#Morning Mist & Night Traffic

[vilandel]

Morning Mist & Night Traffic

Prologue

A/N And I did it, my Black Clover Modern AU finally started! I'm so excited about it. The prologue sadly still goes well with angstpril... But I promise you, there will still be fluff and a happy ending ♣️ 💘

Ao3 link

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Between all the yells and curse words, Nozel thought he heard things getting broken, probably by being thrown against a wall. Maybe it was one of the Ming vases. Or one of his father’s modern sculptures that looked like nothing.

Nozel just leaned more against the wall, hoping to melt with it. This was worse than any of the arguments his parents had before. This one was more direct, it was louder and the subtility was gone, as well as the ability of holding back.

He couldn’t tell if this was a good thing, though. Yes, his mother needed to let all those years of deception out, she deserved better than what… father did during the whole time of their marriage.

Father… How much Nozel hated that word. Yes, other children had certainly amazing fathers. But none of those were like his. This was the only father Nozel knew and because of that, he couldn’t consider father a word to love.

Other children maybe would mostly hate if their parents would get a divorce, even when there was no other choice. But Nozel hoped it. It would be the best for mother and for his siblings. To be away from that man.

Hopefully mother would understand that after today.

Hopefully… They couldn’t be the happy family anymore she wished for with him. All of their happy memories were from when he was away.

A little whine came to his ears. Nozel immediately looked down, to the bundle in his arms. The yells had woken up his little sister Noelle, who was just one year old and so, unable to understand what was going on. Nozel didn’t know if she was lucky or unlucky that she couldn’t get what was happening.

He also decided to only blame the man that was sadly their father for waking his baby sister up. Never would Nozel blame his mother for that. She didn’t mean it and if Acier would learn, she would feel so terribly guilty.

“Shh, Noelle, it’s alright, I’m here…”

It was just a whisper, but Noelle heard it somehow. There were still tears shining in her big magenta pink eyes, but she calmed down. His baby sister looked at him, certainly scared because of the yells. Nozel cradled her more and started to rock her softly. She was only one, she was still a baby. He had to protect her from the shards that were currently breaking their family apart.

If their father would stay, it will certainly shatter…

Were his other siblings fine? Nozel wasn’t that worried for Solid right now, he was currently at the Vermillions, with aunt Océane, to play with their cousin Kirsch. He would start to realize that something is wrong with their family, he was just four but old enough to start noticing things going wrong… Nozel always tried to make him understand a bit that they couldn’t expect anything from their father, that only mother truly cares about them. But he probably hasn’t done it well, as Solid was still confused and stubborn.

And to be honest, Nozel didn’t want Solid to learn the whole truth with only four. Even with fourteen, it was too early to face that…

But Nebra was here, in the house somewhere. Hopefully in the garden, where she wouldn’t hear any of the yells.

Hopefully.

Nebra was nine, still too young, but old enough to actually realize that something was wrong with their family. And Nebra wasn’t stupid. Nozel did notice that she always had a certain look in her eyes when there was tension between their parents. Nozel prayed the Heavens that she wouldn’t become an adult too early despite this horrid realization. He already felt like a bit too adult sometimes, but someone had to support mother and give her the comfort every day. Her sister, aunt Océane, couldn’t come every day and the workers at the family business weren’t close enough to them and…

Now, Nozel almost felt like he would cry soon. Was there really no one but him to support mother? An adult, a friend? Heck, despite despising adultery thanks to his father, Nozel would exceptionally even accept a secret lover, just because his mother deserved to be truly loved and appreciated. Something his father never did.

Nozel hold Noelle softly closer to him. It was already a difficult situation. Hopefully it wouldn’t end up as a tragedy.

“Oh, there you are.”

Nozel looked up and saw Nebra entering the nursery. She was wearing the pink dress with the blue flowers that mother got her on their only-girls shopping trip last week and she had her favorite spider plushie in her arms. With the pink ribbon in her silver hair, she looked like a happy little girl with no worries at all.

But the frown and the serious look in her magenta eyes destroyed that happy image immediately. It broke Nozels heart.

“Nebra… I thought you were in the garden.”

“I was, but I could hear the yells even there. I didn’t know that mother knew such cursing words.”

How wonderful. Even their garden wasn’t wide enough to not hear the yells anymore. What if the whole city of Clover could hear them? What if people would hear and decide that mother was in the wrong, what if they would rather support him?

Nozel felt so scared right now. But he couldn’t let Noelle and Nebra show anything about it. He was their older brother, he was fourteen already and he sadly knew better than them what was going on. It was his job to protect his siblings. In this case, his sisters, since his brother was thankfully not here.

“Is she not crying with all the noise?” Nebra asked while sitting next to him and pointing at Noelle, who had tears, but didn’t cry. Yet.

“I do my best to calm her.”

“Noelle is always the calmest with you,” Nebra said, with a hint of envy that almost made Nozel smile. Almost. “With me, she either cries or is more interest by her stupid dragon plushie. But at least, I try to bond with her. Solid either calls her ugly because she’s a baby, broken when she cries or he asks that we should return her and find the receipt, to return her. Dang it, our sister is not a toy to return!”

“Forgive him, he is only four and babies are weird in his eyes. You did the same when Solid was a baby, remember?”

“It’s not the same, I’m a girl and he’s a boy,” Nebra said while flicking her hand. She sounded very certain of her statement.

“Did you hear anything about… what mother and father are yelling to each other?” Nozel asked.

“I didn’t try to listen, it makes ears bleeding.”

Nozel couldn’t agree more. He also didn’t try to listen, but mostly because he knew already what they were yelling about. It was always the same lately, only that it was more direct and loud this time.

“I did hear mother say something about divorce, though.”

Oh, really? That was new. But Nozel didn’t try to be happy about it right now. Was his mother suggesting the divorce or was she against it? At this point, Nozel wouldn’t be surprised by either possibility.

“Nozel, what is a divorce?” Nebra asked, which made him flinch. He didn’t know if he should explain it to her, she was only nine years old. But at the same time, she would learn it soon enough. Better from him than from someone else who wasn’t close to the Silvas or who might support their father.

“It means that people who are married can’t live together anymore, due to reasons, and so they got separated.”

Nebra nodded, thinking. Nozel wonders sometimes if he should be worried that she was a bit too mature for her age lately.

“I don’t want mother and father to get separated.”

“Maybe it will be for the best for all of us. And for mother even more.”

“Can we be a family when our parents are separated?”

“It wouldn’t be the first time a family goes through that and some are apparently still feeling like families.”

“But ours? With all the screaming?”

No, not really. Nozel wondered if he should tell Nebra that all of them would be better up without their father, but-

There was a loud noise going suddenly through their villa, as if someone just shut the door. Then, their mother yelled something about waiting.

Oh no… Their father probably left for his penthouse and mother would run after him. This wasn’t good, not good at all. Nozel didn’t know why, but he had suddenly a terrible feeling. He had to do something!

“Nebra, I’m going after mother. Watch over Noelle for me. Maybe go in the kitchen and ask the cook for some cocoa to calm everyone.”

“What? But Nozel-“

“I’ll be right back, just don’t follow me.”

Nozel handled Nebra their little sister, but Noelle immediately started to cry as he let her go. It broke Nozels heart, but he couldn’t take her with him and Nebra was also too young. He patted both their heads shortly, trying to ignore Noelles cries and Nebras sudden fear in her eyes and left the nursery.

He run down the stairs, almost run into a maid and reached the door of their villa. Nozel didn’t even took the time to put some outdoor shoes on, he went out immediately. It was clear as crystal that he had no time to lose. Mother needed him.

He run, hoping to stop his mother to go after HIM. The marriage was broken, it was so clear after today’s fight. But Nozel knew his mother hoped for a real happy family still. He couldn’t blame her for that, but they could be a happy family without HIM.

Nozel was out of breath when he finally reached the road. Why was the villa of his family on a hill again? Who cared about that, he needed to catch his mother!

Acier was there, on the road. The green light just turned red.

Then, there was the car.

Then a panic.

His mother fell.

Then it was blurry. And Nozel screamed, but no one heard him. There was no sound coming out of his mouth…

[scarsnfevers]

The Road Away

Prologue of Wolfgang

summary: You needed a clean break. A reset. If the past was going to haunt you, it could do so from a distance. The city had always felt too small and too loud all at once. The steel and glass, the relentless buzz of traffic, the stink of too many lives packed into too tight a space—it pressed against your senses in ways others couldn't understand. But it wasn’t just the humans. The city teemed with others of your kind. Wolves.

genre: werewolf!stray kids x werewolf!reader

chapter word count: 1,5k

chapter warnings: loneliness

You had never liked packing. The act itself was tedious, a chore buried somewhere between indecision and sentimentality. But this time, it was something else entirely. This time, it felt like peeling away layers of your own skin, each cardboard box a confession, a piece of yourself that no longer belonged to the person you were trying to become. You stood in the middle of the apartment—your apartment—where echoes now rang louder than your thoughts. The bookshelves were bare, the kitchen stripped to essentials, the bedframe dismantled. What remained were the ghosts of late nights, quiet breakdowns, and days blurred by exhaustion.

Outside, the early morning sky wore a veil of grey, mist curling between buildings like it was alive. Inside, you crouched by an open suitcase, carefully tucking in a worn photo album. The cover was scratched, the pages slightly curled, but the memories inside were too precious to leave behind. Alongside it went your laptop—your lifeline, your history, your work. A few clothes, a flashlight, a pair of sturdy boots, a half-used journal, and your favorite mug. That was it. You had given away most of your furniture. The couch that had supported your weary frame after long shifts, the armchair with the wine-stained cushion, even the coffee table with the splintered leg—all gone. You needed a clean break. A reset. If the past was going to haunt you, it could do so from a distance.

The city had always felt too small and too loud all at once. The steel and glass, the relentless buzz of traffic, the stink of too many lives packed into too tight a space—it pressed against your senses in ways others couldn't understand. But it wasn’t just the humans. Seattle teemed with others of your kind.

Wolves.

Too many packs, too many alphas posturing, too many silent battles fought in crowded elevators and boardrooms. You had spent the last few years trying to dull your edges, hide your instincts behind power suits and conference calls. But the scent of dominance hung thick in the air. There were always meetings where someone tried to assert control with nothing more than a glance. Always those late nights when the moon called too loud and you had to fight the tremble in your limbs. Always that feeling of being watched, challenged, provoked—even by those who smiled politely. And as an alpha, even one who never sought power or pack, it was a constant weight.

You had tried to hold it all together. Tried to be normal. But the tension never truly left your shoulders. Your skin itched under fluorescent lights. Your hearing stretched too far, your nose catching whiffs of anger, fear, desire—all so sharp, all so constant. Over time, the city drained you. Slowly. Quietly. Like water eroding stone.

So, when the final project wrapped and the lease came due, you didn’t renew. Instead, you searched. For something quieter. Simpler. Farther. Fox River. You hadn’t heard of it before you stumbled across a listing for a cabin in the woods. Five hours from Seattle, population barely three digits, tucked between forests and forgotten lakes. The pictures showed pine trees and a misty hill behind the cabin. The seller’s name was John Whittaker. The price was reasonable. And something about it tugged at you. You made the call.

The trunk of your car was a patchwork of duffels, sealed boxes, and a folded wool blanket. Everything you owned now fit in the back of a vehicle. You stood there for a moment after slamming the hatch shut, keys cold in your palm, breath fogging in the morning chill. The street was empty. A light drizzle began to fall, speckling the windshield, trailing tiny rivers down the glass. No one came to wave you off. There were no lingering goodbyes. Just the soft hum of the engine as you turned the key, the city skyline disappearing behind you with each mile.

Traffic faded as you moved northward, buildings giving way to trees, streetlights to open sky. You took the highway out past Everett, then veered eastward, climbing steadily toward the highlands. The terrain shifted beneath your tires—concrete to gravel, flatland to forested ridges. Each mile tasted of distance. Of release.

You kept the windows cracked. The air grew colder, crisper. Cleaner. It carried the scent of rain and pine and something else. Freedom, maybe. The road curved like a ribbon through the mountains. You passed a gas station that looked like it hadn't changed since the seventies. A lone hiker walking alongside the road. A family of deer that froze as you approached, then leapt gracefully into the trees. Time slipped differently here. You could feel it.

Eventually, your GPS went quiet, the screen blinking blankly at you as you reached the edge of mapped civilization. You followed the directions John had given you by phone, scribbled on the back of an old receipt. Left at the old quarry. Right past the dead oak. Two miles down a gravel lane until the forest opened up like a breath. The trees parted, revealing a small clearing bathed in afternoon light. Moss carpeted the forest floor, and the cabin stood in its center like something out of a dream—wood dark with age, the roof steep and shingled in rough slate. Smoke trickled from the chimney in a slow spiral. A dark red truck was already there.

John Whittaker was exactly as he sounded: tall, silver-haired, wrapped in flannel and denim, with eyes like weathered stone. He watched you climb out of your car, then walked over, a hand extended in welcome.

"You made good time," he said with a warm smile. You returned the handshake, firm and grounding. "Barely got lost." He chuckled. "That’s saying something. Most folks don’t make it on the first try."

Together, you walked toward the cabin. The porch creaked under your steps, and the front door opened with a soft groan. Inside, the air smelled of cedar and old firewood. Dust motes drifted lazily in the golden light. The interior was small but sturdy—a stone fireplace, a modest kitchenette, a cozy reading nook by a bay window, and stairs leading to a lofted sleeping area above. You walked slowly, fingers trailing along wooden beams and windowsills. Everything was handmade. Honest.

"I fixed it up over the years," John said. "Was going to keep it for the grandkids, but they’re more screen than forest these days. You look like you’ll treat it right." You turned to him, feeling something unfamiliar and warm rise in your chest. Gratitude, maybe. Or relief.

"I will. Thank you."

He nodded, then handed you a heavy brass key. "She likes to be warm in winter. Keep the hearth going, and she won’t give you trouble. Pipes are good. Roof too, unless it’s a real blizzard." He paused then, glancing toward the woods. "Me and my wife live a few kilometers that way, down the trail behind the house. If you ever need anything—tools, food, help with the generator—just holler. Don’t be a stranger." You stepped onto the porch with him, watching the sky shift into a palette of lavender and gold. The trees whispered in the distance. The world here felt wider, older.

"I won’t," you said. "Thanks again. For everything."

He tipped his hat, smiled once more, and drove off slowly, tires crunching over gravel until the forest swallowed the sound.

And then you were alone.

You stood there for a long time, breathing. Listening. The woods pressed close around you, but not in the way the city had. This was different. This was peace, not pressure. The weight in your chest began to lift, like something inside of you had been held underwater for too long and was finally surfacing. As dusk fell, you unpacked only what was necessary—a blanket, your journal, a single lamp. You lit a fire in the hearth, watching as the flames caught and grew. The light danced across the wooden walls, casting long shadows.

And then, just as the last blush of sun dipped behind the ridge, you heard it.

A howl.

Far off. Low. Mournful.

It echoed through the valley, resonating in your chest like a memory you hadn’t known you carried. You froze, heart stuttering. Every hair on your arms stood up. You knew that sound. Not just what it was, but what it meant. You stepped onto the porch again, eyes scanning the darkness. The trees swayed gently, their branches rustling like breath. And something inside you stirred. Something old and aching.

For the first time in longer than you could remember, you let your instincts rise, let the wild inside you shift just beneath the surface. You closed your eyes, tilted your head toward the moonlit canopy, and listened.

And somewhere deep in the forest, something listened back.

[bakuchrome]

Hiiiiiiiiiii

So so like…I just came from your Dabi fic, and I really really wanted you to write for Izuku x sligjtly older reader, with Affection by CAS.

What I was thinking, was Izuku in his last year of UA so probably 18, and reader is probably about 19. Sure their literal age gap isn’t much, but reader drinks a bit too much after getting kicked out when they were 16, so they’re more mature than their age, and Izuku helps them through a rough night.

If you don’t wanna write this, that’s totally cool! But it was a silly little idea I had

𝐀𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧— 𝐈. 𝐌𝐢𝐝𝐨𝐫𝐲𝐚

Izuku Midoriya x Slightly Older Reader

☆open request☆

Master List

The city hums beneath flickering neon lights, rain misting the pavement in a quiet lull. The scent of wet asphalt mingles with the sour tang of alcohol as Izuku walks the familiar route to a bar that’s always too dim, too quiet— except for the nights you stumble out of it, eyes glassy with a buzz too heavy to carry alone.

He finds you slumped against the cold brick wall, bottle dangling from your fingers, your breath visible in the chilly night air.

“Hey,” he calls gently, crouching down in front of you. “Rough night?”

You blink at him, slow and lazy, a drowsy smile pulling at your lips. “Izuku…” His name drips from your tongue like honey, warm despite the slur. “You always find me, don’t you?”

He sighs, but there’s no annoyance in it. Just something softer— something that makes his chest tighten. “Because I worry about you.” He almost shrugs

You laugh, a tired sound that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “You shouldn’t.”

Izuku ignores that. He always does. Instead, he carefully pries the near-empty bottle from your grasp, setting it aside.

He’s learned by now that scolding you never works. Neither does telling you to stop drinking, to take better care of yourself.

So he does what he always does— picks up the pieces quietly, without asking for anything in return.

He shrugs off his jacket, draping it over your shoulders. “Come on, let’s get you home.”

“Don’t have one,” you mumble, words laced with bitter amusement. It’s a reminder he doesn’t need. He knows why you drink, why you always end up here, waiting for something that never comes.

Still, he offers a quiet, “You have mine.”

You let him help you to your feet, unsteady against him. He feels the way you lean into him, how your weight shifts easily into his hold, as if you trust him not to let you fall. His arm wraps securely around your waist, guiding you through the dim-lit streets.

The night air is crisp, carrying the distant hum of traffic and the occasional chatter of passersby. Your head lolls against his shoulder, warmth seeping through the fabric of his shirt.

“You’re sweet,” you murmur, voice softer now, a lull of drowsy affection. “For taking care of me.”

Izuku swallows, the words settling in his chest like a gentle ache.

And then—

“Y’know… if you were just a little bit older…” A quiet, wistful hum slips past your lips. “I could actually fall for you.”

He stills, just for a second.

You don’t notice. You’re too lost in the haze, words tumbling freely, unaware of the way they land— of how they lodge themselves deep in the cracks of his heart.

Izuku exhales slowly, steadying himself. He forces a small chuckle, as if it doesn’t sting. “I don’t think age has much to do with it,” he says lightly.

You don’t answer. Maybe you’ve already drifted past the point of remembering this conversation. Maybe you won’t recall a single word come morning.

But Izuku will.

Because he’s already fallen. Long before tonight, long before he ever found you outside this bar, before he ever heard your voice laced with something so achingly soft, so impossibly out of reach.

And for the first time in a long time, he lets himself wonder—

If he had been just a little older, would you have fallen for him too?

☆open request☆

Comment to be tagged in text post, or request!!

[katuschka]

Olalla Chapter 14 2/2

Jake Kiszka x f!OC 6.600 words (revised, May 2025)

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction, intended for adult readers. Any resemblance to real persons is purely coincidental. Also, if you're under 18, go find some other entertainment elsewhere.

Warnings (are spoilers): mentions of war and invasion (no gore), emotional defeat and depression, emotional turmoil, heavy angst, conflicting thoughts, language (even though some of it is in Polish or Slovak), soldiers, traffic jams, burreocracy; it can get political if you squint, but I tried to keep it vague so as not to ruin the actual story with it; kissing, fluff, light petting, and as always, an unhealthy dose of heavy emotions and feelings

If you like the story and want to get notifications, you can join the Taglist

Previous chapter Olalla masterpost

The cool Spring wind flows over the Vistula river Towards my homeland in the distance; Towards the snowy peaks of the Tatra Mountains. Oh wind, carry my greetings over the fields and hills. Give my greetings to my family, The flowers, the meadows, And all the people in all the huts.

Agnieszka, Zakopane, 25th March 2026

Two days went by, as if in a flash. We were all very busy transforming the willa into a shelter for the elderly in the middle of the storm that threatened to poison our own hearts with hatred; and it shouldn’t have left enough room for other thoughts. 

And yet, despite everything I did, and everywhere I went, every passing minute, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. 

About them.

About Jake and all the things he said to me. 

I didn’t tell anyone. I kept it a secret until my body felt like a pressure pot, which made it even more impossible to make any decision. I considered other options too, while trying to convince myself that the reason why I felt so miserable was that accepting his offer would be a disgustingly selfish decision. So I tried to steer my mind in the opposite direction instead. The military needed more administrative workers and I seriously considered it. I didn’t really know what to do, with my brain refusing to cooperate. I just wanted to be useful. 

I didn’t reject him either, at least not in a way he asked me to. I couldn’t tell him to stop waiting for my answer, because I couldn’t lie to him. I did love him. That was the real source of my misery. I never got over it… over them… over him. But I kept him in the dark. 

Jake tried to keep in contact the whole time, if only to assure me that he was still there and waiting. He sent me another text the following morning; not pushing it, just reminding it was all true and that the world was still spinning. Good morning Veela. Paris is shrouded in mist today. I hope you’re safe. I didn’t respond. 

He sent me another one after lunch. I finally visited Morrison’s grave today. I’m taking a walk now, and I keep thinking about you. I hope you eat. That one made me smile almost against my will. He already knew me too well. I couldn’t leave that one unanswered. 

Mama made mushroom perogies. I’m stuffed, I typed back. Fantastic :D, he responded. I knew very well the reaction wasn’t just about my full stomach. 

In the evening, he sent me yet another message, wishing me a good night and casually mentioning a book he started to read. I smiled again – albeit mournfully – realizing what he was trying to do. I kept rereading his messages in my bed over and over again until I fell asleep. The next morning, he just continued. Good morning! Looks like spring is finally here. A pigeon just shat on my shoe. This time I laughed, but I never let him know that, because I was in the kitchen with Svetlana when the text arrived and my reaction to it seemed completely out of place. I felt guilty again. Two hours later, my phone chimed again. 

Kuba Starlight: I know I told you I would be patient, but PLEASE at least let me know that you’re ok. That’s all I ask. 

Ashamed, I quickly texted him back. It was not enough and I knew it, but I still didn’t know what else to say. The invisible rope that kept pulling me towards him was tugging at my insides uncomfortably, while my roots remained entrenched in the soil of our land. 

Veela: I’m ok. It’s quiet here.

I didn't hear from him again that day, until Maya called later that afternoon.  

“Are you fucking kidding me? Are you out of your mind?”

“I don’t know. Depends on what you’re talking about,” I replied, a bit stunned.  

Jake had called her. He told her everything, including the things left unsaid that still held a meaning. Having no real news from me, he reached out to the least probable person out of sheer desperation. I felt guilty, sorry for him, and angry at him all at the same time, especially after hearing Maya’s opinion, which genuinely surprised me. 

“I thought you didn’t like him,” I sighed in exasperation. 

“Well I changed my mind!” Maya blurted out, raising her voice again. 

“Why?”

“Do I really have to keep explaining such basic things to you? I’m sick of all this ‘no man’s woman’ bullshit that only made you miserable.” 

I tried to make her understand, but my sister had never been overly sympathetic to those playing a hero for the sake of preserving their own dignity. I still tried to protest, repeating the same arguments I told her just two days ago: “I can’t possibly leave mom and dad. They need me here.” 

“Bullshit! You’re SO full of shit Agnieszka. Didn’t you just tell me that you’re considering joining the military?”

"…to keep them safe…”

“They don’t want THAT! They sleep better knowing that I left.” My sister wouldn’t even let me talk at this point. And everytime that happened, we both knew a storm would follow. My spitefulness and her rightful wrath often resulted in pulled hair and one nearly knocked-out tooth when we were younger. As a Scorpio and an Aries, we loved each other dearly… until something happened. 

“…and while I’d love them… all three of you… to come here, I respect their decision. I can’t, however, respect what you’re doing right now. …and don’t you dare hang up now! I KNOW you want to.”

“Oh fuck you!” I spat back instead. “I haven’t heard from them for almost three months. And now he’s suddenly acting like Prince Charming, trying to persuade me to go with him to Never Never Land…?”

I heard a sharp intake of breath first. She knew my poisonous sting was in full emergency. One wrong word and I would definitely hang up. “Agnieszka…,” Maya continued in a much softer tone, “... speaking about respect… it’s because YOU told him to stay away. No, you actually didn’t even tell him, you sent Josh to do that. And I was there, not you. I saw him imploding into a ball of despair on the stairs when that happened. And remember what you told me when I found you in your room just minutes later.”  

Maya paused then, and waited patiently for my reaction, knowing too well she just struck a nerve. When I didn’t say anything, she continued: “Maybe you should just talk to someone. And by that I mean that you really SHOULD.”

“Please, Maya, don’t tell mom,” I felt sudden waves of panic rise inside my chest.

“No, I can’t promise you this. Not this time.”

And sure enough, just a half an hour later, another fiery Sikorski woman stormed into my bedroom. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?!”

The reaction itself was the very reason why I hadn’t. I didn’t forget about how she had treated me during my little mental breakdown in August, and I certainly had no desire to go through that again. There was no escaping it now, though. I tried to repeat the same arguments I said to Maya, which proved to be completely futile, and in the end, I made a lethal mistake by mentioning my other plans. Maya had been right, although it still couldn’t prepare me for the outburst that followed. 

“I WILL NOT ALLOW IT!!!” Mama shouted, completely berserk, and for a split second I thought that she would hit me, but she stopped her hand in mid air. Instead, her eyes veiled with fresh tears and her face twisted in visible pain, and it all ended up with the two of us hugging each other in the end. 

“I think we need a drink,” she said at last, sniffling. 

“My grandfather did some abhorrent things,” mama said after she downed her shot. We were sitting alone facing each other in the kitchen with a large bottle of vodka between us. I felt like it was going to be a long night. 

“I never wanted you to know, because it was hard enough for me to learn to live with it. But it made me realize one thing. There’s evil in every one of us, dormant, but present. If anything happened to you or Maya, I’d kill. But that’s not right either. That’s not why Jesus Christ died for us.”

I rolled my eyes, not interested in yet another one of her religious lessons…

“No, listen to me. That man loves you. We all saw it. And I was watching you closely, too. You’re not going to fool me. That’s the greatest gift one human being can give to another. You know it too, because it almost destroyed you when you lost it.”

She paused and poured us both another shot before she continued. I waited with bated breath, because even though we had talked about Dominik or even Joshua before, she had never openly acknowledged my pain before. 

“I think I noticed his growing feelings for you back in September, and I was trying to give you hints. I didn’t realize… or maybe even imagine how strong they are, though. What he offers you, that’s unusual. You two still hardly know each other, he’s from afar, and yet he’s offering to shield you under his protective wings. The world is full of bad people and the worst of them have always wanted to rule it. Some people fall victim to it, others collaborate…” She paused again and took a deep breath. 

“I’ve always wanted my two girls to find the best people. Someone who would take care of you no matter what.”

“I don’t need anyone to take care of me,” I protested. 

“Stupid girl! You always have! I am your mother, so I know. I’ve tried to teach you independence, but it has its limits. Only the bad people don’t need anyone, treating everyone as their puppets. I take care of your father and he takes care of me, and that’s how it should be!”

Prickly tears filled my eyes at those words. I had been defiantly holding on to my anger that had prevented me from crying for so long, but mama’s words overwhelmed me at last. It was not her usual self, cold and commanding. I felt seen. One more reason to stay with them…? 

“I have you,” I swallowed harshly as the excess tears flew down my parched throat. “How could you even think that I would be able to leave you?” 

Mama took my hand in hers and squeezed it gently, but shaked her head at the same time. 

“My back hurts, so do your father’s knees. Those limits, all the things you can’t handle by yourself even though you think you do, are no longer my burden to carry and I certainly didn’t raise you to take care of me. At least not yet. Some people think that’s how it should be, but not me. Because first and foremost, it’s every adult person’s duty to start something new, so that the world can move on. I took care of my mother, and then your dad’s mother, but only after I took care of you. To everything there is a season!” 

There she was again. The general. Always teaching me to swim simply by throwing me into the deep water. Not yet done with her preaching, she looked me in the eyes and continued: “Maya understands this. She’s not pushing it. She knows we’re safe here…”

I huffed. How could she be so sure? Weren’t they trying to persuade me to go exactly because we might NOT be safe here? “BESIDES,” she continued before I could voice those thoughts, “this is not just about the current madness. It was fueled by it, sure, but it is his life too. He wouldn’t do it if he didn’t want you in it, right?” 

I watched my shot glass glimmer in the dim light when I played with it between my fingers. After three successive shots, the reality around me seemed just as hazy as my recurrent dreams. “Mom?” She watched me for a while before she whispered: “Yes?”

“Do you believe in prophetic dreams?” I expected her to roll her eyes or cross herself just like she always did everytime I said something stupid. It was my dad’s family that liked this shit. 

“Yes,” she replied matter-of-factly and to my great surprise, and then grabbed the bottle again with a sigh. “But I think we probably need more, don’t we!” 

And I told her everything about them. When I finished, she was watching me with her head resting in her right palm, with a strange kind of weariness glistening behind her eyes. “I can’t believe how stupid you are,” she said at last and I deflated, my stomach sinking, but she continued: “What more proof do you possibly need to realize that this is right? You have a strange glow in your eyes when you’re in love. It dims down sometimes, but I’ve been seeing it in full glow since yesterday morning, wondering what might have caused it. I have been praying for this ever since Dominik died. Now go.”

Af if I woke up from a dream without having realized that I had been sleeping – that’s how those words felt. 

Back in my room, and with shaky hands, I pressed his number. It kept ringing for a while, testing my weak resolve, and I almost gave up, but then his voice finally came out of the speaker. 

“Veela?” Jake was breathless. “Sorry… uh… I was taking a shower… I mean…”

“I accept.”

It was followed by several long seconds of complete silence. Well, almost complete.

“Jake? Are you crying?”

“... no,” he cleared his throat to muffle a sob. “Ok. Ok, fine… now listen, there are some things we need to do first. Grab a pen.” 

Zakopane, 28th March 2026

It was sleeting when she got behind the wheel and turned the key in the ignition. It seemed symbolic: freezing rain continuing to obscure her view just when the hot tears finally dried after the final goodbye. The world she knew tore down in two pieces right where she sat. The familiar warmth – even though sometimes bittersweet – behind her. Before her only cold strangeness and uncertainty, raining down on her. 

For one last time, Neszka checked the back seat of her old Nissan. Two duffle bags, containing a meagre fraction of her life. Mostly practical necessities, a few pictures, her favourite teacup decorated with tiny forget-me-nots and one framed, handwritten note with a pressed flower attached to it. He will be remembered… 

Thirty three years, most of which she was now leaving behind. 

Agnieszka didn’t want her parents to walk her out to the car, because she knew that she’d never be able to drive away if she saw them in the rear view. 

Nothing else could be seen in this dreadful weather. The fickle Spring robbed her of one final glance at her beloved mountains. Maybe it was better this way, because she knew she wouldn’t be able to stop looking, standing at the gas station, unwilling to move. 

She did – however – open the window as she drove along the thick woods. It was too early for nature to overwhelm her with intoxicating scents of budding life – not even the crocuses had emerged from under the snow yet – but the frosty, earthy smell was just as welcome. Taking deep breaths, Agnieszka kept inhaling it as if it was the potion of life… which it was. 

They might destroy happiness for a while, but they will never destroy life. Even if they nuked it off the face of the Earth, new Spring would come eventually. The untamed power of this planet; it would never be subdued by human stupidity. 

Tears prickled her eyes again. Neszka closed them just for a fleeting moment on the almost empty road and instantly saw both their faces behind her eyelids. Beautiful assholes. Shining like two celestial lights, they wanted to be the new family to her. An ex-lover turned to a brother she never had, and…

“Kurwa!” she roared, punching the steering wheel. She was really doing it, still totally unsure how she felt about it. What a mess, fueled by an overwhelming adrenaline rush. 

The last two days had been stressful. Agnieszka rushed into the hospital to get her medical records, she swept all the drawers in the house in search for all other documents she might need, and she followed Jake’s instructions and applied for ESTA, praying it would let her through as the network kept going down that day. Everything went more or less smoothly, except three hours of panic when she couldn’t find her passport.

They had agreed to meet in Vienna, the nearest airport Neszka felt comfortable going to or flying from. Not Budapest, not Bratislava, for… reasons. Prague was too far away. Vienna International Airport seemed like the best choice. Going south through the passage between Western Tatras and Beskids, Agnieszka would be there in five hours. Four if she got lucky. With the time reserve she already had by leaving early, it was hopefully going to be a fairly comfortable ride. 

But the universe had other plans, as Neszka learned just a few minutes later when she turned left in Chocholow and saw cars with Polish licence plates passing her by in the opposite direction. That was strange. Some of them even flickered their headlights at her. A few hundred metres later, she reached the end of a short line. 

One car that just turned around and was also going back the opposite direction stopped right next to her and motioned to her to put the window down. “What’s going on?” she asked, noticing some warning lights ahead, too. “An accident?”

“They just closed the borders this morning without even bothering to announce it officially until about half an hour ago,” the driver shouted. 

“What? They can’t just close the borders? There are no borders!”

“You don’t have to tell me that, but obviously, they can. They said it’s war, so they can do whatever they want. You better get back.” 

They drove away but she stayed put, ready to gamble. Maybe they simply just required a passport now, and the others had not been prepared for that. Everything would be ok…

But it wasn’t. Fifteen minutes later, Agnieszka finally reached the “border” blocked with provisional barricades and two Slovak soldiers motioned to her to stop. “Nemôžeme vás nechať prejsť. Je mi ľúto,” the younger one said. 

Fine, Neszka, stay calm, you got this. “Can we speak in English please? This is urgent!”

“Čo ta piča chce?” she heard the older one shout and it immediately made her blood boil. Yeah, she could understand that. The younger one ignored him and turned back to her. “I can’t let you…eh…”

“Through?”

“Yes, Through. The border is closed.”

She took a deep breath, holding the steering wheel to ground herself. It was more than necessary to remain calm. “I need to go to Vienna to meet my…my… boyfriend. I have a passport. I’m just transiting.”

“I’m sorry,” he shook his head, but then leaned closer, speaking more quietly now: "Choďte do Těšína.”

“Cieszyn? But I don’t have enough time! I need to get to Vienna to catch my plane!”

“I’m sorry,” he repeated, before he added with a sympathetic frown: “Hurry.” 

Neszka had no choice. She just lost the time reserve, and maybe more, but it still could be done. However – as she learned two hours later – with the Slovakian borders closed, all the roads to the Czech Republic were jammed. She lost another hour in another line that formed right before Cieszyn due to traffic, and when she finally got out of town and back on the highway, it was more than obvious that she would never make it on time. 

It was time to call Jake, but… Shaken by what had happened, crippled by a brand new wave of fear and so focused on the road, it suddenly seemed like the most difficult task which she kept postponing illogically, not even sure what she was really scared of. Him changing his mind? being angry? Telling her it had all been a joke? Anything seemed possible at the moment. 

Just before reaching Brno, with still at least 90 minutes to go, the screen of her phone before her lightened with Jake’s text. 

Kuba Starlight: Where are you?

She pressed the call button hastily and he immediately answered. 

“I’m not going to be there on time, Jake. I’m not even in Austria yet.” She surprised herself with how agitated and despairing she sounded, as she had been trying to ignore all those emotions in order to just drive. Dying in a car crash certainly wasn’t the plan. 

“I got stuck on the road and now I’m going to miss our plane. I’m so sorry, Jake. It was awful.” The irrational fear that he would somehow leave without her overwhelmed her despite knowing that he would never do it. But knowing is not the same as feeling, and she just couldn’t shake off the feeling of impending doom after everything that had happened. 

“It doesn’t matter. We've got to change the plan a bit anyway,” he sighed. 

“Why?”

“I’ll tell you later. Now just please get in here safely.”

Vienna, later the same day

“They suspended ESTA approvals for Polish citizens. There’s still some confusion whether it applies to those that were already submitted, but I don’t want to risk it…. Um, yours hasn’t been approved yet, has it? ”

“No… but… What? Why?”

Jake didn’t know how to answer that. The reasons made him want to yell in frustration. Josh himself had raised his voice during their call. Not at Jake, but at the world. 

It happened just an hour before Jake was to leave for the Orly airport with just his backpack, hopeful he’d be back soon with her safely in his arms. Josh called, angry and determined, and they had to change plans quickly, making Jake grab the suitcase and stuff all of his remaining possessions into it in a hurry. They also agreed not to tell Neszka about it until Jake would meet her in Vienna in fear that she might change her mind. They indeed did know her too well already. 

And when she finally arrived at the airport later that day, Jake knew immediately that it had been the right decision the moment he saw her. 

He had expected their reunion to be awkward at best, but Neszka fell right into his arms, breathless and shaking and just craving human touch. Not what he had expected in any way, but selfishly speaking, this was better. A fleeting moment of relief and tenderness when he could bury his nose in her hair again and just forget about everything. For a short while. 

It got awkward just a little bit later. Jake got her a coffee and a ham sandwich and she recovered a bit physically, but still remained upset and troubled. She was a mess, clearly. He couldn’t even imagine having done this via phone. It was hard enough to have this conversation when Jake finally had her at arm's length and he considered each word carefully. 

“So… I need a visa?” Neszka continued when he remained silent. Her tone was suddenly weary and colourless, and her previous frown loosened, transforming her face into a mask of surrender, as if she didn’t even care what the answer was. 

The sudden change in her demeanour didn’t go unnoticed. Jake looked at her in alarm, trying to read her mind, but she seemed distant and unfocused, looking past him into the distance. She was dissociating. Or worse, giving up, just as he had predicted. But at least he was with her now. It loosened his tongue at last, and he swallowed harshly before he spoke. 

“Yeah, maybe, but we don’t have enough time, and you probably wouldn’t get it anyway for the same reason… uh… It’s because you’re automatically considered to be a war refugee now” – ‘and therefore undesirable’, he refused to add, although they both knew – “instead of a mere visitor, but there’s a way to change that… Listen… ”

She didn’t. It was the last straw. Crumbling under the burden of all the overwhelming events, Neszka collapsed on the nearest seat, clutching her head in fear that it may fall off. “So… I’m just a filthy stray now.” Hot tears obscured her vision just as the mixture of anger, desperation and homesickness dimmed her ability to think straight. She was an ant, after all. 

She had seen it before; people treating other human beings like faceless burden. Dehumanizing the victims in order to preserve their own comfort. Back home, she could still keep the remains of dignity, but now, the reality hit with full force.

“Listen Veela,” Jake repeated, now crouching before her, trying to calm her down. “There’s still a way. But we need to go to Copenhagen. I just need you to say yes and I’ll go get us plane tickets.”

“Yes to what?”

Copenhagen, 31th March 2026

Her left hand didn’t even look – or feel – like her own when she raised it up to examine one of Jake’s silver rings. 

“I promise I’ll get you a much nicer one. And a proper ceremony, too,” he replied to a comment she never even meant to make. 

“It doesn’t really matter. I wouldn’t care if it were just an iron band. I never wore real jewelry.” With every intake of her breath, Neszka could feel the malachite pendant resting against her skin under the dress Jake bought her, warmed up by the heat of her body. One of her most treasured possessions, despite the price. It was the symbolic value that really mattered. 

Agnieszka could almost hear the echo of Joshua’s voice, coming to her from easier times. ‘I really hoped that we would be friends… and this kinda reminded me of your eyes. Please, keep it.”

Had those times been really easier? Or simply more ignorant… at least as far as her soul and heart was concerned? Neszka’s protective walls started to crumble the moment Joshua made that simple gesture and closed her hand, on which the pendant rested, with his. 

Taking that hand in his, he led her towards a realization that what those walls were protecting was essentially a wasteland.

What followed was a perilous journey, but she no longer had any doubts it was one worth taking. 

Joshua opened her heart. 

Without him, this wouldn’t be even possible, she thought, looking at the ring again. 

The balmy sound of Jake’s voice interrupted her reminiscence. “I know, but I wanted you to feel normal. And in this case, ‘normal’ means ‘as much as I can give you’, and that’s still the least you deserve.”

“I don’t need you to do that.” 

Jake had been hearing the same response again and again during the last few days and clenched his fists in frustration every single time. What Neszka really meant was I appreciate it, but it’s more than I deserve, but she was still having trouble finding the right words with Jake. 

… and Jake was still having trouble understanding her fully, as he huffed in exasperation. She had decided to come with him, not because of her fear, but because of his fear for her, and yet she kept pushing him away. 

He wanted to be patient, he really did, and he couldn’t really blame her after everything that had happened, but it still hurt. “You still don’t… or perhaps refuse to understand that I want to. I’ve been wanting to ever since I first held you in my arms, despairing and weeping. You’ve been sad and tearful many times since, and I’ve always felt like it’s all my fault. I’ve never stopped yearning to make it better. Now you’ve finally let me, though I really wish it wouldn’t be under such dire circumstances. Still… For the first time in months, I’m able to look in the mirror. So please just allow me to give you at least a little semblance of normalcy.”

Jake took her to a normal, fancy restaurant, ordered normal, expensive wine, but that’s exactly the reason why nothing about it felt normal. She was sitting there in her new jacquard pencil dress, feeling… guilty. How did she deserve any of this? 

Looking around, Neszka could see other people living their usual daily lives, which made her unreasonably angry. But… hadn’t she been doing the very same thing during the past four years? Has the world gone mad? Are we all really that self-centered and obtuse until it’s our own skin that got burned? 

“We’re not really that far from Szczecin. Or even Gdansk.” She said at last, deliberately ignoring how Jake continued to offer his love on a golden platter. 

“I know…”

“This is surreal. Like a bad dream.”

Neszka regretted those words immediately. She knew it was bad even before she saw Jake’s reaction. Not angry, just… He put his fork down and looked away, while taking a deep, grounding breath.  “No, I mean… the situation… not you, Jake! I’m just overwhelmed. Nothing about this is normal. And I can’t pretend it is.”

He looked at her again, swallowing hard. “Do you feel like I forced you to do this?” he asked carefully, alluding to her meltdown in Vienna.

“No, you certainly didn’t force me to do this.” Her own mind wandered back to the town hall earlier that day, when this got sealed. 

She had had barely enough time to catch a breath during the past few days, so when they finally reached the vast City Hall Square, it felt like a completely different life, in some completely different realm. Jake held her hand in his, leading the way. He was like an anchor in the storm that kept raging all around her despite the fact that it was a calm, windless morning. The sun was shining and the weather was mild, so her old pashmina shawl proved to be just enough to keep her warm. The design didn’t match with the golden woven pattern on her new, creamy dress, but Neszka didn’t care. Jake had offered to buy her a new trench coat, but she’d stubbornly refused.  He looked stunning in his new navy suit. ‘Ok, you don’t have to button up the shirt, but at least wear the vest, please…’ she had said with a cheeky smile before they left the hotel room. It was one of the very few moments when she actually smiled. Delighted, Jake stuck out his tongue at her, but obliged, and even let her braid his hair.  No, he didn’t force her to do any of this. In quieter times, it would have felt like a fairy tale. Two wild souls eloping. But the times were far from quiet, and the fact seemed to taint everything with thick black ink of futility.  Everything except one moment.  Standing in front of Skovgaard’s mural, Neszka allowed herself to forget about everything for a little while. Everything except the man standing on her right. Her legs trembled, her heart was beating fast and she nearly snapped the stem of the single calla lily she was holding, but it didn’t feel wrong. Rushed, crazy, and perhaps even very reckless, but it felt right.  Neszka had asked one of the clerks that served as witnesses to capture the moment on her phone so she could send the pictures later to mama. They needed those photos for later too, but the reasons made her stomach turn, so she tried to force the thought out of her mind.  When he took her hands in his, it felt like standing on top of a mountain again. The room vanished and a cool, fragrant breeze played with her hair again. Come, my love. And then their lips met. It was simple – just their lips touching – but neither wanted to break the moment. Jake seemed almost hesitant, stroking her hands with his thumbs gently. Seconds passed, and they remained like that. Like two statues frozen in time, until the registrar cleared his throat and smiled serenely at them.  She could tell from his expression that he was well aware of what was going on and so the magic of the moment vanished with a puff, followed by an insanely stressful afternoon at the Embassy. Who would have thought that Christmas photos would suddenly become so valuable, she thought bitterly. Or that one single snapshot Joshua took by the creek in September. Highly private moments, treated by strangers as evidence now. 

The bitterness just added to the mixture of emotions she felt to be drowning in, pulling him down that abyss with her, with seemingly no power to change that. Neszka wanted to say more to him, three simple words would be enough to make it all ok, but the words got stuck in her throat as tears filled her eyes again instead. 

She tried anyway. “You’re the only light here. Everything else is a nightmare. That’s why this doesn’t even feel real,” she sobbed violently. 

Jake stood up hastily and rushed around the table, pulling her up into his arms. Her own weak limbs snaked around his torso instinctively and she held onto him for dear life. She hadn’t eaten anything since morning and it was starting to show. They looked like a real war couple, reunited after their perilous journey. Except the clothes... He finally understood. She was right. 

The people around were watching, but Jake didn’t care. “Do you want to go back to the hotel?”

Neszka shook her head and chuckled in between sobs. “We didn’t have dessert yet.”

“We didn’t even have the main course yet, but…”

He didn’t finish the sentence, because it made her laugh. “That’s my girl,” he crooned instead, while stroking her back soothingly. “Now, please, let’s eat. You need to eat.”

When they got back to the hotel room at last, the atmosphere between them felt heavy again. Jake kept fumbling with his cuffs nervously while Agnieszka had trouble with even taking her earring down because of how much her hands were shaking. Partly due to the weight of the day that was just ending, and partly because of the elephant in the room that had yet to be answered. 

She took a deep breath the same moment Jake did, and they started talking at once, too. 

“Jake, I know I’m your wife now, but…”

“Listen, Veela, I want you to know that…”

“It’s not becau…”

“I totally under…” 

Jake sat down on the bed with a huff and offered her his hand. “Ok, come here… just sit down.” She did, and he took her hand in his, kissing it before he continued. “I know, Veela. This is a… peculiar situation. It’s been from the very start, actually, regardless of the reason why we’re here now. I’ve wanted you for months, I won’t lie ‘bout that, but I’m not gonna do anything until… or unless you really want me to. I want you to know that.” 

Agnieszka continued staring at the floor, but nodded anyway. Not that long ago, it was all just about sex. No love, just dicks. It was incredibly ironic that two rock musicians who could have almost anyone changed that. But then she remembered how they also kept sending pictures to their mom… it made her smile. 

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing. Jake… I want… I… I feel like being on a rollercoaster and I don’t really like the ride, even though you’re sitting next to me. It’s still nauseating and I need it to slow down. And…” There were actually two elephants in the room, and neither Jake nor Neszka wanted to talk about the second one. Not yet, at least. 

“Yeah… I know.”

“Can you kiss me, Jake?”   

“Sure…sure…” He whispered it, and the sound waves danced like a silk ribbon in the air until it dissolved like a mist. 

Then there were the hands. Slightly calloused, unlike his, but just as gentle. Long, delicate fingers that treated her as if she was made of the finest china. They cupped her cheeks and lightly pulled her closer. He pecked the apple of her left cheek first, and her eyes fluttered closed. 

Then there were the lips. Plump and soft like the chocolate mousse they ate half an hour earlier. But the lips tasted much better. She needed more of that taste, and so her lips parted. 

The tip of Jake’s tongue ventured forward, meeting her halfway. It was like an electric shock at first, killing all the tension in the process. The kiss softened and deepened and it felt like falling into each other, making them both moan. It lasted a lifetime. 

“I’m so tired,” she mumbled when their lips finally parted and Jake rested his forehead against hers, unwilling to break the contact completely just yet. 

But they had to, eventually. 

They showered first. Separately, just like last night. And changed into their pajamas, just like last night. Just like two friends having a sleepover… which they were not. They climbed onto the bed, just like last night, and Jake switched off the light, just like last night. 

But they were different now and Neszka couldn’t stand the gap between them, even though it was just air. 

“Can you hold me?” she whispered into the darkness and immediately felt the mattress dip. The warm skin of his forearm brushed against hers and she immediately wanted more of that warmth. Jake pulled her closer and gently stroked the other forearm with his hand. It felt hot on her flesh and she needed more. 

“You’re quite cold. Are you ok?” Jake mumbled against her shoulder. 

“No… do you think we could take our t-shirts off? Just… that?” 

Without another word, Jake sat up and pulled his shirt over his head. Her eyes had adjusted to the darkness by now, but she could still see only the outline of his body as the thick curtains prevented them from being bothered by the streetlights. “No,” she whispered. 

Jake turned around quickly and looked down at her with alarm. “What?

“I wanted to do that.” She could hear rather than see him smile. 

“Come here.” Yes, she could feel the silent laughter and he pulled her in a sitting position. His fingertips brushed against her sides when he grabbed the hem of her sleeveless top and rid her off of it with one swift motion. Suddenly, he froze, hesitating. She knew why. 

“You can touch them.” 

He hugged her instead, and kissed her hair. “I’d love to, but then you wouldn’t be able to stop me,” whispered. “C’mon, let’s go get some sleep,” he added, pulling her back onto the pillows with him. 

Finally, she snuggled closer to his soft but strong body. Jake was different. She couldn’t count his ribs, for one thing. He enveloped her like a comfort blanket instead. It was now just within her reach, and so tantalizing. Just two words and he would probably do it; she could tell from the pattern of his breath. But as long as her traitorous mind kept coming up with those comparisons, it wasn’t right. Or fair. He smelled almost the same, Jake’s musk being just a little bit sharper. It was normally lost under the layer of his own perfume, but now it made her breath hitch. 

And once again he asked her if she was ok. 

Yes!... and no…

@thewritingbeforesunrise @fleet-of-fiction @writingcold @lvnterninthenight @its-interesting-van-kleep  @takenbythemadness  @edgingthedarkness @myownparadise96  @gvfstuddedmajesty @josh-iamyour-mama @jazzyfigz @tripthelightfantastix @sanguinebats @wetkleenex-gvf @peaceloveunitygvf @kiszkas-canvas @fleetingjake @lizzys-sunflower @hollyco @emojakekiszka @gvfmarge @Dayumclarizzel @lipstickitty @clownstarr @musicislove3389 @i-love-gvf @blankvz @psychedelectable @allof--mylove @joshylanefleet @thewaythatshebreathes @Ironlotus90 @justwantjosh

[6ixtoru]

SINFUL WATCHERS | 02

pairing: s. geto x f!reader // w.c 1.8k

synopsis: Geto Suguru, moulded by the hefty hands of the Lord himself, and his brazen suggestion for him and distant friend/classmate L/n Y/n (Satan's favourite poem and existence opposed by heaven's residents) to anonymously post a video of their lewd entanglement on twitter proves to be more hazardous than one would think. Who knew one viral video could overturn God's plan?

warnings: 18+, heavy smut, modern!uni/alternative!AU, forbidden romance (?), fwb, angst, uploading of NSFW content by characters (basically Twitter p0rn stars), blasphemy, religious imagery/symbolism

series m // chapter 01 // chapter 03

AS Y/N TRUDGED down the stoned path; a yawn accidentally tumbled off her tongue after the transparent puffs illustrating the chilly breeze attempted to ambush her clothed figure despite the oversized coat she clung to in desperation to obtain body heat.

Beginning her third year at university had its benefits – such as the academic term beginning mid-autumn, which permitted admiration for the sky's decorative imagery.

Murky swirls obscured the visibility of the highest building tops as street lamps guided citizens. Fumes of revved engines at a standstill via traffic were one of her favourite scents, an unhealthy aroma similar to one of petrol, whilst the fog embraced a noose around residents of this specific road as it revelled in forcing drivers to operate their headlights despite the mornings' arouse. The gloomy mist encompassing Y/n's location was apologetic, forced to shoulder the benevolent sun's role who'd been dismissive of its job.

Her half-lidded eyes struggled to cloak the remaining tiredness, still apparent, having not attained any peaceful hours of Z's last night.

Eight AM. How dreadful for commuters in Tokyo?

Having been awoken around two hours prior, a forceful splash of freezing water to revive her sunken traits, followed by her cramped travel on the overcrowded tube, hadn't benefitted her as she remained unaffected by the chilly liquid and bustling crowd.

Reserved behind her shoulders was her hair, typically down and lacklustre of any fancy styling, which slightly swayed with each sluggish step she took towards her first destination before reaching the building home to campus grounds she was to be present in – the frontal pieces feathered to frame her beguiling features; wispy and requiring low maintenance.

Her excuse for the inflation of her eye bags (although smartly disguised with concealer) was solely due to her commitment to achieving the highest grade possible; Y/n's intelligence was overlooked and never truly acknowledged, yet a far more important attribute compared to her stunning looks. Fortunately, her lashes and the upper curve of her eyes, thinly lined with black, beautified her irises.

Truthfully, despite Y/n's nose buried between countless books last night, the off-white pages were repetitive and struggled to grasp her full attention. Although she genuinely attempted to cram as much revision as possible so she could attain the best possible grade.

Generally, she thoroughly enjoyed the subject, the literature entertaining and enjoyable to assess – especially when using a multitude of highlighters, the vibrant colours signifying essential sections of text. Furthermore, the rhythmical language studies expanded the pallet of her vocabulary.

Focusing her sight on her suede mules, largely clocked by her baggy jeans, she continued her journey in silence. Her headphones awaited use in her tote bag, the pattern of her breathing less irritable than the music usually pooled within her ears.

One small purpose of her timid amble down the dimly lit road busied by rampant engines was to regain control of her flailing nerves, not prepared to settle until her favourite beverage soothed the dehydration of her throat – Tokyo's chill her body's enemy as the lightweight haze infused itself upon her flesh, her paleness temporary and due to dissolve once she emerged past the homey entrance of her favourite café.

"My dear L/n!".

Y/n jolted as her lips pinched together in a hard line from the sudden verbal attack. Her body flinched before she swore impulsively in a sharp outburst. Her muscles relaxed, and her expression contorted into an unimpressed flat-lined frown, having registered the lanky man sneering before her.

Gojo Satoru grinned, flashing his pearly rows of teeth, which she internally questioned whether she should lean over and bash in, ultimately settling on restraint rather than pursuit.

Her defeated sigh pecked his ears before her playful punch landed on his tanned arm, which elicited his chortle once he mentally replayed the reaction he had successfully pulled out of her.

"What do you want?" She questioned as he strode beside her but out of sync, his strides longer and mismatched because of the gap between their heights.

Much to the girl's dismay, she attempted to mend their desynchronisation. His amiable grin, which lovesick girls fawned over, crept upon his peach lips, having noted her struggle to match his chipper pace.

"That's how you greet me?" Gojo pouted, and his arctic hues followed suit as they exhibited a false narrative of nurture and a blanket of commitment to long-term romance for women who frolicked around him, although aware of his natural ability to romanticise any girl with cordial charm.

His second-to-best friend huffed with her softly filled-in brow arched when turning to face him whilst tranquillity slung around their necks like an additional companion, the roads continuously occupied unlike the pathway weirdly lacking other pedestrians.

Due to his physical traits and all-rounded personality, many female students swooned despite his reputation of going on meaningless dates every other night. Women weren't aware of his inner-wiring, his strenuous efforts to please his expectant parents with a biology degree overshadowed by his public image of being notorious on the basketball court. However his charismatic character overrode his flaws concerning arrogance typically present during matches.

He was one out of two of her best/close friends. However, she never missed an opportunity to mention her tolerance for Gojo stemmed from their introduction in secondary school – otherwise, she would've avoided him and his coy advances long ago.

"Seriously, you seem moodier than usual." her lean snowy-haired friend pointed out, and she merely nodded in agreement.

The charming flirt regularly sprouted nonsense she disagreed with, a constant routine between the duo which showcased the power dynamic within their friendship; however, she couldn't deny the accuracy beneath his observation today.

"That's because you're with me and not Nanami." she joked as she name-dropped the third member of her trio, but quickly returned to her emotionless daze.

She continued, "Okay, I'm just messing. I stayed up late-".

"Doing what, huh?" His query interrupted her explanation before he launched a cheeky grin upon his pristine face whilst she scoffed, turning away with flushed cheeks when unable to erase his suggestive smirk.

His assumption was highly crude and certainly not a confession Y/n would admit to Gojo or any other friends for that matter; however, she detested his sexual indication not being incorrect.

Admittedly, last night's events included a miniature break of self-pleasure, which had occurred not once but thrice. It appeared overboard yet Y/n couldn't resist admiring her touch against her tense figure in front of her mirror. That bubbling rush of temporary desire to orgasm replaced her regular bloodstream with buzzing adrenaline.

Thus, another reason behind her consciousness awake past her regular bedtime was to be caught up with content following the hours she had thrown to waste.

"Don't interrupt me, and I didn't invite you." her stare acquainted itself once again with her shoes, mentally aware it was he who usually accompanied her to this specific business surrounding freshly brewed java anyway. Plus, Gojo was accustomed to her particular methods of teasing.

"Anyways, forget it." she finished, and Gojo nodded in understanding as he too strived to maintain an acceptable grade for the sake of his reputation and several adults polluting his life.

Abruptly, his features souring disrupted their rapport.

"Now, who seems moody? Date with a weirdo?" Y/n teased with an edge of curiosity, wonderous but not surprised at his sudden shift in mood.

The typical Gojo Satoru cowered out, his confidence raised on honour and elevation. "Nah, just thought about yesterday's practice exam," he paused as his usual cheer returned. "Also, yes. She was weirder than she let on." He shuddered.

Y/n scoffed at his dramatics, but it was nothing out of the ordinary, as he was a man hellbent on athleticism, his attractiveness, and being the best.

"That bad? Consider it as a pre-caution, for your sin of leading all these girls will bite you in the ass one day." She lectured with a shake of her head, a timid laugh caused by her point and her self-appreciation for not romantically admiring men like himself.

Gojo's lip snagged into a relatively relaxed smile when reminiscing about her previous reprimands regarding his romantic ways. He proceeded to watch Y/n's shoulders deflate and bewitching eyes roll back, having noticed he interpreted her care as pure entertainment and that her warnings wouldn't be taken seriously.

"Oi..." She warned before a sharp inhale swept across her lungs, interrupting his miniature admiration in the midst of opening the pristine glass door, a portal for savoury pastries desperate to be tasted and their purpose fulfilled once gnawed upon in customers' watering mouths.

The (unprofessional) athlete jumped back with his arms blocked in front of him, a lame excuse of a shield upon noting his failure to hold the entrance agape for his friend, who usually moseyed into the familiar environment before him.

"There's only banana-nut muffin left," he explained, scurrying to the counter, his soft spot for Y/n inexcusable for allowing her to purchase the last treat they both favoured.

"I would've let you have it, idiot." She softly called out behind him.

***

Having bid a group of students goodbye, Y/n almost cherished her ease for conversing with anyone, the students waving as they walked away, having partaken in civil communication, the regular questions regarding the progress of their studies and their overall mood discussed.

Students who exchanged pleasantries with the extroverted introvert noted her openness to any conversation with anyone, her bias non-existent and her opinions judgement-free. Her swift remarks and sarcastic banter balanced her stoic demeanour and unconscious scowl, a shield for her hesitation to trust. Her ability to expel discomfort between herself and a newly introduced soul was relieving (but worrisome for a specific group of others) as rumours of a disinterested and unapproachable aura were proven false once anyone was gifted an opportunity to converse with her.

However, the injurious thorns sown beneath her flesh that were moulded by scorched soil planted within hell's backyard, spared the oblivious undergraduates from the pernicious effects of being pricked. Satan's icky cords permanently seared around her figure was representative of her odious character, a sufferer from vitriolic attacks by the deceased graded as absolute piety living in Heaven.

Prioritisation of meaningless temptation obfuscated residents of this temporary world and their ability to differentiate others' authenticity, their wrongful regard of Y/n's ruthless reputation humorous and her delight in malignity soon to evolve as others risked an eternal blaze for voluntarily witnessing her and another's videoed sin.

Y/n's posture straightened, having noticed a familiar figure intrude her line of vision, her back stiff from resting against the bumpy brick of one of the main buildings she had been waiting to enter.

Incarnated with traits of infernal yet masked by normalcy aided her popularity amongst her peers. All but one man birthed to derail the desire for deeds linked to the underworld, associated her with the deathly region. Yet, his bewitchment surrounding the rendezvous of their two souls replaced the objective of his origin.

"How nice of you to join me, Geto.".

Blurred like an un-steadied lens attempting to focus, Y/n and Geto were mistakenly camouflaged with other students, two future stars too hidden to detect.

© 6ixtoru all rights are reserved. do NOT repost or copy my work. reblogs, likes, comments etc all appreciated.

[ihni]

It's @weird-an's birthday, so have a little Argilly (!) (yeah I know!) piece inspired by this post.

This piece is written to be read around the time they release season 5, because whatever shit they come up with to happen in Hawkins, our forgotten boys will just be living their best life in Cali.

~~~

Billy wakes up slowly, gaining awareness in increments. The softness of the sheet underneath him, the sounds of the traffic interspersed with voices coming from outside, the warmth of the air in the room and from the body behind him. Taking a deep breath, he stretches until his joints pop and then releases the air in a content sigh as he becomes boneless once again, turning around and snuggling up to the man behind him. Tucking his head in under the man’s chin, still without opening his eyes.

There’s a chuckle. Billy can feel the vibrations through the body he’s clinging to, and can’t help but smile.

“How long have you been awake?” he murmurs, and hums contentedly when a big hand splays out over the back of his head, scratching lazily at his nape.

“A while,” comes Argyle’s voice from close by, and Billy feels a gentle kiss on the crown of his head.

“Why didn’t you wake me up?” he asks, then yawns.

“You’re cute when you sleep,” is the answer.

“I’m cute all the time.”

A laugh, and Billy can feel Argyle move as he nods. “Truth. But especially when you sleep. Also, we’re not in a rush. We can stay here all day, if we want.”

Billy starts to nod along, but then stops. Reluctantly blinks his eyes open. “Not all day. We’re meeting Tommy later, remember? You promised you’d show him all the best burger places in town.”

“Yeah but that’s not until the afternoon,” Argyle argues. “We have hours to go before then.” A pause. “You can go back to sleep, if you want.”

Billy considers. It’s still a luxury to be able to wake up at his own pace, and not have to hurry to get ready in the morning. It’s also not until recently that he has started sleeping through the night, with the nightmares being less frequent the longer he spends away from their source.

Two years. Two years since he clawed his way back to the real world, two years since he stopped having to sleep with one eye open, two years since fate – perhaps as an apology for everything it had put Billy through – brought Argyle to that godawful Indiana town. (No one could tell who was most surprised to see the other; Argyle, who had been told that Billy had died in a fire, or Billy, who hadn’t thought he’d ever get out of that hellish place at all. Their reunion was emotional and tearful and came as a shock to everyone else, who hadn’t even known that they knew each other. But honestly fuck everyone else.)

It has been two years now since Billy sat down in the passenger’s seat of Argyle’s van and went back to California without looking back; his only goodbye being a middle finger aimed at the ‘Leaving Hawkins’ sign as they passed, while Argyle’s hand rested on his thigh, gripping Billy’s other hand in his.

Two years later, and here Billy is, in bed with Argyle; his best friend, his lover, his Aggy. There are no monsters anymore, there is no Neil to be wary of. He is safe, he is warm, and he can go back to sleep if he wants.

Does he want that, though? He frowns. Something tickles his mind, like a half-forgotten memory. He dreamt something, he realizes, but trying to remember what it was is like trying to capture mist in his hands. It slips between his fingers like smoke, but still leaves him feeling vaguely uncomfortable.

Argyle, like always, notices. “What is it, Bee?” he asks, and hugs Billy closer. “Nightmare?”

“I don’t know,” Billy says, truthfully. “I don’t remember.”

Argyle hums. “You were moving around a lot. Talking in your sleep again.”

“Really?” Billy says. It’s been a while since he did that. “What did I say?”

“Just murmurs. No real words. You sounded kinda worried, though.”

“Hm. Well, I don’t remember.”

Billy rolls back a bit and puts his head on the pillow. He immediately misses Argyle’s warmth, but Argyle keeps his hand on the back of Billy’s head, playing with his hair, and at least this way he can look at Argyle’s face.

He’s beautiful. Big and strong and soft, with his sunshine smile that never fails to make Billy feel all warm inside and his long hair that somehow always looks perfect even right after waking, unlike Billy’s. There’s a mark on Argyle’s cheek from a crease in the pillow, and Billy wants to kiss it.

Argyle’s smile – widening at the sight of Billy, which will always be a thrill – is contagious, and Billy finds himself smiling too.

“’Mornin’, Aggy,” he says and leans forward to place a kiss on Argyle’s lips.

“’Mornin’, Bee,” Argyle replies and smiles into the kiss.

They lean their foreheads together and breathe for a while. Then Argyle stretches out too, like a big cat. Billy seizes his opportunity to plop himself on top of Argyle, who just laughs and puts his arms around him, pulling him closer. Chest against chest, Billy moves with Argyle’s expanding lungs as he inhales. It is soothing, and he tries to relax. But he doesn’t quite succeed – the remnants of the dream is still lurking in the back of his head.

Of course, Argyle notices. “Bee?” And of course, he knows what’s Billy’s thinking. “Do you think it’s got something to do with, you know, all that stuff from a couple of years ago?” He doesn’t even say ‘Hawkins’ out loud, because he knows how Billy feels about that town. It is just another reason to love him.

Billy wants to say no. Wants to reject it out loud, because all that is over. But that nagging feeling in his brain stops him. “I don’t know,” he admits. Argyle knows about the nightmares, about the dreams. He has met El after all, and knows what she can do – and he knows about the times, right after they got back to California, when Billy and El’s dreams merged. It has stopped now, thankfully. Or, he thought it did.

“Do you think something’s … wrong?” Argyle asks. His voice is neutral, but Billy knows him well. He knows what Argyle went through, too; what he had to see and live through on his way across the country two years ago.

And Billy decides, then and there, that “No. Nothing’s wrong.” Because they’ve had enough, him and Argyle. They’ve done their part. Billy has served his time; he paid the price, survived, got out and got away. The people they left back in Hawkins – none of whom cared enough about him to try to save him, by the way – could have left too. If they stayed around for the next wave of horror, that’s their choice.

Hawkins can burn to the ground, for all that Billy cares. If something’s about to go down there, Billy doesn’t want to be involved. Doesn’t even want to know about it.

“Okay,” Argyle says and pats Billy’s shoulder. As if he knows what Billy’s thinking. He probably does.

“And if it is,” Billy says, petulantly. Makes sure to say it out loud, so that the powers that be can hear his refusal. “If something is wrong .... If something goes down, back there? I don’t give a fuck.”

“Right on.” Argyle chuckles and kisses his curls. Hugs Billy even closer, trapping him against his chest and making him feel … small, and safe, and cared for. Something that Billy has only ever felt with Argyle, outside of when he was a child and his mother was still around. “Right on, my dude.”

Billy huffs out a laugh, but wrinkles his nose in distaste at the same time. “Don’t call me ‘dude’ in bed. It’s weird.”

“But you are my dude, dude.” Billy tilts his head back so he can glare at him. It’s hard to maintain a façade of annoyance in the face of Argyle’s sparkling eyes, but he manages through sheer force of will. “My little man.”

“Stop it.”

“My bro.”

“Aggy.”

“Brochacho.”

“I will literally kill you.” But despite his words, which are an obvious lie to the both of them, he cannot stop the smile that blooms on his face, or the blush that follows when Argyle laughs and peppers his face with kisses.

“Sure you will, dude.” Argyle sees straight through him. He always has.

That doesn’t mean that Billy will just take this kind of disrespect lying down. He struggles out of Argyle’s grip – only succeeding because Argyle lets him – and rolls and crawls with grunts and mutters to the edge of the mattress. He pushes off the bed and gets to this feet, uncaring of the fact that he’s naked, and cocks a hip to the side while he points at Argyle, who’s still sprawled out in bed, grinning. “Just for that, breakfast is on you.”

Argyle just keeps smiling, even as he leans forward and hooks his own finger around Billy’s, shaking his hand a little. And damn it, Billy is charmed. As always. “Sure thing, Bee. Cold pizza?”

“Leftovers? You call me ‘dude’ in bed, and I get leftovers?”

“Tasty, tasty leftovers, though.”

Tasty leftovers. Breakfast with his Aggy, after waking up in bed with his Aggy, in the apartment he shares with his Aggy.

A look to the window reveals blue skies with barely any clouds. The leaflets on the palm tree just outside moves gently in the breeze. Billy knows that if he opens the window, he will smell car exhausts from the road and Chinese food from the restaurant across the street and a hint of decomposing trash from the dumpster around the corner … and under all that, the salty air blowing in from the ocean, barely two blocks away.

Life is good.

He releases Aggy’s finger and takes his hand instead, pulls him up until he’s standing. Pokes him in the middle of his chest and raises his eyebrows as he looks up at him. “I want garlic sauce on mine.”

Argyle salutes – lazily, and with the wrong hand – and says, “You got it,” before pressing another kiss to Billy’s face – forehead, this time – and walking past him to get out the bedroom. Argyle’s not wearing anything either, and Billy watches appreciatively as his behind disappears around the corner.

Whatever might go down in Hawkins, it’s got nothing to do with him anymore – him or Aggy.

Life is good for them, now. He’s not trading this for anything.

And with that, he files the fragments of the dream away to be forgotten and follows Argyle out into the kitchen for a cold pizza breakfast.

~~~

(And yes, Tommy has moved there too because he deserves some kind of appearance as well, so I'll just headcanon that he and Carol maybe have moved out there and is finding their feet out in the real world. He's gonna become fast friends with Billy and Argyle and become a cook or something.)

[hazel-of-sodor]

Day 29-Choices

Day 29-Misty

Other Stories

Other Days

A Western Summer

Thomas hummed as he ran along the coast with the early morning train. Normally Oliver took the train, but Thomas had volunteered as he was already awake, and wanted the time alone to think. He couldn't see far, the thick morning mist along the coast swirling comfortably around him, but he wasn't concerned. The train was a slow run, and no other trains ran this early.

His time on the Little Western had been better than he expected, more than he had dared hope if he was honest with himself. It was a gorgeous line, albeit very busy, in many ways a second mainline now that it extended up past Harwick. He had enjoyed running by the sea, and hoped the plan to restore the old coastal run to Tidmouth as part of the Ffarquhar happened.

His mood dropped at the thought of his line. By all accounts the damage had, if anything, been worse than initially suspected. The track would be repaired soon and he would pull the first train across the newly repaired bridge…but his line didn't need him. Wouldn't until well into Autumn optimistically. So many businesses and quarries had been damaged, there wasn't enough traffic for all the engines. People weren't taking the trains to work, because there was no work until their workplaces could be repaired or in many cases, rebuilt. From what Thomas heard from Percy, Daisy was able to handle the passenger traffic on the Northern half of the line by herself without issue, her seats far from full. Luckily the construction crews had taken on most of those left without work, but the majority of their work was within the towns. The only reasons the bridge repair had taken priority was to get engines out and supplies in. Thomas had been given a choice, he could return home when the bridge reopened…but he would be alone. The other engines were being transferred to other lines. With Thomas covering the passenger work, the little freight could easily be handled by an engine from the mainline.

Thomas missed his branchline so badly it ached. Excluding overhauls, that was possibly the longest he’d been away from his line since he had been given it…but he really didn't want to be alone.

He was tired, exhausted really, the idea of being alone in the shed every night, of spending everyday running up and down an empty line. Thomas wasn't certain he could take it. He certainly didn't want to put his coaches through it. They would do it for him he knew…but he didn't want to ask it of them.

His other option was to return to the Little Western. He could stay here until his branchline needed him again. He could relax on a branchline where he wasn't the leader, where his only duty was to pull his trains to time. He could spend the night in a full shed, surrounded by his fellow engines. He could stay with Duck.

The pannier had been a Ladysend. Someone who understood just how painful losing his branchline was. That it wasn't just a loss of position, as the mainline engines teased. It was like a part of him was missing. 

Thomas pulled into a sleepy station, only a handful people on the platform this early in the morning. As they loaded in, he considered his partner.

He had been surprised when the Great Western engine began flirting…once he noticed anyway. In the end he had decided to give it…to give them a chance. He couldn't exactly say why at the time, he had hardly given thought to relationships before. He couldn't even say for certain now why he’d say yes, but he suspected it was because he felt Duck was one of the few engines that saw him. Most of the early North Western engines still saw a little station Pilot when they looked at Thomas, a little tank engine who desperately wanted to escape the station yard. While it had happened less and less as the years went on, it had never completely disappeared. The newer arrivals had almost the exact opposite problem. They saw Caomhnóir. The Lady's champion. The engine that saved others from scrap. While Thomas was devoted to the role of Caomhnóir, and proud of his work…it was a weight. So many engines only saw his successes, not the stress that came with each rescue attempt…the guilt with every failure.

Duck was one of the few who saw the engine beneath where the two met. Oh there were others, but none that he was interested in…much less that were interested in him.

Thomas hadn’t realized how much weight he’d felt the last few years until he arrived on the Little Western. He was so used to the weight he hadn't known to do with himself until Duck had asked to court him.

 Thomas could admit to himself that it was nice being the one taken care of for once. To let another engine worry about the branchline… about him. Duck had proven a proper Swindon gentleman, seeming to thrive on the chance to pamper his partner. Thomas shouldn't have been surprised to find there was a Great Western way to court someone, or that Duck would be as dedicated to it as any part of the Great Western Way.

The guard blew his whistle and waved his flag, and Thomas rolled quietly out of the station. He’d enjoyed Duck's company much more than he’d thought he would, finding someone who understood the growing pains of being a station pilot turned head of their own branchline.

Thomas sighed, he suspected he would miss Duck's company when he returned home as much as he missed his line’s engines now.

If he went home, he'd be alone. If he stayed, he could spend more time with Duck…but it could be months before he could go home.

He puffed on into the mist, trying to make his decision.

[hellcab]

TATTERDEMALION

Just a long dabble about Roth and The Yellow King. It gives some hints to Roth's upcoming event and another "God".

Black, near-acidic rain came pouring down from the smog choked skies above. It was always worse in the morning. Then again, the hours blend. Roth swallowed several caffeine pills with his morning coffee. There was vodka for punch in the brew.

Rubbing his eyes, he stared out ahead towards the busy street. The morning rush was in full swing. The desperate hoard sleepwalking off towards work. Vendors opening, despite the horrid weather. A traffic accident took center stage with bickering sinners. Violence. Desperation. Sadness. Rage.

He could feel it all like static in the air.

Roth slouched into his car seat and crossed his arms. Wrapping his chest tightly, he pretended he was somewhere else. Perhaps, somewhere better.  Growing hazy, his mind wanted sleep. Sure, the pills were in his system but that rarely helped.

He couldn’t sleep. He wanted to sleep. The times he tried became troubled with nightmares and terrible visions. Old ghosts strangled his neck from beyond the grave. Failures that gnawed on his spine.  Dead friends and lost lovers. The fear of the future weighing on his soul.

When he could sleep. When he could sleep without the nightmares. He can never, ever rest.

There was never any rest.

A gently tapping at the window got his attention. Roth sees his first customer outside the window. A yuppie, sporting an expensive look that screamed corporate decadence. They stood outside, sheltered by their umbrella as they tapped once more.

Roth could do worse with anyone else, but this customer actually had money. So why not. Signaling them, The Yuppie went to the back and entered. He collapsed his umbrella as he entered the cab. Overall, they seemed unbothered by the rotting interior. Then again, it beats walking in the black rain. Their clothes were impeccable.

“Where you’re heading?” Roth inquired as he twists around to look at his first customer. The Yuppie fixed his hair, which was coal black. “EvilSoft, at Mammon Business Plaza. No rush, I’m heading in early.”

“How surprising. That’s two-fifty for the ride and three very mile.” The Yuppie offered money for the fair and Roth accepted. Starting the cab, the Brimstone engine roared to life with ferocity. It was a mean machine of unstoppable power.

Roth joined traffic as they drove on through the storm. The world outside was muted. The mist and smog made things strained on the eyes. Roth could see blurs that eventually became shapes he could understand. The world was a hazy dream.

There was silence at first. Then, The Yuppie started talking. Roth normally could care less when talking to his customers. Sometimes, he preferred the silence. Most times, he preferred the radio. But, somehow, he rather liked his passenger today. Sure, they were a yuppie fuck. Roth’s own envious mind itched with frenzy scorn on that.

But . . . who really cares down here? Besides, the radio hasn’t been working that well lately.

Slowly, Roth opened up to the other as they talked sports. They talked about music. They talked about celebrities. The Yuppie spoke of his love of Verosika Mayday.

“That’s what I’m saying, her music is vibrant with that cynical bite. There’s more than sex and dirty talking. Just uh, message about the dating scene and one-night stands. You know.”

“Yeah, I see what you mean. I read the lyrics, and I get it. Sometimes, sometimes I can.”

Roth was closer to downtown now, nearing Mammon Plaza and ready to collect his full fair this morning. Honestly, not a bad start to the day’s tribulations. Best of all, his passenger wasn’t that half bad. For a Yuppie, which is.

“Say Roth, do you like the arts just as much as anyone with good taste? I sense that, you’re an artist.”

Roth gave a laugh, but he decided to humor this little question.

“Yeah, I suppose so. I . . . sometimes I write stuff. Poems, y’know.”

Roth came to a red light, stopping along with other cars. It was busy down here, with never-ending road work being done. Imps and Hellhounds, working for a slave’s wage in terrible conditions. Roth watched as sparks came up from a Hellhound cutting rebar.

The light turned green, and Roth proceeded onwards.

The Yuppie spoke again, grinning ear to ear as he laughing. The laughter strangely unnerved Roth in some strange, animalistic way. As if there was something wrong to the laughter only his deepest, primal senses can hear.

“Y’know, I’ve been to plays. Theater. Opera. I wanna ask you something Roth. Are you ready?”

“Yeah, what?”

There was silence. Just silence in that cab along with the droning of the rain. The engine and the muted sounds of the city outside.

“Have you seen The Yellow Sign?”

Roth’s heart was strangled with blind panic. He couldn’t scream, he couldn’t even react. Eyes stared ahead as the world turned wrong all around him. Everything was Dark. The city, the road and the rain were gone within the blink of an eye. Replaced with the howling void of nothing. Roth’s courage was made void as he stared into the dark void of nothing.

Roth prayed he was dreaming. Roth prayed this was a nightmare.

The Gehenna Cab was trapped in this strange nothing. Roth wasn’t even sure if they were moving still. That was not his greatest concern.

He knew someone was back there. It wasn’t The Yuppie; it was someone else. Someone he had hope he would never come face to face again with. He knew he was there. The air changes and the pressure grow on Roth to turn around. He was compelled to turn around. To see him. To look upon him with his eyes.

He’s a king, whom emperors have served. The Hebrews called him Kiawan. He is The Unspeakable God of mad artists and entropic loners. The Tatterdemalion King.

Roth looked as knew who it was.

Hastur. The Yellow King.

The tattered robes of yellow concealed the night underneath. The pallid mask hides the face of godly madness. This was what Roth witnessed when he first summoned him so many years ago.

Roth prayed to him during his bout of insanity. He kept Roth alive. He gave Roth purpose beyond the asylum. He was his savior. His benefactor.

He owned his soul.

“Kruger . . . . .”

The voice of Hastur made Roth’s skin crawl with despair and anxiety. Roth was panicking and wanting to escape. But here he was, trapped with The Yellow King. What did it want from him? What did it need from him? Roth went so many years without having to summon it.

It owned Roth soul and that was just about the end of it. One soul for power, one soul for the chance to survive Hell. Roth’s powers came from The Yello King, by his royal blessing.

Through him, Roth drove his enemies to madness. With him, Roth could be so more powerful but yet, he dared not to. The Yellow King was a virus unlike anything. Roth knew the risk of being overexposed to his maddening presence.

He did not want to become subsumed by him. He did not desire to become trapped in Carcosa.

And yet . . . there was something inside him that wanted to.

He wanted to escape to that place of twin suns. Black stars and the shores of Hali. He wanted to drown in the debauchery of Carcosa. To succumb to the yellowing madness of the city.

It scared Roth to want these things.

Before Roth could speak, The Yellow King vanished in blinding light to the front seat. Now closer, mow looming with alien apathy towards Roth.

“Escape . . .  you are going to leave?”

It was pain to be this close to oblivion. Roth looked away in fear, knowing The Yellow King sees all.  Roth bowed his head, his eyes closed as he knew he could not escape.

“Yes.”

The Yellow King’s face turned towards the void. He could not be read. Or understood. He was alien a foreign, strange in every way beyond what was expected of Gods. Roth was in the hands of this entity. One false move, one moment of wavering loyalty, would end his entire struggle.

“There will be pain. Truth. Revelation. The beginning of the end of things. The strings on humanity.”

Roth looked with anxious curiosity on his eyes towards Hastur. What did he mean by that? What did he mean by Revelation? Is he speaking of the end times? What of truth? What was this about the strings on humanity?

“It will burn you. You will gain knowledge. You will see what lies beyond the door. You see will see. You will see.”

“See what?”

“The lion. The snake. The mockery of Gods.”

Roth wasn’t sure what that meant. He does not know what that means yet but . . . hopes he never will.

“You will suffer. You will be dragged and quartered by this place. Humiliated and cast aside. You cannot bear that . . .”

“I’ve suffered too much already.” “Ignorant still?”

The mockery of his answer scared Roth into silence as he stared ahead. The Yellow King stared ahead as well.

“You can leave. You will leave. Only, in the end, you will return to this place. Without friends. Without love. Without me.”

Roth stared up and looked puzzled and fear. He didn’t want to believe any of that. There was a part that clings to the idea of freedom from Hell. To escape, this place and never return. But The Yellow King sees all and knows all. He would not lie, but Roth wanted to believe he was lying.

He lied to himself to believe it.

“Look at me.”

Roth was breathing hard as he stared ahead. He does not want to look. He knows what he will see and yet, knows nothing of what he will see. He knows whatever lies beyond the mask is the bane of sanity.

“Look At Me.”

Still, he does not want to turn his head. Every atom screams with fear as Roth resisted.

“LOOK. AT. ME.”

Finally, Roth turned his head and looked. There was blinding light as Roth was returned back to normal. He hears The Yuppie screaming in panic, as Roth realized he was driving into traffic. Though dazed, Roth quickly diverted and narrowly missed wrecking his cab. Slamming on the breaks, Roth stopped the cab as his passenger screamed every obscenity at him.

Roth was too drained to even respond. He slouched in his seat as The Yuppie screamed at him.

Roth looked ahead.

He cannot see past the rain.

[cryptidsurveys]

Wednesday, December 18th, 2024.

When the manager sprinkles ur scratchers with The Good Stuff. ;D

What was the last thing you laughed at? I laughed while on the phone with my mom a bit ago - not necessarily over anything in particular; more like a conversational laugh, if that makes sense.

How many times have you visited the beach in your lifetime? Just a couple of times. Once when we visited California when I was a child, and then again as a teen when we visited Ocean City, NJ.

Do you know anyone personally who has committed murder? Um…I hope not.

Do you use temper glass phone screen protectors? No, but I do have a case for it.

Have you ever cracked your phone screen badly? I think I might have cracked a screen before, but I'm not sure. Possibly my first Nokia cell phone.

Would you ever take up pole dancing as a hobby? It would definitely help me build up a lot of strength and muscle, but no, that's not my scene. I'd be much more interested in something like rock climbing.

What is one of your most prized possessions? You know, I don't really have any prized possessions. There are things I use often or cherish for sentimental reasons, sure, but nothing stands out above the rest.

Do you find commercials/ads to be amusing or just annoying? Mostly just annoying.

Do you enjoy taking late night drives? I enjoy sleeping and being in bed.

Do you prefer incense, candles, or something else for making your house smell nice? I recently bought some Febreze air mist (baked cinnamon apples), but I don't think it's for me. A little too overpowering and not as "warm" of a scent as I was hoping.

How many pets/children do you have? I have three cats and zero children.

Have you ever accidentally stolen something? I can't think of anything, but a year or two ago, my dad accidentally "stole" a box of chocolate from the store. He went all the way back to pay for it after realizing his mistake.

What was the last thing you needed help with? Getting my car door to open yesterday morning. For some reason, the manual key wasn't working, but then suddenly the little remote key clicker was? I thought that thing was dead.

What's the most expensive article of clothing you own? I don't think any clothing item I own is more than 50 dollars.

What's one of your favorite memories from your childhood? My first backpacking trip with my dad and childhood friend Aurora. I think we were in middle school at the time. We were allowed to camp at the top of the trail near the Devil's Head lookout tower. Got to hang out with the ranger and his two boys who were around our age.

What seems like a cult to you but isn't one?

What do you do when you start to feel depressed or really down? I've been feeling unusually down since the end of November. It's probably a combination of factors. There's nothing I can really do aside from be kind to myself and continue to put one foot in front of the other. The fog lifts eventually.

Do you keep your nails manicured? No.

When was the last time you checked your mail? My dad is the one who checks the mail.

Do you do positive affirmations daily? Not as a consistent intentional practice, but whenever I catch myself thinking too negatively and have the presence of mind to do so, I try to reframe my thoughts into something more positive. I'm so hard on myself and it's just not necessary, not helpful.

What time did you wake up this morning? 5:30am.

Do you like lemon with your tea? Sometimes.

Do you know anyone with the name Andrew? I had a childhood friend named Andrew, but I don't know anyone currently.

Are you a sensitive person? Less than I used to be, but I'm still pretty sensitive.

Do you know any of your neighbors well? Not really.

Have you ever received a traffic ticket? I haven't.

Do you enjoy glitter or find it to be a nuisance? It's more of a nuisance.

Would you ever want to be a politician? Lol. No.

Have you ever been into Pokémon? If so, what's your favorite? More so when I was younger and then there was a resurgence when Pokemon Go came out. My favorites were Abra and Mewtwo.

What's your favorite soup? Maybe minestrone or tomato (particularly when paired with grilled cheese).

What color reminds you of the week you've had so far? Either a puke green or a depressing blue. Just a weird week. Yesterday was a bit better, though.

Chinese or Mexican food? What's your favorite dish? I like them both about equally, so it's whatever I happen to be in the mood for at the moment.

Have you ever seen a wolf in person? Possibly at one of the zoos I've visited…?

Are you currently doing something else besides this survey? No. I was eating a bowl of cereal, but I finished with that a little while ago.

Do you get annoyed by repetitive questions? Not seriously annoyed, but when it comes to surveys, when I've already answered a question a bunch of times in recent history, it's just like…skip.

What's the fastest you've ever driven? Maybe 75-80mph. As a passenger, I think the fastest I've experienced was somewhere around 100mph.

Have you ever listened to Tim McGraw? I think so.

What's the last thing you lit on fire? A cigarette.

Do you still watch American Idol? No.

What's your favorite things about life? The people and cats I love, my passion for the work I do at the animal shelter, cozy nights falling asleep to my favorite YouTubers, the holiday season, visiting the Mountain Park for picnics and hikes - especially in the height of autumn beauty, snowy days, delicious foods, good laughs, simple routines, etc. Life is really quite pleasant when I can get out of my head and stop overthinking everything to death.

What is your favorite emoticon? Maybe this little guy. 💁 Just seems so sassy. 🙆 Or this one. Apparently, it's supposed to be a gesture for "OK," but he just looks so happy with his lil hands on his head there.

When was the last time you had to replace the batteries in something? My dad replaced the batteries in the scale in his bathroom so I could weigh myself. I've got a doctor's appointment coming up in mid-January and I didn't want to be too surprised by the number. I haven't weighed myself since maybe March, but it was right around where I thought it would be.

Have you ever seen a street name that was funny or a town name? Lol not a town or a street name, but…Gooch Gap. ;D

Do you like to watch anime? I used to.

Do you ever drink energy drinks? I have, but not as a regular habit.

How many surveys have you created? Probably at least 100.

Do you just enjoy taking them? Mostly.

What type of cell phone do you own? Do you like it? Samsung Galaxy something or another. It gets the job done.

What's your plans for the rest of the day? Not much. The only things I had planned were grocery shopping and cleaning my room and I'm finished with both.

[charlesandmartine]

Thursday 14th November 2024

The sun has risen, and the truckstop is in full swing. We sat outside our unit at our sophisticated stainless steel bistro style table inches away from the back of the Ford Ranger. The rear of the truckies kitchen just a few more inches away, but now, with the all pervasive aromas of full Australian breakfast superceding the carbolic; the fat lingering like early morning mist, a new day had begun. Roadtrains are pulling into the yard, so many it began to assume the appearance of a marshalling yard. But this was their business; fill tanks, fill stomachs, and provide shelter. Then all would quiesce with long drives ahead. When sitting within a facade of civilisation, it's easy to overlook the isolation of the outback just a few hundred meters away.

Camooweal was a tiny town, but if it didn't exist, it would be invented. I could imagine those that lived there would say they love it. It was just a small grid of roads, six vertical and three horizontal, but within that was a school, town hall, hotel/ pub, two petrol stations, a couple of historical corrugated iron buildings, post office/ supermarket, and a clinic. The girl next door to us who spent the best part of the evening on the phone, walked past our breakfast this morning wearing some sort of uniform and a lanyard and we figured she maybe was working at the clinic, and sure enough, as we passed the clinic, there was her orange car with the registration, NUTS. You may need to be to work there. She probably tours from small community to small community, and she could have been anything from a neurosurgeon to nail clipper, I don't know.

Now, no longer Territorians, our drive today was a modest 190 kms to Mount Isa; not a tax break or, and for that matter, hardly a mountain at only 356 meters. A gentle start for our trans-Queensland sojourn to the coast. The road between Camooweal and Mount Isa is punishing with little to see along its length. One small respite was a very small, modest and unassuming memorial to David Sering Hall, 1902-1950, Road Engineer. Another stop boasted a WW2 memorial, but which turned out to be a board which mentioned the ground we were standing on, in contrast to the road in front of us being the one they built in 1940 to serve additional war traffic to Darwin. Well, that certainly deserved a big plaque and an applause. (Much bigger display, I might say than poor old David Sering Hall's)

Now, no one could say Mount Isa is pretty or delightful. It is a mining town pure and simple. Copper, lead, zinc and silver mines abound. The nearby lake, possibly the prettiest aspect, used to be a mine. The Enterprise Mine, Australia's deepest copper mine at 1.9km is here. This is serious mining country. Not, you might say, big for tourists? Well, maybe not for conventional tourism, but as an unusual, interesting place, tourism plays its part in the local economy. Were it not for mining, Mount Isa probably wouldn't exist other than perhaps as another truckie stop. The mine is the town; it dominates the skyline as well with its presence. There is wealth in the town, and certainly, if waistlines is a measure of wealth, they are doing quite well. The town bustles. Traffic everywhere. People everywhere. There's a Coles, Woolworths, Kmart, Clubs, Bowling Club even. This is so different from the Top End we have become accustomed to over the past few weeks. Our accommodation is rather nice. Two bedroom, well equipped house. Small back garden to relax in, and even smaller front garden. It's great to have a bit more space before we revert once again to Roadhouses. We have three nights here, so we make the most of it.

Great Northern Beer, when we returned from Coles, then Vindaloo Chicken with SB and a pastry. We shall seek out a tourist information place first thing in the morning.

ps. Temperatures still up there in the early forties. Whilst in Camooweal, my phone weather App said it was 41, feels like 40. Well I thought that. Definitely not 41!

[vilandel]

Black Clover Modern AU

I finished the prologue of my Modern AU multi-chapter story! I'm so excited to finally post it later today 💘

The title is Morning Mist & Night Traffic and the first chapter is already in the works as well. Thank you everyone who voted on the polls and for helping me to get this blurry idea finally out of the fog of my mind.

Summary Within the prosperous city of Clover, be it rich or poor, everyone has their own issues to deal with, but not always it goes as planned. Especially when modernity clashes with some remaining close-minded traditions that has nothing to do anymore with today.

Nozel never really moved on from a tragedy years ago that left him becoming an adult at fourteen, but a young woman named Vanessa starts to heal a wound that had been invisible. Without realizing he started to heal her own wound as well.

Noelle has decided to move on from her crush about her classmate Asta, who is too terribly dense to realize what she truly felt for him. But it is easier said than done.

Since Charlotte became independent from her traditional family and took custody for her younger half-brother Luck, one can say that she is quite happy with work, free time and family life. But she could never forget her love for her old classmate, Yami Sukehiro.

Meanwhile, Fuegoleon and Lital are in a happy relationship for a decade. Too bad that the rich society in Clover is more medieval when it comes to relationships and marriage. Since Fuegoleon is from one of the three richest family and business in Clover, while Lital has roots from the slums. But both are determined to make a change about that.

[scarsnfevers]

Amber eyes

Chapter II of Wolfgang

summary: as you took a walk through the forest, you finally found traces of a pack near a lake in the heart of the forest. You quickly realized that the earlier encounter with the pizza delivery guy had not been a coincidence. There was a pack here—hidden, powerful—and now, they knew you had seen them.

genre: werewolf!stray kids x werewolf!reader x werewolf!minho

chapter word count: 4,6k

chapter warnings: none

Two days had passed since the encounter. Yet the memory lingered, refusing to fade like mist beneath the morning sun. You could still recall the scent that had hit you the moment you’d opened the door—an intoxicating blend of jasmine and warm, resinous cedarwood. It had caught you off guard, striking a chord deep in your instincts, and you hadn't expected the magnetic pull that followed. He was a Beta, that much had been immediately clear, but there was something more—something in his eyes, in the way he looked at you. Recognition, maybe. Or curiosity. You weren’t sure.

And now, the thought of him crept back into your mind like ivy on stone. You stood at your front door, breathing in the morning air. The sky was a muted silver, the clouds swollen and heavy, but no rain had yet fallen. There was a calmness in the air, the kind that always came before a storm, as if the world itself was holding its breath. You needed to clear your thoughts, and so you turned away from the house and stepped onto the forest path, drawn by something you couldn’t quite name.

The woods embraced you in their hush, broken only by the wind whispering through pine needles and the occasional rustle of unseen creatures in the underbrush. Your boots crunched softly over a carpet of damp moss and fallen leaves. Birds called to one another in the high canopy above, their cries distant and melodic. Here, the air was thicker, scented of loam and pine resin, touched by the wild magic that always seemed to hum just beneath the surface of the forest. The deeper you went, the more the world outside faded—replaced by the rhythm of the woods, by the pulse of the earth underfoot.

Since you’d arrived, the silence had become your constant companion. No distant traffic, no city sirens. And, surprisingly, no howls. For days now, the forest had kept its secrets. No late-night calls through the trees, no signs of others. At first, it had unsettled you, but now... now you found solace in it. For the first time in years, you weren’t surrounded by the press of unfamiliar wolves, weren’t overwhelmed by the heavy presence of other Alphas and their ceaseless energy. You were alone, and that was a kind of peace you hadn’t realized you’d needed so badly.

The weight of the past weeks—the move, the adjustment, the unspoken tension of being something other wolves often feared—had finally begun to loosen its grip on your shoulders. Out here, no one expected anything of you. No dominance games. No political maneuvering. No power struggles. Just you, and the trees, and the sound of your own breath. You’d found a rhythm again, a quiet cadence in your days that felt like healing. You were finally beginning to feel like yourself. Your thoughts drifted again—to that moment. His eyes. Dark and striking, holding a question neither of you had dared to voice. You shook your head, trying to dismiss it, but the pull remained, buried in your chest like a spark caught in dry tinder. You’d felt it instantly. That awareness. That connection. A recognition of something you couldn’t quite name.

The trail narrowed, winding deeper into the forest. The trees stood tall and ancient, their trunks mottled with lichen, their limbs stretching toward the gray sky. Mist had begun to gather, curling around the underbrush like soft fingers. It clung to your clothes and hair, brushing cool against your skin. The temperature dropped slightly, and the scent of rain grew stronger. It was quiet here, but not empty. You could feel the life teeming all around you—birds in the canopy, a fox watching from the brambles, the slow breath of the forest itself. You let your fingers trail across the rough bark of a tree as you passed, grounding yourself. The silence out here wasn’t cold—it was alive. It wrapped around you like a blanket, a sanctuary carved from time and untouched by the chaos of the world beyond. You moved slowly, deliberately, following no path in particular. Just moving, breathing, feeling.

After a time, the path opened up, and you found yourself standing at the edge of a small, mist-covered lake. The water was still, a mirror of dull pewter, and the fog clung low over its surface, thick enough to blur the opposite bank. Reeds whispered against the breeze, and the quiet was so complete that your own breath felt like an intrusion. The place felt untouched, sacred somehow. Like you had stumbled into a forgotten memory.

You stepped closer to the shore, the earth beneath your feet damp and cool. Droplets of condensation clung to the tips of the reeds and to your lashes, and your breath fogged gently in the chilled air. Your eyes scanned the edges of the lake. And then you saw them—prints.

Pawprints, large and distinct, pressed deep into the mud.

You crouched, heart suddenly thrumming in your chest. There were several, overlapping and trailing along the shoreline, disappearing into the trees beyond. A pack. No doubt about it. The spacing, the variation in size—it wasn’t just a lone wolf. They’d been here, maybe only hours ago. The prints were fresh, the edges still crisp. You exhaled slowly, trying to steady yourself. You’d come here for solitude, for peace. Not to find signs of a pack moving through your backyard. Yet there was something about the discovery that didn’t strike fear into you. Instead, it sent a shiver up your spine, the kind born not of dread, but of awareness. You weren’t as alone as you thought.

You stood and looked across the mist-covered lake. Somewhere out there, they were watching. Or maybe not. Maybe they had come and gone without even knowing you were near. But part of you doubted that. If they were wolves, they’d know. They’d scent you, feel the presence of another. And if they hadn’t come to meet you... it meant they were choosing to stay hidden.

The mist curled around your ankles like ghostly tendrils, and the breeze carried a scent you couldn’t quite place—earth, bark, something vaguely feral. You pulled your coat tighter around yourself, suddenly aware of how exposed you were. The chill of the mist had crept beneath your clothes, but you didn’t move. You stood there a while longer, staring into the fog, wondering if he—if they—were out there. A bird called sharply in the distance, breaking the stillness, and the spell shattered. You blinked, stepped back, and glanced once more at the tracks before turning away from the lake.

Eventually, you followed the path home, but your senses remained sharpened, your every step more alert. The wind had picked up slightly, rattling the bare branches above, and the clouds had thickened into a deeper shade of gray. You knew you should feel wary. You knew that being a lone Alpha in unknown territory was always a risk. But instead of fear, there was only that persistent awareness. Something had shifted in the quiet. Something unseen. You weren’t sure what it meant yet.

But the forest was no longer silent.

The forest whispered beneath the hush of the early morning, its voice weaving through the trees like a forgotten hymn. Shadows stretched long and deep as the pack moved fluidly between them, shapes of fur and breath and silence—ghosts carved of muscle and instinct. Minho ran near the front, his paws soundless against the moss-carpeted floor, his chest rising and falling in rhythm with the thrum of the earth.

The cool air flowed over his fur like water, catching in the thick, dark brown coat that lined his lean frame. The morning sun, breaking through the clouds, pierced the canopy in fractured beams, brushing over him in flashes—amber eyes glinting like embers in the half-dark, always alert, always watching. They’d left the lake behind nearly an hour ago, a still pool of silver mist nestled in the woods like a secret. At the time, Minho hadn’t thought twice about it. The forest was vast, and the lake was only a marker, a midpoint between where they’d come from and where they were going. But now—now something hung in the air.

A scent. Subtle. Barely there. But impossible to ignore.

The wind carried it gently at first, threading through the bracken and pine with almost reverent fingers. Minho’s stride faltered, not enough to draw attention, just enough to let the shift ripple through his limbs. He slowed, lifted his muzzle slightly, and breathed in deep.

Lilac.

Wildflowers crushed beneath rain-soaked footsteps. Lightning split through humid skies. And beneath it all, the unmistakable thread of power—Her. It wasn’t strong, but the scent still lingered, soft and persistent, like a dream refusing to be forgotten.

Ahead of him, Hyunjin’s silver form began to slow as well. The Beta turned his head, ears pricking forward and locked eyes with Minho across the clearing. They didn’t speak—not in words. But the exchange was clear. A subtle tilt of Hyunjin’s head. The way his tail stilled, just slightly. The faint tension in his shoulders, like a bowstring drawn and waiting. Minho met his gaze evenly. His mind, even in this form, was calculating. Curious. Not afraid, not exactly. But aware. The scent wasn’t dangerous—yet it had marked the air like a fingerprint, and Minho didn’t ignore fingerprints. Especially not ones that left Hyunjin looking like that.

They held each other’s stare for a heartbeat longer, then Minho gave a slight twitch of his tail and turned forward again, his muscles coiling before he pushed off the earth with silent grace. Hyunjin followed without hesitation, his silver form a blur beside Minho’s darker frame, weaving between trees with practiced ease. The run carried on, fluid and soundless. Paws whispered over stone and root, and though Minho’s body moved with the same effortless grace as always, his mind drifted.

Back to the lake, still and shrouded in fog. Back to the wind, and the way it had shifted, just barely. Back to a presence that didn’t belong. He hated loose ends. Scent trails without faces. Words left unsaid. And this one—this Alpha—was more than a curiosity. They were an imprint. A question curled inside Hyunjin’s silence. One Minho couldn’t ignore. He knew Chan wouldn’t approve. The other Alpha had made his stance clear two nights ago, at the long table where candles burned low. Strangers weren’t to be engaged—not now, not like this.

Minho understood that. He respected it. He respected Chan. But he was an Alpha as well. And there were times when duty meant more than following orders. And tonight, that meant stepping off the path. At nightfall, he’d know who had touched the wind with wildflowers and lilac and why it had changed everything.

The night had fallen with a quiet solemnity that blanketed the forest in silver and shadow. The trees stood tall and unmoving, their silhouettes jagged against a sky spangled with stars. A full moon hung high above the canopy, glowing like a pale eye in the heavens, casting its ethereal light over the dark woods below. The air was still, holding that peculiar crispness only found in the dead of night, and every sound—every flutter of wings, every rustle of leaves—was sharpened in the quiet.

A lone wolf moved silently between the trees.

His coat, thick and dark as the soil beneath him, shimmered faintly beneath the moonlight. Muscles coiled beneath his fur with each fluid stride, and his breath rose in faint clouds from his snout, evaporating as soon as it met the cold night air. Eyes like molten amber flicked from shadow to shadow, focused yet alert, as if expecting something to rise from the dark at any moment.

Minho.

Even in his wolf form, the name lived within him. A heartbeat. A thought. A tether to who he truly was beneath the fur and fang. His paws barely made a sound against the soft earth, the thick blanket of pine needles and moss muffling each step. He moved like a phantom—silent, swift, and solitary. And yet, unlike the many times before when he had taken this form, there was something… different tonight. Something he couldn’t shake off, no matter how deep he buried it under instinct, scent and the rhythm of running. A strange tension clung to his spine, like static before a storm. Excitement?

He didn’t understand it. Couldn’t explain it. There was no danger he could sense. No prey he hunted. But something within him stirred with an energy he hadn’t felt in a long time. His thoughts—wild and scattered in this form—kept circling around the same memory. The same scent. Her. The girl.

The one Hyunjin had spoken of in hushed tones and lingering looks. The one John had sold the old cabin to—the same cabin Minho was now moving toward with an urgency he couldn't fully justify. The forest grew denser as he moved further from the path. The trees leaned closer together, their branches tangled like clasped hands, allowing only thin slashes of moonlight to filter through. Shadows danced on the undergrowth as he weaved his way deeper into the woods, his breath coming a little faster now. His ears flicked back for a moment—something in the night whispered to him. Not words, not danger. Just… presence. The forest always spoke, in its own way. Tonight, its voice was hushed and reverent, like it too waited for something to happen.

Minho slowed as he approached a rise in the land. He paused at the crest of a small hill, his body low, ears high, nostrils flaring. The scent was faint, carried on the breeze—woodsmoke, pine, something soft beneath it. Something human. His heart thudded in his chest. He hadn’t realized how fast it was beating until now.

Carefully, he crept forward, the soil damp beneath his paws. He moved like a shadow between the trunks, eyes trained on the thinning line of trees ahead. Then—

A glimmer.

Faint, golden light flickered through the distant branches. There it was. The cabin.

It appeared slowly, revealed piece by piece as he crept closer—first the stone chimney, then the slanted roof, and finally the wooden frame that sat like a lonely sentinel at the edge of the forest. The warm glow from the window spilled across the clearing, a stark contrast to the cool silver of the moonlight. It looked… out of place here. Like a dream. Or a memory. Minho stopped just beyond the treeline, half-shrouded in shadow. His breath caught. Something about the sight stirred something deep within him—an ache, almost. Not pain. Not longing. But something adjacent to both. A memory not his own. A thread tugging at his instincts.

He had never seen the place before. Not in person. And yet, standing here, staring at the cabin with its golden window and smoke curling from its chimney, he felt as though he’d been here a hundred times before. As though something waited for him inside. As though someone did. His ears swiveled forward, and he took another step. Then another. The light from the window cast a soft glow over the front porch, illuminating a worn wooden door and the old rocking chair beside it. There was movement inside—soft, barely perceptible shadows shifting behind the curtains. Someone was there. Awake.

Minho’s tail flicked once behind him. He should leave. He told himself that.

There was no reason to be here. Not really. But something stronger had pulled him here, something that had nothing to do with logic or reason. The scent again—subtle, but unmistakable. Warm. Familiar, even though it shouldn’t be.

Her.

He lowered his body to the earth, lying down just at the edge of the trees, eyes fixed on the cabin. He didn’t move, didn’t breathe too loud, as if afraid the night itself would betray his presence. His ears twitched, catching the faint sounds from inside—the creak of floorboards, the low hum of a voice. A song, maybe. Or a whisper. Time passed slowly. The moon had climbed higher, casting silver light like spilled milk across the forest floor. Crickets sang somewhere in the distance, their steady rhythm weaving into the pulse of the woods. Minho remained still. He didn’t know what he was waiting for.

But he waited.

The night wrapped around him like a second skin, cool and constant. His heartbeat had slowed, but the tension remained—a coiled thing beneath his ribs. Why did this matter? Why couldn’t he look away? He blinked, slowly. His gaze softened as he watched the window, the way the curtain moved slightly with the breeze from inside. The glow from the fire flickered and shifted, casting shadows against the glass.

And for a moment—

A silhouette appeared. A figure standing by the window. Feminine. Still. Minho’s breath hitched.

Her?

He couldn’t be sure. But something in him surged forward, instinctually, pulling him to his feet. He took a step out from the shadows, one paw crunching lightly on the frosted grass. The figure turned slightly. Minho froze. Golden light spilled over the figure’s face, just enough for him to catch a glimpse of soft features and eyes that seemed to stare directly into the trees. Maybe at him. She didn’t move. Neither did he. For a long heartbeat, everything was still.

Then the curtain fell back into place, and the figure was gone.

Minho stood alone again, half-shadowed beneath the moonlight. His heart pounded now, thundering in his chest like a war drum. His breath came faster, shallow. His body trembled—not from cold, but from something he couldn’t name. Something that left his limbs restless and his mind hazy.

He backed away slowly, vanishing once more into the shadows of the forest. But he didn’t run. Not yet.

He circled the clearing at a distance, eyes still locked on the light in the window, watching. Waiting. Wondering what it was about this place—about her—that stirred something so primal in him. And why it scared him as much as it thrilled him. He stayed until the firelight dimmed. Until the forest was still again. Until only the moon bore witness to the lone wolf who watched from the shadows, silent and waiting, heart thudding with something that felt very much like fate.

And then—

A sound cut through the silence like a blade.

A low, rising howl in the distance. Raw. Sharp. Familiar. Minho stiffened. His ears turned toward the sound before his head did, body going tense from snout to tail. His eyes widened—just slightly—but the recognition hit him fast and deep, like a spark catching dry kindling.

Chan.

There was no mistaking it. No other wolf sounded like that. No other voice carried that weight, that authority, that ache. Even from this far, Minho heard it in every note—heard the disappointment layered beneath the warning.

Chan had found his trail. And worse—Chan knew.

The howl faded slowly into the night, but the silence that followed was heavier than before. Thicker. As if the forest, too, was holding its breath. Minho didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Because something in that howl hadn’t just been a message—it had been a question. Not shouted, not screamed, but spoken in that quiet, restrained way Chan always used when he was trying not to be angry. When he still wanted to believe in you, even when he shouldn’t.

Why?

He turned his head slowly, eyes drifting back to the cabin—its windows now dark, its glow extinguished. Only the memory of her face lingered in his mind, soft and half-lit, like moonlight through mist. He could still feel the pull.

The part of him that had come here out of instinct—or maybe something deeper—still hummed beneath his skin. But now it was tangled with something else: guilt. His tail lowered. His ears twitched. Another howl rang out—not a warning this time, but a command.

Come back.

Short. Sharp.

Minho looked away from the cabin. He felt the weight of it behind him. The memory of warmth. The imagined scent of her skin, her voice. The impossible familiarity of a girl he hadn’t even met. His chest tightened. Then, slowly, he turned—muscles bunching beneath fur, paws moving quiet over the moss—and slipped back into the darkness of the trees. He didn’t run. He didn’t need to.

Chan knew exactly where to find him. And for the first time in a long time, Minho wasn’t sure what he would say when he did.

The walk back felt longer. Not in distance, but in weight.

The forest behind him whispered with the memory of a howl that still lingered in the back of his mind. Chan hadn’t needed to say anything—Minho had heard everything in the call alone. A warning, perhaps. A tether tightening. A reminder of what it meant to lead, not just to chase instincts through the trees.

The moon still hung high above, silver and solemn. The air had cooled further, brushing bare skin with fingers like cold silk as he shifted back into his human form near the outskirts of the property. His bones cracked into place with quiet familiarity, fur retreating into skin, claws curling back into fingers. He stood still for a moment, breath steaming in the air, heart beating slower now—though not steady.

He reached for the clothes he’d stashed earlier, pulling them on without much thought. Shirt, pants, boots. The human shell felt more constricting than it usually did, as though some part of him hadn’t quite left the forest behind.

By the time he stepped onto the porch of the old cabin, the sky had begun to fade from deep sapphire to something closer to black. The stars still burned like frostfire overhead, but the quiet hum of night had settled. No more sounds from the woods. No more wind. Just the hush of a world sleeping. Except inside, the fire still burned. Minho stepped quietly through the door, letting it close with barely a click. The cabin was warm, dimly lit by the flickering remains of a hearth that had almost given up its light. Shadows clung to the corners like dust, and for a moment, Minho thought everyone had gone to bed.

But then he saw him.

Chan sat in the armchair closest to the fireplace, an old, half-drunk mug of tea resting on the floor beside him. His elbows were on his knees, hands loosely clasped, head bowed slightly in thought. He didn’t look up right away, but Minho knew he’d heard him. Of course he had. They didn’t speak. Not at first. The fire popped softly, one last gasp of heat before it collapsed into glowing coals. In the silence, Minho could hear the distant groan of floorboards upstairs. A sigh of wood and sleep.

Finally, Chan lifted his head.

Their eyes met across the flickering light. No anger in that gaze—no sharpness, no heat. Just something quieter. Heavier. Disappointment was quieter than rage. Minho exhaled, a breath caught somewhere between a sigh and a confession. He dragged a hand through his hair, damp still from the run, and let his gaze fall to the embers before shaking his head slowly. “I don’t know why I did it,” he said softly. “I didn’t plan it. I just… found myself walking. And then I didn’t stop.” Chan said nothing. “Maybe it was curiosity,” Minho continued. “Or maybe something else. Ever since Hyunjin came back and told us about her… I couldn’t stop thinking about it." Chan’s lips pressed into a thin line. His hands folded tighter. Minho looked back up at him. “It didn’t feel wrong. Not until I heard you.”

“I wasn’t angry,” Chan said at last. His voice was rough, hoarse with tiredness and thought. “I just… I hoped you wouldn’t.” There was no judgement in the words. Just honesty. And perhaps a touch of weariness. Minho lowered himself onto the edge of the couch, elbows on his knees, mirroring Chan without meaning to. “You think I made a mistake.” “I think,” Chan said slowly, “she came here for a reason. She didn’t ask for this. Didn’t want it. You saw the way she lived—quiet, away from everything. No scent trails, no markings. She is careful. Purposeful.” “She is hiding,” Minho said. “She's protecting her peace,” Chan corrected gently. “And now she knows she’s not alone out here anymore. What happens if she sees that as a threat?”

Minho didn’t answer.

“Maybe it’s not about you,” Chan said, eyes flickering with the last light of the fire. “Or Hyunjin. Or me. Maybe it’s just about her. And maybe she doesn’t want anything to do with us.” Minho clenched his jaw, the muscle twitching beneath his skin. “But what if she needs something? What if she’s not okay? You heard Hyunjin when he talked about her. He’s changed since that night. Like she stirred something up in him he’s been trying to bury for years.”

Chan tilted his head slightly. “And you think you can fix that for him?”

“No,” Minho said. “But I had to see. Just once.”

“And did you?”

He hesitated. “No.”

“Then maybe that’s for the best.”

Silence again.

The colas cracked low, an echo of warmth fading into memory. Minho stared at it, thinking about the quiet of the woods, the scent of wildflowers and lilac, the light in the trees. The glimpse of a world just out of reach. He hated leaving things unfinished. Hated questions without answers. But more than that, he hated the idea of disturbing someone who had chosen solitude with such care. Even if a part of him still burned with the desire to know.

“I’m not going back,” he said finally. “Not unless she comes to us.” Chan nodded, slow and solemn. “Good.” Minho leaned back, head resting against the edge of the couch, his eyes closed. He was tired now, the weight of the run, the conversation, the choices pressing into his bones. The scent of something indescribable clung to everything—his clothes, his hair, the air. A long moment passed.

“Did Hyunjin know you’d go?” Chan asked quietly.

“No,” Minho said. “But I think he’ll know I did.”

“Then you should tell him before he asks.”

“I will.”

Chan stood slowly, his joints stiff, his eyes shadowed. He reached down for the cold mug and carried it to the sink without another word. The sound of water filled the cabin briefly. Then silence. He turned back to Minho, offering him a look that was neither approval nor blame. Just understanding. “We all carry the same weight,” he said. “But we don’t always carry it the same way.” Then he turned and made his way toward the stairs, disappearing into the darkness above.

Minho sat a while longer.

Alone now, save for the fire and the silence and the thoughts he couldn’t shake. Outside, the stars still watched from a thousand miles away.

And somewhere in the woods, a presence waited. Unseen. Unknown.

But no longer untouched.

taglist: @shoganaiiii, @h0rnyp0t, @maddy24207, @ihrtlix, @alisonyus, @poody1608, @emogril

masterlist | prologue | chapter I

[bikepackinguk]

Day One Hundred and Six

Scouting around Bognor yesterday evening allowed me to come across Bersted Brooks Nature Reserve on the outskirts of town, which provided an excellent wealth of patches to shelter up for the night.

The morning air is crisp and my breath is misting as I pack up, but the aky is clear with just a few high whisps of cloud so it may end up being another hot one.

Out and at it again, it's out of town and onto the A259 to make a twisting course eastward along the adjacent cycle path, as it leads past some construction areas and alongside busy traffic.

It's a pleasing start to the day as the road is backing up with traffic around Climping, whilst I'm able to sail past with minimal effort.

Over the River Arun and into Littlehampton, I swing down past the small harbour and hit the seafront. The waters of the English Channel are nice and calm in the early sun, gently lapping at the shore as I have a nice sit and admire the view ahead.

A nice ride along the beach down to Rustington, I follow the road winding its way back up around a stretch of farmland before dropping back down to the shore again at Goring-by-Sea.

Ahead is a long, long stretch of coastal riding through some big urban centres, time for some easy miles!

On through Worthing and past the pier, it's a good leg of cycle paths out of the traffic before hitting the road again to cross the River Adur into Shoreham-by-Sea.

The path leads through some heavy industrial areas around the harbour at Southwick, before getting back off the roads as the trails pick up once more as I head into Brighton.

The sun is shining brightly as the day progresses, making for another hot day once again, but it's been mostly flat going so far as I head up to and around Brighton's famous pier and on to the marina.

The level terrain comes to an end here as the road begins to rise up and over the white chalky cliffs as I push around the coast of Sussex. It's some rolling climbs and descents as the road forges onwards in the heat, but I'm fortunately able to stay out of the heavy traffic throughout this long urban section.

I finally get past Seaford and meet the edge of the Seven Sisters Country Park. The paths and pavements disappear here and there's no choice ahead for me but to hit the A259 and slog it out in the traffic as the road takes to the cliffsides through some beautiful countryside.

Up and over the hills, it's another day of sweaty effort, but it's not too far to work at to reach East Dean where I can turn off from the busier traffic to head down to the visitor centre at Birling Gap for an impressive view of the Seven Sisters cliffs back down the coast.

It's time for the big effort of the day as I carry on round the road for a long ascent up to the famous Beachy Head. Whilst it's certainly a challenging climb in places, after my travails through Scotland and the West Country it doesn't match some of the awful gradients I've had to struggle through, and I manage to make the summit without too much exhaustion.

The view from up on Beachy is stunning on a day like today, with some panoramic sights of the sea and a wonderful view along the coast ahead past Hastings. I decide to reward myself with an ice cream for my efforts!

Back onto the road, it's time for a nice long glide downhill, with a twisting road leading down through some leafy woods and along the clifftops above Eastbourne seafront.

It's a lovely ride down through Eastbourne, along a pretty promenade section and past the pier, and along the road as it tracks around the long beach.

Past Sovereign Park, there's a turn around the dense suburbs lining the harbour, and a convenient supermarket where I stop off for resupply and a check of the map.

With the evening setting in, it's time for me to hunt for a place to rest my head. There aren't a ton of options for stealthily getting the tent up around, so I push on a ways round Pevensey Bay, which has similarly been dry on convenient options.

It may be a night in the bivvy ahead, but with the forecast remaining clear and dry it shouldn't be much trouble to find a convenient bench. I'll let you know how it goes in the morrow.

TTFN!

[kizzer55555]

So this prompt has so many good reblogs and comments but they are all scattered so I’m taking my favorite ones and combining them. This includes reblogs from @the-scarecrow-of-aus, @ikiprian, @michaelshadow7779, @iglowshroom, and @detectivedarling 

The early morning rush hasn't started yet when Danny takes one step onto a suspiciously empty carriage at stark street station. his mouth starts to spout the glowing smoke making him freeze. He blocks everybody from entering with his arm. (Person behind stopped by arm first happens to be one of the bats in civilian clothes. Pick and mix/I'm going Steph) "oof! What the heck man?" Danny barely gives them a glance before replying "sorry, one moment, nobody get on the carriage please!" reaches over for the emergency controls and hits the emergency call.

It takes a moment for the tired driver to answer before Danny cuts them off. "Yeah, hi, sorry to bother you but you need to alert the gcpd and take this train out of service immediately"

"And why would I do that?" Asked the driver obviously rubbing the sleep out of his eyes

"Two reasons. One, Because there's 6 canisters of scarecrow gas rigged for a slowed release throughout the day inside this carriages access points for a microdosing plot and two, you never made it home last night. you were abducted and have been conditioned to hit a purge button under your foot the moment one of the bats enters the train dumping all gas into the area inside and out of the carriage. That's why you're so sleepy, if you don't believe me, think if you can remember feeding your dog last night and this morning? That should be enough to cut through the conditioning, I'll wait".

There was a spluttering pause as things settled in followed by a frantic panic attack noise over the speaker as the train was turned off and the driver dived out of the driver's cabin babbling about their dog. "Sigh, they didn't send the warning..." Danny cocked his head then looked at Steph curiously intent. "Hey, Could you do me a favour? Pass on the message to the 'authorities' (Steph didn't like how he said that) about this train and ..." Danny trailed off as if listening to someone else before continuing "and the 6:10 at merchants square. I'm certain, you know the proper authorities to respond!"

Steph just stared at danny in shock as he pulled out a sharpie and wrote on the windows 'scarecrow gas inside, don't enter' before turning and leaving the platform. 'What the hell!' Was all she could think as She started calling babs.

“Ew,” the guy next to Tim cringes. He takes a whole step back from the street, even. “Oh, bad vibes. Don’t like.”

Even though the crossing indicator changes from “WAIT” to “WALK,” everyone nods, or groans, but seems to agree. As one they turn, heading back the way they came.

Those across the street see them, then look at the guy. They must see something Tim doesn’t, because they turn right around, too.

The indicator switches from “WALK” to a countdown, and the crossing stays clear.

“Um?” Tim starts.

Tam’s too busy going along with it, grabbing Tim’s arm and pulling him away. “Let’s go, this way.”

“What? Tam, why’re we going? The building’s, like, right there.” He gestures across the street, to emphasize the right there-ness of it. The Gotham in him says, “Don’t ask, just go,” but the detective in him insists he find out why. He needs an explanation.

“Can’t cross that,” she says, which is not an explanation. “We’ll have to go around the block instead. Walk fast, the meeting’s still in five.”

The man, who’s arbitrarily decided for an entire crowd of late Gothamites that foot traffic needed redirection, doesn’t seem to be getting himself outta the way of whatever he called. He stands there, lingering on the curb. His light eyes dart around the air like he’s looking for something. Or maybe like he’s seeing something.

Out of his mouth bleeds a trail of mist.

Tim’s own eyes narrow. “Tam?” he urges, feet planted.

Tam hesitates, then sighs.

“Right. You were out in San Fran the last two weeks. Listen, this dude,” she jerks her head in the direction of Volunteer Traffic Officer, “has been around a while. Maybe a few months, mostly sticks to the Narrows. His rep only started picking up a little ago, though. He’s got some crazy instincts. When he nopes out of a public space, it does everyone well to follow, now will you come on?”

Tim glances back. The guy doesn’t look like much, but Tim knows how looks can be deceiving. How does his power work? What kinds of threats does he pick up? What threat is he picking up now, at a random intersection, at one in the afternoon?

Tam’s voice drops to a pointed hiss. “If you wanna stick around and find out, that’s fine by me. But you should at least change suits first.”

Right. Right, okay. He’ll address the fact that there’s an open secret of a precognitive meta just wandering downtown Gotham later, he’ll address the fact that it’s already so normalized that nobody bothered to tell him when it’s safe. For now, he had to get Tam Fox, civilian, and Tim Drake, Wayne Foundation employee, out of the way.

I feel like if the big bad Bat wanted to talk with Danny, only after following him for several blocks

As soon as they are on his tail, he "hears" something and turns to look directly at their hiding place for half a minute. After no response he sighs and gets the attention of a mugger or two before promptly entering a dark alley and waiting

He'd wait for the whole mugging speal and then loudly announce

"Please go easy on the shorter one, he's desperate for money cause his mother is sick. Go ham on the other dude tho, he's already completed initiation for Two Face by killing someone, and is mugging to kill time till his boss next gets out."

(My own addition)

You know what would be funny? If the villains have no idea Danny exists. Cause like, he has a literal danger sense and just avoids any area targeted by them, their attacks, or their goons. So like, no villain ever comes in contact with Danny. All they know is that civilian casualties have significantly dropped. They might do research and find an online forum but they all use code names (memes) to communicate. (It’s like a neighborhood watch where people monitor the guy’s movements and report any areas he avoids. Basically, any place Danny is in currently is a garunteed safe spot.)

Amity park citizens and Gotham residents have “trust the magic ghost smoke” solidarity. Danny leaves class and the entire high school starts hiding. Danny says not to go to xx street? Deserted.

Helps that Danny never lies. For a long time he's pretty oblivious about people reacting to his behaviour, but once he notices he Never abuses it. He's not gonna cry wolf, no matter the reason. He wants people to be safe, and them trusting his judgement helps with that.

Ghosts Tell Me

~

Ghosts gather near the place where something bad is going to happen,

Danny with his ghost sense tends to notice before anyone else and tends to react outwardly before the danger even happens, gaining a reputation of seeing the future,

Ghosts also tell Danny things, causing Danny to know more about situations and the people around him, it comes of as suspicious.

~

Danny pulling away a snack from his coworker: "Careful your allergic to these ingredients!"

Coworker: "How the hell...I've never mentioned that to anyone."

~

Danny on a phone call with his friends while doing his nightly walks in Gotham: "Yeah so apparently the second Robin who is now Red Hood has very personal beef with the clown here cuz he got killed by him after being sold out by his bio mom, which really sucks for the poor guy."

Oracle who has been keeping an Eye on Danny cuz he's very suspicious from an outsiders pov: "Hey B, I think we have a problem."

~

Danny notices that the ghost in Gotham tends to gather where something bad is going to happen, the more they are the worse the situation will be: *glowing smoke leaves from his mouth* "Yikes! Very bad vibes here, nope!"

Gothamites who at this point recognize him and know the drill and quickly pack up their things to leave:

~

Just an Idea

[akaricipher]

The night hummed low and steady, each raindrop tapping at my window like time moving backwards.

I sat up in bed, blanket wrapped around my shoulders, heart beating in that strange, suspended rhythm—the one that only comes when you’re waiting for something that might never arrive.

Somewhere out there, far from the city lights and the slow pulse of the rain, was Umbra Notics Academy.

A place that didn’t quite exist on maps, only in the margins of books and the whispers between scholars. A school for transformation. For unraveling. For truth.

Sapphire lifted her head from her nest of blankets, eyes gleaming blue in the dark. Almost too blue. Almost human. She meowed once, softly, like she knew something I didn’t.

I reached for my tablet on the nightstand. The glow lit up the room in cold silver. I checked my inbox again.

Still nothing.

No reply.

I sighed and leaned back against the headboard, my eyes wandering to the fog-blurred streetlamps outside. The halos around them looked like they belonged to another world. There’s something haunting about waiting—something holy. Like the universe had paused mid-sentence, and I was trapped inside the comma.

Tap.

I froze.

That wasn’t the rain.

Another tap. Sharper this time. Intentional.

I turned slowly, eyes snapping to the window. But there was nothing—only mist curling through the night and the gleam of distant traffic.

Still, I got up. The floor was cool beneath my feet, grounding. I moved to the window, every step an echo.

For a breath, I thought I saw a shape—something shifting just beyond the edge of sight. But when I pressed my palm to the glass, there was only a single crow on the power line, feathers slick and black against the stormlight.

It stared straight at me.

I stared back.

Then I returned to bed, uneasy but tired. The quiet returned. And, eventually, so did sleep.

I woke to light and vibration.

The morning arrived in a symphony of emails, buzzing phones, and the scent of rain lingering in the curtains. My phone shook against the nightstand like it had something urgent to say.

Sapphire growled at it.

I grabbed it blindly, still half-asleep, and blinked at the subject line:

Umbra Notics Academy – Application Status

My breath hitched. Time seemed to pause. The tap of rain stopped, the city stilled.

I opened the message with trembling fingers.

Dear Yelena Anastasia Ekaterina,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted into Umbra Notics Academy for the upcoming academic year…

I didn’t read the rest right away. The words blurred. My chest rose, fell, rose again. Accepted.

I had been accepted.

Sapphire leapt onto the windowsill without a sound, tail twitching as she watched something I couldn’t see. My heartbeat was too loud to ignore, but beneath the joy and disbelief, there was something else.

A shadow of unease. A silence beneath the celebration.

This wasn’t just a letter.

It was a door.

I scrolled to the bottom of the email, expecting a location, a brochure, some sort of mundane attachment.

There was only a set of coordinates.

No explanation. No directions. Just numbers.

And a single line beneath them:

You were chosen, don't be late

[tripncare]

Darjeeling in Every Season: Best Time to Visit and What to Expect

Nestled in the Himalayan foothills, Darjeeling is a timeless hill station that offers charm, culture, and spectacular views of snow-capped peaks. Whether it’s sipping tea amidst emerald plantations or riding the iconic Toy Train, Darjeeling delivers an unforgettable escape. However, your experience in Darjeeling can vary greatly depending on when you visit.

At Tripncare, we help travelers craft the perfect trip by aligning their preferences with the region’s seasonal rhythms. Whether you're planning a cozy winter honeymoon or a monsoon escape, this comprehensive guide breaks down Darjeeling’s seasonal beauty, climate, highlights, and travel tips.

Spring (March to April): Blossoms, Breezes, and Beginnings

Spring in Darjeeling is a refreshing time marked by blooming rhododendrons, crisp air, and clear skies. Temperatures range between 8°C and 17°C, making it ideal for sightseeing and nature walks.

Why Visit in Spring:

Flowers in full bloom—especially rhododendrons and magnolias

Clear views of Mt. Kanchenjunga

Great for family picnics and leisurely strolls through tea estates

Activities:

Visit the Darjeeling Himalayan Railway

Explore the Peace Pagoda and Himalayan Mountaineering Institute

Enjoy tea-tasting sessions at Happy Valley Tea Estate

Ideal for both family tour packages and romantic getaways, spring combines comfortable weather with scenic beauty.

Summer (May to June): Pleasant Days and Peak Season Vibes

Summer brings mild warmth with temperatures ranging between 11°C to 19°C. It’s the peak tourist season, especially during school holidays. While the crowds increase, so do the number of cultural events and vibrant local life.

Why Visit in Summer:

Perfect for sightseeing without weather interruptions

Lush landscapes and vibrant town life

Ideal weather for photography and long walks

Activities:

Take a sunrise trip to Tiger Hill

Explore Mall Road shopping and local cafes

Visit Ghoom Monastery and Batasia Loop

Families love Darjeeling in summer for its accessibility, mild weather, and wide range of attractions.

Monsoon (July to September): Mist, Magic, and Solitude

Monsoon in Darjeeling is ethereal. Though it receives heavy rainfall, it transforms into a misty paradise. With average temperatures between 13°C and 18°C, the town becomes quieter and greener.

Why Visit in Monsoon:

Off-season travel deals and fewer tourists

The hills come alive with fresh foliage

Perfect for writers, artists, and soul searchers

Activities:

Cozy café hopping and reading with a view

Watch monsoon mists roll over tea gardens

Explore local monasteries and museums

While landslides are a risk in heavy rain, choosing the right travel windows with Tripncare’s expert planning can make monsoon travel dreamy and safe.

Autumn (October to November): Golden Light and Festive Air

As the rains recede, Darjeeling lights up with golden sunshine and clear mountain views. The temperature hovers between 6°C and 16°C, and visibility is excellent for photography and sightseeing.

Why Visit in Autumn:

Perfect weather with post-monsoon clarity

Festivals like Diwali and Durga Puja

Amazing views of Mt. Kanchenjunga

Activities:

Trekking and nature photography

Local cultural immersion and handicraft shopping

Strolling through serene Himalayan forests

Autumn is perfect for honeymooners and travelers looking to soak in local traditions with impeccable weather.

Winter (December to February): Snow-kissed Romance and Quiet Escapes

Darjeeling in winter is magical. The chill sets in with temperatures dipping to 2°C, and sometimes even below freezing. Snow is rare in the town center but common in nearby areas like Sandakphu and Manebhanjan.

Why Visit in Winter:

Misty mornings and star-filled nights

Ideal for couples seeking a cozy, romantic getaway

Low tourist traffic = peaceful exploration

Activities:

Experience winter trekking in Sandakphu

Enjoy hot local food and street delicacies

Celebrate Christmas and New Year in a hill town setting

Winter is a favorite for honeymoon packages thanks to its romantic weather, calm atmosphere, and dramatic scenery.

Choosing the Best Season for You

For Families: Visit in summer or spring for optimal weather and easy travel logistics.

For Honeymooners: Winter and autumn offer cozy vibes and picturesque settings.

For Budget Travelers: Opt for the monsoon season to enjoy discounts and fewer crowds.

Final Thoughts: Your Perfect Darjeeling Season Awaits

Every season in Darjeeling brings its own unique charm—from the floral vibrance of spring to the snowy tranquility of winter. Whether you’re planning your trip for adventure, relaxation, or romance, choosing the right time makes all the difference.

Tripncare offers customized family and honeymoon tour packages with expert curation of stay, activities, transport, and local experiences. Let us help you discover Darjeeling not just as a destination, but as a seasonal story waiting to be lived.