#I forgot to colour his little leaf things but it’s okay

[aquamarinebling]

vinny posting on a friday afternoon

[super-unpredictable98]

Comes in Waves (The Clinic AU)

Pairing: Shane x Reader

Word Count: 990

Warning: Strong language, needles

a/n: NEW CHARACTER ALERT! It took me a while to bring you guys someone new, but here he is. Keeping my promise to write for all of Rob's characters at least once, here's Shane who stole our hearts in only a little over 6 minutes.

(Masterlist)

"Hey, do you have zinc left?" A voice behind you called.

"Yeah, pick a colour," you chuckled, pointing at your backpack while you carefully waxed your board.

Shane wasn't a stranger, but he also wasn't exactly your friend. He was more like an acquaintance, you bumped into each other sometimes at the Aileens and maybe talked for a minute or two, but so far that was it.

He was a nice guy, weirdly strong for how skinny he looked, and although his hair was definitely influenced by 2000s emo boy bands, he wasn't bad looking. In fact, you caught yourself looking forward to seeing him at times, not that you ever said anything.

"Oh shit���" Shane muttered, seeing the time on your phone when he tried to find the zinc.

"Everything okay?" You asked, suddenly worried he saw something you didn't even know you had in your bag. Your mind went through the endless possibilities from used condoms to dead rat, from bloody pads to human remains, maybe drugs or a copy of Fifty Shades of Grey.

"I forgot to take my insulin," he sighed, grabbing his own backpack to check if he even brought it.

"You're diabetic?" You mused. You felt stupid for not knowing, but it's not like the subject would've come up in conversation between you two.

"Mmhm," he nodded, taking the pen injector out and smiling. "Oh thank God I don't have to go all the way back home."

Although he seemed relieved to have found the medication, his face also clearly let his worry show. Even after a couple years of his diagnosis, Shane still wasn't so good at injecting himself and he was still quite scared of needles, which left him embarrassed whenever he had to do it in public.

He scrunched up his nose and looked at the applicator as if considering if that was a good idea or if he should just go home and ask for his mother's help again. On a good day, it took him about fifteen minutes just to get the nerve to do it, but he was already past his time and truly didn't wanna seem like a wimp in front of you.

"What is it?" You finally asked.

"Um… nothing."

"Are you scared?"

"I'm just not a fan of needles, that's all," Shane chuckled nervously, trying to sound as chill as possible.

You wanted to smile, it was adorable the way his voice faltered a little and how he tried to seem so nonchalant about the whole thing when he was clearly shaking like a leaf.

"You know, my little sister is diabetic, I've done this for her a few times, do you want me to try?" You offered without even thinking first. You were not that intimate, but somehow you just couldn't watch him struggle and do nothing about it.

"Really? Would you?" His face lit up.

"Yeah, no problem," you assured.

When he turned around for you to unzip his suit though, then you realized what you were doing and all the blood rushed to your face. You reached for the zipper and slowly pulled it down, exposing his back and his (quite nice) shoulders.

He pulled the suit off and you were able to see the lean muscles on his arms, the discreet treasure trail that started on his navel, and the adorable mole he had near his collarbone.

"Everything alright?" He asked this time noticing how you were paralyzed just staring.

"S-sure, sorry, I was just trying to remember if I locked the door when I left," you spewed the first bullshit excuse that popped into your head. "Can I do it?"

"Please," he set the right dosage and handed you the injector along with the little disinfectant tissue to clean the area before.

"Alright, look at me, don't focus on that," you instructed as you carefully wiped a spot on the side of his stomach. "When did you start surfing, Shane?"

"Well, I-" he flinched when he felt the needle approaching his skin, pulling away from you and almost making you laugh. "Sorry, I'll stay still."

"It's okay, just focus on the story," you encouraged, moving as fast as you could while still trying to do things swiftly enough for him not to notice.

"I started when I was ten, I saw Green Iguana and really wanted to do it myself," Shane started, not even realizing as you punctured his skin and pressed the top. "I didn't have lessons or anything, I just borrowed my mate's board and watched lots of videos for beginners, he helped me a little too…"

"All done," you put the cover back on the pen and gave it back to him. "But I'd love to hear more about how you started."

"Jesus, you really are good at that!" He gasped, looking down at his stomach in awe. "How did you do it so fast?"

"A magician never reveals their tricks," you teased. "Besides, if I tell you, you'll never ask me to do it again."

"Do it again?" Shane repeated, a little puzzled by the suggestion.

"Come on, the waves are looking great right now," you took your board before he could think more about the implications of what you just said.

"Wait! Wait, you really don't mind doing this for me?" Shane asked, taking his board as well and following you to the ocean.

You shook your head, involuntarily letting your eyes linger a little too long on his naked chest, which certainly made you blush once again.

"How about I thank you?" He finally seemed to understand why you were so flustered every time you two met and he had to admit he also felt that way. "We can grab something to eat on the way back, my treat."

"I'll think about it," you smirked before taking off and jumping in the water. "But you'll have to catch me first!"

Tag List: @elliethesuperfruitlover @salvador-daley @seanfalco @firstpersonnarrator

[prfctethereal]

bad idea. | remus lupin

thank u, next x marauders

alexa, play bad idea by ariana grande 

pairing: remus lupin x reader (rivals to lovers)

summary: you and remus are rivals. after james and sirius find out about your fear of werewolves, they use it to exploit you, and help remus

word count: 4,393 (i'm sorry)

warnings: violence, language, mentions of trauma

a/n: haven't worked on this series in a while but whatever lol. this piece took my like two months from when I first started it because I kept changing it but oh well, enjoy - kennedy

***

Nothing felt better than being top in the class academically. Seeing the perfectly round ‘O’ at the top of a paper after getting it back was one of the few things that made me truly happy and proud of myself. I always thought that getting all these excellent marks would place me first place in my class, but I guess I was wrong. Unfortunately, I wasn’t first place. I was first equal.

Remus Lupin: the only person who could give me a run for my money. Every day in class was a battle to see who would win the unspoken competition. Subtle glances, snide comments, rolling eyes, you name it. It was even harder with the fact that Remus was a lot of the time my work partner as most teachers had the same idea of pairing up their brightest students.

I didn’t necessarily hate the guy. There was just something in my guts that made me nervous around him, something disguised as a disliking. He was just too friendly, it didn’t make sense why out of everyone, he didn’t like me.

***

Another day, another frustration. Potions class had started and it was brewing day. The classroom was stuffy, making it hard to breathe through my tightly collared shirt. My hair was pulled off my face as I tried desperately to cut up fluxweed into manageable. The swimming fumes of the half done potion was flooding my senses and making it hard to see or perceive anything that was going on. It was roulette for the cutting knife and my finger.

“You’re doing it wrong.” Remus muttered under his breath, bringing his attention to how I was preparing the ingredients. Huffing, he pulled the cutting board towards his side of the work bench and held out his hand, asking for the knife silently.

“Don’t I get a say in this?” I scowled, reluctantly handing over the knife to the rough looking boy. My eyes lingered a little too long over his delicate skin, mentally tracing each and every one of his mysterious scars, until my thoughts were cut still by Remus shoving the cut weeds in front of me.

“I hope you know how to put them in the cauldron.” There was a hint of cheek in his comment which I glossed over, poking my tongue out of my mouth and turning away from him, doing what he said. One by one, I carefully dropped the fluxweed into the bubbling concoction.

Grabbing my wand, I mixed the potion, watching Remus out of the corner of my eye. He seemed fixed and concentrated on cutting the leeches up, ignoring my presence completely. It wasn’t unusual to get the cold shoulder from my potions partner, but somehow, it still hurt like the very first time.

“Add these in now.” Remus commanded nonchalantly, pushing the cut up leeches onto the bench for me. Rolling my eyes, I brought my forefinger and thumb to the nearest leech and picked it up, feeling the grimy texture on my skin. All of a sudden, I felt a burst on pain ripple through my finger, my vocal chords letting out a loud yelp, as the leech’s teeth bit deep into my forefinger. Looking down, a thick line of blood was dripping down my finger, the leech still connected to my skin.

“Are you okay?” Remus must’ve heard my cry and immediately turned to me. He brought his hands to mine, gently cradling my bleeding wound. There must’ve been some poison in the leech’s venom as my finger started to discolour and turn a worrying shade of black. Even my head was feeling lightheaded. Trying to keep my balance, I placed my nondominant hand on the workbench to help keep me up, but it failed, falling into Remus’ arms.

“No.” I croaked out, the pain almost unbearable now. The veins on my hand were red and livid, with a dark, black bruise circling the bite mark. The leech was removed from my finger, probably by Remus, and my wound was on clear display. To top it all off, blood must’ve dropped into the ongoing potion as it was hissing angrily, turning a deep purple, not the soft yellow colour that it should’ve been. “You said you cut all the leeches. Why was that bloody thing alive?”

“I’m sorry.” Remus helped to sit me down on a chair but I was failing to keep my weight on my feet, toppling over at the slightest change in balance. My head was swarming with pain and white splotches danced in the corners of my vision. “I thought I cut them all. I didn’t realise I had missed any.”

By now, Professor Slughorn had come to see what the commotion was all about and had seen me barely conscious on a stool. He was trying to communicate but all I was focused on was the infection spreading up my hand. All the veins on my hand were now brick red, throbbing desperately. Shooting tendrils of pain were spiraling up my arm; a one way track to my heart and lungs. The only thing keeping my tethered to reality was Remus’ tight hold on my body, keeping me up right and conscious.

“Take her to the infirmary.” I could just make out what Professor Slughorn was saying by the way his lips moved and the vague sounds coming from his mouth. My lips involuntarily squinted as I felt myself being hoisted up and forced to walk out of the classroom, Remus’ tight grip around my waist never faltering.

He seemed desperate to keep a conversation with me going, talking to me the entire way to the hospital wing, trying to keep me from passing out. We were just about halfway there when my feet got caught up in the ground and my eyes succumbed to the white light ebbing my vision. My eyes rolled back into my head as I passed out in Remus’ arms.

***

“She just passed out?” Sirius asked, almost incredulous as Remus retold his encounter with Y/N from earlier in the day.

The four marauders were sitting in the grand hall, slowly munching away at their lunch. Guiltily, Remus took small bites, feeling remorseful as he knew Y/N wouldn’t be able to spend her lunchtime in the grand hall too. She was still in the hospital wing being treated for something Remus did.

“Flabbergasted leech! I forgot that they were deadly venomous. I should’ve been more careful when cutting them up.” Remus stabbed angrily at his salad, twirling his fork in exhaustion, his eyes never looking up to meet his friends.

“It’s not your fault, mate,” James tried stepping in to calm him down, placing his hand on Remus’ shoulder in a calculated manner. “Anyway, I thought you hated her.”

Remus scoffed, taking a bite out of a stray lettuce leaf. “I don’t hate her. She just gets on my nerves. Always trying to get top in the class. I don’t even care about being top, it just pisses me off that she tries so much.”

“But why?” Peter shrugged, a confused look on his face as Remus pondered the question.

In all honesty, Remus had no idea why he had such a negative attitude towards Y/N. Something about her always riled him up in a way he never expected. He just had to get on her nerves and annoy her. It was like he craved to come out better than her.

“I don’t know. I just really want to knock her down a peg. I’m not sure if it’s the full moon talking but I just want to annoy her in some shape or form, y’know?”

“Let’s prank her. Rile her up a bit.” Sirius suggested playfully, poking Remus with the fork in his hand, prodding at the thinking boy.

“Maybe. She’s already pretty pissed at me because of the leech situation. I don’t want to get her even more annoyed.” Remus looked quickly between the three other boys, who already seemed encapsulated in another conversation. “Whatever, I don’t care. Prank her if you want. After the full moon tonight though.”

Sirius’ face lit up with delight when he heard those words fall from Remus’ lips. “Alright! That’s more like it.”

Clapping Remus on the back, James nodded eagerly, mischievous looks bouncing between the three of them. Remus couldn’t care less. All he could think about was if Y/N was okay.

***

Stumbling through the halls, I managed to find my way to the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom. I had just been discharged from the hospital wing, with Madame Pomfrey advising me to stay longer. I left though; I hated missing class. Also, Professor Merrythought said that it was going to be a practical lesson today and I didn’t want to miss it.

Apparently, there was still a little bit of poison left in my bloodstream, but according to Madame Pomfrey, it would be all out of my system by tomorrow morning. I just had to be careful that I didn’t injure myself anymore.

Standing outside the door, I swiftly knocked and entered the classroom. I wasn’t entirely late; class had only started ten minutes ago. Everyone seemed to be crowded on one end of the classroom, so I easily blended in with the group of students. Without acknowledgement, Professor Merrythought continued on with her lesson, only a slight look in my direction to tell that she was aware that I had shown up.

“Can anyone tell me what is in this wardrobe?” Professor Merrythought asked the class. Annoyed, I realised that I couldn’t answer the question as I hadn’t been there for the start of the class and had missed all the introduction. Scowling, I noticed Remus’ hand shoot up in the air. “Yes, Mr Lupin?”

“It’s a boggart.” Remus started, blissfully unaware that I had arrived in class. “A boggart doesn’t have a permanent form and takes the shape of what fears you most. No one knows what it looks like when it isn’t in the form of a fear.” He finished smuggly, a cocky grin smothered all over his face. Unknowingly to him, he had forgotten a crucial detail.

When Remus finished his monologue, I raised my hand up from behind him, a sly smile also on my face. Professor Merrythought caught my hand with her eye and nodded sweetly at me. “Yes, Miss L/N?”

Remus spun around. His brows were knitted together and he looked annoyed, that cheeky grin wiped off his face. Winking at him discreetly, I continued with what I was going to say. “The incantation to eradicate the boggart is Riddikulus, though it won’t banish the boggart indefinitely; only disarm it temporarily. While saying the charm, you must think of an element of fun as the only thing to get rid of a boggart is to get rid of the fear itself.”

“Exactly.” Professor Merrythought began addressing the class. “Now, I would like you all to go off and practise saying the charm for ten minutes. Then we can reconvene and practise on the actual boggart.”

Leaving the group of students, I went off to a quiet corner, muttering “riddikulus” over and over under my breath. Pointing my wand and waving it with the right hand motion, I practised the charm, until I felt a warm hand on my shoulder, waking me from my daze.

“Remarkable work, L/N. I see hospital life wasn’t treating you too well? You’re back sooner than I expected.” Remus quipped, obviously trying to start a quarrel with me.

“Oh, well, I wouldn’t want to miss a lesson of Defence Against the Dark Arts, would I? Then I wouldn’t get to see your darling face.” I replied sarcastically, a fake sickly sweet undertone in my voice.

“You’ve seemed to mistake my friendliness as infatuation. I must change my attitude towards you immediately.” His voice was trying to come out dauntingly, but it was quite cute.

“You’ve must’ve interpreted my words incorrectly. You see, it wasn’t my longing for you that made me turn up to class. It was actually because I didn’t want your ego to get too big, thinking you were the top student. I came to class to put you in your place.”

The sternness in his face seemed to let go as he noticed how serious my tone was. I admit, it was quite harsh but I didn’t care now. My message went across loud and clear. Unfortunately, our conversation was interrupted by Professor Merrythought calling us students back to the wardrobe.

“So,” Remus said, starting a conversation, “what’s your biggest fear?”

I chuckled slightly, turning to look at Remus’ genuine face. “Honestly, I have no idea. I wouldn’t know where to start when thinking about my fears. Maybe failure? I’m not sure.” I let the vulnerability fall from my lips, forgetting that it was my biggest rival that I was talking to. “What about you?”

“Same. Haven’t a clue.” Remus said as we arrived at the group. Remus walked slightly away from me, back towards his group of friends, so I walked up to some nice Ravenclaw girls that I had always gotten along with and listened to Professor Merrythought speak.

“Alright kids, I’d like for you to make a single file line. Miss L/N, Mr Lupin, since you two have the most knowledge already about boggarts, can you please start off today?”

Nodding, I walked to the front of the line, Remus getting in behind me. Behind us, the rest of our class formed a line, ready to get their hands on a boggart.

“Now, Miss L/N, what’s your biggest fear?”

Reiterating what I had said before, I informed Professor Merrythought that I had no idea what my boggart would turn into.

“Not to worry dear. You are very smart. Just, think of something funny, first thing that comes to mind. Now, I’ll open the wardrobe now,” Professor Merrythought walked closer to the wardrobe and placed her hand on the doorknob. “Are you ready?”

I nodded, my firm grip on my wand never wavering. As the wardrobe door swung open, the boggart emerged from the wardrobe in the form of a werewolf.

A werewolf?!

All of a sudden, memories start swarming in from my childhood. I started remembering all about the night where my younger brother was attacked by a werewolf, barely making it out alive. Tears started spilling from my eyes as my arms shook. As the werewolf darted forward, all I could remember was the night where our family was cornered. I had had nightmares for years afterwards. Subconsciously, I fell to the ground, unable to cope with the intense emotions anymore.

My head was feeling heavy and for the second time today, I felt like I was going to faint. It didn’t help that I still had poison in my veins, fogging my head from being able to think properly.

There was movement around me as I could vaguely hear Professor Merrythought say the incantation herself, putting the boggart back into the wardrobe. I was minutes away from collapsing onto the ground, the only thing keeping me up were two strong hands gripping onto my arms.

It became too much and for the second time that day, I fainted into Remus Lupin’s arms.

***

Sirius and James had watched what had happened in Defence Against the Dark Arts today, and they had taken notes. They had noted down how Y/N reacted to werewolves and a plan had formed collectively in their mind.

Tonight was the full moon and they both knew that meant Remus was going to transform into a werewolf himself. What better way to shake up poor Y/N then to let her meet her greatest fear.

***

Coming to, I woke up in the hospital room again, a pounding in my forehead. It seemed that waking up in the infirmary was becoming quite a familiar thing for me. Annoyed, I pulled the covers off my body and started for the exit, before being stopped by Madame Pomfrey.

“Miss L/N, please, just stay here overnight. You’ve dealt with a lot of trauma today and it would be best for you to rest here until morning.”

I knew where she was coming from but there was nothing worse than sleeping in one of those uncomfortable hospital beds, so I shook my head, giving Madame Pomfrey a grateful smile.

“I think it would be best for me to continue resting in my own dorm.” I pulled myself out of Pomfrey's grasp and opened the door, stepping out into the corridor. “Thank you for your concern though.”

The corridor was less stuffy than the hospital wing and the fresh air did wonders for my forehead. I felt like I had just been born again as I walked out of halls and into the outside world. The sun had just set over the horizon and the full moon was peeking up over the hills. It looked beautiful tonight, the bright light shining in the sky, reflecting on the black lake. The stars stood out against the moon, the constellations telling stories I couldn’t even decipher. I felt at peace in the night air.

Deciding to take the long way back to my common room, I disregarded the curfew rules, opting for a peaceful stroll instead. Walking out of the clock tower, I made my way through the courtyard, the light breeze sending ripples of goosebumps onto my skin. It was slightly chilly but nothing that bad, so I continued my journey.

The grounds were quiet tonight. Hagrid must’ve gone to sleep early tonight as there was no light shining from his cabin. It was an unusual sight but it made me realise how dark it was actually getting. Knowing that since I had already had two sleeps today and I probably wasn’t going to be able to sleep right away, I decided to stay out longer, muttering “lumos” under my breath. Immediately, my wand lit up, letting light shine into the night.

That’s when I heard rustling from the bushes. Cautiously, I spun around, my wand pointing directly at the direction of the noise. Squinting, I tried to make out what was coming from where the noise came from.

Was that a person?

All of a sudden, I could make out the face of Sirius Black, absolute terror replacing his normal dug grin. His eyes looked frightened and he was a stuttering mess.

“Oh merlin, Y/N, I’m so glad you’re here.” He was panting, stopping to catch his breath. “It’s Remus. He’s hurt.”

It was as if all my negativity towards Remus dropped in an instant. All I felt was concern for my self delegated rival. Immediately, I went off running from the same direction that Sirius came from, with Sirius eventually coming up at my rear, running beside me.

“Quick, towards the shrieking shack.” He stated and I nodded along. There was noise in the air tonight. I couldn’t tell if it was a dog howling or an owl hooting, all that I knew was that it made me sick to the stomach.

We stopped running when we reached the Whomping Willow. My heart stopped as I looked up the tree branches, somehow immobile. My gut was telling me to run away, but I looked back at Sirius, a pleading look in his eyes, and remembered that Remus was supposedly in there, supposedly injured.

“Lead the way.”

I gestured to Sirius and he beckoned me to follow him, kneeling down as he crawled through a hole at the base of the tree. Nervously, I followed, taking out my still illuminated wand and holding it close to my body. Only the light from my wand was lighting up the tunnel as Sirius and I walked further and further into the darkness. As we walked, the more and more concerning sounds I heard, including whimpering and some howling. My skin was itching but I fought the urge to run and we were suddenly at the entrance to another area.

Carefully, Sirius opened the door, leading us into a run down house. The walls were scratched up with claw marks and there were shreds of fabric littered all over the ground. A dingy smell of body odour and flesh was filling the room and I noticed how bloody hot it was in this shack, common sense telling me to pull off the sweater I was wearing.

Suddenly, Peter burst in through one of the rooms, always wearing a panicked look on his face. “Quick. James is injured here.”

I paused for a moment, my head spinning. I thought Remus was the one that got injured? But I didn’t have much time to think as a deer randomly sprinted out from one of the rooms, racing past me, it’s prongs slicing past my arms. I hissed as blood sept slowly from the wound, a stinging sensation flooding my arm.

Creeping in the direction the deer came from, I emerged into a room, stopping as I noticed the creature in the corner of the room. A huge werewolf was standing there, panting loudly, whimpering from its mouth. It’s paws were paling anxiously at the wall.

Then, it spun around, it’s nose twitching with excitement. It pounced forward at me, obviously being able to smell me from the other end of the room. I was too scared to move, the mouth agape as I watched the werewolf corner me against the wall.

It’s claws came swiping at me, cutting deep into my chest. One of the sharp talons cut on my neck, the wound bleeding much more than the others. The pain washed over me as I felt a tug at my arm, pulling me into another room. The door locked behind us, leaving the werewolf alone in the room.

Sirius was looking down at me as I fell to the ground. I couldn’t do anything anymore. Exhaustion caught up to me and I passed out for the third time today. The only thing different was that it wasn’t in Remus’ arms.

Oh shit.

Remus.

***

It wasn’t unusual for me to wake up in the hospital wing now. It seemed to be late morning, as sunlight was streaming in through the window. I felt groggy but I mustered up another courage to prop myself upright on the pillow and scanned around the room. Directly in front of me, I could see James lying down on one of the hospital beds, a deep wound on his arm, bandaged up.

Next to him was Peter. All he had was a bandage over his head and a black eye, but he seemed to be completely asleep, as he didn’t wake up to when Sirius started talking to James next to him.

Sirius didn’t look nearly as injured, although he had a few bruises littered on his legs. He seemed to be in a furious conversation with James and someone else. With all I could, I listened in to the conversation, trying to grapple on to what happened.

“We shouldn’t have brought Y/N to the shack.” My heart dropped, remembering what happened. There was a werewolf that attacked me last night. It must’ve attacked all four of the marauders. That’s why Sirius was looking for me, because Remus was attacked. That’s why Peter said James was injured. He must’ve also been attacked by the werewolf.

Keeping my consciousness a secret, I slipped out of bed, avoiding the prying eyes of Sirius and James, and darted to what I assumed to be Remus’ bed.

His bed was surrounded by a curtain for the most privacy of the five of us. I didn’t know why until I looked inside and saw how battered and bruised he was. He must’ve been attacked the worse by the werewolf.

There was a gash, cutting across his face, slicing up his eyebrow. His chest was bare as a bandage was covering what seemed to be a deep cut, as it was already bleeding through the crème coloured linen, turning it a scarlet red. Remus did seem to be awake though so I approached his bed.

Sitting beside him, I reached out for his hand. I startled him, as he turned briskly around but melted at my touch as he saw my face. A look of guilt was spreading through his eyes.

“I’m so sorry Y/N-”

I cut him off. “There’s no need for you to apologise, Remus. You were also attacked by that werewolf last night.”

A confused face appeared on Remus before it contorted into something else. Contentment. “Right. I was attacked by the werewolf.”

“And you seem to have gotten the worst of it. You look terrible.” I tried making a joke and ease the tension, but making Remus laugh only seemed to cause him more pain as he clutched his rib.

“Y/N…”

“Remus?”

“Why are you afraid of werewolves so much?” He asked. I sighed, knowing there was no avoiding this question now.

“My family was attacked by a werewolf when we were younger. Well, I say my family. My younger brother was the target and he suffered a lot. I just feel so upset and guilty because of it. It should’ve been me. He was too young.”

“I’m sorry.” Remus said, reaching out so his other hand was touching mine. “That’s a horrible thing to go through.”

“I’m sorry for being so horrible to you.” I finally admitted, looking Remus dead in the eye. “I’ve always been so cruel to you for no reason and there’s no excuse for it. Like today, you helped me when I fainted twice. You had no need to do that, yet you did. Thank you.” Remus started talking but I cut him off. “Seriously Lupin, you mean a lot to me. I’m sorry our little rivalry got to me.”

Remus stayed quiet as his finger rubbed gently against the back of my hand. It seemed like he didn’t know what to say next so I decided to break the ice and end the awkwardness. Leaning forward, I pressed my lips gently to Remus’ cheek, watching as a pink tint flushed to the surface. I pulled away from his grasp, walking to the curtain.

“Again, thank you.”

And I walked away, hurt that he never said anything back.

[btsmosphere]

How to Win at Christmas in 7 Easy Steps | KSJ

~summary:

How to win at Christmas... and maybe meet someone along the way. The story of how Jin ended up crawling through your hedge dressed as santa on Christmas eve. And how you were totally not heading to his house for the very same reason.

Jin x reader

~word count: 2.6k

~neighbour au, idiots to lovers, humour, crack, getting together

Rating: pg

Warnings: general chaos and gardening shears

~a/n: thank you to an anon for this idea for the ‘kim seokjin’ bingo square! (my requests are no longer open) I had a lot of fun with this one!

Step 1: pick your battles

Jin stared out of the window.

How dare she?

His neighbour across the street was currently on a ladder, fastening the end of a large string of lights to her house.

Previously, he had thought she was quite cute whenever he passed her in the roads.

But he would have to push that aside, given she was to be his nemesis now.

This was war.

The declaration was loud and clear, staring him in the face outside his window. If he wasn’t so intent on despising it, he might have admitted that the lights looked very good. There were fairy lights around the windows of the house, and hanging from the roof like glittery icicles.

Even the wreath on the red front door had little lights glimmering from within the foliage.

The final straw was really the series of colourful stars forming a stripe across the middle of the house. Other than those, he would say his decorations were roughly the same as these new arrivals.

Which was why it was very clearly a direct attack.

Step 2: make the first move

Looking between the Christmas lights on the shelf in front of him, Jin wondered if he was reading too far into it.

He was sure the stars on the left were the exact ones you had on the front of your house. Would that be too obvious? Settling for the ones on the right, although they were slightly smaller, he walked further into the store, looking for something that would really make his house stand out.

Half an hour later, a large wire Christmas tree could be seen walking across his front lawn, emitting several curses as it went.

Eventually, Jin managed to place it in such a way that it nestled among the plants in his garden without squashing any, and he hurried to switch it on.

Standing back, he admired his work with hands on hips. Perhaps he wasn’t very subtle, looking between your house and his, but he liked what he saw. That would show you. Stars bedecked his front porch in a very pleasing way, and now he had a Christmas tree lighting up his lawn.

What could be better?

A nagging hum nudged at Jin until his eyes cracked open, cursing as he found his room still dark. Legs still tangled in his sheets, he flipped himself over in order to peek out of his window.

The early morning light made him squint, but the moment his eyes were adjusted, he swore out loud.

As it turns out, the source of the humming sound was an inflation device, pumping air into a massive snowman on your lawn. It did look slightly like a melting marshmallow, but as it grew it grinned maliciously up at him, stick arms wobbling tauntingly.

He just gaped, dumbfounded, wishing he had thought of that.

Looking in panic down at his own decorations, he was alarmed to note that his Christmas tree would only look nice at night. Now that daylight slowly seeped into the sky, it looked more and more dull.

“Oh shut up,” he scowled down at the snowman’s growing grin.

A smart move on your part, he thought bitterly. Show off.

Step 3: make another move when your first one fails

Jin would settle for nothing less than a real showstopper.

He had gone to another shop this time, a little further out of town, but, most importantly, bigger. And therefore it would contain Christmassy treasures you could only dream of, little miss look-at-me-I-have-a-snowman.

He bypassed garlands, trees and wreaths, ignored the ‘Santa, stop here!’ signs and those weird window stickers he would never understand. Maybe he had been too optimistic about finding his Christmas holy grail in this place.

But then he turned the corner.

He had just entered a treasure trove. He had the surreal sensation that he was being bathed in a golden glow from the splendour before him.

Now this was more like it!

Everything in this section was large enough to fill his car, a life-size moving Santa beckoning at him from one side while a fake reindeer scuffed its hoof on the ground, mechanical whinny uttering from its mouth.

Walking further in, he identified the golden glow as coming from a large nativity scene. Rather disappointing, if you asked him.

But it couldn’t be helped, so he quickly came to terms with this and found himself not long afterwards debating between a full size sleigh and an igloo.

Chewing his lip, he rotated, assessing both of the items, which were on opposing shelves. The igloo would look very wintery alongside the white lights on his house and the tree in the garden… but maybe not quite Christmassy enough. A sleigh, on the other hand, was unmistakeably festive-

-and being stolen right in front of his nose.

He was rather taken aback to find a woman already halfway up the aisle with the box under her arm when he turned around. A strangled yelp escaped him as he realised it was the last in stock, and he had just been robbed.

Hearing him, the woman turned around.

It was you.

“Oh, hi Jin!” you exclaimed, grin taking over your face. Meanwhile, he just sputtered, mouth hanging open in outrage.

“Um, your lights look really good!” you spoke again, quirking an eyebrow at his silence.

The cheek of it!! He could not believe you had the audacity to speak about decorations in front of him like this.

“Thank you,” he spoke curtly, “yes, they do.”

“Okay,” you laughed lightly, “I better be going. See you around.”

Grumbling to himself, he spun back around forcefully, coming face to face with the igloo he would have to settle for.

“Okay, here’s the deal,” he hissed at said igloo, “you are gonna be the most glorious, majestic igloo this side of Seoul, or else! We’ll see who’s laughing in the end.”

In the end, admittedly, it was actually the shop assistants laughing at the man who seemed to have punched above his weight in Christmas props.

Staggering out of the door, he finally dumped his haul into the back of his car and took a breather leaning against the door. His house had better look spectacular after this.

Step 4: implement step 3

Jin would like to describe himself as modest. Among many other great things.

But even a modest man such as himself had to admit, his decorations looked pretty darn good.

Since fate had so cruelly stripped him of Santa’s sleigh, he had gone all out with the igloo. It stood proud and strong in the middle of his front lawn with presents stacked up at the entrance and a couple of little polar bear cubs just outside.

They even had little hats on.

He was sure the fearsome army he had created would scare you into submission. After all, no more items had appeared over at your place yet.

You probably bought that sleigh just to spite him. Classic sabotage tactic.

Shaking his head, he turned to go inside for a well-deserved cup of hot chocolate.

Step 5: contemplate defeat

When Jin opened his curtains the next morning, he almost fell over in shock.

At first, he thought it had snowed.

But he was mistaken, unless a snow cloud had in fact visited and snowed very specifically on your house.

When the hell had you found the time to do that? Or the ladder to do that? Your roof, as well as the tops of your windows and porch, were dusted in white. And the more he looked, the more he saw. You had even sprinkled some on your wreath!

Worst of all, that damned sleigh sat smugly in front of it, the cherry on the cake.

Begrudgingly, he was impressed. He should take a leaf out of your book when it came to intimidation tactics. Because they had certainly succeeded on him.

How on earth had you accomplished all that?

He sat down heavily in his kitchen, deliberately leaving the curtains closed for now. He leaned heavily on his elbow as he stirred a mug of tea, thoroughly fed up.

What was this feeling?

He had never met his match before. The smug satisfaction of victory had been rudely swiped from his fingertips by you.

But while he stewed in his disappointment all day, it seemed you had been busy. A knock on the door later heralded your arrival with a steaming plate of mince pies.

Oh, so you had to be better at baking too, huh?

“Oh. Hello,” he greeted as he stood in the doorway. His hand still gripped the door in his surprise.

“Hi,” you smiled, “would you like any of these? Maybe you already have some since you’re the only other one on this street with any Christmas spirit, but I thought I’d stop by and offer-“

“Yes. I would like to try some,” Jin cut you off, jutting out his chin. Then, realising himself, his eyebrows drew together and he uttered a sheepish, “thank you.”

Even your laughter sounded like Christmas, tinkling like bells as you followed behind him.

Once he had brewed tea for both of you, he completely forgot his intention to spit your baking back out in a dramatic display of disgust. His disappointment in himself only grew when he found himself reaching out for his third one, only then remembering that he was supposed to be opposed to your insufferable ability to do Christmas better than him.

It was only when it started to grow dark that the two of you realised the time you had wasted just talking. And only a small part of Jin offered to pop over with Christmas baking of his own purely to prove he could do it better than you.

A weighted breath left him as he shut the door behind him.

This would not do. He had to stay true to his ulterior motive, for goodness’ sake!

Across the road, your lights flicked on and he made another unfortunate discovery. Those weird window stickers might have been a good investment after all.

Silhouetted by the warm light of your house, a row of houses stood along the windowsill, dark blobs of snowflakes floated on the glass above them.

Tomorrow, he would completely coat his house in lights and wipe that smug, arrogant, gorgeous smile off your face.

Step 6: make a last ditch effort

By the time Christmas was only a few days away, your little competition had become quite obvious.

Your road lay in darkness, a few lone strings of lights flickering on the odd house… and then the vision was assaulted by two houses opposite each other: yours and Jin’s.

However, Jin only looked out with satisfaction. The plants around his lawn were lined with glittering lights, and more still were piled on the igloo that had become his centrepiece. Even the polar bear cubs had been ensnared in the cheery twine.

As he watched from his window, a family walked along, two kids clutching their mum’s hand. The abundance of light helped greatly by illuminating their smiles as they gazed at the lights on display. But to Jin’s dismay, they turned to your house first, pointing at all the things decorating it and jumping up and down in excitement.

Just a passing glance was thrown at his, before they were on their way.

His hands curled into fists. This simply wasn’t good enough – he had to win at Christmas. He always did! Who were you to threaten the reigning Christmas champion, Kim Seokjin?

There was a chance this was a questionable idea.

Just a small chance.

A little, teeny-weeny, itty-bitty chance.

However, this thought only crossed Jin’s mind as the twigs in the hedge he was currently crawling through nearly ripped his santa hat off his head.

Clutching it tightly to the top of his head, he shuffled a bit further.

It was a strange sight, from your end. As you stepped quietly across your back garden, a movement caught your eye. Freezing where you stood, you had to bite back laughter as Santa himself clambered inelegantly to his feet at the other side of your garden, emerging from below the hedge that divided your house from next door.

Just as he bent down to brush dirt from his red fuzzy trousers, you spotted what he was holding.

You were certain you hadn’t asked for a pair of gardening shears for Christmas.

Then Santa’s head raised, and your suspicions were confirmed. Eyes meeting yours, you could see the thought of I fucked up flit across Jin’s face. Very quickly.

“Um, err- merry Christmas!” he cried in a gruff voice, throwing his arms out.

And then very hurriedly tucking them behind his back as he remembered what he was holding.

“It’s not Christmas yet,” you pointed out.

“Well, um,” he glanced at his watch. It was still Christmas eve for a few hours yet, “I wanted to get to you early! You’re right at the top of the nice list… Hold on! What’s that!”

Following his gaze, you quickly chucked your own pair of shears behind a tree.

“What are you talking about?” you smiled sweetly.

“Were you going to sabotage my Christmas lights?” he cried, cocking his hips to the side and placing a hand on them, still clutching his shears.

An eyebrow raised indignantly. You just laughed.

“Clearly you thought of that first.”

“Yes, that’s right, I did!” he exclaimed, pointing the shears towards you and tilting his head as he berated you, “so don’t you go stealing my idea- why are you laughing?!“

Trying desperately to calm down, you put a hand over your mouth to little effect.

“Why don’t we just go inside?” you giggled.

“I’m sorry?”

“Come inside,” you repeated, “it’s Christmas eve, and I could do with someone as festive as you.”

“Is all this not festive enough for you, Miss Christmas?” he challenged, gesturing towards the glow emanating from the front of your house.

“Miss Christmas? You’re literally dressed as Father Christmas,” you appraised.

“Good point,” he shrugged.

Smirking, you opened the door and waited for him to follow you inside.

“So you… you knew I was trying to one-up you?” he asked as you got two mugs out.

“Mmhmm,” you hummed.

“I’ve never known anyone who can decorate like you,” he sighed, “what’s your secret?”

“Like I would tell you that,” you chuckled.

“So cruel,” he lamented, wiping an imaginary tear from his eye, “what can I ever do to make you tell me?”

“Go out with me,” you laughed.

Nearly choking on air, Jin stared at your back as you continued making drinks as if you had said nothing.

“What?” he gaped.

“I said, go out with me,” you explained, finally turning around, “on a date. I like you.”

Blinking rapidly, he swallowed against the fluttering in his chest.

“Can’t say no to that,” he stuttered, “can’t have you teaming up with anyone else, now, can I?”

“I’m not normally so competitive,” you laughed, the bells tinkling once again.

“So why-“ Jin frowned, but he cut himself off, eyes widening, “wait- was this- have you been… flirting with me?”

“No,” you replied, “I’ve been winning.”

“Yah! I definitely won! What are you talking about?!”

Step 7: maybe accept love as a consolation prize

Thanks for reading! Please reblog x

Taglist (message me to be added): @aianloveseven​ @preciouschimine​

Masterlist here

[thepickpocketofdreams]

The Courfeyrac Files

28th September

Well, that’s the first and last time I go walking in the woods. I mean it was lovely, lots of nature and wildlife and stuff. ‘Picturesque’ as R would probably call it. But I just ruined it all by – what was I thinking? Well, I know what I was thinking, I was thinking “heuheu cute guy” and then – okay, okay, back up a bit. Paint the picture, Courf.

Paint it so you can revel in the awkwardness of it for the next three years if you ever see him again.

Okay, so I went for a walk in the woods behind the uni today. Figured it’d be nice to get outside and explore campus a bit, yanno? Besides the odd green leaf, the woods were stripped of colour. Brown branches, brown mud, brown leaves underfoot – everything was an overwhelming shade of “mid-October depression.” It all just blended together, like an apathetic painter had spilt murky water onto their canvas and called it a day.

That’s why I was so surprised to see the guy, see? He was just sitting there, on a fallen tree, causally sketching like some sort of hipster. Which, judging by the glasses, he probably was.

“Excellent,” I thought, “this is my chance to become a young adult novel protagonist.”

A good thought. Definite upturn to the week of mounting deadlines and coursebooks. Maybe I’d manage to get a cute study-buddy or something, and yeah – I got a bit caught up in those thoughts. Forgot to look away when he looked up at me.

We made direct eye-contact.

Okay, so I was too far away to see exactly what shade his eyes were, but they looked warm. And his sleeves were rolled up, showing dark skin and his hands were just – oh my god Courf, control yourself.

Anyway, my mind was off, spinning ideas for witty comments, only a little flirtatious, and how we’d walk back to campus together and I could ask him to my flat for a drink or -

Well.The universe had other ideas.

I should back up a bit here and explain that the tree roots were out to get me today. Every five seconds a new one snuck out of the undergrowth to trip me, and were they satisfied with giving me a minor heart attack every time? No sir.

They pulled out my earphones to boot.

By the time I saw the guy, I had no idea what the podcast was on about because I’d missed more of it than I’d actually heard.

So, it will come as absolutely no surprise to you, dear reader, that at precisely the moment we made eye-contact, I tripped and yanked my earphones out of my phone.

Had I been listening to music, there wouldn’t have been an issue because let’s face it: my music taste is fucking stellar. Alas, I was listening to a podcast.

What podcast was it?Welcome to Night Vale.Now as you probably know, this is the weirdest thing I have ever, and hopefully will ever, listen to. The humour in it is on point, but its…an odd brand of humour. Even I, an avid listener of all things weird and wonderful, am alarmed by some of the things the host comes out with.

So, imagine, if you will, that you are walking through the woods, towards the inciting incident for the rest of your uni life. All is going well, you’ve made eye-contact and then you pull your earphones out of your phone to reveal that you’re listening to a guy who says

“Also be warned that penalties for overdue library books has skyrocketed to 50 cents per day, and, after 30 days, jaw mutilation.”

…yeah.

To his credit, the guy only looked slightly baffled. Librarians can get pretty violent, or so I’m told. Either way, it’s not exactly the best first impression, is it? Even worse, I forgot to look away from his fucking eyes.

So there I was, standing there, listening to a podcast about mutilating someone’s jaws for the sake of an overdue library book, and gawking like an absolute idiot at Mr-Cute-Hipster-Guy. Cue two seconds of now incredibly awkward eye-contact, followed by me violently pivoting to power walk straight back the way I’d just come.

Why am I like this.

[bitchiha]

Excuse me sir 👀 May I ask a question?? What kind of flowers do you think Naruto, Kakashi, and Gaara will give their s/o? ❤

Flowers for their s/o

A/N: OHHH I like this it got my brain whirring, I did Narutos with his crush instead of his significant other, but its okay shhh. Also these are kinda short, but I think they’re cute. 

Warnings: not proofread :D <3

Naruto

Naruto gets you flowers to ask you out on your first date.

Gosh this boy wants to give you the prettiest flowers, but he lacks any ability to take care of them. It’s a disaster, truly. He also has zero idea what kind of flowers you’d like, the only kind he knows are like.. dandelions?

He thinks flowers are the perfect way to show you his true feelings. Everyone loves getting flowers, ya know? But, oh Gosh.. He couldn’t wait to see them make you all flustered, to see your lips part way for a surprised giggle as you gently pulled them away from his hands happily. Would you rush back into the house to put them into a vase, or would you bury your nose into them and inhale the loving scent that reflected Narutos feelings for you? Either one would make his heart swell in its constricting cage...

He asks Ino for help. After all she works at a flower shop, but then he just gets flustered because of her bombardment of questions as to who they’re for, so he ends up leaveinh all huffy and puffy.

Wanders around the Leaf looking for another flower shop, but he doesn’t find any. Instead he stumbles upon a patch of flowers peaking out from a bush. As he stares at them, depressed about his failure to buy you your own, he gets an idea. Then suddenly he’s on his knees picking them from the bush as carefully as possible for Narutos standards. He stares for a moment at the silkiness of the petals and how delicate they were in his hands, it reminded him of your skin. He picks a bunch, plucking and plucking like every flower was another confession of his own wild love.

It takes all his patience and care to actually bring the flowers to your doorstep. But in the end he makes it to your doorstep and he hands the white Camellias to you with a proud smile. They had a few petals missing and some scuff marks on them, but it’s the thought that counts. Your face is unreadable at first and as he stands at your doorway a nervous red hue began to colour his cheeks. Did you... did you not like them?

You take the bouquet in your hands, ducking inside to place them down. For a second he thinks you’re gonna close the door on him, but once your hands are free your springing at him. Arms slinging around his shoulders and legs wrapping around his waist, he realizes that you were hugging him after a few moments. As he finally came back to himself, he could hear your thank you’s muffled by your head buried into his neck.

Your reaction makes his heart beat so fast that it felt like he was overheating, he was surprised you weren’t burning. He watched you (with a grin from ear to ear and a face so red it looked painful) as you hurried inside to place them in a vase. Mission successful.

White camellias: a symbol of adoration and love

Kakashi

Kakashi gives you flowers when he wants to remind you of his love.

It was your one year anniversary and Kakashi was spending it cramped in a tent with a very sassy Sasuke and a hot headed Naruto. Kakashi was crushed, not only by the weight of Narutos body colliding with his as Sasuke yanked his leg out of his blanket, kicking the blonde with all the strength his sleepy body had, but he was also crushed by the fact he had been neglecting you for weeks.

He was hardly ever around you anymore, constantly on missions, babysitting Team 7... There was no mistaking your disappointment when had when he told you he was going to miss your special anniversary. He had been cancelling plans with you for a while now, hardly ever able to even make it for Friday date nights — all because of work. You were always so understanding, even when he knew how hard it was for you. And he missed you. He really fucking missed you.

He missed wrapping his arms around you, his face snuggled into your hair as he breathed in that watermelon scented shampoo you always used. The way your plush lips would part in surprise as he caught you off guard, bending down to meet your ear and whisper about all the things he wanted to do to you. It always ended up with a stern look and a scolding “kakashi!” but he knew both of those reactions were half hearted as you pulled yourself closer to him. Your apartment, cramped and tiny but still the most homey place he had ever been...

When he finally gets home after the mission, he’s rushing through the busy streets in search of the Yamanaka flower shop. Roses. Kakashi needed to buy you roses. His face was on fire due to all the teasing he got from Ino. “Ohhh Kakashi-sensei, these are really pretty! Are they for y/n?” She always did this when he came in to buy you flowers, but he never complained. She was the one who told him your favourite flowers were roses, so he decided he could tolerate her.

Then he’d be at your doorstep with a lardge bouquet and a puppy dog look on his face. “I’m sorry I’ve been so busy, y/n. And gosh.. I missed you. Please let me make it up to you...”

Queue the best fucking makeup sex ever

bye lol 

Not bye I forgot to add this.. red roses: longing, love or desire

Gaara 

Gaara gives his significant other flowers like they’re boxes of chocolates, they’re the best way for him to communicate his feelings towards you. 

This man is constantly showering you in plants like oh my lord. Your apartment is full of plants, ranging from the bouquets he makes for you all the way to the cacti and succulents decorating every surface of your windowsills. 

They keep you pretty busy too, with having a Kazekage for a boyfriend you often feel neglected, but the plants keep you occupied. Honestly his love of plants grows on you as your relationship goes on. Like whenever he comes over to your house he will make sure that you are keeping the plants healthy and gives you tips and random facts on them. 

The first time Gaara ever decided to give you a flower was when he was going to ask you to be his girlfriend. The two of you were so close it was almost like you were practically dating already, but Temari told Gaara that he needed to solidify the relationship. 

This man was dumbfounded as to how he was supposed to ask you that and when he told Temari of this dilemma she simply suggested he get you some flowers. He felt stupid that he hadn’t though about it before considering that he literally has his own garden that he adores. 

With that, he picks out his favourite and most beautiful flowers that he could find in his garden. He enjoyed putting the bouquet together so much that he couldn’t help but go a little overboard. 

At first he had been so puzzeled as to which flower you may have liked, but then he thought about what kind flower you reminded him of and he realized that you reminded him of all the plants in his garden. All of them had such unique aspects and qualities that made them so wonderful and there was always something about every plant that had his mind pulling towards you. 

So the bouquet he gave you was huge and absoloutely gorgeous. When he gave it  to you at your apartments door step he was so nervous and embarrassed, like oh my gosh he thought he was gonna pass out. But your reaction made all of his butterflies fly away. 

All fucking the flowers ever: Gaaras coping mechanism for his nerves

[kaz3313]

Highlights from Me Reading my Mom TGCF Halfway through book one (spoilers,, For all books. Also A Major Untamed Spoiler as well)

*Thinking “Little Gods” are the cutest thing/funniest thing ever

*Also Hating Heaven in General And saying “Their as corrupt as the Good Omens one 😠😠” But still hasn’t blamed Jun Wu/Suspected anything bad about him

* San Lang is Hua Cheng!! My Mom exclaims at Xie Lian in the beginning of the book... several chapters later “Who is Hua Cheng??”

*When we assume Hua Cheng is the ghost bridegroom My Mom has an elaborate theory that non of the girls were dead and Hua Cheng just had a harem and was bringing Xie Lian to it. It was great

*Showed her the actress that will be Xuan Ji and my mom is like “Damn, Pei tf did you leave her for???”

*Tbh think she’s a Xuan Ji stan. Good for her

*When Xie Lian and San Lang sleep with one another and she’s like “Damn they’re going fast” and later when they aren’t talking in Ban Yue pass saying “Why can’t they make out already 🙄

*Me having to call General Pei “Big Pei” And Pei Su “Little Pei” at any point in time because she doesn’t know their names (fair enough)

*The little gods care so much 🥺🥺 Anyway i hate Mu Qing-

(I feel she’ll like him when we get to book 2)

*Meeting “Ming Yi” when at Ban Yu pasa before we know anything, and assuming she was gonna be a Soilder and thinking she was 9ft tall.

*Her asking if all of Ban Yu people were really tall or just the males. Her saying if just the males then it might get uncomfortable copulating. Me making an offhand comment/joke that maybe the females have the “male duty”. Now her hc??? (We have learned they were about the same size but still her hc??)

* Xie Lian and his “Gang of pretty Boys”

*Met the snakes and when their colour was described legit said “CROWLEY!! HE FINALLY GOT HERE” two seconds later “I forgot this isn’t a good omens fic-“

*Thinking Mi Ying and Shi Qing Xuan are evil gfs. Loved their dynamic instantly

*Loves Ban Yue And wants to protect her from harm

*Her getting really confused about the “General Hua” Thing

*Loves the Wind Master. Still thinks Ming Yi should be 9ft. Loves them both. Hahahaha

*Immediate hate for Shi Wudu 😔😔 (he’s not a fav but I find he’s an interesting character don’t @ me)

*Thinks its a funny dynamic between three tumors, even if at the time she only knew a little of each

* “General Pei, if your asking about my hookup (Hua Cheng) maybe I should ask about yours?? At least I only have one” -What she thinks should’ve been said to Pei Ming

*In Ban Yu pasa guessed that the Wind Master was male sometimes, forgot and was shocked when the twist came up later

*Good for her! Good for him! She just wants to be pretty!

*Finding Lang Qian Qiu hilarious in Ghost City

*Liking all of Ghost City actually... sad at the end though

*Still loving beef leaf (should I tell her their ship name??). P sure ships them

*Thinks Hua Cheng and Xie Lian should make out and..: more on Hua Chang’s giant bed.

*The naked dancer ladies new about the love between Hua Cheng and Xie Lian and were actually dancing to Please each other. Okay Mom, XD

*Everyone being gay? yeAH

*Loved Yin Yu Immediately. Not sure what her thoughts will be later

* WE AT RIGHT AFTER THE GHOST CITY WITH LANG QIAN QIU AND IM FREAKING OUT ALMOST TIME TO MEET MY BOYO

*I was trying to be vague, But she figured out I like Qi Rong. May end up having to defend myself when we get to (nurmerous) parts,,, little does she know her fav in the Untamed... is Meng Yao and... hehe,,, oh boy

[rachel-rebellio]

Autumn is the Best Time of Year

part 1

          It was a crisp autumn, November 3rd to be precise, and y/n was trying to distract herself from her post-Halloween depression the best way she knew how. She was tired of the typical Southern California sun and fires, so she decided to get in her car and drive up to Big Bear so she could see the autumn colours she had grown to love so much. She took in the sights as she slowly drove ‘round the lake with the windows down, letting the fresh mountain air hit her face and fill her lungs. She pulled into the Big Bear Village to bum through some of her favourite shops and get a bite to eat at a local restaurant.

          As she was wandering through town, she came across an art gallery that hadn’t been open on her previous trips. Being a lover of art, y/n quickly wiped the wet leaves off her boots and fixed her beanie to better sit on her head. It was a small gallery, but it was showcasing multiple local artists from all over Big Bear City. The pieces were all beautifully done, but one in particular caught y/n’s eye. It was an oil painting of the lake surround by autumn foliage with the sun gleaming off the water. She had seen that sight plenty of times, but this artist brought a whole new perspective to it.

          Y/n stood admiring the painting for several minutes when someone bumped into her. She quickly turned around saying, “Oh, I’m so sorry! Was I in your way?” just as this stranger also turned around saying, “I’m so sorry! I didn’t see you there, are you okay?” Y/n was taken aback by handsome stranger when their eyes met. She was just as tall as he was, but it still felt like she had to look up to make eye contact. He made her feel small in the best way.

          “Hey, have we met before?” Y/n asked.

          “I don’t think so. I would’ve remembered a face as beautiful as yours.” He said, causing y/n to break eye contact so she could look down and try to hide her cheeks flushing red. Y/n looked up after a couple moments and said, “Well, my name is y/n. It’s nice to meet you-“

          “…Ma-Matthew. My name is Matthew.” He said, stumbling over his words through a chuckle to fill the silence where y/n trailed off.

          “I love that name. So, are you a big fan of the arts Matthew?”

          “Yeah! I’m actually a little bit of an artist myself! I published a book that I wrote and illustrated about a green monster named Rumple Buttercup.”

          “Whoa, really? That’s so cool!”

          “What about you? Are you a big art fan?”

          “I love it! I’m a black and grey portrait artist, myself. I love drawing people.”

          “I bet you’re amazing. I’d love to see your work sometime!”

          “I definitely have room for improvement, but I’m a lot better than I was when I started a few years back. I’m totally self-taught; so it’s been a bit of a slow process.” Y/n said, trying not to sound too self-deprecating right away.

           “So, what caught your eye about this piece?” Matthew asked y/n in an attempt to keep the conversation going.

          “Well, I’ve been up here so many times. I like to come up here and enjoy the colours of my favourite season every early November to try and help my post-Halloween depression. I’m not ready for Christmas quite yet and Halloween is my favourite holiday, so I need some time between. But, I don’t know. This painting just captured a scene I’ve personally seen so many times, but in a brand new light; and their colour theory? Are you kidding me? So good! Autumn is my favourite season, so it’s not too often that I find something that allows me to see it in a new light and through a different lens. I’m so sorry, I’m just rambling at this point. What about you? Do you like it?” Y/n asked, blushing and nervously playing with her hair as she looked over and saw Matthew paying full attention to every word she was saying.

          “I haven’t been here many times, but I love their use of colour and the blending of the oil paints. Oil always gives it that nice gleam and blend to the colours.” Matthew said with a smile, physically pointing out the things he was talking about. Y/n couldn’t help but notice how beautiful his hands were as they gestured about and pointed to specific details as he talked. She could have listened to him talk passionately about anything for hours on end without ever getting tired of hearing his voice. Suddenly, Matthew turned to y/n, who was watching him closely even after he finished talking, and said, “I’m sorry if this is too forward, but would you like to get some coffee or cider with me? I saw a little coffee shop just down the street.”

          Y/n tried to hide her excitement and answered as calmly as she could, “I would love that. I could always go for some hot apple cider.” Matthew walked with y/n out of the gallery, holding the door open for her on their way out. She couldn’t fathom what was happening; guys never paid attention to her, let alone a guy who looked like this. His brown, curly hair was just long enough to curl over his forehead and ears, barely touching his neck. His glasses framed his face so well and were large enough that you could see his brown eyes that crinkled nearly closed whenever he smiled his smile that was so warm and inviting. On the way to the coffee shop, they made small talk about some of their favourite artists.

          They walked up to the counter to order heir drinks but when y/n pulled out her wallet to pay for her own, Matthew placed his hand on hers and said, “Hey now, getting cider was my idea, I got you covered.”

          Y/n smirked at him and said, “Fine. But the next one’s on me.”

          “Sounds like a plan.” Matthew said with a quiet smirk right back at her as she, in that moment, wondered if there would even be a next time. Once they got their drinks, they went outside and saw that the fireplace had been lit, so they decided to sit on one of the benches next to it to enjoy their drinks and talk. It was now around 5p.m. and the sun had started to set so the autumn leaves looked even more beautiful in the olden light. Matthew and y/n were sipping their respective drinks and talking about how they celebrated Halloween after finding out that it was both of their favourite holidays. He went as Vincent Price and y/n was convinced she would never beat that costume, as Vincent Price was easily one of her favourite actors of all time. Y/n was about to finally admit what her costume was when Matthew quickly scooped up some of the leaves and dumped them on y/n’s head.

          Y/n gasped, set down her apple cider, and said, “Ohhh, you’re on. I declare war!” as she scooped up an even bigger pile of leaves to throw at him. The two of them threw leaves at each other until Matthew wrapped y/n up in a one-armed hug, pinning her against him so he could take off her beanie off and continue dropping leaves on her head until she yielded. Laughing, y/n tapped Matthew’s arm saying, “Okay! Fine! I yield! Have Mercy!” which caused Matthew to also laugh until he fell to the side, still holding onto y/n. While lying on the ground, he looked to her and said, “Well that was fun hon! I always appreciate a woman who can hold her own in a leaf fight.”

          Y/n shook her head at him before grabbing one last handful of leaves to throw at him and then stood to her feet yelling, “Victory is mine!”

          “Oh, so that’s how it’s gonna be?! Fine, you win this time.” Matthew said, standing to his feet and raising his hands in defeat which caused them to both start laughing as they picked leaves out of each other’s hair.

          “I really didn’t think this weather through.” Y/n stated, starting to shiver. “I had such a one track mind about coming up here that I was stupid and forgot a jacket… and this flannel really isn’t doing the job. Mind if we step into the shop across the street so I can get a jacket?”

          “Here, you can wear mine, if you don’t mind the possibility of it clashing with your flannel.”

          “Not at all, but aren’t you going to be cold?”

          “Nah, I’m fine. Maybe you could hold my hand to keep me warm.” Matthew remarked, trying his best to be smooth; although it may have come across as more awkward than savvy.

          “Now there’s a nifty idea huh?”

          “I try.” Matthew said with a chuckle in his voice. Y/n accepted the offer to wear his jacket and when she put it on, she noticed three things.

          1.       It was still warm from him wearing it.

          2.       It smelled amazing.

          3.       There was a single ping pong ball in the left pocket.

          “If you don’t mind me asking, what exactly do you have a ping pong ball in your pocket for?” Y/n asked, pulling the ball from the pocket.

          “Oh, so one thing you don’t know about me is that I’m actually a magician. Here, I’ll show you a trick!” Matthew practically yelled in excitement.

          Y/n handed him the ping pong ball and Matthew knelt down in front of her saying, “Okay, now watch closely.”

          Y/n did as she was told and watched as Matthew’s hands showed her the ping pong ball and encased it. He held his hand out to her and said, “Okay, now blow on it.”

          Confused, but eager, Y/n blew on the small white ball. Matthew made a weird noise and said, “My turn now.” and blew on it before making yet another weird noise. Y/n started laughing, but kept watching closely as Matthew opened his hands to reveal the ping pong ball had disappeared.

          “Whoa! That’s so cool! Where is it?” Y/n gasped through her smile, wanting to know how it was done.

          “Check the pocket again.”

          “What- wait… HOW?” Y/n exclaimed as she pulled the small ball back out of the jacket pocket.

          “Nope! Nu-uh. A true magician never reveals his secrets.” Matthew explained with a smirk on his face and his arms folded.

          “What about an amateur magician? Can he reveal his secrets?” Y/n asked, smirking right back at him. Matthew looked shocked at her response before dramatically pretending to be deeply hurt by her calling him an amateur.

          “I’m sorry! I had to! Forgive me?” Y/n asked, giving Matthew her best please face.

          “I guess.” Matthew said, pouting. “But you’re going to have to make it up to me for that remark little miss.”

          Y/n asked hesitantly, but also very excitedly, “Oh? What did you have in mind?”

[edelwoodsouls]

calling out for one more try (to feel alive) - ch. 1

Adam hasn't been able to sing since he found out what his parents do for a living. Until he stumbles across the ghosts of a band who died twenty-five years ago, and the world begins to look a little brighter. But how did they die? What did they leave behind? (and why is the front man so freaking cute??)

(ghost band au, or the jatp au that possessed me last night and wouldn’t let go)

Shoutout to @exhaustedwerewolf for putting up with my yelling and giving me some brillianty angsty thoughts for later plot

Word Count: 3,071 | Also on Ao3

chapter one: wake up, wake up (if it's all you do)

Adam

It's quiet in the music room.

Just outside the door he can sense the seething mass of teenagers and noise and colour, the pantomine of a clockwork life ticking onwards. But in here it's quiet, and the world stretches out in a haze of blue and grey.

His fingers rest on the piano in front of him, slotting perfectly against the keys. A heartbeat away from making sound, falling short.

He could spend a life in this moment. Let the whole world slip away into silence. He stares at his splayed fingers, stark against the pale keys. Just play, he thinks. Shatter this moment into fragments, break free from the weights around his ankles dragging him slowly to the bottom of the blue.

Just play.

"Adam."

He looks up. He hadn't even noticed her open or close the door, but there stands Chloe, hands on her hips, blond hair so frizzy it looks like its about to make a break for the sky. There's paint on her nose and splattered all over her overalls in messy, natural way aesthetic influencers could only dream of.

"Oh, hey, Chloe. What's up?"

She gives him a frown, hands on her hips. "I could hear your thoughts from the art studio." She raises an eyebrow. "That's on the other side of school, Adam."

"Oh, uh. Sorry."

"Don't you dare apologise!" She comes to sit beside him at the piano, leaning against his shoulder. "You know you don't have to apologise to me, of all people. I know what you're going through."

"Whether I want you to or not."

"Pros and cons of having a mind reader for a best friend," she shrugs, a smile playing on her lips.

They've been friends ever since they started high school, the quiet creative kids who spent more time in their own heads than the world around them. Silent lunches together had become awkward murmured conversations had become a tentative friendship.

That was before Chloe started hearing voices in her head, and Adam found out what his parents do for a living.

Sophomore year had been pretty intense, and their friendship had been forged in fire.

It's certainly strange having a mind reader for a best friend, but it comes with perks. Like not having to name the endless blue sea in his chest for her to understand what it is.

"You nervous?" she asks.

"Do you even need to ask?"

"I like to hear it from the source, sometimes."

"Isn't my brain the real source, technically? So you're always going direct, unless you listen to someone speaking instead of thinking?"

She narrows her eyes in mock annoyance. "You're deflecting. But it's okay, I'll let you. I know you're stressed out."

How could he not be stressed out? There's an unscaleable wall inside his mind, behind which he's trapped everything he cares about. Music. Feelings. Sunshine.

He hasn't played the piano, hasn't sung, since Chloe stumbled across a homeless man with thoughts of Adam's parents burned into his brain. Can't bring himself to even press into the keys resting under his fingers.

And now he's about to get kicked out of the music programme, if he can't perform today.

"I've got this," he says, and from Chloe's expression he's not fooling anyone.

"Even if you can't play, Adam, you know that doesn't make you a terrible person, right? People want you to play for  you, because it used to mean so much to you, not because they think you're only worth what you create."

"Mm," he shrugs noncommittally, as if she hasn't hammered right to home. As if he hasn't always judge his own worth by what he can do.

This is his thing.  What is he without it?

"I'm gonna get to class early," he says, pushing away towards the door before Chloe can stop him and confront him on his so-called unhealthy coping mechanisms (aka - none). "I'll see you later."

"I'm rooting for you!" she calls after him.

His phone buzzes in his pocket as he weavs through the halls. He doesn't dare to check it; knows that it's his parents wishing him luck.

The absolute last thing he needs. The one thing, in fact, more likely to throw him off performing than anything else.

He isn't the first to arrive to class, as much as he'd hoped. He could never be that lucky -  of course Caitlin is already there, surrounded by her entourage.

"Oh hey, Adam," she smiles, more viper than girl, as he spills into the doorway. She's dressed stunningly as always, pale purples and creams.

The jacket Adam bought her for her birthday last year, before everything.

If she rememebers, she doesn't say anything, looking down at him with the look of someone regarding an insect.

He knows he deserves it. They'd been close, before last year, but how could he possibly explain everything to her? How could he explain the rainclouds that gathered above his head and made a home? How could he explain what his parents did, the whole world of the atypical, without being thought completely crazy?

It had been easier to let her go, and she had taken it personally. Friendly rivalry had become enemies.

He can't feel enough today to even be sad.

"Hey, Cait," he shrugs into his seat.

"I'm surprised you came today. Wasn't yesterday your last chance?"

She knows that's not true, is trying to get a rise out of him. He busies himself with leafing, unseeing, through the sheet music he's half-heartedly prepared for today.

He already knows he's not going to be using it.

Caitlin sighs dramatically and turns back to her group, the conversation quickly drifting away from him. Frankie is staring at Adam, trying to catch his eye, to ask if he's okay, but he ignores that, too. As he much as he appreciates him - the only other atypical in school apart from Chloe, who knows a little of everything that went to shit last year but has also very clearly thrown his lot in with Caitlin - he doesn't want to give Caitlin reason to pause.

Better to fade into obscurity.

He doesn't notice the rest of the class file in. Doesn't notice the teacher begin the lesson, or the other performances that come and go.

"Your turn, Adam," Mr Beck says gently, and the world snaps back into focus.

Every eye in the room is on him.

He makes it to the piano without breathing. Chest constricting, world contracting to a single, narrowed point. There's cotton wool in his ears, spots dancing in the corners of his vision.

His fingers rest on the keys.

Just play.

Just play just play just play just play just play just-

"I'm sorry." He stands up suddenly and, without looking back, flees the room.

It feels like freedom.

It feels like the cell door slamming shut behind him.

~/~/~/~

When he gets home, he heads straight around the back, avoiding the risk of his parents being home.

Tears burn in his eyes but he refuses to blink them away. He can’t bear to see the sadness on his parents’ faces, the confusion, when they find out he’s been kicked out of the music programme.

Because they know they’re the reason he stopped. They just don’t understand, or refuse to try to, why he’s still not over it.

As if his horror at human experimentation should have a shelf life.

Behind their house is the old garage slash studio his parents had soundproofed, back when Adam first got into the music programme. They’d been so proud, and the world had been so full, back them.

He hasn't been back inside his studio since he found out what his parents do for a living. His mom had been the one to first bring music into his life, and now he can’t trust anything she's ever given him. This studio is built on blood money and half-truths.

The air is thick with dust when he slips inside. Sunlight filters through the garage door window, catching the dust motes in beams, spinning dizzily like planets.

His piano sits in the centre of the room, untouched, surrounded by boxes of half-packed things - relics of Adam’s childhood, old memories and things that might be useful someday, left over objects the last owners of this house forgot to take with them.

He has the sudden urge to smash everything in this room apart.

Instead, he takes a steadying breath. It’s not like he needs a studio anymore - may as well start packing his things away along with the rest of these forgotten memories.

He grabs a half-full box at random and begins shoving things into it haphazardly. The first notebook he wrote songs in. The headphones his aunt gave him that only work through one ear now. The metronome perched on top of the piano, its slider in the shape of a smiley face.

The sellotape at the bottom of the box gives out just as he’s shoving a second notebook in, and everything clatters onto the floor. Of course. This is on par with the rest of his day, really.

He stoops to begin picking things back up when he sees it: a CD box, dusty with age. The front cover is watercolour, blue blending with yellow to create a sea of green in the middle. The band name -  Atypical!  - is emblazoned in black across it.

He doesn't recognise it, though it's in a box of his old things. One of his parents’, maybe? Or left over by the last owners? Curiosity guides his hands, and before he knows it he's clicking play on the old CD player his mom gave him for his twelfth birthday.

Music bursts into the room for the first time in a year, swells to fill the space. This room has felt hollow and empty, a black hole pulling at light, this whole time- until now.

It's good music, too. Rhythm sinks into his bones, sparking something inside him he hadn't thought was still alive.

He's so caught in the music, it takes him a minute to notice the air is beginning to shake. Not with the soundwaves- he's not playing it that loud - but the space in front of the speaker is shivering and shimmering, like a heatwave.

He can't say when it happens, can't pinpoint the moment his life pitches off a ledge. Between one blink and the next- they just appear.

Adam blinks. He blinks again. Rubs at his eyes until they're swimming.

They're still there.

There are three people in his studio. Strangers, teenagers about his own age, two guys and a girl.

The first guy is dark haired, dressed in an over-sized pink hoodie, so many leather bracelets peeking out from his pushed-up sleeves he looks more straps than skin. The girl wears her black hair in space buns that are trying their hardest to escape her head. A slashed denim jacket covered in patches, black pleated skirt, neon green and black striped leg warmers.

It's the second guy that stops Adam's heart in his chest. Bright green eyes, styled golden curls spilling over one side of his face. He's dressed in a red high school lettermans jacket, except the sleeves have been cut off, showing off muscles that are frankly unfair given the current situation. He's staring around the studio in surprised confusion, eyes darting over the room in a remarkably familiar way.

His eyes land on Adam, and it's like lightning has struck. Adam's breath vanishes from his chest.

"Who the fuck are you?" he manages.

"What do you mean who the fuck are you?" the guy narrows his eyes. His voice is low and hypnotic. "Who the fuck are you? What are you doing in our studio?"

Frustrated anger crushes any confusion momentarily. "Your studio? Dude, this is my studio."

"Uh, no, it isn't. Look-" the guy all but lunges across the room, as if he knows exactly where to go. He digs through a pile of discarded objects and emerges seconds later with a guitar clutched triumphantly in his hands. "See! This is my guitar."

"That guitar's been there since my parents moved in. Seventeen years ago."

The guy deflates suddenly, and Adam feels immediately guilty, finds himself wanting to find any way to reignite his enthusiasm.

"We're dead," the guy in the pink hoodie says, in a nonchalant way, as if this is a perfectly normal thing to say. He waves an awkward hello, a bashful grin. "Hey, sorry about him. He's a total jock sometimes."

"Hey-"

"You are, Caleb. Embrace your brand."

The cute guy - Caleb? - pouts, still clinging to his guitar. It’s ridiculously adorable.

"I'm sorry, I'm confused," Adam says slowly, mind racing along with his heart. "You're dead?"

"Uh, yeah. Sorry, this is a lot, huh? I'm Mark." He sticks his hand out to shake and Adam, instinctively, reaches out to take it.

Their hands pass right through each other.

Welp. Not much more proof he needs.

"Ghosts," he breathes, staring at the place where their hands should have met.

"Oh my god, it wasn't a dream," the girl says, voice high and taut with anxiety. She's twirling drumsticks in her hands - where did she get those? - so fast they blur into panic-inducing windmills at her side. "I really thought- that maybe- but no-  but how long have we been- I mean, maybe we just- but that means-"

Her gasped sentences are triggering a tightening in Adam's own chest.

"Hey," Mark says softly, reaching over and putting a hand on her shoulder. The twirling freezes immediately, their eyes locking. "Sam, it's okay. We're okay. We're safe."

"We're dead," Caleb deadpans. How is he holding that guitar if he's incorporeal? None of this makes sense.

"Well nothing can hurt you when you're dead," Adam says before he can think better of it. Three pairs of eyes fix on him, unblinking.

"Oh my god," Caleb laughs suddenly, snapping the silence instantly. "I love this kid."

"I'm not a kid - you look the same age as me!"

"Sure, kid," Mark says, turning back to the girl - Sam. "Look, I know this sucks. But for now, we're okay. We've got each other, yeah?"

Sam nods shakily, tapping the drumsticks in a nervous but manageable rhythm against each other.

Caleb practically bounces across the room to Adam. "Hey. Sorry for the freak out. We, uh, we've been through a lot."

"Not surprised, considering you're dead."

Caleb cracks a grin that makes Adam's insides swoop. "What's your name?"

What's my name. His brain short circuits. "Uh, I'm Adam."

"Adam! Cool. That's really cool. How're you so cool with all this?"

"What?"

"You're, like, super chill about this. We just showed up in your studio and told you we're dead. Wouldn't most people freak out about that?"

Why isn't he freaking out? He supposes there isn't much left that can surprise him, after everything. Superpowers? Evil scientists for parents? Ghosts seems like a logical progression.

"You're not the weirdest thing I've seen. Wait, hang on- how did you know I was so chill?"

Caleb's face plummets like he's been caught in a lie, face cycling through too many emotions to translate.

It clicks like a spark to a fuse, understanding crashing through him so fast he's almost knocked over. How the hell did he not put two and two together?

"Oh my god, you're atypicals!"

It's as if he dropped a bomb in the centre of the room. The three ghosts freeze, not in the surprise of before, but palpable, chilling fear.

Sam vanishes.

"Fuck," Mark hisses. Takes a slow breath to gather himself. "It's okay. She'll be back soon. No need to worry."

He sounds very worried.

Caleb is so close to Adam he towers above him. If it wasn't for the open, imploring eyes, Adam would have his own fear thrumming through his chest. "How do you know that?"

"I mean, I played a CD for a band called Atypical! and you appeared. I’m guessing that’s your band? And you said you knew how I was feeling, I'm guessing you're an empath?"

“You listened to our CD?” Mark asks, bright-eyed. “What did you think?”

"More important,” Caleb shoots Mark a look, “how do you  know  about atypicals?"

"Caleb, he can see ghosts!" Mark throws his hands up in exasperation. "He's obviously atypical, too."

"Uh, no- I'm not- at least, I don't think-"

Adam's brain grinds to a halt. Is he atypical? He's never had reason to consider it. He's always been at the periphery, a totally average human looking in through a window at the miracles and atrocities on the other side.

Wouldn't Chloe know if he was atypical? Not if he didn't, he supposes.

Do his parents know? They can't, can they?

The pit in Adam's stomach becomes a sickening, plummeting vacuum.

"My best friend is atypical," he says quietly, carefully boxing away those dizzying thoughts and burying them beneath the sea of blue in his mind. For future consideration.

Or never.

"Oh, cool." Caleb says, no doubt feeling the hurricane going on just beneath his surface. "What can they do?"

"She’s a mind reader. Great in class, not so much fun at parties. Ha." The words fall flat. He's in shock, he thinks. The world is distant, slipping back beneath the grey fog of the rest of the day.

Mark grimaces. "Okay, kid- Adam - I know this is a lot, but you need to chill."

"Chill?"

"Your emotions are all over the place. We haven't been around people in a long while, aren't used to other people's emotions."

"You're an empath too?"

"Mirror. I take on other people's powers when they're around."

“That’s cool.” His parents would have a field day if they knew about this guy.

“Most of the time,” Mark says, something odd and hitching in his voice. “Not right now, though.”

“I can go,” Caleb frowns. “If it’s getting too much-”

“No, no,” Adam interrupts, guilt rising up to churn alongside his apathy. He feels bad enough when he inflicts his depressive thoughts on Chloe - he can’t imagine how awful the emotions themselves must feel. “I’ll go. It’s, uh, it’s been a long day. I’m sorry. I just-”

He flees the room, for the second time that day.

He really does ruin everything.

[sea-side-scribbles]

Fanfiction: Sympathy For A Downer

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22737214/chapters/80557750

Chapter 70:

The next day, Nick felt as calm and save he hadn't felt for a long time. Lying in his bed, he was happy to experience that he didn't have a blackout, and that he knew where he had spent the night. It had been right here, among friends. He also remembered fondly that James had brought him to bed, after keeping a clear head hadn't been necessary anymore and Nick had just let all worries go. For the first time, it felt alright to wake up as the only person in his bed, because he knew he wasn't alone. And even if his friends were a bit out of it, they remembered what was most necessary, that they were a team. Nick left the bed and prettied himself up, putting on one of Hackney's new creations. It was just the right time to wear something completely new. And the designer had been right, yellow was his colour.

Strutting down the stairs, he noticed a delicate smell coming out of the kitchen. “Oh, dear”, he whispered in awe. “Is that...pancakes?” He wondered who in the band suddenly cared enough to cook. Hurrying through the door, he found a pile of freshly made, steaming hot pancakes on the table, and James at the stove, pouring more dough in a pan. “James”, Nick gasped. “You're cooking!” He sounded as if the other man didn't notice what he was doing. “Apposite observation, my friend”, James answered happily, pointing at the already filled plate. “You think this is too much? It's supposed to be enough for four hungry mouths but I'm not sure if you even eat that much for your usually late breakfasts. Coffee is on the way, too.” Nick looked around the kitchen, gaping. “It's alright...It's just...alright...”, Nick muttered and sank into a chair. “Are you okay, Nicky?” James asked worrying. “Yeah...I'm so happy...” Nick wiped his eyes. The other man was quickly by his side to hold him. “You're looking good in that”, he commented his rags. “New collection?” “Yeah, Davy picked them for me...I mean Davy Hackney.” James nodded and Nick leaned his head against him, smiling.

“These are edible, by the way”, James gestured towards the pancakes. “First come, first served.” Because Nick's mouth watered at that, he helped himself to a big portion of the rare meal. Adoring the taste of melted sugar and lemon juice on his tongue, he leaned back. “James, this is delicious!”, he swooned. “Why didn't you tell me you can cook? I would've let you move in without hesitation!” The other man laughed. “To be fair, I haven't done this in a while. Luckily, this is just like riding a bike, you can't unlearn it.” “Can you ride a bike?”, Nick wondered. “I think so.” James furrowed his brows. “You can't?” “I don't know.” They laughed and James finished the second round of pancakes, serving them on another plate. “Don't you eat too?”, Nick asked him after a while. “Or do you want me as your food taster first?” “Doesn't the cook eat last?” “Nonsense, this isn't a noble house anyway.” Nick shoved a plate into his direction. James turned away again. “Oh, I forgot to serve the coffee...” When he was finally done and they both had their hot drinks and filled plates, James tasted his own recipe. “This isn't bad, I think”, he judged himself, “For a first try in years.” “It's the cutest thing you could've done as a manager,” Nick purred. “The others will love you too.” “They'll have to bear with me for now...” “Could be worse”, Nick said with a grin and James smiled back.

Nick was proven right about his band. When they found out their new manager had made them breakfast they keenly pitched into it. “Virgil can take a leaf out of your book”, Brad said, looking at the piece of golden pancake on his fork. “I'm not sure I even want him back”, Chris approved. Nick forced a smile. He knew they didn't have as many good memories with Virgil as he had, and also they forgot many of them already, but it still hurt. On the other hand, he was glad that James won them over bit by bit. They were simple minds now. Nick sighed, looking at his once best friend Matt who enjoyed his breakfast too. He hoped they'd stop overdosing one day, so he could really make up to them. For now, he had to admit this was working, too. Matt returned his gaze promptly. He waved a hand in front of Nick's face. “Hey, Nicky, you're still with us?” Nick blinked. “Yeah...only in thoughts...” “What are you up to now?” Nick must've looked startled, because Matt put a hand on his shoulder. “No, no, no, it's fine. This is all great!” The others nodded. “Don't worry, we're at your side, whatever is your next coup.” He made Nick smile and also blink more. Someone was cutting onions all of a sudden. “Would you mind if I talk to James first?” He gave the new manager a look. “As long as you don't forget about us”, Matt urged him. “Don't worry...”

Later, he helped James with the dishes, so he could talk to the other man in private. “What's our next plan?”, he asked worriedly. “We can create a new record by ourselves, but we need gigs. And promotion.” “Well, the biggest event of the year is already coming up”, James explained and Nick searched for information in his brain. “You mean Christmas?” James smiled. “The Victory Memorial Day, Nicky. And guess who's gonna be the main act?” “M...Me?” The other man gave him a meaningful look. “I made it?” “Of course, my friend! The Make Believes are what everyone is talking about! You're more exciting than Coconut Joy! This is better than what I hoped for when I first met you.” Nick almost let a plate fall when he dashed into the other man's arms and hugged him tightly. James gasped, taken by surprise. “You made me a star again”, Nick whispered. “We made it, Nick”, James corrected him softly. “And now it's time to reap our reward.” Nick didn't see how his eyes lit up for a second.

They consensually parted from each other for the next couple of hours. Nick said he needed to go for a memorial walk because he wasn't done saying goodbye to his beloved ones. James' reaction was understanding. The manager also needed to see through Nick's documents and needed some time alone for that. Nick's first destination was a little shop where he bought flowers from the surprised keeper. Then he sought the fountain and sat down on it's brim. “Hello Morrie”, he whispered, plucking at the blue blossoms of the forget-me-not. “I kept my promise, see, I brought you flowers...” He gulped and tried to put into words what had happened in the last few days. “I'm such an imbecile”, he concluded, “...a complete idiot...and now I lost both of you...The funny thing is, or well, perhaps the thing that would bring you to the verge of a mental breakdown...I don't regret  it...I mean, I regret losing you,  I regret lying to you, but I don't regret loving Arthur...does that make sense?” He paused as if he was waiting for an answer. “I guess not...I just wish I gave you a chance...a real chance to understand me...this is what I should've done...right after I met Arthur again and figured I loved him too.” He shrugged helplessly. “Well, what use is my insight now? I'd be pushing up daisies already if I didn't have such good friends. I keep going for them...But I wish you could be with me on Memorial Day...” Once again, he imagined taking Morrie's hand, holding him close. He closed his eyes for some time, dwelling in memories. Then he knelt down before the fountain and planted the flowers. He watered them with handfuls from the basin and afterwards took his time to look at his handiwork. “There, your very own memorial”, Nick whispered proudly. He remained kneeling there for some more time, leaning against the stone brim, listening to the rippling of the water and simply relaxing, dwelling.

He got up when it was time to visit someone else. “I've got to look after Virgil now...”, he quietly said to the flowers. “I miss him too...I'll be back, my love.” Nick walked away. He began to like these strolls, they helped him to calm down. It was very helpful that he didn't have to hide since he was going out at a decent time. He didn't stop right in front of the statue this time, instead he sought a bench in the park from where he could see it without being seen. From there he viewed the scene, watched the hotel guests stroll by, or the trees in the park swaying in the wind. “I guess I'm not completely useless without you...what a surprise”, he whispered. “I wish you could see me at Memorial Day. Perhaps you wanted to leave me, but in the end, you gave me a second chance and I wonder if I made you proud. I was proud of you, my rock manager extraordinaire...” Nick smiled. Then he had to wipe a tear away, still smiling. He felt more at peace today. If that was the last chapter in his life, it wasn't too bad. Virgil had given him so many good memories. And now he was prepared to do the rest, until the end. “Rest in peace, my Virgil...I'll do my best...” Nick also dwelled in thoughts for a while, enjoying the view.

Leisurely, he went inside the hotel, seeking the lounge. He had started to like this place too. Also this time it didn't disappoint. The room was imbued with a mellowing voice, a song that felt like balm on his wounds, that told him everything would be alright. And he knew the voice, and he sensed an emotional attachment to the singer. Taking a seat at a table from where he could overlook the room, he watched Birdie, smiling. She had accompanied the piano player for a presumably spontaneous performance. The one reporter who had been lucky enough to be there eagerly took photos, but it didn't harm her show. The guests applauded her when she was finished and she bowed shortly. Nick joined in the applause. Sadly, she didn't see him when she hurried out of the lounge. She probably wasn't keen on talking to the photographer. Nick left his seat and followed her. He felt the urge to tell her something. However, it looked like the reporter had the same feeling, so Nick had to get rid of him first. He fastened his pace and approached the man who was about to follow her into the elevator.

“Where do you think you're going? I'm right here!”, he proclaimed and threw himself into a pose. “Nick Lightbearer!”, the reporter blurted out. “This is my lucky day.” Nick chuckled, enjoying the little photo session. “Don't tell me you were looking for someone else.” “How are you getting along since your manager is on holiday?”, the man unfortunately asked, unable to suppress the usual journalist's annoying habit of coming up with awkward questions. “Just peachy, actually. I have a surprise coming up for you,” Nick answered confidently. “Any hints for your longing fans?” “Well, it wouldn't be a surprise then.” Nick winked. “Ah...Why did Virgil need a break, by the way? We thought it all worked out well with the Make Believes Reunion. Are there arguments in the band?” “Not that I remember...You know, Virgil was always working very hard for me and he never took a break. He very well deserves one now and I promised to behave, so don't worry, I'll be okay.” “The fans will love to hear that”, the man said, sounding a tad bit disappointed he couldn't get a fierce reaction out of the controversial rockstar. “Still, the fans are worried. You stopped giving concerts and you don't reply to fan letters. Can you give them a message right here and now?” “I'll be back”, Nick said firmly. “I'm sorry I didn't respond to my dear fans...Tell them I'm thankful for backing me up in all those years, for ignoring all the dirty lies that go around in town and just enjoying my music. That's what I'm living for. I'm glad I can cheer them up and I'll do it again, don't worry, I'm working on a big surprise and you'll love it.” “We never see you around with the other band members. Are you sure it's alright?”

Nick would've liked to slap this prick. He was giving a tearful speech for his fans and all this guy cared about was grubbing out a scandal. “Yeah, I'm absolutely certain. Listen, I'm a bit busy actually, but I think you deserve a treat...My colleague Birdie Callagher resides in this parts, I bet she'd be happy to say a word or two to her fans as well...why don't you go into the first floor, room number 115 and pay her a visit?” The reporter lit up and forgot all his bad intentions, at least those regarding Nick Lightbearer.  “That's a splendid idea. Thank you, Mr. Lightbearer, for the brightening conversation.” With that, he hurried away, avid for the next big story. Nick wasn't sorry for fooling him, although he would probably pay for it later, when the guy would finish his article. He went into the elevator himself, when it came back, and ascended to the second floor. He made sure the coast was clear before he knocked.

“Birdie?”, he whispered. “It's me, Nick.” She opened and peeped through the crack of the door until she recognized him. She gave him a mild smile. “Hi, Nick.” “I wanted to talk to you in the lounge, but I guess you can't go back there right now without being assaulted...that guy is still around. I got him off your back but it's only a matter of time until he finds out I led him a merry dance...” “Oh dear...”, she rolled her eyes. “I guess it serves me right for not keeping my mouth shut. Thank you for saving me.” He waved her off. “No problem. Hey, you want to come over to my suite? We'd be save there, since the guy is after you.” “Is that another invitation?” “Uh...yeah...it is...if you can squeeze me into your schedule...” She smiled again and went out of her room, closing the door behind her. Nick was happy she came along, so he didn't have to wait until he randomly met her again in the lounge. Nearing his suite, he started to wonder about the state of it.  The last time he woke up in there, after his blackout, he didn't pay attention to it at all. Opening the double door, he saw that the staff had made an effort cleaning the place. After all, it had been a while since his band had used the suite for a spontaneous party. And he had slept in this bed with Morrie. “Is something wrong?”, Birdie ripped him out of his thoughts. “Er...no...it's been a while since I've been here, that's all...It's so clean, I can't believe I ever used this...”, Nick explained, looking around. Birdie let her gaze wander around the large suite and silenced. “Ah, nevermind, didn't mean to be a killjoy...”, Nick backed away. “Why don't you take a seat?” He offered the sitting area to her, the one beyond the big sparkling disco ball. “I could make you a non-alcoholic drink too if you like.” Birdie sat down and nodded. “Yes, please.” Later, they had made themselves comfortable.

“What did you want to tell me in the lounge?”, Birdie took up the thread. “You mean, except that you have an outstanding voice?”, Nick said charmingly. She giggled. “You can tell me that, too.” “Honestly, you took me by surprise...touched my very soul...”, he admitted, “There aren't enough songs like these in the world.” She leaned back, flattered but playing it cool. “Oh, I was just...getting stuff out of my mind...I'm deep in thoughts lately, very un-wellie.” Nick nodded. “I see...it made me feel better though, so it had a sense of happiness...” “I'm glad...I'll never forget the face the pianist made when I asked him to play a song for me”, she said smiling at something in her mind. “I can imagine...doesn't happen every day.” “Hell no, I have to keep that a surprise. Stupid paparazzi would swarm the place and Davis would kick me out.” “That wet blanket.” Nick made a face. “Does he ever take Joy?” She giggled. “Only the bad badges.” “Good call.” “He's okay though...” Nick gave her a surprised look. “Yeah. He seems like he has a humour bypass, at first sight, but he's only caring for his hotel.” “His business.” “It's his baby,” she pointed out. “He won't hurt you unless you hurt it.” Nick pondered it. “It's just a building.” “But a pretty one.” Birdie looked around in the suite. Nick was reminded of Arthur for a second. “That it is”, he answered, staring into his drink.

“Nick?”, she reminded him of where he was, darting a meaningful glance at him. He looked up. “You didn't invite me just to compliment me, or did you?”, she asked with a soft voice. “Don't you like compliments?” “I do, but I also like knowing what I'm getting involved in. What are you up to, Nick Lightbearer?” He began to look a little embarrassed. “It may sound crazy...”, he said and shrugged. “I only know you for a couple of days, but I think it could work...” He darted a glance at her. Birdie didn't move. “Would you like to sing along with me at the 14th Annual Memorial Day?” Birdie opened her mouth but no sound came out. “Yeah, I know, it's a little sudden, but I couldn't help thinking about it.” Nick turned to his drink again. She looked puzzled at first and later lit up more and more. “You mean...you and me...on stage...at the biggest event of the year?” “Yeah...I think we've both been quite big this year, we deserve it.” “And your band? Would they agree to this?” “Well...right now, they're not really able to say 'no' to anything...not that I want to exploit them, but...I'm sure they'll have fun.” Birdie lifted an eyebrow. “They're just very happy at the moment”, was all Nick explained. “You don't have to answer now...just consider it. Perhaps it'll be easier for you to find a really good manager after you've been the main act at the party.” “Sure...”, she said, still overwhelmed. “We can rehearse at my place. We don't need to improvise”, he said grinning. Birdie put a hand on her chest. “This day is getting better and better...”, she gasped. Then she looked at him again. “Do you really mean it?” “You can take it to the bank.” She smiled. He could see that something else came to her mind. “Do you have a new manager?” Nick leaned back, trying not to look too proud. “Yes. He's a good friend and he's taking care of things for now. I guess I'll keep him anyway.” “Of course.” He didn't know if she was jealous or amused. Perhaps both.

[the-hilda-librarians-wife]

Family Fights - Chapter Six

Summary:  Even the strongest bond, the most loving family, can be broken by nightmares, and the librarian is soon to learn this. As she learns sinister things about a person who she had thought was lost forever, she realizes she will need the help of another witch to get her family back.

Notes: I’d like to dedicate this chapter to all the people who impulsively began growing plants this quarantine. Congratulations on the new children.

(chpt1) (chpt2) (chpt3) (chpt4) (chpt5) (chpt6)

Trolberg’s Municipal Garden was a lovely place, in Maven’s opinion. It was a beautiful park, with a variety of well kept plants; it was more than that, though. It was committed to the conservation of native species (not only of plants, but of the insects which were connected to them), and it also gave the visitors the chance to take home potted seedlings of the species that weren’t poisonous. It sounded like the perfect place to try a different approach to Hilda’s lessons.

She had arranged for the girl and her mother to meet her there at ten in the morning - they had decided to cancel their Wednesday meetings, so as not to disturb Hilda’s studies, so their classes would only be on Saturdays, when they had more time. She had arrived a little earlier, and she was already waiting by the gate when they arrived, holding a straw basket with food for them inside.

Hilda grinned widely when she saw her, which made Maven release a breath she hadn’t realized she had been holding. True, she had done as Johanna had asked and apologized to her face to face; Hilda had forgiven her, but it was good to see she had somewhat forgotten about it as well.

Johanna wasn’t as excited. She managed a smile and a nod of acknowledgment for Maven, but the librarian could see that she’d have to earn her trust back. She walked a step behind her child and looked at the Garden with interest.

“Hi, Maven!” Hilda said when she got closer. “How are you?”

“Fine, thank you for asking. What about you?”

She followed her mother’s gaze to the infinity of green beyond the entrance gate. “Curious, to be honest. What is this place?”

“This is the Municipal Garden.” She said, stepping beyond the gate. It seemed like a completely different world inside. The first thing they saw were trees, beautiful giants that reached for the sky and clashed with the city outside. Though visitors could wander among them at will, there was a main trail which led past the trees and into an area full of neat, well kept flower beds with all sorts of species. Beyond it lay a park-like area where flowers grew mostly at random and visitors could lay around as they pleased.

“You grew up in Trolberg, didn’t you, Johanna?”

Johanna, who had been looking at the top of the trees with an awe-struck gaze, was startled out of whatever train of thought she’d been having and nodded.

Maven stopped walking and turned to her. “Have you ever been here?”

“Yes, a few times. I was a small child, though. Can’t say I remember much.” She chuckled.

“Are you going to teach me about the trees?” Hilda asked as she stepped out of the main trail to walk amidst the closest trees.

“No, not today. We are heading.” She stopped, pointing ahead to the flower beds. “Over there.”

Hilda went back to her mother’s side in order to see what Maven was pointing at. As they got closer, she tried to recognize the species on each flower bed.

“Are those spices?” She asked, noticing that the air in that area had a different aroma to it. Maven snorted.

“Well, that’s one was to look at it. Not all of the herbs here are fit for cooking, though.”

“Oh!” Hilda gasped, remembering what she had read just a few days before in Maven’s book. “Herbs! I know some things about them!”

Maven smiled, but before she could ask the girl to elaborate, Johanna cleared her throat. “Would you two mind if I stayed in one of those benches over there?”

She pointed at one of the two benches in the herb area, and Maven shrugged. “No, it’s fine. Can you take this for me?”

Johanna crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow when Maven tried to hand her her basket. “What is this?”

Maven smiled, and Johanna took it, a little wary that there might be something inside that was related to magic that she wasn’t fit to handle in the slightest. “It’s for later.”

“Well, okay then.” It didn’t feel very heavy, and Johanna figured that the librarian probably wouldn’t hand her anything that could bring her or Hilda harm. “I’ll be right over there if you need me.”

When Hilda nodded, Johanna walked away, turning her head to them every few steps until she was far enough that she couldn’t hear them anymore.

“So.” Maven began. “What do you know about herbs in the craft?”

“They’re kind of like crystals, aren’t they?” Hilda asked, stepping closer to the little fence which protected the flower bed closest to her. “In their usage, I mean. They’re usually used as spell components.”

Maven nodded. “Yes, that’s right. But unlike crystals, you can use herbs to make potions.”

“Really?” She asked, her hands on the fence in front of her but her eyes on her mentor. “Which ones can you use?”

Maven’s hand went to her chin, and she raised her eyes as she thought. “Any of them, as long as they aren’t poisonous. Unless you’re trying to make poison, that is.”

“I… don’t think I will.” Hilda chuckled, and fixed her stare on the plants in front of her. They had a strong green colour, and the leafs seemed to have a sort of relief to it. “What is this one?”

The librarian snorted. “You’ve probably seen this one before. It’s basil.”

“Oh!” The girl breathed deeply, taking the herb’s scent into her lungs. “Yeah, mum cooks with this.”

“It is very useful in spells and potions. I mostly like to use it for rituals related to love or luck, but many witches use it for wealth and protection as well.”

Hilda nodded. “I see.”

She was just about to move to another flower bed when Maven spoke up again.

“How would you use it in a spell?”

Hilda looked at her with a confused, albeit excited gaze. “Me?”

Maven nodded. She had planned to teach Hilda the different components of witchcraft separately, and teach her how to put the together when she knew them. That’s how she had learned, that’s what had worked for her, because she liked to think of magic as a machine that needed each piece to be working perfectly to function. But Hilda wasn’t like this. Maven could feel her magic by standing near her, could read the energy imprint in the things she touched, and Hilda’s magic was so much more organic. It was more like a tree: it had parts, but rather than each needing to be flawless, each part needed to be there for it to work. The components, the energy, the knowledge needed to twist around each other and grow together in her mind in order for her to learn.

Maven only hoped she was fit to teach someone so different from herself.

“Yes. Don’t worry, you don’t need to think of anything too big. Let’s try to begin small. What meaning do you give to basil? I told you the most common ones, but if another feels more right to you, that’s probably the one you should pick.”

Hilda narrowed her eyes at the small sea of green leaves in front of her, and Maven was happy to see the genuine interest in her face. “Good luck sounds about right. Should it be a spell for good luck, then?”

“It is usually good to be precise about your intent when making a spell.” Maven said as she lowered herself down in one knee to breathe in the scent as well. “What would you want to have good luck with?”

“School. She answered after a while. “Good luck in school sounds like a good call.”

“Well then.” Maven smiled, thinking that if Johanna could hear them, she’d probably call Hilda our on her choice. “There are different sorts of spell to be done. The basic ones are usually based on either fire, earth, water or air.”

“What about the advanced ones?” Hilda interrupted her, but this time Maven wasn’t annoyed. This was a sign of enthusiasm, which was precisely what she wanted.

“When a witch can control energy well enough, they don’t need to base their spell on anything but themselves. Don’t think this means all spells of this sort are grand, though. The one to open locks is in this category.”

Hilda giggled, an image forming in her mind of her mentor using this spell to rob a bank, but allowed Maven to continue her explanation. “Basil is associated with fire, so it could be argued that a fire spell would be more effective. But you could choose any type of spell, really.”

She tilted her head to the side, her lips pursing in thought. “How do you make a fire spell?”

“You burn something.” Maven deadpanned, and Hilda burst into laughter. The librarian cracked her serious expression, snorting and then laughing along with her, not being able to hold back.

Amidst their fit of giggles, their gazes fell on Johanna, who was looking at them like they had been possessed and she should run. It only made them laugh even more. At some point, they even forgot what they were laughing about, but the image of the other, panting and red, was enough to keep them giggling.

When Hilda caught her breath, she tried to come back to the exercise. “You mean, using a candle?”

Maven cleared her throat. “Yes, it could be. What sort of candle would you use?”

Hilda thought this through. This exercise was being extremely enjoyable; it was like a trivia, but with no wrong answers, allowing her to explore different possibilities and decide what felt best for her. Like wandering through a forest and finding the little wonders in each path, and finding the trail that worked best for her.

“I read something about colours in witchcraft. It said that blue is connected to intellect, so since it is supposed to help me in school, maybe a blue candle would be the best.”

Maven seemed pleased with her answer. “And how would you incorporate it into the spell?”

Hilda now felt like she had been caught in a hunter’s trap amidst her wanderings in the forest. She tried to think of a way to put the candle and the basil in the spell, but none felt right. She looked up at Maven. She didn’t want to disappoint her, but somehow, she looked like she already knew the conclusion to which she would come.

“Maven, I-“ The librarian nodded, encouraging her to finish her line of thought. “I don’t think I should use a candle for this spell. I would direct my energy to it instead of the basil, and that’s not what I want to do. The basil should be in the center of this spell.”

When she’d begun speaking, Maven had looked encouraging and pleased with her, but by the time Hilda finished, her face had twisted into something that looked more like utter shock.

“Wow.” She said, blinking a few times. “You’re really good at this. Most witches take much longer to be able to feel what should be done in a spell. I’m impressed.”

Hilda smiled at the compliment, feeling her cheeks heat slightly. “So it is better not to use the candle?”

“The candle could work.” Maven answered. “But each new component adds a layer of complexity to the spell. It is important to focus on each component and how it comes together with the rest. Also, it is a spell with a simple goal; it should be simple as well.”

“Okay.” Hilda nodded. “So can I burn the basil?”

“You can. But I would recommend doing something to make the magic understand its goal. Something to make it specific.”

“Like?”

Maven shrugged. “You could chant as you burn it. Or write down your intent in a piece of paper and burn it along with the leaf.”

“Hey!” Hilda got up on her toes as an idea stroke her. “What if I write it in the leaf?”

The librarian smiled as the girl fell back on her heels again, looking pleased with herself. “That sounds very good. In which language would you like to write it?”

Hilda raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“There are witches who believe some languages work better in spells than others. Latin and Gaelic are popular ones, but the witch dialect is usually preferred.”

“Will I learn this dialect?” She twisted her head to the side, thinking of all the obscure symbols she had seen on the tapestries of the hidden library. They looked extremely difficult to understand.

“Only if you want to.”

She thought about it for a second. Maybe one day she’d be more interested in it, but for now it seemed like there was so much more she should be learning first! “Can I write it in English?”

“Sure.” Maven chuckled. “But if you ever need a translation done, do tell me.”

They discussed the finer aspects of the spell after that, like how the sentence would be written (which made Hilda decide on a blue pen. She really did want to incorporate blue into the spell), whether only one leaf would be burnt or many, if she’d make it a general spell or cast it on her school material. There were still other things that would need to be decided, like the best phase of the moon, time of the day and day of the week to cast the spell, but those weren’t so important for the time being: there would be time for them to study that later, when Hilda had better control and could cast the spell safely. The point of the exercise was to make the girl understand how the herb they were studying could come together in a spell, and Maven thought it had been a shining success.

The librarian excused herself for a moment, walking to Johanna and leaving the girl to wonder what was the herb in the next flower bed. Johanna broke into a smile when she saw her coming. She’d probably been watching them the whole time, Maven realized.

“How are things going?”

“Really well.” She smiled back, happy to see that the woman didn’t seem so reluctant now. “I just need to get something here…”

She opened the basket after making sure that the woman wasn’t peaking, and took a small (yet thick) journal from the inside, the cover made of synthetic leather dyed cyan, with a dried flower glued to the center of the front, protected by a cover of clear resin on top of it.

At Johanna’s confused look, Maven only smirked and walked back to her apprentice. She thought she’d made a great job at picking a suitable journal for Hilda. It had personality just like her, and was brighter than the traditional brown leather covers with ancient symbols written in gold. It was natural and unpretentious, just like the girl’s magic.

When she approached, she could see Hilda trying to look at the journal, which was partially hid by Maven’s arm because of the way she held it.

“Thought you shouldn’t cast anything just yet, you have designed a very interesting spell.” She said, and then extended the journal for her to take it. “I think you should write it down. I got you this journal for you to use as your book of spells, if that’s okay.”

Hilda gasped, taking it into her hands and caressing the glass looking plastic that seemed to hold the dry carnation inside of it. She opened it, her eyes hungrily taking the little book in. The pages were simple, white with thin black stripes. She looked up at the librarian.

“Thank you so much! I love it!”

Although she’d never admit it to anyone, Maven blushed. “I’m glad to hear you like it-“

Catching her by surprise, Hilda’s arms slipped around her waist and she squeezed. Her breath seemed to leave her as the strong girl hugged her, both because it had been unexpected and because the embrace was a little too tight. Her hands fluttered uselessly around her, and in the end she managed to run her hand through the girl’s hair in a caressing gesture. Gods, how long had it been since she’d been hugged? A year, at least. Though she still had her extended family, they weren’t very tactile, at least not with her, and Maven was caught by the realization that she wasn’t used to affection anymore.

Before she could let her mind wander further down that particular path, let it remind her how similar Hilda’s touch was to her sister’s, once familiar but now just a distanced memory, she cleared her throat, and the girl drew back.

“Here.” She said, taking a pen from her skirt’s pocket. “Skip two pages, I’ll help you write the spell down.”

They spent quite some time repeating the process. Maven would go over the basic uses of one herb and guide Hilda in her process of understanding it, and then they’d write it down, always skipping one page from one spell to the next as Maven told her to. Once she did begin casting those spells, it would be useful for her to write down the results and anything that had diverged from what was written for future reference.

At last, the sun hit its peak when they had gone over half of herbs in the Garden, and Maven called for a break. They went over to Johanna again, who seemed to have been leisurely drawing something on a sketchbook. Maven picked up her basket and extended her hand for Johanna to take.

“Would you two join me in a picnic?” Maven asked, using her hand that was holding the basket to gesture to the park area just a few meters away.

“That’s what the basket was for?” Johanna asked as she got up. She didn’t take her hand from Maven’s when she was at up on her feet.

“Yes. I’m not such a great cook, though. I only brought sandwiches, I hope that’s okay.”

“That’s perfect, Maven.” Hilda assured her as they followed the main trail until they were surrounded by grass and wildflowers.

“You really must let me cook for you now.” Johanna said, squeezing Maven’s hand, which made her realize that she was still holding on to it.

“Oh!” She gasped as she released it. “Sorry.”

“No matter.” Maven answered. She really wouldn’t complain if Johanna had kept holding her hand for longer.

They found a spot that suited them and settled down, talking happily about their weeks as they ate. Once they were finished Johanna lied down on the grass, and Hilda began pointing out species of wildflowers that she recognized from growing up in the wilderness, asking Maven to explain her how flowers could be used for magic.

After the two of them had discussed all the flowers they could see, they left for the herb flower beds again, leaving Johanna to sketch near some Meadow Buttercups. Maven asked Hilda to try to guess the magical meanings of the herbs they hadn’t gone over yet, using her intuition and a few general tricks: plants that reach for the sun can be associated to healing and joy, poisonous plants are good for cursing, plants with thorns could be used for protective magic, and so on.

By the end of their lesson, Maven was torn between two feelings. It was incredibly satisfactory to see that Hilda was not only learning magic, but also learning to enjoy it. Learning that it is everywhere, in the smallest things, and finding it beautiful. But it was also tearing her heart apart to think that maybe, if she’d tried to understand her sister’s magic better, if she’d tried to teach her like she was teaching Hilda, with patience and willingness to change and adapt, she could have stopped Myra from turning against this part of herself.

She wanted so badly to be angry at her sister, to be able to think of her and see a traitor that had left her alone for so long due to her quest for more, but she really couldn’t. When her sister came to mind, all Maven could remember was a little girl, not understanding the point of all this because the words in the books were two complicated, because she couldn’t see how everything was connected and no one was able to make her understand either. A little girl who began thinking their craft was weak because no one had shown her its full strength.

And every time she looked at Hilda, she saw that little girl. She saw what could have been, if only they had been more patient, more open.

She’d never been given a second chance with Myra; she didn’t even know she needed it until few weeks before. But Hilda was still there, still willing to try, and maybe that would be enough. Maybe with time, effort, and a lot of luck, she’d even be able to talk to her sister again. Not some dark version of her, not a shell of what she had been, but truly her.

And if that happened, she’d give her the tightest damn hug she could manage.

_#_#_#_

The forest was dark, and getting darker still at this time of the day, with the last rays of sun disappearing behind the trees. She had wanted to come earlier- witch or not, it wasn’t quite a good idea to walk in the forest at night, even if this wasn’t a particularly dangerous one, if you had the luck to not meet any aggressive trolls. However, the person (or better yet, the creature) which she wanted to meet lived outside the city walls, a small road trip away from Trolberg, and she’d relied on her cousin driving her there to arrive. Which meant she’d relied on his time schedule as well, which now had her entering a forest on her own after dark, leaving him to wait for her by the roadside.

She’d whispered a chant of protection as she made her way among the trees. She didn’t have any hopes of finding him, not when all she had was a flashlight and a vague memory of where he lived. Whenever they met, she was walking through this part of the forest and he would show up, usually inviting her for tea at his house before asking for her to bring him a book from the library.

That meant, unfortunately, that she didn’t know for certain where he lived, and that she had no better plan than to walk around and hope he would appear. Her mother had known where his house was, and he had had a deep respect for her (which was something big, considering he respected practically no one), but this regard had never really extended to Maven.

Which probably made it even more depressing that he was one of the few people Maven considered her friends.

“I didn’t think I’d see you again.” He spoke suddenly from behind her, making her jump and turn around, her flashlight pointed at him like a weapon. No matter how many times she saw him, he still creeped her out. Though it was hardly her fault for thinking him weird. Very few people were made of wood, after all.

“Woodman.” She said, her chest heaving from the fright. “You thought that refusing to pay your library fine would keep me away?”

He didn’t blink, or smile, or frown. Of course he didn’t. Maven wasn’t sure he even could do any of these things. “I thought you were angry with me.”

“Well, obviously.” She huffed. “You have to understand that asking me to bring you a book from the library and not returning it is, quite literally, theft.”

“If you must put it like that.”

He turned his body away from her, beginning to walk away even as his head still stared at her direction. She doubted she’d ever get used to that.

“No, wait!” Maven called after him, stepping in beside him. “I came because I wanted to ask you for a favor.”

“But you’ve already taken the book back. Quite rudely, I might add.”

“No, it’s not about that.” She rolled her eyes, even when what she really wanted to do was slap her forehead in frustration. “I’m training a girl. Teaching her magic, I mean.”

“I’m listening.” He said, even as he didn’t stop walking. At least his head was facing the same direction as his body now.

“She has an affinity with green magic, and I wanted you to teach her about trees. My mother always said she didn’t know anyone who knew as much about the magic in trees as you do.”

He stopped abruptly. “Flattery will get you nowhere-“

“It’s not flattery. Trust me, it hurts to admit this.” She interrupted through gritted teeth.”

“- but telling me more about it might. Why are you training this girl, again?”

“Myra.” She answered simply, waving her hand in front of her face to make the mosquitos that were gathering go away.

“Ah. The prodigal daughter. I assume you don’t want to talk about it. Will you want to build this apprentice of yours a wand?”

She nodded. “That’s the reason I wanted her to have this lesson with you as soon as possible. If it’s not too much to ask, I’d like for you to decide which sort of wood would work better for her.”

“I will do that” He began, making Maven hold her breath. “If you bring me Leela Ashington’s new CD from the city.”

The librarian groaned. “Really, Woodman?”

“I really don’t think it’s a big price at all.”

“Okay, deal.” She gave her hand for him to shake it, swallowing at the feel of the rough, cold bark he had for a skin.

He followed her out of the woods, stopping at the line where the trees ended, just out of her cousin’s sight.

“One more thing.” He said. “How did you find this girl?”

“Oh, she moved into Trolberg a while ago.” Maven said, cleaning her clothes of the leaves and small sticks that had stuck to it during her short stroll through the woods. “Blue hair, wasn’t too hard to tell.”

She looked up from her clothes abruptly when he made a sound that could be interpreted as a small laugh. “That’s what I thought.”

“What is it?” She asked, suspicious that he may be causing mayhem. “What did you think?”

“That it will be fun.” He answered. “Nothing more.”

[daydreamingabouthockey]

Somewhere in Stockholm Chapter 2

Word count:1,775

Masterlist.

Chapter 1

Note: chapter 2 of Somewhere in Stockholm sorry this took awhile. I’m refreshed I took a holiday to Stockholm so I have some new inspiration. Ft Alex Nylander (sorry about the weird formatting I’m trying to fix it atm)

Maggie stood outside a yellow painted apartment block on a deserted quiet street. She stared at the buzzers until she found the one labelled Altelius . A small buzzer sounded, She pushed the door and found herself in a small but grand hallway with a large chandelier and a grand staircase. Damn this was fancy and this was his second home where he only came in the off season?

She hauled her suitcase up the flights of stairs Stopping on the fourth floor and a white doors with the numbers ninety written on it, she knocked on the door and waited. It was opened by a young blonde boy, he had a half asleep expression on his face, wearing only a pair of sweatpants and was mid way through brushing his teeth. “Hi, i’m Maggie?” she said unsure.

“Sorry wrong flat” he said or at least that is what she thought he said before slamming the door in her face.Maggie stood there stunned for a moment unsure what to think apart from she must have been at the wrong place, but Will had definitely text her flat ninety. She knocked again. This time she could hear from inside the flat two boys arguing in Swedish. The door eventually opened again but this time, a different blonde answered the door and Maggie swore her heart skipped a beat. This guy was handsome, tall, Blue eyes a flow of long blonde hair and was naked from the waist up and from what she could see this guy was ripped. Suddenly she understood Morgan’s warning. Oh boy she was in trouble. “Hi I’m Maggie,” She said a little unsure. Her cheeks burning. “Ah Maggie, Mo’s erm friend, hi,I’m Willy ” he said pulling her in for a hug and Maggie had never felt more awkward. Why had he said friend like that? Also she was hugging a topless stranger in a hallway and damn how ripped what this dude? “Come in,” he said grinning, he grabbing her suitcase and pulling it in.“You don’t have to do that, its ok, it’s kind of heavy,” she said trying to pull it off him but in the process losing the tug of war, I mean duh, he was a pro athlete. “It’s okay, hey Alex come say hey,” he yelled out. The younger boy from earlier returned into the hallway still only wearing his sweatpants. What was up with these boys? Was wearing clothes optional or something? If so she was not going to complain. “Eh?” the younger boy Alex asked.“We have a guest young Nylander,”Will said hitting his brother over the head. Alex turned to stare at Maggie “Oh hi, sorry I erm slammed the door in your face,” he said and she got the feeling Alex Nylander didn’t like her very much. “Its okay,” she spluttered still distracted by the two blondes. She could feel her cheeks flushing. “We’ve had a couple of fans turn up to our flat recently, so now we’re a bit wary,hence the name change on the buzzer to Altelius instead of Nylander,”. “Oh wow, people really do that,” “Yeah, I had a grandma chase me down the road last week,” Will joked at least she thought he was. She really couldn’t tell.“So you can take my room it’s just through here,” Will said pointing to the door “Oh,”. “Something wrong?” He asked running his hands through his hair. Something she found very distracting. “I mean I know Morgan said your a bit of a charmer but I think you got me a bit wrong,I can’t share a bed, with you I don’t know you and” Maggie blabbered nervously . He stopped her and laughed “Chill Maggie, I’ll sleep on the sofa, I’m not trying to, wait what did Mo say about me?” He asked with a cheeky grin and a laugh. “Oh nothing,” she said suddenly turning red as a tomato. He gave her the full tour of the place, kitchen, living room, a swish bathroom which was all in true scandivanian style and looked like it had come straight out of an ikea catalogue. He showed her Alex’s room which looked chaotic. Clothes all overspilling from his suitcase and cans of red bull dotted around any available surface, papers haphazardly piled on the desk in the corner.When Maggie was finally led into William’s room she was surprised at the contrast of the two brother’s rooms. She surveyed the room around her, double bed with grey sheets, a bedside cabinet, the room was clean and sparse like no-one really lived in this room apart from a few personal items. A blue maple leafs duffle bag identical to the one, she had seen at Morgan’s place. Beside the bed was a photo of she assumed his family given they all looked identical, blonde hair blue eyed, mum, sisters, Alex and a bald man who he guessed must of been his dad. Apart from that the room didn’t seem very lived in. Maggie flopped down on the bed, picking up her phone to text her family to let them all know she was safe.

To: Mom

From: Maggie

Hey Mom just telling you know, I arrived in Stockholm. I’ll call you in a couple of days love you! M x

Then she quickly typed out a message to Morgan.

To: Mo Bro

From: Maggie

Made it safely to Willy’s of course I’ve embarrassed myself already. Also does erm Willy think clothes are something optional?

Her phone pinged back immediately.

To: Maggie

From: Mo Bro

Oh no what did you do? I forgot to warn you about that, he is very liberal with clothing must be a European thing. He walks around half naked at lot at the rink. You get used to it. X

She was pulled out of her daze by Will wandering into the room, who was thankfully now wearing a t-shirt. “Hey,” he said smiling widely “So i’m not sure if you had anything planned whilst you were here but me and Alex were going to and watch the Eurovision later, if you want to come, there doing this big event in Kungsträdgården Park” Willy asked sitting down on the bed. “Sure I’ve never seen the eurovision before,”

“Your in for a treat then,” he said and she could have sworn he winked at her. Was William Nylander flirting with her? She sat on the bed, she had only just met this guy. She had met a fair few hockey boys growing up and being friends with one and she had sworn off dating hockey players after learning the hard way with Leo Mustang the star player for the Giants in Vancouver. She had met him through Morgan and despite his warning she had dated him anyway something which backfired massively on her later when he brutally dumped her for a hotter skinner blonde girl at a party in front of all of his friends. The only saving grace was that Morgan had been there to pick her up and defend her. Like the true best friend he was. He hadn’t ever once told her I told you so even though she knew he was thinking it. She loved Morgan for that. An hour later Maggie had showered, power nap and was ready to go out on a new adventure. William effortlessly weaved through the winding streets of the buildings were coloured white, yellows and reds. Maggie looked around in joy. There was nothing like this at home. This place was beautiful. “I don’t understand the deal with this Eurovision,” she sighed putting another mouthful of strawberry ice cream in her mouth. They had stopped off at what Alex had described as the best ice cream in Stockholm. “I didn’t either at first when I moved here from Canada, it’s weird, countries singing weird songs and perform in the strangest outfits then everyone gets angry when neighbouring countries vote for each other, for us it’s a night we watch tv and get drunk, it’s just even more hyped up this year because it’s in our city,”

“Ah well it sounds like fun so, Mo said you live out in Sweden during the off season you live here all the time you are here?”

“Some of the time, I spend a lot of time at my parents, this is just mine and Alex’s place,”

“Oh wow it’s so nice,” she said, nodding. In Seattle, she shared a tiny apartment with her best friend Molly and her boyfriend, Brad. She had become excellent at being third wheel to them. She could only dream of owning her own place.“So how did you meet Morgan? I thought a pretty girl like you he’s been showing you off?”

“Oh I live in Seattle but me and Morgs go way back we met at school in Couver,”

“Ah makes sense,” she said blushing.

“What brings you to Sweden apart from you know meeting me?” He asked with a playful grin. She laughed and pushed Willy.

“I’m interrailing around Europe,”

“And Mo didn’t want to come?”

“Nah he’d rather sit on his butt, see Maggie, his dog, play golf and go fishing,”

“Wait he named his dog after you?”

“Yeah well, he refuses to admit it,” she said with a shrug.

“So when he’s talking about Maggie,” he said, his eyes suddenly lighting up like it makes sense. “He was talking about you and not the dog?”

“Yes,” she said bursting out into laughter.

“That makes a lot more sense I wondered why he told me me and Maggie got dressed up and went for dinner,” he shrugged. “Did you have a bath with him?”

“Ew no” Maggie said with a laugh “that one was the dog,that is weird, I would never shower with him,”wrinkling her nose as she laughed.

“You and Morgan aren’t?” He asked his tilting head.

“God no he’s my best friend,”

“Oh okay good, I mean not good cool,” he said blushing and running through his hands through his hair again and awkwardly laughing. The pair went silent for a moment until Alex suddenly said goodbye turning to walk away.

“Where is he going? Are we not..” she trailed pointing to Alex walking up the hill

“Oh Alex is going to meet some of his friends, I said we’d meet back later, but I was thinking you might be hungry?”

It was that moment when Maggie’s stomach had decided to loudly gurgle. “Well I think that settles it and I know just the place,” he said with a wide grin.

[poeticwritingblog]

A Daylight Under Dark

    As the light fell, it was if the autumn and summer had leaked their orange tints.

    The forest floor was ambient. A florescent current rose from the last day of autumn, a stream of blue graced the floor. Steam emitted as breath from the whisp from lungs hidden as ravines.

   Like an orange flame, the leaves fell in sequence over the grazing earth, every leaf was grass. It was of a lady’s finesse, there she aged with beauty. Outside, it lurked within the depths, without sight or sound. Perhaps it heard the other’s calls, lost laments, a glass bubble, sparkling with it’s supernatural twinkle. It, the other was self-contained, deep within itself were the trees of flickering lights within iron skulls, mechanical retinas of frosted irises, it’s fluid of air brushing the breeze of the hairlines of steel strands. As it slowly grew with concrete waves, growing with time, It would take, collecting, from whom was born as a surrogate saving itself the strangers who assimilate, footprints of streets, and all waking knowledge of here she lies, the city.

   Hundreds of years they were in solitude.

   Until they were aware of their presence.

   They, separate intelligences, the urban breath caught in the autumn of the wild.

   Eyes, but not to be seen, ears not to be heard, no living body, but a living presence.

    It was of both entities. And both providing of different natures, they were of time, aged of knowledge youth incarnate: were they not mothers?

   Upon first glance, their motherly nature wouldn’t bear a resemblance. But they were of a mother’s ways, to bear a life, bare of wisdom, a way their child will grow to realize.

   Past and future moved to the method of a mother. The warm past of a child must move to the grace of a grandmother. The fallen leaves moved by as dying waves as they graced the mineral of soil, memories washed over as the breath of the wild took them without a predestined path. The ground absorbed serpentine, confetti, perhaps lost toys and other things children forgot.

   They were carried over the ancient nutrients through to be caught in hairlike roots of ancient trees. Then things lost and forgotten, and forgotten things as napkins, eggshells, papers, burnt embers of forest campfires, made to be left behind by the foreigners from the city, those footsteps to vanish upon moss over-grown rocks of isolation, people from the steel and glass complexes, the many, many cries from the shrieking mechanical beasts that tread, there long after.

   The future, rose gradually, hinted urban airs into the autumn forest breeze. The stark black strings of hair, the mother would rise gradually, giving the air of urban into the autumn forest breeze. It would wait in the darkness of transparency, of time upon new light where she dwelled.

   It perceived the living floor.

   A young boy was there.

    He was sun-darkened, he preferred to stay out of the shade. Each day, he would walk into the woods, as to grow within it’s bounds, to talk to trees as to understand them. But he never left. There, an elderly woman who sat next with him while having a picnic lunch. Sometimes, they’d hold hands while strolling through the woods, at times, they’d listen to the robins with whom they’d sing and the wind would sing along.

   The luminescence rested on the trees. It was the end of autumn and leaves fell as memories of before passed. October. A part of summer felt there, but was shutting down as winter from the city filled the forest.

   Any day, she may leave and never return.

   Today she must leave for the town.

   They would sit upon the grass feeling the remains of the summer-autumn warmth. The birds would play their piece softly and the boy stirred fitful grunts, whilst eyes closed. The elder lady did not tilt her head from where it was positioned. She stared at the remains of the sun, drinking the aging dandelion wine, her mouth enclosed to a slight humble smile, she opened her eyes.

     “Is there something bothering you?” she asked.

     “I had a nightmare,” said the young boy.

     “Nightmares during the daytime?”

     “You know what I’m talking about Grandma, a bad dream, haven’t you had one of those in the afternoon?”

     “Not anymore, my child. I’ve dreamed all the dreams to colour the fragments of dusk with the remnants of dawn.”

     He sat there, fingers and palms interlocking. “Grandma, I had a really bad dream”

     “What about?”

     “I don’t know anymore” he said as if it just lingered out of his mind. A shame of the very moment he were to speak the words, he lost them, he had already forgotten. Now, he shut his eyes again, he longed to remember.

     “Was it about me?” she asked, stretching to regain her composure.

     “No” he said.

     “Why, yes, it had to have been.” she said whilst gently smiling to the boy. “I was off to another land, distant from here, that what troubles you.”

     “No.”

     “No need to be afraid.” she said. “There I was leaving this place, and you were looking for me, and somehow, lost in smoke you were, found me and all of a sudden, I have a heart-attack or something.”

     He gave a noticeable doubt. “That’s crazy talk, Grandma.”

     “Let’s see now,” said she. “Why would I do such a thing? I knew there was something off-putting with those biscuits.”

     “That’s not funny, Grandma,” said he. “I can’t bare to think about carrying you and the basket all the way home.”

     She quietly laughed. “Did it bother you that much?”

     He nodded. “Daydreams are the worst, they make me feel sad, dreams should only be for the night.”

     “I’m sorry you feel that way” She took his little hand. “Anything I can get you, to help cheer your mood?”

     “No.”

     “We have some cookies? Cheese and cracker perhaps? Some wine?”

     “You’re very kind, but no. I’ll be all right. It’s just that, well, the last few days haven’t been right. This is different than how it used to be in the early summer. Something’s happened.”

     “Is this between you and your mother?”

     “Oh, no, Grandma of course not,” he said with slight haste. “But don’t you feel places change people? I don’t know, I feel things like parks change people, the carnivals, and all that. Even today, like you said, the biscuits taste funny.”

     “I was kidding, why do you feel this way, how do you mean?”

     “They taste old. Don’t worry, I’m not talking about you Grandma. It’s hard to explain, but I’ve lost my appetite, and I wish today never happened.”

     “You sure are a funny one. You know what? Enjoy today for what it is, when tomorrow comes, you’ll wish it were yesterday.”

     “I’ll try,” he said. “If only today didn’t feel so funny and change everything. I don’t know. But now, out of all the other days I just had a feeling to go back home.”

     “Because of your dream? Me, then booking it and then my heart-attack because I’m old and done with this place?”

     “I don’t mean it like that!” he said “Now, I have to think about a bunch of things, I don’t know if I can remember! I think I’ll have, what’s the name? What you’re drinking, I’ll have some of that stuff.”

     She laughed brighter than she has in the weeks that past her. “Don’t tell your poor mother you said that, it’s a shame you can’t remember your dream.”

     “Don’t worry.” He hugged her tightly. “I’ll protect you no matter what!”

     “Don’t worry about me okay? Just worry about yourself for the time being,” she whispered gently. “The autumn leaves dances to the whisps of the wind, but never against the current to die where whom was born.”

     “I don’t know what you’re talking about; But it sounds smart, it’s funny, how funny it is to hear how you think Grandma.”

     “How silly.” She breathed of light laughter. “How silly the flow of time really is.”

      The rested quietly, the sun and the twilight sky sparkled last light.

     “You know,” said Grandmother thoughtfully, “I understand the reason of your concern. This place, it seems to be shifting. As if it were moving from one place and today the movement to the other is somewhat within our senses.”

     “I’m glad you feel it, too.”

   She turned her head slightly as if she noticed all the details, rest ridden, smiling softly, shutting her eyes, catching the fallen sunlight. “We, mother the night. We, mother the night.”

   Murmuring “We.”

      The sea of night washed on dawn’s shore throughout the time, softly. The afternoon sunset came on. The sun struck with a graze upon the skies with fading flashes.

   Throughout the land, not a sight or scent of parks of metallic shine, long gone metal-glass domes that would appear in time, grey-to black where the growth dwells. The smells of fried meat and burnt onion soon to be seared filled the wind on concept metal. The concrete mixer whispered to the moss slated-boulders and stirred like an image, a vision soon to be realized, reflected in reverse back and forth, shining the silent shards.

   The crows flew over echoing discreetly. They darted through like dark arrows to split the sun. Underneath, the child and the grandmother did not move. Only their eyelids under a split sun’s shadow flickered with awareness, only their ears were alert. Now and again, the shade would bend the trees to faint silhouettes sliding along the grass, they’d move to catch the warm winds.

   Sly prickles of frozen white embers appeared on their brows to be burned away from the sun. She lifted her head, observant, listening to the dual winds. The robins sighed. She put her head down for a minute.

   The boy noticed a slight change in scenery. He opened one eye and he rested on one elbow, on his backside looking around, at the stream, the islands, the leaves, at the trees.

     “What’s wrong?” asked Grandmother

     “Nothing,” he said, lying down again.

     “There has to be something troubling you” she said

     “I thought I heard something.”

     “Is it the birds?”

     “No, not the birds, something else.”

     “Birds that don’t belong here.”

     He didn’t answer. Grandmother felt as the limbs of the forest, roots tense and relax, tense and relax.

     “I hear it” she said. “There it is again.”

     In the distant of the quiet, they both listened.

     “I don’t hear anything, Grandma.”

     “Be patient” said she, quietly. “It’ll reoccur.”

     Winter’s waves broke unto the night, freezing shards dawning the evening to turn quietly cold, ice coloured from moonlit mirrors, glass bulbs whose shine auras whisper.

     “I see mother.”

     “That’s nonsense. Mother isn’t here.”

     “Time is speaking to us, do you hear?”

     So, for the moment they listened.

     “I’m sorry Grandma, I don’t hear anything,” said the boy sensing a subtle chill. He went to a sudden stance, quickly he stood. There was no colour in the sky, the wind was suspended, the stones froze, the trees were hollow.

   The silence was in mirrors, it was staring to be the wind blowing over his ears, to preen along the light, leading the light somewhere beyond the fibres of his arms and legs. Grandmother took a step that would lead down the hill from their resting place.

     “Grandma, don’t!” said the boy

     She looked around the forest, oddly, as if it were gone away. She looked to the glass capsule of iron trees, afar, she was still listening.

     The crows suddenly, a boldness of air, sounding with the full hint of human, sang softly, through echoes. They mothered the melody and rhythm and words:

     “It is the evening of the day-”

     Grandmother to the tune, she turned to the sky’s aria of leaves to see the robins perched on branches, where the tuned traced.

   Meanwhile, the little boy made a wry face, raising his open palm violently. “Quiet down.”

     “The robins are singing, my dear boy!”

     The boy turned again. There the robins were, he waved to them, trying to smile.

   It was two o’clock.

   The sun left golden streaks upon the grasses. The ancient grandmother of time spoke the seeds of the    fruit of a withering flower, blew quiet husks in the cold. The robins held atop the hallowed branches and crows suspended in the sky.

   The moon, dark and distant struck through the sun’s orange fermentation that poured along the leaves of grass; caught between two islands of idle contrast of the whiteness that drifted to one place as it fell from the black. The shimmer of ice, the frosted irons of the brain under-ore, the leafed trails, the tide of dusted moonbeams saw themselves in rivers, spreading complexion.

   Grandmother still lay in the grass, the little boy beside her.

   Music, the one who wanders rose as with the mist of lost waters. It was whispers of the deep underground of midnights of memories and passed years, of salt and flavours of mists, of acceptance and the familiar dusks of the strange.

   The music sounded not unlike the ripples of water passing through sediment, snow falling, The depths of lines, drawing of the soft sound of roots growing from time. It was the sing of a voice time lost in caverns of fallen mountains. The hissing and sighing of frozen tides in deserted caves of engrained soils and missing treasures. The turn of limbs of elemental thistles of brushes brushing the sounds to be humours for buried skulls underneath sprouted earths. The warm phosphorescence and the cold, sun falling into night and a motherless moon, beams passed through generations, alter, shift, of sight.

    Only a few more hours. Grandmother might leave at any time. If only the boy would decide to leave as well, just as well to gone of refined elements, elemental interiors of home.

   The end of the daybreaking wind stirred silently, aware of his faded face and his stature, of the feeble child sinking by roots that grew shale molded of soil. Aware of him caught, held, as they sank ten and a thousand leagues down, on a sluice that wandered with a will of unthought wits, smoke unsparked turning as frantic, vapourized seeds, invisible smoke,

    to the depths of daylight underdark.

   The city lay in deep shadow, the sun’s fires of flat rays dying without conception of the city’s breath, and the frosted warmth of her fabric of living matter missing fires, the dusts of jewels dissipated, the ice of salted smoke feeding on faint breath, the sound was there, but only of airform lungs without breathing wings.

   Waves that thought of time moved the soft and changing dusks within dawns into the shallows were tepid as the rivers feeding on the earths and the two o’clock sun on a translation turning in phase or time.

   She mustn’t leave as to go away for the call of distance. If she leaves now, she’ll never return.

   Now. The warm island mind drifted, drifted. Now. Calls across the woodlands of windless noise in the early afternoon. Come down to the city. Now, whispered the music. Now.

   The little boy covered his ears.

   “Smiling faces I can see, but not for me” mimiced the crows sweetly.

   “I sit and watch as tears go by-”

     “Dear boy!” Grandmother reached over and embraced the boy. “Why must you scream?”

     “I must quiet them,” said the boy, hiding his woe, looking into the woods.

     It was three o’clock. The sky was all sun. Calm, Grandma stood up.

     “Should we leave?” she asked.

     “Can we go to the stream first?” he asked.

     “I feel tired walking there and back.”

     “Please.” he pouted. “Now.”

     “Did you want to see the minnows?”

     “Yes, I want to see if they’re around.”

     “The minnows? God, you must be dying!” She took the boy along to the stream.

     He helped Grandma walk there. Then he noticed she was more feeble. He stood there listening to the wind’s words.

   He heard nothing. He looked at the water past the glints of shattered sunshine, underneath he saw currents to carry minnows. The stream quieted.

   There was only a faint, far and fine pattern, where the rivers carried the minnows to their delta. He saw himself with them, only difference being he was in the current of wind to follow a path in infinite repetition.

   He squinted, sun from water, water pierced his optical memory again and again at the memory he looked from. He bounced back.

     “Look, there’s a big fish; he’s swimming up the stream!” He pointed, ecstatic, to it. “He’s already stopped, he’s looking at us!”

     Grandmother looked at the salmon and saw that it was quietly resting. She saw the minnows let the waves carry them to a new bank while the aging salmon’s life was brought to a quiet close.

     “There, she let the water take her. Her younglings didn’t choose how she was to go, but they must accept, to move on without her, move with the current, or to rest with the sediment.”

     He ate his cookies in silence. “A shame,” he said, without hearing what she said, “A big fish like that, turning belly-up. What a waste.”

     “Here” she said, unscrewing a thermos, “you must be thirsty. Finish the lemonade.”

     “Thanks.” He drank. He looked into the cold water with haste. He had to keep her here somehow. Without knowing why, he slapped his hands together and said, “Well, I’ll go in the water now.” He looked anxiously at the city and the moon.

     “That’s silly child, come,” she said, just remembering it: what he was trying to do.

     “Just one more thing,” he said just remembering it: he had to keep her here. “Can we go back and get some more biscuits? I’m all out.”

     “Is there anymore in the basket?”

     “Yes, last time I checked.”

     “I know you tell me your mother is always at work and you don’t see her that often,” she said. “But, okay.” She took his hand, loping steadily.

     The boy rushed off to their picnic place, every once in a while waiting for her to catch up. She knew she had to let him go and this was her last day before something was to claim her.

   She looked, smiling at the forest’s edge. She kept following the boy, out to what was waiting for her, that she didn’t know, she saw a warm presence.

     You can’t have her, the boy thought. Whoever or whatever you are, she’s here, and you can’t have her. I don’t know what’s going on; I don’t know anything, really.

   All I know is we’re gonna be here tomorrow at dawn. And tonight doesn’t change anything. So you can go back and wither where ever you were born, city, night, winter, future, or whatever is wrong today.

   Do what you will, you’re no match for us, he thought. He picked up a stone and threw it what seemed to be nowhere, until he saw his mother.

     “Mom!” he cried. “You.”

     Grandmother was standing beside him.

     “Oh?” He jumped right back.

     “Hey, you alright? You were standing there muttering.”

     “Was I?” He was surprised at himself. “Where’s the biscuits? I need some biscuits.”

     The thing that stood there vanished. The boy looked out at the city from time to time, eyes squinted,  nodding at the town as if to say, “Look! You see? Ah-ha!” He looked at the stone that mysteriously appeared in his hand.

    The words were engraved:

     Time Speaks To Us. The End Of Daylight Is Here.

Winter and Night, They Watch Above.

      The silence was in shadow.

   What extra-influence could reconstruct the shape of such words out of such precise craft?

   What was speaking to him?

 “It’s getting cold.” She gave him a hand.

They were half way leaving the forest.

     “Where are we going! Why leave so soon?”

     She turned as if he wasn’t her child anymore.

     “Something’s troubling you, what’s wrong?”

     “Why we just had a picnic and ate a whole lot-

   you can’t walk that far, you’ll get cramps!”

     She sighed. “Old wives’ tales.”

     “Just the same, you have to think about how  things just happen and you can’t help it, do you understand? It’s better to learn to accept certain truths sooner when you’re younger.”

     “Ah,” he said dismissing it.

     “I guess we could stay a little longer.” She turned, and he followed, looking at the night.

     Three o’clock. Four.

   The change came at four thirteen.

   Lying on the grass, the boy saw it coming and relaxed.

   The clouds had been forming since three.        

   Now, with a sudden rush, the fog came off from the trees at the edge. The wind, warm, humming the tune of the crows or robins had turned cold.

   A new wind blew up out of nothing. Darker clouds moved in.

     “It’s going to snow,” she said.

     “What a warm welcome,” he observed, sitting with arms folded. “Maybe our last day, and now, this snow, winter must be pleased because it’s clouding up.”

     “The weatherman,” she confided, “said there’d be a blizzard all night and go over our heads tomorrow. It would be a good idea to leave tonight.”

     “We’ll stay, just in case it clears. I want to get one more day of swimming in, anyway,” he said.

   “I haven’t been in the water yet today.”

     “We’ve spent the day, having so much fun strolling on this walkabout, time passes.”

     “Yeah,” he said, looking at the city which he started to see.

     The fog flailed across clouding the city, hiding it: the city was gone again.

     “There,” he said. “The snowflakes are disappearing.” His eyes were animated and young again. He was almost triumphant. “Come again, sun.”

     “Child, please, your mother is worried. We must return.”

     “Good old sun!” he said. “Let’s put these blankets away. We’d better run!”

     She tried to get his attention. But he was preoccupied.

     “Your mother will be here soon. You have to realize I won’t be here for much longer.” She put her hand on his shoulder. “I can’t take care of you anymore.”

     “No.” His face paled. “We have to go home, or we’ll catch a cold.”

     “The only home now is out there, your mother will take care of you.” She turned away from the city.

The wind rose, picking up the falling snow.

     Marching ahead, the boy headed for the house. He was singing softly to himself, the tune he heard the wind sing.

     “Hold on!” she said.

     He halted. He did not turn. He only listened to a voice far away.

     “There’s someone, fallen through the frozen stream!” she cried. “He’s sinking!”

     He couldn’t move. The wind halted him.

     “Wait there!” she shouted. “There’s someone out there! He isn’t moving! A little boy, I think!”

   “What boy?” he asked. “His parents will get him!”

     “They’re not here! Left without him!” She ran down to the stream, into the wind of winter.

     “Come back! Please come back!” he screamed. “There’s no boy there! Please, oh no, don’t!”

     “Don’t worry, someone will return for you!” she called. “The boy can’t move, standing, sinking in broken ice, drowning, being swallowed, you see?” she called. “My Grandchild is out there!”

     The smoke came in, the snow pattered down, a white flashing light raised in the dark sky.

   He ran, the boy after his grandmother,

   then the scattering snow from the blizzard rushed against him,

   crying, tears rushing from his eyes.

     “Don’t!” He put out his hands.

     She was lost into a dark fog.

     The boy waited under the dying sun.

     At six o’clock the sun was shrouded behind black clouds. The snow fell softly on concrete, white fading to grey.

   The forest vanished, the city appeared.

   It was there, the night, the future, the moon’s illuminated white shining on steel pillars. Among the night lamp streets, looking deep under, A man of his teenaged years saw a boy sink under water. Familiar. The snow globe bubbled and broke. The city was built, destined to replace the woods, like a pebble thrown into water, the reality rang with his thoughts, a part of life quickly lost as found.

   Youth. Familiar. Like memories, they’re lost. Nothing to them after they go. The future forgets the  past, like night forgets day, like the city forgets the forest; The man in the moonlight saw the boy with a face familiar to him sink into the streets, just lie there, doing nothing. There was nothing he could do. Strange. Disappointing, a vision of the past that clear, after all the years of waiting. What to do with him now? The boy from the woodlands peers into something he can’t see, the man looks back in memory it seems, his eyes stare, his skin pales. Silly boy, wake up! You have to wake up! The boy disappeared, grandmother, the forest with it. The memory? A life once lived? The mind of motherly roots vanished.

   He was then released. His mother, concerned called to him. He ran to his mother who was waiting there in the snowy night.

   The snow continued to fall, caressing the glass dome. Distantly, under leaden skies, from twilight dusks, a little boy screamed.

   A splinter of time appeared and vanished.

   Ah-the ancient winter stirred sluggishly in the air-isn’t time like a mother? The past ages and carries him to  the future? A daylight dome underneath the night?

   At seven o’clock the snow fell thick in the city. It was night and very cold and all the houses along the street had to turn on the heat.

[pocket-luv101]

Dramatic Blond || Part 2

Fandom: Servamp Ships: LawLicht (main), KuroMahi (side) Characters: Hyde, Licht, Kuro, Mahiru, Lily

Summary: Hyde enrolls in Juilliard to win back his ex. But then he meets Licht who helps him discover a new dream. He will become a famous actor and show his ex that he’s someone serious. (Legally Blonde AU)

Part 1 || (Part 2)  || Part 3 || Part 4

“I thought you were going to help me practise my improv, Angel Cakes. You’re paying more attention to Dr. Jekyll. He’s cute and all but I asked you to come over to help me with my improv class. You can pet him and read lines from a hat at the same time.” Hyde waved the upside-down hat in front of Licht. When he didn’t respond, he tapped the hat against his nose.

Licht swiped the hat from him and used it to lightly hit him as retaliation. Slips of papers flew into the air between them and Hyde waved them away. He picked one of the papers from blond hair and unfolded it. “Scenario: You are a demon who patrols the underworld. One day, you see an angel on the other side of the gate. What is the first thing you say to this angel?”

“I don’t remember writing that as a prompt.” Hyde took the paper from him and found that it said something different. He chuckled and said: “Of course, you would make something up with angels and demons, Lichtan. Can’t you take this seriously and read the lines like I asked you to?”

“You asked me to help you with improv and that’s what I’m doing. These prompts are from your textbook so you already thought of lines in response while you wrote them down. This is the best way to help you create a scene on the spot.” Licht told him. His reasoning made sense to Hyde so he nodded. “The angel tells you that he intends to break down the gate. How do you respond, Demon?”

“With a declaration of peace and love.” He cupped his hands around Licht’s. “Sweet angel, there’s no need to be so violent. Give us a chance before you decide we’re all evil demons. I will open the gate for you and show you the Demon Realm. We’ll go wherever your heart desires. Maybe you’ll discover that we’re not so different and decide to stay with us.”

“Demons took the love of my life. I cannot forgive them for their crimes against angels.” Licht said to change the direction of the improv skit. Even if he was merely practising his acting, he felt flustered by his light flirting. Hyde was attractive and he could easily picture him on a large stage. More than his looks, he was talented. His eyes appeared sincere and his smooth voice was almost able to trick him.

“Your angel left you for a demon? Then there’s only one thing we can do, Angel Cakes. Let’s date and make your ex jealous! So, what do you say?” He asked but Licht’s response was to hit him with a pillow. Hyde managed to catch the pillow and tossed it back to him. He chuckled and gathered the loose papers. “I guess I went too far. Let’s pick another scenario.”

“Give me a second to think of one you can’t turn into a cheesy rom-com. Do you have any suggestions, Jekyll? Squeak, squeak.” He spoke with the hedgehog as if it could understand him. Their interaction made him chuckle. He could almost believe that the two were having a conversation. He was certain that there wasn’t anyone else like Licht though.

His hedgehog hopped off his lap and scurried into an opened closet. Licht stood and followed the small animal. He guessed that it wanted to explore its new home and it was drawn to dark places. He pulled a cardboard box out of the closet so he could find Jekyll. As he set the box aside, he noticed a colourful scrapbook inside. He didn’t think Hyde would own something so childish.

Hyde noticed him staring at the scrapbook and he took it out of the box. He sat next to Licht and opened it on his lap. “I made this when I was a kid. My baby brother must’ve put it in here when we were packing. Lily is pretty sentimental. It’s a scrapbook of my dreams. My drawings haven’t improved since I made this so it would be impossible for me to get into Juilliard on my art skills.”

“Your drawings aren’t the best but these dreams are interesting. Is this a farm of hedgehogs?” Licht found Dr. Jekyll and petted him fondly.

“A petting zoo, actually. I planned to only have hedgehogs in my zoo. They’re the cutest animal in the world so you don’t need anything else.” He told him but he was a little embarrassed of his six year old self. Licht didn’t laugh at his silly dream though. He pointed to the next picture and Hyde told him, “That’s me building a fortress on the moon. I also want to find a talking whale and befriend him.”

They continued to go through the scrapbook together. He flipped to the next page where there was a stage drawn in crayon. “I forgot about this one. I wanted to star in a production of Hamlet with my friend, Ophelia. We planned to rewrite the play and have Ophelia actually team up with Hamlet. They would pull an elaborate prank on the Uncle. The ghost dad helps them too.”

“You read a Shakespearean tragedy like Hamlet when you were a kid? I can barely understand those plays at this age.” Licht didn’t know if he should be impressed or question how a child discovered the play. “You know a lot of quotes from Shakespeare’s plays. Did you practice them with Ophelia like what we’re doing right now?”

“She joined the drama club in high school and I would help practice her lines. Ayato didn’t like me hanging out with her though. I tried to tell him that Ophelia and I were just friends but he was pretty possessive. Ophelia and I eventually stopped talking and we drifted apart.” He shrugged but Hyde now regretted losing that friendship.

“Isn’t that a big, red flag?” Licht understood that it was difficult for the person in the relationship to see those flags in the moment. His mother dated demons because she thought they were fallen angels. She was a hopeless romantic and believed she could fix them. They broke her heart more often than not. It taught him that demons won’t change until they want to improve themselves.

Hyde closed the book. “My new dream is for Ayato to see me on that stage and regret dumping me.”

“Why is your new dream still centered around your ex when you have this scrapbook of better goals?” Licht leafed through the pages. He thought that it was a shame he gave up on himself long ago. He didn’t know if he could say anything to dissuade him. “Greedy isn’t the worst thing to be, as long as you’re honest and work hard to get what you truly want.”

Hyde’s phone buzzed and he checked the email. “They just posted the audition dates and requirements. It looks like we have to cancel our study session next week. I have to pick a monologue and memorize the short scene they sent me. This is going to take up my weekend and I probably won’t get a big part.”

“Only if you act half heartedly. Print out that script and I’ll read through it with you.”

Mahiru hummed softly as he polished a trumpet. He considered himself lucky to have a music shop close to Juilliard but it kept him very busy. At least he managed to find free time that day. He was expecting a visit from Hyde and Licht since they agreed to have lunch together. He loved both cooking and music. Mahiru offered to cook for them and they were out buying groceries.

The door chime rang, signalling that someone had entered his store and he looked up. It wasn’t Hyde or Licht though. Mahiru didn’t recognize the man. Due to his blue hair, he assumed he was also attending Juilliard. He put on a professional smile and greeted the man. “Welcome. Is there anything you’re looking for? I would be happy to help you.”

“Are you Mahiru?” The question made him pause but he nodded. Mahiru didn’t know how the man knew his name before he gave it. Then, he said: “Hyde told me about you. I wanted to talk to you about him.”

“You must be Ayato.” His brown eyes narrowed. Hyde had only told him about one other man in his life that went to Juilliard. He had to admit that he looked different than he imagined. The man was handsome but much older than Hyde. He appeared to be only a few years older than Mahiru. When he started to speak, Mahiru raised his hand.

“Let me stop you right now. Hyde told me about you, Ayato. It was wrong for you to string him along and I won’t let you do that again. Hyde is my friend. Whatever you want from me, my answer is no. So, please leave my store right now.” Mahiru gestured to the door but then he noticed Hyde’s car in the store window.

Mahiru tried to think of what to do as Hyde parked his car. He was worried that Hyde would cause a scene once he sees his ex-boyfriend again. Before he could, Hyde spotted them as well and waved happily to them. He walked inside and yelled: “Hi, Nii-san! You came earlier than I thought he would.”

“Nii-san?” Mahiru repeated in shock. He looked between the two and Kuro nodded. He couldn’t find a family resemblance between them. Yet, it was clear that the two were siblings by the way they interacted with each other. Hyde poked Kuro and then hugged him briefly. After he talked with Kuro, he faced Mahiru to introduce his brother.  

“It looks like you already met my brother, Kuro. Is it okay if he joins us for lunch? I accidentally agreed to hang out with him today without realizing it’s the same day we were supposed to have lunch. Kuro doesn’t drive down to New York often.” Hyde explained. Mahiru felt guilty for his earlier assumption and readily nodded. “It looks like Licht needs help with the bags. You two talk while I help him.”

“Just put the bags on the counter. I’ll start cooking in a minute.” Mahiru waited for Licht and Hyde to leave until he apologized to Kuro. “I am so sorry I mistook you for Ayato. Hyde didn’t tell me he had a brother but it was still wrong of me to make assumptions. I was planning to cook ramen. Is there anything special you want in your bowl? It’ll be my way of apologizing.”

“Don’t worry. I know the family resemblance is hard to see.” He was glad to see that Kuro was understanding. “I’m happy that Hyde has a friend who would defend him. Honestly, I was concerned about him enrolling in Juilliard. It would be troublesome if he started dating Ayato again. He’s an adult but I still worry about him. Actually, I wanted to ask about him and Licht.”

“They’re close friends despite their differences.” It was clear to Mahiru that he cared for his family. He smiled up at Kuro and placed the trumpet in a case. “But they do need supervision or else they’ll find something to fight over. Go join them upstairs while I flip the open sign. You and your brother must have a lot of catching up to do.”

“I’m pretty sure Hyde has a lot more to tell me than the reverse. I don’t get the chance to meet interesting people often. Well, today might be an exception.” He said before he walked away. Mahiru could feel himself blushing as he watched Kuro leave. He didn’t know if he was flirting with him but his subtle smile was rather charming.

Hyde stayed behind while his brother walked up the stairs. He looked between the two and a knowing smile spread across his face. After Mahiru locked the shop door and flipped the open sign, he approached him. In a teasing voice, Hyde said: “What do you think of my brother? He seems to like you. It’s rare that he’s taken with someone so quickly. You should have another lunch with just him.”

“Kuro seems like a good guy but I don’t know if I’m ready for a relationship.” He told him. “Anyways, I’m busy with my music shop. I don’t know if I have a lot to offer him in a relationship.”

“Don’t say that, Mahiru.” Hyde clapped his hand on his back. While he and Licht were neighbours, he doubted they would’ve become so close without Mahiru’s advice. He thought he could repay the favour. “We’ve known each other for a few months now but I rarely see you go out. Close the shop on a Sunday and go on a date with Kuro.”

“I doubt he’ll ask me out.” Mahiru shook his head.

“Let me show you a trick! It’s called the ‘bend and snap’. When you want to catch a guy’s attention, pretend to drop something. You bend down, wait a few seconds and then stand up like so. It shows off your ass and he won’t be able to take his eyes off you. Now, follow me.” He dropped a pen on the ground. Hyde bent down but then he heard a loud clatter behind him.  

He looked back and saw that Licht was struggling with a drum set. He must’ve accidentally walked into the instrument. Hyde went to help him and straightened the drums. He laughed and asked him, “Are you okay, Lichtan? You’re not the clumsy type who walks into things.”

“It was nothing!” He insisted with a blush. He hoped Hyde wouldn’t be able to see how flustered he was. Licht didn’t know how Hyde would react if he told him that he distracted him and made him walk into the drum set. He couldn’t meet his red eyes so he turned to Mahiru. He changed the subject and said, “I came down to ask if you want any help cutting the vegetables.”

“That would be great.” Mahiru smiled at his friend. “I’ll have lunch ready in twenty minutes.”

“I’ve never been to a musical before. It was more fun than I thought it would be but it’s a little too flashy for my tastes.” Licht told him as they walked out of a small, local theater. The sunlight made him wince after sitting in the dark for an hour. A shadow fell over him when Hyde held a textbook over his head. He grinned down at him and lightly tapped the book against his hair.

“Lighting and other technical things are the unsung heroes of a production. They enhance the actor’s performance. I guess you wouldn’t feel the same since you want to be a concert pianist. You’re the type who prefers working alone too.” Hyde said and replaced his textbook in his bag. “I picked the musical so what do you want to do next?”

“I need to stretch my legs after sitting for so long. Let’s walk through the plaza and look around.” Licht suggested but he was already walking forward. They fell into step next to each other and discussed the musical. He was rarely about to pull himself away from his piano but going to the theater was a fun change of pace. Hyde’s company made it better than he would admit.

Licht left his class and his attention was drawn to a crowd across the courtyard. He was curious about what had their attention. “What’s so interesting about this wall?”

“Our professor must’ve just put up the audition result.” He took his hand and pulled him towards the crowd. Hyde thought that it was best to wait for the crowd to thin before he checked the list. He did his best at the audition but he doubted he got a large part. “Will you come watch me even if I’m just an extra on stage?”

“Did you see what part you got already?” Licht stood on his toes in a vain attempt to see past everyone to the audition result sheet. The text was too small for him to see at a distant. In the corner of his eyes, he noticed Hyde shake his head. “Then why would you say you’re an extra? You’re hopeless, Shit Rat. I’m interested in seeing that play though. What is it?”

“Romeo and Juliet. I like that play but I was hoping that they would put on one of his lesser known plays. Maybe a comedy like…” Hyde trailed off. Licht noticed his gaze appear far away and he turned around to see what caught his attention. A man approached them but he didn’t recognize who he was. He saw how Hyde stiffened. “Oh, Ayato. I don’t see you around campus often.”

“I switched programs a week ago.” Ayato told him. Licht found himself stepping in front of Hyde slightly. He didn’t know why he felt protective of him.

“You switched majors in the middle of the semester?” Licht didn’t hide how doubtful he was.

“His parents are influential people in the music industry and they’re almost as wealthy as my family. Almost.” Hyde whispered into his ear. Licht rolled his eyes at Ayato and it was clear that he was far from impressed by the man. “I didn’t see you at the audition. What part did you try out for?”

“My fiancé and I auditioned to be Romeo and Juliet.” He answered. The short answer echoed in Hyde’s mind and he felt himself froze. Fiancé? They dated for nearly seven years yet Ayato proposed to someone else shortly after their break up. A few months ago, the news would’ve devastated him. Hyde neither felt sad nor upset now.

“Shit Rat, who’s Tybalt?” Licht interrupted them. He faced them and tapped his knuckles on the piece of paper. “You’re playing him and not an extra. I don’t remember much from high school English class but I think he’s important.”

“I got the part?” Hyde knew Licht wasn’t the type to lie but he was still in disbelief. He skimmed his finger over the names until he found his own. Next to his name was ‘Tybalt’ in black and white. He read it a few times and a smile slowly spread across his face. Suddenly, Hyde hugged Licht. He spun in a circle and his feet was lifted off the ground. “I got the part!”

“I know, Shit Rat. I was the one who pointed it out to you. Put me down before all this spinning makes me puke. I will throw up on you.” He warned. He felt dizzy when he placed him on his feet again. Licht wasn’t angry after he saw Hyde’s large grin. He had never seen him so happy or proud. That smile had a charm that made his heart skip.

“I wouldn’t have been able to get the part without you, Lichtan. Thank you. I’ll take you out for dinner as a treat.” He took Licht’s hand and started to pull him away. He faced Ayato and said, “You’re playing Mercutio. I can’t wait for our big scene together.”

Hyde grinned at Ayato before he walked away with Licht.

[ortegatrash]

The Farm Sucks

Name: Léon Bellandini | Puppet: Simba | Villain name: Pride

Daring/arrogant/fighter/lots of contacts/gang leader.

Warnings: Mentions of animal cruelty/death, mistaken for suicidal, implied past sexual abuse and general abuse, memory problems

You were always a bit more defiant than the rest.

It got you punished, and you reveled in it. Because any attention was good. Because it stopped them treating you like you were nothing to them, you would rather being scorned and hated than to be nothing. They were everything, they were your world because you had nothing else and you wanted so badly just to matter.

Every time you tried to escape, they would take you and wash you down with a hose. They took pleasure in forcibly shaving your head and branding you where people couldn't see, like livestock. To prevent lice, they said. There's a patch at the back of your head that doesn't grow hair anymore because of the way they hurt you for their amusement.

A toy isn't satisfying if you can't get emotionally invested in it, after all.

You hate them for everything they've done to you, all the ways they used you and took joy in your suffering. You're never going to be a nobody again.

To complete your transformation you had enlisted Ortega's help in picking out a wardrobe. It meant enduring his delighted teasing and questioning about if there was someone in your life you wanted to impress but you think it was worth it. If he's going to be vain, you might as well take advantage of his expertise.

You're gonna dress well and look good in it, dammit.

And look good you do. Even Ortega was impressed, you certainly have cleaned up nicely since you started working out again and taking care of your appearance. Sharp tailored suits and tasteful, bold signet rings, just the tiniest hint of something a little wicked and dark lurking under the surface.

Now you look like someone worthy of respect. Someone dangerous. Someone who has the money and power to make life very difficult for people who dare crosses you.

Maybe it's a little over the top, but you even got a nice throne gilded with gold leaf put into your base to lounge upon. What's the use of having everything if you can't indulge?

Besides. All the gold and velvet makes your inner child happy.

You certainly look the part of a mob boss by now with treasure hoard of jewellery and enough jewelled rings on your fingers for your minions to kiss they can choose from every colour of the rainbow.

You've got decades of being a tool to overcompensate for and really indulge your vanity. Growing your hair long in a middle finger to The Farm- no more uniform military cuts for you, no exposed barcode on the back of your head.

No more denial of your individuality.

---

It's not all easy. Los Diablos is built on suffering and you refuse to be the victim any longer.

If they won't fight fair, why should you?

...It shouldn’t bother you. Doesn’t, really. They mean nothing to you, these people. They exist only to be something to envy - didn’t someone say once that ignorance was bliss?

It must be nice to be so thoughtless and empty-headed that you can’t see the poison that runs through the city. It’s in the streets, the very veins of Los Diablos - this whole filthy place is sick.

The footbridge creaks as you step upon the rusted metal panels, otherwise deserted. Humans like mindless ants swarm the trains below, a steady flow, a pattern that goes unbroken and unquestioned.

It makes you snort.

How easy it would be to crush them all, just like the ants they look like.

How easy it would be to find someone unscrupulous enough to rig up a bomb with your contacts. How easy it would be to talk your way into restricted areas and plant them all under their very feet.

You’ve had enough experience to know that while explosions and destruction are amazing and fun in the moment, somehow the victory feels hollow. Because it doesn’t matter in the end. There’s just no real point in the short-term serotonin rush that comes with petty destruction, especially if no one of actual worth is watching.

Besides, you...you have standards. You’ll only kill those who get in the way, not innocent civilians.

There’s a strange feeling of dread when you think about it. Making your first kill. Makes you hold your breath as you lean against the shaky railing and watch the giant metal murder machines go by underneath you. Or, well, trains, but they could run someone down just as well as you could just because someone got in the way.

And yet. And yet all you want to do is ravage the world that fucked you so hard.

Who knew it would be so hard to remain cool and collected with power when all you want to do is bring the city to ruin and delight in its ashes?

To see them bow and cower before you as you take over this hellhole?

Fuck, that’s a sexy thought.

“Hey, you doing alright, man?”

You’re startled out of your thoughts. Who?

A man stares at you, dark hand extended out and barely visible in the fading light. He’s treating you like a stray cat that he doesn’t want to scare off.

Oh.

He thinks...he thinks you’re going to jump.

The sigh that escapes you doesn’t fail to catch his attention. “I know life can be hard, but this isn’t-”

It’d be so much easier if he weren’t trying to help. That’s why you swallow your annoyance and impatience and paste on a charming smile. It’s almost reflexive by now to twist his confusion and concern into remembering he was going to be late for his train, why did he just stop just now?

You watch the man sprint down the stairs and miss it by seconds, cursing his inattention. Something in you drives you to reach across mentally, to push that frustration aside. Push it into awe and surprised appreciation at the setting sun behind you, it’s been so long since he stopped to appreciate the world, he knows how it feels to feel hopeless and alone, that’s why he stopped to help-

Help who?

-A silhouette bathed in red, gazing down at the tracks below-

No! you frown and push harder, concentrating on a proper distraction. Fix this problem you just created for yourself. Send out your senses - who could you use? Hm, there’s a young lady by the ticket machine, failed her nursing exam and doesn’t know how to break it to her family. Yes, strengthen that thread - what is she going to do with herself, they’re going to be so disappointed in her. If only she had someone to talk to, a friendly ear, someone who didn’t know her, wouldn’t judge.

Tears, she visibly droops and starts trembling. There’s no one else around except the retiree who’s fallen asleep and the cleaner who’s already disillusioned enough with life that he would just tell her to suck it up.

Yes, that’s right. Sob loud enough for him to hear. He blinks, suddenly taking notice of the girl behind him and losing hold of the muddled confusion that he’d just forgotten something.

There’s something very satisfying in being able to do something like this, you think, watching the girl break down in tears as the man comforts her. As they both are strengthened ultimately by the interaction despite the circumstances that brought them together. The way she tearfully leaves her number in the phone of the blushing man.

It’s all played out just like you imagined.

How...predictable.

---

4am is perhaps more familiar to you than 4pm.

The world is quiet. A still moment in black and white, just like out of those film noir clips.

You breathe in the smoke and imagine your life was as romantic as the films made it out to be.

You have the tailored suits. The tattoos on your knuckles, the underlings to do your every command.

They don't talk about the messiness of seeing life leaving the world in your hands, evaporating like the heat of a cooling body in the snow. A morbid picture, painted in red.

They don't talk about the distasteful things, like evacuating their bowels, the frightening things people will stoop to when brought to their lowest. When you see what people are when you strip away the veneer of civilisation from them and you're left only with a terrified beast.

The way their bodies jerk to the ground reminds you of it, sometimes.

Snowball, you called her. You'd been curious, wary of her at first. Her twitchy nose and soft ears fascinated you but the handlers were watching and you didn't want to risk messing up so soon after last time.

Your mission was to take care of her. A trial bodyguard mission for a defect-filled asset that wasn't much of an asset at all. They were starting to get impatient with you, you know - it was a thin line between daring enough to get away with it and ending up being made 'redundant'.

So you just stood there. Stared at her, munching contently at her carrot.

"It's not going to bite you." The new handler is different from the others. You call her Red for her hair, it's not like they ever identify themselves to you. She doesn't scream at your uselessness when you don't react to their satisfaction, she doesn't get distracted by a colleague and leave you abandoned in a dark room for nine hours because she forgot to put you away.

You still hesitate - does she want an answer? Does she want you to take the initiative? Does she just want you to follow only her stated orders, is this just a test?

You can't tell and that frustrates you.

Reading their minds is forbidden unless expressly stated, but she's tapping her pen impatiently like she's expecting you to draw the real orders from her  brain.

What to do. What to do?

Remain obedient and only react to what she commands you to do? Or make a move, taking the guess that it's what she actually wants from you? It's a gamble on what will get you punished.

...To hell with it. You don't care anymore.

Wordlessly, you step over to the rabbit and kneel down.

Looking back up at her gives you no clues - no changes in expression that would reveal approval or disapproval. That...you're probably okay for now, it seems.

Probably.

Her fur is so incredibly soft under your hand. It feels like you could break her if you accidentally mishandled her.

It's the first thing you ever have for yourself and you love this little creature that is so dependent on you and looks up at you with such dark, trusting eyes.

---

Red encourages you to get familiar with the clients.

So you make sure to practice her orders. And, well, if you spend more time than you need brushing her fur and calming her when she's stressed, that's confidential information between you and your 'client', isn't it?

---

The newest training mission briefing reads as follows:

Your client is revealed to be a mole working for the enemy. Dispatch of them personally.

You're punished severely for acting out and getting caught in the middle of the night sneaking out of the facilities, but Snowball gets  safely past the fence once you distract the dogs into attacking you instead of her.

---

For your disobedience, you're made to dispose of newborn rabbits while they watch.

---

They punish you for sobbing afterwards.

---

They also punish you for assaulting  Red for putting you through that.

---

The dogs always get you when you run. You're not as fast as a rabbit.

---

You lose track of the punishments.

---

Sometimes you forget. You can't help it, they teach you lessons and you keep forgetting and they just get so angry at you

It's better than the darkness

It's better when they're mad, because it's better than being forgotten

You hate being forgotten and you hate forgetting, one day you are going to forget yourself and that's the worst thing of all

You don't even know why they're angry with you but you wake up one day with dried blood on your hands and that handler that touched you never appears again

Red is so pleased with you  though that it doesn't matter. "That's right, little one, you are mine," she tells you. "No one else will ever touch you in my care."

No one else.

---

She makes sure of it.

---

They keep teaching you lessons for all your disobedience and you, you keep on doing it all over again

---

Red's not so new a handler anymore, but they never give you their names. Why would they introduce themselves to a thing?

She's still just Red. She says she loves you and asks you to say it back.

It feels weird on your lips.

---

She gives you a kiss on the forehead for following orders  and being good for once.

You despise her. You love her. She's the first one who ever cared about you as a person - even if only to be cruel to you.

---

You're not a rabbit. You can't run.

No. You are a lion, you will be the one others run from.

Red's the first one you ever kill, you let her live up to the name you gave her and she is just as red on the inside as on the outside

And you cry, cry, and keep on crying because you're so relieved and so heartbroken and you will never understand why you still love her. You don't even know her real name.

"I didn't mean to," you whisper into your pillow, because without her you're so lonely.

But you do. You did. You still do, because you hated her as much as you adored her.

---

You let yourself forget. Let yourself smile, smirk, put all your ruthlessness and charm that they taught you to good work.

You don't want to remember and yet. You still don't want to forget.

---

Your past seems to be catching up to you these days. This time you won't ever be so weak as you once were. They broke you, reforged you, made you into a weapon of their choosing.

And now that very weapon will be turned back on them.

"So. Pride. You are newest rising star in town, I hear."

You let yourself paste on a serene, pleasant smile. "Oh? Have people been talking about me?" you inquire. That's good to know, it pays to know your position within underground circles so you know where you stand. Where you can bargain from. "Why, I'm flattered."

His own answering grin is too cruel, too rough, unrefined. Not as proficient in the whole act of it like you are. "They also mentioned you were a vain narcissist who talks too much."

Your mood shifts to irritated annoyance internally; your face is placid. Friendly. It wouldn't do to show any weakness to a potential enemy. "How strange," you murmur. "Perhaps they have me confused with someone else."

"Yeah, I don't think so, buddy." And now to the threatening tone already. How predictable. "You see, we wanted to give you a little welcome, from us locals here. Want us to be good neighbours, yeah?"

Your noncommittal noise encourages the guy to continue. "Just wanted to let you know that we're the ones in charge of this good ol' neighbourhood here, but we're a little old and traditional. Don't want anything shake up what's nice and settled."

"I see."

Because you do. They're warning you not to mess up the status quo.

Too bad you were always a rebel. "Was there anything else you needed, or were you just going to drone on about your Master's stale old knitting club?" You drone out the words, bored of this already.

The smile he returns to you is a little stiff. "Look. We were hoping you were going to join our... Homeowners Association. You'd have to contribute a small monthly fee, but I assure you it'd be worth it. To keep our front gardens lookin' all pretty, see."

"Not really," you tell him, because this little game of coded words and phrases is beginning to bore you.

There's something of a twitch in his eye when you glance over, but the man actually tries to just pretend you didn't say anything and continues. "Right, so, as our newest member of our little association-"

"I didn't say I was joining."

That truly takes him off guard. "I- What?" he blinks. "Mr Pride," he begins, and you have to laugh at the way they haven't even been able to find out your actual name. "You agreed that by moving into this neighbourhood that you would join the , erm, housing association. It's not optional."

"I did no such thing."

You actually manage to break the man's composure. "You do realise if you don't go along with this, there will be consequences?" he hisses.

"I'm not stupid," you tut, peering at your manicured nails. "I'm aware. I just don't care."

The man ends up leaving with a thunderous look on his face as you greet Ortega. A genuine smile to match Ortega's wave.

"What's that? Are you actually talking to people other than me now?" he teases.

"Just a business associate. He kept trying to sell me a scam."  You frown a little. "But that doesn't matter. Let's go have lunch, shall we?"

---

They make good on their word.

You aren't going to roll over and show them your belly like their pet dog. Let them think you're nothing but an arrogant little upstart. Let them think they can put you down on their command. Just because you’ve never killed someone personally doesn’t mean you’re not a threat to contend with.

They see the man at the top with the smart suits and the rumble of purred threats, deep and low. The King of the Lions, Pride.

They won't be suspecting the panther stalking the shadows.

---

Simba isn't loud or boastful or broken like Léon is. Not so angry, not so easy to fall to passion.

Simba watches. Simba is patient. Once he's got a target in his sight, he never stops hunting it.

Your mind is quieter when you are Simba, and so are you. You don't need to keep talking to drown out the thoughts in your head.

Silence suits Simba. He doesn't need words to assemble his sniper rifle, his dark skin blending in with the shadows. Doesn't need feelings to peer down the sights and wait for your moment.

Now the only question is, is Simba the puppet here or Léon?

Because you're not sure if you know anymore. You're starting to become unsure of who you really are. In the end...are you nothing more than what you made you?

You really don't know. But Simba doesn't care. All he needs to do, is, well, his job.

A man walks in front of your vision and seals his fate.

You fire.

---

It wasn't supposed to be like this. She wasn't supposed to be visiting her boyfriend.

---

There is a distant gunshot ringing in your ears but you are the one holding the still-smoking pistol.

Which would be all good and well if you could remember why you're here. You try and keep the confusion from appearing on your face as you take in the scene in front of you.

A neat little bullet hole straight to the heart. The woman is scrambling wide-eyed  as she attempts to plug the hole. Unable to comprehend what's just happened.

With the amount of blood pooling, it'd be over soon enough from blood loss. But you're not cruel and because of that, you aim your gun once again at her head. At her frozen face, mouth wide open to beg-

And fire.

She falls to the ground like a rag doll.

You don't even know who she is. Was. But you must have shot her for a reason, right?

Couldn't let her suffer. Had to finish the job. You don't feel any hatred for this woman, she must have just gotten in the way. Somehow the blood on your hands doesn't look real when you're wearing your puppet. Simba's hands are darker, more delicate, more slender than yours. Shake less.

Sometimes it bothers you, these little gaps in time. You keep coming back to awareness like this and it's starting to get a little frightening.

You're not supposed to be the one losing control.

It makes your head hurt. You've fought so hard to be something, be a person and then…

You can't even remember half of the things that made you, well, you. You have emotions and fragments and half-remembered bits stripped of their context. A man without a past, like you were plonked down in the world one day half formed.

A puzzle with all the most important pieces missing.

But for now, you have a mess to clean up. Dirty work for a dirty man like you, but Simba doesn't hesitate like Léon does.  Doesn't mind the blood crusting under those ragged fingernails, so unlike your own polished, clean hands.

---

You keep waking up in a sweat. Terrified and with no idea why.

.

..

There is-

There is blood under your carefully manicured fingernails.

---

The dog park is quiet this early in the morning. Just stare down at your book. Headphones on. Classic 'don't disturb me' look.

It's been ten minutes, you should probably turn the page.

The dogs keep away from you. Maybe they notice your heart rate spiking when they come near. You're not...you're not afraid of them anymore. It's fine.

It has to be. Just...just take in their pure thoughts. There are no dogs, just thoughts, just-

Your first thought is that you're being attacked when you feel something make rough bodily contact with your knee and your body just reacts.

Spoon gives a surprised whimper as your foot makes impact, you’re just trying to stem the panic. It's okay, it's just Spoon, he's not the giant German Shepherds that haunt you.

"Spoon!" Chen barks out, alarmed, a little bit angry. You're not usually this jumpy, you're not usually this bad, you should have seen him coming.

This is too raw to be able to show your face to Chen. That's why you leap up and back off. "Leave me alone, Chen!" you shout, and you hate that you can't control the way you genuinely sound terrified. The unusualness of it makes even Chen frown and look slightly taken aback.

"Léon, what was that just there?"

This is no time to have a panic attack. This is no time to break down. "Just leave me alone, Chen!" you shout. "Stay away from me, keep him away from me!"

You don't turn around to look if he actually does as you ask. You're just trying desperately to flee, over and over and over again, just waiting for the teeth to grab on and bite harshly down on you.

---

You're still waiting for those jaws a few hours later.

---

It's better when they hate you. It's better because you can hate them back, you can lash out and hurt them because you hurt and you just want it to go away

That's why you push them away, because they care. You keep on hurting the people you care about and you're too proud to say you're sorry.

Ortega with his worried eyes and questions left on the tip of his tongue.

Herald, little fly-boy, oh-so-trusting and oh-so-oblivious.

Your crew, your little family you've built up all on your own.

Smirk. Tease. Twist them around your fingers and move them as your pawns. That's how you keep from getting hurt.

You will never, ever, let someone control like that again. Not unless you had planned for them to, not unless you could trust and predict them.

...Stop thinking about Ortega. Stop thinking about how betrayed he'll look if he ever finds out. Stop thinking about how it should serve him right for betraying you and leaving you to die.

Stop thinking about how everything Daniel knows about you is a lie. That you only agreed to train him for your own ulterior motives before he wormed his way into your heart.

Stop thinking about Anathema and the disappointed look on what was left of Themmy's face after…

No.

No, don't.

---

Anathema’s stupid, dumb face won’t leave you alone. Not in your waking hours, not in the silent hours.

Fuck. Fuck’s sake, Themmy. Will you go away if I go and visit you?

No answer. You don’t know what you expected.

---

Anathema’s grave is well tended. The flowers are still fresh.

Your grave is next to his, you know. Your name looks so solemn engraved in such a sober, formal font. Like you were some sort of honoured pillar of the community instead of awkward smiles and messy emotions that spilt out everywhere. Before even those attempts at smiles faded away and all you were left with were the sharp edges that cut into other people’s skin.

The rush of fury at all, all, all this - whatever this is - drives you over the edge. There’s a certain satisfaction in stomping over to your grave and kicking over the flowers. Crushing them underneath your feet.

The same way they crushed you. The same way your bones were crushed on impact.

You’re only vaguely aware of a sense of unease as you pant, too out of it all to focus. There shouldn’t be anyone here to notice you making a scene, what does it matter that you lost your temper?

The mangles mess of stems and petals feel like your life. Something about about it makes you stare. Pause.

Lilies. Your scowl fades away into a genuine frown. Who…?

Ortega knows you’re alive.

That just begs the question, a painful realisation on the tip of your tongue. Who could hav-

-Someone is watching.

Someone is watching you.

The flash of alarm and shock screaming through your brain is the only warning you get.

They knew you were coming-

---

…

….

…..

Anyone watching Simba sleeping wouldn’t notice anything amiss to signify his awakening, no change in breathing pattern, no facial twitches to give him away. For all intents and purposes still all but dead to the world.

The sound of the magpies fighting again outside is too familiar - you recognise them. Feed them on occasion, it gives Simba a reason to be sitting around outside watching the world.

So. Unmoved from his apartment then. Unless they’d gone to the trouble of kidnapping the exact same birds, you recognise their own distinct bird calls by now. The one with croak you named Harry. Harry is currently arguing with his rival, Barry, and isn’t as distressed as a bird would be if someone had indeed taken him from his home by force.

Your breathing is steady, keeping your ears peeled for any signs of an intruder. Letting Simba ‘wake up’ naturally like any other day.

...Good enough.

Fling the bedsheets aside and walk to the window, to the blackout curtains. Stop for a moment to observe. No visible threats - but that doesn’t mean anything in this day and age.

The skies are too blue, it makes Simba’s forehead crinkle. Take in the position of the sun, consider the implications of it all.

This can’t be allowed to let stand, after all.

No one will ever get the best of you again.

[x-reader-theater]

God Forgot Us (And the Devil Didn't Want Us) {Soulmate AU} [3]

Relationship: Slave!Rami Malek X Viking Leader!Male!Reader

Summary: You are the leader of a viking tribe of nomads, a small group of people who moved from one place to another frequently. Or you did, until your father died and you sat them down in one place. You are a benevolent ruler, putting yourself at the level of your fellow warriors, and your wife. That is until you finally take a sex slave, a 

Warnings: Allusions to sex, maybe some cursing I don’t really remember, and there is still angst, like always.

Word Count: 4,277

A/N: Hello. I know I haven’t updated in a while, and I said I would post this when I reached 500 followers, but I haven’t. The reason I’m posting it is because it’s my lovely lovely girlfriend’s (@roger-bang-the-drum) birthday today! So go wish her a happy birthday, and this one’s for you. But in all seriousness, the only reason I haven’t been posting is because I’ve had no motivation to. I don’t get reblogs, and when I do, no one comments on anything. Also I’ve been really depressed because one of my stories that I just posted about is continuing to get notes even though I hate it and I want it to just go away. Anyways, please reblog and comment, and my inbox is always open. Let me know if you want more. I have 15 chapters total planned out, so if you want to see more, tell me. 

Sweden 865 AD

“Now, if we move our men this way…” your wife says, picking up the wooden soldier Njall's boy made, and she places it on the other side of the river, by the bridge. “We can block their path, trap them on the bridge, force them to fight one at a time. We have the numbers, we could flush them out!”

Everyone in the room nods in agreement, a few of the other women voicing some agreement too, although quietly. You nod, but pick up another soldier from the same place, and move it away. “I'm not putting more men in danger. Not if we don't have to. We'll still have the numbers.”

Everyone else nods in agreement, though the men more than the women. “Yeah!” Njall exclaims. “Just because some men want to die gloriously in battle doesn't mean we should have to sacrifice all of them!”

“But it wouldn't be a sacrifice!” Your wife exclaims, but you step forwards.

“It would be, if they get overwhelmed, or there's a troop out there we don't know about! No! My word is final,” you say, and your wife rolls her eyes. “Go, we have work to do.” Everyone gets up, and walks out, talking about the meeting as they go.

“Your father would say you’re weak,” your wife says to you.

You roll your eyes as you adjust your furs. “I am not my father. And I never will be. He died in battle a coward, almost destroying our entire clan! I will never become him!” You say, walking out of the war hut.

“[Y/N]! [Y/N]!” You turn and see your second hand, Ulf, run up to you. “There’s-there’s…” He's panting, and you laugh, placing a hand on his fur covered shoulder.

“Ulf, Ulf, calm down! Take a breath!” You say, laughing at the smaller man.

He takes a few breaths, and swallows before speaking again. “There's a new load of some good ones. Slaves. You get first pick, and everyone's waiting for you.”

You nod, and let him lead you to the fire pit in the middle of camp. Anytime there was a wedding, ceremony, or something the witches needed from you, to talk to the gods, it would be there, in the center of camp. You hadn't needed to move camp since you became leader. You managed to keep all rival clans away, and with the sea next to your camp, you were able to fortify the bay you gathered your fish from.

As you walk into the center of camp, you see a crowd of the higher nobles, and some of the lower one's as well, looking find any scraps they could of the new ones. Looking over their heads, you see a pretty good pick. One for everyone, that was your rule. Except for you. You were able to take more, but mostly, you didn't take any. They weren't your thing, you didn't like sex with the slaves anyhow. They were very good for cooking and cleaning, but usually they would just be sold because your children were good for that. Your children were too young to have any slaves of their own, fight, or be a leader. That is why you put Ulf as your second in command.

You push through the crowd, and take in the new slaves, their hands bound in front of them, the women with simple sack dresses, and the men with cloth tied around their waists. You see some bigger women, they looked to be strong, as well as some men who looked busy as strong. Definitely more of the other men's type, but as you go down the line, you find you are more drawn to the skinniest of them all. His hair is cropped short, curly, and he's darker than everyone else in the line. He doesn't look scared, he looks defiant, but his beautiful eyes betraying him. They were scared, and the colour of the sky on a sunny day, rare where you lived. His head was up high, and as you lean in, looking at his gaunt face and his dimpled cheeks, you grin, and his facade falters for just a moment.

You pull back, and point at the boy, and say loudly, “I want this one. The rest of you, take your pick.”

Everyone cheers, it's rare for the chief to take a slave, let alone a male one, but Ulf walk up to you, and whispers, “Are you sure you want that one? He just looks so frail… what about the one on the end? He looks like he'll put up a good fight!”

You shake your head. “No. I want this one. Tell Hjarkke to get him ready for me in my chambers. I would like to have my way with him.”

Ulf nods, and runs off towards the slave you mentioned, and you go about your day.

You push your way into your living quarters, and see the boy sitting at the edge of your bed. He's grabbing his knees, his knuckles white, and he's whispering to himself as he shakes like a leaf. You clear your throat, and the naked boy jumps, startled. You shush him, and walk slowly towards him, as he closes his arms over his body, and turns away from you.

“Don't be afraid little one,” you say quietly, but he doesn't move. “I'm not here to hurt you.” You reach a hand out, and just brush his skin, but he jumps away, and hugs himself closer.

“Don't touch me,” he whispers, and hearing his voice is a shock. You realize he's much older than he looks. Good. He could be good to talk to.

“Okay. Okay,” you say, putting your hands up, but you don't move away. You also don't move closer. “Will you tell me your name?”

He's silent, and you don't say anything either, hoping that he'll at least say something. As you go to speak, he finally says something. “Rami.”

“Rami,” you say, testing his name on your lips. “Rami. That isn't from around here, is it?”

He shakes his head, and looks over his shoulder at you. “I'm not from around here.”

You crack a smile at that, and stand up. “I gathered that much.” He lets out a quiet laugh, but cuts himself off, like he didn't mean to show that much to you. You crouch beside him again, closer this time, and look up into his beautiful eyes. “Do not think you need to hide yourself from me. I'm not as scary as I look,” you joke, but he doesn't move. You sigh, and reach a hand out. He flinches, but you don't move. You just let your hand rest in mid air. He reaches up, and takes your hand, placing his against yours. You don't move, just let him explore.

He pulls away, and you get up, turning to your pile of furs. You pick up a large one, and hand it to him. “I have a feeling you'll want to get dressed. I would like to talk.”

“So, you've been king for ten years now?” He asks, and you laugh at him.

“No little one. I have their leader. I am no no king,” you explain, and Rami nods. “Kings are selfish, greedy, power hungry. It never works out for them. They die young, are killed in battles…”

Rami moves closer, sitting beside you on your bed. “Still, it's impressive.”

You smile and lean back on your hands. “I guess it is…”

Leans over and smiles as you look over at him. Even with him on his knees on the bed, you were still only at eye height. “What made you decide on me?” Your eyes widen, and you look away, but Rami moves your chin so you're looking at him in the eye. “No, I want you to look at me when you say it.”

You sigh. “I chose you because I was drawn to me. I think the gods were telling me something about you was different.” You look up at the ceiling of the hut, towards the sky, and smile as a light breeze blows past you. All the windows are closed.

“You can talk to the gods?” Rami asks, and you nod. “Wow,” he breathes out.

You smile and laugh at him lightly, before getting up and taking off your furs and light armour you always had on. “Come now little one.” You hold your hand out, and he grabs it. “We should sleep now. It's always good to get sleep. It will make you stronger.”

Rami smiles and nods, and you slip into bed with him. Halfway through the night he moves over and you wrap your arms around him.

“[Y/N]!” You look up from where your attention was previously, playing with the children and teaching them how to correctly hold their wooden swords and sticks. You see Ulf running up to you, and you quickly say goodbye to the children.

You walk over to Ulf, who's with Njall and Henrik, who are playing a Tafl game. “Ulf, Njall, Henrik,” you greet, and Ulf moves over, giving you a space to sit.

“So, [Y/N], how is your slave treating you?” Ulf asks, raising his eyebrows.

You shrug, and watch as Njall moves a piece. “Adequate.”

Ulf scoffs. “Just adequate? Then you should have picked better!”

Both Njall and Henrik laugh along with Ulf, but you don't. You just crack a polite smile. “How have yours been?” You ask Ulf, knowing he wants to talk.

“Well Helle is so sweet, but she's too delicate. I traded her with Sten because his brother, Sven, likes girls like that but Sven will only trade with Sten…”

You let Ulf rant for a while, just nodding and commenting when appropriate. You also watch the game, not very closely, but it gave you something to do.

“Yes!” Njall exclaims, pounding his fist on the table. “I finally beat you!”

Henrik grumbles out something you can't understand, and just gets up, walking away. Njall follows after him, trying to comfort him in his loss. Ulf moves so he's sitting across from you and props his elbows up on the table, resting his face in his hands.

“So, I had a question.” You motion for him to continue, and you pick up a piece of wood from the ground, and take out your knife. You start to carve into it. “What has been happening with your wife?” You have to stop, almost cutting yourself as you look up at Ulf. “I'm only asking because you've been spending an awful lot of time with that slave of yours…”

You set down your knife. “The reason I am spending time with him is because I enjoy his company. My wife is my partner, smart, and good with strategy, but we had our children. That is all the use I have for her,” you explain, and Ulf nods.

“Yes, I suppose that's true. I saw her going into Nasir's hut a few nights ago.”

“Well whatever she does with her time is not my concern.”

“Alright, alright. Just letting you know.”

“Thank you.”

You get up, and Ulf scrambles behind you. He joins you at your side, and nods. “Alright, well, you probably have some leader duties to attend to.”

You shake your head. “Not at all. I am going to see my slave. I have something I wish to speak to him about. You may go away at any time.”

Ulf nods and walks away dejected, and you walk towards your hut.

You grunt as you land another blow on Njall, who shifts slightly to the side, but doesn't fall. The training swords were useful, but they didn't show the full effect a sword could have on a person's body. You shift again, your foot going in front of you, and lean back, holding your sword above you as Njall strikes down towards your head. You struggle with Njall for a few moments, before you push his blade off yours, sending it to the side, his hands still on it, and you step forwards, shouldering him in the throat. He clutches his neck and stumbles back.

Grunting, he shakes himself off, and you let out a huff, a smirk playing on your lips. He rushes forwards.

You see yellow, all around you, but that's not what you're trying to accomplish right now, inspecting the decor. You've been trying to get a move down for a while, but you just couldn't. You move your leg back, get down on your knees, and swipe upwards with your curved sword. It's slightly tilted, and doesn't cut through the air quite right.

You grunt, and try again. Standing up, you put your foot back, get on your knees, tilt your sword just a little further…

“Yes!” You exclaim as it cuts through like butter. The disgusting wobble of the blade doesn't sound, and you hear the sharp cut of a blade slicing through thin air.

You blink, and look around. You're back in the woods, and Njall is on the ground next to you. You drop your arm and get up from your kneeling position. You hold out a hand, and Njall takes it. You pull him up, and he looks at you confused.

“What? How?” He asks, slightly out of breath.

You look up at the skies. “I do not know. Perhaps the gods gave me another vision, but it wasn't of the future, or the past, it was of me, in another time…” you trail off, looking down, and then at Njall, confused.

“You were given another vision from the gods?” He asks, surprised.

You nod. “Yes, but this one was different. It wasn't of a battle…” You shake your head to clear your thoughts. “Never mind. I'll think about it later. For now, go finish your training for today with some of the younger warriors.��

Njall nods and walks off, and you sit down, your head in your hands as you think about what just happened.

“You had a vision from God?” Rami asks from your chest.

You smile and look down at him, as you shift, the sticks underneath your back slightly uncomfortable. “Not God, but Gods. Plural.” Rami nods, and lays back down on you chest. You wrap your arm around him. “It was odd though. It wasn’t like anything I’ve seen before…”

You sit up and Rami sits in your lap. You lean down and kiss him, softly on the lips. He starts to deepen the kiss, running his hands through our hair, and you growl. He bites your lip, and you pulls back, just staring at him. He’s grinning at you, blood on the corner of his mouth, and you grin, licking the blood away from your own mouth.

You pull him close again, blood mixing with spit, and you close your eyes.

You feel silk underneath you, and a body above you. You’re flipped, and the lips on your yours move down to your neck. You wrap your arms, smaller than you remember, about a smooth, bare waist. You press him further down, and your bodies fit together like puzzle pieces. You hum as you throw your head back, and your back arches. You feel a rush of pleasure roll through you.

You open your eyes and see-

You gasp as Rami disengages his lips from your collar bone. “Are you okay?” He asks, and you nod, catching your breath. “Was it another vision from the gods?”

You don’t answer, just sit in silence, thinking. You were with someone else, and were on something soft, and smooth, not like the forest floor or your own bed. Rami shifts closer to you, and your arms wrap around him, and pause as your bodies fit together like in the vision. You kiss his hair and spend the rest of your time contemplating it.

“If we send them around the back, they’ll get the element of surprise,” Your wife says, moving one of the wooden soldiers around another one.

You sigh. “I’ve explained this to you before. If we do that, we’ll have to split up our troops. I’m not sending half my troops from this position. The Bridge is their only way to get to us. We need to fortify it.”

“But if we kill them, we won’t need to fortify the bridge in the first place!” Your wife yells.

You stand up, and yell back at her, “Spreading our troops thin and getting them killed wouldn’t help either!”

Your wife stands up, and stands with you, chest to chest, when Njall stands up, walks to the table, grabs another piece and places it behind the enemy piece. You step back, but your wife doesn’t move. “I’ve been corresponding with that troop. They’ve been bored for months. You always forget about them because they’re so close to camp. Send them to flank, and you don’t have to spread yourself thin,” Njall says, and you nod, clearing your throat.

“Yes, that sounds like an effective plan. Can you do that for me?” You ask, and Njall nods. “We’ll reconvene in the morning.”

Everyone quickly gets up, and leaves. Your wife turns to you. “You should have heard me out.”

You turn quickly to her. “Oh, and you were going to say that? We can’t just send our men into battle outnumbered! You need to respect my decision and listen to your leader!”

You storm out of the war hut, and run into Ulf, who’s standing there, waiting for you. “Hello sir!” He greets, cheerily.

“Not today Ulf,” you say, waving him off, and making a beeline for your hut. Before you can enter, you feel a hand on your shoulder. You’re spun around and you see our wife standing before you, hands on her hips.

“We need to talk,” She says, and you sigh. “Why are you so snappy? Is it because of your new toy?” You go to speak, but she stops you. “I think you love that… that play thing more than you love me…”

You sigh, and grab her hand. “Of course I love you. You’re my wife. But I just can’t talk right now, okay?” You kiss her knuckles, and she nods.

“Okay. But I expect us to talk later.”

You nod and hold her hand until it slips from your grasps, and your hand falls to your side. You enter your hut, just in time to see someone exit the back. You frown and follow them. Walking into the woods, you see them go further, and start to jog to catch up with them. You turn around a tree, and feel someone cold press to your throat. You turn your head slowly and you see Rami standing there, pointing the knife at your throat.

“Is it true?” Rami asks.

“Is what true?” You ask, keeping calm. You’ve been in positions like this before, a traitor or an escaped slave, wanting to get revenge on the leader for their strife. That’s how you got most of your scars. You rarely fought in battle.

Rami presses the knife further into your neck, and you lean back slightly as you feel it prick your skin, but you don’t break eye contact. “Do you really love her more than me?”

“No.” You lean into the knife more as you say this, but barely feel it, your adrenaline fuling you. “I don’t love my wife. I never did. I love you.”

Rami doesn’t say anything, and slowly lowers the knife, before dropping it on the ground. You fall to your knees and look at his feet in front of you. Rami place a hand underneath your chin, and lifts your face so your eyes meet again. He leans down slightly, and you lean up, expecting a kiss, but Rami doesn’t close the gap.

Instead, he takes his other hand, and grabs your hair, tugging and pulling up, wrenching your head towards him. “You’re mine.”You nod.

Though it hurts, and let Rami take you that day.

You feel hands in your hair, running through your long locks, pulling at the knots that are in it. You look up and see Rami has his fingers tangled in your hair. He has a serene look on his face. You smile and let him continue. He undoes a plait in your hair, and smiles at the crimped piece he holds up. He drops it, and moves somewhere else, taking a few strands of your hair, and braiding them together.

Rami moves closer and puts your head on his lap. He leans down, and presses a soft kiss to your forehead. You smile, and don't move. You just watch as Rami's face goes red, but he continues anyways. He presses a kiss to your temple, your cheek, your nose. He stops right above your lips, and just hovers there. You can feel his warm breath hit your lips, and you just look up at him. You feel his breath catch, right before he leans down and captures your lips in his. You let him do the work, and he places his hands on your cheeks, pushing you down so he can kiss you harder. It's everything you want.

Rami pulls away, and he smiles down at you breathlessly. You lean up and kiss him again, quicker this time, but it still feels incredible. He rubs his thumbs over your cheeks and you smile.

“Thank you,” he says, falling onto the bed. You climb next to him, and he curls around you. You want to ask what for, but he's already asleep.

You smile at Rami from across the little clearing, peeling some bark off a nearby tree with your knife. He scampers back towards you, and plops himself in your lap. You laugh, and lean back against the tree that was supporting you. You kiss his shoulder and he laughs, shivering underneath your touch. You rest your chin on his shoulder, and kiss his neck.

“What are you making there little one?” You ask, and he just keeps shaving it down.

“I don’t know yet…” He trails off, and you nod.

You lean over, and kiss his cheek. “I need to get up. I’m gonna go piss.”

He nods and tuns, still looking at the knife, but kissing you nonetheless. You pick him up, and move your legs up, before sitting him back down, leaning against the tree. You get up, and walk off, walking a few minutes into the surrounding woods, before taking a deep breath, and taking your piss.

It’s silent, and you look around, looking for any sort of wildlife as you finish up, but find nothing. You frown, concerned, but ignore it, starting to walk back. You get about a minute away, before you feel something cold, and sharp pressing into your back. You stop walking immediately, and turn to look, but the sword is pressed further into you, and you feel hot blood dripping down your back.

“Why him?” You hear someone say. No just someone, but Ulf. you sigh, and turn around anyways, but the sword is pressed into your throat. You wince as it pinches you, but you hold your ground, your head held high. “Why a slave.”

“I don’t know what you mean Ulf,” you respond, your voice never wavering.

He grunts and moves the sword down to your heart. “You tell him everything. Meanwhile I’m stuck running errands for you, and I can’t even be in war meetings! I am to be leader, I must know what is going on!” He exclaims.

“I am teaching you patience!” You yell back, and Ulf’s face goes red with rage.

“I don’t want patience I want to be KING!”

You stare at him, stunned, and reach for your own sword, but seeing your move, he plunges the sword forth, into your chest, and your arms go limp. You fall to your knees as you stare up at Ulf, the trees surrounding him like a wooden throne. His yellow teeth are pulled into a sneer, and your face goes slack, losing the ability to emote. Looking down at you, you see Ulf has pure rage in his eyes, as well as jealousy. You feel the sharp twigs digging into your knees and focus on that pain, letting it ground you, helping you stay conscious.

Ulf bends down and looks you in the eye, face to face, and you try and snearat him, but it’s useless. “I shall be king. And there’s nothing you can do to stop me. Have fun in Hel.”

He forces the sword into you, pushing to the hilt, and you fall back, your eyes closing, and Ulf pulls the blade out, before walking away, leaving you to die.

Rami looks up as he suddenly notices [Y/N] gone for longer than he should be. He sets the piece of wood down and gets up, placing the knife into his belt. He goes the way [Y/N] went, carefully watching for something, anything, any sign of him, but there’s nothing. Nothing, until Rami sees [Y/N], laying on the ground, a pool of blood surrounding him. Rami rushes over and falls on his knees next to his lover’s corpse, and he frantically checks to see if [Y/N] still lives.

It doesn’t matter. He was gone. Rami screams out in anguish as he looks at the wound only a sword could have caused, and takes out his own knife, plunging it into his chest, leaving him to die next to his love, their blood mingling on the forest floor.