hear and Ashton could use the mic.

“Good, you’re here,” came Michael’s static filled voice.

“Yeah,” Ashton sighed, “but it’s not just me here.”

“Oh?” Calum’s voice came. It occurred to me that even though I wasn’t as close to them as I was Ashton, I kind of missed them too.

“Yeah. Bella-Wella is here too,” he replied, calling me my grade school name.

“Stop,” I laughed, nudging him, and he grinned.

“So it’s just like old times? Hey, Bella.”

“Hey,” I called back, and the boys started their game, talking about weapons and strategies. And I listened along. Just like old times.

#ashtonirwin #ashton irwin blurb #neighbour!ashton #5sos blurb #one shot #5sos one shot #ashton irwin one shot #bestfriend!ashton

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aethelflaedladyofmercia · 4 years

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What Might Have Been - 16

@goodomenscelebration - themes prompts!

Read the full story on AO3!

Happy Good Omens Armageddoniversary! How many of these can I post in one day?

(For those who have not read previous sections: Kasbeel is our Aziraphale, trapped in another universe and going by a pseudonym. Crowley’s “mirror image” is his AU self.)

Far Future

Kasbeel hovered in the air, giving his report.

“The demonic army attempted to strike from the Scottish Highlands, reinforced by several thousand of the Marked soldiers. They were driven off by Matafiel’s troops. We believe there may be some still hidden far to the north, on the Outer Hebrides.”

“These names mean nothing to us,” said Tufriel, rolling his eyes towards his partner. “Some of these scouts are starting to go native.”

“Won’t be a problem much longer,” Bezaliel replied. “Never mind the demons, we’ll get an update further north. Is this land still free from the blight?”

“Yes, Dominion,” Kasbeel bobbed his head with the correct amount of deference. “The whole of the Peak District is believed to be the last area free of Abaddon’s curse anywhere on this island, though rumors persist of some clear ground in Ireland.”

“Are there any humans left on the islands?” Bezaliel asked.

“The Retrieval squads took ours and we cleared out the rest last month.” Tufriel crossed his arms. “If only this island were so easy to deal with. Still, if this is the only unblemished land, it’s probably where the humans will gather. Once they realize they can’t get in the city. We’ll keep watching it. Good work.”

“Thank you.” He held up his messenger tube, sealed and directed to Michael’s base camp in Cornwall. ��I will need to continue south with this. Do you have any details to add?”

“Only that I thought we’d be finished by now. Seven damn years of this. How much longer is it supposed to go on, anyway?”

Bezaliel grinned hungrily. “Not much more. Our offensive should begin in a little less than a month.” A wink towards the dutiful scout. “Keep an eye on the sky, tonight or tomorrow. Things are starting to happen.”

Kasbeel saluted, and the other two returned to their patrol. When they were well out of sight, he landed on a bare rock outcrop and hummed. Not with his lips; his wings vibrated, creating a single, perfect tone, echoing off the stones of the Peaks.

The humans began emerging from their hiding spots almost immediately, secreted behind stones or in deceptive hollows. Mostly teenagers, a few older, many younger, about half with a Mark upon their faces. They gathered around the angel, moving silently on the grass and moss.

It took nearly an hour for all to arrive. Kasbeel’s group of wanderers now numbered in the hundreds.

“Doesn’t sound like we’re going to be safe up here much longer,” Lyla said, without preamble. “Probably should have left last week, like I said.”

“Perhaps,” Kasbeel conceded, waving his arm to miracle up some food. It wasn’t much. Loaves of bread, potatoes, carrots. A little bit of meat, but he couldn’t produce anywhere near enough for a group this large. “But if we’d left then, Jennifer, Mickey and Ollie wouldn’t have found us.” At only five years old, Ollie was the youngest they’d taken in.

“Fine.” Lyla counted out the servings of meat and checked her list. “Group six gets the meat tonight. Only group six, Alex, I know that doesn’t include you.” She turned back to the angel who led them. “But we leave tonight.”

“Agreed.” He sighed, looking around the tumbling rocks one more time. “We’ll have to move quickly. This was a good hiding place. We won’t find another place this convenient, or this safe.”

“Where to, then?” Lyla grabbed Alex’s wrist, sending the thirteen-year-old over to the bread line. “Ireland? I don’t know how we’ll cross the sea, but it sounds like they’ve stopped looking there.”

Kasbeel pursed his lips. “Have you given up on finding New Eden, then?”

She spun towards him, fury in her eyes. “You know I haven’t. But it could be anywhere in the world! How the hell are we ever going to find it? We’ve barely searched half of England in over three years.”

He winced. “Three years, four months, six days,” he muttered. It was a very, very long time to go without hearing from Crowley. He’d tried contacting the demon in his dreams, over and over. He was here. He could sense that. But nothing else. “It’s in England. It must be. One of the patrols told me…Aziraphale,” he hesitated over the name, as always, “chose the location himself. He wouldn’t pick anywhere other than England.”

“Your double.” Lyla sat down next to him. She had grown, in the last three years, her hair getting long, her clothing replaced by whatever they could loot in half-abandoned cities, as was the case for all Kasbeel’s wards. Even her newest shirt was threadbare, the colors faded, as if the inanimate objects of the world had ceased to care. “You never told me what the deal was with you two.”

“No. I think it would be rather too much for you to understand.”

“Kasbeel, the world is ending. The ground is cursed. And I spend half my time talking to a rogue angel. What could possibly be weird at this point?”

He smiled. “My child, you haven’t the first idea.” He smoothed his hands down his jacket, then realized he was still in his scout uniform. A wave of his fingers turned it back to the familiar suit, bowtie and all. “Still, if you like, I can bring you all to Ireland before I continue my search. It should only take a few days to reach the coast, even with the young ones. After that…” he hesitated. Miracle up a giant ship? And how to make sure it landed somewhere unblighted?

“You know we won’t last a day without you,” Lyla sighed. “Wherever you’re going, you’re stuck with us.”

He turned back to the crowd that he had slowly gathered across the years. Orphans. Renegades. Many of them troublemakers who had been thrown out of the gangs they thought would protect them, others the only survivors by angelic or demonic attack. Exhausted, half-malnourished, so worn and dirty as to almost blend in with the rocks around them.

But not afraid. Of all the people left in the world, and Kasbeel feared there were not many, these few hundred slept safely at night, under the watch of an angel.

His godchildren.

“My dear Lyla, I wouldn’t have it any other way.” He settled down on a rock that conveniently grew to about the size of an armchair, with a thick cushion of moss.

She rolled her eyes at him. “How is it even out here, you manage to pamper yourself?”

“Millennia of practice. Now, what do you say we try for London again? It’s a risk, with all the patrols, but it may be the only place large enough to hide this many.”

“Assuming we can get in.”

“Assuming so, yes,” he said, gazing across the crowd. “And it sounds like there are many angels gathered in the south. But If I’m right about the wall of energy surrounding the city, I may know how to cross it.”

“And you still think your friend might be there.”

Kasbeel nodded. “I can’t imagine where else he might be. He should have contacted me by now, but they say no messages can get out of London. But, still, I would think–”

A cry went up from the gathered crowd, a scream of fear, echoed by person after person. “The sky!” Someone shouted, pointing. “The clouds are parting!”

In an instant, Kasbeel was on his feet, wings spread. He should have heard the trumpets, sensed the angels long before they parted the clouds – he had spent months honing his senses, in order to protect his charges. He braced himself for the orders that would arrive in his mind; if the Guardian of Humanity were among them, it would be difficult to resist…

Nothing came.

Instead, the clouds simply drifted apart, faster and faster, not a small parting but the whole sky, revealing the fading blue of twilight, deepening to black. Stars pierced the sky, just a few at first, but each bright as a jewel, clearer than he could ever remember them being, even in Heaven.

“Oh my God…” Lyla whispered, stepping next to him. “It’s clear. It hasn’t been clear since…since the war…I was a kid…”

Another star seemed to burst into view, white and shining, and Kasbeel fell to his knees, remembering…remembering a cottage in the South Downs, a blanket in the back garden, laying on his back and watching them arrive, while next to him…next to him…

That one’s Regulus. Not one of mine, Angel, that was some snooty wanker who thought he was so clever just because he could get four stars to orbit each other. And over there is Arcturus. Also technically not mine, but I had this really great idea and I needed a red giant to test it out on. It worked, by the way, so keep an eye out for a helium flash in the next thousand years or so…

It hurt, like being pierced by a spear, like being torn apart. He reached out a hand, grasping, wishing to feel Crowley, lying at his left side, as he always was, his protector, his partner, his friend…

A small hand caught his, wrapping around his fingers. He turned, blinking tears from his eyes, to see Lyla, kneeling beside him. A moment later the others started gathering around. Mickey, Rahima, Alex, Lochlan, Mariah, Amiyah, Dominic, Ollie, and so many more.

“Look,” Kasbeel said, pointing at the sky. “That star there. That’s Regulus. And over there…that one is named Arcturus…”

Far away, in a cell that seemed to exist in its own bubble far from anything else, Crowley snapped awake, emerging from a dream that was slightly less painful than reality.

Something had changed.

He could feel it, deep inside. Something that had been missing, suddenly returned.

“It’s the stars,” said his mirror image, across the cell. Shoftiel had left them both in their human bodies this time. The manacles that held their wrists – Crowley’s left, his mirror image’s right – were too short to lay down comfortably, so they both sprawled against their walls.

They didn’t talk much. The secrets they held were the only things keeping them alive. So they simply existed, here, together, witnessing each other’s pain and humiliation, waiting for their own turns. It bonded them in ways conversation never could.

“The sky is clear again,” the mirror image continued, looking up at the ceiling, lost to the dark above. “I wish I could see it.”

“Yeah,” Crowley said, allowing himself to remember a night on a blanket in a garden, just for a moment. “Me, too.”

“Not long now,” the mirror image said. “Seven years. That’s all it ever was.” His eyes met Crowley’s, and they were full of fear. They couldn’t hide their emotions without the glasses, and that was one thing they were never allowed. “If the stars are back, time’s nearly up.”

“So they’ve…learned everything?” It wasn’t something they asked each other. But if it was the end, Crowley wanted to know.

“Just one secret left.” The mirror image rolled his head, with a broken version of Crowley’s smile. “How to get into London.”

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