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edupunkn00b · 1 year

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French Kiss: Tale of the Revolution, Ch. 20: Happy Endings

Colorized version of Fighting at the Hotel de Ville, 28th July 1830 by Jean Victor Schnetz. (embedded image description)

Prev - Happy Endings - Masterpost - [ AO3 ]

Summer, 1830, Café Procope

Virgil leaned forward, elbows on the table, and he watched, eyes wide, as the bearded man took a long draw on his coffee. “Then what happened? Tell me, did Patton and Remus free them? Did they… did they go back for Logan’s body? Maybe… maybe he was really still alive?”

The bearded man’s eyes shot over to the bartender, but his back was turned to them.

“Patton didn't slept at all that night,” the bearded man shook his head. “Remus tried, if for no other reason than to mollify him. And to…" He lowered his voice. "Give him a little privacy while he grieved." The bartender faced the other side of the bar, studiously busy polishing a beer stein. The bearded man cleared his throat and nodded. "At first, Remus imagined making his way back to the palace, fighting and sneaking his way past the rebels, convincing the guards he was who he said he was, and breaking in to free his love and his brother.”

He drank more of his coffee. “But as the night wore on, the fires at Versailles grew brighter. And his hope dimmed.”

15 July 1789

Patton stirred at the first hint of pink along the horizon. “Your—Remus?” he whispered, moving closer and resting a hand on Remus’ shoulder. “Are you awake?”

“Yes,” his voice cracked. Patton was on his feet, stomping dirt into the embers. Remus scrambled up after him. “The horses stayed,” he murmured.

“Petit and Naif are good horses, aren’t you?” he cooed, scritching across the shorter one’s back before strapping down his saddle.

“So you’ll take Petit,” Remus copied his movements and buckled the other saddle. “And I’ll take Naif?”

Patton chuckled dryly. “Petit’s the taller one. You’ve got her now." He stroked Naif's mane and his voice went soft. "Logan used to pretend he didn't like that joke.” He dragged his hand across his face and watched the sun inch her way over the horizon. Remus lifted his hand, about to grip his shoulder or… Do something. Anything. Anything to cut through the blanket of grief wrapped around the other man.

But Patton straightened and pointed to the thinnest part of the trees. “We’ll head that way on foot, then see how the road looks.” He nodded and clicked his tongue. Both horses followed him. “With any luck, we can ride most of the way.”

~~~

The City of Light burned.

Black, oily smoke billowed from the Bastille and several of the larger estates along the far shore of the Seine. The tall, windowed doors of St. Germaine were barred with a crooked iron brace. There were scorch marks on the doors and more on the loose pages from the prayer books gathered in clumps along the gutters.

They walked the horses slowly, and Patton clucked soothingly when a loud bang sounded north of La Chapelle. “Welcome to Paris,” he murmured to Remus. The bright sunshine illuminated every cracked window, every pile of trash, every dirty puddle. Every beggar. Patton took them past du Foy, but Remy had boarded up the windows and was likely hunkered down inside, his stolen musket by his side, lead pipe in his hand. Remy had told him stories of the food riots in the '70s, and he was not the type to take chances after that.

A rumbly wave of voices spread out from the center of the city and they followed the noise. A large gallows had been assembled in the middle of Jardin Square. The air was thick and acrid with the fires dotting the city and July’s heat already rising up from the cobblestone streets. The memory of the forest's cool air and the babbling creek seemed unreal.

The gallows platform was empty save for a pair of rebels fastening nooses to the heavy beam. Either end was rough and splintered, probably plundered from one of the estates before the structure was torched. “Look,” Remus tugged at his sleeve and his eyes darted over to the floor of the gallows. It was built tall, with the stage higher than eye level. “There are trap doors.” Patton looked and under each rope was a jagged square. “If we can stop those from triggering, it could buy us time to cut them down.”

Patton nodded. “Let’s tie off the horses, then cover me while I get under there.”

Less than an hour later, Patton and Remus mingled with the crowd at either edge of the gallows, mere paces from the steps leading up to the stage. The moment the doors failed to open, they would rush up, clad in red scarves, and promise to help. They had to be fast, and cut the ropes before anyone else could reach them.

They had one shot.

Remus fidgeted, his curls, even dirty, bouncing as he shifted. He jumped when someone clapped his shoulder, laughing. He laughed along and said something Patton couldn’t decipher from the other end of the stage. A little boy beat out a steady rat-tat-tat on a dented drum and the crowd’s volume grew. The mass of people moved as one, breathless and faces bright with excitement. One of the Garde Royale emerged from the commandeered shop behind the gallows. His uniform was torn, epaulets ripped from the shoulders and a deep purple bruise covering one eye. The crowd jeered as he was led to the end closest to Patton and two students he recognized from the café tightened the noose around his neck.

More boos erupted from the men and women and children gathered around the stage. Janus stumbled out, eyes downcast and his hands tied in front of him, like the guard. He didn’t appear to be in as bad of shape, but he favored his left leg as he walked and he moved far too slowly. Remus’ eyes were fixed on him and he inched a little closer to the steps.

“Not too soon, Your Majesty,” Patton whispered under his breath, willing Remus to remember to wait.

Patton didn’t think the crowd could get louder but a flash of green drew a roar from the mob. A head taller than the men leading him, Prince Roman walked with shoulders squared and chin tilted up. If it weren’t for the split, bloodied lip and his blood-matted hair, he could have been making his entrance at a grand ball. He didn’t react when one of the men tried to trip him, catching himself before falling on his face, arms tied behind his back, one final loss of freedom they could inflict before at last taking away his life.

From where he stood, Patton could see the lever that was meant to open the hatches. Beneath the stage, he'd jammed thick cedar shims into the mechanisms, his sabotage invisible from the outside. The lever would work, but the hatched would remain closed just long enough for him and Remus to cut everyone down.

The drums intensified, riling up the crowd until there was a crack of gunpowder and the executioner pulled the lever. When the hatches didn’t open, panicked voices rose up from the students who’d squeezed through the crowd to get a better view of the hanging. They were now penned in, caught between the head-high hanging platform and the growing mob.

It was now or never.

Moving as one, Remus and Patton dashed onto the stage. Before Remus could reach his brother, the shim splintered and the hatch dropped beneath his feet. Remus shouted, a wordless, panicked cry, as he dragged Roman back up and began to hack at the rope. While that was going on, the guard had managed to wiggle one hand out from his ropes and freed himself before he abandoned his distinctive coat and jumped off the back of the execution stage. The crowd was stunned, and time seemed to stand still as Patton ran to Janus’ side.

With all eyes on the “King,” he sawed through Janus’ ropes and half ushered, half carried him to the other end of the stage. “Trust me,” he hissed at the twins, then ripped open Roman’s tattered green coat and shouted, “Everyone! Faites attention! He’s wearing red! The King’s a fraud, he’s just a guard." He pointed behind the stage, away from where the guard had escaped. "That man was the King!”

The mob roiled around them, a bubble waiting to pop. As they moved down the ladder, Remus spotted a familiar young woman dressed in rags, clutching her elderly grandfather’s arm. Her rough woven skirt and apron, stained and threadbare blouse looked like anyone else's but he knew that face. Relief flooded his heart and he almost smiled. Philomene! She’d gotten out and taken Maitre with her. She met Remus' eyes, bowed her head, then stepped in front of a rebel attempting to get to the stage. She grabbed his arm, speaking quickly and pointing to Maitre.

“Get to the horses while they’re distracted,” Patton ordered, pulling the princes along. He squirmed through the crowd as they pushed their way around the stage, hunting for the long-gone guard. Dirtied and bloodied, friend and foe, royalty and Jacobin all looked alike and they managed to get to the edge of the square where Petit and Naif nickered nervously.

“You found me,” Janus slurred once they’d stopped, hanging from Remus’ arm.

“Of course I found you, mon douceur,” he murmured and lifted Janus up into the saddle before climbing up behind him, one arm wrapped around his love’s waist, the other hand tight on the reins. “I promised you, ‘til my last breath and beyond.” He nuzzled gently against the side of his neck, shoulders trembling. After a moment, he straightened and turned toward the others. “Race you, brother,” he started to laugh, but it came out more like a sob at the sight his brother’s bruised and bloodied face.

“If you think I’m going to let you win merely because you saved my life,” Roman’s smile was weak but real as he mounted the other horse behind Patton. “You’re dreaming.”

Patton chuckled at the brothers’ banter and tugged on the taller man’s arms. “Hold on tight, Your Highness” he muttered.

“Mon héros petit,” he said quietly, both arms looped tightly around Patton’s waist. He looked over his shoulder when the sound of the mob changed. Someone in the crowd pointed their way, and the mob seethed, undulating toward them like some giant sea creature.

“We need to move,” Patton said, clicking his tongue at the horses. “Now!”

Urging Naif and Petit into a gallop, the four of them took off just ahead of the crowd, leaving the chaotic mob in their horses’ dust.

Summer, 1830, Café Procope

“Mon dieu,” Virgil murmured. “They made it?” Tears pouring freely down his cheeks, he accepted a handkerchief from the bearded man. He scrubbed his face dry and shook his head. “That was a beautiful story, monsieur. Thank you.” He swallowed hard and nodded. “Where are they now? The stories say they—”

“Last I heard, the four of them were still guests of King Fredrick in Berlin.” He shrugged and finished his coffee. “Exile beats death.”

Virgil tapped the sides of his cup and leaned forward, eyes drawn to the gun the bearded man still held. His gun. “Did Patton ever return to Paris to seek revenge? To find… um… Raúl?" He stared at his gun with hardened eyes before looking up at the bearded man. "Make him pay for killing Logan?”

Shaking his head, again the bearded man gazed out at the bartender working his way through his closing tasks. The bar counter gleamed in the lamplight, every glass shone, bright and glossy. Just like the bartender’s clear blue eyes. “Patton was never the type to hurt someone out of revenge.” He returned his attention to Virgil. “Besides, they all knew Logan wouldn’t’ve wanted that.”

The dark fire that had filled Virgil’s eyes faded, and the coffee had sobered him. He stared down at the table for a long time, rubbing his hands over the scarred but polished surface. Finally he looked up and jerked his chin toward the gun. “I listened to your story, monsieur.” He bowed his head and pulled the ring out from under his shirt. He kissed it, then left it out, hanging just over his heart. “May I have my gun back now?”

“How about…” Picking up the gun, he opened the chamber and knocked the three bullets it contained into his palm. “You keep your gun, and I keep your bullets.” He offered Virgil the revolver, handle first. “Fair?”

Virgil chewed on his lip then finally nodded. “Entendu. Fair.” His mouth regained a bit of the shaky smile he’d had at the end of the bearded man’s story. He accepted the gun and, after a moment, tucked it in his belt. “Good night, monsieur. Thank you for the coffee and… the story,” he said, uncertain, like he’d pushed and pushed and pushed at a door only to have it fling open when pulled. He gave the bartender a little two-fingered salute then slunk out into the night.

The bartender followed and locked the door behind him before lowering the shade. Smiling with a faraway look in his eyes, he filled the bearded man’s cup with the last of the coffee. “You gave ‘Patton’ a larger role in the rescue tale this time.” As he turned to extinguish the lamps at the next table, the flames cast golden light over the bartender's unruly mop of greying hair, momentarily restoring his formerly blond curls.

The bearded man smiled sadly at him.

“He deserves it. Roman was right. The little kitchen scullery was a hero that night.” He took a long drag of his coffee, relishing the way the hot, bitter brew scalded his throat. He set down the mug and wiped his mustache with the back of his hand. “Saved His Majesty’s life.”

The bartender nodded. “It’s too bad I couldn’t save you both. That I couldn't save you all.”

The bearded man rubbed the edge of Janus’ gold ring, back on his pinkie where it had been the night he’d given to him. “You did what we all did that night, Pat,” he shrugged, leaning over to extinguish the last light. The lamplight accentuated the bump in his nose from the decades-old fracture. He contemplated the light, then blew it out. Gas streetlights spilled into the suddenly darkened space from the transom, hiding the surrounding ghosts in long shadows. “You saved who you could.”

~~~

Side by side of the edited and original versions of Jean Victor Schnetz' Fighting At The Hotel De Ville (1830)

#French Kiss: Tale of the Revolution #final chapter #Chapter 20: Happy Endings #dukeceit #ts virgil #Virgil Gamin #ts remus #ts patton #ts janus #ts roman #Crown Prince Remus Capetian #Patton Cœur #Prince Roman Capetian #Janus Robespierre #demus #one-sided logicality #ambiguous ending #sanders sides fanfiction

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pghbabesonbikes · 9 months

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2024 Frigid Bitch Training Rides

Tryin to prep for FBXI? Need to bone up on your cuts around the city? Gotta practice layering up in various weather conditions? Hopin’ to meet some FB vets race crews you might be able to slide into?

Every Sunday til race day we’ll be holding training rides around the city. Each week will ride the route of a previous Frigid Bitch. Full routes will likely feature stairs, cobbles, long flats, and a few steep hills. We will have multiple groups:

- A pace: fast drop ride with longer mileage and more elevation. Will regroup at the tops of long/steep hills but generally will not wait long for stragglers. ~16+ mph avg - B pace: ‘fit commuter’ pace, semi-drop, mid-level mileage and elevation. Will regroup at various points but may not wait for extended times. ~12-15 mpg avg - C pace: conversational social pace, no-drop, shorter routes, relatively few big hills. ~10-12 mph avg

If you are interested in leading or sweeping a pace group, please check out the 2024 Training Ride spreadsheet (includes route links!) and drop your name/email on the slot you wanna nab!

Routes are posted below - cue sheets are set up for most rides to make almost any/all of the features skippable if you’re not feeling it. Choose a route and pace that is challenging to you, and have fun bopping around the city seeing who you catch & who catches you!

All routes will also be posted as events on our Ride w GPS Club & Strava Club page

Two Frays Brewing will have space for bikes on their patio, outside heaters, indoor bathrooms, and hot drinks for sale. They’ll also have a couple new non-alcoholic beers (including a FRIGID BITCH SPECIFIC collab fundraiser NA!) on tap as well as their regular rotation. Stick around after the ride to hang out and compare ride recaps!

BEWARE: These rides are run in full Pgh Winter, so weather may mean routes take us over ice and snow. We may need to re-route mid ride depending on the conditions! Be ready for an adventure.

Start/finish: Two Frays Brewing - 5113 Penn Ave in Garfield

ROLLING TIMES (please arrive at least 15 min early!) B-pace: 12:30pm A-pace: 1:00 pm C-pace: 1:30 pm

Sunday Feb 4th - Frigid Bitch 2021

Full A-pace route: Takes us into the North Hills, from the Highland Park Br over to the Millvale softball fields. A steep climb up Geyer Rd takes us across mainly rolling roads to the observatory, where we’ll drop back down Perrysville punctuated with a short climb up (and then very much down) Federal. A climb to Polish Hill is next, topped by a city step loop and the beloved blast down Gold Way into Oakland to the bullet descent down Fifth. Birmingham, then Hot Metal, then the Greenfield Ave climb into Schenley Park. The finish is a residential roll through the East End.

B-pace route: Cuts out the trek across the HP Br and the roady north hills chunk, but tacks on some mileage (and a staircase!) heading up into Riverview. This B route is similar mileage to the full route, but with slightly less climbing.

C-pace route: Piling on the mileage for C-pace this week but keeping the elevation down, the ride will head thru tried and true East End roads, a mild uphill pump on Wilkins/Beechwood, a lovely roll through Schenley Park before one of the best winding downhills around. Sneak through Oakland and onto the cyclists’ best friend back alley (Gold Way) to pop out at the Melwood staircase, before dropping down into the Strip and practicing your stop and starts along Spring Way. The 16th St Bridge takes you over the river to the North Shore trail where you can relax until the one final uphill along the bike lane on 40th. Finish @ Two Frays and catch B&A group rolling in behind you!

A-pace route here

B-pace route here

C-pace route here

Sunday Feb 11th - Frigid Bitch 2022

Full A-pace route: We'll head down the cemetery drop to the trail, roll some gravel and hike over some train tracks, take railroad to the strip before crossing the 16th St Bridge into the North Shore and up some gorgeous steps (feat a fancy wheel rail!). From there it's a back-street shimmy to the penitentiary trail, a double-bridge cross over the Point, another trail! before we start climbing up into the south slopes. Get ready because this climb gets harder as you go, and ends on cobbles. Naturally we'll bomb back down to the Hot Metal Bridge, get on yet another trail up the hollow, hit the Joncaire cobbles and a staircase, and take the golf course up through Squirrel Hill. The fancy new Fern Hollow Bridge pops us out on Braddock Ave where we'll roll some gravel through Frick Park before shooting back to the start via Shadyside.

B-pace route: Identical to the A-pace route, except it cuts out the killer climb into the South Side Slopes! B-pace will keep on the trail instead, straight from Station Square to Hot Metal.

C-pace route: Almost all trail (Strip District, Station Square, South Side, Panther Hollow) until the Joncaire staircase into Squirrel Hill, Shadyside and back!

A-pace route here

B-pace route here

C-pace route here

Previous weeks:

Sunday Jan 7th - Frigid Bitch 2017

Full A-pace route: 2017 was the only year that the FB featured split timed checkpoints, reflected on this route by the double loop we make around the East End. Start with a quick up-and-down to the Bud Harris Cycling track (we’ll do a lap cuz why not), then a relatively flat long rev-up on our first hit of the East End before dropping down 31st St Br for the first real challenge: Rialto St (the easiest of the Dirty Dozen hills!). Take a breather thru the North Side til a nice steady climb up Brighton, a fun descent down Woods Run where we’ll take the Penitentiary Trail over the Duq Br to the Point. Back on that inescapable Eliza Furnace Trail to hit Phipps, then one last swing out to the East End to the Highland Park Reservoir.

B-pace route: Cuts out the steady climb up Brighton and the long way back on the Penitentiary Trail, heading thru downtown instead to catch the Eliza Furnace. Optional end of ride cut: anyone done before the HP Res can swing left on Coral from Negley and head straight back to Two Frays.

C-pace route: 10-mile no-drop loop through the East End, featuring 2 mild hills - short and punchy up Bunker Hill to the Highland Park Reservoir and a longer steady climb up Wilkins into Oakland.

A-pace route here

B-pace route here

C-pace route here

Full route cue sheet here

Sunday Jan 14th - Frigid Bitch 2018

Full A-pace route: Starts with some easy rolling hills through the East End before climbing up Stanton and descending to Butler St, where we’ll do a little back-roading before popping over to the rt 28 side of the Allegheny River and hoisting our bikes up the Troy Hill steps. Why stop there? More steps!: The West End Br pedestrian tunnel is next, taking us to the Station Square trail, to the South Side trail, across the Birmingham Br and up to the Hill District Water Tower. A final winding descent down Herron drops us at a final climb up Liberty and back to Two Frays.

B-pace route: Cuts out the West End Br and entire South Side chunk of the route. Instead, riders will take the 16th St Br and climb the backside of Polish Hill to the Water Tower. From there, the route drops down Blessing St to the Bloomfield Br - at the bottom of Blessing, hike your bike up the steps to the pedestrian over pass to access the Bloomfield Br sidewalk!

C-pace route: From Two Frays to the Wheel Mill via the Neighborway, Negley and the East Liberty Ave bike lanes. Swing back around for a steady climb up and then down Stanton Ave to the Button, then back up to Two Frays via the Allegheny Cemetery.

A-pace route here

B-pace route here

C-pace route here

Full route cue sheet here

Sunday Jan 21th - Frigid Bitch 2019

Full A-pace route: Features some fun winding roady sections and some long climbs to city overlooks with glorious downhills. Start with a secret cut thru the Allegheny Cemetery, to a short steep cobbled hill on the outskirts of Chatham University, a quick offroad dip into Frick Park and a long time trial down Beechwood Blvd. A super fun fast windy downhill thru Schenley takes us back to Oakland, where a super fun straight blast down Fifth Ave stops on a dime to hike up the Mohawk St steps, turn around and cross the Birmingham Br. The South Side trail pops us out at a sidewalk slog up PJ McArdle to the most famous overlook, then drop down one of the nicest Dirty Dozen hills (Sycamore) to cut through downtown and back up to another overlook. Oops we’re going down a Dirty Dozen hill again! Suffolk takes us to East St, the trail, a really lovely pedestrian bridge to Herrs Island where we’ll off-road a little bit to the park at the point (not The Point). Once more over 31st but instead of Liberty-ing it back just yet, we’ve got some back roads (pothole alert) swooping us under the Bloomfield Br before we cut across Bloomfield back to Two Frays.

B-pace route: Cuts out the cemetery jaunt, the off-roading in Frick Park, replaces the bomb down Fifth Ave with a less dramatic but still fun bomb down Swineburn, keeps the Grandview Overlook climb but cuts out the Fineview Overlook climb.

C-pace route: Hit 5 checkpoints this week by sneaking down the Neighborway and Negley Ave to a cobbled climb up Murray Hill, then a quick out-and-back for a Frick Park choose-your-own-adventure (on/off bike) on the trail. Cut through Shadyside and swoop under the Bloomfield Bridge for a backroad pothole wonderland, then a one-two punch of bridges (30th&31st). A nice interim of flat trail before oh, it’s another bridge (40th) and a zig zag cut up Lawrenceville takes us back towards Two Frays. Optional cemetery add-on to hit the Boob Tomb for the voyeuristic.

A-pace route here

B-pace route here

C-pace route here

Full route cue sheet here

Sunday Jan 28th - Frigid Bitch 2020

Full A-pace route: First, a descent - towards downtown, under the convention center, via the rainbow waterfall underpass. Then, a flat - to Bicycle Heaven, home of the Peewee Herman bike. Next, a climb - up the South Side slopes, to the St Michael’s Cemetery. From there, another descent! This time through a backway down to the park and back into the SS Flats. Hot Metal takes us back up thru the Hallow, clear across the East End, across the Highland Park bridge and up to the Aspinwall Firestation, at the foothills of another DD hill. Back across the river, a short steep climb to some city steps, then a long steady climb thru the cemetery brings us back to Two Frays.

B-pace route: Cuts out the Aspinwall Fire Station. Opts to climb Stanton instead, and drops down the hill to the take the Duncan St steps in reverse.

C-pace route: Dirty Jones returns for a short jaunt around the East End. Optional addition of the Highland Park loop.

A-pace route here

B-pace route here

C-pace route here

Full route cue sheet here

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parvanesh · 1 year

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Achieve Perfectly Defined Brows with Microblading Shading in Northshore Auckland

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creativeusart-svg · 1 year

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Hawaii Islands North Shore Haleiwa Vintage Style SVG PNG Cutting Printable Files

#Hawaiian_SVG Hawaii_Islands_North_Shore Haleiwa_Vintage_Style Digital_Cutting_Files_SVG Printable_Files_SVG_PNG

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dsandrvk · 1 year

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Sunday, August 13 - Prince Christian Sound (Prins Christian Sund)

Once again, yesterday was a sea day, with not a lot to show for it, although our team actually won trivia (there are about 10 teams, so we felt pretty good about it). We had continued on in a sea fog, which seems to be pretty common in the North Atlantic, and we have gotten used to the regular bleating of the fog horn (pretty subdued in our cabin).

Today, however, was entirely different. We woke up early to see our first view of Greenland and it was fairly clear outside, but were still out quite far off shore and not close enough to see anything. We were to go through Prins Christian Sund, which can either be the highlight of the cruise or a big disappointment. Our captain had slowed down our approach and was timing it to start later through the Sund, which is actually a fjord that links up to other fjords, creating a passage separating a little bit of Greenland (the Cape Farewell archipelago) from the mainland. We had a Zodiac trip scheduled, and they had moved the departure time a bit later, since we weren't rushing the approach.

Just as we got close enough to see Greenland, the sea fog rolled in and visibility dropped to near zero, but miraculously just as we entered the Sund at about 11AM, the fog lifted, and we had spectacular blue skies. We motored very slowly for about an hour and then stopped in front of a side fjord that terminated in a glacier that we got to explore by Zodiac. The air was cool (mid-40's) but the sun made it comfortable. We had waited until last to board a Zodiac, since that Zodiac was smaller and took less passengers, and on our way in to the glacier, the engine cut out a few times, but then restarted and we continued on.

There was some minor calving on the glacier, which was loud but inconsequential. We got to get quite close, and were able to spot a bearded seal on a floe, but in the pictures he (or she) is just a dark blob. The view was better through binoculars! We saw another one swimming in the water on our way back to the ship, and at that moment, our engine cut out again. Our guide tried all sorts of things, but eventually we had to be towed back to the ship. We really didn't mind, since it was lovely out there, and we got to see the seal a couple of more times in between its dives.

We finally moved on from this spot around 3 in the afternoon, and headed west. The Sund is about 66 miles long, and narrows to around 1500 feet, and is only navigable in the summer because of the ice. Not too many years ago, the glacier that we explored extended down into the fjord proper and out to sea the way we came. The glaciers we saw the rest of the day (and they were numerous) are the edges of the Greenland ice sheet, which covers 80% of the island and is second only to Antarctica in size.

While the eastern part of the fjord shows mainly rock rounded and polished by the ice sheet and glaciers, the western part has many, many jagged and rugged rocks that reflect the volcanic nature of this area. These are some of the oldest rocks visible on earth, and it is hard to comprehend the scale as we went past.

After a mostly straight shot of about 35-40 miles, we made several 90 degree turns, zigging, then zagging and zigging again and past the only signs of human habitation - the approximately 100 person village of Appilattoq, which is nestled beneath towering peaks on a little flat land with a small natural harbor. The eighth picture shows the peak behind - if you zoom in you can see tiny little houses near the water. The last photo also shows a small ship at the bottom of the peak - another example of the overwhelming scale of the place. By late afternoon we had mostly cloudy skies, but it only added to the drama of the place.

The captain slowed the vessel to a crawl after we had made the turn by the village, and despite the cold, we chose to sit at the patio restaurant for dinner and the duration of our voyage through the fjord. He had timed it so folks were finished with dinner and it was getting dark before we exited into the open sea again (and dense fog). It has truly been one of the most spectacular days we have had at sea, and we spent the entire day on the decks just soaking in the scenery (and taking lots of pictures).

We only have to go about 80 nautical miles to our port tomorrow, Nanortalik, which is why we were able to dawdle through the Sund. The forecast for tomorrow is cloudy and around 48 degrees, but no rain, so we are looking forward to bundling up and exploring.

0 notes

greenparkaus · 2 years

Text

Maybach Music

it seems I’m lost out on myself again

route 33, I hit a bean on the floor

I’m haul-ass on the interstate

switching lanes got me all out of sorts

cause I’ve been in my bag

like fucking stag, coming up short

been driving my maybach

along the connecticut shore

I’m docking my pay checks

keep my wits floating at bay

tide chases down that pigment

that I’m still washing away

black and white and tread all over

seems I just cut a russian corner

busted tail light,

antenna’s got your jag wire

caught in my range,

seems I can’t change the station

‘til I’m all rid of you

scan the neon meridian,

echelon the waves

the more I turn away,

the deeper it burns

so I’ll just let it play

‘til it no longer hurts

it’s getting cold cause it’s november now

I can see me by the beach

pouring my own midnight oil out

then rising to it like it’s steam

then I watch it as it all comes down

like grains of sand around my feet

but my polished, blood red pedicure

makes me feel stronger underneath

but when the silver tide kicks in

that great heel, ball, and change

I meekly take my sandals off

cause I’m ready to play again

black and white and tread all over

seems I just cut a russian corner

busted tail light,

antenna’s got your jag wire

caught in my range,

seems I can’t change the station

‘til I’m all rid of you

scan the neon meridian,

echelon the waves

the more I turn away,

the deeper it burns

so I’ll just let it play

‘til it no longer hurts

I’m tripping, tripping, tripping

on your wire again

you got me flying against the wind

and it’s so distracting

when I try to take control,

I see you standing in my way

and that ain’t nothing but the devil

city slicker from the ghetto

you repping north side but you’re down low

I’m cracking 6 packs along the coast

all those pretty little voices on the radio

they won’t stop telling me I’m wrong

black and white and tread all over

seems I just cut a russian corner

busted tail light,

antenna’s got your jag wire

caught in my range,

seems I can’t change the station

‘til I’m rid of everything

scan the neon meridian,

echelon the waves

the more I turn away,

the deeper it burns

so I’ll just let it play

‘til it no longer hurts

0 notes

soufcakmistress · 2 years

Text

Charleston Blues

Part III

Pairing: Erik Stevens x Thick Black OC

The tide of the Cooper river rippled towards the sandbank—the water’s surface tension was barely breached. A large animal lurked under the water, its huge paws paddling through beds of lily pads and tall grass. Its massive jaws opened wide and clamped down on a good sized bass and climbed up to the shore. An overgrown jaguar with a drenched coat filled its mouth with fish guts, and easily ripped the spine from the flesh. The cat shook the excess water off and swallowed the rest of the bass whole.

Crickets and lightning bugs swarmed the early Charleston dawn. Frogs hopped around the beach, nursing their tadpoles. The Carolina sun started to peek over the horizon and the cat’s bones began to shift. The jaguar roared as its back elongated and its paws extended into tactile fingers.

Badoru gave Erik the power to shapeshift, which made sense. Erik was always capable of being mutable—he could blend in with any crowd. The jaguar was his father’s favorite animal—this was his way of honoring him and his memory.

It was difficult at first. The first few attempts, he would pass out before he could make the transition fully. Badoru’s explosive power intimidated and overpowered but Erik would always put up a brave face. Badoru pushed him to his limits to conquer this new skill. Badoru spoke of Erik possessing many qualities that could be harnessed, but he had to crawl before he could walk.

Months and months of training and Erik could finally shift on a whim with just a thought. Badoru trusted him enough to roam in public with the full use of his skill. Erik had plenty of laughs scaring white foreign tourists in the Hallasan mountain range when he would run for hours, free as he’d ever been. There wasn’t a Black man alive who could do what he did and live to see another day. He didn’t take it for granted.

Today was opening day for Erik. He’d hired Jerry Brown, an old country sailor from Georgia he ran with overseas to be a full time sales associate. It was a scorcher that day, the temperature amounting to 87 degrees before noon. The store was pristine with navy shag carpet, beige walls with polished wooden shelving, perfectly folded military paraphernalia and jet black mannequins with various Navy and Army sweatsuits. Erik put a sign in his window saying “Coloreds Allowed”, to let the public know where he stood.

Being from Oakland and having his formative years in the North, he wasn’t sure how it would go down in the Jim Crow south. More people seemed to be leaving the South than coming to start a new life. But everybody didn’t have a vicious God protecting their every step.

“All right, J, how do I look?”

Erik fixed his collar in the small mirror in his office and smoothed down his mustache. He wore a navy and white gaucho shirt with the top two buttons loosened, and a white undershirt underneath. There was a solid gold chain that lay right on his pecs, matching the gold watch on his left wrist and the gold tooth in his mouth. The slacks he wore were impeccably pressed with a crease that could cut diamonds. His loafers were shined to perfection, with bright white socks and a tapered haircut slicked down.

“You a bad man, boss!” Jerry teases Erik and he inspected the floor for the last time. He turned the sign over from Closed to Open, and cracked the door open to let in the salty breeze.

“We’re open for business!”

The day was extremely busy and Erik was eternally grateful for Badoru making it happen. The naval base wasn’t far from downtown and he was thankful for the sailors who had the weekend off. Several connections were made with enlisted men and officers looking for rare paraphernalia. Even more, there were several civilian Black men who found their way inside and expressed their interest in purchasing what Erik had to offer in the back. He appreciated that the men of Charleston wanted to protect their families and communities at all costs. Most of all, he encountered people who were held in high esteem in the colored community and welcomed him to the lowcountry with open arms.

Lot of those men also had pretty little wives accompanying them with eyes that wandered. Jerry and Erik were almost overwhelmed with offers of pies and cakes to be brought over to properly welcome the Yankee to Charleston. He couldn’t help it; he was so magnetizing. One woman in particular was the wife of the barber on Meeting Street. She saw Erik’s skin dotted with keloids, and gasped aloud when she caught sight of them. Mrs. Warner had already been gazing at Erik’s broad chest, away from her husband’s watchful eyes. A wink and a flash of those stunning white teeth and Mrs. Warner was a goner.

Chantilly was getting the hang of her new life. She indeed thought differently and utilized parts of her brain that hadn’t been used before. She was cunning now. Drunk with a bloodlust. A bloodlust for vengeance.

She was expected at the Jenkins Institute in an hour and she wanted to get there early. Ursilene revealed to her that this was the time of the month Pastor Dunne dropped off canned goods from Second Presbyterian’s food drive. Tilly planned to volunteer on a regular basis and kill two birds with one stone—support Marla as best as she could and erase Pastor Dunne from all existence. She got her gloves and hat together when the phone in the hall rang.

“Hello, Davenport Residence.”

“Now cousin, the whole Lowcountry been buzzing about you and you ain’t had nan sense to call me and tell me about your newfound wealth! You my blood!”

Chantilly couldn’t do anything but throw her head back in laughter. Her favorite big cousin, Frieda Davenport-Foster, always knew how to brighten her mood. They were inseparable until Frieda’s parents moved them from the island across the bridge. Frieda graduated high school two years before Tilly and she was married to her high school sweetheart, Sammy Foster. Over a decade and four kids later, Tilly and her were finally getting close again.

“Whew lord knows y’all Geechies be nosy! I just blessed to be a soldier fighting in the army of the Lord, cousin! I hope you and Sammy and the chirren are faring well!”

Nothing but babies crying and the clang of a skillet could be heard in Frieda’s background as usual. “I tell you, I been bout tired of these chirren. They run me ragged, I ain’t lie! But that’s not what I called about! It’s about the CNWL. Missy told me to ask you again about you joining us.”

Tilly immediately rolled her eyes. The Club for Negro Women of the Lowcountry had three chapters across Charleston and Dorchester counties of single and married women over the age of 18. They were a civic group focused on empowering colored women in the Lowcountry by culture enrichment, engaging in charity, and uplifting the next generation of colored women. The Greater Charleston chapter of the CNWL was ran by Melissa Owens, Tilly’s childhood archenemy.

“Now Free, I tell you that I don’t fit in with that crowd. They all men obsessed with half a brain cell between them!”

“I gonna ignore that comment since I am the secretary! Listen, you would be a shoo-in. We need some new blood. Badly. With your amazing baking skills, hell we could start a couple initiatives with that alone! It would be good for you! Being around some people your own age, you can’t just give up on life, Tilly.”

Tilly looked at her watch and almost fell out at the time. “Look, I’m running late for an errand Free. I will come to one meeting. If I hate it, I will not return, you hear?”

Frieda squealed like a pig and told Tilly she would let the board know. Their next meeting was in a few days and she would be calling soon to give more details.

“And this is Pastor Dunne. Pastor Dunne, I’d like you to meet Chantilly Davenport.”

Pastor Dunne was tightlipped and very hasty with introducing himself to Tilly. He shook her hand and immediately started barking orders to his outreach volunteers. Not very friendly. Tilly came prepared however. Frieda’s mother, Tilly’s aunt Eunetta, worked roots and taught Frieda everything she knew. In turn, Frieda taught Chantilly. Rose, chamomile, licorice root, damiana, poppy seed, and a pinch of Black pepper ground up in a black sachet, sitting cozy in her left sweater pocket. With the right prayers and incantations, that powder could place anyone under the influence of the worker.

Mrs. Charles, headmistress of the Jenkins Institute was a cantankerous old woman with an incredibly short temper. However, she was one of the most educated colored people in town, and well respected by the white community as well. Her girls were known for being exceptionally well mannered, and if they weren’t adopted before 18, they would go into society as proper young ladies. Tilly saw Marla studying in the common room next to Sheila, whispering secrets and giggling like young girls do. How could that monster want to take away that beautiful light from that girl?

Tilly assisted the volunteers from Second Presbyterian by setting out silverware and plates. Today, the volunteers cooked a hearty lunch for the children, which Mrs. Charles insisted that the children thank Pastor Dunne and the volunteers aloud for their kindness.

Pastor Dunne asked everyone to circle up and stand for prayer. He strolled right to Marla, and Tilly wanted to explode. His clammy sausage fingers enclosed Marla’s delicate hand, and squeezed tightly. The child was clearly perturbed and nervous. And yet, none of the other adults could sense anything was out of the ordinary. The pastor’s prayer was longwinded and hollow. Tilly felt Ursilene’s presence nearby. It was almost time.

After the prayer, Tilly and the other volunteers served the children until everyone was seated. Tilly sat alone at a table not far from some high school aged girls. She didn’t pay them any mind until one of them mentioned Pastor Dunne in their conversation.

“I can’t stand Pastor Dunne. He hands always clammy and nasty. And he always play with my hair. Do he do that to y’all?”

“Yes girl, he try to get me to pray with him alone one time. I told him I feeling ill. I ain’t like how he looked at me.”

Tilly had heard enough. She finished her food and made sure to clear her tray. Pastor Dunne had began hauling some of the heavier catering trays to the church van. Surely, a man of God can appreciate some assistance from a Good Samaritan .

“Pastor Dunne. Let me help you there!” Tilly gathered a box and filled it with napkins, flatware and plates. It was easily over 50 pounds and Tilly didn’t struggle at all, thanks to her powers. Her little feet scampered behind the pastor, while the first streetlight of the evening began to flicker on in the parking lot.

Pastor Dunne had been hot and cold with Tilly all day. At first she wasn’t sure if she would get the chance to be alone with him; he was very cozy with a female volunteer who waited on his every word. Wonder what his wife thought about that.

(This is your chance, Chantilly. Use your power.)

Tilly dropped the box into the back of the van, and tapped the pastor on his shoulder.

“Theodore…”

“Now Miss Davenport, I need to let you know that I am a married man. You colored women are beautiful but you’re so…..aggressive—“

Chantilly blew the compelling powder into Dunne’s face. His eyes immediately rolled back and then dazedly focused on Tilly. The power of suggestion. The power of persuasion. Ursilene knew Tilly’s strengths and weaknesses; one look into her big chestnut eyes, and no one could resist her. This time would be no different.

“Oh Theo. If there’s anything you white boys have, it’s audacity. I wouldn’t let you fuck me with another man’s dick. As a matter of fact…..slap yourself.”

Dunne slapped himself hard, leaving his cheek beet red.

“Again.”

*SLAP*

“Again.”

*SLAP*

“Ahahahahahahaha! You’re pathetic. Get in the van. Drive to Johns Island. Park on Sullivan Avenue, and walk past Ol’ Ravenel’s store. Meet me at 357 Cannonborough. Do not stop for a red light. Do not stop for a stop sign. Exactly 15 minutes. Use the key under the mat and sit in the cellar until I get there. You hear me, boy?”

The pastor nodded like a dunce; any trace of what he was had gone. He was totally under her spell and influence. Her own personal puppet. Theodore’s eyes were aloof and glazed over, and Tilly pulled his handkerchief from his coat pocket to wipe the drool from his mouth. She closed up the back of the van, and sent him on his way.

Fuck those racist tramps, they can find their own way home. Tilly got in her car and drove at a leisurely pace.

Her victim would get there before her. She had to prepare herself. Ursilene required blood to sustain her power. However, she had no physical form and would need a conduit for her power to grow. That was where Tilly came in.

A banshee. When Ursilene inhabits her avatar’s bodies, they turn into banshees. A raging woman with death in her mouth and a blood curdling scream to signify the beginning of the end for her victim. Tilly crossed the bridge onto the island, clutching the steering wheel with white knuckles.

Her mama brought her up to be a good church girl. They believed in the Lord at 357 Cannonborough. However, she wasn’t always under her mama’s thumb. Her daddy’s side kept their abilities and beliefs very close to the chest. A rootworker, at worst, could be arrested and charged for fraud on account that the South Carolina government found no merit in these ancient African traditions that had been retained by the Geechie people. At the least, they could be cast out of the community, labeled as a pariah.

She wasn’t afraid anymore. Her mama was dear to her heart and a newly cherished ancestor. But she had to live her own life, and as a Black woman in this country, she was done taking orders from mere mortals who didn’t live as they preached.

Driving past Ravenel’s convenience store, she saw the van parked very badly around the corner on Sullivan. Pulling up to the property, she kissed Pepper, and poured out some food for her for the night. “You stay in the doghouse for a while, k? Mommy has to go kill a man.”

Tilly walked into her home, and pulled her coat and gloves off. There was a record player in the drawing room and she put on her favorite, Miss Ella Fitzgerald. She turned it up loud. Deafeningly loud. The bop of her scatting followed Tilly to the cellar. Her stacked heels clack down the rickety basement stairs, and who else does she find but the pastor sitting there like a bump on a log.

“Stand up.”

He damn near fell over himself complying with her command. He was like a giant puppy, red faced and eager.

“I’m bored with you. Theodore. Snap out of it.” Tilly snapped and Theodore came to. Those hazel eyes grew big as saucers once he realized where he was. Oblivious to how he got there and what this Black woman was up to, he called her everything but a child of God. Which was true. Ursilene was her mother now.

“Oh Theo, such colorful language. Such a shame that red face of yours aint gon see another day. I know what you did. What you do. You sick fuck. They’re CHILDREN.”

“You black bitch! You’ll be swinging from Angel Oak once I’m through with you! You’re gonna wish you were dead!” Tilly rushed the man and picked him up by his throat. Her strength was off the charts and the man was quickly losing air.

(Focus, Chantilly. It’s time. Open yourself up. We shall be one.)

Tilly dropped the sad excuse for a man to the ground, gasping and hacking for air. Tilly breathed deep and closed her eyes. The light green smoke entered the basement and swirled around Tilly. The pastor cowered and hid behind the furnace and Tilly began to rise. Her eyes rolled back and the green smoke infiltrated her mouth and nose, winding down her throat.

Another set of eyes formed under her brow bone, the whites of them disappearing completely. Her hair stood straight up on its ends, her back bent unnaturally and she let out a howl that shattered every window and mirror in the basement. She was bare now, naked as the day she was born. Tilly, possessed by Ursilene, landed gently on the floor and spotted her prey.

(Come here, you scum.)

The pastor screamed for his life as he was forcibly floating towards her. Chantilly’s voice combined with Ursilene’s terrified the pastor, causing him to soil himself.

(I relish in your terror. There is no greater joy for me knowing that your life will end in pain and suffering. Look into my eyes. For the last time, witness the terror you’ve caused and accept your fate.)

The pastor was babbling like an idiot for his life. His pleas went unanswered. Ursilene showed Dunne the atrocities he wreaked on Marla. And just as Tilly suspected, it wasn’t just her. It was multiple girls throughout the years. And not just at the orphanage. Members of his congregation……..even his twelve year old daughter. Death was almost a mercy for him. But with an ego as large as his, this would hurt him most.

Ursilene had Tilly unhinge her jaw, showing her newly serrated teeth more than an inch long. She ripped his throat out, and what was left of his esophagus bled profusely down her chest and stomach. Chantilly was no longer present. Ursilene’s true nature was revealed. She lapped at his spurting throat, grunting and groaning at the flow of power. Her eyes were crazed, only focusing on sustenance.

Her first kill. The blood flow slowed. Pastor Dunne finally croaked. The seafoam green smoke belted out of her mouth, causing Tilly to stumble on her feet. The extra set of eyes disappeared and her skin no longer felt overheated. Her head wouldn’t stop spinning and her mouth and nose had the distinct taste and scent of metal.

(Justice has been served tonight. Rest, child. You have done wonderfully. I will take care of this. Go, go. Your slumber awaits.)

Tilly looked down at herself. She looked as if she’d bathed in blood. She should have been terrified. At what she’s done. At what she’s capable of. But she wasn’t. Maybe that’s what scared her the most.

“Yes, Ursilene.”

Three weeks later..

“Hey suga. It’s your fav big cousin. Yes it is.” Chantilly cooed over Frieda’s new baby boy Dalzell, named after her favorite uncle. They finally got up together and walked all around downtown. Chantilly assured her that no one would mess with them, and it was true. They showed Dalzell the Battery and the waves of the Atlantic Ocean. Rainbow Row with all the colorful houses. Market Street with the open air market and former slave market that their ancestors were brought through. Their heritage and history. Fellowshipping with family in peace.

“Let’s go on King. I put my last layaway payment on this dress at Boston’s and that thang coming home with mama!” Frieda exclaimed.

Jewelry stores, pawn shops, convenience stores, old Geechie woman weaving sweet grass, and sweet sweet sunshine. A beautiful summer afternoon. Chantilly’s A line dress was made of linen, and perfect for the scorching day. Her cat eye sunglasses matched perfectly. At the end of the block was that new military surplus store. There was talk that it was supposed to be owned by a colored man. That didn’t happen often.

“Let’s get some ice cream, cuz.” Tilly suggested. It was right next door to the store and there was outside seating. Tilly and her cousin were made to wait after every white person was served before they could get some assistance. Tilly almost said something before Frieda restrained her.

“Tilly…..I got the baby with us. Let it alone.” She was right of course.

Vanilla bean for Frieda and Rocky Road for Tilly. Baby Dalzell was finally drifting off and a bell caught Tilly’s attention.

“Jerry, I’m getting me some ice cream, you want any?”

“I’m good boss!”

Erik closed the front door of his business and swaggered to the ice cream parlor entrance. The sight of him made Frieda halt her sentence completely.

“So Tilly, I was thinking—“

They both stopped and stared. How could they not? This Black man walked like a king and looked like a bodybuilder. He was gorgeous, and the scent of his cologne made Tilly tingle. There were white people inside already waiting to be served and he walked right up to the counter. The worker seemingly took his order and he was taken care of right away! Who was this man???

He strolled out of the parlor, and adjusted the tight shirt on that wide chest of his. The man cradled two large scoops of strawberry ice cream, and lapped at it with the biggest tongue she had ever seen. Tilly had never seen skin like his. Tiny bumps all along his arms and forearms. The outlines of bumps on his pecs formed through his shirt. Apparently the man was a gentleman. He felt two sets of eyes on him, and he tipped his hat to Frieda. But when he looked at Tilly……..sparks flew without her knowing. He scanned her up and down—enticed and intrigued. She sat cross legged, her round thighs warranting a long look.

She pushed her sunglasses down, and he winked at her, and smiled. A ray of sunlight reflected off his gold tooth and nearly blinded her. She gulped as she watched him enter his store and close the door behind him.

Frieda’s ice cream damn near melted away through her fingers. “Goddamn. That’s him?”

Tilly pushed her sunglasses up and resumed eating her ice cream cone. “I reckon so.”

“I saw that, you know. You ain’t slick.”

“What?! What foolishness you caterwauling about now?” Chantilly loudly denied and ate at the waffle cone.

“Admit it, you think he’s handsome! You’re blushing like a damn school girl!”

“My name is Wes and I ain’t in the mess, now leave me alone Free!” She held her laugh in while her cousin teased her. Wasn’t no harm in looking, right?

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#soufcakmistress #black panther #charleston blues #black panther fanfiction #erik stevens #erik stevens x oc #Killmonger #killmonger smut #erik killmonger

100 notes · View notes

wishesunderthestars · 4 years

Text

Ocean Waves // Ch. 1

Pairings: Wizard!Namjoon x Witch!reader

Summary: Wizards were arrogant and self-entitled, they looked down on witches when they were the ones who desperately tried to control magic, to become like them. Better than them. You had your own troubles, struggling to make enough money to escape the judgement of your community and the past mistakes haunting you. Getting involved with a wizard was the last thing you needed. But you had never been lucky.

Genre: Angst, fluff, hurt/comfort

Word Count: 12.2k

Warnings: none

Talking books were a pain in the ass. They could talk miles around the same subject and never stop. The worst part? They were impossible to close if they didn't want to. Which witch had thought it would be a good idea to give voice to a know-it-all?

You had made the mistake of opening one and now it wouldn't shut up.

It was going on and on about all the different kinds of seaweed, their uses and complaining about people confusing them. It was causing you a headache. If someone associated books with ancient deep voices they were sadly mistaken. This one had the most high pitched voice you had ever heard and it was so loud the whole ocean would be able to hear it.

You couldn't care less about seaweed types at the moment. Why had you made the mistake of opening it? It depicted various ingredients for potions but it had become obvious it was most fond of seaweed. Titled "Guide to Underwater Plants and their Contribution to Magic", the writer had described thousands of plants in its pages and then he had made the mistake of animating it. You vowed to yourself that if you ever reached that lever of magic you would never repeat that. Too many speaking books had been made, way more than the world needed in the first place. Zero, that's exactly how many it needed.

"Chlorophyta, also called Prasinophyra, is a taxon of green algae. Depending on the author the name is used in two very different senses. In older classification systems, it refers to a highly paraphyletic group of all the green algae within the green plants, which includes more than seven thousand species. "

You put a book back in its place on the bookshelf carved into the cave wall. "Yeah, yeah."

"Contrary to popular belief not all species live in freshwater but about 90% of them do, 10% can be found in seawater in secluded regions."

"Amazing." You picked up another book. You were extra careful not to open another book that would make your headache worse. "You sound like a Wikipedia article."

A moment of silence. You read the first few pages of the book in your hands then put it back. Nothing interesting there. Rustling of paper that could only be described as aggressive came from the book on the stone table in the middle of the library.

"Did you just compare me to a Wikipedia article?" You clenched your eyes as the pitch of the voice got higher, it should have been impossible, but you had never been lucky. "The blasphemy, the insult! How do you wound me so? Are you so ungrateful to my services? Then I shall service you no more." The book closed with a bang echoing through the library.

You rushed to the table to pick it up and shove it in one of the shelves. You added the seaweed book to the list of people and now things you had managed to offend. At least it had stopped talking. Books were too sensitive these days.

The library hadn't been much help this time. You had been coming for so long taking comfort in the dim lights under the water and the lanterns with the silver flames. You found solace in the cave above the water where the books were kept safe from being soaked and destroyed.

The lower levels were underwater, much larger in size. They were like huge museums of things old and new, anything that would interest the sea creatures that gathered them. Some were displayed in glass cases and others on carved stone. Forgotten relics centuries old and statues of a different age. Beautiful jewelry worth a fortune was preserved by the librarians.

It was an underwater wonderland.

You collected your notes, divided them by kind and hid them away in your waterproof bag. You hadn't made many new ones. You would have to figure out the rest of the details for the potion yourself. You didn't look forward to that.

With one last look at the dry section of the library and the blue sky that was visible through a hole in the cave's ceiling, you dove back in the sea.

The water was soothing against your skin. You closed your eyes at the feeling of freedom.

"Did you find what you needed?" the selkie polishing one of the statues asked you. She was the head librarian and always had a smile on her face.

"I came close," you said. You had perfected the art of speaking and hearing underwater. It had taken many hours of practice and nearly drowning twice but it had been worth it. Your mother wouldn't have let you drown anyway. She had been the one to teach you. "Nothing too specific."

"I could help you look next time, not that I would be much help if you didn't find anything." The selkie ran a hot pink pad over the curls of the statue. The attention to detail of the sculptor was incredible, the man looked alive. He reminded you of the ancient statues in the western human civilizations and their beauty. You could recognize it didn’t originate there though, it wasn't that old, but the untrained eye could mistake them.

"I can try to do the rest on my own. I'll experiment a little, try it a few different ways until it works," you said.

Snickers followed your statement. "Oh no, we all have to hide. Y/N is doing magic again. On her own." More snickers. "Everyone in twenty miles from her house is in danger."

A group of mermaids emerged from one of the pathways. The mermaid's words were accompanied by the giggles of her two friends. They were swimming gracefully in the water, their hair floating around them like halos. Their words were much less angelic than their appearance.

You gritted your teeth. "Too bad for you. You better start hiding then." You kept yourself back from saying anything worse.

The mermaid who had spoken before giggled. "Maybe you should be the one to start hiding. There are much bigger fish in the ocean and they will swallow you whole."

Their giggles echoed in the chamber as they left.

The selkie looked at you with sympathy. "They are all talk, nothing else."

You gave her a weak smile. "Don't worry. Don't I know?" You tightened your grip on your bag, adjusting it over your shoulder. "Take care. I'll see you."

"See you around, little sea witch," the selkie said fondly.

You disappeared deeper into the library, passing through different rooms and narrow paths. The library was difficult to navigate at first but it grew on you. The longer you spent there you gradually unraveled its secrets and understood the structure, the way it was made. There was a method to its madness.

Out of the series of caves, the sun was but a faint vision above. A couple of fish followed you as you swam to the surface. They were drawn to you like moths to the flame, your magic drawing them in. Anna would joke about it, say that if you ever went hungry you could catch the fish surrounding you to feed your belly.

You went higher and higher, closer to the light.

Most water creatures didn't spare you a second glance. A group of kelpies were heading north, their manes swirling around them, and a mermaid was arguing with a water nymph about the pros and cons of sea shells as hair accessories.

You emerged by the rocks on the forgotten trail to the sea. The sharp points of the stones dug into your palms as you pulled yourself up. The water had smoothed parts of them and left others sharp enough to cut through skin with one wrong move, you had to be careful which ones you held onto. You stood up barefoot on steady feet. The underwater library was a twenty minute swim away from the shore at best. By all means your limbs should have been sore from going and coming back but you were used to it.

With a flick of your hand and a few muttered words under your breath the water clinging on your ripped jeans, crop top and hair slipped away like it was being pulled by some kind of magnet. It left your hair in a not so favorable condition but it was nothing some combing with your fingers couldn't fix. That way you at least looked a little presentable. Not that you had a mirror to look at but you had enough years of experience to have a general image in your head of what you looked like.

You pushed your hair back as best as you could to get it out of your face and started your way up. The rocky trail wasn't easy to navigate but you had a lot of practice. Under a larger stone, one the water couldn't touch, you found your sandals. You had left them there before diving into the sea. Shoes restricted your movements underwater making you slower.

You slipped them on, happy to avoid the pain of the sharp rock edges poking the soles of your feet. You were used to it but it was nice to avoid it whenever you could.

Moss was growing between the stones, it wrapped around them creating patches of green amidst the black and dark brown landscape. You were careful not to step on them, they were slippery and the rocky terrain could be dangerous. If you slipped and fell your, head and body wouldn't stay intact.

You climbed up the familiar way with ease. Your bag was securely wrapped around your shoulders, the spell work cast on it still working wonders. As you went up, the rocks gave way to a dirt road.

A few trees surrounded the road. Pine trees and lemon trees provided shade from the sun during the day. You patted one of the older trees in the area and felt its life force thrum underneath your fingertips. A spark of warmth greeted you.

You didn't have to walk long to your house. It peaked on the horizon as you walked down the hillside. More trees were growing around the area and grass and different kinds of wild flowers were everywhere you looked.

The house was perched on the plain near to where the woods ended and on the other side the hill gave way and gazed over the sea. Vibrant red flowers, like small roses, bloomed on the vines climbing up the stone walls. They had been there as long as you could remember and they bloomed all year long. Thin lines of smoke were coming out of the chimney. The windows were open letting the early spring breeze inside, the gossamer curtains billowing in its pass.

As you came closer warm tingles ran through your body, the protective charms around the house were welcoming you. Your wards were very powerful, they could detect someone with unsavory intentions from miles away. The white stones littered around the grounds were only a small part of them.

You were the most proud of your garden. It took up a wide ring around the house. It was your mother's garden and you had learnt how to care of it early on. You planted all the kinds of herbs you would need for potions, salves and spells and some of your mother's favorite flowers. Lemon and apple trees had been around the path to the door since you had been little and moonflowers, that would open at night and release their sweet aroma, littered the window sills. They were your favorites.

By the door the charmed dreamcatcher danced with the wind. The white strings were made by kelpie hair and it was decorated with Phoenix feathers for added effect (both gifted voluntarily). Tokens like that were all over the house, inside and outside. You had picked up the habit and created charms and amulets of all kinds. It was easy and some of your best work.

You opened the door making the small bells ring softly.

As expected, Anna was sprawled on the couch, phone in hand, scrolling through Instagram. Her long black hair was pulled up in a ponytail and her nails, painted black, made a clinking sound whenever they touched the screen.

"Did you find everything?" she asked, too engrossed to look up.

"I wouldn't go that far. I would say I found at least some things I can work with." You pulled off your bag and placed it on the kitchen table. The kitchen doubled as your "witchy laboratory" as your brother like to call it and its usual state was a mess. "I'm closer than I was yesterday. I count that as a win. Where are the boys?"

"John, upstairs. Nathaniel is out." Anna's syrupy voice carried to the kitchen.

Out of the bag you pulled out your spellbook. You liked to call it a spellbook but it was the combination of many notes and observations you had compiled over the years. Pretty much everything was inside.

"Where did Nathaniel go?" you asked.

"No idea, I didn't ask. Just be glad he won't be messing with anything you are working," Anna said. "Any explosives yet?"

"I don't use explosives, I'm not a miner." You flipped through the pages, pausing at a drawing of a vial next to a staghorn coral, like its name suggested it resembled the horns of a deer. "Should I start working now? If any of you have any plans that are going to distract me, please let me know."

"Nah, I don't think we do. I doubt John will be coming down until our shift starts."

That was good enough for now.

Your housemates could be loud to an extreme. Even their silence was loud. They filled the kitchen with noise, threw things around by accident or not, messed with your work and generally made a mess. They were the biggest obstacle to your work and you couldn't wait for the time you would have your own space. No more spilled potions, lion cubs Nathaniel was supposed to be babysitting running between your feet, torn or lost books, destroyed charms and constant talking and fighting. The last was the worst.

You were close to forgetting a time before all of them had entered your life. The time before Nathaniel was like a dream. Scattered memories of swinging high in the garden, pushed by a faceless father, picking flowers and swimming without an extra voice accompanying you and no over excited boy running behind you. Anna and John came later so your memories without them were clearer but still too far away.

Nathaniel was your mother’s best friend only son. You had grown up together but you didn't spend half as much time with each other as you did after his parents died. It had been a heavy blow to your mother, only a few months after your father had disappeared. In the same year she had lost two of the people most dear to her. After your father's disappearance, she was strong, she continued like nothing had happened. She read her books, attended on her customers, tended to her garden. When her best friend was killed at the hands of hunters everything stopped, the facade fell.

Hunting supernatural beings was illegal. It had been outlawed decades ago, yet some people just refused to give up. There weren't that many but enough to cause worry and fear. They were enough to make you double check if someone was following you and never lose your focus in case you needed to cast a spell to escape when you were outside the supernatural communities. The risk was much greater outside.

You didn't see the bodies but your mother came back with her voice so hoarse from screaming she couldn't speak for days. It was only natural that Nathaniel would stay with you, no questions were raised about it and no one complained. And so the werewolf became a part of your little family.

John and Anna's story was different, the reasons similar.

"What are you making?" Anna was leaning on the doorframe between the kitchen and the living room. Her phone was in her hand, hanging by her side.

You stopped measuring the white liquid in the vial you were holding. "I thought you wouldn't distract me."

"I don't have any plans that will distract you. I'm bored," she whined. "What are you making?"

"I told you about this yesterday. It's for a customer."

"Oh right, the memory potion." She grimaced. "I don't understand how that's supposed to work. If his memories are gone, they won't be coming back with a potion. What if someone stole them? You can't grow them back."

"Memories aren't trees, of course I'm not growing them back. The potion isn't going to make the memories suddenly appear," you tried to explain as you opened the cupboards looking for the ingredients you needed. "Some memories are suppressed, living deep in the subconscious. That can happen because of trauma or simply because the brain deemed them not important enough. They haven't truly disappeared. This is one of the mildest potions, it is supposed to bring the missing memories to the front slowly, one by one."

"Interesting." Anna stepped away from the wall and came closer. "Are you going to crush that?"

You had an orange coral in one hand. "It's going to melt in the potion. If I do this right, it won't need crushing. Careful!"

Thanks to Anna's fast reflexes the vial was saved from crashing to the floor. However, you didn't feel that thankful when she was the one who had knocked it over in the first place. Vampires were supposed to be graceful and elegant, it was just your luck you had ended up with the only two clumsy ones ever made.

You continued working on the potion. Anna got bored of you and your monotonous answers and returned to the living room with her phone. Instagram was far more interesting than potions, apparently.

Thumping was coming from upstairs. It could be nothing else but John jumping up and down like maniac, listening to heavy metal or rock ‘n’ roll or any other kind of music with a loud beat that had drawn his attention. You needed to cast the silencing spell between the rooms again for all of your benefits and your own peace of mind. It wore off too quickly and with four people living in the house, you couldn't do without it.

The last ingredient was the most important. It was one you hadn't found exactly the correct technique for, but based on most of the potions it was used in you had to add it with precision and slowly. Not a drop more. You kept your hands steady, holding your breath. One, two, th-

"Y/N!"

Surprised, you squeezed the dropper harder than you should have, a copious amount falling into the mix. The potion turned green instead of royal blue. An epic failure.

You growled, throwing the dropper to the side. What had you asked for? A few hours to let you work in peace. Why couldn't they do that? You didn't go and sabotage their jobs. Now the potion was destroyed and you should start all over again. In two days the potion had to be ready for the client and you were miles away from that, it seemed. You had to test the method, let it brew overnight and make sure it was effective. But in this house, you doubted you would be able to do that.

"What the heck do you want?" you shouted back.

Nathaniel appeared in the kitchen, chocolate brown hair tussled. "Have you seen my favorite top? The dark blue sleeveless one? The one I wear with the black choker?"

You gripped the sides of the table, your long nails digging into the wood. "That's it? That's what you wanted to ask me? You ruined my potion!"

Nathaniel sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck. "Technically, you-"

"Don't finish that thought if you want your body to stay intact," you growled.

"Not finishing that thought." He lingered by the door as you picked up the ruined potion, and after casting an easy spell on it so it wouldn't be dangerous to any creatures or nature, you disposed of it by throwing it outside the window. The earth shallowing up the liquid rapidly. Nathaniel shifted on his feet. "Did you see the shirt?"

You narrowed your eyes. "No, I didn't see the damn shirt. It's either in your room or the laundry basket. Choose and take. Unless it sprouted wings, then good luck finding it," you said forcefully.

You could feel Nathaniel's eyes on your back as you cleaned the vials you had used one by one. "Okay," he dragged the vowels as he spoke. "I'll look there."

"Geez, what's up with her?" You heard John's voice from the living room. The silencing spells definitely needed to be recast.

By nightfall, you had come close to melting a cauldron and ruined another two potions. You were close to perfecting it, though. Your three housemates had left for the club shortly after dusk. Anna and John worked at a supernatural club as bartenders, clubs needed charming bartenders and vampires were nothing if not charming. Nathaniel worked there too as a bouncer. His height, wide shoulders and muscles made him perfect for the job.

Having the house to yourself was a blessing. By all means, you should take advantage of the nights they were gone but you were a morning person and it was more difficult working at night, it didn't help that a lot of spells needed daylight to be cast properly.

In a drawer, there was a talisman for protection you had put together a few days ago. The small pouch was a deep purple, on the front a rune was sewn in it. It was in the old language of the people of the sea, so old only few words survived the trial of time. One of them was adorning the talisman, meaning "protection". A white stone, with a thin blue line like a crack running through it, was inside along with a few anemone petals and a couple seashells.

You made metal talismans too, like rings and charms for necklaces, but the process was more difficult. Carving the rune into the metal was a struggle and the spells could be too time consuming.

The forest was very close to your house and it was mostly quiet at night. Many supernatural creatures lived in its embrace or around it. It wasn't dangerous usually but you were cautious as you treaded the path to a small clearing. You liked working under the moon, away from the house, the memories and the responsibilities.

You pulled out the talisman from your bag and continued working on it.

You were twirling the white thread in your fingers when you heard the footsteps. They were approaching.

You leveled your breath, keeping it to its normal pace. You recited every spell you could use in your head. Speed, power and counterattacks. Which spell would be best for each supernatural creature?

The steps were coming closer. Whoever it was, they were taking their sweet time. If it was a predator, a wild werewolf for example, they would have smelt you from miles away. They could be playing with their pray, playing cat and mouse. Or it could be someone else simply out for a walk at night.

You didn't move, didn't make a sound.

A tall shadow emerged from the trees. Taking a better look at him, he wasn't a shadow anymore. His silver hair was shining under the moon, like beams of its light had landed and stayed there. He was wearing a long tan coat, like a cloak, and he was carrying four books in his arms.

Familiar tingles went up your arms, like when you were doing magic. Hia aura spoke to you.

Magic.

"Oh." His eyes widened as they landed on you. You hadn't moved, waiting for his move. "I didn't expect to find anyone here."

You raised your eyebrows, placing the pouch in your lap. "Clearly I didn't either."

His magic crawled up your arms, leaving the ghost of its touch behind. If you focused on it, you could see deeper into his energy. Potions might not be your strongest suit, but since a baby you had been very sensitive to magic, you could sense it in the air, you could feel the different kinds of magic, but you hadn't been exposed to it much and you couldn't recognize them. The man's magic was different to what you were used to, subtle and refined. It wasn't free and earthy.

You narrowed your eyes. A wizard.

What was a wizard doing here? Wizards stayed in their libraries and grand universities. They didn't just take strolls in the woods unless they were looking for something, they preferred to act mighty and knowledgeable in luxurious rooms with the most prestigious of companies. They bragged as if magic was their own creation just because they had managed to master a part of it. Magic wasn't in their blood like it was for witches, maybe they had an inkling, but it was nothing like the way magic flowed through witches connecting them with nature.

Yet they viewed witches as inferior when they were the ones who forced magic and as much as they studied the most powerful wizard couldn't hold a candle to the power a witch could achieve.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt. I was just looking for a quiet place," he said, rubbing the back of his neck.

"The whole forest is quiet."

Instead of being annoyed at your sharp tone, the wizard smiled sheepishly at you. Twin dimples appeared on his cheeks. You had an urge to scowl. "That's right I guess. I was walking around and stumbled upon the clearing. I didn't mean to interrupt." You scoffed looking down at the talisman, you hoped that if you didn't say anything, he would eventually leave. Tough luck. "Are you making a talisman?"

You rolled your eyes. "No, I'm sewing a pouch for fun. What do you think?"

His cheeks were tinted in pink but that might have been a trick of the moonlight. Moonlight was well-known for fooling your senses. "You're a witch, aren't you? Protective talismans are a challenge, it's tough to get them right."

It had taken him long enough to realize. You were about to come up with another sarcastic retort but that would only keep him here longer. It wasn't that difficult to see you didn't want company, yet he insisted on staying. "I get them right just fine."

The wizard's eyes widened for a moment. "Do you live around here? One of our customers told us about a witch who made a few protection charms for her, she said they were the strongest and most efficient she had ever used, they stopped two goblins from sneaking into her garden on two different occasions."

You remembered that customer, she had come to you a few weeks ago, looking for a way to ward off unwanted visitors who ravaged her garden. She was a nice woman, long auburn hair and flowy dress. She must have been some kind of nymph but you couldn't be sure. He had said their customer. You had never heard of wizards working before, they usually lived on the money of the rich, who funded their Universities. A wizard selling any kind of magic sounded more ridiculous to you than the already ridiculous meeting with a wizard in the forest.

One of the druids had mentioned something about a new magic shop. You had overheard him while you were gathering herbs for a potion, but he hadn't mentioned anything about a wizard. Witches were the ones who owned magic shops. Wizards made fun of said magic shops.

A magic shop in the area wouldn't be good for businesses. Luckily they were selling things out of your expertise, like healing potions and some rare ingredients. Potions weren't your strong suit but you could make some money out of them. The ones related to the sea were the closest to your comfort zone, but it was a long process. You were already struggling as it was, not many people trusted you for important work and it cost you.

"Protection charms are routine work," you said curtly.

The wizard shrugged. "I'm awful at making them, I tried a few times but they would barely work. Jin is a little better than me but his aren't that strong either. Ah, I forgot, sorry. My name is Namjoon. We moved here a few weeks ago and opened a shop."

"I have heard," you muttered, glancing at his extended hands. You might be pissed at being interrupted and at the stranger's insistence on not getting lost, but you had some manners. Begrudgingly, you shook his hand and told him your name.

"You're a sea witch, right? I've never met a sea witch before." You came close to rolling your eyes again. Of course he hadn't met a sea witch before. Pure elemental magic was rare in witches and the witches who had it wouldn't hang out in the places wizards did.

You cut the white thread in a sharp move and balled the unused part in your fist. It was clear Namjoon wouldn't leave you alone to your work. You got up, dusting off your clothes. "Excuse me, but I have to go. It's late."

Taken aback, Namjoon looked up at the sky, like the moon could tell him the time. Didn't wizards have phones? "Oh, yeah. It was nice meeting you." The dimples popped out again, you averted your gaze.

"You, too," you said before disappearing in the trees. Great, you didn't have any other place to go. The trek to the sea was long and dangerous at night and you weren't in the mood for a midnight swim. A couple mischievous hobgoblins frequented the rocky grounds and you didn't feel like becoming their next target.

There goes your night.

~°°×°°~°°×°°~°°×°°~°°×°°~°°×°°~°°×°°~°°×°°~°°×°°~

You were woken up bright and early when your housemates made their appearance. The door banged once against the wall and one more time as it closed. Nathaniel really needed to control his strength when he was tired. The door couldn't take much more before it flew away from the hinges at best or shattered into splinters at worst. When Nathaniel's werewolf strength and senses had started manifesting when he was sixteen as his first shift was coming closer, everything and everyone around him had suffered. He had broken your favorite couldron, three of your vials, the door to his room, a broom and the most memorable; the toilet, to this day you still didn't know how that had happened. He had also come very close to squeezing you to death hugging you.

He had cut off your airflow for approximately three minutes.

John was singing off-key to an EDM track that wasn't meant to be sung without some form of autotune. It was a rare John ability, but he somehow made it sound like a failed heavy metal track.

The house was in desperate need of recasting the silencing spells between the rooms. They were wearing off far too quickly. But what did you expect when some of the loudest people did everything to overload them?

You rubbed the sleep from your eyes and sat up in your bed. Light was streaming in from the window, the rays stopping at the foot of the bed. The thin curtains didn't do much to stop it. It was nice waking up to a partly illuminated room, without having the sun shining straight to your eyes and blinding you.

Feet were climbing up the stairs. Nathaniel was heading to bed, after being awake all night at the club. John and Anna were at an advantage, as vampires they didn't have to sleep. They still got tired though and spent the mornings bitching about the rude clients or fawning over the attractive ones or gradually getting over an alcohol-blood hungover. Vampires couldn't get drunk the conventional way but they had found a hack. If they drank blood from someone drunk, they would get drunk too. Of course, they had managed to create a drink for that.

You changed into a pair of black jeans. They had faded from all the times they had been washed, diving in the sea wearing them also caused some damage. You picked out a simple white blouse that would allow you to move comfortably. You had given up on wearing nice clothes because a potion or a new spell could easily backfire. Climbing down the stairs, you caught sight of John and Anna sprawled on the couch, and partly on each other, watching a morning show on TV and making fun of the hosts. You couldn't blame them, the dress the woman was wearing made her look like a colorful lamp. But who were you to judge?

"Good morning." Their keen hearing hadn't missed you moving around. The weak silencing spells didn't help.

"Morning," you greeted them, going straight to the kitchen. You hadn't eaten a large dinner last night and you were ravenous. It was a pity that eating too much was bad for swimming.

You pulled out a carton of milk from the fridge, careful of the vials you were storing inside, and a box of cereal from one of the cupboards. A tentacle slithered around your wrist but you tapped it with a spoon and it retreated. That octopus-like creature had been staying in your cupboard for a few years now. Really, it was harmless but it could scare some customers away. There was a spell you could use to banish it but it was nice enough and didn't bother you. It actually bothered you less than your housemates did. Occasionally, it would open the cupboard and pass you the ingredients you needed. Also, it had an appetite for mice and cockroaches, which you didn't mind at all and firmly encouraged.

One of your books was open in the table on a page about weather-related spells. You had been doing some late night studying and had left it like that before stumbling up the stairs way later than you should have. Weather spells weren't very popular and there were many different kinds that required different levels of magical abilities. As an elemental witch, you should have been able to execute most of them with ease. Should, but you hadn’t tried your hand at them in a long time. Well, it didn’t hurt to do some research, you thought, as you flipped through the pages as you ate your breakfast.

You didn't have many customers, so most of your days were dedicated to doing your own studying and perfecting easy spells and potions or learning new ones that might be useful in the future. The sound of the TV accompanied you as you poured a few vials together and watched them change colors into a pastel yellow. You stayed still for a few minutes and when no foul-smelling cloud followed, you counted the potion as a success and transferred it into an oval-shaped bottle.

"Hey, did you hear of the new magic shop in the area?" Anna was leaning against the doorframe, her long black hair clipped back with a claw clip carelessly. Even that looked good on her. She was still wearing the short red dress that hugged her curves just right. The nightclub didn't have a dress code for their employees and Anna used that in her favor.

You stored the bottle with the rest of the successful potions in an enchanted cupboard your three roommates weren't allowed to touch. "I heard. Where did you hear?" It was obvious but you still asked. Word got around fast in the club.

"There was this guy, really cute, " she said. "Really cute and really hot. He pulled off both so well I'm jealous. A fairy. You should have seen the way he danced. His friend was also rather handsome but I didn't get a good look at him." Her lips formed a pout, red lipstick immaculate like she had just applied it. "I hadn't seen them in the club before so I asked. They moved here a few days ago from somewhere in the North, I forget the name of the region now. It started with R... Rio- Or was it N? Anyway, that's not the point. They are new and two of his friends own the shop. I think we should pay them a visit."

You thought back to the night in the forest and the tall wizard, who whenever he smiled dimples appeared on his cheeks. There was no chance you were going to his shop. The last thing you wanted was getting involved with arrogant wizards. Your magic was already belittled and ridiculed by the people in your community, the last thing you needed was wizards calling your magic inferior.

"Why on earth would we go to the new magic shop?" you asked, trying to hide the disdain in your voice. One perfectly drawn eyebrow lifted. You hadn't succeeded.

"Why wouldn't we go to the new magic shop?" Anna came closer, sitting on one of the mismatched chairs around the table. "Are you afraid they'll steal your clients? They don't just do spells and potions. They sell ingredients too, they might have something you need."

"I don't need anything, I can get my ingredients myself. I have everything I need here." You motioned to the cupboards, the baskets of herbs and the random boxes you had stored some of the most odd supplies. "And why would I be afraid of losing my clients? It isn't like I have many, anyway."

Anna's expression softened. "You have just enough clients and you're getting more. They are loyal, they know no one can cast water related spells the way you do. Ms Rogers wouldn't go to anyone else to clean the water in her stream and Mr Klutze will always come to you for talismans. I just think the new shop is worth checking out. Maybe you could exchange some tips, magic user to magic user."

As if. You scoffed. A wizard and a witch exchanging magic tips, that sounded like a bad joke.

"I'm fine where I am. I'm busy, anyway," you said.

"You aren't busy," Anna stated. "You don't have any orders. Your time will be spent more constructively if you come with me to check out the new magic shop."

"Anna, I really don't want to go," you pleaded.

It didn't change anything. "That's why you have to go. You need to socialize more. Who knows? Maybe you'll make some new friends."

You very much doubted that. You might not have that many friends but you weren't that desperate to turn to wizards. And if those wizards ever learnt what you had done, you would become a laughing stock for them and their friends. At best. At worst, they would demand you stop practicing magic, something that would only happen over your dead body. Not a nice path to go down in the morning.

"Why are you so intrigued anyway?" You raised your eyebrows at Anna who seemed to be counting your potion bottles. "Does it have anything to do with how good-looking the owners' friend is."

She didn't deny it, thankfully taking her perfectly manicured nails away from your bottles. "They were both good-looking. Who knows? Maybe they have more cute friends."

You closed the spellbook on the table, afraid her meddling would ruin something and your spellbook was too valuable to become her victim. "You can find handsome men everywhere. It's like a weird vampire ability. I don't want to get involved in your romantic escapades."

"You’re my best friend, of course you will be involved in my romantic escapades. If you don't come with me to the magic shop, I will go by myself. I'll get every random ingredient I can find and tell them you were too shy to come yourself so you sent me." She grinned, her fangs peeking through.

Your heart stopped. You could swear it did. "You wouldn't!"

"Oh, but I would," she said, her words tilting in a playful melody.

You groaned. Anna knew you so well she could be your worst nightmare. "Okay, fine. I'll come. Are you going to go like this?"

She looked down at her dress. "What? Don't I look marvelous in it?" She laughed at the look you sent her. "I'll change, I'll change. Be ready in a few." She stopped herself before leaving, saying over her shoulder, "Don't even think about running away. You need to get out of the funk you have buried yourself in."

Funk. You scoffed. You hadn't buried yourself in a funk or whatever Anna claimed you had done. You were perfectly fine and as social as you needed to be. You had your job and your clients and the selkie you talked to at the library. And you had the three of them who wouldn't get out of your hair. That's all you needed. For now.

The remnants of a protection charm John had destroyed by spilling a glass of water on it was left on the counter. The water interfered with the magic and rendered it useless. You had to cleanse it and throw it out before the remaining magic seeped into something it shouldn't.

Your roommates somehow never failed to sabotage something you were working on at least once a week. The kitchen was small, not leaving much space for the four of you to move around but it was the only place you could use. You didn't have your own magic shop like your mother used to and you had learnt from her to never practice complex spells or brew potions in your bedroom. You didn't make a lot of money, not nearly as much as your mother did. But your mother was a trusted witch in your community, everyone came to her with any problems they had. She could do everything. And you... You were trying.

In a small jar, hidden deep in the cupboard that didn't house any tentacle creatures, with a pastel blue ribbon wrapped around it, a small metal book-like charm *filled* with positive energy dangling from it, you had stored your savings. Money to open your own shop and finally move from this community that had done nothing but laugh at you. You would go north at the Great Waterfalls, where you knew no one and no one knew about your mistakes. Or maybe you would settle in one of the human cities, one by the sea, they were many more than the supernatural communities.

The supernatural world's relationships with humans had been getting better and better and at this point it was completely normal to see fairy run coffee shops in human cities or gargoyles employed as guardians for libraries or museums. Supernatural beings mingled with humans, became friends and co-workers. Because of that a lot of half-blood children were born. Children of forest nymphs and humans who had a magic touch with plants, ones who had inherited alluring voices from sirens but the magic wasn't strong enough to control the listener's mind. But a few of them had more supernatural than human blood. Genetics were hard to guess and as society developed and old boundaries were broken down, questions they hadn't bothered with before surfaced.

You sighed, cleaning the table and hiding away anything that could potentially harm your roommates. Your magic wasn't particularly dangerous, the ingredients you used were mostly natural, like corals, seashells, herbs and crystals, but there were a couple you would rather not have Nathaniel messing with.

On your way to store some herbs in the cupboard, you stopped in front of the mirror hanging on the wall. The oval-shaped mirror with the gold lining snaking around the edges had been there all your life, above the counter and close to the window. The kitchen wasn't the place someone would expect to find a mirror but it fit in a weird way. You combed your fingers through your tousled hair and winced a little when you met a few tangles. You hadn't put on any makeup thinking you wouldn't be going anywhere. Did you have enough time to go upstairs and apply some? Anna liked to take her time getting ready.

No, you were fine. You looked fine. You didn't need to get dressed up or look like a movie star. It was just a visit to a shop and you had no one to impress.

Anna swirled into the living room wearing an elegant black jumpsuit, complete with a wide belt and golden jewelry. If there was one thing Anna was amazing at, that was fashion. She dressed herself like she was going to a photoshoot for the cover of Vogue. You looked severely underdressed next to her.

With a wide smile she opened the door and motioned for you to follow her. It was a nice day and Anna lowered her sunglasses a little to take in the vibrant colors. Contrary to popular belief sunlight didn't hurt or kill vampires, although they did tend to dislike it. Because they were pale, they were prone to sunburns therefore they avoided it. Anna attempted to solve the problem by layering a ton of sunscreen on her skin. She had been through a phase as a young vampire in which she had taken to carrying a parasol around, but had eventually given up on it because it didn't fit her style. And she was tired of carrying it. Although you could never forget the time she had smacked a more-than-shady man with it when he had grabbed her waist.

You took the path through the forest, Anna told you it was faster that way. You had no idea where the shop was located so you followed. Anna had her way of gathering information so you weren't the least bit surprised she knew where the shop was. Maybe the fairy boy had told her.

The forest was full of life in the morning. Small animals running around the ground, squirrels jumping from tree to tree. A nymph was scolding a small rabbit for something, stopping when she saw you and shouting a greeting. The trees rustled with it. Anna winked at her. She had helped her approach the boy she liked a couple of years ago and they had been together ever since. Anna was a quite friendly vampire, connected with every kind of creature.

The trees were getting further with larger spaces between them, the path leading up to a more modern building than what you would have expected to find in the middle of the forest. Climbing roses creeped up to the second floor wrapping around the roof. The lovely white blooms must have been magicked to reach that high. The walls were painted a soft peach. The balcony, surrounded by a white railing, was filled with colorful pots. Various kinds of plants were growing in them, many spilling over the balcony. In the middle of all the plants, there was a small table and two chairs.

Anna skipped ahead, motioning for you to follow her. You took a deep breath and straightened your back. You could deal with this, you had dealt with much worse than going to a magic shop of two wizards.

She pushed the half-opened cherry wood door. The open sign was written in careful calligraphy. Fairy bells jingled as you walked inside, their melody sweet and welcoming. The shop was moderately large with many selves lined with crystals, herbs and vials. The world of magic contained in one room. Waiting.

A man with black hair was standing behind the counter flipping through a book. Whispers of autumn brushed your skin every time he turned the yellowed and torn at places pages. It was spring.

Upon hearing the bells, he looked up at you with a wide smile. You were the only ones inside. You reckoned it was pretty early for a stroll to the magic shop.

"Welcome," he greeted you, his bangs falling into his eyes. "Can I help you?"

Anna strolled to the counter, her eyes flitting over the artifacts. "We heard you came here recently and my friend here would like to take a look around. She'll probably know what to get better than me." She turned to you with a smirk. You held yourself back from cursing her into a bat. You had been considering it for years. "I'm Anna," she introduced herself. "I met your friend Jimin last night. Or this morning, if you'd like."

She roped him into a conversation with ease while you hid between the shelves. The aura of the shop was pulling you in, tucking you into its depth. This feeling wasn't something you would use to describe a warlock's magic. It flowed through you, seeping into your bones and warming you inside. You looked between the crystal balls at the handsome stranger.

He wasn't a warlock. He was a witch.

You frowned. What was a witch doing here?

A yellow crystal slipped from your fingers when Anna called your name. You caught it last minute, placing it back with a relieved sigh.

Anna had made herself home, standing against the counter with one hand in the pocket of her jumpsuit. "This is Y/N, she's the one you heard about. She's a sea witch." You hadn't wanted to strangle Anna as much since she had got into a fight with a siren who had been badmouthing you. She had landed a killer punch, though.

The man turned his blinding smile to you. "Pleased to meet you. I'm Seokjin. Our customers have told us about you. We didn't expect to meet an elemental witch here."

If there were multiple customers who had told them about you, all of it couldn't be good. Most of it wouldn't be good. There were many who preferred to travel all the way to the communities on the other side of the forest to find a witch than come to you. One mistake and it had cost you your credibility. The worst part was that you couldn't blame them. You should have never agreed to do the job.

"You have a lot of things here," you said, trying to steer the conversation away from yourself. "I think I saw a snow crystal from the White Peaks."

"Oh, yeah," Seokjin chuckled. "That has been with us for years. Someone gave it to Namjoon, I think, as payment for a spell. Namjoon manages the shop with me, it was his idea. We have managed to stack up on a lot of stuff over the years. Knowing the right people helps a lot. I'm not a fancy witch like you, I'm a plain old green witch but I'm very handy with potions."

Green witches were the most common. They utilized herbs and traditional forms of magic. There were many types of witches, each specializing in different branches of magic. But the basics were the same for every type, like potions and herbs. You could have done without the potions.

The bells sounded again as the door opened. Someone walked inside, his upper body hidden by the boxes he was carrying.

"Hyung, the delivery from Fornwick arrived today. Where is Namjoon hyung? He was supposed to help me." One of the top boxes trembled and Seokjin rushed to take it. "I could carry that."

"You could drop that and it's expensive," Seokjin chided him. "We'll be just a moment," he said to you.

He took some of the boxes but not enough to reveal the other's face and they carried them to the backroom. Anna turned to you with one of her arms resting on the counter.

"Did you see him? I told you they would have more have more handsome friends." Anna didn't toss out compliments at random. When she said someone was handsome, they were handsome. She was a sweet-talker but an honest one.

You couldn't deny that Seokjin was handsome but you were more focused on the fact that he was a witch owning a magic shop with a wizard. Witches and wizards had a long-standing rivalry. A centuries old rivalry. Your mother was a strong believer that no wizard would ever do anything other than look down on witches. Your mother's words were what you lived by and yet...

"Are you looking for a date?" you asked.

Anna pursed her lips. They were the same shade of red as her nails. "Maybe. Maybe not. I just like meeting people. And looking at pretty things. Look how lucky I am."

You couldn't argue with that. Seokjin came back soon after, a boy younger than him trailing behind him. He had chestnut brown hair and wide doe eyes.

"This is Jungkook, he's staying with us and helping with the shop," Seokjin said. Anna looked at you, raising her eyebrows. You had become a master at reading her eyebrow-talk. Another handsome one. Seokjin introduced you and the younger boy nodded, staying behind him. He asked if he could help with anything before Seokjin dismissed him.

Anna was in her element, picking up the talk with Seokjin who seemed to be enjoying himself. You inched away, getting lost between the shelves and the magical items calling to you. A pink crystal for positive energy. Dried wisteria, it could be used in so many spells. Sunflower powder, add a pinch of it in your tea and you would feel happier.

You reached for a small pouch of dried goblin daisies (they were very hard to grow and even harder to pick, they tended to bite) when you collided with someone coming out of the backroom. The shock combined with the push made you lose your balance, sending you back and flat on your butt. You winced at the pain blooming on your behind.

"I'm so sorry, so sorry!" The voice was familiar. It was just your luck. Namjoon was standing over you, one hand extended as if he had tried to catch you but hadn't been fast enough. He rushed to help you to your feet and pick up a few pouches you had knocked over when you fell. "I wasn't looking where I was going and then you were there. It was too early so I thought we wouldn't have many customers..."

"Joon!" Jin was suddenly next to you, delivering a slap on the back of Namjoon's neck. "Yah, you knocked the poor girl over with your clumsiness! Didn't I tell you to be more careful? No one ever listens to me. Are you okay?" he asked you.

"Yeah, I'm fine," you said, dusting yourself off to hide your embarrassment.

Anna held up two fingers. "How many is that?"

"I didn't hit my head. You do that when someone hits their head."

She looked down on her fingers. "Do you ? Still, how many is it? I wish I'd seen you fall. I just heard the thud."

You rubbed your backside. It still hurt, it had been a hard fall. "Thanks for that. I'll remember it."

"Did she look funny?" she asked Namjoon. The wizard looked like he didn't know what to say and you wanted to hide in a cave underwater and never surface again. You should have never agreed to come with Anna in the first place. Nothing good could come out of this visit.

If they had heard about you, the unsavory things wouldn't have escaped their notice. You were unreliable. Your magic was out of control. You were putting people in danger. You had heard it all. What were you doing here? They were the ones who would replace you. Your customers were already few and far between, no one came to you for important things. With a new magic shop in the community it wouldn't be long until those few customers preferred this place. You couldn't blame them. Who would choose you with your history, doing spellwork in a kitchen, over this?

You bit the inside of your cheek. "Yes, Anna, it was really funny." The vampire's grin faltered. You grabbed the pouch with the goblin daisies a little harder than was needed. "I'll get this. I need to go, I have work to do. How much is it?"

Seokjin gazed at you and the pouch. "Just take it. Consider it a welcoming gift."

You clutched the pouch in your hand, ready to protest but Anna beat you to it, "Shouldn't we be giving you a welcoming gift? You're the ones who moved here."

"We wouldn't be opposed to any gifts," he said. "But please accept this one. You can come here whenever you need anything."

You said your goodbyes and left the entracing shop behind. The pouch warmed up your hand, your fingers caressing the cotton material. Anna didn't say much on your way back. Her back straight and eyes looking ahead. You hadn't expected much from the visit but it was obvious she had.

The pain had ceased, leaving behind a dull throb. Your fall replayed again and again in your mind like an endless current. The force pushing you back, grabbing at the shelves, at anything to keep you upright, your hand knocking against the pouches and dragging them down with you and that wizard and his stupid silver hair standing over you with his mouth forming an o. Your first time at their shop and you had embarrassed yourself beyond belief. They wouldn't need more than that as confirmation for what was being said about you. Not that there was any chance they wouldn't listen to all the gossip surrounding you. You just hoped you hadn't ruined any of the pouches.

John wasn't in the house and Nathaniel was still sleeping. At least he had remembered to lock the door before leaving. The times you had returned to the house to find the door unlocked were many. Although the protection spells around the house were strong and you reapplied them often, that didn't mean it was alright to be careless. You placed the pouch in the cupboard with the rest of magical herbs. Herbs' prices depended on how rare they were. Goblin daisies only grew in very specific parts of the world and few people dared to pick them up. As useful as they were, they were hard to find. And Seokjin had gifted them to you. Probably as an apology for his friend crashing into you.

You heard the kettle being turned on. Anna had followed you into the kitchen and she was pulling your your favorite mug out of the cupboard. A cup of your favorite tea was left on the table. Anna had a silent way of apologizing.

Sipping on the tea, you started your research on goblin daisies. You knew a lot of potions and spells they were used for but you had never used them before. That meant looking up the quantity you should use. Using too much would make any potion or spell too aggressive and no one wanted their potion fighting them.

~°°×°°~°°×°°~°°×°°~°°×°°~°°×°°~°°×°°~°°×°°~°°×°°~

Nathaniel was babysitting again. And whenever Nathaniel was babysitting, you were all babysitting. Anna had conveniently made herself scarce, off to visit a centaur friend of hers (or that's what she told you), leaving you and the two men of the household chasing after three lion cubs and a baby panther. Nathaniel really needed to find a different day job. For the sake of your house. And your sanity.

"Tom, don't climb on the couch! Your nails-" You had to pull off the little lion, maneuvering him so he wouldn't rip the back of the couch. The couch was saved but his nails sunk into your shirt and he refused to leave your arms.

They were still young and they couldn't control the shift well. Shapshifters were complicated creatures. When they shifted shapes something inside them shifted too, not enough to forget who they were or lose control of themselves, but their instincts were different and they were much more likely to follow them in their other form. It was easier for young Shapshifters to give into their animal side a little more.

Tom had your shirt caught in his claws and his hind legs around your waist. You would have found it cute if they weren't digging into your skin, most likely leaving marks behind. He was wrapped around you like a baby ten times harder to get off.

All had been well at first. Their parents had dropped them off early in the morning for a small trip to the nearest city, promising to come back by nightfall. The four children had been entertained by Nathaniel for the first two hours. Watching TV, playing games, Playstation, Nathaniel had tried every trick in the book in the past year. You had been brewing a potion, forgetting one minor detail. It erupted into a small explosion when it was ready. An explosion that had scared all four of the boys, who shapshifted the moment the boom sounded.

The three lion cubs were the sons of your mother's close friends, the couple were both lion shapeshifters. The small panther was their adoptive son and he was the youngest of the four. He used to be the most shy, staying quiet while the other three created a ruckus. Now, he had grown closer to you and he was just as bad as the rest.

John was sitting on the floor in the kitchen, Nathaniel running after a lion cub in circles around him. One tentacle had sneaked out from the cupboard and it was holding another cub upside down from its foot while it writhed around, playfully trying to bite it. John was throwing something at the cupboard.

"John, stop throwing milk chocolate at it, I think it's lactose intolerant," you called, Tom still holding onto your shirt. John pouted. Noah stumbled on John, Nathaniel didn't have to stop running and the three of them ended up in a John-Nathaniel-lion pile on the floor. The tentacle let the lion cub fall and it landed on them. Seeing the pile, the Panther who had been occupying itself with a cat toy, ran to them.

It took some more time before you kicked them all out of the kitchen. You had a charm for clean water to make. Ignoring the cubs' whining, you shut the door. You would spend some time with them later. The charm was relatively simple, a shirt incantation and a few supplies, all tied into…

A deep sea crystal. And you were out of them. You groaned, rummaging through the cupboards and the shelves, only to come up empty. Expected. You had completely forgotten you had used the last one. Those crystals were hard to find and you didn't have enough time to go looking in the ocean. That would take you the whole day. There was one thing you could do.

Crap.

"I'm going out," you shouted to the boys. The replies came in various forms of protests. You didn't stay long enough to let them pull you back.

You remembered the way you had followed with Anna and the magic thrumming in the path wouldn't let you go astray. You missed the presence next to you as you walked alone. Anna was good at talking and diverting the attention away from you. Alone, you were too exposed. You didn't know what to do with yourself.

The house peeked from between the trees, flowers blooming all around it, the trees leaning close to it as if pulled by the magic inside. You climbed over a root sticking over the ground and landed on your feet, you had been doing this as long as you remembered. Taking a deep breath, you pushed open the door hearing the sweet melody of the bells.

The shop welcomed you, drawing you in. Sunlight spilled through the windows, showering the room in a golden glow, the crystals shining and casting rainbows on the walls. This time it wasn't Seokjin behind the counter. It was Namjoon.

There we go.

Namjoon was writing something in a notebook but he put the pen down when he saw you. "Oh, hey. I mean, welcome." He cringed at his awkwardness. It seemed like you weren't the only one in this state. "Can I help you with something?"

You swallowed down anything you could say to embarrass yourself. "Yeah, I'm looking for a Deep Sea crystal."

Namjoon strode to the shelves in the middle of the shop and you followed him, that's where most of the crystals were. "I'm sure we have a few here. What do you need it for?" His hand hovering over an oval hot pink crystal paused. "If you want to tell me, of course. It's alright if you don't."

You glanced around for anything to catch your attention but you came up empty. You could tell him, it wasn't a complicated spell. Very difficult to backfire. "It's a spell for clean water. They are having some problems in the western part of the forest. The water is so dirty they can't drink it."

"Taehyung told me of that, he said it was affecting some of the creatures. They were looking for a solution." Namjoon crouched down to look through the lower shelf. "Uhmmm, I also wanted to say sorry. About last time." He pulled at his collar, revealing a glimpse of his collarbones. You turned back to the shelves. "Jin hyung was always saying that I would hurt someone else with my clumsiness, not only myself."

You shrugged. He had already apologized, you hadn't expected he would again. "It's alright." It hadn't felt alright at the time but a few days' distance and you could admit to yourself that you had overreacted. You had been embarrassed and felt horribly cornered and it had brought out the worst of you. "Are you working alone today?"

"Not exactly. Jin hyung will be out with Hoseok until later tonight, so I'm taking care of the shop for now." Hoseok. He must be another friend. Namjoon stopped and took a crystal in his hand. A royal blue so dense it would look like a stone, not a crystal, in the absence of the morning light. "Here we are. A Deep Sea crystal purified and ready for use."

Taking the crystal, you weighted it in your palm. It was indeed purified and cleansed of any traces of magic other than its own raw form. "This is perfect. I'll take it."

You followed him to the counter and gave him the money he asked for. It was a smaller amount than what you had expected to pay. You wondered if Namjoon still felt guilty for knocking you over and instead of gifting you things like Jin, something you wouldn't accept for the second time, he was reducing the price of what you bought. You hoped it wasn't that and the crystal was simply cheap. Your pockets cheered that they wouldn't have to part with much.

"Do you want anything else?" Namjoon asked.

You looked down at the crystal in your hand. "No, that's all."

He opened his mouth but it seemed like he couldn't find anything to say. He closed it and opened it again. "Have you been staying here for long?"

“I haven’t stayed anywhere else.” The magical community nestled in the forest, the sea and the surrounding area had always been your home. Your mother’s warnings about hunters had prevented you from venturing far and soon you had stopped asking her to take you with her to trips outside the communities.

Supernatural creatures had been living peacefully among humans for decades but the laws didn’t stop those so intensely afraid of difference. Hunters were diminishing in number year by the year but sometimes you wondered if there would really be a time no supernatural creature lost their life because of fear. Witches had it the easiest in recent years. You looked like humans and your services were useful to them. Humans chased your power and made their own kind. Wizards. They couldn’t hunt you for something they were striving to become.

“It’s nice here,” Namjoon said. “Calm. It’s very different from the city.”

It was only expected that Namjoon was coming from a big city. Humans had built grand Universities in their largest cities, the ones the world marveled at and was attracted to them like moths to light. There, they taught how to channel magic, force it in an unnatural way. Magic wasn’t meant to be controlled, it was meant to flow. You didn’t control magic, you guided the stream.

But humans didn’t understand and they didn’t want to.

“I’ll be going now.” You nodded at Namjoon, turning to leave.

“We’re here for whatever you need,” he said a little hurriedly, like he had panicked and decided on saying the first thing on his mind instead of staying silent.

You looked at him over your shoulder, standing behind the counter in a shop he co-owned with a witch, wearing a denim jacket over a white shirt. The only thing standing out about him was his silver hair. Another thing way too different from the image of wizards you had in your head.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” you said.

~°°×°°~°°×°°~°°×°°~°°×°°~°°×°°~°°×°°~°°×°°~°°×°°~

You were incredibly stupid. The amount of stupidity required to end up in your position was astronomical. Earlier in the day you had visited the underwater library to find some information for a potion. Everything had been like any other day and you hadn’t stumbled upon any mishaps, finding the book you needed rather quickly. The weather had been getting progressively worse, you could see it in the way the clouds gathered and the waves lashed the rocks.

In a hurry, you had run to your house, failing to notice the protective charm falling from your pocket. Thunder was striking when you remembered to look for it. The storm would hit full force soon, trees trembling dangerously, the sky lighting up every few moments followed by deep rambles. But you needed the charm. The client would be coming to get you tomorrow and you had neither the materials nor the time to make another one.

“Where are you going?” John shouted over the whistles of the wind. It was whipping at the door and you struggled to keep it open.

“I’ll be back in a minute,” you shouted back and you only heard half of his next shout having closed the door behind you. It was something following the lines of “Are you crazy?”.

You were lucky your house was built so close to the shore. Your mother had found the spot and deemed it perfect, near the sea and the forest. She used to tell you it was everything she needed, if she didn’t feel the magic of the sea an emptiness grew inside her. Spending all your life next to the sea, you had never experienced that and you wondered if your connection to the ocean run deep enough to ever do.

The force of the wind made you lose your footing a couple of times but you powered on. That charm was hard to make and the longer it stayed there the more chances the waves had to claim it. You scanned the floor as you stumbled forward. The way you took to the shore was always the same and you could tread it in the wind. You found yourself wishing for lightning. You didn’t dare to take your phone with you in this weather and the clouds had turned the afternoon into night.

That’s exactly what I needed, you thought as a raindrop landed on your cheek and before you could take another step, thunder struck and the rain descended on you. You started running. There was no way you wouldn’t get back home drenched to the bone. In the distance you could see the rocks and the sight gave you more strength.

You halted. There were people there. Two of them. They were leaving, trying to escape the rain when one of them slipped. You watched as he fell behind, the wind carrying him, and landed face first into the water.

He disappeared.

It was enough to set you into motion.

“Stop! Don’t jump in!!! You’ll both drown!” you shouted, hoping his companion heard you over the wind.

“I have to do something!!!” You could now see his transparent wings and bubblegum pink hair and how he stumbled under the force of the weather. He was a fairy and a tiny one at that, shorter than you and probably as light as a feather.

You reached the edge of the rocks, tearing your eyes away from him. You didn’t say another word before jumping in.

Please reblog and comment, it motivates me and keeps me writing.

A/N: This has been in my drafts for a very long time and in my desperation to get away from studying but also do something productive I found myself returning to this project. It will probably be some time until I can write anything else but I have another chapter of this work completed so I thought it would be as good of a time to post this as any.

P.S.: For those who have read Eunoia, the John in this story is a completely different character from the John in Eunoia. This John is a very old character of mine and I had completely forgotten the two of them ended up with the same names.

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bktynes-writes · 4 years

Photo

As per the fantastic advice of the wonderful and amazing Mallory, @valleydean, I made some graphics for my fic, The Blood Of The Covenant. It’s a long, slow burn, Mafia AU, and I have no idea where it’s gonna end up, but I hope you’ll all reblog and join me for the ride. Here is the summary, and the first chapter is under the cut. Read on Ao3.

The Blood Of The Covenant The Winchester Dynasty will never fall.

At least, that’s what John and Mary, heads of the most powerful crime family in the city believe. They have built their empire from nothing, and are willing to do whatever it takes to maintain their control.

When a new family, the Novaks, threaten the delicate balance of power they have maintained for years, the eldest son, Dean, is tasked with infiltrating the ranks of the Novak’s organization to destroy them from the inside.

Dean has always been a soldier in his parent’s wars, never questioning where his loyalties lie, but when he comes face to face with Castiel Novak, one of the sons of the family threatening to destroy his own, he wonders if maybe there could be more to life than he believed. Maybe this blue-eyed stranger can offer him the ticket out he never knew he wanted.

They say that the blood of the covenant runs thicker than the water of the womb, but how do you turn your back on family? Will Dean choose love over loyalty? Will he leave behind all he’s ever known? Or are he and Castiel destined to just be pawns in the war for power that rules the city’s underworld?

Chapter 1: Dinner

The city at night always had a certain charm about it that Dean couldn’t put his finger on. Maybe it was the way everything lit up a bit more or the fact that the darkness hid the grime that clung to every surface like a second skin, but the alleyways and culverts of the buildings seemed more inviting when they were filled with shadow.

He loved this city. Every dirty stairwell, every seedy bar, every doorway that led to nowhere, Dean knew them all. He had grown up on these streets, and he wouldn’t change it for the world.

The sound of a car horn brought him back to reality, pulling him out of his nostalgic reverie and into the moment. He looked down at his dress shoes, sparkling in the neon lights against the damp pavement, and smiled. If there was one thing Dean Winchester knew how to do, it was dress to impress. His father had instilled in him that first impressions were important at a very young age, and how a man looks could change the direction of any transaction.

Tonight was the first Sunday of the month, which meant dinner with the Family at Cain’s. Dean never looked forward to these dinners - he found them to be mundane - but as the eldest son of the most powerful crime family in the city, he knew his mother and father expected him to attend.

Thus, he found himself in his best suit, pulling open the restaurant’s glass door and striding past the host stand like he owned the place. The young woman there gave him a nervous look, and he shot her his most charming smile, causing her to duck her head as a deep red blush crept up her cheeks. He passed by the other tables and made his way to the back of the restaurant, pointedly ignoring the stares and whispers that followed him from the other patrons. He was used to this behaviour. Anyone who was anyone in the city recognized the Winchesters, and their reputation preceded them.

He made his way past the kitchen, stopping briefly to say hello to Cain, clapping him on the shoulder.

“Dean!” Cain exclaimed, turning around and pulling him into a rib-crushing hug. “I didn’t think you were gonna show! Everyone else is already here.”

Dean laughed. In another life, he would have called him a friend.

But Winchesters didn’t have friends.

“Yeah, I figured they would be.” He said. “What can I say? Fashionably late is kinda my style.” He shrugged and smiled.

“That’s my boy, always gotta make an entrance.” Cain beamed at him. “They’re in the back room. I’ll get your usual added to the order. Hurry up before your dad tears a strip off you!”

“Thanks, Cain,” Dean said. He ducked past him and headed to the very back of the dining room.

Dean could now see the usual suspects gathered around their regular table. He spotted Bobby gruffly speaking to Ellen Harvelle and her daughter Jo. The Harvelles were powerful associates who owned many of the bars and rest stops along the freeway into the city, and Dean’s father liked to keep them close because he had been friends with Ellen’s late husband, Bill.

Ellen was a good source of information for the family. People let information slip that they shouldn’t after a few rounds of shots at one of Ellen’s roadhouses, and she and Jo had ears like bats. Dean was pretty sure the main reason she was included in these clandestine meetings of the family, though, is that his parents, despite their vehement claims otherwise, were a little bit afraid of her. He couldn’t blame them. He had grown up with Jo and, despite being six years older, had had his ass handed to him more times than he could count by the feisty blonde.

Dean chuckled to himself at the memory as he slid quietly into the seat next to his younger brother, Sam.

“You’re late,” stated the younger of the Winchester brothers, his arm draped lazily across his girlfriend Jessica’s shoulders.

“Yeah, I was over at the mill. Gordon owes us and is being…difficult.” He reached for the bottle of wine that sat on the table and filled his glass. He wasn’t usually a fan of wine, but Cain always brought out the good bottles for these meetings, and when he didn’t have to pay, it would be rude to refuse.

“Dad is gonna be pissed.” Said Sam, finishing his own glass and holding it out for Dean to refill.

“No, he won’t,” Dean replied, pouring too much wine into his brother’s glass. “He knows how Gordon is. He’ll just be glad I didn’t break too many of his fingers to get him to agree to pay his dues.”

“Whatever you say, Dean,” Sam replied, rolling his eyes. He ran his fingers through his absurdly long hair, and Dean found himself itching to strap his brother into a barber’s chair and order a buzz cut.

A clink of cutlery against glass brought the assembly to silence and drew everyone’s attention to the man standing at the head of the table. John Winchester was an imposing figure at the best of times, and his broad shoulders, clad in the threads of his fine Italian suit, added to his commanding demeanour. His neatly trimmed beard was flecked with grey, as was the perfectly slicked hair on his head. He stood with pride and demanded the respect of those around him with ease.

“Now that my son has finally decided to grace us with his presence, we can call this meeting to order,” John spoke with an air of distaste directed solely at Dean.

“Ah, you know me pops, better late than never,” Dean said nonchalantly. Sam was right; John was pissed.

“Indeed,” said his father coolly.

Dean tuned out most of the ensuing conversations. It was the typical discussion of territory, who was responsible for handling the gang activity on the west side, who was collecting from which businesses for protection owed and whether or not they had paid (Dean received a small nod of approval from John when he informed the table that Gordon would no longer be causing issues).

When the food came, Dean was treated to the most delicious looking plate of carbonara he had ever seen. Cain truly did know the way to his heart. Before he had the chance to dig in, a noise from the opposite end of the table drew everyone’s attention.

A beautiful woman with wavy brown hair rose from the table, and Dean rolled his eyes, huffing dramatically into his chair. Bela Talbot was always trying to draw attention to herself at these meetings, and tonight would be no exception. She wasn’t, strictly speaking, part of the Family, but she was part of a necessary evil alliance that the Winchesters had forged years ago to have hands in the art trade, and Dean had found her to be nothing but a nuisance ever since.

Her words dripped with a caramel sweetness, and despite his intense dislike of the woman, Dean couldn’t help but stare at her as she spoke.

“John. Mary. Dear Winchester Family. It has come to my attention that there appears to be a new family on the North shore. They arrived from New Jersey about six weeks ago and have been a thorn in my side ever since.” She scowled.

“Why hasn’t it been dealt with, Bela?” Asked Sam. “The North shore is your territory, isn’t it?” Sam was flexing his powers a little bit, addressing Bela that way. Usually, it would be up to John to chastise her for not taking care of a threat to their operations, but Dean could see the look of pride in his father’s eyes at Sam stepping in so willingly.

Bela’s face tinged pink slightly at the admonishing tone in Sam’s voice, and she puffed her cheeks out before speaking out again. “Under regular circumstances, Samuel, I would, but it seems that these Novaks are a bit better at playing cat and mouse than I would have anticipated.”

“Novak?” Dean snorted. “What is that, Polish?”

Bela glared at him. “I believe it’s Serbian, actually.”

Dean shrugged and twisted his fork idly in his pasta, hoping she would get to the point before it got cold. Sam continued to address her. “What’s the problem, Bela?”

“They’ve taken out three of my warehouses since their arrival, and the attendance at both the craps game and the pool hall is down by thirty-two percent.” She sighed, and Dean perked up. He almost wanted to shake the hand of anyone who could cause Bela this much distress, but this was clearly an attack on the family’s assets. “Half the shops on Arthur Street aren’t paying their fees because the Novaks have started charging them, and when I sent Ruby over to persuade them, she came back bloody and threatening to skip town.”

Dean’s smile faded as quickly as it had appeared. Ruby was savage in the art of ‘persuasion,’ and he could hardly imagine anyone getting the better of her. He leaned forward, his brow furrowed. A new family trying to start a war with the Winchesters? The last time that had happened, Dean was a teenager, and, much to his dismay, his parents had insisted he not be involved. He had watched helplessly from inside the Catholic boy’s school his father had shipped him to, as his people were shot in the street.

But Dean was in his thirties now, and the prospect of war looming on the horizon made him giddy with anticipation.

Mary Winchester, who had been quietly observing her husband and sons until this point, suddenly cleared her throat, which made all the men at the table sit up a little straighter. She was a fierce-looking woman with high cheekbones, a square jaw, and deep eyes, all framed by locks of cascading blonde curls. It was easy to see where her sons had gotten their charming good looks from.

She sat forward and touched her husband’s forearm gently. “Bela. While I’m sure the loss of your warehouses is devastating, no one would be foolish enough to start a war with our family.” She smiled. “And if Ruby and the girls from Rowena’s can’t handle what is being asked of them, then perhaps it is time to remind them who it is they work for. I’m sure Sam and Dean would be happy to deal with the Novaks, right boys?”

Sam nodded at his mother, and Dean could feel his excitement bubbling. He looked to his brother and saw a dark glint in his eye. The two of them together were unstoppable.

“Anything for you, mother,” Dean said, and he basked in her pride.

“Wonderful,” John said, clapping his hands together, dispelling the tension surrounding the table, and causing Bela to sink back into her seat as her concerns were dismissed. “Now, let’s eat before the food goes cold.”

The rest of the evening dissolved into easy conversation amongst the members of the meeting. Sam laughed wildly at Bobby’s account of a man who he had once held over a woodchipper for his disrespect, even though he had told the story a hundred times. Mary and John spoke quietly with Jessica about her parents and how thrilled they were that her contacts on Broadway would benefit the Winchester dynasty. Dean occupied himself by kicking Jo under the table and watching her face go from mildly irritated to genuinely annoyed as she tried to maintain a discussion with her mother about liquor importing.

When the food and wine had been consumed, John stood again and waited patiently for the conversations to cease. “Thank you all for joining us this evening.” He spoke warmly to everyone. “I trust to see you all again next month.” A chorus of murmured agreement rippled through those assembled. John raised his glass, and everyone else followed suit. “To the family.” He toasted and drained the remaining wine from his glass.

The sound of chairs scraping back from the table filled the small dining room as the Winchesters and their associates made to leave. They passed the other patrons, enjoying their meals and trying obviously not to stare as the finely dressed men and women filed out the front door, thanking Cain with handshakes and smiles as they left.

Dean stepped into the street and stretched, breathing the exhaust soaked air deeply into his lungs and once again being reminded of just how much he loved this city. A large hand dropped heavily onto his shoulder, and he turned to find his gargantuan little brother towering next to him.

“You wanna come over for a beer?” Sam asked casually.

“Nah, man, I was thinking about heading over to Lee’s,” Dean said. His head was foggy from the wine, and he needed some real liquor to bring his senses back.

Sam scowled. “You know, Dad doesn’t like you going out without protection.”

“Always keep a condom in my wallet, Sammy.” Dean winked, and Sam rolled his eyes dramatically.

“That’s not what I mean.” He said. “If Bela is right and the Novaks are looking to start a war, none of us should be going anywhere alone.”

“Oh, is Sam freaking Winchester scared of a few Jersey boys?” Dean snarked at his brother, punching him in the arm playfully. “I’ll be fine. Besides, it’s Lee’s bar. I’m basically royalty there.”

Jessica appeared at Sam’s side and snaked her arm around his waist. She really was beautiful, far too good for his brother. Dean sometimes wished he had met her first, but he shook the thoughts from his mind. Sam was happy with Jess, and that’s what he deserved.

“Your parents invited us over to look over the blueprints of the new hotel, honey.” She said. “Dean, will you be joining us?”

“Not tonight, sweetheart, but hey, tell 'em to put one of those fancy water features in like they’ve got in Vegas,” Dean replied sarcastically.

Jess smiled at him. “You ready, Sam?”

“Uh, yeah, one second. Why don’t you go ahead with Mom and Dad? I’ll meet you at the car.” Sam said. He rubbed his hand across her shoulders and leaned down to kiss her sweetly. Jess cast one more smile at Dean before turning back down the sidewalk to where Mary and John stood waiting.

“What’s up, Sammy?” Dean asked. He knew there was a reason his brother was holding him back.

Sam stepped closer to Dean and quickly looked over his shoulder before shoving his hand into his pocket and producing a small black velvet box. “I was going to wait until tomorrow, but I can’t help myself.” He said, opening the box. Inside was a beautiful diamond engagement ring. The center stone was massive and cut into the shape of a teardrop. On each side were two smaller diamonds, surrounded by a cluster of sparkling rubies. “I’m gonna ask Jess to marry me.”

Dean laughed out loud. “Holy shit, Sam!” He blurted out loudly and pulled his brother into a hug.

“Shhh!” Sam warned. “Keep your voice down! I don’t even know if she’ll say yes.”

Dean scoffed. “Of course she’ll say yes! You two have been together, what, forever?” He grinned. “Although, if she does say no, you can tell her I’m available.”

Sam smacked him around the head, and Dean laughed. “Alright, have fun at Lee’s. Call Benny if there’s any trouble.”

Dean waved over Sam’s shoulder at John, Mary, and Jess, and gave his brother a nod before turning and heading down the dark sidewalk in the direction of Lee Webb’s bar.

Swayze’s was more than a few blocks from Cain’s place, but Dean didn’t mind the walk. He’d left his car at home after visiting Gordon this afternoon, and he enjoyed the refreshing night air against his face. The downtown lights glared into the sky through the ever-present smog rising from the city, and Dean hummed a little to himself as he walked. This was his city. The Winchesters owned these streets. He knew one day, the empire his mother and father had built would fall to him and Sam to manage, but that time was a long way off. John would never relinquish control of the family assets to his sons while he still drew breath, and without any heirs of their own to ensure the continuation of the dynasty, that was even less likely.

Dean smiled to himself, thinking of the ring currently sitting in Sam’s pocket. Jess would be an excellent addition to the family. Her parents were both high profile talent agents on Broadway with a lot of influence there and in Hollywood. There had never been a reason for the Winchesters to get into theatre, but he knew they wouldn’t turn down the opportunity if Jess said yes to Sam tonight. His smile faltered slightly. It had been a long time since Dean had been as happy as Sam was now. His last relationship had been with Lisa Braeden, and that had only lasted a few months. She had a young son, Ben, who Dean still saw on occasion, but he had left when things had started to get really serious. He wasn’t going to drag someone else’s kid into this mafioso life. It wasn’t his place.

The truth was, Dean didn’t even know if he wanted kids. He’d thought about it, sure, and his mother had been pressuring him since his mid-twenties to find a nice girl to make babies with, but Dean liked his hang-up free lifestyle. He was happy to carry out orders for his father, help the family, and maybe hustle a few out of town suckers at pool when the mood struck him. Sam was business-minded, and Dean was more than happy to allow his not-so-little little brother to take over for their father when the time came.

Dean had been so deep in his own head that he barely registered when he had arrived at Lee’s. He sat down on a barstool and scanned around the room. Dean sighed contentedly. As he had expected, the bar was devoid of anyone immediately recognizable save for Lee himself.

Dean rapped his knuckles on the bar top to get Lee’s attention. “Who do I gotta gank to get a drink around here, hey buddy?” He said as Lee tossed the towel he had been using to clean a pint glass over his shoulder and turned to Dean. His expression changed from annoyed to ecstatic when he registered who was speaking.

“Dean freaking Winchester.” Lee drawled. “It’s been a while. You too good to come see me anymore?”

Dean grinned. “Never too good for you, Lee.”

“What’ll it be? On the house.” Lee spread his arms, gesturing at the impressive selection of alcohol arranged along the wall behind him.

“Whiskey. Neat.” Dean replied. Lee nodded approvingly, selecting a bottle from the top shelf and pouring a heavy-handed three ounces into a glass. He slid it across the bar to Dean, and he took a sip, letting the liquid burn deliciously in his throat and warm him from the inside out.

“That’s good stuff.” Dean smiled as a low rasp crept into his voice.

“Only the best for you.” Lee matched his tone. “So, what brings you out tonight?”

“Dinner with the family,” Dean replied noncommittally.

“Yeah, you always did hate those.” Lee whipped the towel off his shoulder and picked up another glass, wiping the water from around the rim. “Anything exciting?”

“No, just business as usual. Bela is being a bitch, Bobby’s still telling the same stories he has for the past 20 years…” He paused before taking another sip of his drink. “Oh, and uh, Sammy’s gonna ask Jess to marry him.”

“No shit!” Lee said, his eyebrows rising in mild surprise. “I’d say that’s pretty exciting.”

“Yeah, it’s been a long time coming.” Dean chuckled into his glass. “Never seen anybody as happy as those two. Kind of a miracle she hasn’t killed him yet with what a pain in the ass he can be.”

“Ah, you’re only saying that cuz he’s your brother.” Lee laughed.

“Yeah, well, brother or not, he’s still a giant pain.” Dean downed the rest of his drink and tapped the rim for a refill. Lee shook his head but complied.

“You feeling a little jealous there, buddy?” Lee smiled devilishly at him as he set the bottle down on the bar top.

Dean chuckled darkly. “Nothing to be jealous of. I’ve got my life, my health, my family,” he grinned at Lee over the rim of his glass. “And a buddy with a bar. What more could a guy need?”

Lee shook his head but said nothing. Dean appreciated the silence that fell immensely.

The sudden clatter of a barstool hitting the floor drew Dean’s attention to the opposite end of the bar. Two men stood chest to chest, shoving each other back and forth.

“What the fuck is your problem, man?!” One of them exclaimed.

“What’s my problem? What the hell is your problem?!” The other responded, punctuating his words with a shove to the man’s shoulders.

“Hey!” Lee shouted. “Take it outside, boys.”

“Yeah, some of us just wanna drink in peace,” Dean said.

“What the fuck did you just say?” One of the men said to Dean. Having found a common enemy in him, the two men turned towards Dean’s seat and advanced. He drew in a breath, immediately regretting his decision to speak up. They were both much larger than him by a wide margin, and Dean couldn’t help but think to himself ruefully that maybe Sam was right about needing protection.

As he balled his fists, ready to start swinging, he felt someone step into the space at his side.

“I believe both of these fine gentlemen just politely told you inbred walnuts to get lost.” The voice that spoke was low and gravelly, and Dean felt his stomach flip a little at the sound of it. He turned his head to identify the stranger and was met by a tan trenchcoat.

His eyes travelled upwards to the man’s face, and Dean felt his stomach do another small flip. A strong jawline covered in light stubble, slightly chapped pink lips, and tousled black hair were Dean’s first indications that the man suddenly standing next to him was unfamiliar. When the man cocked his head slightly, Dean caught his eye and felt his breath hitch in his chest. Framed by thick, dark eyelashes were a pair of icy blue eyes that Dean very quickly found himself staring at. He looked away as soon as he realized because, as much as he would have loved to stare, the two aggressively drunk men in front of him posed a much more immediate problem.

Returning his attention to them, Dean rose from his seat and drained the remaining liquid from his glass, vaguely registering that Lee had also rounded the bar and was standing behind him.

“Well, fellas. Looks like it’s two against three.” Dean said, gesturing at Lee and the stranger. “Not that I don’t like those odds being in my favour and all, but I’ll give you a chance to walk away before this gets too outta hand.” He heard Lee crack his knuckles and grinned. There was no one in this world Dean would rather have in his corner for a fight than Lee Webb, except maybe Sam.

The two men in front of him hesitated slightly before one of them let out a yell and charged towards Dean.

He reacted in an instant, ducking below the man’s outstretched arms and coming up under his knees to flip him over his back towards Lee. He heard the man hit the ground with a thud as Lee reached down and heaved him back up into the edge of the bar. Dean turned just in time to see the other man following his partner towards him, arms reaching out like some great ape. He didn’t have the forewarning or space to execute the same move, and so he simply ducked out of reach. As the man’s arms closed above his head, he heard the unmistakable sound of a fist colliding with a nose as the cartilage and bone crunched under the force. Glancing to his right, he saw the trenchcoated stranger land a blow directly into the second assailant’s face and smiled to himself. Not bad, he thought.

As the ape staggered back, clutching his now broken nose, blood streaming down between his fingers, Dean stood up and grabbed the man by his shirt. Together, he and Lee shoved the two towards the bar’s door and unceremoniously tossed them into the street.

“Don’t let me catch you goons in here again,” Lee shouted as they took off quickly down the alley.

Dean watched them go and shook his head ruefully. Even at Lee’s, trouble managed to find him. He looked to his friend and put a hand on his shoulder, squeezing lightly. “You okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” Lee said, brushing him off. “Guys like that aren’t a problem. You and I both know I’ve fought worse.”

Dean laughed. “Ain’t that the truth.” They turned to go back inside, and Dean spied the mysterious stranger as he picked up a stool that had fallen over in the scuffle, cradling his right hand against his chest.

“Hey,” Dean called out to him. The man looked up at Dean, and he was pierced by the full intensity of his stare. Those blue eyes, which before had been icy and cold with adrenaline, were now pools of deep ocean blue, and Dean once again felt himself beginning to drown in them. He cleared his throat, trying to get rid of the lump that was quickly forming there. “Um, thanks. For that. You, uh, you didn’t have to get involved. Lee and I could have handled it.”

Way to sound ungrateful, Winchester, he kicked himself internally.

The stranger cocked his head to the side as he stared at Dean, his eyebrows knitted together in the most perplexing stare Dean had ever seen. Lee walked up next to him. “Lemme get you some ice for your hand. If that dude’s skull is as thick as it looked, you’re probably hurting pretty bad.” He walked behind the bar and began filling a small bag with ice. “Oh, and your next drink is on me. Dean may not know how to actually say thank you but, we aren’t all as uncivilized.”

Dean felt the heat rising in his cheeks as he sat back in his seat, and Lee refilled his glass, adding a second one for their new friend. “Thank you.” The man said, taking the bag of ice and placing it over his knuckles. He took a small sip of his drink and set it back on the bar top.

Dean shook himself and realized the man was still staring at him, and being under his scrutinizing eyes made Dean fidget uncomfortably. He cleared his throat again. “So, uh, you got a name?” He asked. Then, because Dean was not one to relinquish the upper hand, he plastered on his charming Winchester smile and said, “Or am I just supposed to call you handsome?”

A small smile lifted the corners of the man’s lips as he extended his uninjured hand for Dean to shake.

“Novak.” He said, and Dean felt the colour immediately drain from his face.

“My name is Castiel Novak.”

#supernatural au #supernatural fic #destiel #deancas #dean x castiel #mafia au #deancas fic #supernatural #spn fic #tag: tbotc #tw: blood #tw: alcohol #tw: violence

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capricecarvalet · 1 month

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Enhance Your Vehicle with Premier Services in North Shore

When it comes to maintaining and enhancing the appearance of your vehicle, North Shore offers top-notch services that cater to every need. From car detailing and window tinting to cut and polish services, you can ensure your car looks its best. Here’s how these services can transform your vehicle in North Shore.

Car Detailing North Shore: A Comprehensive Clean

Interior and Exterior Detailing:

Car detailing in North Shore provides a thorough cleaning and restoration of both the interior and exterior of your vehicle.

Services include vacuuming, shampooing seats and carpets, cleaning and conditioning the dashboard, and polishing the exterior to remove scratches and swirl marks.

Enhanced Appearance:

Regular detailing not only keeps your car looking new but also protects the paint and interior materials from wear and tear.

A clean, polished car makes a great impression and boosts your vehicle's resale value.

Attention to Detail:

Professional detailers pay attention to every nook and cranny of your vehicle, ensuring that no spot is overlooked.

From cleaning the engine bay to removing stubborn stains, detailing provides a comprehensive solution for a spotless car.

Car Window Tinting North Shore: Style and Protection

UV Protection:

Car window tinting in North Shore protects you and your passengers from harmful UV rays, reducing the risk of skin damage and fading of your car’s interior.

Tinted windows block up to 99% of UV rays, keeping your car cooler and more comfortable.

Enhanced Privacy and Security:

Tinted windows provide added privacy, preventing outsiders from easily seeing into your car.

They also add a layer of security by making it harder for potential thieves to see valuables inside.

Aesthetic Appeal:

Window tinting gives your car a sleek, sophisticated look, enhancing its overall appearance.

Choose from various tint shades to match your style and preferences.

Glare Reduction:

Tinting reduces glare from the sun and headlights, improving visibility and driving comfort.

This is particularly beneficial for long drives and night-time driving.

Cut and Polish North Shore: Restore Your Car's Shine

Surface Restoration:

Cut and polish services in North Shore involve removing surface imperfections like scratches, swirl marks, and oxidation to restore your car’s original shine.

The process involves using specialized compounds and polishes to cut back the damaged layer and bring out a smooth, glossy finish.

Protection:

After polishing, a protective wax or sealant is applied to protect the paint from environmental contaminants, UV rays, and further damage.

This layer of protection helps maintain the shine and longevity of your car's paintwork.

Enhanced Resale Value:

A well-maintained exterior with a flawless finish significantly enhances your car’s resale value.

Potential buyers are more likely to be attracted to a car that looks new and well cared for.

Expert Care:

Professional cut and polish services ensure that your car receives the best care using high-quality products and techniques.

Experienced technicians handle your vehicle with precision, achieving results that DIY methods can’t match.

Tips for Choosing the Right Service Provider

Research and Reviews:

Look for service providers in North Shore with positive customer reviews and testimonials.

Research their experience, expertise, and range of services offered to ensure they meet your needs.

Quality of Products:

Ensure the service provider uses high-quality products and tools for detailing, tinting, and polishing.

Quality products guarantee better results and longer-lasting protection for your vehicle.

Customized Services:

Choose a provider that offers customized services tailored to your specific requirements.

Whether it’s a full detailing package, specific tint shades, or a particular polishing technique, personalized services deliver the best outcomes.

Pricing and Packages:

Compare pricing and packages offered by different providers to find the best value for your money.

Look for providers that offer comprehensive packages, combining multiple services at a discounted rate.

Conclusion

In North Shore, car detailing, window tinting, and cut and polish services provide a comprehensive solution for maintaining and enhancing your vehicle's appearance. By choosing reputable service providers and investing in these services, you can ensure your car looks its best, stays protected, and retains its value. Start exploring these services in North Shore today and give your vehicle the care it deserves!

#Car detailing in North Shore #Car window tinting in North Shore #Cut and polish services in North Shore

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claudiosuenaga · 3 years

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The Cyclopean Walls of Osaka Castle, by Claudio Suenaga | Megalithic Japan

When visiting one of Japan's most famous castles, Ōsaka-jō or Osaka Castle, in the Chūō-ku district, the most central here in Osaka, in the south of the island of Honshu (capital of the Empire in the 5th century and today the thirdlargest Japanese city after Tokyo and Yokohama), I came across something unusual, not only because I was at the opposite end of the world but also because I expected to find only historical relics typical of the end of the Azuchi-Momoyama Period (1573-1603) and the beginning of theEdo (1603-1868), the Japanese Feudal Era.

Amazed, I saw that I was facing the same perfect masonry work present in the Inca forts of Sacsayhuaman, Ollantaytambo and Machu Picchu, in Peru; in Tiahuanaco, near the southeastern shore of Lake Titicaca, in Bolivia; in the pyramids and tombs of Ancient Egypt; on the walls just above the line of statues prior to the Ahu Period (1200-1680) in Anakena and at the other end of Easter Island, in Vinapu; on the Baalbek terrace, north of Damascus, Lebanon; in the temples of Milandu, an island in the Maldives archipelago, in the Indian Ocean, southwest of Sri Lanka and India; and in so many other places, attesting to the existence in the remote past of an advanced civilization capable of handling, transporting, cutting and polishing large stones and uniting them without mortar, a culture of Sun worshipers - among the Incas, according to several chroniclers, Manco Capac, the founder of the Inca Empire and first governor Cusco (1200-1230) was the one who instituted it in the 13th century - which spread throughout the world and was present even in Japan (the land of the rising sun!), Taking with it an old and improved technology that has been lost. Cultural links extend everywhere.

The largest megalith, the Tako-ishi or Octopus Stone, also called Drum Rock, which measures 11.7 meters in length by 5.5 meters in height, occupies an area of 59.43 square meters and weighs about 108 tons.Located at the end of the Sakuramon Gate courtyard, the main entrance to the inner courtyard (hommaru), the Octopus Stone, whose name derives from its octopus shape in the lower left corner, as well as the others that make up the wall, were built in 1624, at the beginning of the Edo Period, by Tadao Ikeda (a feudal lord from Okayama ordered to take control of this region by the Tokugawa shogunate) to protect the front entrance.

In addition to the Octopus Stone, the wall surrounding the Castle also includes four colossal stones over 100 tons and fifteen stones over 50 tons!How were these gigantic stones cut, transported and assembled in the middle of the Japanese Feudal Era? The magnitude of the constructions - in contrast to the apparent and supposed lack of technology of the time - makes us soon come up with fantastic theories.

Location: 1-1 Osakajo, Chuo Ward, Osaka, 540-0002 Latitude: 34° 41' 8.39" N Longitude: 135° 31' 19.79" E.

Learn more about Osaka Castle and other megalithic monuments in Japan on the Hidden Japan page of my website.

#osaka castle #cyclopean #walls #megalithic #japan #archaeology #history #ancientaliens

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pghbabesonbikes · 2 years

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2023 Frigid Bitch Training Rides

Tryin to prep for FBX? Need to bone up on your cuts around the city? Gotta practice layering up in various weather conditions? Hopin’ to meet some FB vets race crews you might be able to slide into?

- A pace: fast drop ride with longer mileage and more elevation. Will regroup at the tops of long/steep hills but generally will not wait for stragglers. ~16+ mph avg - B pace: ‘fit commuter’ pace, semi-drop, mid-level mileage and elevation. Will regroup at various points but may not wait for extended times. ~12-15 mpg avg - C pace: conversational social pace, no-drop, shorter routes, relatively few big hills. ~10-12 mph avg

If you are interested in leading or sweeping a pace group, please email us @ [email protected]!

All routes will also be posted as events on our Ride w GPS Club & Strava Club page

Two Frays Brewing will have space for bikes on their patio, outside heaters, indoor bathrooms, and coffee for sale. They’ll also have a couple new non-alcoholic beers on tap as well as their regular rotation. Stick around after the ride to hang out and compare ride recaps!

BEWARE: These rides are run in full Pgh Winter, so weather may mean routes take us over ice and snow. We may need to re-route mid ride depending on the conditions! Be ready for an adventure.

Sunday Feb 5th - Frigid Bitch 2021

Start/finish: Two Frays Brewing - 5113 Penn Ave in Garfield

Meet at 1pm, leave at 1:30pm!

A-pace route here

B-pace route here

C-pace route here

Previous routes:

Sunday Jan 1st - Frigid Bitch 2016

Start/finish: Two Frays Brewing - 5113 Penn Ave in Garfield

Meet at 1pm, leave at 1:30pm!

Full A-pace route: We’ll warm up by climbing Negley Ave (just a little big city hill), swing down Panther Hollow to hit the most obvious Pgh cobbles, take a dip into S Oakland and run the dead end of Romeo St staircase before climbing back up through Schenley Park for the pleasant commuter downhill of Pocusset St. Remember when the Greenfield Bridge was just rubble? From here we’ve got easy peasy double trail time from the Eliza Furnace, a quick jaunt thru the North Side, and back to the East End via the 3 Rivers Heritage Trail to 31st St Br. One more slog as we finish with a cobbled climb up McCandless and a fast downhill on Stanton back to Two Frays.

B-pace route: Cuts out the Romeo staircase and the North Side roads, keeping steady from the Eliza Furnace to the 3 Rivers trail. Optional end of ride cut: anyone who doesn’t fancy the cobbled climb up McCandless can stay on Penn after the 31st St Br and head back to Two Frays.

A-pace route here

B-pace route here

Full route cue sheet here

Sunday Jan 8th - Frigid Bitch 2017

Start/finish: Two Frays Brewing - 5113 Penn Ave in Garfield

Meet at 1pm, leave at 1:30pm!

C-pace route: 10-mile no-drop loop through the East End, featuring 2 mild hills - short and punchy up Bunker Hill to the Highland Park Reservoir and a longer steady climb up Wilkins into Oakland.

A-pace route here

B-pace route here

C-pace route here

Full route cue sheet here

Sunday Jan 15th - Frigid Bitch 2018

Start/finish: Two Frays Brewing - 5113 Penn Ave in Garfield

Meet at 1pm, leave at 1:30pm!

A-pace route here

B-pace route here

C-pace route here

Full route cue sheet here

Sunday Jan 22th - Frigid Bitch 2019

Start: Corner of Penn & Winebiddle

Fnish: Two Frays Brewing - 5113 Penn Ave in Garfield

Meet at 1pm, leave at 1:30pm!

A-pace route here

B-pace route here

C-pace route here

Full route cue sheet here

Sunday Jan 29th - Frigid Bitch 2020

Start/finish: Two Frays Brewing - 5113 Penn Ave in Garfield

Meet at 1pm, leave at 1:30pm!

B-pace route: Cuts out the Aspinwall Fire Station. Opts to climb Stanton instead, and drops down the hill to the take the Duncan St steps in reverse.

C-pace route: Dirty Jones returns for a short jaunt around the East End. Optional addition of the Highland Park loop.

A-pace route here

B-pace route here

C-pace route here

Full route cue sheet here

0 notes

dreadwulf · 4 years

Text

after every plan had failed and there was nothing more to tell

(pt. 1 is here)

It seems she will live after all.

Her body is stubborn. For all the damage done to it, it clings robustly to life. It does not require any desire on her part to live, it just goes on doing it. Her wounds close and bones mend, and day by day there is less pain than before.

Even after days without food, she does not simply fade away. She lingers, she feels, she sees. There is not much to see in her darkened tent where she is staked to the ground, but she sees things anyway. She thinks of the white beaches of Tarth and the waves breaking on the shore, and they are as real to her as her hand before her face. She can hear the roaring of the surf and smell the salt in the air. Remember, her mind is telling her. Tarth is still there. You can see it again.

In time she is hungry. It does not rouse her right away, but grows slowly and steadily until it seems to consume her entire being, slowly tormenting her awake until she eats the food they have brought her simply to be rid of the feeling.

Again her body has made her choices for her, and she will have to go along with it. After that, she eats whatever’s offered her, even if a bit sullenly. It makes her feel more herself, and she will need her strength if she is going to go on being alive.

Then they bring her heart back to her.

Two soldiers, heavy-handed, not knowing what riches they carry, lift the flap of her tent. They call out to her and when Brienne looks up she sees in silhouette a small figure, a boy, held between them.

“Pod!” The name escapes her lips like a bark of pain. Pod is dead. It cannot be. This is a cruel trick.

“My lady ser!” The boy squirms in the guards’ grasp, kicking at the air. They jerk him this way and that and finally release him; the boy hits the ground running and rushes straight for Brienne.

Podrick falls on her weeping so she can barely make out what he is saying. “My lady Ser, after that night I thought you were surely dead. When I learned the Lannisters had you I came to help.”

Over them the soldiers frown. “He was trying to rescue you. He managed to injure two of us. Not very badly - he isn’t much with a blade.”

Brienne holds him at arm’s length and looks him over, trembling. “You are unhurt? How is this possible?”

The boy hiccups, tears and snot running down his face. “I was playing dead, my lady. When the fighting started I took a blow to the head and fell down, but it seemed sensible to stay there. I saw milord Jaime hit you with his dagger and you went down too. I laid still amongst the bodies until the shouting stopped and the soldiers rode away. Next morning I looked and looked for you and you weren’t anywhere. I thought you must have burnt up, with the Dread Lady.”

He sniffles and looks utterly miserable. Brienne wipes at his face with her sleeve.

“I am well, Pod,” she lies. “What about Ser Hyle?”

He shakes his head no. She does not inquire further.

“The Brotherhood is gone. The soldiers killed many of them and the rest scattered. The Red Priest ran off into the woods. I was too scared to go very far at first and then I couldn’t find where they had gone, but I saw Lannister banners at Pennytree and I followed them back here. I’m sorry Ser, I meant to rescue you but I failed.”

She holds onto the lad tightly. “Thank you,” she tells him over and over. At least he tried.

The guards shift restlessly as they embrace, until at last they seem to lose patience. “You will come now and join the other boys, squire. There are several lads your age we are keeping in this camp, and you will sleep with them.”

A fierceness that Brienne does not recognize rises up suddenly within her. “You keep children as prisoners? Have you no honor? Let the boy go. He is no danger to you.”

They are unmoved. “We’ll take good care of him. Come on now.”

“Please, at least allow him to stay with me!” she pleads with them. Here, she can protect him, even if she cannot set him free.

Too many hands grab at him, drag him up and away from her. “He will stay with the others. Come now.”

Brienne snarls at them like an angry mongrel, but she cannot prevent the soldiers taking Pod away. Not while she is chained to the ground, and weakened by injury.

She recovers herself in earnest after that. Podrick needs her; she must be strong, alert. If indeed she is given the opportunity to leave, or even if she is not, she must escape. Wherever Pod and these other children are imprisoned, she will free them. They will return to the road, find somewhere safe to ride out the winter.

The next morning they march. Well, Brienne does not march - she rides in a wagon with the army provisions, her hands bound. Around her the Lannister army is on the move, men on foot and horseback with arms and provisions, moving slowly but steadily from morning to night. It is a monotonous journey but the ride is almost pleasant -- the chilly air and dim sunshine are refreshing after so long in a darkened tent, and they return her strength to her rapidly. She still winces at every jolt, the wagon bumping over the snowy terrain reminding her of every wound she carries. But it is less and less, and day by day she is stronger.

This will heal, he had said.

When Brienne has strength enough, she might leap from the wagon and make a run for it. But she does not know where they are keeping Podrick, and so she will wait. She does not know what she is waiting for, but she will know the moment when it arrives.

When you escape the villainous Kingslayer in the Riverlands you can safely journey North, or wherever decent people go now.

Jaime Lannister rides at the front of the army on his destrier Glory, a magnificent grey stallion dressed in the crimson of his house. His golden hair shimmers with flakes of snow when she catches sight of him, and his mien is grim and serious. He does not look upon her.

Perhaps he means her to take the initiative, and get herself out of his sight. Part of her wants to do it, to run away and away and never come back. Another part of her simply wants him to look on her again, just once more. Let her tell him again how she had agonized over her choice, so that he might despise her just a little bit less. One ounce of forgiveness, and she will ask for nothing more in all her life.

Jaime does not come back to her. While they are stopped at the end of each day Brienne stares at the tent flap well into the night but he does not appear. Only her meals come to her, and she finishes them. She stands, cautiously, so much as her chains will allow, and moves her body experimentally, testing her limits.

She must be strong for Pod.

After several days of marching, when the sun is dipping in the sky and they stop to make camp, Brienne is left behind in the wagon to contemplate the sunset until they have put up her tent and prepared her shackles. But this time the guards who have staked her into the ground each night and left her, they instead bring her to the Commander’s tent and bid her stand between them, her hands bound together.

She is filthy, her hair caked with dirt, and her own blood is dried on her clothing, on her skin. Amongst the finery of the Lord Commander’s tent, where everything is clean and polished and fine, she feels even more unkempt and ungainly. She stands between her guards and slumps, her chin nearly resting on her collarbone.

The Lord Commander takes no note of her, seemingly. His armor is gleaming, his crimson cloak spotless at the edge of her vision. He stands behind a fine desk that they have seemingly carried across the Riverlands for him. All around him is crimson and gold, the ghastly colors of House Lannister. In the torchlight the billowing walls look bloody and foreboding.

He scrawls orders and hands them to men who run eagerly out of the room. He takes messages from other men who come running in. Something is happening of great import, she gathers, and it must have to do with where they are headed to. She hears fleet and Golden Company, and references to someone called Aegon. Named for the dead prince? There is an invasion, it seems, by some other forces who march under the Targaryen banner. Brienne hadn’t thought there were any Targaryens left. Regardless, someone is marching on King’s Landing, and the Lannister forces are racing back to the capital to aid in its defense.

After a time of quiet conference with his men, Lord Lannister raises his voice just loud enough for her to hear.

“We camp at Maidenpool tomorrow, and then to King’s Landing. Set camp just south of the hills, a good distance from the hamlet - there are Tully supporters sheltering there, and we should not court skirmishes at this time. We will have battles enough ahead of us when we reach the capital.”

Brienne listens carefully. Tully supporters. Might she reach them there, and travel with them North? If she tells them she has escaped from the Lannister camp, will they believe her? She does not know what news has traveled of the Brotherhood’s demise, whether she is denounced a traitor or praised an ally of that grim fellowship. The Brotherhood had hung her, but would anyone still living know that?

Again Jaime’s voice cuts into her whirling thoughts. “The Riverlands are riled after we dispersed the Brotherhood, but we left few survivors to tell the tale and none would know what precisely occurred. We should not antagonize them, but I do not expect any trouble.”

Though he does not look at her, she knows for certain this last is aimed precisely at her. He may stand surrounded by his men, and speaks to them, the words are meant for her ears.

Brienne’s eyes widen. He has summoned her here to seemingly no purpose other than to overhear this information. Why is he doing this?

His eyes flickering to her capture this reaction, and as quickly shut it down. With a dismissive gesture he addresses the guards at her elbows. “Take the oathbreaker back to her cell. I can’t stand to look on her a moment longer.”

Tomorrow, she thinks again. Tomorrow I must escape. And then Jaime will march on and I will never see him again.

“My lord,” she speaks up as her guards take her by the arm, “don’t you wish to interrogate me? There is much that I can tell you.”

Let me explain. I’ll tell you everything. Only give me a chance.

He dismisses her with a wave of his hand. “I know all I need to.”

“At least free the boy,” she suddenly pleads, and at her plaintive tone her captors slow and stop. “He has raised no arms against you.”

Jaime hands a new missive over, and several of his lieutenants rush from the tent.

Desperately, she raises her voice. “Please, Ser. He had no part in my actions. He was a prisoner of the Brotherhood just as you were. He is a cousin to your Ser Illyn, is he not? His name is Podrick Payne.”

“I know,” the Lord Commander responds, finally, without looking up from his missive. “I know very well who I have taken into this camp. Ser Illyn has little use for a squire and less for a child, so he is staying with the other boys. I spoke to the lad myself and he seems in good health.”

He interrogated poor Podrick? Brienne is incensed. Her hands form fists at her sides, at least partly in frustration that even now he will not look at her, and she draws herself up straight and tall.

“You would imprison and question a child? How many children have you taken from their homes, that they have their own jailers?”

Several unpleasant expressions pass across his face in succession. The last is harder, and angrier. The letter falls to his desk forgotten, as Jaime comes around his desk and approaches her in sharp strides.

“The boy,” he tells her firmly, stopping just before her, “is comfortable. We had a perfectly pleasant conversation, no tortures involved. You can ask him of it yourself.”

He holds her gaze firmly now, his green eyes steely and sharp. Though she wants to falter, she stands her ground. Looks right back, and does not blink.

“Did he tell you what happened with the Brotherhood?”

“He tells me you were forced to betray me to save his life.”

For the first time, Brienne feels a spark of hope. Surely he must believe Podrick’s tale, he is only a boy, and too frightened to lie. “Then you believe us?”

His smile is cutting. “I’ve decided that your actions were more in stupidity than malice, yes.”

“Stupidity, Ser?” She gapes at him, shocked. “I had no other choice!”

“You might have asked me for help.”

Brienne is thunderstruck by the simplicity of the idea, which she had so quickly dismissed at the time.

“Ask you to willingly make yourself a hostage? To save two people you had never met? I had assumed you would say no.”

His eye twitches subtly, almost invisibly. His voice sounds dispassionate, but he is not.

“Did it not occur to you there were other solutions? I have an army, we might have simply invaded their camp.”

She falters. It sounds so reasonable now. “They would have killed Pod and Ser Hyle the second they saw your soldiers.”

“And you wouldn’t risk them.”

“No.”

“But you could risk me.” He lands on the last word like a blow, and there, there it is, the hurt. His face tightens, and he swallows. The wound her betrayal opened bleeds still, though he covers it well.

There’s no way to respond to his accusation, because obviously she could take that risk. She did. She hadn’t thought of it that way because she had no intention of letting any harm come to him. She had some idea that if she played along, followed their rules, honor would show her the way to get them all clear of it alive. She would have risked any kind of harm to herself to make that happen.

Maybe it was stupidity, after all.

She bites her lip hard, and then tries to explain. “They told me there were spies in your camp, loyal to the Brotherhood, and if I tried to warn you they would kill us all.”

He scoffs, stepping back from her. “What would they need you for then? Why not have these ‘spies’ murder me themselves? There is no sense to your story.”

She hangs her head again, has to look away. “I know it makes little sense, Ser. I think they meant only to be as cruel as possible. They wanted to take you alive, for their sport.”

Jaime laughs. “I gathered that. I saw enough of their sport before my men came to my rescue.”

He had. The Brotherhood had put him in stocks, kicked him, spat on him. And Lady Stark had-- but it wasn’t really Lady Stark. It was a monster.

His cruel smile tightens; he is remembering the same scene, she knows it. How it must have looked from his position. How nightmarish. And her the cause of it, leading him blithely to his doom.

Accusingly, he goes on. “If Ser Ilyn hadn’t followed us your Brotherhood would have roasted me on a spit. Or worse.”

As earnestly as she can, she tells him: “I would never have allowed that.”

“Forgive me if I don’t find that especially comforting,” he snaps. “I don’t fault you for trading a Kingslayer’s life for that of an innocent child. But you cannot expect me to trust in you after that. Not ever again.”

“But you can,” Brienne says breathlessly. “I swear to you that you can.”

“Swear it on what? Your honor?”

She flinches.

Brienne takes a deep breath, fighting to keep her voice from quavering like a child’s. “You march to battle at the capital, I heard you say. Return the sword to me and I will aid you.”

Jaime takes no time to consider her offer.

“No. I will find another to wield Oathkeeper. You are not worthy of it.”

Her vision blurs. She closes her eyes over the tears but it can’t stop them trickling down her face. The best she can do is stay silent and not break out sobbing, though the sobs are there, caught in her chest like an animal in a trap.

“Take her back over the hillside,” she hears Jaime say, and she allows the guards to lead her away.

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

The hillside is not a convenient way back to her shackles. It requires that she be led outside the camp and a little way up an incline, so that she can see against the setting sun the entirety of the camp spread out before her, and to the other side a grassy valley dusted with a layer of snow.

She sees them over the rise now, through the tears still shimmering in her eyes. A small crowd of boys running together freely over the valley, playing some sort of game. Sliding in the snow, crashing into one another purposefully. Their laughter and shouting reaches her on the wind, and she thinks she can hear Pod’s amongst them, where he races towards their shared goal.

These boys don’t look like prisoners. They look more like wards of the camp, and well cared-for. They aren’t locked up anywhere. They look happy.

“Call them back for supper,” one of her jailers says to the other, “and take this one back to the holding tent.”

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

Brienne lies on her back in the holding tent and her tears dry on her face.

She had it wrong about the children, clearly. And he wanted her to know it. It seems it bothered Jaime that she would think so little of him. Her opinion of him still matters at least this much.

He cannot entirely hate her, if that is so.

But Oathkeeper… she opens and closes her hand at her side and she can still feel the place where the lion’s head pressed against her palm, feel the weight of it in her muscles, the perfect balance of it as the blade cut through the air. Her magic sword. She will never hold such a blade again.

He is right; she is not worthy of a valyrian sword. What has she ever done but fail? Fail repeatedly and worse, and become ever more ragged and battered in the process. She has been a poor knight; she has broken all her oaths and lost her honor.

Maybe Pod would be better off here. With boys his own age, safe and well fed and out of danger.

She might believe that, except that they are marching into some kind of battle at King’s Landing. Surely the Crown forces, added to House Lannister banners, can handle any sort of attack with ease, but the thought of Podrick squiring for some stranger fills her with frustration and worry.

Podrick came to help her; she has to be worthy of that. She will have to find her way back to honor, and bring Pod with her. Perhaps someday, with great striving, she will accomplish something deserving of the faith that has been placed in her, and in so doing earn it back.

Maybe then Jaime will forgive her.

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

The boys are dumping snow over each other when she sees them next, in the morning, when she has been allowed to relieve herself outside. Two smaller ones had filled a bucket with snow and overturned it on an older boy when he stopped to fix his boot. Then they had all shrieked and run, gathering snow midstride and forming hurried snowballs to fling at one another. She stops to look at them, fixing her trousers between the guards perpetually at her elbow.

She hears laughter, so familiar it makes her ache.

Brienne turns to look for him, could not have stopped herself turning to him if she had tried. She finds Jaime standing not far away. He looks like he has just risen from his bed, not yet fully dressed in his commander’s gear. His golden hair is slightly wet and in disarray, as though he has just splashed water across his face. He must have been passing by and, like her, stopped to watch their antics.

When he notices her his laughter dies. For a moment he just looks at her, and she looks at him.

Then he gestures after the shouting boys.

“Noble sons of the Riverlands. They’re intended to be hostages, but I have more or less forgotten to imprison them, and they have more or less forgotten to escape. I suppose we will have to leave them behind soon, when we march to King’s Landing. I think the men will miss their adventures, when they are gone.”

She speaks up quickly. “I mistook you Ser. My apologies.”

He nods shortly, and visibly relaxes.

“My squire has neglected me,” Jaime says, gesturing to his disheveled state. He sounds far better humored than the day prior. “He has been running about with the boys, supposedly monitoring your young Podrick. Well, I won’t begrudge Peck a few more months of playing in the snow. One can’t do it forever, and he will be of age soon, and I’ll have to knight him. No more snowballs after that.”

He stops himself. Turns his head away. It seems he must remind himself to be angry with her, and not to fall back into the kind of easy rapport they once had.

Before her guards can react, she breaks out into a run - painful and listing, ungraceful - the twenty feet to reach his side and grasps Jaime by the arm so that he will turn his face back to her. She has to see his face. Today they will reach Maidenpool.

He lifts his hand to the guards, to keep them at bay, and glares at her challengingly. His beloved face, beautiful and cruel, turns back to her.

Her heart pounds in her ears, drowning out all else. She must try again. What can she do? What can she possibly say to make up for what she has done?

It pains him, though not so much as it pains her. This double-edged blade they are both gripping onto, when perhaps they should let it go.

“Why are you doing this?” she asks in a low voice, so that no one can overhear. “I know you have not forgiven me. Would you really help me now? You would release me to your enemies, where I could do any amount of damage to you?”

Jaime laughs. It is a mirthless laugh, one she has heard him give many times before she understood how much it concealed behind it.

“I don’t know why. I suppose…” he trails off. His green eyes appear uncertain, and then he is slipping out of her grasp. “I suppose I’m a great golden fool.”

Before she can reply, he turns and disappears into his tent.

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

The ride to Maidenpool is uneventful, and she dozes through much of it as she rocks back and forth in the provisions wagon. As they reach the edges of the Riverlands the rood becomes smoother, and in contrast the snow falls heavier. The horizon turns white, and a terrible quiet falls over the countryside.

She wakes with a jolt when they begin to unpack the wagon. Dazed, she climbs out from the back, sees in the distance the smoke and movement of the hamlet in the fading afternoon light, and shivers in the icy breeze.

Maidenpool. Where Tully sympathizers might receive her. Jaime told her she would escape, and this is where she will do it. Perhaps in the night, when everyone is asleep. Perhaps right now, while they are unpacking the wagon. She stands and stares at a puff of smoke lazily lifting into and merging with the cloudy sky.

“You stink,” today’s guard tells her, when he grabs her by the arm. She could throw him to the ground if she wanted, but she does not.

In her tent she sits and thinks, and watches the tent flap all night long.

In the morning they bypass the breakfast cookfire and the ditch where the soldiers have done their business. “We’re taking you to bathe in the brook while the others strike camp.”

You must want me to freeze to death, she thinks. No stream would be bearable in this cold.

But she does not think on it much at all as she walks between their armored shoulders, their blonde heads bobbing several inches below hers. She only walks, and watches her breath cloud the air. Inside she is quiet and blank as untouched snow.

Behind a stand of trees, her companions prod her forwards. They will remain here. She is to keep walking.

There before her, through the trees, is the brook. Unfrozen as yet, though no doubt as cold as ice, and babbling merrily.

Waiting beside it is Jaime, in his fine commander’s armor, and nearby him nibbling at a spare patch of grass stands a pretty chestnut mare.

For a moment she cannot move.

Of course he kept his word. He had not even really given it, but somehow she had never doubted him.

She walks to him like a sleepwalker, slowly. He does not hear her at first, over the sound of water. Not until she is close enough that she could easily overpower him, if she had wanted to. They are alone here together, and she is at his back, and he is unguarded. Relaxed, unconcerned. It is in a way an accusation, and an admission.

“This is where you escape,” he tells her, turning.

Here? Now? But Jaime is riding straight to King’s Landing to defend it, and she will have no more plausible opportunities to run away.

“I cannot leave without Pod,” she protests, and he smiles.

“I know.” Jaime gestures behind her, into the trees.

When Podrick appears through the trees, he is breathless with laughter, his cheeks ruddy, and she almost doesn’t recognize the quiet, downcast boy who had followed her from King’s Landing. Beside him is an older boy, taller and skinnier, with just the beginnings of a beard. He grabs Pod around the shoulders affectionately and rubs his head, mussing his hair in all directions. They look more like brothers than a chaperone and a captive.

Her heart grows even heavier, seeing that.

“It was the worst thing I have ever done,” she says suddenly, very aware of Jaime standing at her side. “Lying to you. I hated it, and I hated myself for doing it. If there had been any other way --”

“You did the right thing,” he says, solemn, still watching Podrick and Peck. “The right thing is often the worst thing, I can tell you that better than anyone.”

She wonders then what he is thinking - is this why he is helping her now? Is he comparing her to his younger self, her soiled reputation like his own? But then, who is her Aerys Targaryen?

“Peck,” Jaime says to the older boy. “Did you bring it?”

“Of course, Ser.” The older boy takes something out from under his arm. “The boys were quite impressed with it, like you said. I had to fight to keep them from running off with it themselves, once we snuck it out of the armory.”

“Good work.” Jaime takes the linen-wrapped item from his squire. “I assume you took the opportunity to try it out yourself?”

The skinny lad looks abashed, and Jaime claps him on the shoulder. “Of course you did.”

Podrick, grinning, ambles to Brienne’s side and squeezes her arm. He looks like he’s had a fine time. “Ready to go?” he asks her.

Still, she hesitates. “But I -- I don’t have --”

“You do.” Jaime hands her the wrapped bundle. “This is how you got away. Your squire snuck away from his games and attacked Peck here, and he found you bathing in the brook. Or something like that, I’ll work out the details.”

She knows the weight of it immediately. Oathkeeper. He’s giving it back to her. “But you said --”

He cuts her off. “You won’t get far in the Riverlands without a blade.”

“Not this blade.” She tries to meet his eyes. “I cannot wield this sword and call it Oathkeeper when I betrayed you with it.”

He keeps his grass-green eyes on their hands, where he pushes the sword at her. “You can. You swore me no oath, so no oaths were broken.”

I could swear new oaths, she thinks. I could swear them to you. I would fight with you in King’s Landing, I would fight for your son. For you.

It strikes her that there is nearly nothing she would not do for him, if he only asked. In that moment she knows herself better than perhaps she ever has, knows that all she has ever wanted was for someone to rely on her, to have complete faith in her. Jaime had that once, and now it is gone. He will not ask.

“Thank you,” she whispers. How do you thank someone for your life, and for being in it, even if only briefly? Words seem insufficient.

She wanted it to be him. She wanted to restore him to honor and to have his admiration for it, wanted that as much as she had ever wanted Renly’s regard. More, if she is honest.

If he says something, she tells herself. If he says anything, even one word, I will stay. I will pledge him my sword, and fight for him.

But Jaime says nothing more. Not to her. He and his squire help Pod to mount the chestnut mare, and he is advising the boy to keep working on his swordplay, if his rescue attempt was any indication he is going to need a lot more practice.

Brienne straps Oathkeeper to the fine leather saddle and watches Jaime for any sign. But he’s not even looking at her. If he’s not looking at Pod or Peck he’s looking up at the treetops, at the sky. Anywhere but her.

It seems there is nothing left for either of them to say.

So she mounts the chestnut horse with Podrick and rides away.

#ring of fire #the worst-case scenario fic continues!#this is really rough but I'm working on not taking months to fix every little thing so here #tumblr fic

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