#Anyhow I mostly remembered how I imagined her dad

[piperamitt]

Just got one of my favorite season 10 episode! Not my top 1. That will always be "The Fair Bears" So it's getting a post from me! (Just a list of my favorite stuff from that episode)

Love how Timmy actually got up at dawn just to pick up his fairies. He said that he would do that and kept true to his words. (I like to see it as him making an effort for them, but it could just be him not wanting Chloe to have them for too long. Either way I'm a fan of that decision).

Chloe sleeping with a stuffed bear. Look how peaceful she is!

Love how panicky Chloe gets whenever her parents say she didn't make the best choice. I mean look how scared she gets in her head

And this is how she looks to Timmy the entire time:

Chloe being the one to force Timmy to use Cosmo and Wanda wands even though he didn't want to. (He promised them)

Also great shirt!

Also while we are on this love how whenever Timmy says something bad about her parents Chloe puts her hands in her ears and begins to shout to make sure she can't hear him.

Chloe's parents throwing Cosmo and Wanda and forgetting they are a flightless birds. (I love it because it's showing us they make a bunch of bad decisions, and helps the ending a lot. Even if Timmy and Chloe didn't see it)

Timmy keeps getting tricked by stuff (poor boy)

Vending machine my one true love ❤️

Cosmo and Wanda being oblivious by the resort being a trap and literally getting themselves ready to be eaten.

Clark and Connie's relationship! (They really love each other!)

The whole ending! Love how Timmy helped Chloe realize her parents are perfect (she of course realized it on her own, but Timmy's words helped a lot).

Chloe's parents refusing to get help while literally sinking in quicksand until Chloe finishes what she has to say.

And some more stuff who are sadly lost due to my post being partly erased... Last time I ever use read more.

[sepublic]

Through the Looking Glass Ruins!!!!!

         …

         SO! Onto other things first…

         WRATH IS BRAXAS’ FATHER!??!!? HOLY SHIT, Wrath is a canonical dad, I’d always expressed my… OH MY GOD WRATH IS DAD! And of BRAXAS, that sweetie… How is Braxas such a sweetie with a father like HIM, also-

         Wrath was in casual wear? Either he has a day off, or he got fired by Belos/Kikimora after drawing Luz a map to Eda in Young Blood, Old Souls! Either way this guy has a sudden new level of NUANCE that I am reeling from, and yes I checked, that really is Wrath according to the credits! Dang this puts everything in a WHOLE new light…!

         AMITY HAIR OHMIGOD IT LOOKS SO ADORABLE SHE’S SELF-ACTUALIZING I AM FUCKING SCREAMING HOLY SHIT OH MY GOD!!! OH MY GOD OH MY GOD, it’s PINK and not green… They acknowledged it, Emira did! And they CHANGED IT I AM LOSING MY FUCKING MIND OVER THIS-

         She looks so BEAUTIFUL and I love the kind of foreshadowing with the bookends of our first shot of Amity having her hair down, and now it’s changed! And she looks adorable and EMIRA AND EDRIC BEING GREAT SIBLINGS I LOVE IT SO MUCH! This… THIS is everything I wanted! I was resigned to not much of them but HELL YEAH they’re being good siblings and we get a look at their rooms, we see them doing MAKEOVERS together this is everything from my favorite fanon content and MORE,

         Also Edric has a date?! Emira says ‘their’ mom… Unless the Golden Guard has a mom, DARN! Not gonna lie, I half-expected a big twist at the end that Edric was dating the Golden Guard, who was doing some sort of reconnaissance as his unrecognized normal self and/or screwing around with the Blights even further, but in a GENUINE sense… But then who knows Kikimora could be posing as GG’s ‘mom’, this is a stretch anyhow-

         JUST HELL YEAH Blight Twins! Blight Twins being sweet and mischievous and supportive of each other, Blight SIBLINGS being siblings, Emira being an older sister and giving advice! And AMITY, Amity mentioning how much Luz has changed stuff, I love that they acknowledge it openly how her life has completely shifted, and now… NOW…!

         No necklace! Red leggings! PINK HAIR?! Is this why Amity in the intro hasn’t been updated yet… She was getting TWO updates, so the animators decided to only animate a change after this final update?!

         King and Gus are also friends it seems, and they even recorded some fun together! I’m surprised at how much Bria and the others mock Gus’ illusion skills… Obviously Belos is kinda terrible but like; I don’t think he’d set aside an entire subset of magic into Illusions without reason! Also that nightmare trip… I LOVE IT, I love Gus applying the creativity of illusions in their ability to completely warp and distort someone’s sense of reality! And I called that dragon-thing being an illusion!

         A graveyard… I wonder if the Gallderstones (is that how it’s spelled) have any relevance or if they’re just neat? I hope Mattholomule and Gus help hide the Looking Glass Graveyard… Damn, that’s another Death reference with Gus, huh! Is it culminating in his respect for the dead, or will it continue further with Gus being a necromancer, or an Oracle who can commune with the deceased, and he has their respect as someone who treats them properly?!

         Also not to get dark but… What if all those Illusionists are dead because of Belos? I’m JUST SAYING…! And not gonna lie, every time someone insulted Illusions, I kept imagining the Illusion Head just suddenly waking up and feeling like there’s a disturbance in the force, as well as a weird compulsion to beat up some Glandus kids. It’d be even funnier if he had beef with the Construction, Plant, and Abomination Heads as well!

         Speaking of which, more confirmation on Construction Magic being related to earth! Glad to see Bria give us a look into that, which furthers my idea of Belos using construction magic… Also dang, Bria and the Glandus Kids really are the parallels/foils to the Detention kids! You’ve got the short ‘nice’ girl, the tall lanky kid, the furry… But the Glandus Kids start off looking nice and cool, but turn out to be rather nasty!

         Meanwhile the Detention Kids seem like bad news and delinquents, but no! They’re just demonized and actually very kind and chill! The Detention Kids are looked down upon, the Glandus Kids are appraised… The Detention Kids are dual-track, the Glandus Kids are singular; Glandus Kids from, well, GLANDUS, Detention Kids from Hexside… One’s ‘mischief’ is actually very neat and cool, the other’s is literal grave robbing.

         I guess that’s how the bleeding statues got past the censors- It’s technically just an illusion! Also more insight into how Glandus works with its Survival of the Fittest mentality, I wonder if we’ll get confirmation on which coven heads came from there, how that might influence them as adults…

         What is Glandus like, is it more whole-heartedly accepting of Belos’ rule, hence its harsh ideals? Was it made after Hexside? Does Bump hate it for being so cruel like that, or is it just school bias? And dang poor Mattholomule, I always had a feeling he sort of felt and knew that he wasn’t much, so he accepted and compensated by deliberately doing whatever he can for power…

         They confirmed he’s from Glandus, and I appreciate this new look at him! This new leaf turned… Hot take but he’s honestly not as bad as Boscha, his stint with Gus was a one-time thing that Gus was able to live with! And that seems pretty good to set them up as friends! Speaking of Boscha, Willow was injured by pixies? And the last time we heard of pixies, they belonged to Boscha and caused the school to get shut down… Did BOSCHA DO THIS I SWEAR SHE IS DEAD TO ME-

         (Also she’s mentioned in the credits for this episode but I don’t remember hearing her? I might’ve gotten distracted with so much other things.)

         Gus! I like the insight into his relationship with Illusions, and I appreciate how he’s considering other forms of magic… But this hesitation might just serve to reaffirm his believe in Illusions, which is okay! It’s all about choice… And yeah, it seems Gus also has a case of impostor syndrome like King, no wonder they get along so well! I love the glimpses into Gus’ house and the confirmation that he has a library card, no Perry though alas…!

         I appreciate how Gus feels overlooked, like he has no real substance, which is how his Illusions reflect a desire to draw attention, but also the idea that there’s nothing real beneath them… Again, very much like King! And Gus, he’s not a powerhouse like the rest, he’s SKILLED and smart, but strength isn’t his forte, it’s not brute force he operates on, but cleverness! Trickery, I like it…! It’s a nice callback to his last A-plot episode, SVSF, where instead of fighting Mattholomule physically, Gus’ solution is to think outside the box and pull the alarm!

         You go kid, not relying on brute strength but showing that some clever tricks and thinking are just as valid! Kinda wonder if this episode is lowkey a discussion on masculinity for young boys, especially with Gus growing older with puberty, though the latter is mostly because his actual VA grew… But maybe the writers rolled with that and incorporated it, or it’s just a very neat coincidence! Also, it is me or did Mattholomule’s voice change? And the gag that Gavin’s dad looks identical to him, even moreso because he’s NOT supposed to have a moustache… That’s great!

         Malphas! Love this reference to a classic demon, I wasn’t sure if Malphas was the librarian with glasses whom I’ve always headcanoned as a father figure to Amity… But maybe it’s actually this bird dude! He seems adept in Bard magic, and I love the reveal of his true crow appearance… Guess those theorists were right that the one-eyed figure is from the Forbidden Stacks! Also Malphas NOT COOL with Amity, but I’m glad Luz changed his mind, and I wonder how that adventure looked…

         Which- DAMN, the RSD with Luz! She looks so UTTERLY BROKEN when Amity mentions doing stupid things, and she didn’t mean it like that, but Luz just looks so completely shattered and you can tell she wants to cry but instead she bottles it up and tries to take it in stride, and that plays into her trying to overcompensate for her mistakes AGAIN… SOMEONE GET IT TO HER HEAD that she doesn’t need to! I’m scared for Luz, and I was SO scared this episode would end on a bad note…

         BUT DOAHLDdFAEONDKFHN LUMITY KISS LUMITY KISS! ONE-SIDED BUT THEY FINALLY FUCKING KNOW AND AMITY IS LIKE WHAAAAT AND I WAS WAITING FOR IT AND I COULD FEEL IT HAPPEN AND GAY KISS! GAY KISS ON-SCREEN!!! And the way Luz just FLOPS to the ground on her knees AAHJJFFKHGGK and no Alador nor Odalia to ruin this, UTTERLY PERFECT and the twins WATCHING OOOHHHHGGGG YYYEEAAAAHHH-

         This is EVERYTHING I ever wanted!

         What an AMAZING episode with wonderful characer beats and reveals! Again, Amity’s growth as a character, that brief insight into how Luz as a person is very chaotic and sometimes frustrating for Amity and forces her to reevaluate, but ultimately it’s good and Luz DOES try her best, and Amity clearly wanted to make things up for Luz and apologize, they’re BOTH doing things, just the little moments!

         Also, Alex Lawther voices Philip Wittebane! He has long hair and a vaguely british accent, he’s… He’s Belos isn’t he? And they got a new VA because having him voiced by Matthew Rhys would be really spoiler-y right? He’s got the long hair and he’s a nerd… And with how he talks of finding a way back home, maybe Belos really DOES just want to return home, after all? He talks of making a way back home…

         And we see a glimpse of the Portal, so it might’ve brought him there? Or did Philip succeed in making it, and that was his blueprint designs? Did he arrive by Titan’s Blood? What happened to the portal if it brought him there, or if he made it? Why the scar, why near Eda’s house, partially buried?

         Was it lost before he could finish his work, and Philip got side-tracked into something else… Perhaps going on a crusade, on behalf of a curse/demon that possessed him? A demon that killed King’s father…? Was the portal broken and he had to discard it, but then it naturally healed- Or did it just need to recharge, maybe Philip DID make it back home, WHAT IS THE ANSWER?! Is there some sort of doppelganger for Philip, is BELOS his doppelganger?! What is THIS WHAT-

         WHAT AN EPISODE!

[hb-writes]

Just Because You Can Doesn’t Mean You Should

Summary: After a few rainy days stuck inside during spring break, the whole Cullen clan is feeling restless and resort to pranking to pass the time.

Featuring: Emmett Cullen, Carlisle Cullen, and Mia Cullen

-- It had rained for fifteen days straight in Forks, a parade of stubborn drizzles followed by steady downpours and carrying over into the week-long spring break. Mia didn't usually mind the rain, quite used to it giving her something to watch out the window when she didn't care for a teacher's lesson or the drops of it falling against her window and lulling her to sleep at night.

She usually enjoyed the impromptu breaks her family took from school, too, more than happy to roam the woods or sit out in the sun with a book while Forks High School held the impression that Dr. and Mrs. Cullen had pulled the kids out of school for some outdoor activity. But being stuck inside while the school was closed for an endlessly rainy break had Mia feeling a little restless.

It had taken her only a day to finish her pending assignments, and just one more to completely rearrange her bedroom. She had actually grown tired of staring at things, her eyes fatigued by and bored with her laptop screen, books, and the view out her window. And she had grown tired of her siblings too, bored of their usual indoor pursuits and routines.

By day three, Mia had strayed to playing innocent pranks to pass the time—moving her siblings' things when they left the room and making failed attempts to sneak up on all of them, but most specifically Emmett, who'd first made a game of scaring her, wrapping the whole family up in it so that Mia could hardly go an hour without being snuck up on.

Because of that, her pride and joy in regards to the pranks had been the alterations she made to Emmett's jeep, a prank she entered into knowing it would likely be an act of delayed gratification, not like the hiding of frequently needed items or the botched pop up scares. Emmett had no need to take a vehicle out any time soon. If he was going anywhere, he was more likely to run, and once school was back in session, they would be more likely to take Edward's car. Mia knew she could be waiting weeks for any sort of acknowledgement.

She was willing to wait though, the mere recollection of all she had done sufficient enough to get her through Emmett continuing to scare her over and over. She’d done a few things to his jeep, easy stuff like rearranging the mirrors and seats, and adjusting the radio volume to its maximum, and changing the station to the local one that favored heavy metal. But all of that was mostly a distraction because Mia was far more proud of the collection of nuts and bolts in tin cans duct-taped under his seats and inside the spare tire set on the back to the jeep. The whole vehicle would be rattling if he hit a bump or tapped the break, two things she assumed Emmett would encounter before even making it out of the driveway. 

Mia wasn’t usually one for such targeted and premeditated pranks, but Emmett had made a sport of scaring Mia over their week of near-confinement, and she felt he deserved something beyond the standard prank. So when the opportunity arose, with her siblings out for a hunt, her father at the hospital, and her mother occupied with some project in her studio, Mia took her opportunity. 

She knew Emmett would discover the rattle was no more than a prank after he asked Rose to take a look at it, but she still giggled to herself imagining what would happen when he finally brought himself to ask for Rose’s help and then she laughed once again imagining the look on Rose’s face as she held up one of the offending cans. Emmett was clueless when it came to cars. Completely clueless.

But she had only had to wait a few days because Rose had decided she wanted to go on a date, and Emmett insisted on driving, insisted on getting dressed up, and settling himself down on the couch beside Mia while he waited for Rose to finish getting ready.

Had Mia realized they would be taking Emmett's vehicle, she wouldn't have stayed in such a vulnerable position, lounging there on the couch. She would have put some more distance between herself and her siblings, and a locked door, perhaps. She would have prepared herself a bit better to feign ignorance.

But as she had been caught off guard, she hadn't been prepared to fight when Rose stomped back through the front door with Emmett following in her wake. Rose had barely spared her a glance, the can rattling in her hand as she continued straight up the stairs.

And though it all clicked very suddenly that she was about to be told on, Mia couldn't scramble fast enough because it seemed to happen too quickly that Emmett had plucked her off the couch and was placing her down in Carlisle's office, less than two steps away from a seething Rose.

To Rose's dismay, there hadn't been any true repercussions for the prank aside from Carlisle's request that Mia issue a genuine apology and an acknowledgment that cars were not something to be messed with. Mia had laid low for a few days anyhow, avoiding Emmett and Rose, and even her father, to the best of her ability, which was why Mia had settled in for a day of self-care, feeling she’d earned an afternoon of soothing teas and good music and moisturizing skincare and nail painting after all of the effort put into pranking and the hassle of being found out. 

With the rain and the music and her own voice filling her ears, Mia didn’t hear Emmett push her door open or tread across her bedroom floor. Had he been a human of his proportions, he’d not be able to sneak up on her, but as it was, Emmett was stealthy whenever he wished to be, able to take unassuming and delicate steps despite his size. 

“Boo.”

The word was barely above a whisper and Mia stumbled and let out a scream, startled just as much by the hushed remark as she was by the quick rush of breath near her ear and the hands that grasped her before she fell. 

“EMMETT!” she shouted, pushing at his hold and groaning once he settled her back on her feet. 

He reached over to turn down the music, laughing. “You’re too easy, kid.”

“And you’re a stupid jerk,” Mia ground out, shoving against his solid chest with all her might only for him to stand there unaffected, chest puffed out and smiling down at her. “You scared me!”

“Same here,” he said, gesturing towards the green clay mask on her face. “Got a bit of a Wicked Witch of the West thing going on there.” 

Mia’s rolled her eyes. “Actually, I was channeling my idiot older brother.”

“Ah, so Yoda, then?” Emmett smirked. “What an honor.” 

“Hulk,” she offered. “You know, the incomprehensible behemoth with no self-control?”

Mia stepped away from him, heading towards the bathroom to rinse her face and Emmett appeared before her once again, another scream coming from her lips. 

“Stop doing that!” 

“I’m sure you’ve done something to earn it,” he answered, “just haven’t figured out what yet.”

“I’ve been up here all day, Em.” 

“Yeah, and unfortunately your voice carries. Sounds like you’re drowning cats up here.” Emmett turned to glance in the open bathroom door and Mia smacked him on the arm. 

“I’m going to tell Dad if—” 

“Speaking of Carlisle, he wants to see you.” 

“Why?”

Emmett shrugged. “I’m just the messenger, but you might want to clean that off and drop the Oscar the Grouch act before you go down there.” 

Mia clenched her fist. If it would have done anything, she might’ve hit him, wiping that smug little grin off his face entirely, but she knew it wouldn’t, so she took a deep breath instead, releasing her fist and smiling instead.

“You mind giving me a minute, then?” 

“Wait for wicked sister grouch, the Yoda Hulk brother will,” Emmett answered.

Mia took another deep breath, waiting a moment to see if he was serious, rolling her eyes as he folded his arms across his chest and leaned against the door frame.

“I don’t need you to wait. I can remember how to get myself downstairs,” she said, but Emmett didn’t budge so she moved to the sink. 

She took her time with rinsing and moisturizing and didn’t utter a word to Emmett as she tried to step past him, but his hand caught her chin, though his palm and fingers spanned the whole bottom half of her face really, and the whole maneuver stopped her from moving entirely with little effort on Emmett’s part. 

“So soft now, your skin is.”

“Emmeh, lemme go!” Mia shouted, her words muffled as her cheeks remained squished between his fingers. “Yur nod fummy.” 

Emmett laughed, dropping his hold and holding a guiding hand out in front of them. “Fine, grouch. Go ahead, then.” 

“I will.” Mia massaged her jaw as she took the stairs nearly two at a time. “And I’m going to tell Dad you’re being an assh—” 

Mia’s mouth closed as she took a step off the stairs, rounding the corner, nearly knocking into her father.

Carlisle caught her arm as she stumbled and Mia briefly checked his face for any sign he intended to reprimand her for the word choice, but her eyes were instead pulled to the mess of tin cans on the table.

"What's…"

"All of this?" Carlisle asked as Mia wormed her way out of his hold. "I was hoping you might be able to tell us."

Her eyes flicked back and forth between the cans, her father, and her brother, who had taken a seat at the counter.

"I've been up in my room all day. I don't even know what 'this' is."

Emmett put his feet up on the stool beside him. "You're busted, kid. Might as well give up the act."

"I'm not busted because I didn't do anything.”

"Well, the fourteen tin cans found in the cars would say otherwise," Carlisle answered. "I thought we were in agreement that there would be no more pranks played, especially where the cars are involved?"

Mia’s mouth fell open a bit before she gulped. "But I didn't—"

Carlisle held up the can that certainly had been Mia's doing, a neat 'With love, Mia,' painted out on the side of the can with nail polish.

"You did this?"

Mia couldn't find the words, but she finally nodded. "But I didn't—"

Carlisle held up another tin can, a nearly identical message written out on the side with the very same shade of pink and Mia stepped forward, pulling the can from his grasp to study it closer.

"Dad, I didn't do this," she answered, "Emmett must've…he must be—"

"I must be what?"

Mia jumped at her brother's closeness and she smacked his shoulder as a reflex. "Stop doing that!” she said before turning back to Carlisle. “Dad, tell him to stop scaring me."

Carlisle sighed. "Amelia, I thought we were on the same page after our discussion. You agreed to stop with the pranks, but since our discussion doesn’t seem to have been enough—"

"Dad, I didn't do this," she answered. "I—"

"What about this?"

Mia let out a rushed exhale, a nervous laugh coming at the end of it. She had forgotten about the photo she'd replaced days ago, switching out one of her father and her as a baby to that of her father holding a potato wrapped in cream-colored blankets.

"I did that ages ago. It was before we talked."

"Aw, come on, Mia. You don't think we're that stupid, do you?" Emmett asked.

Mia turned from her father to her brother. "I think you are."

She shrieked as Emmett twirled her around, wrapping one arm across her chest as he held her against his front, using his free hand to clamp down over her mouth.

"Alright, I think we've heard enough of her lip, Carlisle. It's time for sentencing. Fearless leader, do your worst."

Mia knew her father would never do his worst. She wasn’t even aware of what Carlisle Cullen’s worst entailed, having never seen him more than slightly aggrieved, but she thrashed against her brother’s hold anyhow, prying at his hands until he caught her arms, and then she kicked at his shins, but Emmett easily sidestepped her attempts.

Mia yelled her brother’s name, the sound muffled into his palm before she bit down. It didn’t hurt him, more of a shock that she’d even done it, than anything. She'd gone through a short-lived biting phase around three or four, but they’d been incident free since then.

Emmett smirked. “Are you sure you want to challenge me to a biting war, kid?”

Carlisle cleared his throat. “I think a more appropriate punishment would be for Amelia to clean and detail the cars.” 

She groaned, her efforts to get out of Emmett’s hold renewed, if only because she wanted to voice her protest. 

“And dust every picture frame in the house,” Carlisle continued as Emmett finally uncovered her mouth.

“But that’s going to take forever and I—”

“I suspect it will keep you busy for the remainder of your break and provide you with plenty of time to think about your behavior,” Carlisle said. “And you’re grounded...three weeks.” 

“You’ve got to be joking,” Mia groaned, “Dad, I didn’t even do this! I—”

Mia felt Emmett shaking with silent laughter before she noticed the mischievous glint in her father’s eye, the slightest of smiles coming to his face. 

“You actually are joking, aren’t you?” 

Carlisle shrugged. “Emmett and I thought you could benefit from a little dose of your own medicine, Mia.”

Mia sighed. “So I don’t have to do any of what you said, then?”

Emmett lifted her over his shoulder, moving steadily towards the door.. “You’re still helping me wash the jeep, kid. Need to teach you the importance of not messing with my things.” 

“But it’s pouring out—Dad! Help!”

Carlisle stepped forward, beating them to the door.

“Thank yo—” Mia started.

He pulled his daughter’s rain jacket off the hook, handing it to Emmett. “We wouldn’t want your sister getting sick,” he said. “And let me get that for you.” 

Carlisle opened the door, an eyebrow raised and a small smirk on his face as Emmett carried her through. 

“Have fun, sweetheart.” 

--

Twilight Masterlist

[bellatrixobsessed1]

From Chin To Yon Rah (Part 41)

I typed this chapter on mobile so it might have more typos than usual and I, a responsible fic writer, do not proof read.

Warmth. There is a sense of community in warmth and trying to stay in a state of it during the colder months. Wujing makes a celebration of doing so. And that is how she finds herself seated around the largest fire she has seen in the Earth Kingdom. She is their go to women to keep it lit until the festivities are over.

They seem to rather adore her fire and on nights like these she yearns to display a vivid blue. Perhaps one day. One day after she tells Hajime who she is. Though she isn't sure when she would tell everyone else. She hopes that everyone will take just as well to her fire when it burns blue. Perhaps if she is lucky, they will enjoy it more.

Until then she adds more orange to the blaze while Atsu shifts his weight in her arms. "My turn, Atsu!" Caihong declares.

"No-o." Atsu shakes his head, "she's my mama, go by yer dad!"

Despite the boy's protests, Azula lifts the blanket and let's Caihong crawl under it and next to Atsu. Hajime steps away from the fire and returns to her side. "I'd say that this is a promising way to start the winter."

"We've had a productive year. We have more than enough to get the Wujing through the winter." Seukhyun notes.

"No thanks to you, boy." Ojihara jests.

"I did most of the work ol' man!"

Listening to the father and son go back and forth is one more constant in her life. A thing that wouldn't feel right if absent.

Azula, to the best of her ability with to little beasts in her lap, moves closer to the fire. "Hey!" Atsu shouts, "I was com-fera-table!"

"I wasn't." Azula shrugs. Truth be told her legs are tingling from having held the same position for so long. "I need to stand up."

Neither of the children takes the cue so she tells them both to stand. She doesn't know why she expected to be met with anything other that a, "no, Rikka! We're cozy!" And an agreeing not from Atsu.

"Hajime, hold these things." She sets Atsu and then Caihong in his lap.

"These things are called children, Rikka." He laughs while Atsu folds his arms and pouts.

"They're more like chittering toad-squirrels if you ask me." She stretches her arms and then her back with a contented sigh. She makes her way even closer to the fire.

"Cider?" A man offers. She recognizes him from the market square, a clothes salesman she thinks. She can't quite recall his name but it could be Poying or maybe Poyang. The man is quite fond of telling everyone that he has a tinge of Air Nomad blood. Azula isn't the only person to take this with several grains of salt.  But he is an honest man otherwise do she takes the glass with a thank you.

"Gimme'a sip, gimme'a sip!" Caihong makes a jump or two for Azula's cider.

Poyang chuckles, "aye, lil' one we got plenty more, ya don't have to snatch Rikka's."

"You don't have to take me." She repeats smugly, holding her glass just out of Caihong's reach. The girl sticks out her lower lip, folds her arms across her chest, and gives her foot a stomp--making sure to rumble the ground for good measure.

Hajime gives her a little nudge. "Aww don't tease Cai."

"She's gonna get her drink anyways." Seukhyun dismisses just as Poyang comes back with more cider.

"Poyang has the best stuff!" Atsu declares after his first sip.

"Cause his brother's the apple man!" Caihong declares enthusiastically.

"One day we'll have to visit his orchard together." Hajime offers.

"We have a lot of one days to get to." Azula points out. But she supposes that they will have a lifetime to do them.

"It's nice to have a lot to look forward to, isn't it?" He slings an  around her waist and pulls her closer. Hot cider splashes onto her shirt. She crinkles her nose, "thanks, Hajime."

"You said that you were getting cold. I thought that I'd help you warm up."

"Won't be so warm when this cider freezes…"

"That's what you get for not sharing it!" Caihong declares smugly. That impish little earth gremlin…

That day she learns that there is a special bond, a sense of community, that comes with the seeking of warmth.

.oOo.

She hadn’t expected to outlast him, but her demise comes as a surprise all the same. And maybe it is because she had wrapped her topmost parka around him. Maybe it is because she had stripped off her remaining glove to keep a fire going for him. For the both of them.

But she is weak and grows weaker as the cold burrows into her wound and seeps deeper into her bones. She looks at the teeth marks with much hatred. Could those have been prevented?

“Azula?” Sokka murmurs. It is the first sound that he has made in a while. And she could cry. Maybe both of them will die, but at least she won’t have to watch another lover do it before she succumbs for herself. She is so terribly cold, she can’t imagine that it will be much longer now.

"Yeah?" She answers.

"What happened?" He slurs.

"First we got caught in a blizzard and then we we got attacked by wolves…"

"Where's dad?"

Azula grits her teeth. "We couldn't find him, remember." They might have fared better against the wolves if they had. As things were they had taken a good chunk out of her arm before being struck down by Sokka's boomerang. The man best appreciate her taking those teeth for him instead of focusing on her own fight. On the grander scheme of things she supposes that it doesn't matter at all. They had done more damage than even that in shredding Sokka's parka and stealing one of her gloves. If they hadn't, she might not have had to spare one if her own.

Agni, she isn't built for this weather. She isn't adapted to withstand it. And it hurts so terribly. Everything stings and tingles. Her face and toes especially. Her fingers had tingled  it that has subsided to a more than alarming nothingness. She sniffles, if only to remind herself that she still has a nose. Her cheeks are so red and she feels as though they have been slapped repeatedly. In a sense, they have. The winter slaps them with a force that a human hand couldn't possibly manage.

She had never realized just how much the cold could burn. Very resentfully, she thinks that the cold might just be higher than even her fire.

She huddles closer to Sokka, rather she tries to do so oh to find that they are as close as they can possibly be. And there is nowhere near enough warmth between the two of them.

"Take your parka back, Azula." Sokka says.

She shakes her head.

"Azula, you need it more, you're not…"

She shakes her head, "no." She won't be the weak one here. She can't allow it. She can't allow it especially if it means watching another lover die. "No."

At least now she can say with conviction that she does love him. Very much. Just as much as she loved Hajime. And more than enough to let herself succumb to the cold to give him a chance.

He tries to remove his parka anyhow so she rolls atop him, he is too weak to shove her off. Which is good because she would have been too weak to resist if he had.

The bite marks on her arm flare. She closes her eyes and shudders as another pang passes through her. How long have they been out here like this? Long enough for the blizzard to pass.it occurs to her that she and Sokka are half buried.   The realization come with a jolt of panic--a queasiness in her belly and a spinning in her head. She doesn't want to be buried in a coffin of snow. She doesn't want to be buried at all. The panic is fleeting when she recalls that she has already unburied herself in putting her body atop Sokka's. Though that isn't to say that more snow won't come to cover them up, she hopes to be hours dead by then.

"You know, I always thought that I would die in combat." She mumbles, pressing her ear to his chest so that she can hear his heartbeat. So that she can be sure that she isn't alone. "That would have been more glorious than this."

"You're not…"

But she isn't done lamenting, "but I also always thought that I would be alone when I died. So I guess that this is better." It's certainly better than dying alone and dehydrated in a grassland.

"We're not going to die."

"We're in the middle of nowhere and the rest of the village didn't expect us to venture this far out to the glacier. We've been out here for hours, my arm won't stop bleeding…"

"Yeah." Sokka's expressions darkness. "Looks pretty grim doesn't it." He is so cold that his breath no longer comes out in puffs. He is quiet for a very long while. "Katara, Aang, Toph, and I were once lost in a desert with ver little water. You made it out of several situations like this…"

"Yes, Sokka and it was mostly luck. How many times can I keep getting lucky?" She doesn't have the energy for shouting. For changing her tone and diction at all really.

She feels Sokka's hands patting her hair. "Hopefully every time."

.oOo.

There is no worse feeling than watching Azula go limp and mostly quiet. For the last several minutes, the oh sign of life was an occasional wimper. Her body is still trembling but not as violently as it had been. She is shutting down. And she still won't take his parka.

"I'm so cold, Sokka." She whispers, her voice sounding so pathetically small. But she is afraid. He can tell, if only because he is terrified too.

"Yeah, me too, Azula."

She rubs her face against his chest. She gets no warmth out of it because there is none left in him. He looks to the sky. To the glimmering cosmos above. Maybe he'll be reborn as one of them…

Azula clings to him with what can oy be the last very last ounces of her strength.

"It's okay, Sokka." She tries to smile though her face is too stiff with the cold. "I told you on the first day that I came back that I had more waiting for me in the Spirit World…"

"Don't say that." He squeezes her tighter.

"It's okay." She says again. "I think I that he wanted me to do a bit more exploring but he'll be happy to know that I got this far."

He wonders if she is thinking of Caihong at all. He wonders if that will do her any good anyways. He doesn't want to say it, especially not to her. But she is right, she is dying. He doesn't think that she will last the night even of he does force her back into her parka.

He hugs her as tight as he can. And then he rolls her onto her back. She murmurs some sort of protest, some sort of distress. But there is something that he wants her to see. Something that he needs her to see.

"Look up, Azula. Open your eyes." He gently slaps her cheeks and her eyes flutter open. They are unfocused and mostly vacant. He slaps her cheeks again until he has her at least a little more alert. “Look at the lights, Azula.”

He thinks that she might have smiled. "That's nice, Sokka." But her eyes close again and the moment is good.

She doesn't cry. She doesn't bargain or beg. She simply squints and, to the best of her ability with blackened, numb fingers and clumsy daze, touches his cheek. And then her hand falls and her eyes close once more. No amount of slapping gets them to open again.

In the distance he hears barking. Sprits, he prays that the wolves aren't back. He squeezes her hand if only to feel her slowing pulse.

[ziracona]

hey zira, what are your hot takes on all of the fo4 companions?

Haha, I don’t know how hot they are, but I can give you a speed run! (Also I am very excited to get this. FO4 was the first open world game I ever played and just the concept of that and the hugeness of the world and branching story & sudden feeling changes towards me in companion characters totally blew my mind, & it still lives rent free in my heart).

Ada, Old Longfellow, and Strong I /still/ haven’t maxed despite having too many hundred hours to want to list on this game—the former bc they were DLC, Strong because honest to god I left him at a nice settlement and then completely forgot about him and remembering that I am the energy in this Ryan O’Flanagan video but abt leaving my super mutant in a tiny settlement alone. I will get there! To max affinity I mean. But anyway, I don’t truly know those three, so my takes are incomplete. So far though, I really like Ada. She is a good girl just trying her best. Fucks me up I can tell her to self destruct. Even though I feel sure she would ignore me, I cannot imagine ever saying that to her. It was really sweet she was willing to forgive the Mechanist and move on with her life. A good girl. Longfellow I am maxing rn (was last time I played anyhow). I enjoy him. Gruff grumpy old man but he seems quite decent and I like his idle banter and when he sings to himself a lot. Seems like he’s had it rough. Strong I liked. He’s wild, and I loved how insane meeting him was, and am worried about him eventually understanding poetry and how that might mess up his sense of world understanding. But he’s a chill dude in his own way and I am glad they gave us at least one nice super mutant.

For the companions I actually do know like the back of my hand, the speedrun:

Nick Valentine: Best man on earth. One of two fictional characters I ever called husband. I would die kill or live for him. I want to be 1/4th the man Nick Valentine is. One of the best characters ever period and I adore literally everything about him. It fucked me up early in game where right after he offered to basically risk destroying his mind to help a stranger look for her son, he asked me how I was doing. First character in the entire game to do that. His first companion dialogue is abt how you’re doing TuT. The man is very kind and forgiving and fair, but knows when the draw the line and take no shit. Emotionally mature, kind, caring, longsuffering. Incredibly damaged and broken by life, but holding on and living kindly and to help others anyway. One of the four most marryablen fictional men I’ve ever seen.

Preston Garvey: Brave, kind, sweet man. I would defend him with my life. He really just wants so bad to make the world better and life has been so hard, but he’s still trying. A beautiful and underrated companion and I would throw hands for him on sight. I adore how he whistles. A true and gentle and loyal friend. Take him to Quincy and let him get his justice it’s what he deserves. People who hate him because he tries to get help helping civilians in that game are weak. I love him so much... please give him enough time to reach max affinity he’s so worth it.

Deacon: *To the tune of You Are My Dad* You are my friiiiend! You’re my friend! (Boogie woogie woogie). Initially, he pissed me off bc he lies all the god damn time, but after we got close enough he actually trusted me, he stole my heart and I would also die for Deacon. He’s a really good person who thinks he’s shit because of who he was on his past. Also him 🤝 Preston: massive survivor’s guilt. They should be friends. Poor Deacon has been the last member of the Railroad like four times, and it’s awful. Help him. Give him love and support. He’s one of my all time faves. Also, Railroad hands down best faction and if you kill them for any reason other than like a walkthrough route video and I ever get the chance I would 100% clock you in the face as hard as I can, like going for losing teeth, and feel no guilt. I know it’s a game and that’s wrong, and I’d be wrong, but I’d still do it. Also, Ryan Alosio (his VA) saw me do cosplay for Deacon once and told me it was great and it filled me with even more love. Anyway Deacon is great. Also, his whole “There are other organisations out there. And, in time, I'm sure they're going to spoon-feed you their own patented form of bullshit. Ignore the verbage and look at what they're doing. What they're asking you to do. What sort of world they'd have you build and how they're going to pay for it.” Is one of the like, two most iconic quotes in all of FO4 & just super good in general.

Hancock: Hardcore badass man but also a good dude and a champion for the people. Man really puts his money where his mouth is and you gotta respect that; another favorite companion for sure. Big fan of the way he stabs a guy for you upon meeting, and is a cool leader who organized his crime and does a decent job actually leading. He works hard to help people and bites back hard. Social justice advocate, dangerous man about town, not afraid to cosplay a revolutionary war hero 24/7 & u gotta respect the no fucks given attitude. A chill dude. Like that he fights the institute, hates the Brotherhood, helps the Railroad, and is friends with Nick. He’s legit af. Also, his VA gives a different answer every time someone asks him about the voice he did for hancock and they’re funny af.

Piper Wright: A cool spunky lady. Lois Lane on the case, kicking butt, and taking name. She’s nice but also hardcore and smart, supportive, fun. A good person. You always get points if you like Nick (which most companions do), and they’re good friends. She’s funny and I love her. A good heart.

Codsworth: He’s great. He’s family. He’s like my...weird brother. Getting to max affinity is heartwarming and also makes my heart go :’-] . Great early-game companion bc he kicks ass and doesn’t need stims to heal. I love getting called by my name and think that was a great feature (well, my PC’s name). He’s a wonderful funky little robot dude and I am so glad he likes me.

Dogmeat: Amazing. A good boy. Doggo of the year. His actor deserved the game award she won. Cute, full of love, and plays with a teddy bear if you give him one. 100/10z

Cait: I like her a lot. She’s been through so much shit, and it makes sense she is how she is. I like they actually gave her an emaciated and messy (though still pretty) design, since she is a drug addict. And that they make her main quest about taking that seriously and wanting to get help, and that she’ll call out the player if they fuck around and do drugs in front of her after she gets rehabilitated. Her relationship to the PC if good is really sweet, and I am a fan. I like that while she’s not sympathetic to synths and thinks they aren’t people, she forgets that every time Nick walks into a room and is like “Oh hey Nicky : )”. She’s a good girl who has been through a lot and still needs time to heal and find herself, but she’s making great strides.

Robert Joseph MacCready: Human disaster (loving). Homeboy a goddamn /mess/ but I love him. He tries so hard to be cool. I love he makes you pay him to come with, then chickens out and gives it back lol. A fool ball of anxiety and bad decisions and what he thinks brovado is. I wish he, Preston, and Deacon would quit fighting, bc I am always like “ :’-] </3 Boys Please” when they swap out, but I love them just the same. He’s doing his best, he’s just stupid and a fool. Like Philip J Fry. Keeping his goddamn soldier toy, which somehow is listed as junk instead of sent to Misc with quest items where it would be fine, safe?parylizes me with fear. I’ve lost 2 hours of gameplay reloading an old save bc I accidentally lost it.

X6-88: A more complex one to answer about. He’s bad, but like, I’m pretty sympathetic to how he got that way. He was created in a lab and had his emotions mostly dragged out of him in intense psychologically damaging training so he would be a weapon and view himself as an object. I was relieved he chose me over the institute even if he wasn’t a fan of the chocie, and think that means there’s a lot of hope for him. Wish he’d chill the fuck out and quit intimidating civilians for 6 god damn seconds, but I like him. I bring him fancy lad snack cakes home from travels all the time, bc Synths are supposed to like them. Really like that he’s the /most/ sympathetic companion towards Danse in Blind Betrayal, even though he should not be programmed for that, and Danse hated him and made it clear any time they interacted.

(EDIT) Curie: I FORGOT HER BABY IM SO SORRY. I like Curie a lot, despite the fact I temporarily forgot she existed. I stg I thought she was in here. Uhhh, okay. Curie: like her character and personality, HUGE un-fan of both the way her desire to get a synth body is to be ‘more real,’ as if Codsworth isn’t a fully realized person while the same robot type she is, instead of just like. Because it would make her happy. ALSO hate how much of a Born Sexy Yesterday she is, even intentionally in not-determinate affinity talks. It’s gross. But her herself, I like a lot. She’s my daughter and I will protect her. She works at The Castle right now as their on-site medic.

Paladin Danse: I know I’m gonna take heat for this but honestly? He didn’t do much for me. I like that he looks and sounds kinda like Buzz Lightyear, and that’s fun, but idk at all why people think he’s so hot. He’s very boring & generic looking to me. Like you’re valid! Taste all be different. But he doesn’t do it for me personally in looks or personality. I don’t at all like, hate him. Or even dislike. Tbh I am fairly neutral on him. It was funny making affinity with him though. Every other companion I had maxed, I liked more and more with each affinity talk. They’d be like “So my dad was a minuteman and died and I want to honor him” or “I just want to really feel like I’m a person, for real, myself, and I am glad I met you, because the good we have achieved together is ours, even if I can’t be sure of anything else,” or “My brother threw the cultural minorities out of our city for clout bc the rich citizens were all racist, and I tried to help—I snuck them food to the unsafe ruins they set up in for weeks, but eventually, they just vanished, and I still bear immense guilt and self-hatred over not having stopped that.” And Danae’s would be like “One time a buddy of mine got kidnapped by super mutants. They turned him into one of them, and they’re all abominations, so I killed him and it made me really sad.” And I was just like “...Oh danse. I really wanted to like you more. But what the fuck.” His relationship to Haylen is sweet though. And ofc I saved him in Blind Betrayal. I blew up the Prydwin so he’s safe now too, and he lives in the garden by my house and tells me how glad he is we’re friends, and I’m p into that. Overall, my feelings on him are not strong at all though.

Porter Gage: Not a fan. Like, I appreciated he helped me kill the old boss, sure. And bc I owed him for that, I went to max affinity to see what there was to him as a person. And like, as far as raiders go, he was okay. But he wasn’t deeply sympathetic, and he’s a slaver, and if you try to liberate the slaves he and the others own, he /will/ turn on and attempt to murder you immediately, no matter how close you were, so he made his choice, and it was to be a bad person and an asshole to the last. Really enjoyed the VA’s work a lot on him tho.

And there you have it 👈👈😎. Thanks for asking!

[eldritch-obscuritea]

The Fog In The Morning, Part 1

AN: Maaaan, I gotta stop posting stuff under the wrong blog. Anyhow, this part really took on a life of its own. I haven’t the faintest idea how it got so long! Well, I hope someone likes it :D

Word Count: 1605

Content: Mild (nonexplicit) violence, bit of blood

Liu had always loved pineapple cake, as far as he could remember. Which admittedly, wasn’t far at all. Liu had a terrible memory, something which had earned him more than one concerned letter home even at the tender age of seven. He always found himself leaving worksheets, backpacks, and sometimes even his shoes at home. School materials were one thing, but shoes? That was unusual, or crazy, as Jeff liked to put it. 

Jeff called a lot of things crazy. Their mom, their dad, and all of his teachers, for example. He called Liu’s shoes crazy, since Liu forgot to wear them extraordinarily often. Even Jeff himself was “a complete nutjob,” a fact which Jeff proclaimed almost proudly sometimes. 

Liu didn’t really mind Jeff’s calling his shoes crazy. He didn’t really mind Jeff calling himself crazy either, though he could never understand why Jeff would do so. Jeff was cool, and never afraid of anything, while Liu felt afraid almost all the time. He had mentioned this to Jeff a few times, but the response was always the same. Jeff would grin and shake his head, as if he’d never heard anything sillier in his life. 

“What’re you talking about,” he’d say. “We’re bros. We both gotta look out for each other, since Mum and Dad are too crazy to themselves. Or maybe not crazy enough, huh?” And then he’d smile at Liu. “I can protect you, if it really comes down to that. Heck, every kid in town knows not to mess with me!”

-

“Tag, you’re it!” Jeff hollered, running across the parking area which served as St. Mary Mackillop Elementary School’s playground. The third grader whom Jeff was now dashing away from yelled gleefully, and took off after another one of their classmates. 

Liu kept watching from the corner of the parking lot. He didn’t really recognise any of Jeff’s classmates, since they were in the grade below him. Honestly he didn’t know half of his own classmates, even though the grade sizes were small and he’d been at the school since kindergarten. He sighed, and leaned his head back against the warm brick wall. 

A voice spoke next to him. “They look like they’re having a good time.” Liu turned his head sharply, jumping back. A larger boy had addressed him, and was now looking at him curiously. Red hair flopped into his eyes as he tilted his head and said “What, you paranoid or something?” 

“No,” Liu retorted quickly. “I just- you- euh- h-” He took a deep breath in, buried his face in his sleeve, and then let it out slowly, stale air filtering through the soft fabric and into his nose. Then he looked up at the other student. “You shouldn’t startle people if they aren’t paying attention. It’s rude.”

The redheaded boy shrugged. “Sorry,” he said. “Didn’t mean to.” They stood for a few seconds in awkward silence, and Liu tried to work up the courage to say that he should go, or that he needed to use the bathroom, or really anything which would end this encounter. Thankfully, Jeff chose that moment to saunter over to Liu, his short brown hair sticking up stiffly with sweat. 

“You should come join us!” Then he noticed the boy standing near Liu, and his chipper mood diminished ever so slightly. “You can too, I guess, if you want.” 

The redhead shrugged again. “Maybe.” He gestured at Liu, who was standing rather still. “What’s up with him? He crazy or what?” 

For all Jeff’s talk about Liu’s shoes, he would never call Liu himself crazy, and he would definitely never, ever let some kid insult Liu like that, even if said kid was a solid six inches taller than him. Liu could see the spark of combat flash in Jeff’s eyes, and he quickly said “Yeah Jeff, I’d love to. Let’s go.” He glanced at the other boy, who rolled his eyes. 

“Yeah, I guess I’ll play too.” And with that, Jeff grabbed Liu’s wrist and pulled him towards the middle of the parking lot. 

The game of tag was mostly a blur. What wasn’t a blur was the image of Jeff, staggering backwards with eyes wide and his knuckles pink from impact. The redhead was also staggering backwards, hands over his nose. Red dripped between his fingers, splattering on the pavement. A teacher, Mrs. Lorrie, was making her way towards them, and a small ring of other students clustered round to watch what would happen. 

Liu stood, frozen. What was going to happen? Jeff had been in trouble for fighting before, and Liu knew it’d make their mother upset. She was always worrying about whether he and Jeff would be “good people,” and Liu hated seeing disappointment and concern on her face. He crossed his fingers, hoping that the school wouldn’t call home. 

“Boys.” Mrs. Lorrie had arrived, and was eyeing the scene disapprovingly. “Come with me. I’m taking you to the principal’s office.” Jeff and the other boy sullenly followed, and Liu did as well with some hesitation. 

They entered the school building, and the smell of sunlight and the outdoors was replaced by dust from a hallway that was pleading for a thorough clean. Mrs. Lorrie’s shoes clicked on the old tile floor. Halfway down the hallway they stopped at an old, dark wooden door, a door which Liu knew all too well. She opened in, and waved the three boys inside. 

“Ah, Mr. Woods.” A middle aged woman with bright eyes smiled as Liu walked in. She turned to Jeff and the other boy as they filed in after him. “Welcome, welcome. All of you, sit down.” 

They did so, Jeff plopping himself with confidence Liu could tell was feigned. Liu himself didn’t feel confident at all, and neither did the other boy from the looks of it. Once they were all seated, the principal turned to Jeff. 

“Now then, what’s this I hear about you and Randy here getting into a fight? You know that there’s always a better way to handle the situation than that.” she said sternly. 

Jeff quickly began to protest. “Well he pushed me when-”

“I didn’t push you! You ran into me!” 

“Yeah right, I never-”

“Mrs. Henning, this isn’t fair-”

“Boys!” For the first time, all traces of a smile were gone from the principal’s face. Both Jeff and the boy stopped talking, still throwing dirty looks at each other. She steepled her fingers and sighed. “Alright, Jeff, what happened?”

Jeff leaned forwards, hands gripping the edge of the table. “Well, Mrs. Henning, I was playing tag with my classmates when I noticed this kid approaching Liu. Liu looked really scared, so I went to protect him right? And then when I get there, this kid goes and calls Liu crazy! I still wanted to try to be friends, so I invited them both to play tag, but halfway into the game he rams into me, so I hit him back. I swear I didn’t think I hit him that hard, I only wanted to make him back off-” 

“That’s enough. Liu, do you have anything to add?” 

“No ma’m.” Liu said quickly. Then he flushed. “Well, Jeff was trying to protect me, and I was startled when this kid approached, but I don’t think he was trying to scare me.” 

Mrs. Henning turned towards the redheaded boy. “What do you have to say about this?” 

He reached for a tissue and held it up to his nose. “Well I didn’t mean to scare this kid, I didn’t even think that I would. He’s in the grade above us, and he was hanging out by himself so I wanted to try talking to him. And I didn’t run into Jeff, he ran into me! And I tried to say sorry anyways, but he just punched me in the face like he’s crazy or so-” 

Jeff stood up indignantly, but sat down reluctantly upon seeing Mrs. Henning’s disapproving look. “Mr. Jokinen.” The redhead appeared to be busy admiring the woodwork of the desk. “I request that you not call your peers ‘crazy’ again. Is that clear?” The boy nodded, and she sighed. 

“While Jeff does have a history of being disruptive, in light of his good intentions, I’m going to let you two off with a warning.” The smile reassembled itself on her face. “Now Mr. Jokinen, it looks like your nose has stopped bleeding but take a few tissues with you just in case. Mr. Woods, I expect you to be on your best behavior. And Liu.” She turned towards him with bright, light brown eyes and Liu flinched instinctively. She only smiled softly. 

“Take care of yourself, alright?”

“Yes’m” Liu mumbled. 

Mrs. Henning nodded. “You three may leave then.” The three boys quietly filed out of the office. 

“Man, I thought we were fried!” Jeff fistpumped the air. “10/10 sweet talking skills, score for me!” 

Liu looked around. “Where’d that other kid go?”

Jeff paused his victory dance. “Hm?” He glanced up and down the hallways. “I dunno. Might’ve gone to the bathroom to clean up. I would if I were him.” He laughed as they started to walk back down the hall. “Can you imagine what the kids in class are gonna say? He’s probably gonna have at least one black eye for weeks, and from a kid half his size! I almost feel bad for him.”

“Almost,” Liu echoed. 

The two boys reached the door and stepped outside, greeted by a gaggle of students eager to hear the principal’s verdict. Liu was sure Jeff wouldn’t dissapoint.

[notbecauseofvictories]

How abouuuuuuut Tarantism, Potter character of your choice. :)

tarantism — the urge to overcome melancholy by dancing

Tonks knows he knows. That one time it comes on the wireless, Sirius’ head jerks up and he stares off into the middle distance like a man possessed, too much white in his eyes and face the exact color of spoiled milk. It’s not even one of the common songs—even popular stations play the occasional Waltz for Witch & Wizard in D, and Mooncalf Sonata. But there are certain songs that are older and stranger; that good or bad belong to the families, the Pureblooded ones, because no one else listens to them anymore.

She’s sure when she comes up behind him in the kitchen at Grimmauld Place and starts humming a few bars—

“Don’t,” he snarls, and his hand is somehow over her mouth and his face is a snarl and cruel, it’s cruel. Tonks has never felt quite so young and stupid, as when Sirius is staring at her like she is. (She thought it’d cheer him up, it’d remind him that there’s someone in the Order, in the Ministry, rubbing elbows with all their terrible stupid relatives who is nevertheless on his side. She thought wrong.)

“Sorry,” Tonks mumbles against the heel of his hand. She’s tempted to try and change her hair, make a funny face, just to see if it’ll break the tension—but Sirius doesn’t seem like he’s in the mood to laugh.

Sirius shakes his head, stepping away—he’s shaking all over, actually, she’s not sure she noticed before. “That’s…fine, it’s fine. Just don’t like that song, all right?” He smiles insincerely and then jerks away like a doll on a string, goes back to staring at the not-quite-boiling teapot like it holds the secrets of the universe. Tonks exhales and creeps away, the hot of his hand still burning where he pressed it over her mouth like a shameful brand.

She’s determined that’ll be the end of it. Only—

It’s not deliberate she ends up at Grimmauld Place for Christmas. Mum and Dad both want her home, especially since she works such strange hours for the Department. To quote her father: it’s like Shacklebolt can’t function without her! goodness, you’d think a relatively junior Auror might at least have Christmas off to see her family… (The number of times Tonks has had to bite her tongue not to blurt out it’s dumbledore, all right, it’s the order of the phoenix; I’m fighting a war! deserves a medal all on its own.)

She gets off early though, and rather than go home and subject herself to Great Aunt Norra’s pictures from Saint-Martin, checks in at Grimmauld Place first.

It’s empty, mostly, but she finds Sirius and Remus in the parlor. Or what might have been the parlor once, when Grimmauld Place was a grand London house and not a desperate foxhole for Muggle-lovers. Remus and Sirius are dancing to the Warlock’s Waltz—trying to, anyhow. Standing in the doorway, Tonks laughs at the both of them, and then hisses, panto-style, when Remus stumbles through a turn.

“Oh, go suck Morgana’s clit,” Sirius says warmly, laughing himself. He has too much color in his cheeks—Tonks isn’t sure how much or how long they’ve been drinking, but it would explain the color, the way Remus trips over his feet towards her and grabs her hand, heedless of the contact. (It is, she thinks dizzyingly, the first time they’ve touched. He didn’t even shake her hand when they met, but here he is, grabbing her hand, leading her to the dance floor.)

“Please, take him,” Remus says, with a seriousness belied by the glitter in his eyes, the mischievous dimple at the corner of his mouth. “I’m done trying to dance; if it isn’t disco, I don’t know what to do with it.”

“Boo,” Sirius says, snatching Tonks’ hand up from Remus, and then he’s spinning her into the same old steps, the ones she knows. 

Her mother taught her this, one of the very rare lessons from Andromeda where she would actually talk about her family, about Bella and Cissy and the world she’d been born into, full of alliances and dinner parties, balls, invitations; long hours having the steps for the Hopping Pot gavotte and the Warlock’s Waltz drilled into you. Annie, Bella, and Cissy danced with each other, the three sisters, and then each of them was dressed up, and sent out into the world to find her fortune—only, one of them found an excitable Muggleborn photographer, and all the rest drained away, replaced by something that was real.

(Your mother, Ted Tonks said once, is the love of my life. I know, because I can’t imagine a life without her.

Your father, Andromeda Tonks said once, is the love of my life. I know, because I can imagine a life without him, and don’t want it.)

But here and now, Tonks and Sirius waltz across the floor of the parlor in the old-fashioned way, the old style that belongs to the Purebloods because no one else remembers or cares. He’s laughing, and she’s remembering her lessons. The one-two-three, lift; one-two-three, bend. In the light of the fire, his eyes are living silver, bright, and she can feel Remus watching them twirl across the floor. During the reel (the next song, she and Sirius know that one too) Remus keeps time by clapping, and then insulting their footwork over the beat of the music.

She catches a glimpse of him sometimes, turning; he is flushed, and very handsome, grinning wide and shameless, and she thinks—

There is a war on, Tonks knows. But just now, right now, she lets Sirius lead her through a promenade, while Remus laughs at the both of them from the doorway. She would not say that all is well, but it’s very close.

[sohottubgarden]

Our Language

It’s a bit forgeign to me. The way it slips out. The way I can tell when I mess up. The times when predictable needs to be corrected. Or I am just accustomed to saying things my way. It’s telling. Very telling, of what I am like. Or, have yet to weed out of my little Thai kid head and change. I probably have to. If I heard it, there’s so many “however” that it does lend itself to a, o

I know, good question son. Like, right “I just knew to v-a-l-i-d-i-d-a-t-e that you still caaaarrreee. She knows because in my head through last night the Phornpituck’s were dissected and turned against me because of Therapy Quizlette that asked me to name a Bad Sheep. I said Donnie.

Explained thoroughly He was the eldest of Eddie’s sons and jumped into adult Ville fast. It’s what I am waiting for. Lucky me. I’m not saying it was bad anymore. Because looks like I’ll be looking up to him for awhile. How did he do it? With everyone in tow, they went to Junior College’s and Technical Schools. If I just knew what D did after school, I’d have that reason to call myself the bad sheep. So yeah, gee thx L.

I’m waiting for a fund of a sort to be given to me. I remember the college graduate fund I received. It was humongous and I put it to good use. I didn’t travel, I hung out with John R. a lot and I got a good feel of what Westchester was like again comparing it to, well big city San Fran with only one real tourist attraction, Staples. But I’m wrong, I am stupider the more I type this.

It was awhile until though, I got the opportunity to move over to Hollywood before Rehab and everything that began to happen just was like “We’ve been ahead of you since the day you were born!” Destiny, hm?

I don't need to be jealous of anyone leaving the country for that trip or series of ‘em because every day here is a trip. Talk about culture shock. In a whole new way. Watch, let us get into the business of new circles to trust each other in. I’m known, I live with that. People that I don’t want to know me, it eats me alive. And the rest of them? All strangers wanting to see carnage because because because because because of all the wonderful things she does. IDK, I don’t know why I have this idea, it’s a fun one though. DOC like mine, serious neurotechnics having been changed all around and up into like, my anus. I live free of most problems. Today though? Money. Because it’s been elusively saying come here and pushing it through their doors. Like selling vacuums to people in their houses, “You’ll get what I want to give for that!” Odd. Violent. Not my preferred color, really. Red in the face yelling, that’s what I’d imagine. Because who I am is not one to ask, I’ll just ring you up and see if you pass the background check. lolo, company policy. yip.

Anyhow, I asked mum about money and she said yes and I got excited because the bank that I have will make it mostly available right as soon as I get to the atm. It’s like mom the agent got this thing to work for me. Dad too. Really. Stimulus season and all that garbage fits right into my cookie shaped mouth. What? Yeh

So, again, in Thai I feel stupid. Every English letter awesomely summons the dumb bitch I set on fire, beat with a bat, broke fingers, nails, stepped on and everything. And she expects nothing this time while playing around with a really like holy relationship. She speaks, I follow. That’s a queen and me, her jack. Turning joker though, it’d require, oh more mon- o

shi

[immawritethat]

Missed Connections

(Somewhat connected to this piece I half-wrote last year and have been thinking about since) Anyhow, this the workshop draft of a short story I wrote for class, and I just think it’s v neat and wanted to share!

----

Dolores Lopez spent much of her free time inside museums, but today she was here with a purpose. The building was much younger than many of its contents—an oblong Art Deco styled building, trimmed with golds and chevron and all those other lovely elegant things. The atrium stretched to the full height of the building, dwarfing all patrons as if to say “You are inferior in the grand scheme of history; there may be no one to tell your tale lest ye gain the wealth and notoriety seen here!”

Or perhaps Dolores was simply projecting.

The first time she’d visited this particular museum was in the second grade, back when she wore her dark brown hair in two simple plaits—well, until two of the boys in class decided a few months later it was a stroke of comic genius to cut one off with a pair of scissors during class—back when her complexion still held a rich, golden undertone to it instead of a sickly yellow tinge, and back before she had to squint through thick, round glasses that later had her teased for looking far too much like an owl. It was so long ago she couldn’t remember exactly what they had been there to study—maybe something about the Native Americans or Columbus or vaqueros, but that wasn’t what made an impact.

She remembered, once they had been given time to look about the museum freely, taking one glance at an old World War II nurse’s uniform from the travelling exhibit and bursting into tears. A grief she had never been introduced to flooded forth, having seen no death in her lifetime, and pulled her underneath its tide. Something had been sitting inside her, buried deep underneath everything she knew of herself. The chaperone overseeing her had ended up taking her outside to calm down, asking what had happened. She had never quite been able to explain it, and lied that her stomach hurt when pressed for an answer.

As she aged, Dolores noticed more and more of her life out of the ordinary.

There were the vivid dreams, showing flashes of lives both mundane and horrific. They varied in topic, but often continued on at some point or another, as though a new episode had finally aired. Sometimes there were flickering shadows of a cobblestone hearth, and other times the sparking battlefields on the edge of the Euphrates. The most common ones brought Dolores into a living room decorated with floral wallpaper, a gramophone playing a song she later discovered was Vera Lynn’s “We’ll Meet Again.” In some dreams, she sat with another girl, a few years older, playing with rag dolls whose threads unraveled and only just remained stitched together so they wouldn’t have to hear the wailing of an upset child. In others, they were older, seated beside the radio, listening to whatever the statesman had to say on the state of drought and war and the economy.

Sometimes she sat alone, patching up old skirts and trousers, with little more than the hum of the wind to bring her company.

Only now was she beginning to understand what those dreams meant.

“Dolly Lopez?” The silvery voice came from behind Dolores, along with a gentle tap on the shoulder, pulling her focus back to the present. She turned, and an aged tension lifted from her body. Remington Siegel stood half a foot taller than her, dressed in a rather interesting combination of neon prints which stood out even more against his dark skin, looking nothing like the person that she had missed, but feeling every bit the same.

Dolores swiped the tears from her face, clearing her throat to compose herself. “You kept me waiting,” she said.

“I never meant to.” Remy put his arms across her shoulders, pulling her into an awkward side-hug. “Should we sit somewhere? Or is there an exhibit you’re fond of?” He paused for a moment, face screwed up with thought. “You weren’t the one with a stamp collection, were you?”

Dolores scrunched her nose. “I don’t remember much, but I definitely don’t remember that.”

Remy only shrugged. “Another lifetime, then. It’s tough to keep them all separated, you know.”

Dolores’s gaze fell down to the messenger bag hanging from his shoulder, stuffed with loose, crumpled papers on the verge of falling out. The weight of the binder in her arms seemed to double.

“Maybe the café?” He suggested, in hopes of breaking the silence. “It was a long flight from Newcastle, and I haven’t eaten much since—too busy trying to get a hold of myself.”

“Of course! Sorry, I got lost in my own head.” Dolores stepped to the side, gesturing forward. “Honestly, I’m just still a bit shocked you’re really here—five months of Twitter DMs and now? Bam! You’re just…here.”

“Well, that’s one of the many plusses of being the only grandchild of wealthy grandparents—they’re willing to spoil me at the drop of a hat. Well, that and I have spent far more time doing this.” He gestured his bag forward. “Maybe I’m not half as organized, but I’ve got it mostly-kinda-sorta figured out. Seeing me in action should help you out a lot.”

Dolores nodded, offering a soft mm-hm, but her eyes were clouded and far off. He hadn’t brought it up. She knew they had talked about it plenty through their messages, but it felt strange to not mention it. Wrong, even. But this was the third time he’d done this—he’d even approached her about it all. Maybe there was some taboo about it she was unaware of.

Maybe it didn’t mean as much to him.

She listened to Remy ramble on about his research methods preferred databases through the halls, around the line of the café, and even for the first few minutes seated at the table. She asked questions from time to time, but ones which were only half engaged—Oh really? How long did that take? How did you come up with that? She spent far more time shouting in her own head to get over her worries and ask something with more meaning.

“You’re dying to ask something.” It was a statement, rather than a question, delivered between a mouthful of muffin and a sip of tea. “The hesitant look in your eyes—go on, don’t be shy. I didn’t come all the way out here to buy five dollar muffins and be half-listened to.”

Dolores averted her gaze, focusing on the instead on a photo of an aged Victorian doctor, apparently one of Remy’s most notable memories, who looked up at her with a stern warning to mind her words carefully. She wiggled the straw in her tea aimlessly. “No, no, I’m alright!” She forced out a laugh, the way she had practiced on plenty of bad dates throughout plenty of lifetimes. “I’m just a little—”

“Look, Dolly—If you tell me you’re star-struck again, I’ll just have to ask you what’s wrong and that’s never a fun conversation.”

Dolores took in a short breath and sighed, deflating in her chair. “I was just…hoping maybe we could talk a little more about…” She pressed her lips together, failing to hold back her true thoughts. “Us? What we were, what we went through. I mean, God, it’s hard enough to find someone who remembers at all, let alone someone you shared that history with! Let’s talk about the fact that you were Betty and I was Judith and that we’re only seeing each other again now nearly eighty-goddamned-years later in two totally different bodies and from two totally different places!”

Ceramic clinked against the table. Dolores pulled her fist back towards her chest, face flushed from her outburst. She hadn’t meant to get that worked up, hadn’t meant to hit the table.

Remy leaned back in his chair, stretching out his long legs, and drew out a sigh. He stared up at the ceiling for a moment, frowned, and then fixed his gaze back on Dolores. “You know that fun little saying War is hell? It’s not too far off.”

Dolores scooted her chair closer to the table, so that her belly pressed against the cool laminate. She hunched forward, so that he wouldn’t have to speak any louder than was required between the two of them.

“I try not to remember being Betty. I know you remember a lot of the good things, but you were the little sister. It was my job to make things seem fun and happy for you, even when Dad lost his job during the Depression and when the neighbors started getting shipped off left and right when the war started.” Remy paused. He suddenly found the particular soda stains on the floor particularly interesting, and focused his gaze there. “I know I signed up to be an Army Nurse because I was exhausted playing nanny for you. You were thirteen, I figured you’d be fine if I was gone for a bit. I could see the world, and meet some boys.”

He let out a whistle, low and long, like the groan of a dropped bomb. “Boy, oh boy did I meet plenty. You see things you couldn’t imagine happen to a human body treating a warzone. They kept me with diseases, mostly, not trauma.”

Dolores nodded. She knew how the story ended—Betty had contracted TB, died before the war even ended, and left her sister—had left her—without so much as a final goodbye.

Remy shrugged his shoulders, and returned to his previous position. “I’d love to say I remembered the good things, Dolly, but I’ve got all the ugly. Well, mostly.” He pulled an envelope from his bag, yellowed with time and creased with deep wrinkles. “I barely remember writing it, but I guess it was never posted. It was found in a box with some other nurse’s stuff, some old friend of mine—er, Betty’s—who’d passed, apparently.”

Dolores’s hands shook. It was so worn it had become soft, and the half-finished address was hardly legible at this point. “And it was definitely from…?”

Remy nodded. “It’s yours. Sorry it took so long to get here. But, hey, look at it this way: we got to say hello again instead of goodbye.”

Dolores’s lips quirked up into a smile. She left the envelope closed, and placed it inside her binder for later. She’d waited for it this long, anyway. “Hello is much nicer than goodbye, isn’t it?”

[owletstarlet]

Ooh I can't wait for these! 11 for tanunatsu please??

#11 from this list: “I almost lost you” kiss 

Established relationship because I damn well said so

“Wake up.”

The plea tumbles from Kaname’s lips and it’s soft but it feels manic. His hands are shaking where they hover above Natsume’s chest; he’s barely breathing and his pulse is thready but he’s alive, he’s alive he’s alive he’s alive—

Kaname’s afraid to touch, now; as much as every instinct is telling him to gather Natsume into his arms and never let go, he can’t tell if he’s injured. He doesn’t look it, mostly he just looks cold; the pallor of his face under the clear brightness of a winter moon, lips gone blue, and actual patches of frost spangled across his damp pajamas. But he’s so still, and there’s blackened blood under his nose, trailing halfway down his cheek on one side before it had dried, and Kaname thinks he might be sick.

“I need you to wake up.” His voice splinters halfway through, and he takes Natsume’s face in his hands, so carefully. “Please.” And god, his skin is a temperature that skin should never ever be. His thumbs trace the dark divots below his eyes. He wants to grab his shoulders, shake him, yell and scream until he opens his eyes and calmly tells Kaname the blatant and oft-repeated lie that everything is just fine here.

He can’t see Ponta, he’s not changed back to a visible form but he can feel the wall of warmth at his back. He turns towards that warmth, now, where he can make out a mass of translucent white right in front of his nose, and this close to it he can barely see the trees beyond.

“He won’t wake up,” Kaname says, and it sounds so obvious, childish.

Then, a part of that white mass moves in close just beside his shoulder, where he would more or less imagine Ponta’s head to be. A gust of air, warm and strong, passes over Kaname’s hands and ruffles Natsume’s hair.

He doesn’t stir.

Kaname hears a faint sound, almost like a deep harrumph, before a white burst of smoke erupts around him. Then Ponta is there, a cat once more, just by Kaname’s knee. “No need to be so delicate,” he says, testily. “You won’t break him. He’s just sleeping. Could’ve picked a better place to do it.”

Kaname could’ve sobbed from relief. His hands shift down to Natsume’s shoulders. “What happened?”

Ponta scoffs. “That yuki-onna is what happened.”

“Where—”

“Gone, now, I’d say. And good riddance. Oi,” he adds, waddling up to the side of Natsume’s head and batting him on the nose. “Don’t nap here, moron. Let’s go already.”

Taking Ponta’s lead, Kaname shakes Natsume’s shoulders himself; tentatively, at first, then much harder, because Ponta’s right, he can’t stay out here any longer. But Natsume’s head just lolls back onto the underbrush, and Kaname bites the inside of his cheek. “Come on, come back,” he says, loud as he can through the panic still threatening to snuff out his voice altogether. “You can come sleep in my bed again, okay? It’s so cold out here.”

When that garners no response, Ponta’s eyes narrow. “This is taking too long.” Then, without warning and in a move that should’ve been altogether impossible, he spins right around and launches a sharp kick right at Natsume’s face, with enough force behind it to knock his whole head to one side.

“Don’t—”

But it’s only then Natsume’s eyelids flutter.

“Mnn…ow.”

The noise that escapes Kaname’s throat then is very much like a sob. He cradles Natsume’s face between his hands once more and leans in close, chest constricting. Natsume’s own eyes are half-mast and dull, an uncomprehending gaze drifting over his surroundings and right over Kaname, not focusing on any one thing. That is, until Ponta wriggles in between him and Kaname, putting himself nose-to-nose with Natsume and glaring.

“Idiot,” he snaps. “This is what you get for letting a snow demon possess you. You’re damned lucky Tanuma woke up in time to see you were gone or you’d have been long dead by morning.”

Natsume doesn’t seem to really register a word of that, but his eyes become a little bit clearer at the sound of Ponta’s biting tone. He squints a bit, frowns.

“Sensei…?” And, after a moment, gaze shifting upwards, “…Tanuma?”

Ponta ducks out of the way then, with a huff, and Kaname leans in close. “Yeah.” The single word feels like a burst of relief. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Natsume echoes, vaguely, giving Kaname a tiny smile.

After a moment, his forehead scrunches up, and beside him his fingers twitch in the dirt and shriveled leaves. “What—a-are we outside?”

Kaname just nods, tightly, not at all having it in him to elaborate if Natsume doesn’t remember.

“Oh…you’re crying.” And that vagueness in his voice and eyes is quickly replacing itself with distress when he takes in Kaname’s face.

Kaname just nods again, swallows hard; now is not the time for a breakdown, it’s not, he can do that later when Natsume is warm and safe and not watching it happen.

“Well, of course he is,” Ponta mutters. “A minute ago he thought he just found your corpse.”

“…oh.” The realization in his wide eyes shifts to something more like horror, then shame. “Tanuma, I’m sor—”

But the words are lost because Kaname’s kissing him, then. It’s a fierce, desperate thing, faces mashed together, his fingers curling in Natsume’s hair like he’ll evaporate into the January night if Kaname can’t hold him tight enough, every muscle in his own body rigid with residual terror.

Natsume remains motionless beneath him, cold mouth perfectly still. It feels as though he’s holding his breath.

But it’s just enough like kissing some lifeless thing, that that thought alone is enough to send him reeling back.

When he looks down, though, Natsume’s just watching him, eyes clear and soft and very, very worried.

Kaname blows out a long breath before he can trust himself to speak. “Your lips are freezing,” he says, with a little chuckle that doesn’t at all sound right. “And god, there’s ice in your hair…” His fingers comb back Natsume’s fringe.

“I’m okay,” Natsume starts, and Ponta promptly snorts. “Ah. I mean,” he amends, softly, “I don’t feel cold. Just…sleepy, kind of.”

“No sleeping.” The words come out louder than he’d meant them to, sharp and frightened. “Not until we get you back and warmed up,” he adds, forcing a calmer tone. He bends down, quickly presses his lips to the frigid skin of Natsume’s forehead, then shrugs off his jacket to drape across Natsume’s chest.

When he looks again, some of the trepidation has bled out of Natsume’s eyes, replaced with something a little warmer, drowsier. Trusting.

Kaname cups his cheek, tries to ignore the tremble in his fingers. “Let’s go home.”

***

Natsume’s recollection of the incident, of how he’d ended up half frozen in the forest, comes back to him soon enough. Kaname makes him tell it, in order to keep him awake while he’s getting him into the tub to thaw him out.

The yuki-onna had come to him initially just a few days prior, just as school was ending and the New Year’s break began. She was lost, and very weak, and Ponta had dispassionately noted how odd it was for her to have not vanished altogether. She’d strayed so far south of the more common haunts of yuki-onna, where the winters were so mild and snow so rare. Natsume never found out why she’d come, she claimed to not quite recall, but she hadn’t come alone; her sister had been by her side. But the two had become separated, apparently, on a windy night. She’d been frantic, her sister was hardly stronger than she was, but she’d heard tell from a few of the local youkai that if she were in trouble, she ought to seek out Natsume-sama for help. Ponta hadn’t been especially fond of the idea, given the particular penchant of her whole kind for killing off humans in creative ways, and skeptical about the gaps in her memory—which needless to say had left Kaname nice and anxious, as well as Taki when she’d heard. But Ponta had conceded that she was clearly frail, just on the brink of fading away entirely if she couldn’t find someone or something to possess, and he genuinely hadn’t believed that she could do Natsume any real physical harm by simply hitching a ride in his body until her sister was found. She wouldn’t dare, when endangering him would be endangering herself.

And that had seemed to be the truth, at first. The New Year’s season had always necessitated a lot of travel for Dad, and with Natsume having planned to stay over most of the nights that Dad would be away, Kaname had had plenty of time to observe him, to make sure he was as fine as he claimed to be. But he’d looked to be perfectly well, not even a bit pale or fatigued or any of the general red flags Kaname had come to associate with youkai involvement. If anything, he was livelier and better-rested now that school was out and he was free to spend his days doing nothing of consequence, though he had confided that he was worried for the yuki-onna—he could barely sense her presence, he’d said, and most of the time she seemed to be asleep anyhow. Which was going to make tracking down her sister a tall order, if she couldn’t stay awake long enough to help at all, to tell them what they should even be looking for.

Up until tonight, of course. Kaname supposes in retrospect that he should’ve realized something was off when they’d settled in for bed, when he’d pulled Natsume close against his chest and frowned, realizing just how cool his skin felt all over. But Natsume waved it off when he asked, seeming for all the world to be perfectly content and sleepy, merely yawning and burrowing his face deeper against Kaname’s pajama shirt as Kaname tugged an extra blanket over them both.

When Kaname started awake, hours later, it was to a freezing room, an open window and an empty bed. And Ponta, clearly just arrived back from an evening of New Year’s revelry, asking just where the hell Natsume had gotten off to.

None of them are completely sure what changed, the coming-together of factors that finally allowed the yuki-onna to awaken, and to carry Natsume’s body away so deep into the forest that when he finally regained his senses he couldn’t find his way back again. Ponta’s best guess was that it was simply a matter of the temperature dropping in the night, enough for the ground to properly freeze for the first time in weeks. Enough to rouse the missing sister, to draw her out of wherever she had secluded herself to preserve her own strength, to start her back on her own search. And, as Natsume understood it from his own hazy recollection, she’d passed close enough by Kaname’s house in this search that her sister had sensed it, mustered what bit of energy she’d regained from resting within Natsume, and managed to well and truly take him over, enough to leave the house and give chase. The sister had fled, not realizing the possession and fearing that she was being pursued by an exorcist, until her limited strength failed her and Natsume’s body had caught up.

It was a happy ending, for the two of them, as far as Natsume knew, though admittedly they’d said little more to him than their thanks before vanishing into the night together. And in doing so, had left Natsume stranded and barefoot in his pajamas, in an unfamiliar part of the forest.

And to be fair, they wouldn’t necessarily have had any reason to know he was unfamiliar with it, or that he couldn’t just go back the way he came—after all, when they’d found him he hadn’t been that far away, he could only have gotten so far on foot. But Kaname doesn’t feel quite so forgiving on the matter, especially when Natsume told what happened next.

Because he’d scarcely begun to realize just how lost he was when he’d become drowsy, and dizzy. Not cold, he’d said; not really, and in no discernible pain, but after a few minutes he’d ended up on his hands and knees in the underbrush, his head reeling. And the next thing he’d known, Ponta was kicking him in the face.

At the very least, Kaname supposes he’s grateful that Natsume truly didn’t seem to feel the cold. Not until halfway through his bath, anyways, when the shivering set in, but by then he was well on his way to being a normal human temperature once more. And that’s the other thing Kaname can’t quite forgive, that both yuki-onna had been so apparently blind to the fact that they’d nearly frozen him to death. Natsume for his part genuinely hadn’t noticed; he’d been surprised when Kaname pointed out the ice on his clothes and in his hair. And, as Ponta had (reasonably) pointed out, yuki-onna in general were not known for any dealings with a human that a human ever walked away from, so it was likely they had no idea the kind of unintentional damage they’d inflicted. But regardless, if Ponta had found him any later than he had, it unquestionably would’ve been too late.

He’s back in bed, now, bath finished, swaddled up in every extra blanket that Kaname could find. He had been very reluctant to leave the room even for the two or so minutes it took to locate said blankets, the fact that Ponta was literally sitting perched on top of Natsume’s chest when he’d left (and sending Kaname off with a longsuffering “just go already, I won’t let him wander off again”) notwithstanding. He had tried not to visibly rush back to the bed when he returned, but the panic must’ve been a little too obvious in his eyes, because Natsume immediately tried to prop himself up on his elbows, giving him a smile that was surely meant to be reassuring but far too weary around the edges to be so. Kaname had just laid him back down, wordlessly, with a quick kiss to the forehead before he began situating the blankets. Ponta had given up his spot on Natsume’s chest in favor of settling down instead near his thigh.

“Okay,” he says, once he’s finished fussing with the bedding. “How cold are you?” Which might be an idiotic question, if Kaname’s lips on his skin just now were anything to go by, the answer is still very. But he’s learned by now, when asking after Natsume’s wellbeing, to phrase it so as not to allow him the out of merely saying he’s fine when he obviously isn’t, otherwise he’d be claiming he was just fine up to his dying breath.

And to Natsume’s credit, he does try to be more honest about it, nowadays, to Kaname, to their friends and to the Fujiwaras, though it’s so visibly difficult for him to try to relearn every instinct he has just to let on that he’s unwell.

“I’m…it’s not so bad anymore.” His voice is a little muffled; he’s buried up to the nose in soft fleece. “I don’t want to move, though.”

“You shouldn’t be moving around so much anyways, with your feet in that state,” Kaname says, mouth twisting. Natsume hadn’t really been aware of it until they’d gotten back, but taking off through the woods at top speed had torn up his skin pretty thoroughly, cuts and scratches up to the ankle that had bled in the bathwater, and the nail on one foot had been ripped clean off. Kaname had done what he could with a first aid kit, Natsume’s blood on his fingertips enough to set his stomach churning but knowing his aversion to hospital trips.

“Are you gonna just carry me everywhere, then?” Natsume’s voice is soft and sleepy.

“If you need me to,” he says, his returning smile sitting brittle on his lips, sliding his fingers through Natsume’s still-damp hair and wondering if he dried it well enough. “But it’d be better for you to just stay in bed.”

Natsume blinks up at him; he can’t seem to keep his eyes open all the way. “You know…I’m sorry about the circumstances, but it is pretty fun when you carry me.” An honest-to-god delirious giggle, then. “You’re strong.”

“I’m not that strong.” An easy counter. “You’re not that heavy.” He pauses, realizing he’d been hovering in an awkward half-crouch beside the bed that’s making his thighs ache, and sits on the edge of the mattress. Ponta shoots him a brief exasperated look, make up your mind already. “Do your feet hurt a lot? I can find you medicine if it’d help you sleep.”

“Mm…no, they’ll be alright…” he frowns a little, and Kaname feels a movement by his hip, and realizes that Natsume’s trying to work his hand free of the many blankets tucked tight around him. Kaname tugs them loose, only to have pale fingers catch his sleeve.

“Don’t you want to lie down?”

No, Kaname thinks, and if he wasn’t sitting he’s pretty sure he’d be pacing. But there’s a quiet apprehension in Natsume’s words, so Kaname gives a constrained nod instead. “Let me just get the lights.”

It doesn’t actually help his nerves any, lying in the exact same position they’d fallen asleep in earlier that night; the chilly tip of Natsume’s nose brushing against his breastbone and Kaname’s arm draped over his shoulders. When the occasional shiver comes, he rubs Natsume’s back, and Kaname does appreciate that much, it means he can feel him breathing better. Natsume always seems to migrate into this same position; it means he’s comfortable and Kaname’s glad for that but he certainly can’t say the same. Even Ponta keeping a lookout only helps so much with that; every muscle and nerve in him feels like a taut rubber band twisted over and over on itself, acid churning in an empty stomach. He starts at every little sound, every slight creak of the aging house settling around them. There’s no real noise from outside; the night is still, no wind, no forest creatures making any sound this deep into the winter. Objectively that silence should be better; but it’s not, really, it just feels all the more ominous. Kaname’s wound so tightly, ears pricked for every sound, that all it takes is for Ponta to speak out of the blue to startle him so badly that it wakes Natsume back up.

“Calm down, brat.” He pokes at Kaname’s ankle with a single paw. “I was just going to say it’s actually safe for you to go to sleep, hard as that is for you to believe, apparently.”

“I know,” Kaname murmurs, watching Natsume’s forehead scrunch up as his awareness returns. “Sorry. I’m trying.”

“Are you, though?” Ponta drawls, and Kaname sends a tired glare in his general direction.

“Hm…mm?” Natsume frowns, eyes sliding slowly into focus, reflecting the light of the single lamp Kaname had left on beside the bed.

Kaname smooths back his hair with one hand. “It’s alright.” He tries to sound surer than he feels, on that point. “Go back to sleep.”

“What’s…” His frown deepens, both his hands sliding up to the sides of Kaname’s chest under the covers. “Your heart’s beating so fast.”

“That’s because been busy picturing all the different ways you could possibly prance off and die the second he takes his eyes off you,” Ponta says flatly, and Kaname winces.

“…Oh.” He lets out a slow breath. Then, looking resolute, he inches himself upward, wriggling out from under the mass of bedclothes piled on top of him until he’s nose-to-nose with Kaname, his cheek squashed against the pillow. He’s panting a little from the effort, gripping Kaname’s shirt with both hands, but his eyes are steady. “I’m sorry,” he says.

“Don’t be.” Kaname reaches up, traces the pad of his thumb across Natsume’s cheekbone, the skin cool but no longer cold to the touch. “You didn’t do anything wrong. You were being kind, not reckless. You even talked to me about it first.” The significance of that had not been lost on Kaname, either, that Natsume had come to him with this before coming to a decision, even when all evidence pointed to it being a fairly benign situation to involve himself in. At the time Kaname thought his heart might just have grown too full to ever fit properly in his chest again. And yet here Natsume is now, trying to apologize for it. “We didn’t know this would happen,” Kaname adds, gently. He’s not certain he can be reassuring when his pulse is still hammering away like it is under Natsume’s hands, when there’s a current of nausea beneath the tight smile he offers. But he can try, because Natsume deserves as much.

But then it’s Natsume who’s taking Kaname’s face into his own hands, and closing the distance between their lips. It’s as tender as it is deliberate, Natsume cupping his face and holding him there, as if Kaname’s the one that’s ephemeral, precious, who might slip away so easily. His lips are still rough and cracked from the cold, but his lashes tickle Kaname’s skin like moths’ wings.

“No, we didn’t know,” Natsume breathes, eventually, into the scant space between them. Their foreheads are pressed together still; his fingers have slid up and back into Kaname’s hair. “But that doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt you, too.” He pulls back a little, then, eyes searching. But Kaname doesn’t know what to say to that, so he stays quiet, his chest tight.

“Thank you,” Natsume says. “For finding me.”

I didn’t find you, Kaname thinks, Ponta found you. But those words don’t come. What he says, instead, half-blurted, half-choked, is: “I love you.”

…oh.

“Oh,” Natsume echoes, softly, eyes widening into twin moons in the lamplight, and Kaname fleetingly thinks of sinking through the mattress and vanishing then and there. That…he had not meant to say that, just now. But he can’t (won’t) take it back, either. He forces himself to meet Natsume’s eyes, hopes to god he says something more because Kaname’s words are utterly spent.

“You’ve never said that, before,” Natsume adds, at long last. He chuckles, the sound of it breathy and stilted. “I guess I should get lost in the woods more often, huh.”

But Kaname can only stare, tongue-tied, through eyes that have begun to sting. Natsume pauses, taking in Kaname’s face before his brows scrunch together in apparent distress. “I’m sorry, that was a cruel thing to say, wasn’t it.” Gentle thumbs brush below Kaname’s eyes, swiping away the building moisture. “Please don’t cry. I’m sorry.”

It’s too late for that, Kaname thinks with some distant degree of frustration at himself. Natsume should definitely, definitely be resting right now. Not dealing with Kaname’s apparent inability to get a handle on himself, or some ill-timed confession. But here they are, and now Kaname’s the one clinging onto Natsume’s pajamas like a terrified child, face buried deep in his shoulder and shaking. And Natsume’s rubbing his back, so gently, kissing his hair and whispering to him to breathe, it’s alright, just breathe.

It’s ridiculous, really, that he can’t calm himself down until he’s practically cried himself inside out. His chest hurts, his head is buzzing and he’s soaked through the flannel on Natsume’s shoulder with tears and snot and spit—but the words I thought you were dead, I saw you and I thought you were dead have been playing on some awful loop in his brain for the past two hours and it’s all he can do not to repeat them now—if he does he’ll just lose it again.

Once his breathing has evened out to a semi-reasonable pace, the warm weight near his ankle shifts a bit, and he hears a sardonic, “Are you finished?”

“Sensei.” Natsume angles a slight kick in the cat’s general direction, but between Kaname’s own legs in the way and the swathes of bandages and blankets packed around them it doesn’t make it very far. “He does care,” Natsume mutters, and Kaname raises his head to see Natsume scowling at the foot of the bed. “He’s just being rude.”

“Of course I care.” Ponta blinks back at them, wholly unbothered. “He promised to make gratin tomorrow. He can’t do that if he’s cried himself to death, now can he.”

Natsume pointedly ignores that, before propping himself up on a trembling elbow just far enough to reach for the water bottle on Kaname’s dresser. “Here,” he says, his gentle smile incongruent with the way he almost drops the bottle between them. “You’ll get a headache.”

And Kaname can’t contest that, really. He can already feel the pressure mounting between his temples. He accepts it and winds up downing about half of it in two gulps. When he offers it back to Natsume to take his own drink he keeps his own hands over Natsume’s unsteady ones, but Kaname’s the one whose fingers have grown cold now.

“Better?” Natsume asks afterwards, voice still infinitely kind and patient but Kaname can practically see the fatigue etched into his face. Kaname just nods, sheepish. He should never have woken him.

“Um,” Natsume continues, less sure, “I’d ask if you wanted to talk about it right now, but…”

“N-no, thank you.” His voice comes out low and wrecked, and clearing his throat doesn’t make it any better. “You should rest.”

“Okay.” A pause, and Natsume gives him a long look, making no move to get settled back down under the covers just yet.

“What’s wrong?” Kaname asks, with some trepidation. Natsume’s eyes are wide, solemn but luminous.

“I love you too.”

…oh.

“Oh.” Kaname’s mouth feels very dry, suddenly. There’s a bubble of unbelievable warmth, of hope, rising in his chest, but anxiety follows fast behind. Natsume’s face looks so open right now, the kind of transparent expression that doesn’t often come easily for him and he’s waiting, waiting and Kaname has to say something and—

“You don’t have to say it just ‘cause I said it,” is what comes out, eventually. His voice still sounds rather like he swallowed a toad, and he clears his throat in vain, gaze dropping to some spot on the rumpled coverlet between them. “You don’t owe it to me or anything. You might not even remember any of this in the morning, anyways.”

He raises his eyes again when he feels cool fingers light on his chin. “Doesn’t matter,” he says. “It’s true, and you should know it.” Exhaustion notwithstanding, his voice is clear, and his eyes are so warm Kaname couldn’t look away again if he tried. “I love you, okay? I love you.”

Kaname just nods, he’s not sure if he wants to laugh or cry again or hyperventilate or possibly all three but then Natsume’s reaching for him and kissing him and kissing him, lips, forehead, eyelids, nose and cheeks, and Kaname doesn’t have to say anything at all. It’s all slow, feather-light and lingering; Natsume’s too tired for anything more but Kaname’s content to lie there and let himself be kissed, his mind resonating with it: I love you too, I love you, I love you…

“Sorry I scared you,” Natsume murmurs, eventually. His fingertips skim a lazy circle on Kaname’s shoulder, their noses nearly touching still. “I’ll do my best to not get lost again.”

“Not without me.”

Natsume’s lips twitch. “Okay. Not without you.”

***

Thanks for reading! I’ll take one more prompt from this list before starting the next part of Never Felt Like Any Blessing if anyone would like to submit one! 

[some1foundme]

Repost: The Long Way Home

So I wrote this fic years ago (2015) and posted it to ff.net but I was scrolling around in my documents folder and remembered that it was there and had never been posted to AO3 or here.  Anyhow, here it is.  I’m going to post this rather quickly considering its complete so check back for the next installment soon.

Read on AO3

Chapter One

Cold, crisp October air tugged strands of blonde hair free from her ponytail, whipping it across her face.  The body of the man at her side did little to shield her as they stood at the bow of the ferry.  Not that she minded.  Felicity relished the bite of the ocean air.  It reminded her of the life she’d left behind.  It reminded her that this was real, that she was finally going home.

Ray’s arms tightened around her waist and she sighed, leaning into his embrace.

“You okay?”

She nodded, “I am.”

“You seem nervous.”

She snorted, “You think?  It’s been a long time, Ray.  Years.  And I just – I don’t know.  Maybe I’m a little freaked out about coming back here.”

He chuckled at her rushed response and settled his chin on the top of her head.

They’d met at work almost two years earlier. She had taken a job as the head of research and development at Palmer Technologies, the company that Ray now ran after his father’s retirement.  She hadn’t meant to end up in a relationship with the boss’ son, it had just happened.

“Wow, Felicity…”

The awe in Ray’s voice brought her eyes up from where they’d been focused on her shoes.  Star Island appeared like a mirage before them.  The early morning fog had lifted and from the direction of their approach, they had an unimpeded view of its southernmost point.  On the cliff overlooking the channel, her family home stood proud.  She pointed it out to Ray.

“There it is.  That’s Verdant.”

Ray let out a whistle of appreciation.

“The way you described it doesn’t do it justice. It’s beautiful, Felicity.”

She couldn’t find the words to respond.  It had been a long time since she’d stepped foot on Star Island.  Five years, to be exact.  And seeing it now before her, rising out of the Pacific with such grace, caused a swarm of butterflies to take flight in her belly.

Felicity hadn’t wanted to come.  She had – in fact – adamantly refused.  Until her mother’s guilt trip had become too much to bear. She hadn’t really given an explanation as to why it was suddenly so important for Felicity to return, but her mom’s persistence had finally worn her down.

When she’d brought it up to Ray that she was taking a week to return home, he’d invited himself along.

She couldn’t exactly tell him that she’d prefer it if he didn’t join her.  They’d been a couple for more than a year.  They lived together, worked together, spent almost all of their time together.  And while Ray was a great guy and they had so much in common, her heart and her brain couldn’t get on the same page where their relationship was concerned.  She had wanted to ask him to stay home in Coast City but she hadn’t been able to come up with a reasonable excuse.

When the ferry reached the dock, the fluttering in her stomach erupted like a volcano.  She thought she might hack.

They left the boat with their luggage in tow and Felicity clutched the strap of her bag with both hands to hide the fact that they were shaking.  She moved on autopilot with Ray right behind her and when her mother suddenly appeared on the crowded pier, tears sprang to her eyes.  She released the handle of her suitcase and rushed into her mom’s arms.

“Oh my baby girl, I’ve missed you.”

A tiny sob escaped her and Felicity buried her face in her mother’s shoulder.

“What is it?  What’s wrong, hun?”

She sniffled, drawing away, and wiped at the tears behind her glasses.

“Sorry, Mom.  Nothing’s wrong.  I – I just missed you,” she explained, hating how vulnerable she sounded.

A throat being cleared behind her reminded Felicity that she hadn’t come alone.

“Mom, this is Ray Palmer.  Ray, this is my mom, Donna.”

Ray stepped forward to shake her mother’s hand and Felicity didn’t miss the appreciative gleam in her mom’s blue eyes. She rolled her own.  Ray was an attractive man, she couldn’t deny that, but it was her mom’s obvious approval that she found amusing.

“Mrs. Smoak, um, Smoak-Lance?”

Donna smiled, “It’s just Lance.  Felicity is the only one who chose to hyphenate.  Not that her dad and I mind, of course.  It’s nice to get both family names out there. And please, Ray, call me Donna.”

Ray graced them with a brilliant smile.

“It’s nice to finally meet you, Donna. Felicity has told me so much about you.”

It was the appropriate thing to say but Felicity knew it couldn’t be further from the truth.  She never talked about home.  Or her family, as much as she loved them.  When she’d run from Star Island, she’d left everything behind.

She reclaimed her bag and followed after her mom and Ray as they headed toward downtown.  Her mom had her arm looped with Ray’s, guiding him along as she spoke animatedly about the island and its residents.  Her voice acted as narrator to the scenes playing out before Felicity’s eyes.  She found herself examining everything, her gaze wandering from storefront to storefront, person to person.  Memories came flooding back quickly and a sense of longing shook her to her core.

“Our family has lived here going back three generations now,” her mom explained, “Of course, the island and the village were originally founded by the Queen family.  They’re still here, as are a handful of other families that live here year-round.  It’s mostly seasonal, I’m sure Felicity explained that, but there are a couple hundred of us who stay during the off-season.”

She had explained the gist of it on their drive from the city.  Star Island had been founded in the mid-1800’s by the Queen family as a home for their summer house.  Over the years, it had turned into a permanent residence for the family. Rumor had it that a scandal on the mainland had chased them to the island in the forties and they’d simply chosen to stay.  Whatever the reason, Star Island had become a flourishing spot for vacationing families of all shapes and sizes.

But for Felicity, it was home.  It was where she had met her first friend, where she had ridden her first bike, kissed her first boy, built her first computer.  It was the place all of her memories centered around.

“No way!  I must be dreaming!  You’re a hallucination, right?”

Her mind didn’t register the voice quickly enough and she was swept up in a crushing hug before she could prepare herself.

“Barry!  Put me down!”

She was laughing by the time he set her on her feet and she smacked at his arm.

“Wow, look at you, little ‘Lis is all grown up.”

She was sure she was blushing but she couldn’t wipe the stupid grin from her face.  Barry grinned back.

“I don’t look all that different, Barry. Where are you headed to this early?” she questioned, “Catching the ferry?”

He nodded, “Some of us do work for a living. I didn’t know you were coming home, though, or I would’ve taken some time off.  Wait ‘til Caitlin finds out!”

She hadn’t seen Barry and Caitlin since their wedding almost a decade earlier.

“Oh, gosh, I’m sorry.  Barry, this is my boyfriend, Ray.  Ray, my cousin Barry.”

Barry hesitated for just a moment before taking the hand Ray had extended to him.  She didn’t think that Ray had noticed, but she certainly had.

“Nice to meet you.  Felicity doesn’t normally bring her boyfriends home.  As a matter of fact, ‘Lis doesn’t normally bring herself home so…”

The awkward silence that would’ve inevitably followed that statement was avoided when the blast of the ferry horn cut through the air.

“Shit.  I’m going to miss it.  I’ve got to go!  I’ll see you later!”

And then Barry was off and running, heading in the direction from which they’d come.  The three of them watched him go for a moment before resuming the trek to the inn.

“Any other family members that we can expect to run into while we’re here?”

Her mother explained to Ray that Cisco, Barry’s younger brother, and their parents lived on the island as well.  Cisco, Felicity discovered, was on sabbatical from his job at Star Labs after an accident in the lab.  It was more than likely that they would see her cousins and her aunt and uncle before they returned to Coast City.

“And what about your oldest daughter?  Laurel, right?”

Ray’s question was so unexpected that Felicity stumbled.  He didn’t seem to notice.

“Laurel isn’t here,” her mother answered softly, “As far as I know, she’s fine.”

Felicity watched as her mom disengaged herself from Ray’s side and continued up the road without them.  He turned to her, clearly confused, and she sighed.

“Should I not have asked about Laurel?”

She rubbed at an ache that seemed to be forming in the middle of her forehead.

“I should’ve told you.  My sister is kind of a sore subject for my parents.  We don’t … it’s probably in everyone’s best interest if we don’t talk about her.”

Ray took her hand as they trailed after her mom.

“What’s the deal with that?” he asked, “You never really talk about her.  I guess it didn’t dawn on me that something was wrong there.”

She let out a huff of frustration.  This was exactly why she hadn’t wanted him to come with her.  His line of questioning, while not ridiculous, was unwelcome and while she hadn’t set the decorum of what she did and did not want to talk about, she had hoped the fact that she avoided talking about her family at all would’ve been a big enough hint for him.

“Laurel is just- we don’t… please, just don’t bring her up again, okay?”

Her tone was more harsh than she’d really intended but after only twenty minutes on the island, he’d upset her mom and caused her own hackles to rise.  She’d known that bringing an outsider to Star Island was a mistake.

“I understand, Felicity.  I’m sorry.”

Her ire faded in a rush and she squeezed his hand.

“It’s fine, really.  Come on.”

She tugged him forward and as they reached the crest of the hill, Felicity stopped to look out over the harbor.

“I can’t imagine what it was like growing up with this as your view day in and day out.”

She nodded, “It’s breathtaking.  You should see it in the summer.  Boats dotting along the horizon for as far as you can see. And during a thunderstorm, when the lightning flashes out over the water.  It’s incomparable.”

They turned together to face the house behind them.

Verdant.  Her parents’ livelihood, their inn.  Her home. It was just as she remembered it, its tall turret a sign of the Victorian architecture that was prominent on the island.  The soothing green wood shingles and white trim the reason for its name.  

Her mother waited on the front steps.

“The house looks beautiful, Mom.  Has Dad painted it recently?”

It looked to be in impeccable shape, better even than when it had first opened, and as she took in more of the details, Felicity noticed a number of small improvements.

“Dad’s been working so much down at the docks that he hasn’t had time to do anything around here at all, really,” her mom explained, “We’ve actually hired someone on to do the maintenance for us.”

Felicity frowned.  She wasn’t keen on the idea of anyone outside of their family working at the inn.  It meant too much to her parents.

“Anyone that I know?”

Her mother didn’t respond and Felicity felt the hair on her arms rise.  When her mom turned to face her, there was something in her expression that Felicity didn’t recognize.

“Mom?”

“Honey, I’ve been meaning to te-“

“Mrs. Lance, I took care of the ceiling fan on the back porch but I couldn’t –“

She felt herself moving, knew that she had turned to face the person whose voice she had recognized the moment that it’d reached her ears, but she hadn’t consciously decided to do so.  Her eyes met his, dark blue and haunted and staring back at her for the first time in longer than she could remember.

A ghost.  He has to be a ghost.

Her heart was thrumming loudly in her ears, so loudly that it drowned out the sounds of her mother and Ray beside her.

“Oliver?”

[lilacmoon83]

Dreaming Out Loud

Dreaming Out Loud

Chapter 35: Piece By Piece

The Dreamscape

When Emma finally found sleep that night, she sought her parents out, finding them in the meadow. She had tried to keep them mostly sheltered from what was going on in Storybrooke, but just a few nights ago, she had told them mostly everything that had happened.

They knew Deimos was alive and that had been a hard enough pill to swallow, but when she finally told them everything his counterpart had done and was getting away with, it was truly devastating. Her father lamented about her mother's safety and how it was even possible that he was even alive. No one seemed to know how that was possible either.

This all had been difficult enough for them to take and she hated seeing the fear behind her mother's eyes at the revelation that her tormentor was alive, even though she tried to hide that fear from her daughter.

But this...telling them about the wardrobe was probably one of the most difficult things she had faced in a very long time. Awake, her father was already aware, obviously, but he still was not retaining the memories of anything going on while awake. And really, August had been the one to spill the secret anyhow, leaving Emma grasping at how she was going to tell him now.

Then there was her mother. She had decided against telling her about her biological mother and the origins that she was unaware of. In the dreamscape, her father remained unaware of it as well. She made the decision that Persephone should break the news personally to Snow when the curse was broken. After all, Snow didn't have an inkling to who this woman was, unlike her counterpart. Mary had built a strong friendship and bond with Stephanie. That secret might come easier, especially since it was one with love behind it and circumstance beyond anyone's control.

But the secret about the wardrobe...this secret would only cause anguish and pain. The only benefit of telling them now was giving her mother time to process these emotions in the dreamscape so when she finally did wake up, maybe the pain wouldn't be so fresh. She knew the anger and betrayal they would feel wouldn't dissipate overnight, but the dreamscape was often therapeutic and she only hoped this setting could help with the blow this would be to them. And then there was Regina's latest ploy; an attempt to keep Henry away from her by using a very painful time in her life. Her own emotions were raw and there had been a lot of alcohol consumed that evening.

"Emma…" Snow called, as a smile eclipsed her face; a smile that spoke of a mother's pure adoration for her child.

"Hi Mom…" she said softly and Snow frowned at her subdued nature, as they hugged tightly. She hugged her father next, feeling his hand on the back of her head and her mother's hands on her back.

"Something else has happened...hasn't it?" Snow asked.

"A lot...and none of it's really good. I mean...you guys are okay and happy, because you're together…" she said, quickly adding the last part.

"Then there must be a lot going on around us. I mean, I know Regina won't just let us be together without creating a lot of trouble around us," Charming stated. She blew out a breath.

"Yeah...she's a piece of work. But unfortunately, she's not the only one that's done something," Emma replied.

"Sweetheart...you can tell us anything," Snow implored.

"Mom...this is going to crush you and Dad. And I don't want to do that! I hate this!" she lamented. Snow pulled her daughter into another hug.

"Oh baby...I love you for trying to protect us. But whatever it is...your father and I will get through it. And then we can help you get through it too," she said.

"She's right...you don't have to do this alone, princess," he added. In a moment of sheer vulnerability and anxiety, Emma finally broke down, probably in a way she wouldn't have awake and fell sobbing into her mother's arms. Snow and Charming were alarmed that their baby was in so much pain, but pushed aside their own fears. Snow gently cradled her and rocked her, as she cried against her mother's chest, while Charming's soothing hand moved up and down her back. And Snow knew one thing: whoever had hurt her daughter so deeply was going to pay dearly the moment she awakened from the curse.

"Baby...tell us what happened," Snow soothed. Emma sniffed.

"Do you remember when I was little and I used to tell people all the time that you two were my parents and that I would see you in my dreams every night?" she asked Snow smiled and swiped a few of her tears away with her thumbs.

"Of course...when you were very small, you said people accepted this and even seemed to think it was cute," she recalled. Emma nodded.

"But then it changed when you were a little older and they were unkind about it," David added, hating the cruelty she had faced alone.

"Yeah...I guess there's an age limit on what you are allowed to still believe in," she said bitterly.

"Anyway...remember they made me see a therapist and I told them about you guys and the curse, because I didn't know any better?" she asked.

"Of course...but honey, none of that was your fault. You said the people in this land just don't understand. That to them, magic and our stories are just figments of imagination," Snow reasoned.

"Yeah...and after they told me I was delusional, I stopped telling them and everyone else about the dreamscape and you guys so they wouldn't force pills down me," she added. Charming felt his fist clench at that. He hoped for their sake he never found this therapist that had been so callous and careless with his little girl's well being.

"I guess somehow Regina found a way to get into my private files and she's using that history to force Henry's therapist to recommend that I can only see him with supervision," Emma choked out.

"Oh Emma…" Charming uttered, as he shared a pained look with his wife.

"I mean, I gave him up and never thought I'd see him again. Then he came into my life and nowI never want to let him go," she lamented.

"Oh sweetie...I know...I know…" Snow cried with her.

"When we were forced to give you up...I thought that was it. I wouldn't see you for twenty-eight years. The dreamscape has been a blessing for us. I can't imagine now what it would have been like to not know you for all those years, even if it's only here," Snow mentioned.

"You have no idea…" Emma muttered. Charming's brow furrowed in confusion.

"What do you mean?" he asked. She sighed.

"That's the other part of what I have to tell you and it's going to be really hard to hear. It's going to cause you both a lot of pain…" she replied. They exchanged a glance.

"We're ready...whatever it is, we need to know, even if it's hard to hear," he said. She took a deep breath.

"Blue and Geppetto lied to you. The wardrobe took two," she blurted out. Her parents stared at her for a moment in complete silence.

"What?" her father questioned first.

"I don't understand...why would they…" her mother uttered.

"Geppetto put Pinocchio through the wardrobe first...before me," she explained.

"But...that means…" Snow stammered, as she reached out to her husband for support. He put his arms around her, even as he felt his own knees want to give out.

"You and Dad could have gone through before I was even born," she told them tearfully. Snow let out a choked sob.

"We...we could have gone with you…" Snow realized. Emma nodded sadly.

"Why...why would they lie?" Charming asked with anguish.

"I think Geppetto was scared for his son. I don't know why Blue went along with it," Emma replied.

"But...you needed us. A little boy can't raise a baby," Snow said. She nodded.

"Pinocchio was found with me that night and we apparently ended up in the same orphanage. But he left me soon after," she admitted.

"He left you?" Charming asked through clenched teeth. She shrugged.

"He was seven...he was put in a really bad position he wasn't old enough to deal with," she admonished.

"But if he left you...how did you find all this out?" he asked, as he glanced at his wife and started to worry. Her face was ashen and her green eyes blank.

"He came to town to track me down. He wants me to break the curse...that's another story all its own," she muttered. Charming glance down and gently caressed Snow's face.

"Snow…" he said.

"We could have gone with her…" Snow uttered, as she looked up at him.

"I know…" he said, sharing in her grief.

"Why...why would they lie to us? We trusted them...I thought they were friends," she hissed.

"I'm not sure...but they will have to face us, all of us, and explain why," he reasoned.

"Emma...I'm so sorry…" Snow lamented.

"It's not your fault, Mom. That's why I said the dreamscape is truly a blessing, even more than we originally thought. Because I've never truly been alone," she replied, as they hugged her between them. They would still grieve at this realization and eventually demand answers from those that needed to explain, but as always, they would relish being together in any capacity.

"We love you, Emma," Snow said.

"I love you guys too," she replied, just content to let them hold her for now.

Regina tossed and turned in her bed that night in a fitful sleep. Worry about the curse breaking plagued her dreams. She had always feared this, but this dream was very real and vivid…

Regina came down the stairs at her house, as the doorbell rang and she opened it. Her heartbeat quickened, as she saw many pairs of eyes glowering at her murderously. All these eyes were awake and they were being led like a lynch mob by the Savior.

Emma clutched the hilt of her father's sword and drew the blade.

"Please…" Regina pleaded.

"Did you really think we'd let you get a pass for what you did to us?" David growled.

"What about what she did to me?" Regina spat, glaring at her step-daughter.

"We both know I did nothing to you. Your own mother ruined your life; not me. I was just your scapegoat. Your easy target. You did so many terrible things to me...and yet I still let you live. That was a mistake," Snow spat.

"A mistake we no longer have to live with," David added. Regina's eyes pleaded with the others present, Archie, Granny, Grumpy, Geppetto...but she found no sympathy in their eyes. Only hatred.

"Please…" Regina pleaded again.

"I stayed your execution once...and you stole my family as thanks. You belittled me and made me feel like I was nothing! Well, now you are nothing! There is no mercy this time. There is no eleventh hour plea! I just want you gone," Snow cried tearfully.

"But Henry…" Regina pleaded.

"You don't deserve him...he's my son and we both know it," Emma growled, as she brought the sword up and then in a downward stroke. Regina screamed.

The former Queen shot up in bed, drenched in sweat and breathing heavily. It had been so real, almost like a guarantee of what was to come for her. Unless...she found a way to stop it. She had to get rid of Emma Swan...and she knew of one sure way to do it. The only person that could help her get what she needed to accomplish this though wanted nothing to do with her. But she smirked deviously. She had just the right leverage over him though. The Hatter wanted his daughter more than anything and she knew it would overrule any misplaced friendship he had with David Nolan. She knew exactly what she had to do and once she was victorious...Emma Swan would be no more. Then everyone that had crossed her would pay dearly...

Mary giggled the next morning, as they quietly tiptoed back behind the curtain that surrounded their bed from the bathroom, wrapped in only towels. It appeared Emma had passed out on the couch and she was glad to see she was still asleep. They had tried to be quiet in the shower, but that wasn't very easy for her with the things her husband had been doing to her.

"You are making getting ready for work very difficult this morning," she mentioned, as he kissed the back of her neck.

"I can't help it...I can't seem to get enough of you," he purred, as their lips met passionately. She lost herself in him again, as he kissed her neck.

"I have to get ready for work...and you have patrol…" she reminded. He grunted and reluctantly pulled away.

"Fine...but we are picking this up tonight," he promised and dropped his towel. Mary's eyes glazed, as she felt her knees weaken and sat down on the bed. Yes, she, Mary Margaret Blanchard, was ogling her husband. One thing she had learned since they had been together was that David was not shy about nudity. But then he had absolutely nothing to be shy about. Hard, shredded muscle through his arms, chest, and abs. Strong, powerful legs and a very nice ass, not to mention the well endowed manhood between his leg. She felt hot all over just thinking about those parts of him. If there was one thing that she was completely sure about: her husband was hot.

"See something you like, beautiful?" he asked coyly from over his shoulder, as he started getting dressed and she blushed.

"Mmm...can't a wife ogle her husband?" she returned coyly. He smirked and pecked her on the lips.

"Of course she can, especially when her husband very much enjoys ogling his beautiful, sexy wife," he purred, as he kissed her again.

"Mmm...why do we have to work today?" she whimpered in between soft, tender kisses.

"I know...if I had my way, we'd barely ever leave the bed," he said in a husky tone. Somehow though, they managed to get dressed and David made coffee, while she did her makeup and hair.

The smell of coffee is what finally roused a grumpy Emma and that's when they noticed the half drank bottle of tequila on the coffee table.

"Uh oh…" David mentioned.

"Emma...are you okay?" Mary asked gently, as she sat down beside her.

"God...why is it so bright?" the blonde complained. Mary and David exchanged a look. They knew that Emma downing a half a bottle of liquor didn't mean good things.

"Coffee and ibuprofen…" David said, as he set the items down in front of her.

"Thanks Dad...vid," she muttered, quickly correcting herself and thankfully, Mary didn't seem to notice her almost slip.

"Honey...what's going on? Why did you get drunk last night?" the raven haired beauty asked in concern.

"Cause Regina is a colossal bitch," Emma growled.

"What did she do now?" he asked.

"Oh, she just found a way to make sure I can only see Henry if the visits are supervised," she replied.

"What?!" he exclaimed.

"How can she do that?" Mary questioned, just as outraged as her husband.

"I'm pretty sure she pressured Archie to break every ethical rule in the book and gave him my file from the time when I was seeing a therapist...I was around Henry's age," she explained. That was the moment David recalled everything she had told them in the dreamscape. Unfortunately, Mary was hearing it for the first time.

"It's Archie's professional opinion that it's best if he monitor our visits since I guess it's a crime to have an imagination when you're nine," she spat bitterly.

"Oh Emma...I'm so sorry," she said, as she hugged her.

"Thanks...but I'm going to fight her," she said.

"Of course we are," he agreed and Mary nodded with him. She smiled slightly.

"Thanks guys…" she said.

"Okay...I think I can handle things at the station today. You go up and go back to bed," David said.

"I'll be fine," Emma protested.

"No...you're not going to work, not until your head is a little clearer anyway," Mary added.

"Fine...man, if I didn't know any better, I'd think you two were my parents," she quipped, giving them an amused look, as she tromped upstairs.

"So stubborn...sometimes I really do feel like she's the kid around here," Mary mentioned, making him chuckle, as he kissed her hair.

"Come on…I'll walk you down to your car while I take Wilby out," he said, as the dog waited by the door. She kissed him and they joined hands, as they left.

Flashback

Seven Months Before the Dark Curse

The fire raged, as Charming lit the remains on fire. Lancelot added more kindling to the fire to make sure every ounce of him was burned. Snow stood back and gently draped the red cloak over the wolf, allowing Red to phase back into a human. She breathed a sigh of relief and hugged her best friend.

"Thank you," Snow choked.

"Of course...I couldn't let that monster hurt you. He's gone," Red assured. Charming stepped back from the fire and put his arm around her.

"It's over…" he assured and she put her arms around him, resting her head against his chest.

"Come on...let's get you home," he suggested, as the fire continued to rage. Lancelot watched the fire until it burned out and ensured there was nothing left but ashes before he left.

And once he did, Hades appeared, having been granted temporary access to the living plane by Ares, who appeared as well, with his other son, Deimos' twin, Phobos.

"They did it...they killed him," Ares stated in disbelief.

"Father...Deimos brought this upon himself. Going after Persephone's daughter would have eventually incurred her wrath had the mortals not gotten to him first," Phobos reasoned.

"He was still your brother," Ares spat.

"He was...but the Ambrosia turned him into something unrecognizable. His obsession with Snow White was his undoing," Phobos reasoned.

"Your son is weak and soft, Ares. No wonder the mortals have less fear of us...the God of fear is a weak willed sop," Hades growled.

"Enough...you said you knew of a way to bring him back," Ares snapped.

"Yes...gather his ashes and we will journey to the vault of the Dark One. There and with a sacrifice, we can trade a life for a life. We shall choose our victim when we arrive," Hades stated. Using his magic, Ares swept up the ashes that were all that remained of Deimos and captured them in an urn, before the three of them disappeared.

Regina stood on the porch, which was home to the Larson family; a perfectly forgettable couple that wasn't even supposed to be married. The curse just threw them together and with it, custody of Paige. The curse story went that she was the mother's child from a previous marriage and the step-father was indifferent to her and his wife, spending most of his days drunk. It was the perfectly unhappy curse situation and she needed them to start a problem for her.

"Mayor Mills…" Amy Larson said in surprise.

"Good morning, Mrs. Larson. I was hoping you and your husband had a moment to discuss a very serious matter concerning your daughter," Regina replied.

"O...of course, please come in," the timid woman offered and Regina stepped inside. She crinkled her nose when she spotted the unshaven, half drunken man in the recliner. But she was happy with the bit of fear she still caused in most people when even the belligerent Fred Larson sat up a little straighter.

"You mentioned Paige...did she do something?" Amy asked. Fred scoffed.

"Whatever it was...feel free to lock the little brat up," Fred slurred.

"Oh no, Paige has done nothing wrong. But I'm afraid there is someone with quite a bit of interest in her. Tell me, have you ever seen this man before?" Regina asked, showing her a picture of Jefferson.

"N...no, I don't think so," she replied.

"Well...one of my employees has noticed this man frequently visiting the elementary school during recess over the past several months. And I'm afraid it's Paige that he's been watching. It's caused me great concern for your little girl. As mothers, we must protect our children from outsiders," Regina stated.

"He's watching Paige?" Amy asked in concern.

"Yes...and though I would be only too happy to file a complaint against him, as a person that is not directly involved with the situation, I'm afraid I can't," Regina replied, as she looked at the other woman.

"But you can," Regina replied.

"I...I don't know. I've never done anything like that before," Amy said.

"Well, it's a good thing you don't have to do it alone. I may not be able to file the complaint, but I can go with you. With me behind you, the Sheriff's department will have no choice but to take this matter very seriously. Remember...this is for Paige," Regina responded. The woman nodded.

"Thank you Madam Mayor, I would very grateful for your help," Amy agreed.

Mary observed recess from her post and enjoyed watching the kids play. But she found her eyes wandering to a particular child, as always. Henry looked sad and she hadn't seen him this down since before Emma came to town. She knew she wasn't supposed to interject herself into the situation that was between him and his therapist, but she couldn't help it with him. She felt so protective of him and while she would outwardly tell everyone that she loved all her students equally, that was a bit of a white lie. She loved Henry and he was definitely her favorite. He was special; she could just feel it.

That's why she found herself venturing toward the picnic table where he sat.

"Can I sit here?" she asked. He looked up and shrugged.

"Honey...Emma told me what happened. But you have to know that she won't stop fighting for you," Mary assured.

"It doesn't matter...she always wins! Good is supposed to win...but it can't in this place, because the Queen controls everything!" Henry said angrily.

"I know it seems like your Mother isn't a good person and I'll admit, I have a hard time seeing things her way. But I do know that Regina loves you," Mary reasoned.

"But some kids have two Moms. Some kids have a Mom and a Dad that don't live together. Why can't I just have them both?" he asked.

"Have you told your Mom how you feel?" Mary asked.

"She won't listen. She just keeps telling me that my book isn't real and that I have to see Archie twice a week now. She says Emma was the same as me when she was my age," Henry replied.

"There's nothing wrong with having imagination and dreams, Henry. Not everyone agrees with your Mother's views on that," Mary assured.

"But Emma's dreams were real! And so is my book, Miss Blanchard! You are Snow White and David is Prince Charming," Henry implored. She smiled.

"That's very sweet of you to think that," Mary said, as she squeezed his shoulder. Henry was about to continue, but Paige ran up to them at that moment, holding a box.

"Miss Blanchard...this is for you," she said.

"For me?" Mary asked. The girl nodded.

"That messenger asked me to give it to you," Paige replied, pointing to a man she didn't recognize walking away. Mary's brow furrowed and she opened the box. However, when she did, she let out a frightened scream and dropped the box to the ground. Paige and Henry peered inside, finding a dead bluebird, as other students and teachers gathered around to see the spectacle. Stephanie was quickly by her side and the two raven haired beauties saw him then, across the street and a safe distance away from the school, wearing a smug grin. And like he had done nothing, Damon Tromera walked away, sufficiently pleased with himself and the terror he had caused...

[dearben]

30.09.20

Dear Ben

i. My parents have a neighbour, this pension-aged divorcee who lives alone. She’s got two grown children, both in high-powered jet-setting careers, whom she doesn’t talk to a lot. She calls pretty much on the daily to talk to my mother, and the isolation hasn’t been kind to her because we get the sense that she’s losing the plot. She called the other night ranting and raving about how I’d screwed up her phone, but Dad’s convinced that it was because she refused to update her iOS.

(FTR, Dad used to try to get me to talk her through how to use her phone but three unsuccessful attempts convinced me that you can’t teach an idiot, so I try to refrain from talking to her where possible).

Mum and Dad have tried to convince her to seek help, but that suggestion hasn’t been taken very well.

(I wish you could talk back to me, but let’s be clear that you’re really a figment of my imagination, because I find it so much easier to talk to one, and part of me doesn’t want to scare you away even though there’s realistically close to zero chance that we’ll ever talk again.)

Anyhow the real reason I don’t like her is because she is essentially who I fear becoming in the future – alone and isolated both by volition and vocation.

ii. I just got into a fight with dad and my sister about what a failure I am. I’d seen this coming for a long time since moving back in – Dad even took me aside to warn me in advance not to be a pain in the arse before I came home. Dad told me that he’s essentially given up on nagging me and only keeps it up instinctively because I’m his progeny, which only hammers home that it’s no longer just in my head but in life that I might’ve failed.

I thought that this was going to be my year, the year that life was finally going to start behaving itself, and then a pandemic came along and gave it all a giant middle finger. It’s been over 6 months yet I still find myself yearning for what could have been. Everyone’s like, “maybe this is the year you strip it all back and regroup, and emerge from the other end like a butterfly”. Since then Operation Butterfly has become my obsession but part of me thinks it’s a distraction from the mess my life’s become.

This year has essentially just rammed home time and again what a failure I am. Crappy job, no social life or skills, and hardly any personality and generally a terrible excuse for a human being. I remember the darkness starting when I was finishing high school – it was like I knew uni was the peak and after that everything would start going downhill. I’m always terrified of the possibility that I peaked way too early, but Dad reckons (rightly so) that I have a complex where I’m unhappy if I’m not the centre of attention. How ironic then that I seemed to have developed a meta-complex about this, rather than behaving constructively about it.

iii. Then kids I’d grown up with are off conquering the world, getting high-powered jobs, getting married, buying houses and having children (or all at once). I can’t even hold down a boyfriend who doesn’t espouse right wing tendencies or isn’t a kidult. But then that opens a pot-kettle situation which I quite often run out of steam to cycle around.

Sarah’s said that anxiety does this – that it zaps the energy to give a fuck, resulting in one becoming an arse to the world because what’s remaining of that energy’s just directed towards keeping the basic systems running. I can’t even figure out how to format excel spreadsheets anymore. It’s super funny because I feel like I don’t have the patience to understand mental illness anymore, having fallen into that chasm despite once being so curious about it. I somehow manage to drown every day while decrying everyone else in the same boat for being a wimp. It’s days like these that I can’t picture the sun coming up tomorrow – or if it does, that the world will be in grayscale.

iv. Gabby’s just made us do a gratitude exercise. Truth be told I’ve always been skeptical of these because every time I do that, the rug gets pulled from under me and things on that list just mysteriously disappear. Mihika said that it was almost as if I was scared of being happy, which was pathological, but is it possible that I’m just too lazy to be?

I don’t know why I’m writing, when I haven’t in such a long time (I was afraid, I think, that my writing had become mediocre but I don’t care now because no one’ll read this…I think). I’ve always been a fast talker, fast thinker – maybe I just have too many thoughts in my head yelling over one another like inkblots and fireworks, and perhaps this might help me slow them down. I don’t need this to look pretty or aesthetic – I just need to figure a way out of the knots.

v. What I want to say to Dad and Mom and Ying (and the world) is that I wish I had the maturity to own a house, or have children, or even make things different for myself when I’m not happy about them, rather than make excuses all the time and wallow in self-pity. Or even, just to be happy with myself. Buying a car was terrifying enough, and that was with Ying and Dad there to do most of the legwork for me. Why the fuck am I licensed to perform surgery and give people life-changing medical advice, when I can’t even drive properly without thinking I’m going to die every time I step into a car?

All I can promise is that I will try, but that there will be days when I’ll fuck up again and again, even though that’s not an excuse to let things slide. I’m afraid to talk openly about this because it’ll force me to confront that deep dark chasm that is my anxiety about being a failure in life, and if I’m not careful I might finally fall in.

I know that I have so much growing up to do because I’ve spent too much time with my head in the clouds – mostly as a distraction because I’m fed up with life and humanity. I want to say that I care enough to not be a terrible person, but sometimes I find it hard to be 10/10. Dad keeps telling me to be introspective and self-reflective but sometimes I feel like time alone with my thoughts isn’t helpful but that’s mostly because I end up wallowing in cycles of despair. I know it’s a cop-out whenever I call myself a failure because it’s the easy way out, to fall with gravity, but my choices have consequences and I don’t like what’s on the other end of that alternative. But treading water is getting so tiring sometimes – I wish I could accept that this will be for life but I find it difficult sometimes to realise that there are ups and downs.

vi. I have found myself indulging, more and more, in thoughts of what we could’ve been. I find that they tend to be more salient whenever things and times get rough. Kit reckons that I do this to comfort myself with the memory of the closest I came to success but it always comes with that painful shock from your rejection. Even though rationally, you were reacting or behaving normally and were honest enough as to warn me ahead of time that you weren’t ready for a relationship and were even kind enough to check up on me despite my stupid faceplant, it only made you more irresistible. How I have tried time and again to be rational and stop thinking of you on a pedestal; once I even forced myself to read through your old messages talking about how you’d moved on. Oh god, I thought the pain would kill me but it didn’t and here I remain a strange shade holding onto regret. We only met twice and I was stupid at both, and clearly stupid enough to keep using you as the benchmark for what every subsequent partner should be. It’s been nearly 5 years. It nearly destroyed the one who came after you because he wasn’t you and despite both of us trying it wasn’t fair for him to be compared to a memory.

But then I’m starting to wonder if what I’m really finding alluring about you are your qualities and successes. I wonder if you were just another right-wing conservative social justice denier with stunted career prospects living with his parents, I would still be enamoured of you – and I’m starting to come to the realisation that perhaps I might not be. But you aren’t any of those things (particularly the right-wing conservative) – and here I’m falling into my own trap yet again.

I sometimes flirt (and come close to) with the idea of just asking you. Not flirtatiously with an emoticon in an unexpected text, but with raw honesty. Are you still with her? Are you happy? How is working from home, since you were already an expert before this shitstorm hit. How do you become an adult? And do you ever think of me as anyone aside from a fling?

But then that would utterly destroy the boundary I put up for my own good, by not replying to you the last time you asked me, and I know realistically I have destroyed any chance of that happening when you must’ve found me stalking your LinkedIn. More importantly it will make it blatantly obvious that beyond those two times, I wasn’t anything but a blip on your radar. Maybe I prefer this illusion of you, after all, and confronting you in life will eliminate him.

You’re not the only guy I’ve done this to. Most of the time, I embarrass myself enough in my delusions that I shudder at the mere thought of ever talking to them again. Once, it worked out, but then I ended up getting bored and breaking his heart years later. I often wonder if this is karmic payback for being so thoughtless but again the rational part of my brain realises that’s a cop-out.

vii. When I was thirteen my parents made me attend this motivational seminar over summer break, which famously (and sensationally) involved bullying us to study hard by visualising our parents on their deathbeds. They made us chant the line “Choices have consequences” on the hour and it has stuck. It’s wavered in my consciousness at times, particularly when I’m swimming in depression, and I often feel guilty coming out of the zenith when I realise that I’d just left it up to fate and faith to float me back to normality.

Every time I go back to Singapore and want to visit the places of my childhood, I find myself saddened by how things have changed and how my memories are disappearing. Again, there’s that tendency to comfort myself with memories to the extent of wishing them to reality, again an impossibility. Maybe that’s a good way to let your ghost rest, by realising that that is all you are – a memory, and a fleeting one at that. Again, I know it won’t happen overnight but it’s worth a try.

The other main strategy that everyone espouses to that end is trying to make myself the best possible version of myself I could be, almost to convince myself I deserve better than you. But why should I need to convince myself when I could just believe – but oh, that is still strangely counterintuitive.

What would giving in and talking to you achieve? Realistically, it’s been two years since that last message that I never answered, so quite possibly an unwelcome shock to you because why won’t I just rest and move on with life already? Awkward, almost immediately, because I’d been stalking your LinkedIn. You’d ask me how I was and I’d either a) launch into a diatribe about how I hate my life and existence and you’d be stuck at an awkward loss or b) I’d lie outlandishly about how my life is fucking awesome and you’d congratulate me and I’d struggle to fall asleep in self-loathing because my reality is anything but. So not a good outcome either way.

My choices have consequences, right? So talking to you, in both scenarios, would result in a negative, soul scorching outcome. I don’t ever want to have to endure that gutwrenching ache ever again, the choking sensation of my heart almost being hooked out of my chest. So rather than contemplate that today, let me figure out how I’m going to try and fix one broken part of my life, in planning out what to say to my family when I apologise for tonight’s outburst. Hopefully some of my earlier reflections will help.

And I know that this isn’t goodbye, not just yet. Perhaps I will one day be ready to finally lay you to rest. For now your phantom will just need to listen to my rambling emotions. For some reason or other I don’t think you’ll mind, so thank you for that. Maybe I’ll know you’re ready to go when I no longer have anything to say to you.

[bellatrixobsessed1]

From Chin To Yon Rah (Part 39)

This part was typed mostly on mobile. Sorry for any typos.

She remembers the first time she had seen snow. The feeling...it was bizarre. If she were to be completely honest, she would best compare it to the sensation of her worst days--the days when her mind is slipping and everything feels off and nothing feels real. But instead of fear, she feels awe. Instead of dread, she feels an almost childlike sense of delight.

And perhaps, in some sense, she is a child again; she has something new to discover. Something curious and strange.

"Hajime,look." She points out the window. "It's everywhere." And perhaps it is a silly thing to ask but she inquires anyhow, "how do we walk through it?"

"Like you walk anywhere else?" He quirks a brow.

"But in the Water Tribes...I've heard that there is special equipment used to navigate the snow."

He laughs, "the snow isn't that deep here!" He opens the door and gestures for her to exit.

"It's cold." She complains. Even under her winter wools, she finds herself shivering. And here Atsu goes, dashing out into the winter with no coat at all.

"Git back in here!" Hajime calls. "I tol' you last year 'bout going outside without a coat!"

Atsu comes to a halt, the magic of the morning coming to an abrupt pause with him. " But dad!"

"You need to help Rikka get dressed, she never had to wear a winter clothes before."

This seems to allure the boy and with a wide and gleeful grin he darts back into the house. "Hurry up and put your coat and gloves on, Rikka! We have to build snow people and throw balls of snow at each other and…" he chucks a coat and a pair of gloves at her--Hajime's she assumes based upon the size of them.

Azula stuffs her fingers into the gloves. Only one layer doesn't seem sufficient but another layer or two seems to aggravatingly restrict her finger movements and if she is going to destroy Hajime and Atsu at this snowball war, she is going to need a full range of movement from her fingers.

She steps out into the snow, she hears it sift beneath her weight. So far everything is going accordingly, there is no ice to land her on the ground.she deduces that, in most places, the snow only reaches up to her ankles which is, though an inconvenience, manageable enough. But she can't imagine that running from enemy fire will be as easy. She supposes that if she needs a speedy getaway she can just melt some of the snow and listen to Atsu screech about her cheating. Perhaps she would feel more guilty over it if Atsu weren't a merciless little brute. He does not wait for her to assemble her protective mound of snow before bombarding her with an onslaught of tightly packed snow.

"Gotcha!" He whoops with each hit that she fails to evade. It would seem that while she was assessing her surroundings he hand been stockpiling an extensive artillery.

"Geez, Atsu, show mercy, this is her first snowball fight." Hajime chuckles from his spot on the porch.

It is a nice thought but Atsu, the feral beast, knows nothing of mercy. He tosses snowball after snowball. She manages to create only one but before she can throw it, Atsu fires another shot. And this one sails directly down the front of her shirt. She feels it slide from her chest to her belly leaving her with a full body shudder as itself away. She had dropped her snowball. Never in her life has she felt anything quite like it; uncomfortable and somewhat biting but I'm a way that wasn't exactly painful.

She tosses a pathetically pleading glance to Hajime who throws his head back in a howling laugh. "Alright, alright." He gets to his feet and steps out into the battlefield.

"Uh oh…" Atsu mumbles, he is now we'll aware that he should have built himself a snow fortress. Azula gives him a smug smile as she lifts a new snowball.

"Uh oh." He repeats as her very second snowball sails right into his face.

Maybe she should feel guilty over it but he isn't crying and he brushes it right off. And besides, she is certain that he was aiming for her face the whole time anyways, he simply didn't have the arm strength to land any hits higher than chest level.

And by the end of the hour she is almost embarrassed by how satisfied she feels to have beaten a child at a children's game. Any tickles of shame are washed away by Atsus delightful giggles. His enthusiastic, "wait until Caihong and Kim get here! We'll kick yer butts until you don't have butts no more!"

People have bestowed upon her many threats. But none have been quite like that.

That day she learns that Atsu is very much a little shit and that, likely, she will never truly shake her competitive nature.

.oOo.

She has been to plenty of awkward dinners but the silence of this one is so thick that it is dizzying. She can’t help but notice the way that Sokka twiddles his thumbs and looks in every direction but his father’s and Katara’s. It occurs to her that he is ashamed of her. Is embarrassed to be seen with her. She supposes that it is a good thing that the snow storm has picked up too strongly to go for a stroll through the village. She can only imagine what sort of looks she will get from everyone else. A firebender...the princess among people who the Fire Nation has displaced and nearly destroyed. She is everything that they detest and she supposes that Sokka has every right to be embarrassed by that. Embarrassed in the same way that she had been to parade him around the Fire Nation at first.

“Aren’t you going to say anything, dad?”

The man gives something between a hum and a sigh, “I’m trying to figure out what to say.” Hakoda looks at her. His face isn’t as steely with stubbornness as Katara’s.

Azula stares at her palms. She should take her mittens off. But any little motion will draw too much attention. Not that Katara's resentful gaze has left her since she got to the table. She wants to have a taste of her seaweed stew but she is already mildly nauseous with nervousness and the scent of the stew doesn't exactly kindle her appetite.

"Just talk to her for a bit, dad, you'll like her." Sokka promises.

The flutters in her tummy intensify that much more. She wishes that he wouldn't make promises that even he isn't certain of.

"She likes history and strategizing just like you do and…"

"And she used it to foil our invasion and get him sent to the Boiling Rock." Katara folds her arms across her chest.

Azula cringes to herself, truth be told, she had forgotten about that. Comparatively speaking, it seemed much less profound than some of her other misdeeds.

"Yeah well she's done a lot of changing since then." Sokka insists. “See, she even has the redemption haircut!”

“The what?” Azula finally speaks up.

“Yeah, Zuko said he cut his hair before joining us and now look at him, he’s happy--but in a grumpy old man sort of way, he’s a good friend, and he’s got long flowing tresses.”

Azula rolls her eyes. She isn’t sure if she wants to slug the man to death right in front of his father and sister or if she finds his recant amusing. She supposes that it would ruin her chances to make amends of she murdered Sokka now. “It wasn’t a redemption haircut I had matted hair and, maybe, lice.” Ji-Zhang had only mentioned it being matted. She supposes if she had lice that they would have shaved…

“Azula.” Sokka manages to cut through her comfort musings. Granted her musings weren’t at all pleasant but her inner monologue very much beats the external alternative.

She realizes that Hakoda has extended his hand. It is far less formal than a bow but she will take what she can get. He gives her hand a shake. “I’m Hakoda.”

“Sokka told me that, already. And he has already told you my name.”

Sokka flushes, “you’re supposed to introduce yourselves to each other.” And then he turns to his father, “she’s still working on the whole having a normal conversation thing. It runs in the family.”

“I can have a normal conversation just fine.” She folds her arms and holds her head high.

“Well it’s...interesting to formally meet you, Azula.”

“Dad!” Katara says sharply. “She’s not a part of this family. I don’t care how much Sokka likes her.”

“Come on Katara.”

“Don’t ‘come on Katara’ me! You’re the one trying to welcome her into the Water Tribe.”

“I get it, this is for the whole Jet thing isn’t it.”

This time Katara blushes.

“Who is Jet?” Azula furrows her brows.

“Yes, who is Jet?” Hakoda agrees.

“You don’t know about Jet?” Sokka asks at the same time as Katara says, “you weren’t supposed to tell him about Jet!”

“Jet’s just some jerk that flooded a whole village full of kids. To drive out some Fire Nation soldiers.”

“Gaipan?”

“Yeah.” Sokka nods. “You know about that.”

Azula returns the nod. “We lost a few soldiers there. There were noble men and women.” She pauses. “Stubborn too. They might have been alright if they fled with the rest of the village but…”

“Firebenders and their pride.” Hakoda clicks his tongue.

She wants to call the man on his generalization but frankly she hasn’t met a firebender yet who didn’t value pride. And maybe that is why it is so hard for her to apologize to Katara and Hakoda. Though she isn’t certain that she particularly needs to apologize to Hakoda--he had led an invasion to defeat her father. He had encroached on her land. It was her duty to see those plans foiled. Though pointing that out probably won’t serve her too well.

“Can you give her a chance, Katara? I gave Jet a chance.”

“No you didn’t. You were protesting and whining the whole time.”

“And I ended up being right.”

“So will I.” With those three words, she storms out into the snow.

“That went flawlessly.” Azula grumbles.

“Just give her some time, she’ll come around when she realizes that you’re actually kind of a really sweet person.”

“I will set everything you love on fire…”

“You just like to pretend that you aren’t.” And to Hakoda he mutters, “It’s part of the firebender pride thing. You can’t let anyone know that you’re nice.” He slings an arm over her shoulder and pulls her in closer.

Azula sighs, it is going to be a long, long vacation or whatever in the spirits’ name she could call this.

[vcg73]

Witch!Kurt Chapter 25: Family Night

This is one of those sort of rambling ones that I couldn’t seem to corral. Sorry for the mild cliff-hanger at the end. I didn’t want to get too far into that bit in this chapter. :)

~*~*~*~*~*~

Burt reached the top of the stairs and listened intently for a moment. It had been quite a while since he had heard the shower turn off, but he was reluctant to disturb his son and Adam if they were still talking or … well, he did not want to interrupt them either way.

Hearing no obvious sounds from behind Kurt’s closed door, he decided it was probably safe to knock. He waited a few moments afterward, surprised to receive no response. Had they left? Off the top of his head, he could not remember whether Adam had that transportation power or not. 

Hoping he was not about to walk in on something he shouldn’t, Burt ventured to open the door and peek inside. What he saw made him relax. The young couple was lying on top of Kurt’s freshly made bed, fully dressed and snuggled in each other’s arms as they napped peacefully together.

Poor kids. Between the adrenaline rush of Adam’s adventure, their shared panic attack, Kurt’s magical morning workout, and the mutual stress-relief he was certain they had been enjoying up here earlier, he supposed they must be exhausted.

Burt debated with himself, then decided they probably needed food just as much as they did sleep. Kurt had told him over Christmas that magic sapped a lot of resources, and that he was usually starving after he’d been using it for any length of time.

With years of experience in the best way to wake Kurt without startling him, Burt stepped forward to gently shake his son’s shoulder, whispering, “Kurt? Hey, buddy. It’s time to wake up.”

Bleary blue eyes opened with reluctant slowness. “Dad?”

He reached down to ruffle the thick brush of still-damp brown hair fondly. “Yeah. Sorry to disturb you, but Carole says dinner will be ready in just a few minutes. Do you two want to come down for it, or should I ask her to save you both a plate?”

Kurt grunted and sat up, hitching himself forward a little and swinging his legs over the side of the bed, careful not to disturb Adam. He rubbed at his stomach when it let out an audible gurgle, expressing its own opinion on what he should do. Kurt laughed a bit. “Dinner sounds great. I didn’t mean to fall asleep. Adam zonked out and I figured I’d just keep him company for a minute.” He yawned and made a token effort to fix his hair. “How long have we been up here?”

“A couple of hours,” Burt said, patting his shoulder when his eyes went wide and he opened his mouth to apologize. “It’s fine. Guess you both needed a chance to relax.”

Kurt winced at the slight emphasis on the word, clearly realizing that some of their recent activity must have been audible downstairs. “I thought we were being quiet.”

Burt raised an eyebrow. “You were. Mostly.”

“Mostly?” he said faintly. 

“Oh Kuht, you are a God!” Burt mocked with a half-hearted try at duplicating Adam’s British accent.

Kurt raised both hands to his burning cheeks, but was unable to keep from smiling. “Oh wow, you heard that? Sorry Dad.  Um … are you okay?”

“I’ll live, though I am rethinking those new tiles I put up in that bathroom last summer,” he said wryly. Then his lips twitched into a smirk. “But hell, I actually think I’m kinda proud.”

“You ought to be,” Adam interrupted, opening his eyes and smiling sleepily at them both. He looked quite smug as he sat up, yawning and dipping forward to kiss Kurt’s t-shirt clad shoulder. “And I second the vote for dinner. Starvation is closing in as we speak.”

Burt snorted. “Guess you worked up an appetite, huh?” he said, not bothering to hide his amusement. “Between combat class and wandering all over Lima, that is. We’ve got beef stew, salad, and fresh bread waiting downstairs.”

“Food and a nap. The answers to everything,” Adam said, eyes brightening.

Kurt let go a little huff, his tense posture relaxing as he realized that his dad had decided to let the two of them off the hook. “All hail the wisdom of Lord Tubbington.”

Adam sniffed the savory scent that had followed Burt through the open door. “It smells delicious. Just give me half a mo to freshen up, and I’ll be right down.”

Kurt gave him a kiss and then stood up. “Take your time. I’ll go see if Carole needs help setting the table.” 

Reaching out quickly, Burt stopped him. “Wait. Before you go down, I need to talk to you both for a minute. Do you remember over Christmas when you guys looked at Carole with your witch goggles and said that she could be one of you?”

“We said that she had unmanifested Potential,” Adam corrected. “Meaning that she carries the genetic component to be a witch, but her power never developed.”

Burt nodded eagerly. “Right, but see that’s what I’m saying. Something weird has been going on with her over the last few weeks. She didn’t want me to bother you, knowing how much stuff of your own you’ve both been dealing with, but we agreed to quit trying to protect each other from the truth, and I figured you’d want to know.” Kurt indicated his agreement, his expression serious. “Carole dismisses it all as being tired or imagining things, but I’m not convinced. See, ever since we saw Blaine after New Year’s, she’s been having these symptoms.”

“Whoa, wait a second,” Kurt said, waving a hand to stop his father’s words. “You saw Blaine? Are you both okay? Why didn’t you tell me?”

He harrumphed. “We’re fine, and I’m telling you now. It was the day we got back from New York. Blaine was waiting for us when we landed, all ready to give us a ride home from the airport. It was no secret to anyone that we were visiting you over the holidays, but how he found out when we’d be getting back, I have no idea. For all I know, he grilled the mailman.  Anyhow, Adam’s magical cologne helped us keep our heads when he started pouring on the charm, though it kind of made me feel itchy all over, like a bug was crawling up my skin. I guessed it was his persuasive influence rippling against your force-field, like in those sci-fi shows Carole likes to watch.”

“Very likely,” Adam agreed. He scooted off the bed and moved to lean against the nearest wall, crossing his arms over his chest in a habitual thinking pose. “In fact, I suppose it’s possible that being around so much magic lately, including frequently wearing Burt’s pendant and my perfume, just might have sparked Carole’s dormant power. We know she already had at least a modicum of active magic, just by her ability to sense the memories the girls infused into her necklace. If her magic was entirely inert she’d have received no more than a warm feeling of affection. Not clear, if somewhat oddly blended, memories. Burt, what else has been happening?”

“Well, I’m not sure given that she’s been a little closed-mouth about the whole thing, but I know she got a real bad migraine after we ran into Blaine. And she snapped at him for the first time I can remember. Said he had no business acting all friendly to us after what he did, and she didn’t want him dropping by anymore. He got a real weird look on his face when she said that. That boy isn’t used to hearing the word “no”.”

“Or at least not paying attention to it,” Kurt grumbled. “Sorry, go on.”

“Well, I thought that’d be the last of it, but then Carole started getting these moody moments. Like she’ll get really angry, or suddenly start to cry, or burst out laughing, and then a minute later she’s fine and sort of confused about whatever made her do it.  I’m really getting worried about her. I mean, I guess it could just be something biological. Menopause, or some kind of delayed stress syndrome that our grief therapist missed when we were going to all those sessions after your brother passed, but I don’t want to take any chances if it’s something more in your line.”

Kurt’s eyebrows had furrowed. “Wow. I’m glad you told us. We need to help her. Adam, what do you think?”

“It does sound as if she’s had a late manifestation of her power. I’d rather not turn my Sight on her again without her knowledge. I felt a bit weird about doing that before. I suggest for now we just go downstairs and have a pleasant dinner. We’ve all been pretty worked up today and if she is developing a Talent for empathy, it wouldn’t be a good idea to bombard the poor woman with our collective anxiety.”

“Try to keep the magical shop-talk to a minimum until everyone is nice and relaxed,” Kurt agreed. “I was thinking the same thing. When a good opportunity shows up, we can ask for permission to See her aura again. I don’t think she’ll actually object to the idea of being a witch, but I’d rather not spring it on her out of the blue.”

Burt nodded. “Thanks, son. I really appreciate this. What do you say we go set the table and act like an everyday, average, non magical family for a while?”

“I’ll be down in a few moments,” Adam promised.  “Kurt, would you mind if I borrowed your mobile?”

He reached into his pocket and handed it over. “Sure.” He smiled when his empty stomach suddenly lodged another complaint. Giving it a pat, he warned his fiance. “Just don’t take too long or I won’t leave you any dinner.“

Adam laughed and gave him a quick kiss. “Duly noted.”

~*~*~*~*~

“I ran over to the store earlier and grabbed a bottle of that merlot you and Carole both like, a pack of light beer for me, and a few of those orange sodas I saw back at your place for Adam,” Burt said in the kitchen a few minutes later.

“Thanks, I’m sure he’ll appreciate it.”

“No problem. It’s not like when you, Finn, and Sam all lived here and half the glee club was usually tagging along behind you. It wasn’t easy to keep up when I had an endless parade of teenagers roaming through my refrigerator twelve hours a day.”

Kurt laughed, pulling out four sets of cutlery to go with a set of bowls and plates he took down from the dish cupboard. “I understand your pain. I have a coven of nine people going in and out of my apartment all the time and we’re always hungry. If you want, we can ask Brittany to use her magic and restock the fridge for you before we go home tomorrow.”

Burt chuckled. “Maybe I will. Speaking of large gatherings, how’s the wedding planning going? You guys still set on a Valentine’s wedding?”

As if conjured by the mention of his impending nuptials, Carole was suddenly by Kurt’s side. “Oh, yes. I want to hear the details!”

For a few minutes, Kurt happily told them all about his and Adam’s plans. A ceremony with his coven in the morning, followed by a civil service at the courthouse with just their families and Kurt’s best man (Adam was planning to give his little brother the honor.) in attendance, then on to the large reception hall where the rest of the coven would have everything set up for a grand party.

“We only have the hall for three hours that afternoon, but that’s enough time for everyone to have hors d'oeuvres and wedding cake, and get some songs and dances and toasting in before we take off on our honeymoon.”

“Where have you decided to go?” Carole asked eagerly. “With transportation magic you can go anywhere in the world!”

He nodded. “True, and Elliott already offered a lift.  Unfortunately, we can only afford to do a long weekend since I’ll still be busy with school, but we’re hoping to take a couple of weeks in the summer and see some of Europe. I’ve always dreamed of going there, and that will give us a few months for this business with Blaine to be wrapped up, and for Adam to have hopefully recovered enough that he can show me around. His dad used to have business trips that took him all over, and he would just pack up his kids and Transport them along with him. I felt a little like I might be cheating Adam out of something he’s always wanted to do when I found that out, but he’s really excited to see his old haunts again, to show me his favorite spots and introduce me to some of his old friends.”

Carole sighed rapturously. “That sounds just lovely, and there’s nothing wrong with delaying things until you’re settled. A European honeymoon would be romantic, no matter when you end up taking it.”

Burt gave her a fond squeeze around the waist. “Is that a hint?”

“Hey, that’s right!  Thanks to Dalton, you never did get your own honeymoon,” Kurt remembered. “Maybe you should go this year.  Adam and I are going to ask Henry for transportation when we go, and I’m sure he wouldn’t mind doing the same for you guys. Adam says he’s not restricted by familiarity with the location the way Santana and Elliott both are.”

“We may take you up on that one of these days,” Burt said with a smile. “Or we may do it the old fashioned way. We’ve got a little extra put away now and might be nice to see what a first-class flight is like.”

Carole gave him a kiss on his round cheek, and then clapped her hands. “I’ll get some travel brochures on Monday and we can start making plans! But for right now, let’s get this food on the table before everything gets cold.”

As the three of them moved into the dining area, Burt said, “Oh by the way, kid, I picked you up some winter s’mores for dessert.”

Kurt licked his lips. “Really? That’s awesome!”

“What’s a winter s’more?” Adam asked, walking in to join them. He had combed his hair neatly and straightened out his nap rumpled clothing. Giving Kurt a kiss and handing his phone back, he relieved Carole of the large salad bowl she had just taken out of the refrigerator, helpfully putting a serving on each salad plate as Kurt set the dishes in place.

Carole told him, “They’re one of Kurt’s favorites. Graham crackers, chocolate frosting, and a spray of Reddi-Whip. He introduced Finn and me to them the winter after Burt and I got married, and the first night I think my son polished off an entire box of crackers and a can of frosting all by himself.”

Adam laughed. “Well then, I’m definitely looking forward to being the next convert.”

The family took their places around the table, Burt putting a ladle-full of fragrant beef stew in each of their bowls. The four of them spontaneously clinked their assorted cans and glasses in a cheerful toast before they began to eat.

“Wonderful as always,” Kurt said, after a hearty bite of his stew. “Nobody makes this like you do, Carole.”

“Thank you, sweetie. Adam, would you like some bread?”

He put his spoon down and held out his hand to accept the small plate she was offering. “Please. I agree with Kurt. I feel I could eat the entire pot of stew single handed.”

Burt smiled around a bite. “Help yourself. Just save some room for dessert.”

“Tell me more about these s’mores.  How exactly did you come about discovering your fondness for them?” Adam asked, taking a bit more salad as well and dribbling a light serving of dressing on top. “Were you a scout of some sort?”

Kurt laughed. “No way. This may surprise you, but I actually love camping. Every summer, from the time I was about three, Dad would take me to a place just a little northwest of here called Cody Lake. My mom wasn’t an outdoors person, so she’d take the opportunity of a few child-free days to visit with friends or get some things done, while Dad and I went out and played manly men of the woods together.”

Burt joined in, “I admit with a lot of hind-sight embarrassment that my original motive for those weekends was stupid. I had just got my first inkling that Kurt was gay when he was coming up on his third birthday, so I got it in my head that if I introduced him to stuff like fishing and camping, that I could head his sexuality off at the pass.” He and Kurt exchanged a rueful look. Seeing Adam’s surprised face, Burt shrugged. “Let’s just say I had my head a lot farther up my ass when I was your age. Anyhow, much to my surprise, Kurt took to the great outdoors like a duck to water. He thought sleeping in a tent and cooking around the campfire were terrific fun.”

“There were lots of bird and animals, trail songs, lying out on the sleeping bags looking up at millions of stars overhead,” Kurt said, eyes shining like he could still see those twinkling lights. “We took hikes through woods filled with flowers and streams; went swimming in the lake; and of course there was plenty of fishing, which for some reason I found absolutely hilarious. Whenever a fish would grab one of dad’s worms and start tugging at his line, I would just roll over laughing. Then at night there were ghost stories and s’mores around the campfire.”

Adam looked surprised but absolutely charmed. “You enjoyed ghost stories?  Even though you were barely out of nappies?”

Kurt gave him a teasing smile. “Even as a wee baby camper, I was fearless.”

“He really was,” Burt agreed. “Though to be fair, they were pretty mild stories.  Except for that one about the vampires who lived in the caverns at the south end of the campgrounds. That was a mistake that I lived to regret!”

“I think I was five when he told me that story,” Kurt said, shivering dramatically at the memory. “He got a little carried away with the details and I started crying. I was sure a bunch of blood-thirsty monsters were going to pop up out of the ground and eat us.  He eventually got me calmed down enough to go to sleep but then I woke up from some kind of noise in the middle of the night and wormed my way into Dad’s bag for protection.”

Burt snorted. “Yeah, he went back to sleep and then proceeded to wet the bed. And me! I spent the rest of the night standing guard against vampires. After that, you can bet I stuck with stories about nice friendly baby animals frolicking in the forest.”

Adam managed to make a convincing ‘aww’ face, even though he was laughing too hard to continue eating. “You poor little thing. Serves you right, Burt. I suppose that story is what planted the seed for Kurt’s continued aversion to those nasty blighters.”

“If they aren’t sparkling and angst-ridden, I don’t wanna deal with ‘em,” Kurt said vehemently, making the others laugh.

“Can’t say I was too fond of vampires myself after that night,” Burt said with a wry shake of his head. “Other than that one incident, though, we always had a real good time. I think the only thing about camping that Kurt didn’t like was the dirt and lack of regular bathrooms, but I guess he figured it was a good trade-off.”

Kurt smiled. “Which brings us back to the s’mores. They’re how he calmed me down after the story. Dad had discovered the first time he made them that I would agree to just about anything for graham crackers, chocolate and marshmallows.”  His expression went a little melancholy. “I was eight the last summer we went camping.”

“The winter after, his mom died,” Burt clarified, shooting Kurt an apologetic look. “I should’ve kept it up, but I just didn’t have much heart for stuff like that for a long time. The winter s’mores happened the year he was ten and Kurt got sick. He picked up a really awful cold with a lot of chest congestion, and it turned into bronchitis. He had to stay in bed a while and he was miserable. My sister offered to come out and stay with us so I could work part time, and it helped, but I felt guilty every time I had to leave him alone.”

Kurt reached out and squeezed his hand. “I got scared that maybe I was sicker than I thought because he brought me so many stuffed animals and games that week. Basically, all I had to do was ask for something and Dad was jumping to get it.”

“Then one night, I asked him to tell me if there was anything special he wanted to eat. His appetite wasn’t the greatest at the best of times, but being sick had pretty much killed it off, so when he asked if there was any way we could have s’mores, I would’ve moved heaven and earth to get him some.”

“Unfortunately,” Kurt cut in, “it was the middle of winter and everything was frozen solid. We couldn’t use the barbecue and we didn’t have a fireplace in our house. But we did have a box of graham crackers, and we used to live just down the street from a little market, so Dad got all bundled up and mushed out into the storm. Aunt Mildred thought he was crazy.”

“When I got to the store, they’d been cleaned out of marshmallows by people wanting hot chocolate, but I found a big can of whipped cream in the cold case, and a can of Betty Crocker chocolate frosting on the shelf. I managed to get ‘em home and put everything together the best I could. They weren’t exactly real s’mores, but they seemed to make him happy.”

“I thought they were the best thing ever,” Kurt laughed. “After that, I started requesting them every winter. I didn’t want them any other time, but when the weather got cold I always requested what we started calling winter s’mores. Even when I got really calorie-conscious in high school, I could never resist having at least one.”

“I noticed you’re eating better since you moved to New York,” Burt commented. “Healthy stuff, sure, but also good stuff like cake and ice cream. Figured you might be up for your old favorite.”

He smiled. “I’m glad you thought of it.  Besides, ever since I started using magic it seems like it doesn’t matter how much I stuff my face, I stay thin anyway.”

“Makes me wish you’d inherited the witchy powers from me,” Burt said, ruefully patting the rounded surface of his belly. He had taken up regular exercise since his heart attack , but middle age had still managed to settle comfortably around his waist.

Adam laughed, spooning up the last bite of his dinner and regretfully waving away Carole’s inquiring gesture with the serving bowl. “Well, I for one am looking forward to trying these dessert masterpieces. However, I think you owe your gorgeous figure more to youth and an active lifestyle than to witchcraft, darling,” he said, copying Burt’s gesture and patting his own flat stomach. Adam was still noticeably on the thin side after his ordeal with the Void, but he said, “You’ve met my dad. He’s a very powerful witch, but … well, I should warn you that you’re likely seeing a vision of your future husband there. I always have taken after him in looks.”

Kurt just smiled at him. “I promise to always keep you on a healthy diet and regular exercise routine, if you’ll do the same for me.  To be honest, though, as long as you’re healthy and happy I won’t care if you end up looking like a blond Sumo wrestler. There’ll just be more of you to cuddle with.”

Adam’s eyes were fond and full of love, knowing that while he was only teasing, Kurt really would love him just as much, no matter what sort of physical appearance he had. After all, had he not already proved that? “Ditto, darling. Though if you should feel like modeling the mawashi a bit early, I wouldn’t object.”

“The what?” Burt said with a frown.

“The costume Sumo wresters wear,” Adam told him, eyes twinkling.

He considered that. “The thong diaper?” He grimaced, but then shrugged philosophically. “Wouldn’t be the weirdest thing my kid has ever put on. Trust me.”

“Thanks, Dad,” Kurt said dryly while Adam and Carole both chortled. He stood and said, “Why don’t I just go grab the dessert and some hot chocolate for all of us.”

Adam jumped up. “I’ll help. That’s a bit of a load for one person. We’ll just whisk these dishes out of the way and be back in a flash.”

He and Kurt shooed Carole out when she tried to insist on helping with the dishes, pointing out that she had cooked, so someone else should clean. Burt, more used to his son’s bossy domesticity and amused to see that Adam apparently shared in it, just knocked back the last swallow of his beer and escorted his wife out to the living room.

Kurt moved about the Hummel kitchen with the practice of long familiarity. He had not lived here in quite some time, but Carole had not moved things around too much. He got out the frosting and crackers, instructing Adam just how much to put on each so they would not be too messy after he added a spray of whipped cream to another cracker and sandwiched the two together. While he constructed their dessert, Kurt whipped up a batch of his deliciously rich hot cocoa.

“I really love watching you and your dad together,” Adam said after a moment. “You’re so wonderfully in tune. At first glance, you don’t seem very much alike, but once you start sharing memories with one another I can absolutely see it.”

“You and Henry are close,” Kurt said, borrowing the whipped cream to add a bit to each steaming cup.

Adam nodded. “We are, but it’s different for us. I had Gran to take the place of my mum after she passed. Not that I didn’t miss her, but the hole in my life wasn’t quite as big as it otherwise might have been and Dad didn’t have to try and fill it all alone. Plus I had Beth and Celie and little Donnie to share the loss with, and Dad had all of us. That made it a bit easier for my family to pick up the pieces.  You and Burt didn’t have that. You had only each other, and anyone can see that even with a few years where you had trouble speaking with one another, you still managed to get each other through brilliantly.”

Kurt smiled. “Yeah. I guess we did.” He lowered his voice and asked, “Do you think Carole is relaxed enough to tell her what we talked about upstairs?”

He nodded. “Let’s go find out. I think we should just slide magic back into the conversation gradually and see if your dad picks up the cue.”

They put the finished offering on two trays and each carried one out to the waiting parents.

Burt and Carole had curled up together on one end of the sofa, leaving the soft red loveseat for the younger couple. Adam tried a winter s’more and declared it excellent, liking it even better after following Carole’s example and giving the treat a dunk in his hot cocoa. “You Hummels are clever chaps,” he said, dispatching another.

“Well, you know what they say about necessity being the mother of invention,” Burt said with a smile, nibbling a graham cracker with far less zeal than his son, who was already happily munching his third. “And when it’s your kid and you just want to put a smile on his face, you learn to get creative. You’ll see one day, maybe.”

Kurt and Adam looked at one another, surprise in their eyes.

“Actually, we haven’t really talked about that,” Kurt admitted. “I suppose we should, though, before we get married. Between how much your three younger siblings adore you, and the way you are with both the Apples and the coven, I’ve sort of just assumed you’d want to be a dad one day.”

Adam shifted, inviting Kurt to curl against him as he settled more comfortably in the big leather chair. “I would like to be, but I’m in no great rush. I seem to collect strays everywhere I go, so it’s not vitally important to me that I have someone to share DNA with. I’d be just as pleased to adopt one day, though I rather fancy the thought of a little baby with your beautiful eyes and amazing talents. However, I don’t even know if parenthood is something you’ve wished for.”

Kurt scooted down a bit so that he could rest his head against Adam’s shoulder while his fiance’s arms came around to cuddle him securely. “I don’t know if I have, to be perfectly honest. When I was young, I just assumed I would never have kids because I was gay.” He laughed a little. “But then attitudes and tech both advanced and it became a possibility. I’m still not sure, though. I like kids, but I’m not super comfortable with them. When I was with Blaine, he was always very insistent that someday we would have both a boy and a girl, and that we had to have names picked out for them. It was a fun fantasy and I didn’t mind going along with it, but he pretty much had their hypothetical lives completely mapped out for them years before they were even conceived.”

“Selfish twat,” Adam grumbled. “That’s no way to raise a child. They’re people, not dolls. They also require a good bit of self sacrifice, which I can’t imagine from that one.  As you and Burt so capably proved, it isn’t up to the parents to dictate how their children will be. It’s their job to simply accept those children and take good care of them; to guide them toward being honorable and responsible adults with independent minds and good decision-making abilities.”

“Thanks,” Burt said with a nod, “and I agree with my son. You will make a terrific father one day if you already know all that.  I also think I may have underestimated Henry, because it took me a lot of years to figure all that stuff out. I’m just lucky that Kurt was such a great kid while I was stumbling through raising him.”

Kurt smiled at him. “Thanks, but you were a great dad and I won’t hear any argument about it. Anyway, I do think I’ll want to be a parent at some point. But I’d prefer to put it off for a few years, until our lives are more stable and we’ve had some time to just be us first. Mister and Mister last name to be determined, the epitome of domestic bliss and crazy coven leadership.”

Adam chuckled and kissed his hair. “That sounds entirely reasonable, love. And I vote for keeping our own surnames, perhaps hyphenate at some future point, for ease of identification if we do decide to have children. The Crawford clan has a rather distinguished lineage among witches that I don’t want to abandon, and I know you feel equally proud of the Hummel legacy. Besides, I’m looking forward to seeing Kurt Hummel in lights one day and boasting to anyone who will listen that he’s my husband. We want to be certain your name fits properly on a theater marquis.”

Kurt lifted his head to give Adam a kiss. “Agreed. And thank you. It’s nice to know I’m with someone who doesn’t just assume I’ll take his name.”

With a sigh, Adam held him tighter. “You make me wish I’d had the presence of mind to shoot a good strong itching spell at that nasty blighter when I saw him today.”

“Can you do that?” Kurt asked curiously.

“Mmm. I’ll teach it to you when we get home,” Adam promised, seeming to take distinct pleasure in the thought of unleashing it on their enemy. “Or perhaps the one meant to loosen or tighten the ravel on woven materials. I’m told the spell was created by some clever weaver back in pre-industrial days, but it’s also quite handy for pranking a victim so that his trousers are constantly slipping down, or tearing out at the seat when he bends. With your particular power combination you should be able to handle it with no problem at all.”

Kurt elbowed him, unable to keep from laughing. “Adam, that’s terrible! I never would have pictured you as a practical joker.”

He grinned mischievously. “Oh, there’s a reason Santana picked me for a spying partner. She must have sensed my wicked school-boy past.  My two closest chums and I got up to all sorts of larks. Spent half our lives in the Headmaster’s office. I’d grown out of those impulses by the time I graduated, but I’m suddenly discovering the urge again.  Another prank we might unleash on your ex is a potion that acts as a sort of reverse Viagra. It will temporarily shrivel his willy to the size of a peanut if we can figure out how to make him ingest it.”

Kurt deadpanned, “I don’t know if that’s a good choice. I’m assuming you want a spell that will be noticed.”

For a moment, the room was dead quiet. Then Kurt smirked and the others all burst into whoops of mirth.

Wiping his eyes on the back of his sleeve, Burt chuckled, “I think it’s a real lucky thing for your classmates that you didn’t have magic when you lived here, kid. I’d have been getting called in to your principal’s office every other day.”

“If they ever found out it was me,” he said slyly. Then he shrugged. “Actually, Johnny said that too. The day I accidentally slagged Blaine’s old warbler figurine, he said it was a good thing I couldn’t do things like that during high school. Maybe that’s part of the reason I didn’t manifest until I was away from Ohio. My subconscious may have held me back as much as Rachel and Blaine did.”

“Speaking of Blaine,” Burt said in an all too casual manner. “I was telling the boys about him trying to give us a ride home from the airport.”

Carole seemed to realize immediately that that was not all he had told them. She sat up, giving him an exasperated look. “Oh, Burt, you know I didn’t want to worry Kurt and Adam. It’s nothing!”

“I don’t think it is. Why don’t you tell ‘em, honey. Maybe they can help.”

Kurt got up and sat down next to his step-mother, taking her hand and encouraging her with a nod.

She considered it for a moment, then sighed. “Well, all right.  I’m sure it was just a coincidence, or some side effect of the protection potion Adam made for us, but the moment we spoke with Blaine, I started to develop a terrible headache. The longer we talked, the worse it got. When he started using that old coaxing tone on us, trying to get us to tell him all about our visit with you, I also got a sudden stronger sensation of anxiety and fear. I felt almost as if my body had been taken over by someone else. I suddenly got so angry that I could have happily taken the bouquet of flowers he brought for me and beat him unconscious with it.  I’ve never felt that way before.”

“It was pretty great,” Burt added. “Carole yanked her hand out of Blaine’s and told him that it was none of his business how you were doing and that he wasn’t welcome at our house anymore. I told him that went double for any more drop ins at the garage, and if I ever caught him trying to put his slimy mitts on you again, I’d introduce him to my flame-thrower and find out if his hair is a greasy as it always looks. He scurried out of that place like his ass was already on fire.”

Kurt laughed. “That might not have been the wisest move, but I appreciate it.  You know, Dad, one of these days I need to buy you a real flame-thrower,” he said. “You’ve been threatening people with that imaginary one since I was six.”

“I already got a real one. I got you,” Burt shot back. He snapped his fingers and pretended to shoot magical flames with his hands, making Kurt and Adam both smile.

“He has a point there,” Adam said fondly. “So, Carole, did the headaches and such fade once you were away from Blaine?  I sincerely apologize for the severity of your symptoms, by the way. I hadn’t anticipated my potion having any adverse affect upon you two physically.”

She nodded. Brushing the tips of her fingers through her reddish blonde bangs, she bit her lip. “The headache faded almost immediately when we left the airport, but ever since then …”

“Tell us,” Kurt encouraged her gently.

“I keep getting … I don’t know how to describe it. Flashes, I suppose. Impressions of other people’s thoughts and feelings. It’s the strangest thing!  It doesn’t happen all of the time, or even most of the time, but every now and then, I’ll be walking through the grocery store or dealing with someone at the clinic, and I’m suddenly flooded with happiness, or sadness, or in one rather embarrassing instance, visions of a coworker’s sex life!”

Burt squeezed her knee. “On Monday, I stubbed my toe real hard at work and I was hopping around and swearing, and the phone rings and it’s Carole, all worried and asking me if I’m okay. Weirdest thing I’ve ever seen.”

“I’ve been trying to tell myself that I was just stressed or overtired, but it’s starting to happen more frequently and I don’t know why. Do you think that Blaine could have done something to me?” Carole asked anxiously. “I was considering asking you about it the next time I called, but it seemed so silly.”

“It’s not silly,” Kurt assured her. “Believe me, I know how weird it can be to suddenly have magic pushing in on you from every direction. Carole, I want to do something. Do you remember when Adam and I explained Sight? If you don’t object, I’d like to use mine on you. Is that okay?”

Looking a little apprehensive, she nodded.

Kurt blinked his eyes firmly, activating the power. Sure enough, the murky grayish fog he had perceived around Carole when he had looked at her this way over the holidays had changed, as though the sun had come out and burned away the fog, leaving a ray of sunlight directly overhead. His dad was right. Carole’s long-dormant magic had unexpectedly activated.

“Is it empathy?” he asked, turning to Adam, who also narrowed his eyes and took a look.

He nodded. “Almost certainly. Mixed with more than a trace of telepathy, I would say, given what she described about receiving impressions of specific events. ”

Carole looked back and forth between the two of them, her mouth falling open a little. “Are you telling me that I’ve developed magic? But how is that possible? I thought you said a witch’s powers manifest during puberty.”

“Mostly,” Adam agreed with a reassuring smile. “But it has been known to happen at other times. It’s extremely rare for anyone to manifest in their middle years, but not entirely unheard of either.”

Kurt gave her an apologetic look. “I didn’t want you to feel disappointed after how excited you got about my magic, but Adam and I both noticed last month that you had a strong aura of inactive Potential. That means there was power in your blood that never developed. A lot of people have that, like a dormant gene. Apparently for most people, if it doesn’t activate by the time you’ve hit your twenties it never comes at all. We think Finn had it too, and that he was beginning to manifest. It may have been having a magic damper around him delayed his powers, just like it did mine.”

She swallowed, blinking sudden tears from her eyes. “So you’re really saying that I’m a witch? That I’m developing magic at nearly 50 years old.” They nodded, smiling a little at the half fearful, half excited tone in her voice. She laughed and wiped her eyes, then she suddenly gasped. “Oh! Oh my God.  If I passed my Potential on to Finn, does that mean …? The medical examiner told us he had a sudden, unexplainable cardiac arrest. Was it the shock of discovering that he had some form of power that he couldn’t control? Was I …?”

“It was not your fault,” Adam said firmly, catching on quicker than the others. He moved to sit on the coffee table and capture her nervously fluttering hands in his. “Magic takes on many forms, and comes in a wide assortment of strengths and capabilities. I’ve a cousin whose only active power is making flowers bloom, and another who has been known to audibly shout for her rapscallion offspring at a distance of five kilometers. Neither Talent came on without warning. You may have passed on the gene for magic, or perhaps Finn inherited it from both sides of his family, but if he truly needed help then he would have attracted a mentor of some sort. New witches, even the irregular sort like Blaine and Rachel, invariably attract the attention of a more experienced fellow witch. It might be a friend or relative, a Familiar such as Elliott and Tubbington, a school like NYADA, or perhaps a coven of their own if they’re powerful enough. Your son would have been no different.”

“Thank goodness.” She momentarily closed her eyes as the panic reaction left her. She opened them again and looked at Adam, a slight smile lifting her lips. “I … I can feel how much you mean that. Empathy means to share in someone else’s emotions, doesn’t it? So when Blaine tried to coerce me at the airport I felt it as  … I don’t quite know. Insincerity? Danger? Is that why I reacted so strongly?”

“Maybe,” Kurt said. “You did tell me before that you didn’t like Blaine, that you always felt like there was something fake about him. Maybe your power had already started blossoming a little. Brittany says that my Potential was really noticeable to her long before it became fully active. The coven has told me it’s not unusual to have some false starts.”

She shook her head. “But if all that’s true, shouldn’t I have attracted a mentor? Is it because I’m already close to you boys and your friends?”

“That’s a very good question,” Adam said with a smile. “And fortunately, one that I thought to call in an expert for. I gave Lord Tubbington a ring when Burt spoke to us earlier, via Brittany. I’ve never dealt with a new witch at your stage; having abundant experience with life but none whatsoever in witchcraft, and I needed a spot of advice.  Apparently L.T.  took one look at you when he was here this afternoon and sent out some sort of message. Don’t ask me what, or to whom. Familiars don’t quite operate by the same rules as the rest of us, but from what I gather they have some form of internal communications, which explains how they always seem to know exactly where they need to go, like Elliott sensing Kurt’s burgeoning Potential all the way from Paramus.

Kurt nodded. “Interesting, and thanks for doing that, honey. I wouldn’t have thought of asking Tubbington. I was wondering if we should invite Carole to join our coven, but that wouldn’t be practical. I can’t stay in Lima, and she can’t just pack up her life and move to New York.” He looked seriously at his parents. “I hope you’re ready for another housemate, because I suspect you’re about to get a Familiar of your very own. Someone who can give you the one on one training you’ll need. And trust me, there’s a lot to learn!”

Burt rolled his eyes. “Great. We may need you to give up your room here, son. Because cat or no cat, this new helper is not going to start sleeping in our bed with us.  At least we know none of us is allergic.”

Kurt just smiled at the grouching, knowing it was just a cover for how worried he felt for Carole. He also knew that his dad liked to keep Kurt’s old space free for him “just in case”.

“Well, whoever Tubbington sends our way, I trust that they’ll be a good fit for me. And maybe they can help us figure out how to help poor Sam if he agrees to move back in with us. Then Kurt and Adam can spend less time worrying about us, and more time concentrating on their own lives,” Carole said, taking a deep breath and nodding to herself as she resolved to put the matter out of her mind for now. “Why don’t you boys tell us more about your day’s adventure? That combat magic class sounds very exciting.”

Adam and Kurt exchanged a glance, both recognizing that Carole did not wish to think any more about it for now, and was requesting a distraction from her worries. So they obliged, filling the rest of the evening with detailed accounts of Kurt’s ‘battle’ against the rubber ball blitz, and Adam’s meeting with Coach Sylvester and subsequent walk through town.  Then Adam recreated his job interview with the head of Henderson Productions, followed by Kurt’s lively description of the headaches he had been experiencing with his play and how nervous he was about putting it on for an audience that would include a panel of NYADA instructors that would be judging his play-writing, directing, and acting progress.  

They deliberately kept the story-telling going until everyone was relaxed again and ready to head to bed for the night

 ~*~*~*~*~*~

 The next morning, while the family was enjoying breakfast, the doorbell rang.  

“I wonder why they’re ringing the bell instead of just coming in?” Kurt said, wiping his lips and hurrying to answer the door.

Before opening it, he sent out a magical feeler just as he had been trained to do in New York, in case there happened to be an unwelcome visitor on the other side. It was a worthwhile precaution because while Blaine had no reason to show up here, being unwelcome had never stopped him before.

The signature on the other side was not his ex, and it also did not belong to his coven mates as he had been expecting. In fact, the person on the other side was someone he recognized but had never expected to see here.

All but yanking the door open, Kurt blinked in surprise at finding no one on the other side. Then he heard a sound and looked down. A large brown long-haired cat was sitting calmly on the doormat waiting to be acknowledged. Kurt glowered at it. Even in the form of a cat, he recognized those wicked green eyes. “What are you doing here?”

“Lord Tubbington told me it was time.” With no more explanation than that, the newcomer suddenly took on human form and pushed past the astonished Kurt like he owned the place. He looked around with an air of curiosity mixed with haughty judgment. “Hmm, very ‘Leave it to Beaver’ but I suppose it will have to do. Where is she?”

“You … she … you can’t be Carole’s new Familiar,” Kurt sputtered.

A lazy smirk tilted Sebastian Smythe’s lips and his narrow green eyes gleamed with amusement. “And yet, here I am.”

 THE END

[xt1erminator-blog]

My History With D&D: How I Got Started

This should have been my introductory post on this blog, but, lazy.

It was a dark and stormy night.

No really, it was a dark and stormy night. I'm not just pretending to be Snoopy writing a novel. Anyhow, I recall being over at an elementary school friend's house for a sleep over I believe. Must have been 10 or 11 years old. There were three or four of us, and my friend, we'll call him Willy, was Dungeon Master. I had no actual playing experience before this night (the only time I had run into this strange game was several years earlier when I was over at the neighbour's house and their much older teenage kids were sitting around the kitchen table with their friends, the table cluttered with big books and weird shaped pieces of plastic and small metal figurines, and bottles and cans of pop and chips and all sorts of delicious looking junk food... it was similar to that scene in E.T. where the kids are playing D&D [not the photo above! - that’s from Freaks & Geeks] except it was daytime). And here I was now, sitting in a camper trailer in the middle of a big thunder/rain storm being shown how to make something called a "character". I have no recollection what race or class this character was, or his name.  I do remember though that he used a mace as his weapon and wore chainmail, and had iron rations. Maybe he was a cleric. I think it was red box Basic D&D we were playing.

I think I might have played a total of two or three games at Willy's place. Mostly with the same other friends playing it each time. The last game we played was using the 1st Edition AD&D rule books, and it was way over my head at the time. I remember stealing money from my paper route collections (which were probably due at the end of the week) and buying my own red box Basic D&D set and some dice, and I played the solo adventure for awhile (damn rust monster!) and then just hid out in the basement with a stack of graph paper, and drew out dungeon after dungeon after dungeon. They all sucked, I’m sure. I think the next major book purchase was the 2nd Edition Player's Handbook. And then the Monstrous Manual binder. Man, I hated that binder. What an awful format. I mean, great for organizing, being able to take out monster sheets and add in new ones, etc. but functionality-wise, it was a disaster. The binder didn't sit well with the other books on a shelf and whatever lamination they used for the exterior of the cover got very scuffed up if you put it in a backpack and it looked like ass in no time flat. The good old days. I would borrow other books and modules from anyone who was willing to let me take them away from them for any length of time, and sit there and read parts of them, mostly paying attention to the cool maps and the artwork. I remember photocopying many a module at the public library too.

So for several years after, I would mostly just read the books, and Dragon and Dungeon magazines, and attempt to create my own maps and even once or twice spent some money on miniatures and tried to paint them. Massive fail. If I would have know that the Ral Partha Forgotten Realms Heroes miniatures set I bought for $15 back in the late 80's/early 90's (whenever it was) would be worth hundreds of dollars almost 30 years later, I would have taken greater care with how much primer I carelessly sprayed on to those poor little figures, getting the shit all over my dad’s workshop tool bench (sorry Wulfgar, Drizzt, Dragonbait, Alias, etc.!) and how much paint I recklessly slapped on to them thinking I was doing things right. Ouch.

I tend to ramble so I'll try to summarize everything else up until now with a bit less detail. After elementary school came high school and there wasn't a lot of action when it came to playing Dungeons & Dragons, well with cool people I mean. There was a small group at the first high school I attended, that would play a game in the art room in the lower level of the school. I sat in once, maybe twice, to check it out. Wasn't my bag. These were the stereotypical super geeky, taped-up-eyeglasses nerds that were more interested in dissecting the rules and not playing with any real imagination it seemed. They were kind of like robots. Plus, not very fun when you have 45 minutes for a lunch break to try and make any progress in an adventure. I heard about others in this school who played, but I was never invited to go play in anyone's campaign. I stopped in a few times to see what was going on with another friend's home game, but didn't end up playing because they were a little too into roleplaying. Most of the playing I did happened later in my teenage years when I ended up playing in late night sessions with some older seniors at another school I went to, and then some games here and there with a bunch of fellows who have since turned out to be what you might call "life long friends". The good guys. Then, in my early 20's, I was the first of anyone I knew to do something incredibly stupid: meet a girl on the internet (1997), marry her and move to another country.

From that point on, I guess I lost interest in the hobby. I had always wanted to run my own game, but no opportunities ever arose, or I didn't have anywhere to play or I was just too on edge to be able to compose myself if a game were to actually take formation. I spent a lot of my time learning how to play musical instruments and often partied. Often. I don't regret it, those were some of the best times I've had. Years passed and I really didn't think about D&D or playing any sort of table top game at all. I grew more fond of digital entertainment, PC games, console games, etc.  I ended up attempting to become somewhat of a "photographer", and after many years I think I'm happy with where I am at with that particular hobby. It was one of those things you never thought to pursue and then one day, you end up spending several hundred dollars on a friend's used DSLR body and a strange, big zoom lens you have no clue how to use properly.

After almost six years and a "should have seen that one coming" style divorce, I returned back home and was again surrounded by my long time friends. It took a little bit of adjustment to get back into the circle with everyone - just picking up and leaving the country when you're 22 years old and supposed to be starting to explore your options for a career and everything, can kind of make a mess of your social connections.  I ended up getting back on my feet pretty quickly though, and found work a month and a half after coming home. I'm still there actually, almost 15 years later.

So, how did I reconnect with my beloved hobby?  It was almost two years ago or so (summer of 2015, I don't know if Tumblr dates these blog posts, I don't think so). My wife's step brothers had asked if she knew anyone who had ever played Dungeons & Dragons. She mentioned to them that I did. She asked on their behalf if I would run a game for them, they were curious and hadn't played before. I declined, no way no how. Been out of touch with it for years. Didn't play anymore. Made up some excuses. Left it at that. I had never run my own games before and had no confidence that I could be very effective when trying to introduce newcomers in to the game.

Then, at the end of that summer, another opportunity arose. Some mutual friends/family expressed interest in trying out the new 5th Edition of Dungeons & Dragons. They had been watching Critical Role online and somehow it came up in discussion.  I had spent the last few months recalling my love for the game from my past, and ended up being much more receptive to the idea. I was much older, had been through a lot of situations in my life where things like social interaction was easier for me to become comfortable with, and I was developing a passion for it again, it seemed. After downloading the free basic 5e rules, and researching some things on YouTube, I was all for it. Our first session was on my 39th birthday at the beginning of October, 2015. It has snowballed into an addiction since then. I have invested a lot of my time (and money) into a small collection of books and miniatures, and some writing to fuel a small Forgotten Realms campaign. We don't play often, maybe every month and a half to two months, as it depends heavily on my wife's work schedule and when she can book a weekend off. I don't like playing on weekday evenings, as I'm usually pretty burned out from work or there just isn't much time to get into a good game before having to cut it short because people have to work the next day.

My Forgotten Realms campaign, currently one of two games I run, started out with three characters: a dwarven sorcerer, a half-orc druid and a gnome rogue. For the first session or two, I attempted to incorporate a PC that I was playing, a cleric of Bane. His appearance was very brief, as I decided it was not going to work well, playing a character while trying to hold down the fort being Dungeon Master and running the show. I'm not at that stage yet. So, I sent the cleric off in the night to go tend to an important mission while the rest of the party carried on. I used the majority of the 5e Starter Set module, Lost Mine of Phandelver. It did the job. I twisted it up a bit and definitely didn't follow it as per the booklet, and I still do that to this day. My style when using pre-written adventures, it seems, is to grab bits and pieces that are essential, and do the rest on the fly and change as necessary based on what the players may do to throw things off. And that's a good thing. It's helping me build skills to become a better Dungeon Master that can adapt to different scenarios, because it almost always doesn't go the way you plan it will go. I learned that early on. After a few months of playing and completing the Wave Echo Cave area, a situation arose that brought the party through a portal leading to the entrance to the Undermountain dungeon, located underneath The Yawning Portal in the great city of Waterdeep. This was an opportune moment to introduce a new player to the group, which happened thanks to a spur of the moment idea I had, to invite an old friend who I knew was a fan of what we were doing. I wasn't sure if he was up for joining the group, but you don't know until you ask, right? The next session, without saying too much of anything, the door bell rang and moments later the group now had a paladin amongst their ranks. It's been a way better game since.

The second campaign I'm going to start running over the next few weeks will be based upon the Eberron setting, which up until last week I had personally shrugged off any time it came up in my travels, and had no interest in even reading what it was about. I'm not sure why that is, I think the brief encounters I had with it previously were based on flipping through some 3rd Edition books, and I just wasn't picking up on what it was all about. I have never been much into anything 3e, the look and design of the books are unappealing to me. This past week though, one of my players and I got ahold of the 4th Edition Eberron Campaign and Player's guides, and I started reading them. I am really liking the setting and am looking forward to trying to use it in a new game. Lightning Rails, Airships, Warforged, Shifters, Dragonmarks - very cool stuff!  Also of help here was a video on Nerdarchy’s YouTube channel where the guys discuss 10 Reasons Why 5th Edition Needs Eberron

This leads to my next post: What Might Eberron For 5e Be Like?

Coming soon!

-runDMsteve