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adenei · 4 years ago

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Next Steps - Ch. 5

Away We Go

It was Saturday morning, and Ron was double checking their suitcases. He’d made sure Hermione had packed one of her favorite dresses to go out in, and he’d packed an outfit that matched hers in kind. He double checked his sealed pocket to make sure the ring was still there. This was something he’d been doing obsessively all morning.

There was a knock on the door as Harry walked in. “You think you’ve got everything ready?” he asked.

“Yeah, I was going through things and made sure Hermione had everything she needed while she and Ginny were downstairs,” Ron told him.

“Are you getting nervous?” Harry asked.

“Nah, not now. I was at first when she was having doubts about going. But then that sod of a colleague of hers showed her what he was really after, and now she’s been talking about it nonstop.” Ron thought back to Wednesday.

“Whatever happened with that anyways?” Harry asked.

“Hermione went to see Mr. Roberts first thing Thursday morning and told him what happened. He’s moving the bloke to a different department at the end of next week, and Hermione’ll get a new partner to work with. Elizabeth was keeping a close eye on things the past two days.” Ron explained.

“Well, I’m glad that worked out.” Before Harry could question Ron anymore, the girls came in.

“Do we have everything? What’s the plan? Ginny and I are dying to know more details!” Hermione began her interrogation yet again.

“I think so,” Ron said with a laugh. “Why don’t we get all this luggage downstairs, and then Harry and I will tell you the plan for today.”

“Finally some answers!” Ginny said, heading out to grab her bag.

When they were all relaxing in the sitting room again, Ron explained the plan. “So we’ll head to the transportation department at the Ministry around 1:00. Our first portkey leaves London at 2:00, where it’ll take us to Paris. From Paris, we leave at 2:15 to Bern, and then we have a 2:30 that will take us to Rome.”

“We’re staying a bit outside of Rome, so there’s an apparition point for us to take there. We’ve got an Italian ministry guide who will take us there by side-along, and then once we know where we are, we can get back to the center of Rome for when we go sightseeing,” Harry continued.

“We’ve each got our own rooms, but they’ve been requested to be near each other. The travel agent at Globus Mundi took care of everything, so it’s all paid for, and between the four of us we should have enough money exchanged in Euros as well as the Italian Wizarding currency to cover everything,” Ron said as Hermione and Ginny nodded.

“So, then it’ll be around four when we get there because Italy is an hour ahead,” Hermione said.

“Yeah, so I figure we’ll get settled in and then we can find someplace to have dinner.” Ron said.

“Sounds good to me! So we only get a day by day update as to what we’re doing?” Ginny asked in dismay.

“Sorry, Gin!” Harry said as he laughed.

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

A few hours passed and the foursome had made it to their hotel. It was a quaint little resort that had several amenities, including a garden path and several pools scattered throughout that were still open. Thankfully it was still warm in Italy this time of year. They were given information for nearby restaurants, and the keys to their rooms. Hermione was interested to know how much they boys had paid because it looked really nice.

Finally, they found their rooms on the third floor, and they were across from each other. They agreed to order pizza for their first night from one of the nearby locations that delivered to the hotel. Hermione opened the door to the hotel room and took in the sight of it. “This is amazing,” she said. “I can’t believe you planned all this,” she turned around and threw her arms around him.

“Always the tone of surprise,” Ron said as he kissed her.

The bathroom was open and spacious, and unlike anything Hermione had seen before. There were windows facing in above the tub, and a shower to the other side. A king bed was in the middle of the room, and the rest was what you’d typically get from a hotel. There was a balcony to oversee the pool area below, that also revealed paths that veered off into a garden walkway.

“Do you think we could go for a walk and explore the grounds after dinner?” Hermione looked hopefully to Ron.

He smiled at her. “Sure, there’s also this rooftop bar I was hoping we could check out, too. The sky’s so clear that it might be nice to look at the stars and have a drink.”

“That sounds lovely,” Hermione said.

And so they did just that. They ordered what was arguably the best pizza Ron had ever tasted (though he’d have fierce competitors throughout the rest of the week), went up to the bar and had a couple drinks under the stars. It was so nice to relax, and talk and not worry about work with three of the people Ron loved most in the world. Before they knew it, it was 10:00.

“Still up for that walk?” Hermione asked Ron.

He nodded, and said, “We’ll catch you lot in the morning. Breakfast at, say...10?

“Are you ever going to tell us what we’re doing tomorrow?” Ginny asked.

When they stepped into the elevator, Ron answered her. “Sure, we’re going to explore Wizarding Rome tomorrow.”

“Brilliant!” Ginny said with a grin as the elevator doors opened and Harry and Ginny stepped out. Ron and Hermione stayed on so they could take their walk.

The garden paths were peaceful, and Ron and Hermione walked quietly as they took in the sounds and the sights of this new city. “It’s so romantic, isn’t it? I always thought it was just a saying, but I do sense it now that I’m here. It rivals Paris.”

“Ah, yes, another place we’ve yet to travel together.” Ron smiled at the recollection of everything she’d told him about Paris.

“Next holiday?” Hermione asked.

“Already planning the next one, are you?” Ron grinned.

“Why not?” she asked as he just shook his head. The path opened up to a smaller, secluded pool that was deserted at this time of night.

“We’ll have to remember this for Tuesday,” Ron said without thinking.

“Oh? What’s Tuesday?” Hermione asked innocently.

“It’ll be a day off from all the sightseeing. Hopefully the weather will be nice enough to lay out and relax.” Ron told her.

“That sounds perfect. This whole trip is perfect. You’re amazing for thinking of it all,” Hermione kissed his cheek.

“Well, I had a lot of help from the travel agent,” Ron admitted. When Hermione didn’t respond, Ron said, “Everything alright, Hermione?”

“What? Oh, yes, I was just thinking,” she trailed off.

“About what? Weren’t we in the middle of another conversation?”

“Yes, I suppose. The pool here just got me thinking..” Hermione said thoughtfully.

“I’m gonna need a bit more to go off of, Hermione,” Ron looked at her worriedly.

Hermione looked around to make sure they were truly alone. It was awfully quiet, and the pool was surrounded by enough trees that no one would see. Making her decision, Hermione began stripping off her clothes.

“Hermione! What are you doing?” Ron said.

“Shhh, there’s no one around! I’ve never skinny dipped before, so why not here? Why not now?”

“Are you mental?” Ron could not believe what she was doing.

“Maybe. Are you going to join me?” Hermione shed her remaining clothes and slid into the pool. “It’s quite warm!”

“Bloody hell, woman,” Ron said as he looked around and started taking his own clothes off. He quickly got into the water and swam over to join her.

“This is fun!” Hermione said with a giggle.

“Never would I have thought that you’d be the adventurous one, who was up for going for a swim starkers,” Ron said with a laugh.

Hermione grinned widely at him before swimming over and wrapping her arms around him. “Thank you for all of this,” she said as she leaned in to kiss him. She felt him instantly go hard against her.

“No need to thank me, I reckon we both deserve a break. Now, I’m not sure what your plan is, but what do you say we get back to our room? Unless you want to make me mental right here in this pool.”

“As tempting as that sounds, I’d rather test out that bed,” Hermione said with a devilish smile.

She pulled away from him to get out of the pool. They both used their wands to dry off and quickly get dressed. Hermione pulled her hair back so no other hotel guests or employees would notice that it was wet. “That was a rush, wasn’t it?” she said as they walked back.

“Yeah, can’t believe we didn’t get caught,” Ron agreed. “Now, let’s get a move on before I do something crazy and take you right here on this path.” When she gave him a surprised but somewhat eager look, Ron nearly lost all sense of control. “Don’t tempt me, Hermione,” he said as he took her hand and led her back to the room.

#romione #side hinny

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elizabeth-234 · 5 years ago

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The Supplejack

Previous Chapter Thirteen: A New Normal

Hi friends! Hope you are doing well.

Buckle in for some angst!

Chapter Fourteen: Encounters of the Third Kind

The door slammed.

Peter pressed his back into the wood. His hands clenched at his sides and over his harsh breathing he could hear May pacing from the other side. Her steps were heavy; caught up in her emotion.

“Peter?” She called through the wood. “Peter? Sweetheart, would you please talk to me?”

He peeled himself from the door and tiptoed to his bed. The springs groaned under his weight but nothing emanated from his mouth. The shrill tone in her voice, the desperation, made Peter flinched.

“You’ve got to stop doing this to yourself. Two jobs? Why didn’t you tell me about the one in the city? It’s such a long way to go after school and then I get this call from Mr. Morita. Falling asleep for the fourth time this week?”

She paused for a moment and he could see her shadows from under the door. The way she would back away with hesitation but move forward again to try and talk some sense into him.

“Sweetheart, I’m here for you. If you need to talk, whatever it is about I’m here, but something has to give. I need you to work with me.”

Peter turned away from the door and pulled the covers over his head. She knocked on the door but all Peter did was huddle deeper under the covers.

Under the darkness he was a child again waking up in the hospital. This time when he rounded the corner and spotted May, instead of running toward her, he began running back to the empty room. The dark space welcomed him but once he was inside the door swung shut. He could see May’s shadow but bars sprouted along the door barring her outside.

He was alone and it was all his fault. He was the one who ran away. He created that distance.

Peter opened his eyes and breathed out when he saw May’s shadow remaining under the door. Maybe she wouldn’t give up. Maybe the others wouldn’t give up.

Mr. Stark did.

He whimpered into the pillow, breathing shallow at the voice winding through his head.

“Sweetheart, I know the school year is over and that you were looking forward to the summer. Well, to you know, but I promise it will be okay. I love you.”

He imagined her standing there with one hand spread on the door and the other on her heart, like she was trying to radiate her love through any barriers in the way.

Peter heard her sigh and walk away. The door to her room closed extinguishing the light under his door.

It wasn’t like he meant to fall asleep. One-minute Mrs. Brzozowski was lecturing about the importance of close reading and the next, the bell was ringing and the classroom was empty. Mrs. Brzozowski’s expression was enough to send him on his way. Looking back on it now he should have known she informed a higher authority about his repeat nap.

It was strange, though. At the time he couldn’t catch his breath. Alone in the hallway, the weight of his teacher’s stare lingering on his back, Peter stumbled into the restroom. The stall walls closed in against his body. But now Peter was floating.

After Oscorp his weightlessness came at a price of bloody apparitions and curled smiles. This sensation was so much better. He wasn’t anxious, or scared, or happy. Peter was just there in his room, and even then, he wasn’t sure if he was actually there anymore. Could he be if he couldn’t feel the very rise and fall of his chest?

He gasped, lungs heaving. His hands clenched in his hair. He became aware of the bed underneath him, how the springs coiled with the movement of his body. Peter opened his eyes, looked at the ceiling, and counted the perforations in the paint. Gravity, gone only moments before, raged its full influence on him. Kicking the covers off, Peter panted at the influx of sensations; the weight pressing him into the ground.

His phone buzzed and he turned over to read it. Hands shaking, he picked up the phone. Julia was worried about all the paperwork due for their presentation in two weeks. She wanted to go over their plan again.

He turned it over without a reply.

The message deserved an answer. The whole team had been more understanding than he deserved. Julia suggested he go to work at the library when they scheduled their next meeting. Frank and Monica gave each other a glance at their assumption of going to the Tower but Julia stepped forward and said he should email his work in for the project. Their questions brimmed just under the surface but his whole team agreed with ready ease.

Soon enough it would all be over and he would be free for the summer.

Peter shivered at the thought.

May’s door closed. He threw the covers back and got up. Clothes already on, Peter stuck his head into the dark hallway, grabbed his keys, and headed outside.

Blocks went by. He walked passed closed stores and restaurants, people waiting for buses, and parking lots empty of patrons.

Peter paid no attention to any of the other people walking on the sidewalk or to where he was going. All he knew was the space he’d been in before hadn’t been good. It was too far away from reality. He wasn’t Peter anymore. All he knew was he didn’t like the emptiness, not when his chest was so full of happiness and people recently.

The emptiness lingered on but if he walked faster maybe he could outrun it.

His footsteps echoed down the sidewalks. Arms flailing to catch up with his pace but he didn’t stop until his lungs burned. He braced his hands on his thighs and squatted down to catch his breath.

Light blinking on and off caught his eye. An old retail store, closed sign bright in neon, stood in front of him. The display windows were full of all different sized TVs.

The face of Tony Stark was plastered onto each one.

The man’s sunglasses were perched on the tip of his nose and with a smile he pushed them back onto his face. Mr. Stark walked head up through the media following him. They surrounded his person, pushing and yelling, but he never dropped the smile painted onto his face. It was the same expression he wore walking down the hallways of the Tower, the same one Peter had seen him use whenever he was on the news growing up.

It was that smile Peter’s heart clenched at because he knew it wasn’t real. He’d seen Tony Stark’s real happiness, the way his eyes crinkled around the edges and lips opened an inch as he sighed before he laughed. The face identical on each TV in the display was a performance and nothing else.

The only question was if his other smile was a performance as well.

Peter watched as he walked up to a clean, grey governmental-type building. Captain America came, followed by a man with grey hair and a mustache. They shook hands with Mr. Stark, positioning themselves in view of the cameras. With a wave all three, plus a line of security guards, went inside and were gone from their sight.

The ground rose up and slammed into his knees. The cameras were pointed at the gathered crowd around the building, all vying for a peak at the famous superheroes.

“Are you okay?” A woman with thick rimmed glasses stood beside him. She extended her hand forward and Peter got to his feet. He shuffled beside her watching as she searched through her bag. She muttered a small noise at finding her prize and pulled out a travel case of tissues.

“Here you go sweetie.” She said.

Peter realized he was crying and hastily pulled out a tissue, dabbing his face before blowing his nose. A flush spread across his cheeks at the noise he was creating. He shoved the soiled material into his pocket with a thank you and his eyes turned back to the screen which was playing Mr. Starks entrance again.

“That is an unhappy man.” She said. The words hung stiff and heavy on the night air. Peter examined the images again thinking about her comment.

Flashes of other press appearances or banquets played onscreen. Mr. Stark wore tuxedos and other expensive clothing Peter had never seen the man in before. His goatee was much the same with its original shape and crisp lines, but it was his eyes Peter focused on; How dark they were underneath and his posture was ridged under the harsh lights.

“Must be the camera angle.” He said and handed her back the pack of tissues.

“Now that might be, but if anyone has a reason to be upset it’s him.”

The back of his neck pricked at her statement. It was absurd. What did Tony Stark have to be upset about? The wealthiest man in New York, unhappy; and Peter could fly.

“And why is that?” His voice was sharp but she just tutted and pointed his gaze back to the screens.

“Who do you see up there?” She said like the answer wasn’t obvious.

Peter stared at the perfectly tousled brown hair and oversized sunglasses. It was a combination of all those things: the hair gel, formal outfit, and cocky smile that Peter answered without thought.

“Iron Man.”

“Ah.” She said and her smiled dropped. “That’s why.”

“He is Iron Man.” Peter said. He crossed his arms in front of his chest and the lady chuckled. She patted his arm and handed him another tissue before stepping back.

“Yes, of course he is young man, but is that all he is?”

She began walking away, leaving Peter alone and more confused than ever.

“I said no whip on this.”

The blonde standing in front of the counter muttered the complaint without looking up from his phone. Peter checked the order he’d scribbled down and realized his mistake.

“I’m sorry, Sir. Let me fix that.”

Cindy shook her head at him from the doorway. He ducked his head so that his visor would conceal the flush working its way up his neck. It wasn’t the first time tonight he’d made an order wrong and the line forming behind the counter was proof enough of his influence.

“Come on, Peter.” He mumbled under his breath.

The blonde took the fixed drink without a word and Peter raced back to the register.

“Hello and welcome to The Bitter End. What can I make you today?”  

“Hi, Peter.” A small voice said. Julia fidgeted with her jacket buttons but fixed him a smile.

“Uh, Julia?” he said.

“Do you have time to talk?”

He nodded assessing the line behind her.

“My shift ends at eleven. We can do it another time if that’s…”  

“No, I’ll wait.” She said and added “I’ll have a small hot chocolate, please.”

The rest of his shift went by even slower. Peter confused two more orders. Cindy yelled at him properly by the third and by the time he slid into the booth across from Julia he was ready to fall asleep.

“You look awful.” She said with an imperceptible smile.

“Thank you. This is a looked I call uniform chic.”

Julia giggled. He set a cup down on the table and pushed it to her side.

“You didn’t have to.” He shrugged. “Well, thank you.” She said after taking a sip of the new cup of hot chocolate.

“How are you feeling about the presentation? I know Monica will be the one giving it but it will be, you know, there. We’ve all put in the work. It should be fine but I’m worried about how professional our prototype will be since we’ve rushed through it all and then there will be the question time after the presentations. I know Monica will do fine but it’s so nerve wracking.”

He shrugged again and Julia leaned across the table. She rested her hands on his fidgeting ones on the table.

“Peter, please.” She said, eyes beseeching him. “Please, talk to us. We’re all worried about you.”

“I’m fine. Really,” He added at her raised eyebrows.

“You know Alex hates me.” Her eyes wandered away from him onto the different paintings hanging on the walls.

“I’m sure he…”

“Doesn’t? Yeah, well, he cries not only when I hold him but when I enter the room. I honestly don’t know what to do anymore. It’s gotten so bad dad will get up with Al when I walk in. Sometimes I’ll sit outside on the porch so I don’t have to make them move somewhere else.” Her hands trembled on his and he flipped his over. They clung to each other as Julia confided in him.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s lonely, Peter. I hate the feeling of having nowhere to go. I’m a stranger in my own home. I don’t remember mom much but I remember her always saying how lucky she was to adopt me. I thought I would feel the same with Alex, but instead all I feel is this guilt for pushing him away.”

It was too close and Peter swallowed.

“Don’t push him away.” Peter said. He wasn’t sure if he was talking about himself or her little brother anymore. “You push your way into his life. Feed him your homemade snacks and hold him whenever he cries. I promise he will love you. You’re sucks a good friend. I know you will be an amazing sister.”

Her cheeks flushed bright and she squeezed his hand. Plans of baby domination glinted through her eyes and the expression made him smile. He wished he could be that type of person. Someone who could waltz into another’s life like they were meant to be there. Someone who wouldn’t give up when there were obstacles barring every passage forward.

“Thank you, Peter. I won’t give up on him yet.”

Little did he know the extent to which she took his words to heart. A week of working mornings and nights, of school assignments and last-minute homework on the subway, and of after school library trips wishing he was in another building forty floors higher Peter was running on empty.

His life outside of everything was quiet. Almost too quiet. His phone now kept on after May forced him to promise to keep it on after not answering for six hours while at work, was dark most of the time. The group chat was silent and there were no more workplace visits.

He should have known it was too good to be true.

Peter trudged up the steps to his apartment. He shucked off his shoes and stopped when he heard voices from the other room. Like something out of one of his more pedantic dreams, he was met with the faces of Julia and Flash.

“Surprise.” Flash said from where he was standing in the corner, ready with a sarcastic smile.

“Why are you guys here?”

“What a warm welcome.” Flash said but stopped snickering with a look from Julia.

“Frank and Monica couldn’t make it but they stand with us spiritually.”

“And where are you standing?”  

“Please, don’t be upset but we’ve been doing some digging and wanted to present this as a united front. We didn’t want you to think we were abandoning you.”

Julia went to her backpack and pulled up a folded piece of paper. She unfolded the crisp lines and held it in front of both of them so Peter could see it in all its PowerPoint-like organized glory. On it was tapped, penciled, and highlighted events and information leading up to and including the changing of hands of his Weaver serum.

She launched into a full-scale presentation about what happened and how it came about, but he wasn’t listening. His eyes were glued to the poster board. Somehow, they’d got a hold of a picture of the rabbit. Maybe it was a generic photo, but Peter couldn’t help but think about what was on the other side of its white fur. He couldn’t help but see the blood dripping down the poster board, infecting all of their pristine bullet points.

Why couldn’t everyone forget about it?

He had his new life and they were insisting on bringing this up.

Even Flash was chiming in with bits he heard from his dad at Oscorp.

“Stop.” He whispered. They didn’t hear. They kept going.

“Stop!” He yelled and stood up. “Please, stop. I can’t deal with this right now or ever. Why can’t we forget about it? Hmm? It’s not a big deal. We’ll just leave it be okay. Mr. Stark said he knew so it’s all good. Everything is taken care of. Why are you even here? I feel like I’m in the middle of an intervention.”

They glanced at each other.

“It is, isn’t it? You think I’m some sort of freak?”

Sam Carlson’s face swam across his vision. The flush of not belonging. Mr. Stark’s back turned away.

I can’t work on the project anymore.

“Of course not.” Julia said.

“Well, I am. Can you please leave? I want to be alone.” His voice broke at the last word.

“Come on, man. Be reasonable.”

“You too, Flash.”

“We’re not leaving.” They said and remained in their spots.

Peter melted into the couch again.

“Please.” 

“Peter, what happened wasn’t normal and I think Julia’s right. We need to discuss it or something. It can’t just fade into the background.”

“You want me to discuss it? You want me to say how scared I was, how helpless I felt watching what I worked on, be used to th- that way. And Mr. Stark knew about it. He said they have an understanding with Oscorp. An understanding. And I knew it was all going to crumble anyway. Ben died and it’s the only reason I made the fucking serum in the first place. I had to make up for Ben and Mr. Stark saw that desperation, didn’t he? He must have because I can’t go there.” Peter collapsed back and balled his hands into his eye sockets. “The one safe place. It’s gone and I’m alone again.”

Julia moved as if he was a cornered animal. Her arms stretched out in front of her and she sat beside him, scooching closer when he didn’t stop her. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders. Flash sat on his other side and placed a light hand on his knee.

His cries were muffled by a pillow and although his two friends sat on either side of him. Their warm touch quieted the anguish ripping through his chest but he’d never felt more alone.

“You’re not alone, Peter. We’re going to get through this.”

He was the wounded rabbit. Vulnerability on show for everyone and despite the serum’s promise, despite their kind words Peter kept bleeding out.

*Hugs all around*

Thank you all so much for reading! I appreciate each and every person who clicks.

Next Chapter Fifteen: He Returns

Taglist: @whatisthou @warmwithafewfrostymoments @demi-starzak

#peter parker fanfic #iron man #spiderman #angst #my writing #The supplejack #shy peter parker #insecure peter parker #marvel fanfiction #iron dad #fanfiction #mcu fanfiction #tony stark

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manesalex · 5 years ago

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Keep your soul (like a secret in your throat) Chapter 1

Liz returns to Roswell to investigate Rosa's disappearance and figure out how vampires are involved. Aka, a vampire rewrite of Season 1.

Thank you as always to my amazing beta and friend, @insidious-intent . Thanks as well to my wonderful friend, @i-never-look-away, who gushed to me about this exactly when my own insecurity had me thisclose to deleting everything.

Also Available on AO3

***

It’s been a long enough day and Liz is exhausted. All day at the lab on her feet. Trying new things, trying to solve an especially irritating problem. And all the concerns about losing funding. Research funding is down and her research right now involves fetal tissue, so… It’s not looking good with the current occupant of the White House.

She sighs, struggling with the keys, finally getting the lock to turn after she pulls the doorknob toward herself. This lock has always been irritatingly tricky, but the apartment is in her price range and close to work, so she’s let it slide.

She drops her purse on the table next to the door, along with her keys, toeing off her boots as best she can, too tired to even bother unzipping them. She’s considering just collapsing in bed, makeup on (and she wants to rant about the world where it’s expected that she’ll wear makeup in a lab). Skipping dinner altogether. That probably wouldn’t be wise. She worked through lunch and her stomach is already complaining. But she also knows she doesn’t have anything in the fridge and she really can’t afford another night of delivery from the closest restaurant. They know her order by heart as it is, which would be a good thing if she had the extra money to spend.

Instead, she trudges to the kitchen and looks through the cupboards, trying to find something easy and fast.

Dry cereal it is. She’s well aware her milk is expired and, really, this is the fastest thing she has. She’ll find some better options this weekend. Maybe cook something good and leave the leftovers in the fridge. At least that’s what she tells herself every time until she inevitably spends another entire weekend trying to crack the latest test results and figure out how exactly to fix what’s wrong now.

She pours the cereal in a bowl, putting the box away before leaning down to dig for a spoon.

When she finally looks up, the spoon and the bowl fall from her hands in an instant, ceramic shattering on the floor.

Rosa is standing there. Right next to her. Looking at her. Eyes empty and clouded over, skin sloughing off and decayed, mottled, her hair lank and dark, on either side of her once beautiful face.

Her mouth opens, moves, no sound coming out. Just a mindless open and close.

Liz stumbles backwards, slamming into the fridge with her back, staring at the apparition in front of her.

She’s tried so hard to forget what her sister had done. Spent the last ten years running from it, from the questions that will never be answered, from all the anger and pain tied to her sister’s choices. She thought she had succeeded, living many states away with a successful career. Burying herself in her work.

Clearly, this has to be a hallucination. Her mind is playing tricks on her. The ten year anniversary is approaching quickly.

Her sister can’t be a ghost.

It’s not that they don’t exist. She knows they do. But she can’t… Rosa can’t be one. That would mean she's dead and gone and they didn't-

She closes her eyes, desperately trying to shut away the sight in front of her, counting to ten, praying to the god she no longer believes in that her sister will be gone when she opens her eyes.

And, when she does, there’s no one in the kitchen but herself. But the bowl is still on the floor, cereal all around it, blue pieces of ceramic spread in wide, concentric circles outwards, spoon laying still in the wreckage.

***

It happens again the next night. This time, she’s eaten dinner and thinks it’s finally okay. That was just a hallucination. Yes. Stress and exhaustion. She just needs a break, that’s all.

She’s toweling her hair dry, stepping out of the bathroom, turning the corner toward her bedroom.

She looks up and her sister is there again. In the same clothes she was wearing the day she left, now dirty, torn, and yellowed with age, her mouth opening and closing, like she’s trying to form words. But no noise is escaping her mouth.

Liz stops for a moment, shakes her head, and walks right on past her. The best thing she can do is ignore this.

***

Everything is fine the next night. Well, funding was cut and she lost her job, but she has some leads for a new one. What really matters is that she doesn’t see Rosa at all. Just goes to bed, having eaten and showered, making plans to do some job hunting tomorrow.

***

She wakes up to the sun shining through the windows. She’s so used to being up well before dawn that she hadn’t even thought of that. She yawns, stretches, and sits up.

There, at the foot of the bed, is Rosa. The bright sunlight gives Liz a view of the maggots crawling through spaces where skin is missing. And it highlights the two puncture marks in her neck.

“Fuck,” Liz mutters under her breath. She has to go back to Roswell.

***

It’s late that night when she’s pulled over right on the outskirts of Roswell. At an ICE Checkpoint. She’s ready to ream out the cop who stopped her, in fact, is in the middle of a lecture about the Venzor-Castillo verdict, when she finally looks at him.

Max Evans. Everything around her seems to stop. He’s just as attractive as she remembers. No, better. Filled out, boyish features turned harder, older, scruff covering his handsome face.

She is completely shocked it’s him, barely able to hold onto a conversation until Sheriff Valenti, Kyle’s mom, not his dad, sends her on her way, reminding her that the high school reunion is coming up. And she’s home just in time for it. As if Liz wants to spend any more time with the kids who blamed her entire family for what her sister had done.

Or what everyone thought her sister had done. Now she’s not so certain. First, she needs to see a couple of autopsies. And see if that life she ran away from ten years ago is rearing its ugly head again.

***

The Crashdown is crowded, the town crackpot talking about aliens, in his usual booth. He has no idea. She spends a couple of minutes screwing with him until she sees her dad. She leaps to her feet, “Papá” escaping her mouth, flying into his arms.

He looks a bit older. More grey hair. And absolutely more tired. But his hugs are exactly the same. “Our little genius!”

When he lets her go, he starts to ask her all about her life in Denver, everything she hasn’t told him on her infrequent phone calls. Or during his occasional holiday visits. She reminds him that she thinks he should move to a sanctuary state. Maybe California. She has some good leads there and they could both be happier. But she knows before he answers that it’s a no. He loves it in Roswell, even if it’s a town where everyone blames her sister for two girls’ deaths. And blames him for it too. She may not get why he loves it here, but she knows he does.

***

Liz is closing up that night, having insisted that she could, that she should. It has given her time to create and perfect a plan of attack for the morning. To find out who is still in town and who works where now. To figure out which former high school friends she can press for which details. She’s trying to decide whether to try to get the police report from Max or autopsies from Kyle when the final order comes up. “Men in Blackened salmon with Scully sweet potato fries with extra flying sauce to go!” she calls, handing it to the man patiently waiting for his very late dinner.

And then she closes and locks the door, turning to the jukebox. She runs her hand over the top fondly, remembering the many times she and Rosa would dance through clean up while listening to the music. She finds her choice by touch alone, the buttons as worn down as ever from her and Rosa’s overuse.

And, as Mrs. Potter’s Lullaby starts, Liz begins to dance through the restaurant, grabbing ketchup bottles to marry, cleaning up things that have been missed, trying to put everything in its proper place as she swings about.

She’s adjusting the uniform, uncomfortable, itchy fabric bugging her as much as ever, and turning toward the door when she sees him and nearly jumps.

Max Evans is standing at her door.

***

“Your left front running light was out,” Max tells Liz as soon as she opens the door. “That’s why I pulled you over. Just…wanted you to know. So you can get it fixed.”

“Thank you,” Liz replies quickly. “I’m sorry about assuming you- Little Green Man Shake?” she offers. "It's the least I can do."

“You remembered,” he answers with a smile. He always had that same order as a teen and is touched she still knows it now.

She shrugs, “My superpower.”

“I’m not one of the bad guys, you know.” Max explains, sitting down in front of her. He needs her to know that. “But, yeah, Immigration wants results. Crime is up and they’re blaming the undocumented.”

“I thought you were going to be a writer,” Liz says quickly, working on his shake. She’s humming a bit, just a little offkey, so quiet she probably doesn’t realize he can hear her.

Max is certain that Liz looks even more beautiful than she did when they were kids, but he’s quickly learning that this new Liz has walls that she didn’t have as a teen.

“I ended up staying. Isobel and Michael won’t leave. And I couldn’t leave them. They need me,” he tried to explain as much as he could without telling her why he stayed. Why he really stayed. “I never got to tell you how sorry I am,” he starts. He can’t tell her what he suspects happened, he knows that, but he still needs her to know that he is sorry for everything she has gone through since that night.

“It was a long time ago,” she brushes him off, walking in front of the counter to finish all the straightening up.

He sips at his milkshake, before saying, “Your dad said you were studying Biology. And Medicine.”

“Biomedical Engineering,” she says. He's relieved to see her smile has returned, “We were really onto something. A new type of regenerative medicine. But some asshole had to build a wall.”.

“So now you’re home?”

“Until I find something new, yeah,” she shrugs. And the full force of her attention is on him.

“If you had the funding to study anything, what would it be?” Max asks her, delighting in the way her eyes light up and her smile grows.

Her mouth opens to answer when, suddenly, he hears shots. Max throws the milkshake to the side, tackling Liz.

But it’s too late. He knows it before he looks. He can smell it. The thick metallic scent filling the air. Too much.

She’s so still beneath him. And he doesn’t even think.

Max tears at his right wrist with his teeth, pressing it to her lips, just praying his blood will enter her system fast enough to save her.

And he lets out a sigh of relief when she comes too with a gasp, barely thinking to smash a ketchup bottle and pour it all over her uniform.

“What was-”

“Just ketchup!” he answers, maybe a bit too quickly. And then takes a breath, “Someone shot out the windows, but I think they only hit a ketchup bottle. Are you okay?”

Her eyes are distant for a moment, until she speaks, “Yeah, I’m okay.”

He wants to check again to make sure, though he knows that his blood healed all her injuries. “I’ve got to go!” he forces himself to his feet, stumbling away from her, too aware of the metallic scent surrounding her.

He reaches out for Isobel as he runs out the door in pursuit of the shooter, already desperately craving blood.

***

Liz is too fine. No pain from hitting the unforgiving floor hard, Max on top of her. And there’s no way that’s ketchup. Not with the coppery taste of blood in her mouth. No, Liz knows too well what must have happened.

She can hear her dad calling down the stairs, “Mija! What happened! Are you-?”

“I’m fine, Papá!” she shouts back instantly, pressing her hands into the sticky, wet substance on the floor as she pushes herself to her feet.

She gave him a milkshake. She remembers that much. Goes rushing toward the kitchen, searching for a fresh plastic bag, wiping her hands off on her already ruined uniform as she skids across the tiles.

Of course, it has to be sitting on top of the highest shelf. Liz grabs the stool, presses one knee against the counter, listening for her father on the stairs or sirens outside, praying they don’t interrupt her. She lifts up, barely brushing the ziplock box with her fingertips, knocking it onto the counter.

And then she’s scrambling down, almost tripping and falling in her haste, running over toward where they had been standing.

Green milkshake is all over the counter, but no straw in sight. She scrambles around it, looking desperately for that tiny piece of evidence.

There, at the very edge of the floor, pressed up against the counter, is a white straw. She can hear her father’s footsteps on the stairs, and the sirens heading toward the restaurant.

Liz reaches down, carefully picking it up with the bag, sliding it into the sterile-as-can-be plastic and zipping it closed. She looks around desperately for a place to hide it, finally running around the counter again, sliding it in Rosa’s favorite little hiding spot next to the jukebox, inching some paneling out of place and then sliding it back once the straw is tucked safely out of sight.

By the time Sheriff Valenti is walking in and her dad is down the stairs, Liz is already working on cleaning up the ketchup and glass shards, faking as normal as she can.

***

Max walks into the Sheriff’s department the next morning to learn that they have his brother, Michael picked up again. Drunk and disorderly. All he can do is sigh. They’re beyond lucky Michael hasn’t drawn more attention to them. And he’s only evading notice because of Max, burying anything suspicious, smoothing things over when he can.

“Morning, Maxwell!” Michael calls, cocky grin in place when Max enters the room and closes the door behind him quickly.

Michael is sliding the cell door open, stepping out.

“There are cameras, Michael!” Max barely stops himself from shouting.

“Someone mysteriously shut them off,” his brother shrugs. “Right after they forgot to lock me in.”

“You know we can get you released the right way.”

“I waited for you, didn’t I?”

Before Max can answer, Isobel storms in, “I had to go home and try to explain why I ran off in the middle of date night and now I have at least ten different fires to put out at work, so you better explain what happened last night!”

Michael looks almost delighted to not be the one causing trouble. He turns to Max, “What did you do?”

Max tells them everything. He won't lie to them about this. Not when he's aware it can put them in danger. “Liz was shot, I had to.”

“You gave her your blood?” Isobel looks like she’s considering murder already. “What happened to us keeping the secret? I've been married for five years and I still keep it from Noah, but you risk our safety on a high school crush?"

“She was dying!”

“So you pray, you do CPR, you don’t decide to be a hero,” Michael replies instantly.

Max turns toward him, instantly on the offensive, “What would you know? You’ve never done anything for anyone.”

Michael looks like he’s been punched. By someone far stronger than the usual humans he gets in fist fights with at The Wild Pony.

“Wait, Michael-” he tries to stop his brother, well aware of what he’s given up for both of them.

But Michael is already headed out the door.

***

The day has already been exhausting and now Foster Ranch is crawling with the Air Force. Michael is shoving the door of his truck open, already storming toward his trailer when he sees Jesse Manes. Of course. That motherfucker. His left hand tenses up, pain shooting through it again at the memory of what the man had done to it ten years ago.

But he has more important things to worry about currently. Like the man standing at his door, peering in the window.

Did he close the fridge properly? Are there any empty blood bags out and visible? He’s well aware of what this man could see and he has to stop him immediately. Before he finds something that Michael can’t explain away.

He grabs the man’s arm, spinning him away, “Hey! That’s private property!”

It’s only then that he clocks the cane, instantly followed by the face of the man who is stumbling backward, trying to right himself.

Michael reaches forward by instinct, grabbing the fabric of his uniform and his arm again, pulling him upright, making sure he’s stable. “Alex.” He keeps his hands there by sheer force of habit. Or maybe like a magnet is pulling him to the other man. One hand just touching his arm, the other moving over his heart, feeling that strong steady beat beneath his fingertips. Alex is here. Alex is alive. He’s made it home.

He’s filled out since the last time Michael saw him, shoulders broad, arms strong. He looks so damn good. “Guerin,” that oh-so-familiar voice replies.

Guerin. Of course. Michael drops both of his hands from Alex and steps backwards, trying desperately to build that wall between them back up, even though he knows he’ll always want to let Alex in. “Finally a Manes man, huh?” He can’t really blame Alex for choosing his family. It’s not like Michael hasn’t made that same choice every single day of his life. He had just wished Alex would choose to be his family instead.

“Three quarters of one,” Alex replies, reaching down and knocking on the prosthetic Michael had already heard was there.

He flinches anyway, Max’s words rising up again in his mind, unbidden. You’ve never done anything for anyone. And it’s true. He’d known when Alex- rumors travel fast in a small town. Even faster when one of the people he went to high school with nearly died halfway around the world in a war he had never wanted to fight in the first place. He could have gone to him, could have healed him without any real effort. He would have if it hadn’t been for the knowledge that, if he did, there was no way he’d be able to hide what he is from the entire force of the US military. The knowledge that he’d be torn apart was nothing. Especially in those terrifying days when he didn’t know whether Alex would survive at all.

It was the thought of what they’d do to Isobel and to Max that kept him from running right to Alex’s side.

He should have found a way anyway.

“What are you doing here? Doesn’t look legal,” Alex says.

Michael looks back up at him, trying to force that defensive humor. “Little bit of weed, lots of casual sex, and ritual sacrifice,” he jokes. He knows what people have been saying about him since he was a teen.

Alex just rolls his eyes at that.

“See you around, Alex,” Michael opens the door to his Airstream and steps inside, shutting it behind him instantly.

The place is clear of blood bags, thankfully. He is desperate to dig into the fridge, have something to distract him from the man standing outside. But he knows better.

He’ll wait until they’re all gone.

***

Liz is just about to sneak into the lab at the hospital to examine the straw with Max’s DNA on it, when she practically runs into Kyle Valenti.

“Liz!” he cries, a smile lighting up his face. “My mom said you were in town, but I have to say, I didn’t think I’d see you so soon.” And then, a pause, his face falling, “Is everything okay?”

“Not really,” she admits.

“Okay, come with me,” he instantly guides her toward an empty exam room and closes the door behind them. “What’s going on?”

So Liz starts to explain an abbreviated version of it. As difficult as Kyle had been in front of a crowd in high school, as much as his behavior was toxic and gross when he was being observed, he had been a great listener when they were together. And before that, when they were just friends. That hasn’t changed.

“So,” she finishes. “I guess I’m trying to resolve things for myself. Maybe get some answers? You don’t… Do you think you could get your hands on Kate and Jasmine’s autopsies? I know that’s unethical, but… I just think that if I could see the science, it would clear things up for me. I need to…” she pauses, taking a shaky breath. “I need to find a way to accept that Rosa… That she sold them the drugs that killed them.”

“If you think it will help, I’ll see what I can do,” he answers. “But you do know grief isn’t logical, right? And that’s what you’re dealing with here. Rosa may not be dead, but you’re still grieving the sister you knew.”

Liz nods, remembering what her father told her about Jim Valenti, “I’m sorry about your dad, Kyle.”

His face clouds over with grief.

“How are you doing? With all of it?”

He sighs, leaning back against the wall, “I have a lot of regrets. My dad wasn’t perfect, but… I’m trying to be the kind of man he’d want me to be.”

“He’d be proud of you, Kyle,” she tells him easily. And he would be. She can remember the kind of man Sheriff Jim Valenti had been. The way he looked after all of them like they were his own. How he’d make sure Rosa and Maria got home safe, even when they were high off their asses or Rosa was wasted. The way he kept a close eye on Alex, who was rarely causing trouble, but so often the target of bullying, even from Kyle himself. She remembered how he got coffee from The Crashdown every morning and asked about her and Rosa, how things were going in school. He would be so proud that his son is a doctor, dedicating his life to helping other people.

She hops off the exam table she had perched on during their conversation and pulls Kyle into a hug, “I better go, but I’ll see you later, okay?” She has a straw to examine and other people to see.

***

Liz strolls into The Wild Pony, looking for Mimi Deluca, the woman who had taught her all about the things that go bump in the night, who had trained her to fight them, only to find her daughter and Liz’s high school best friend, Maria, serving drinks at the bar instead.

“You know the tourists usually go to Saturn’s Rings, right?” Maria asks.

Liz laughs in response, “I guess I deserve that.”

“Well, yeah, you don’t text, you don’t call… You don’t even get an Instagram or Facebook. I thought you had forgotten about all the little people here while you were off being some kind of genius.” It’s clear from her face that that’s not quite what Maria had thought, but Liz doesn’t push. It’s been ten years since she spoke to her once best friend. She doesn’t deserve to know.

“So, you’re running The Pony now? Where’s Mimi? Off exploring the country?” Liz asks with a teasing smile. But her face falls when Maria’s expression darkens.

“She’s not- doing well. She forgets things. And I think living in Roswell is getting to her because, I swear, she’s going on and on about aliens. Like they’re real and not just why this place is a tourist trap.”

Liz frowns, “I’m sorry. Is there anything I can-” she takes a breath, “I could see if some of my contacts know of some new treatment programs?”

Maria shakes her head, “We’ve seen all the doctors. None of them really have any answers. They can’t help her.”

Liz watches as Maria straightens up and plasters a smile onto her face, “Anyway, enough about me. You are going to tell me about your love life while I give you free drinks. And then we are going to that stupid reunion.”

“Everyone there is still so angry…”

“Elizabeth Ortecho, we are going to get drunk off our hot asses and we’re going to have fun ignoring all those entitled pricks.”

Liz finally laughs, “Okay. Deal.”

***

Alex puts all of his weight on his left leg as he adjusts his prosthetic. Coming to the reunion was a bad idea. Everyone wants him to be the hero. The Manes man. To play the part that he is so tired of, the part he has been tired of since he enlisted. Some days, he’d give anything to give it up. Almost anything.

And then there was Guerin, parading around the reunion with a girl on his arm. Ashley, he thinks. She had been a cheerleader in high school. And a reminder of why he put himself through this in the first place. So Guerin can have a normal life.

He can still remember the day after Rosa’s disappearance, before Alex had even heard the news. He had been trying to sleep, covered in bruises from what his dad had done to him and so very worried about Michael. And his dad threw his bedroom door open, dropped a file on his bed, and left.

Michael Guerin’s juvenile record. A list of the petty crimes he had committed. And, with it, who knows how his father had gotten it, a report of suspicions and concerns from the foster families he had stayed with over the years. Alex knew in his bones that they weren’t true. The boy who looked at him like he had given him the world, the boy who had put his body between him and his father, that boy couldn’t have done those things.

But it was still a laundry list of ways his father could go after Michael. A list of excuses and lies he could tell to destroy his life, his future, maybe even get rid of him entirely. All topped off with the obvious implication. His disappearance wouldn’t go noticed or remarked upon.

And, of course, his father had left an Air Force application with it. That’s why Alex had signed up. Do what his father wants, stay away from Michael, and he won’t be the reason he dies.

Alex winces as he adjusts his prosthetic a bit more. It’s chafing a bit and he just wants to get home and get it off. But everyone wants to shake the hand of the hometown hero. Talk about how they knew him way back when. Not about how they shoved him into lockers and called him names.

He looks up at the picture projected on the wall in front of him. And he’s confronted by his own photograph from high school. Ten years younger and on a skateboard. He was so free back then. So innocent. Convinced his future was his own. All he had to do was last until he was eighteen and he could be out of Roswell. Off to a better life, away from his father. He thought he could follow his dreams.

“Nostalgia’s a bitch, huh?” a familiar voice interrupts him. Guerin.

“I thought for sure when I got back from Iraq, you’d be long gone,” Alex says softly, straightening up and putting his right leg back on the floor, trying not to lean on his cane. He had hoped Michael would be far away. Somewhere safe. That he’d be happy. He’d hoped he’d sacrificed everything for that. But sacrificing all of it to keep Michael alive is still more than worth it.

“Is that what you want?” Michael asks him, sounding almost hopeful.

Alex wonders what it is that he wants. But he focuses on telling Michael the truth, as well as he can. “We’re not kids anymore. What I want doesn’t matter.” If he could have what he wants… He never would have left Michael behind.

Michael has been moving closer to him the whole time. And now Alex can finally take him in like he’s wanted to since this morning.

His fingers ache to bury themselves in those messy curls. He wants to drown himself in those whiskey-colored eyes. He wants those full lips against his own, those strong arms around him-

And, like he’s reading his mind, Michael surges forward, pressing his lips against Alex’s.

The scruff is new, that scrape against his skin that he can already imagine elsewhere. And his kisses are harder, more desperate.

Alex matches that desperation, wrapping an arm around him and sliding it along Michael’s lower back, tugging him closer as Michael leans further into him.

He’s surrounded by Michael, breathing him, tasting him, touching him. And it’s everything he’s wanted for ten years. No, for his entire life. It’s like coming home.

His vision darkens a bit and he sees spots when Michael pulls away, just enough to let him catch his breath.

Alex closes his eyes, feeling Michael pressing his forehead against his own, rough hands tracing along his jaw, making him feel like something precious.

But he’s coming back down to earth now. Remembering why he can’t have this. What will happen to Michael if he tries.

So, when Michael asks him to come home with him, he answers truthfully, “I can’t.”

When he sees Michael’s face fall, Alex wants nothing more than to apologize, to tell Michael the truth, how much he wants him, how he’d give almost anything to have anything at all with him. But he doesn’t. He just forces himself to turn around and slowly walk away.

***

The reunion is going perfectly. Or as well as can be expected, given that her class had been full of drunken idiots when they were in high school.

Isobel surveys the crowd, catching a glimpse of Alex sneaking back in, looking more rumpled than he has since he’s been back. Clearly, Michael is to blame for that. But at least she knows that he knows how to be careful and discreet. About their shared secret, anyway.

Max is just standing on the outskirts of the party, staring at Liz Ortecho and Maria Deluca as they dance. She curses the longing she feels as she watches. Some part of her still wishes for another life. The one she didn’t choose. One where she’d be able to relax and have fun. To be herself. One where she wouldn’t need to think about being on twenty-four hours a day. But she chose the life that allowed her to remain safe. To keep their secret hidden.

Isobel shakes her head and returns her attention to her brother, making her way over to him. “You can’t tell her.”

“She deserves the truth, Isobel,” Max replies.

“Maybe. But that doesn’t mean we can trust her with it.” Isobel has kept track of her. She knows what she has been up to in the years since she’s been away. “Regenerative medicine, Max? What do you think she’d do if she knew what we are? What do you think she’d do with three people whose blood can literally heal people?”

Max is silent at her side and Isobel knows better than to believe he’s listening. He never really does. She loves Max and is well aware that he will do what he wants, what he thinks is best, regardless of what his choice ends up doing to her and Michael.

***

Liz is dancing wildly with Maria, both of them just having fun. It’s the first time in a long time that Liz has allowed herself to be free. Without thinking about obligations or expectations. She missed this.

So, when she happens to glance over at Max and Isobel, she feels like a bucket of ice water has just been poured over her head.

They’re just standing there, surveying the crowd. But, just between them and slightly behind them, looking exactly the same as she had in Liz’s apartment mere days ago, stands Rosa Ortecho.

15 notes · View notes

emoboijk · 6 years ago

Text

ksj | my love (makeup)

You can’t appreciate what you have until it’s gone.—angst, idol!au

breakup :: time apart :: makeup

2,483 words

p.cred

It’s almost three months before you see him again. You try not to listen to the news or watch music programs. Your friends and coworkers have stopped bringing him up; at work “BTS” has become a banned topic, only to be discussed in frenzied whispers when you aren’t in the room. And you’re okay. The intense pain has dulled to a sore ache.

Seokjin, however, sees you every day. Well...not you . But, despite telling himself that he would, he never deleted any of your pictures. Sometimes he’ll pull up your contact page, ready to call you. He never does. He’s not really okay. He hurts. He realizes that he’s worse off without you—cranky and unhappy. He doesn’t even like Dad-jokes anymore. He wears the watch everywhere (all the places the stylists will let him, and to most of the places they won’t).

When you do see him again it is pure coincidence. You’re at the mall, of all places. And he spots you first.

He’s in the middle of filming for an episode of Run! BTS when he sees you. He stops everything. He stands stock still in the middle of filming, a camera five feet from him, to stare. Seokjin thinks you might be an apparition, he wonders if his depression is so severe he’s hallucinating now.

“Hyung?” Hoseok wonders, standing next to him and following his gaze as the staff and crew and his members all watch in confusion. There’s a beat of silence where Hoseok searches to see what could have captured his attention before he sees you. “Oh,” he whispers.

Seulgi is the one that points him out to you, although inadvertently. “Woah,” she says, stopping in the walkway to raise a hand towards the extensive film crew set up on the other side of the mall, “Someone must be filming?”

You raise your eyebrows and follow her finger, vaguely intrigued, when you see him. It’s like a bolt of lightning. You had entertained delusions of being over him over the last three months, but it becomes instantly clear that you are not .

Seokjin steps over the line of cameras and ignores the calls of his manager and the director (his members don’t even try to stop him), and crosses the mall toward you. It only takes him four strides to be standing directly in front of you and when he says your name it’s like a summer breeze blowing against your cheeks.

“Hi,” you whisper.

He wants to say I miss you , but he thinks that may not be right. He also wants to say, I made a huge mistake . But then maybe that’s not what he should start with. While he’s trying to decide you speak again.

“Are you filming something?”

Seokjin looks momentarily confused before he looks behind him quickly and remembers, “Oh. Yeah.”

“Has work been good?” you ask. Your heart is beating so fast and your palms are sweating. Your heart aches in his presence.

“Um,” he starts, bringing his hand up to run through his hair nervously. That’s when you see it.

“Is that…” You can’t bring yourself to complete the question. You think it might be devastating if you’re wrong.

Seokjin glances at where your fingers point and holds out his wrist, clad as it always is. “Yes,” he nods, “I wear it everywhere.” There’s a long pause where you look at him confused, slightly hopeful, and he thinks fuck it and says what he’s wanted to for the past three months, “I’ve missed you. I’ve made a terrible mistake.”

“Seokjin…” you whisper.

“No, please,” he says and there’s so much desperation in his eyes that there’s hardly any color anymore, “Just hear me out. Let me take you to dinner.” He steps forward, wanting to touch you, raising his hand to do so before remembering that you’re not his to touch anymore. “I’m so sorry,” he says instead.

There are tears in your eyes because you’re standing on an edge. You want him more than oxygen, more than a breath in your lungs. But the last few months exist between you like a casm, and you’re afraid to fall into it by yourself.

“Dinner,” you nod.

The restaurant Seokjin picks is intimate and romantic. The idea has you all at once jittery and nervous, your hands shaking, a rock sitting in your stomach. When you arrive, he’s already seated. The restaurant is completely deserted, you’re sure that’s his doing. There’s a waiter filling up his water glass with an exasperated look when you approach. When Seokjin sees you, he stands too quickly and knocks over his chair.

“Sorry!” he says, too loud, bending to help the waiter pick it up. You stand at the edge of the table with your eyebrows raised. He’s nervous.

“Thank you,” you whisper when the maiterdee who had shown you to the table pulls out your chair for you. When you’re seated you glance at Seokjin who is watching you with an innocent expression, “Hi.”

“Hi,” he says, smiling as if already this is going very well, “Thank you for coming.”

“Of course,” you say, looking away from him to peruse the menu. You can’t focus though. You’re too aware of his presence across the table, of his eyes on you, of how much you want to hold his hand, kiss him, take him home.

“Calm down,” you whisper, looking over your menu to find him still watching you, “Stop looking at me.”

“Sorry,” he says, just as softly. He opens his own menu, his knee bobbing up and down anxiously. You wish he would chill out because your anxiety is already driving you crazy, you don’t need his on top of it.

“Can I get you started with something to drink?”

“Um,” you look at Seokjin, you’re not sure why, “Chardonnay?”

“Yes ma’am,” the waiter says, turning to Jin, “Just the water for you sir?”

“Yes,” Jin says without looking away from you. You rub your lips together nervously and look back down at your menu.

You work through dinner (salmon for him and pasta for you) with nearly four and a half glasses of wine, getting tipsier by the minute, Seokjin’s expression slowly turning from nervous excitement to apprehensive concern. He reaches across the table after your plates have been cleared to grasp your hand, “Are you okay?”

“Don’t touch me,” you whine, pulling your hand away and slumping into your chair. Your head is swimming and all you know is that you want him more than anything else in the world. And you’re mad at him. “You hurt me,” you pouted.

Seokjin sits back in his chair like he’s been slapped, “I know.”

“Why?” you whine, and this time it’s almost a sob.

“I thought I was doing what was best for you,” he whispers.

“What about me ?” you hit your own chest for emphasis, burping immediately after. It would be funny if your words weren’t so serious. “Why wouldn’t you talk to me about what’s best for me ?”

“I—” It’s not often that Seokjin is found at a loss of words, but he’s floundering. It had seemed so definite, so clear, three months ago. He thought he had been hurting you by being with you.

“I’m an adult,” you pout again, “I can make my own decisions.” You’re about to say something else when a waiter comes over with a check.

“Sir?”

Without looking at it, Seokjin pulls a black card out of his suit pocket and hands it over, not taking his eyes off of you. He’s afraid you might vomit. Instead, you slam your hands on the table so that the glasses on it shake and stand up suddenly.

“I want to leave.”

Seokjin stands too, hovering around you to make sure you don’t fall. When the waiter hands back the card, Jin pulls a wad of bills from his pocket and hands it over to him as a tip, “Sorry for this,” he bows respectfully.

“Sorry?” you whine as he ushers you out the door, bowing to the employees you pass as you go, “You should be sorry.”

“I am sorry,” he whispers, pausing when you finally get outside to adjust to the briskness of the night air. Your cheeks flush with the sudden temperature change and the alcohol, but it has little sobering effect on you. “Can I take you home?”

You try and take a step without him and your cheeks bulge out with the effort to keep yourself from vomiting. You nod quickly, reaching out for his arm to steady you. He holds one hand on your waist and opens the back door of his town car, sliding in next to you and giving the driver the address.

Once he’s inside, you lean against him heavily, your eyes drooping closed. You fall asleep within seconds, Jin’s hand still around your waist.

You’re still drunk when you wake up and very unsure of how much time has passed. But Jin is shaking you gently and when he opens the door, the cold night air makes you curl into his embrace. “You’re home,” he whispers, pulling you by your waist until your feet hit the pavement.

You slump against him once you're out, and hear him say to the driver, “I’ll just be a minute.”

As you step up to the building, you’re nearly asleep against him once more, mumbling about the injustice of fate and this cruel world. Seokjin looks at the gate as if that is all it will take to open it, and when that doesn’t work, he turns to you, “Where are your keys?” You mumble something incoherent, and he ultimately decides to rummage through your purse, finding them quickly (after shuffling through your wallet, some tampons, a couple of coupons and receipts, and three candy mints) to open the door.

“Okay,” he says, “Here we are.” You both stand in the doorway of your apartment, you leaning so heavily against him that you’re pressed flush against his chest.

“I’m an adult!” you protest randomly, pouting, “I make my own choices!”

“Yes,” Seokjin says, smiling softly at you, “You’re home. Can you make it to bed?”

“I choose you .” You lean heavily against him, aiming for his lips and hitting his neck, passing out almost immediately. Seokjin sighs, and kicks the door closed with his foot, holding you up by your waist as he all but drags you into your bedroom.

You fall on the bed with a thump, still passed out, and Seokjin removes your shoes and puts a blanket over you, brushes the hair from your eyes. “I’m so sorry,” he whispers, kissing your forehead and wrinkling his nose at the stench.

He wanders back out of the room and loosens the tie he’s wearing, rearranging the pillows on the couch before lying down. He texts the driver and their manager and Namjoon that he’s staying here tonight. Then he means to go to sleep, but he spends almost two hours listening to your snoring and thinking about his mistakes before finally drifting off.

You don’t wake up until nearly 1 PM the next morning and when you do it hurts. But there’s a good smell coming from your kitchen which makes your stomach rumble and apprehension rise in your mood. You remember going to dinner with Jin, you definitely remember the Chardonnay, and unless something extremely terrible and dangerous has happened...Jin’s cooking breakfast.

You pull on a pair of shorts and trying to make yourself look less hungover and vomity before peeking out of the door. The sight strikes you in the chest like a punch, knocking the wind out of you. He’s just in his undershirt and the slacks he wore the night before, his broad shoulders dominating the kitchen space in a way that seems fantastical. He cracks an egg with one hand over a frying pan, moving around your kitchen like it’s choreographed.

It’s so domestic. It’s so perfect. You pinch your thigh because you think it might be a memory. You squint and blink really hard because maybe it’s just a flashback.

But no, he’s really there, morning stubble and all, cooking you breakfast.

Jin turns around to grab something from the opposite counter and sees you, his eyebrows raising, “Oh, good morning.”

“Hi,” you whisper, hiding your blush as you step out of your doorway and walk over to him, slipping onto one of the barstools on the opposite side.

“Sleep well?” he asks, and you don’t have to look up to know there’s a slight smirk to his expression. You roll your eyes.

“ Yes .”

“Eggs in a bit,” he says, turning away from you again.

You sigh, not really wanting to ruin this but knowing you have to, “Jin.”

Just the way you say his name has his shoulders tensing, his hand clenching on the handle of the frying pan.

“What is this?” you say softly, “And last night? What’s...what is this?”

Jin doesn’t turn around to look at you, just stares at the eggs he’s frying because somehow that’s easier. “Last night was an attempt at an apology before you got extremely intoxicated,” he tries to joke, letting the tension out of his chest and finally turning to look at you. He regrets it. You look so beautiful, even now, with your hair matted and your skin dewy and your eyes shining with emotion. It makes him feel every ounce of pain he’s put you through, put himself through.

“You really hurt me,” you whisper, looking down at your hands.

“I know,” he whispers, turning to flick off the stove and move the eggs aside.

“Do you? We were supposed to be partners, Seokjin, a team . And you did what you thought was best, but just you , you didn’t talk to me about it at all. You have to trust me, that’s what it’s all about.”

“I fucked up,” he says, turning back around to face you, “I was scared of...hurting you, of you resenting me, of the future.” He sighs so heavily that it makes your chest hurt.

“And I get that, I just...ending it didn’t take any of that away. But talking to me would’ve. We have to work through those things together, that’s why we’re an us .”

“Us?” he says, his head snapping up to look at you now, expression startled.

You chew on the inside of your cheek, trying to fight your smile, “Yeah, us . If you pinky swear to stop doing this particular brand of stupid shit, because my heart can’t take it anymore.”

He crosses the kitchen in two seconds and takes your face in his hands, pressing his lips to yours passionately, “Never again. I know what I have. I’m never letting you go, my love .”

“Damn right,” you whisper, wrapping your arms around his neck and pressing him against you.

author’s note—should i do a ‘makeup sex’ chapter? yay or nay?

for more of my works check out my m.list

#rosynamjoon #bts #hyunglinenetwork #bangtanbuds #bts x reader #kim seokjin #seokjin #jin #jin x reader #seokjin x reader

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gryffindormischief · 6 years ago

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Debut

A/N: A gift for @fightfortherightsofhouseelves. I hope you enjoy this fluff my friend <3 (hardly a surprise though ehe). It fits right in with my previously written wedding/honeymoon Hinny fics. (Clandestine > Wed, [Debut here], and Repartee)

Also available on FF and Ao3!

Harry can already hear the steady rhythm of the ocean when he and Ginny land in a little apparition point tucked away in a secreted part of the hotel, even as they’re greeted by a discrete pre-concierge concierge who introduces himself as Milton.

Immediately, Milton summons a bellhop to cart their baggage to their room while they check in. It’s all a sort of blur, if Harry’s honest, the only real point of clarity in his awareness being the steady warmth of Ginny and her wide brown eyes taking in everything around them with childlike excitement.

As they cross into the main lobby, dress shoes clicking on the waxed marble floors, Harry loosens his tie and slips his arm further around Ginny’s waist so she’s tucked close into his side. She complies easily enough, bringing hers to wrap around his back as she rises on tiptoe to whisper in his ear. “Getting handsy there, husband?”

Harry makes his best attempt at a flirtatious grin and presses a kiss to her lips. “Any complaints, wife?”

They near the roped off area in front of the desk and Ginny chuckles in that low, private way that never fails to send Harry’s heart racing. “Oh hell, we’re one of those couples now.”

Pausing just before they reach the check in, Harry pulls Ginny in for a toe curling kiss. “It’s our honeymoon, I think we can have this.”

“I am ridiculously happy.”

The uncontrollable smile that spreads on Harry’s face is mirrored by Ginny’s, her eyes twinkling, lips bright against her pale skin, utterly radiant. And in that moment, Harry’s honestly not sure he’s ever been more full of pure joy. “Me too.”

Once they step up to the desk, Harry’s really trying to be mature and put together and seem moderately competent in front of his new wife. Which is going fine, until Ginny apparently decides that mature, put together, adult Harry is boring and oh so casually drops her hand to cup his arse.

He jolts forward and nearly sends their complimentary fruit infused water sprawling over the hotel computer and the perhaps permanently smiling night manager, Roy.

Harry offers a smile that’s probably closer to a grimace, but manages to relax and answer a few questions haphazardly while Ginny’s hand slips beneath his suit coat but remain in locations fairly acceptable for polite company.

Until Harry picks up the heavy gilt pen and begins signing the proffered forms, and Ginny tugs the tail of his shirt up enough that her fingers can tease beneath the waistband of his trousers. Harry’s hand jumps across the page, leaving a dark slash over the heavy paper. “Er- sorry.”

Roy’s grin widens, slightly manic if Harry’s honest, and waves away his apology.

Ginny by some miracle decides to still her ministrations and tucks herself closer into Harry’s side, muffling her laughter against his wrinkled dress shirt. “Sorry.”

Offering her the pen so she can sign alongside his name, Harry laughs. “No, you are many things, but sorry is not one of them.”

With a wink, Ginny accepts the pen and fills in her lines with a flourish, only hesitating for a moment before she scrawls out ‘Potter.’

In some miraculous feat of self-control, Ginny behaves while they get their room keys and the bellman comes to escort them to their room. Though the reprieve doesn’t last long. As the bellman natters on about the on site restaurants and beach access and whatever else, Ginny’s restraint runs out and her gaze and hands begin to wander.

There’s a cart full of luggage blocking their companion’s view and they’re newlyweds, so Harry throws caution to the wind. With one last glance to their guide, Harry twists to face Ginny, pulling her close and stretching his arms so he can let his touch slip past where polite company would normally dictate.

They’re pressed close enough that Harry can feel Ginny’s heart thudding against his chest, and she can surely feel his pulse thrumming at his throat. But he really can’t bring himself to care, not as he takes a deep breath and fills his lungs with her. Which means it really is his fault when they’re halfway to the honeymoon suite and her arms are banded around his middle, her lips are teasing his throat, and he’s completely enveloped by Ginny.

By the time the lift opens, Harry’s operating on instinct while Ginny’s somehow maintaining conversation, getting information on muggle watersports they can learn, and overall acting her usual effervescent self. Which should mean that Harry’s able to get himself under control.

In reality, he’s just getting more...agitated. And once again, Harry has made the mistake of underestimating Ginny Weasley, which means he assumes she’s completely oblivious to his internal struggle. But when she begins asking inane questions like ‘how do we order room service’ and ‘where’s the nearest frozen yogurt shop’ Harry cottons on - just before Ginny sends him a saucy wink while the bellman drawls on.

Bloody hell.

Once Harry sees a break in the conversation, he pulls a wad of entirely too many bills from his pocket, slaps the bellman on the back, and hastily ushers him out of the room until the door slams shut with a thunk.

“Well that was rude,” Ginny mutters, working her earrings off.

Harry slips his suit coat from his shoulders and slings it over the high-backed chair tucked in front of the balcony. The sea crashes against the beach with white foam that clings to the shore, moonlight casting the evening in a pale glow.

Ginny slips up behind him and grasps his forearm. “I can’t get the clasps.”

When she offers him her wrist, Harry’s suddenly overcome with the imagination of a romance hero, so he lifts her hand until he can press his lips to her palm. He maintains eye contact, letting his thumb take her pulse as it beats faster.

Ginny’s breath catches, but she doesn’t relent, ever bull-headed and tenacious. When he releases her, she twists around and tilts her neck. “And this one?”

His exhales send the escaped wisps of her hair fluttering and before he can tease her further, Ginny flits away, flicking up her skirt so she can undo the dainty straps on her heels. “So this room is lovely, you chose well.”

Harry manages to grunt out a reply, distracted though he is by the creamy expanse of leg Ginny’s exposed. His gaze drags up from her slim ankles, past the freckled curves of her calves, linger at her forever skinned or bruised knees, and damn it all she’s got the silken fabric yanked up well past her shins.

“You weren’t listening, where you?”

Jolting, Harry releases his death grip on the coverlet and ruffles his hair. “I - no. Sorry. You, the dress. Freckles.”

She leans back against the sleek chest of drawers and smirks. “Yes, I am wearing a dress and I do have freckles.”

Hoping to regain some semblance of sanity, Harry turns his attention to his hands, fiddling with the band that now wraps around his finger, glinting in the yellow lamplight.

There’s a pause, then Ginny lets her skirt drop and pads across the parquet until she’s standing between his knees.

Almost automatically, Harry’s hands rise to her hips while hers fall to his shoulders. “Don’t be so nervous dear.”

Harry scoffs. “Easy for you to say. You’re not looking at you in that dress and - ”

“S’not like we haven’t done anything - this isn’t completely new.”

His forehead drops to her middle. “I know, but now we’re married.”

Ginny knits her hands through Harry’s hair, scratching at his scalp, working at the tightness at the base of his skull borne of a wonderful but unbelievably stressful day. Her thumbs come to brush along his cheekbones, skirting the stubble that shades his face. “Harry please. You’re making me bloody nervous and before I was just excited to shag my - my husband.”

Harry squeezes her hips and nuzzles her hand, “Sorry but. God, just seeing you without - just seeing you with.”

Smiling softly, Ginny works the rest of his tie free, tugging the black strip away from his collar before her fingers begin loosening the buttons that run down his front. Halfway down, Harry manages to goad his body into action, finding the little pearl stays that skate over the sway of Ginny’s back, her bum. Gently, he curls his fingers around the scoop of her dress, the straps slowly slipping from her shoulders until she’s bare from the waist up.

She finishes her work with his shirt before her hands fall to his belt. “No fair, you have to undress too.”

Once his trousers fall open, it’s like some sort of dam has broken open. The rest of their clothes are discarded in a mix of heated glances, quick breaths, and nervous giggling.

All their outer garments have been tossed to the side haphazardly when Harry works his way back onto the bed, head cushioned by about a thousand feather pillows that seem to mold around the entirety of his head.

“I lost you, love.”

“These are really...fluffy,” Harry answers, muffled.

Harry sits up, bringing them front to front. His eyes drop to her chest, fingers following soon after, tickling along the scalloped edges of Ginny’s decolletage. “I thought you didn’t like lace.”

Ginny glances down, as if reminding herself what lace they’re discussing, and then oh-so-subtly presses her - self together. “In the right context, I’ll admit it’s appropriate.”

Laughter bubbling up his throat, Harry rolls them until he’s cradled between her thighs, holding himself upright on each elbow. “Oh you will, will you?”

She quirks a brow, wriggles a bit, before her bra pops loose and she tosses the entire garment away. “Are we having a debate or?”

In a flash, his lips are on hers - warm, heated, and unrelenting. He pulls away and begins marking her throat, “Or. Definitely or.”

It’s a chorus of sighs and moans that passes the next quarter of an hour, mixed with elated grins and teasing hands, until Ginny ends up perched over Harry once again. Her hair’s a veritable rat’s nest around her flushed face, though Harry can be certain he’s looking just as if not more utterly destroyed and only in the best way possible.

His thumbs hook into her knickers and begin dragging the honeyed fabric down when Ginny pauses, sitting up straight above him.

Abruptly, Harry yanks his hands away, setting them awkwardly to his sides. “Are you okay? We can - ”

“Yes and I really want to - it’s just - there’s chocolate covered strawberries right there.”

Harry blinks up at her, glasses crooked and full of fingerprints. “Oh my god. Are you asking to pause?”

“It’s not personal - I mean definitely not it’s - this is - I’m.”

Sitting forward again, Harry wraps his arms around Ginny’s middle just as a grumble sounds from her stomach, and holds her close. “Did you get to eat at all? I swear every time I got near any food some near meltdown had to be averted.”

Ginny tucks her face into his shoulder. “I’m so hungry. Is it - I mean,” she glances down meaningfully at his lap, “We could just keep going?”

With a chuckle, Harry presses a short kiss to her lips. “We are not going to ‘just keep going’ - not ever. But especially not on our wedding night, yeah?”

“Good, because I’d be thinking of those little tuxedoed devils the entire time,” Ginny says, lifting herself from Harry’s lap and trotting over to the welcome table they’d somehow managed to miss in the brief guided tour. Though neither would have much trouble explaining exactly who and what they were completely distracted by during said tour.

“Can’t have them distracting you from this tuxedoed devil,” Harry laughs, following in her wake. “Dressing gowns or?”

Ginny pauses ripping the gold foil from the chilled champagne bottle to look Harry up and down, then examine her own mostly naked body and grins. “Nope,” she pops the ‘p’ and the cork at the same instant, “And neither do you.”

Brows rising, Harry shrugs and claims the free seat at the little clawfoot table tucked in the corner and grabs a strawberry, biting into it with a crunch.

Ginny frowns, “No fair.”

Harry licks at his lip to save a sliver of chocolate and takes another bite. “Pour faster.”

Pulling a face, Ginny sticks her tongue out at Harry but fills their glasses with two expert twists of her wrist.

The bubbles tickle Harry’s nose as he takes a swig, studiously keeping his eyes from two particular objects in the room that seem to have some sort of magnetic pull, rising and falling with each of his wife’s breaths. Ginny’s flushed but enjoying his struggle all the same, halfway through her second strawberry and entirely at ease in her state of undress.

Draining the end of his champagne, Harry refills his glass and lifts Ginny’s foot onto his lap, rubbing at her sore muscles. “So music?”

Ginny groans at his ministrations and lets her head drop back, flicking her wand aimlessly toward the end table that houses some sort of radio. The strains of some muggle love ballad fill the room.

As Harry bites into a third strawberry and a new song begins, Ginny muses, “I think we’re supposed to be loved up and feed each other.”

“I love you, but not enough to willingly let you steal a bite of this piece of heaven.”

“Not even half a day into our marriage and already the cracks appear.”

Harry snorts. “Don’t be dramatic.”

“Me? You’re the one that went rogue and had a surprise mother-son dance with McGonagall,” Ginny teases, topping off her glass, “Even Charlie teared up.”

“I thought Hagrid was going to cause a flash flood,” Harry laughs, “Though maybe whatever was smoking in that gift box would’ve got extinguished.”

“Can we re-gift that to Charlie?”

“Already done.”

Utterly contented, Harry slumps down in his chair, brocade fabric scratching at his bare back, and gestures for Ginny’s other foot. Complying, Ginny slouches as well and tosses her arms behind her head.

“You’re killing me, Gin.”

“I’m teaching delayed gratification.”

Harry harrumphs.

Unmoved, Ginny swirls her champagne and taps at the crystal glass with a freckled finger. “Shame Dudley brought a date - there were some single people about.”

“Angry Vernon’s a more satisfying gift than a gravy boat.”

Ginny hums, dropping her feet to the plush rug. “True, but maybe we leave that train of thought behind for the mo’, yeah?”

“Vernon’s not really honeymoon material,” Harry agrees.

With feline grace, Ginny rises, “But,” she drags a finger over Harry’s chest, “Chocolate covered strawberries,” continues to saunter until she’s at the foot of the bed, “And champagne,” she drops down onto the full blanket, “And lace…”

Harry follows her trail and kneels between her spread legs. “And you.”

“And you.”

Ginny grabs him around the neck, dragging their lips together until they dance in a heated exchange, before she’s wriggling up the bed and laying herself on display among the pillows. “And this bed.”

Grin uncontrollable and pupils blown wide, Harry crawls up the mattress and picks up where he left off pre-late night snack, nipping at Ginny’s collar bone, skirting his lips lower.

Until he pauses - though his hands continue their teasing circuits - just at her sternum. “Before you have reason to think my judgment is clouded, I love you.”

Ginny gasps as Harry’s thumbs slip beneath the waistband of her knickers and begin slowly working them down her hips. She recovers rather quickly, managing to spread a smirk on her face. “We’re actually married, dear.”

Harry’s somewhere around her knees when he narrows his eyes. “Stop ruining my romantic moment.”

Pressing up onto her palms, Ginny flicks her legs free of her pants and they land comically atop the lampshade. “So sorry. Anything I can do to make amends?”

With a scowl, Harry drops back against the bed and crosses his arms. “No. It’s too late.”

“Oh please?”

“Nope.”

Laugh ringing like a bell, Ginny straddles Harry’s hips and tucks her hands beneath Harry’s pants, squeezing his bum as she drags her lips along his jaw.

Still, Harry’s got his scruples - partially emboldened by half a bottle of champagne on top of whatever he drank at the wedding - so his arms remain folded and his jaw set.

But Ginny’s nothing if not persistent. Her kisses continue down his throat, over his shoulder, swirling back down to the center of his chest, and all the while her hands work the last scrap of clothing between them free.

She presses her lips to the skin over his bounding heart, “I,” the right side of his ribcage, “Love,” and just at his bellybutton, “You.”

In a flurry, Harry drags Ginny back up ‘til she’s looming over him and they’re both a bit breathless, “What’s marriage without a bit of forgiveness and flexibility?”

Ginny hums. “Well forgiveness I’ve seen, but not a lick of flexibility.”

Harry flips them so Ginny’s legs come to wrap around him, their faces mere breaths apart. “The night’s just begun, Mrs. Potter.”

“What wonderful news, Mr. Potter.”

#blarg writes things #blarg writes wedding hinny #hinny wedding #harry x ginny #harry x ginny fic #hinny fic #hinny #harry potter x ginny weasley #harryginny

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myhauntedsalem · 6 years ago

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Hawthorne Hotel Salem, MA.

If you’re familiar with the dark history of the 1692 Salem Witch Trials, then you’re sure to know Salem, Massachusetts. Twenty people were accused of witchcraft and hung by “The Witch Hanging Judge”, Judge John Hathorne. This story isn’t about the Judge. It is about one of his descendants, classical writer Nathaniel Hawthorne who was inspiration for this modern hotel– the Hawthorne Hotel. It’s also a story about how a city embraced its dark past and looked toward the future.

Nathaniel Hawthorne was born on July 4, 1804 in Salem, Massachusetts. Hawthorne’s father, Nathaniel Hathorne, Senior, died just four years later of yellow fever in Suriname. Maternal relatives, the Mannings, looked after the young author, his mother and his two sisters. At the insistence and with the financial support of his Uncle Robert, Nathaniel was sent to Bowdoin College in 1821. Despite an affinity for gambling and drinking, Hawthorne’s habits managed to evade detection, and he was able to avoid expulsion and graduate from Bowdoin in 1825. At some point between his graduation and 1827, the author added the letter “w” to his surname, changing it from “Hathorne” to “Hawthorne”. Some speculate this change was made to further distance himself from his great-great grandfather the “Witch Hanging Judge”. Though he moved around New England a lot, meeting many other famous authors, he would occasionally find himself returning to Salem to visit family.

Nathaniel Hawthorne is noted for his classical literature. Two of his most famous novels are The Scarlett Letter and The House of the Seven Gables. His connections to the town of Salem were not few and far between, so when, years later, it was decided Salem needed a hotel, who better to name it after than one of Salem’s own– famous author Nathaniel Hawthorne!

When the need for a “modern Hotel for Salem” became evident, the town of Salem rallied together. In one week in July 1923, two hundred thirty volunteers sold more than half a million dollars worth of stock for the proposed hotel. It was to be built on the location of the then existing Salem Marine Society, which has been having meetings in this location since 1830. The society made a deal with Salem to use this location for the new hotel if the town would allow them to continue having their meetings in a special rooftop room in the new hotel. Built entirely from the funds earned by selling stock, the Hawthorne Hotel celebrated its grand opening on July 23, 1925. Hawthorne’s granddaughter, Hildegarde, was at the hotel that evening.

Since opening, the hotel has become famous for its history, weddings and a two-episode television appearance on Bewitched. Due to its central location downtown, it has become well-known as a hub for travelers who have come to catch a glimpse of Salem’s rich history.

On September 23, 2005 I had the privilege of staying the night in this hotel with two college roommates. The three of us had flown to Massachusetts for a fourth roommate’s wedding. We spent the week following the wedding traveling around New England and ended up staying at the Hawthorne Hotel on a whim for $207 for one night! (A lot of money for someone in their mid-twenties.)

The hotel originally boasted 150 rooms, each with a centrally located bathroom between every two rooms, as was customary in the early 1900’s. The hotel now has 89 rooms, several of them having been combined to accommodate the need for modern guests to have private lavatories.

Unfortunately, I cannot recall which room my roommates and I had stayed– I think it was somewhere on the third or fourth floor, but I’m not certain. I do remember our room had a view of the park on the other side of Washington Square, but it was still close to State Highway 1A. We also didn’t spend a lot of time at the hotel, arriving fairly late in the evening and leaving moderately early in the morning so we could see some of Salem’s sites that we’d missed days earlier. I do remember the feeling as I entered the hotel that night– I was bubbling with excitement at the lavishness of the hotel. The trio of us giddily rode the elevator up to our floor. The hallways were dimly lit, but the creme and white wallpaper sparkled with a design of stripes and decorative flourishes. The rooms were extravagantly decorated with armchairs, tables, paintings and closets. The television was ensconced in an ornate wooden armoire. Did I mention the closets? We explored our room and discovered it had FOUR! The beds were giant and quite cozy. The bath was very rustic feeling. Overall, it was a very whimsical stay for us… and, even though it had that “old hotel” (creepy) feeling, we experienced nothing out of the ordinary. Hawthorne Hotel Room

Hawthorne is rumored to be haunted for the place has stories of several mysterious phenomenon having happened to staff and guests alike.

In a room referred to as “The Library” or the “Lower Deck”, which is where the Hotel staff set up tables for weddings and other events. One staff member, having set up the room for an event, returned to the location only to discover the room had been “rearranged”– tables and chairs had been stacked and moved about. The employee refused to work night shifts after this experience.

Room 325 and Suite 612 have had some strange reports of hearing someone in an adjoining room come into their bathroom, turn on the water, turn the lights off and on and wander about. No one was ever seen and, when the guests complained of the disturbances, they were informed that the adjoining room was locked from the hallway and no one could have gotten inside the room. Guests of these rooms have also complained of objects moving about the room such as keys, which were placed on the nightstand having been moved to somewhere else in the room.

Room 628 has had similar reports of objects being moved. Some guests have claimed to have had someone sit on the end of their bed or they awoke because they thought they were being touched.

The hallway outside of Room 612 boasts of having had reports of a woman’s apparition haunting the hallways.

The whole sixth floor is reputedly haunted– some say captains from the Salem Marine Society are causing mischief in the afterlife. There is rumor that these sailors also toy with the nautical themed ships wheel in the restaurant “Nathaniel’s”, formerly “The Main Brace”. Several people have claimed to have seen the ship’s wheel turn on its own. Some of those who have seen it have stopped the wheel only to see it continue turning after walking away.

While there is no physical evidence that’s been recorded to substantiate the presence of ghosts at the Hawthorne Hotel, there are several guest reports that suggest otherwise and staff members seem to agree.

#Hawthorne Hotel #Salem Massachusetts #paranormal #ghost and hauntings

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fillingthescrapbook · 3 years ago

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Rewriting The CW's Kung Fu, Part 2: The Pilot

There's really nothing wrong with the pilot episode of Kung Fu...if you take it as a standalone story. It has a beginning, a middle, and an end--which is where the problem lies. By the end of the pilot, our main character has found her place back in her family and in society. Only for the show to undo all that development in the next episode.

So we're going to do a little tinkering with how the pilot unfolds. I'm also going to tweak some character interactions, so that relationships will grow throughout the season instead of being inconsistent.

Without further ado, I present to you the pilot: "Destiny."

We start with a prelude of how NICKY ended up in the monastery. She is in Chengdu, China thinking that her mother had sent her there for a food tour, a research trip to expand the menu of Happy Dumplings while also making it more authentic. She is joined by family-friend STANLEY, the original character I added, as a companion for the trip.

Her trip gets interrupted by a call from her brother RYAN--he has a problem that he needs to discuss with their parents, but he's scared. Nicky tells him she understands. And that he can wait for her return, so she can stand by him. To support him whatever the outcome may be. It is during this phone call that Nicky, away from Stanley's meddling, learns the true purpose of the tour group she's in: it's to facilitate a romance between couples that have been arranged to marry.

Nicky confronts Stanley about this, and he admits it. Nicky reminds him that she has a boyfriend back home. Stanley confesses that Nicky's parents already sat down with Evan to break their relationship off. Nicky is aghast. She storms out. Stanley runs after her--but Nicky is distraught and wants to get away from him. So she hides in the first hiding spot she could find: a parked truck full of produce. Which then starts to move.

When the truck stops, Nicky comes out of her hiding place to find herself outside a monastery in the Yunnan Province--where the truck driver, a woman named PEI-LING, tells her that she looks like she needs somewhere to collect herself. And then we pan through the monastery where women are doing different tasks: meditating, weaving, farming, and training in the martial arts of kung fu. Pei-Ling tells Nicky that she can stay for as long as she needs to. The monastery is open to anyone trying to find their path in life. And then we flash forward to three years later. To Nicky in the robes of a female novice, battling another novice in front of other students--and winning.

Quick title card.

Present time. Nicky is helping a newcomer, HUA, with her martial arts training. Pei-Ling notes that Nicky has come a long way from the girl who hid in her truck three years ago. But, she adds, it seems as if Nicky still isn't done running away. Nicky knows what Pei-Ling is getting at, and she doesn't want to go back to her old life. That she chooses to stay in the monastery because this is where she's happy. Pei-Ling responds to this by asking Nicky if she truly is happy--cutting off all communications with her family. Not knowing how they are doing. Your parents. Your sister. Your brother? Nicky deflects, saying her family life is complicated. Pei-Ling smiles sadly. She knows about complicated families. But, at the end of it all, they are still family. And they will always shape who we are--and who we become.

That night, Nicky gets woken up by Pei-Ling. The latter tells Nicky that it's time for her to explain why she keeps pushing for Nicky to reconnect with her family. But their talk gets interrupted by invaders attacking the monastery in search for something. Nicky and Pei-Ling make short work of the invaders--but Pei-Ling becomes distracted. She runs off and Nicky runs after her. They reach Pei-Ling's room that has been ransacked by a woman in green. This is ZHI-LAN. And she is holding a sword that she has unearthed from under Pei Ling's floorboards. Zhi-Lan makes a snide remark about Pei-Ling being predictable. Pei Ling wants Zhi-Lan to return the sword. Zhi-Lan attacks Pei Ling. Nicky tries to fight Zhi-Lan off. There is a game of tag with the sword--which burns Nicky's hand.

When Pei-Ling gets a hold of the sword, Zhi-Lan incapacitates Nicky--and then wrestles the sword from Pei-Ling which she then uses to stab Pei-Ling through the stomach. Zhi-Lan then leaves the monastery, sword in hand, with her henchmen. Pei-Ling tells Nicky that she must get the sword back--that she must stop Zhi-Lan from harnessing Bian-Ge. Pei-Ling dies. The monastery burns.

In the next scene, Nicky is being bandaged by a nurse. The fire has been extinguished, but the monastery is in shambles. The police are taking eyewitness reports from the novices and other monks. An officer approaches Nicky with her ID. Her American passport. The officer informs Nicky that she has overstayed her visa and, while they are apologetic about what she had gone through, they will be deporting Nicky back to the United States.

Cut to break.

When we come back, Nicky is in San Francisco. Her hometown. But she doesn't feel at home anymore. She's still wearing her monastery robes, and she feels foreign. Out of place. She takes out her phone. An old model. She goes through her contacts, sees "Papa," "Mama," "Althea," and she pauses on "Ryan." She remembers the last thing she told her brother. That she would stand by him when she returns. Nicky feels the weight of her guilt. She starts walking--

And ends up outside an apartment door. She knocks tentatively. Unsure. The door opens, and we see EVAN. He is surprised to find Nicky outside his door. He doesn't know if he should invite her in, but Nicky sees that he's already dressed for work. Evan explains he's working for the District Attorney now as an ADA. He asks about her--and Nicky tells him everything that happened recently: getting attacked at the monastery by a woman who stole a sword, and now she has to look for a woman named Zhang Zhi-Lan even though she has no resources and doesn't know where to begin...And Nicky realizes she's babbling. Nicky apologizes for disturbing him. She just didn't know where to go because she doesn't know if she still has a home to come back to. Evan tells her that she doesn't have anything to fear, that her family loves her and will accept her no matter what. But if Nicky is scared to go home, maybe visiting the sibling she's closest to will help? Evan tells Nicky that Ryan volunteers at the community center's clinic. She could start there.

Nicky goes to the community center to look for Ryan--but he brushes her off. Nicky ends up bumping into HENRY, a martial arts teacher at the community center. He makes note of her monastery robes as a bold fashion choice. Nicky and Henry have an instant connection, he explains that he's a volunteer at the community center. Like Ryan. Henry advises Nicky not to push with Ryan because the good doctor is wound too tight, and nagging Ryan might push him over the edge. Nicky decides to leave the community center for now.

Nicky is walking down Chinatown. Pei-Ling, appears beside her, parroting words she has told Nicky before: how Nicky still isn't done running away. And Nicky finds herself stopping outside Happy Dumpling. It's busy inside. Nicky then sees her reflection on the windows. She turns away. Starts to walk--but someone from inside spots her. ALTHEA. She runs out of the restaurant to catch Nicky before the latter could leave. "Where the hell were you?"

We cut to Nicky and Althea sitting down somewhere else to have a talk. Althea gives Nicky the low down: Ryan finished his internship and is a doctor at a local hospital now--Nicky interrupts to ask why he's at the community center clinic, and Althea explains that he volunteers. All of his free time. He does get a paycheck out of it--which helps with the debt Mama and Papa have accrued from trying to find their missing daughter. This silences Nicky. Until she sees Althea's engagement ring. Nicky is relieved that not everyone's lives were worse than before. Althea ignores this. She tells Nicky that she's glad to see Nicky again, but she wants Nicky to actually come back. Althea leaves Nicky alone.

Nicky remembers a conversation with Pei-Ling from when she first came to the monastery. About how they welcome people who are running away, and how they aim to help the same people confront what they're running away from. In the present, Nicky resolves to go back to the restaurant to talk to her parents--

When Nicky returns to Happy Dumplings, she's surprised to find it has closed early. She heads to the back of the restaurant and finds her father, JIN, being beaten up by a group of men. Nicky shouts at them as she jumps in to defend her dad. We see her show her fighting prowess, disarming the men who had beat up her father. The men realizes they are outmatched and run. Nicky is left alone with her father. She asks for help, for anyone to call 9-1-1.

Cut to break.

Nicky is at the hospital, waiting. MEI-LI arrives, harried. Worried. Until her eyes meet with Nicky's. The recognition is instant--as well as the warring emotions in Mei-Li's face. Part of her wants to hug her long-lost daughter. Another part of her knows that their current predicament was because of Nicky's decision to run away. She chooses to guard her emotions. She thanks Nicky for bringing Jin to the hospital before asking where she is staying. Nicky realizes she hasn't thought about this yet. Mei-Li doesn't say anything. Nicky asks if there's still room for her at the house. Mei-Li nods. Tells Nicky that the key is still where they keep it, before adding that Nicky should go home and get changed.

At the Shen House, Nicky is marveling at how her room remained untouched. A ghostly Pei-Ling tells Nicky that family is one thing that never disappears. Ryan appears behind Nicky, replacing the apparition. He had just come from the hospital. Nicky starts to apologize, but Ryan won't hear it. He tells Nicky that he's just glad that their dad didn't hope for nothing. That borrowing from the Triad wasn't for nothing. That Nicky did end up coming back. He walks out. Nicky is shaken. And then she heads for the landline.

Evan picks up the receiver at his ADA office. He's surprised that someone sought him out personally--until he hears Nicky's voice on the other line. Nicky updates him about her parents debt to the Triad. And how Jin had been beaten up. Evan tells Nicky that the Triad is a big problem, but he doesn't know what she wants him to do--he is powerless unless someone actually files a case against the Triad. People are scared.

Nicky is at the community center, trying to learn more about the Triad. No one wants to help her. Until Henry overhears. He tells Nicky that she might have more luck approaching business owners. They're the ones that have been targeted by the Triad specifically. Nicky asks if he can help her--

Nicky and Henry are walking down Chinatown towards a store that is owned by a friend of Henry's. When they get there, they see Triad members trying to shake someone down. Nicky and Henry rush in to help the targets. They fight with the triad members. Nicky appreciates Henry's stance--and his choice to back her up.

Afterwards, they are given refreshments by the woman they helped. Nicky asks for a favor back: to file a case against the triad. The woman apologizes, telling Nicky that she cannot go against the Triad because she has to think about her daughter. Nicky tells her that it's because of her daughter that she needs to go against the Triad. Is this the life you want her to grow up in? Afraid of people preying on other's weaknesses? The woman doesn't respond. She's thinking about what Nicky has said. They don't notice that a Triad member is still watching them.

When Nicky returns to the hospital to visit Jin, Mei-Li is waiting for her. She wants Nicky to stop whatever it is she's trying to do. Why, Nicky wants to know. Mei-Li tells her that the Triad has threatened Jin's life. Nicky is shook.

Cut to break.

Nicky is already talking to Evan. She is more driven to bring down the Triad, angry at the power imbalance that allows the Triad to prosper in Chinatown. A ghostly Pei-Ling asks if that's all that Nicky is angry about. Nicky focuses on Evan, ignoring the ghost as she dissipates. Evan tells Nicky that if no one's going to stand up against the Triad--then the only way to bring them down is if they get caught, red-handed, doing something illegal. Nicky pauses, wondering about this change in Evan. She asks what he means, and her ex-boyfriend grins. He tells her that his team had just received a packet of documents in relation to Triad business. And Nicky can help him translate the contents.

Nicky finds Althea at home--listing down things Ryan needs to do for her engagement party. Ryan points out that Althea needs an army--or someone who doesn't have work. Nicky pipes up. She doesn't have work. And she'd be happy to help out. Ryan leaves. Althea isn't sure about relying on Nicky. The latter jokes that she's not gonna run away to China again, before adding that she does want Althea's help with something. Nicky tells her about the intel Evan had gotten. That they could nail the Triad for criminal activity. The problem is, the information is coded in Chinese. And she was wondering if her younger sister, code aficionado, could help out. Althea says she'll look into it.

Nicky bumps into Henry while walking down Chinatown. She's on the phone with the manager of a restaurant where Althea's engagement party is going to be held. Henry sees her carrying shopping bags on top of shopping bags and proceeds to help. Nicky thanks him as they enter a calligraphy store to pick up streamers Althea had made. Nicky sees one of the Triad members she fought. Henry spots him too. Henry asks if he needs to be ready. Nicky shakes her head. They threatened her dad's life. Henry points out that that's not exactly an answer.

Inside the calligraphy store, Nicky is knocked over by the Triad member. Her hand, the one burned by the sword, lands on a wet painting. She chooses not to escalate. Henry sees the imprint Nicky's hand leaves on the painting, but follows Nicky as she picks up Althea's streamers.

Althea is at the community center, waiting for Nicky--who calls and says she's held up by traffic. Althea says she solved the code: she tells Nicky that the shipment Evan's team got tipped on was happening tomorrow night. Nicky thanks Althea, saying she's going to tell Evan immediately. Althea ends the call before seeing that Ryan had been listening on in their conversation.

NEXT NIGHT. Evan is admiring Nicky and Althea's handiwork at the decorations for Althea's engagement party. He congratulates DENNIS for getting Althea to agree to marry him. He apologizes that he couldn't stay, but he was asked to man the office for when the police bring in the Triad--thanks to Althea's code-breaking. Henry arrives and compliments Nicky, which a leaving Evan reacts to, before asking where Ryan is. Nicky and Althea begin to wonder too--

And we see Ryan at the docks. Holding a digital camera. He is staking out the place where the Triad is about to arrive--only for the boss to get a phone call. The boss tells his men that the police are on their way. Ryan accidentally makes a noise--and gets their attention.

Cut to break.

Althea opens up an app on her phone, which helps them locate Ryan. She and Nicky recognize the place as the Triad drop-off site. Nicky tells Althea she's going to save Ryan. Althea asks Henry to go with Nicky, giving him her phone.

Ryan is a captive of the Triad. They are about to shoot him when the police start arriving. The Triad scatters to confuse the police, and to protect the boss. Ryan runs after the boss.

Nicky and Henry locate Ryan's location. Nicky fights off the boss's lackeys as she makes her way to Ryan and the boss. The boss shoots Ryan, but Henry manages to tackle his friend to safety. Nicky performs an amazing stunt that knocks the boss down. And awes Ryan and Henry. Nicky is a little awed herself. She tells Ryan that they can't be there.

At home, Nicky and Ryan have changed clothes. Evan is on the phone with Nicky, thanking her for the "anonymous" tip of where to find the Triad boss. Nicky is about to end the call when Evan tells her, "I asked a friend to look up Zhang Zhi-Lan. She's a ghost, Nicky. The woman who attacked your monastery doesn't exist in any database." Nicky acknowledges this. Sees Pei-Ling's apparition one more time, which is broken up by Ryan coming into her room. Ryan thanks Nicky for saving his life. She apologizes for disappearing on him. Ryan acknowledges the apology. Althea calls them. Nicky asks if they can be okay for tonight? For Althea? Ryan nods.

We end at the engagement party. Jin is still bandaged, but he is very happy, dancing with Nicky. Althea is happy with Dennis. And Ryan and Mei-Li have each other.

Meanwhile, we see Henry outside. In his car. With the painting Nicky ruined. Now the markings are more visible, outlined with a sharpie. We see Chinese characters. Drawings. Henry is on the phone, setting up an appointment with a Professor Chau.

And that... ends the pilot episode. And the post. I didn't completely change the pilot, but I did add new elements to it. Next post, we're tackling something that needs to be discussed before we break the story for the first season. The show's mythology.

#Kung Fu CW #tv talk #my words

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lespetitspedestres · 7 years ago

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Queenstown, ville de tous les extrêmes!!!

Vous l’attendiez avec impatience, il est enfin arrivé. Qui? L’article des petits pédestres sur leurs aventures à Queenstown et les alentours bien sûr. Et dieu sait qu’il y en a des aventures à relater, alors accrochez-vous, c’est parti!

Tout commence par notre arrivée dans la ville de Queenstown, aux environs de 2 heures et demi du matin. Oui oui, vous avez bien lu.

En effet, nous avons dégoté la veille au soir une annonce mise en ligne par des français souhaitant faire l’ascension du Ben Lomond (montagne dominant la ville) de nuit afin de profiter du lever de soleil depuis le sommet. C’est donc avec le dynamisme qui nous caractérise habituellement à cette heure de la « journée » que nous entreprenons cette randonnée de 17 kilomètres aller-retour et plus de 1400 mètres de dénivelé positif armés de nos lampes torches.

Nous parvenons au sommet de la montagne juste à temps pour assister au réveil de l’astre du jour. Il nous aura donc fallut 3 heures et demi de souffrance (c’était vraiment raide) pour parvenir à notre but et avoir enfin le droit de goûter aux crêpes préparées par un membre du groupe et à la salade de fruit préparée par un autre.

Bref, un vrai régal, aussi bien pour les yeux que pour nos palais délicats.

Une fois la longue et difficile redescente achevée, nous quittons le groupe afin de réaliser l’étape la plus importante de notre grand programme d’entrainement sportif. Cet acte par lequel il est important de terminer chaque séance si l’on veut en tirer quelque bénéfice. Je veux bien sur parler de la consommation rapide après l’effort d’un énorme hamburger.

Le reste de la journée est partagé entre glandouille et glandage.

Le lendemain, Chloé, bien fatiguée de nos exploits de la veille poursuit ses activités de sieste et de glandouille tandis que, pour ma part, je décide d’aller faire un tour de VTT. Bien sûr, comme je suis quelqu’un de tout à fait réfléchi et pas bourrin, je prends le parti de faire une balade facile. Et puis, tout à coup je me rappelle que le chemin menant à Ben Lomond m’avait paru sympathique pour la pratique du vélo. Je mets donc le VTT sur le dos et c’est reparti pour un tour. Un peu plus de trois heure de montée puis, vient le moment de la descente. La meilleure de ma vie de « mad french guy » comme disent les randonneurs croisés en chemin.

Arrivé en bas, je retrouve Chloé (qui m’engueule parce que je suis parti « un peu » plus longtemps que prévu) et nous prenons la route du village de Glenorchy aussi appelé « Paradise ».

Nous dénichons un petit campsite infesté de Sandflies.

Mais qu’est-ce donc que ceci ? Si l’on a fait leur connaissance dès notre arrivée, nous n’avons pas encore pris le temps de vous décrire ces petites bestioles. Et pour cause, puisque jusqu’à présent ils nous avaient laissé plutôt tranquilles. Malheureusement, depuis que nous sommes arrivés sur l’ile sud, ces mouches de sables bien voraces ne cessent de nous attaquer. Ces petits moucherons, à peine visibles, sucent votre sang et vous laisse un souvenir de leur passage pendant deux semaines. Vous voyez les moustiques ? Pour résumer les sandflies c’est 1000fois pires.

Et c’est ainsi qu’après une bonne nuit de sommeil (à base de grattage de piqures), nous entreprenons de gravir le Mont Alfred. Encore une randonnée à 1000 mètres de dénivelé positif sur un sentier balisé à l’arrache et entretenu grosso modo tous les 5 ans. Bref, on enjambe des troncs tous les dix mètres et l’on doit batailler pour parvenir à sortir de la forêt. Arrivés à 200 mètres du sommet, un panneaux nous informe que l’accès à ce dernier est interdit à toute personne non accompagnée d’un guide. Nous faisons donc demi-tour docilement et… Ca va pas la tête ? Non, nous finissons la randonnée comme nous l’avions prévue et profitons ainsi d’un panorama à couper le souffle sur les montagnes et les vallées environnantes, sur le lac de Queenstown et même, sur l’Isengard.

Juste pour l’anecdote, (parce qu’on sait que vous adorez les anecdotes de nos vies trépidantes) quelques jours plus tard, nous découvrons par hasard que l’entreprise qui a mis en place le panneau facture 600 dollars pour 2 personnes le droit d’accéder au sommet accompagné d’un guide. La bonne blague.

Nous rejoignons notre Jozy afin de prendre la direction de la prochaine randonnée.

Cette fois, nous entreprenons de parcourir les sentiers de la Routeburn. Ce nom vous dit peut être quelque chose. Si c’est le cas, c’est que vous êtes lecteur ou lectrice assidu(e) du blog des petits pédestres. En effet, nous avions d’ores et déjà foulé cette track lors de notre passage dans le parc national des milford. C’est cette randonnée qui nous avait conduits à Key summit, où nous avions campé. Eh bien après avoir marché sur un bout de cette randonnée de deux jours, nous voici parés à en parcourir l’autre bout. Bien que le chemin soit très bien aménagé et monte en pente (relativement) douce, nous avalons une fois de plus 1000 mètres de dénivelé positif. De plus, cette marche s’inscrit comme étant la plus longue que nous ayons effectuée jusque-là avec une distance totale parcourue de 26 kilomètres.

Bien qu’elle fasse partie des great walk (qui sont supposée être des randonnées exceptionnelles de par les paysages qu’elles offrent), la Routeburn sera sans doute l’un des itinéraires qui nous aura le moins marqué. Le paysage est tout de même grandiose, entre lac, montagnes et rivière bleu turquoise.

Le lendemain, nous rejoignons Queenstown. Tandis que Chloé se fend d’une sieste et d’une après-midi glandouille, je pars faire un petit tour de VTT.

On est pas trop mal pour glander là ?

Le soir venu, nous dégustons une bière fraiche en terrasse et réservons nos activités pour le lendemain. Pour son anniversaire (sisi) Chloé fera donc un tour de bateau sur la rivière Shotover. Il s’agit d’un bateau très rapide et nerveux qui permets de prendre des virages au dernier moment et de faire des tours sur soit même. Un vrai manège à sensation qui semble ravir Chloé, même si il faut tout de même noter que le bateau est tombé en panne au beau milieu du parcours. Enfin un autre bateau est vite venu les chercher pour achever le parcours. Puis, afin de se remettre de ses émotions, Madame est allé se faire masser pendant une heure dans un salon du centre-ville. Selon son témoignage recueillit à chaud, « c’était vachement bien ».

Pendant ce temps-là, je pars de mon côté pour une journée de VTT sur les pistes de descentes qui dominent la ville. Apres une bonne journée à me jeter dans tous les sens, le cadre de mon vélo fini par lâcher en fin d’après-midi (aie aie le bourrin le retour).

Le lendemain de cette journée riche en émotions, nous décidons de passer la journée à zoner afin de nous reposer de notre dure semaine. Glandouille au bord du lac donc, et restaurant en ville.

Le soir venu, la pluie commence à s’abattre sur le toit de notre Josy. Si bien que lorqu’on se réveil au milieu de la nuit on s’aperçoit que ce sont des litres et des litres d’eau (sans aucune exagération) qui tombent puisque notre maison roulante se trouve au milieu d’une véritable mare d’une bonne dizaine de centimètre de profondeur. Panique à bord : Josy va-t-elle parvenir à sortir du parking ou va t’on rester embourber (on est un peu les spécialistes) ?

La pluie se calme en fin de nuit et Josy parvient à sortir de la zone inondée sans trop de soucis. Heureusement, car aujourd’hui est une journée très importante : le jour de notre tournée des vignobles à vélo. Nous passons donc plusieurs heures à goûter différents vins et fromages.

Nous buvons sans doute plus de verres que nous ne parcourons de kilomètres à vélo. Tout l’un dans l’autre, nous passons une excellente journée, même si le retour sur les petits chemins de VTT semble plus sinueux et technique qu’à l’aller.

Nous rejoignons à nouveau notre camping fétiche au bord du lac et passons une nouvelle nuit pluvieuse (heureusement moins que la précédente). A notre réveil, nouvelle surprise : Toutes les montagnes environnantes sont saupoudrées de blanc jusqu’à une altitude très faible. Nous prenons donc le petit déjeuné au soleil (qui refait son apparition) face aux sommets enneigés. Il y a pire comme réveil…

On vous laisse sur cette jolie photo et on vous retrouve pour un article un peu plus sportif puisque dans le prochain épisode nous renouons avec notre activité favorite, que nous avons quelque peu délaissée ces derniers jours : La randonnée.

#nz

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narusetami · 5 years ago

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22.12.15 London → Osaka → Mount Koya

She was up at 5am. She’d gone to bed the night before at 9:30, a time that hadn’t seen her in bed since she was about 14 and decided she needed way more hours in the day, but it had been made clear to her it was going to be a long day and she needed as much sleep as possible- an easy enough thing to accomplish when she’d had half a sleeping drought in a hot chocolate before bed. 5am in December, the world was well and truly dark when she was gently nudged awake by her mother. The process of getting dressed was done groggily, the potion still in her system and her mind lagging behind even if her body felt well-rested, but there wasn’t time to dawdle if they were to get to the Ministry for 6. After much discussion they had decided it was best to travel by portkey, a flight might have helped more with the whiplash she was bound to experience when they ended up in Japan but they didn’t want to waste time, apparently her mother’s childhood home wasn’t exactly a taxi drive away. Luckily, everything had been set out the night before, thermal leggings, a comfy jumper, the toastiest walking boots she owned and an extra layer of winter essentials to match. She had her suitcase and a rucksack, her mother had assured her they wouldn’t need to carry both for long but the Ministry would require to see their luggage on both ends before they could get on with their journey, which was as reassuring as it was inconvenient.

Everything went through fine, as was to be expected. The portkey in question they had to use was a literal key, carved out of some kind of granite stone and handed to each of them as they came to a simple archway guarded by officials on either side. There was nothing beyond the archway, quite literally, just the end of a corridor, it made her nervous to be stood in a line with her parents, staring at literal nothingness, but her father’s energy behind her was calm and steady, when he touched a hand to her shoulder she took in a breath and allowed it to rush over her in a wave. Sometimes it was ok to indulge herself. She watched her mother, conflicted with her own nerves and father’s calm reassurance, step forward and gently touch her key to the side of the arch- then she took a step through and vanished. That was normal? Tami clutched tightly onto the handle of her suitcase and clung to the key with the other, taking in and holding a breath as she stepped up to the arch. Just as her mother did, she tapped the key to the stone frame and an immediate energy seemed to churn in the space before her, the sort of twist of energy one might usually connect with apparition of something similar. One of the guards manning the arch informed her then that if she wasn’t quick she’d miss it so she stepped forward towards the empty corridor and then in a blue or colours and sounds it was no longer empty. Her mother stood a few feet away and when Tami glanced over her shoulder she noted that the space behind her was now empty, not only that but there was only one guard now beside the arch in the room and they weren’t a stony faced Brit from the Ministry but a stoic Japanese woman who gave her an appraising look and then a nod. Tami released her breath, brows furrowing, but she didn’t stop to think and instead rushed the steps across the space to her mother and smushed her face against her coat in pure relief. A moment later her father stepped through the arch too, appearing out of thin air with his suitcase trailed behind him, giving them both a smile.

It was the strangest feeling, the room they’d arrived in was almost identical to the one they’d left from, just outside of it they were even in a similar department to the one from before and once again their bags were checked, they handed back their keys and in return were given their national travel passes, but once they stepped through into the centre of the governing building everything was different. For one, everyone looked like her. Dark hair, dark eyes, warm colour to their skin. England was a very diverse place to live, not just in the magical world but the muggle one too, but it was fair to say that in the UK the Japanese truly were a minority. She wasn’t used to seeing so many people who looked like her. The clothes were slightly different too, the wizarding robes that the officials were wearing were a little different for starters, the semi-cape additions to many of their robes were replaced with long, flowing haori-style capes and rather than suits many of the officials wore simple shirts and trousers but around their waists were obi-style sashes in shimmering golds, silvers, reds and purples.

“The obi represent their department,” Her father explained, noticing her watching.

“Oh? I thought obi were traditionally for women?”

“Not exactly, it’s likely you’ve just noticed them more on women because they’re designed to be much wider,” Her mother chipped in with a smile, casting a glance about the space. “Everyone here wears the haori and the obi, the uniform is not designed specifically for either gender so it’s not entirely traditional, though it would’ve been a few hundred years ago. The uniform used to consist of tabi and zori too but they’ve had to adapt to changes in the world, hold onto tradition as well as embrace the change.” Her mother looked at her a moment, a tender look exchanged between them, she cupped a hand briefly to Tami’s cheek and then nodded. “Come on, we’re not here to mull about the Ministry.”

The next small leg of their journey was a straight jump from Tokyo to Osaka. She recalled once reading that the Ministry in the UK had portkeys in the toilets that allowed travel in and out of the Ministry- a hideous idea, if she’d ever heard one- where the Ministry in Japan had a similar short-range portkey construct that involved stepping through mirrors. It was a whole hall of mirrors, in fact, row after row of them, to the left people were stepping out of them and to the right people were stepping through. Her mother explained there was no set destination in them but they were limited in where they could go, allowed travel within Japan but no further, you only needed to picture your destination and you would end up there. Tami didn’t know the destination exactly so she held her mother’s hand tightly and let her mind go blank as she was lead through- caught up in a stomach-flipping swirl of colours- from the Ministry building to a quiet reception room in an entirely new city.

“Where are we?” She breathed, holding her mother’s hand more tightly.

“Osaka,” Her mother gave her fingers a squeeze. “This is one of the Ministry’s other buildings, a direct link between two major cities, I knew it’d be safe to travel here.”

Her father appeared beside them a moment later, no sooner had he done so did a well-dressed woman walk into the room with two sleek, black cats following in behind her. She offered a polite smile as the cats hopped up onto the front desk and watched them curiously. When she spoke the language was familiar but the words meant very little to her, it felt as though she’d heard it in a dream once, the tone and sounds resonated with her but the meaning in them was lost in translation. Her mother spoke up though, words effortless and confident, they exchanged a few comments before the woman nodded.

“Have a nice trip.”

That bit, she understood.

Tami smiled, relieved and tried to sound half as composed when she nodded and replied, “arigatou gozaimasu.”

That was exhausting.

Her mother took her hand with an encouraging smile and they dragged their suitcases outside into the bustling street. There were people everywhere but she couldn’t tell if they were magical or not, they were in a muggle part of the city that was for sure and the wave of energy that came crashing around her was overwhelming. She clutched her mother’s hand tighter, grasping onto the quiet in all the noise, and her parents lead her to a taxi, all of them clambering in and the physical barrier it provided giving her some relief. They wove through the city, it was familiar and simultaneously nothing like she’d ever seen, bustling people and the winter cold were easily found back home as were shops and restaurants and all other things- they just looked a little different. It grounded her a little to feel as though not everything was strange to her here. When they came to a stop outside what appeared to be a hotel she was more than a little confused, as they rode she had come to lean against her father, dropped her head on his shoulder as she watched buildings rush past, but now they stopped and he gently encouraged her to sit up as he sat forward in his seat.

“What are you doing? Are we here?”

Her confusion was met with an apologetic smile as her father leaned over her and pressed a kiss to her forehead before he explained, “This is where I leave you, Miko.”

“Wha- I don’t understand?”

“Your father can’t come with us, not where we’re going.” Her mother sat forward too, taking one of her hands and one her father’s in both of hers. “We can still see each other on Christmas day but this is the way it has to be.”

She really didn’t understand- what did that even mean? Way it has to be. He was her father and they were a family and they spent the holidays together, as they always had for as long as she could remember, so why did being here change any of that? Why hadn’t they told her? It was so obvious that they’d known long before they arrived but they hadn’t said anything, perhaps it was simply because they knew her, knew that had they mentioned it back home that fact alone could have twisted up her stomach and fed the thoughts in her head that said: we really don’t have to go, let’s just stay home, I don’t want to deal with this right now. Perhaps they hadn’t told her for the simple fact that telling her would shy her away from the situation but now they were here, half way across the world, she couldn’t just back out even if she wanted to and whatever they’d known before they’d arrived the two of them had already agreed without her that this was for the best. For as long as she could remember she’d been so involved with them both, took part in both of their work, tackled things as a family, she forgot sometimes that all those things were wonderful but at the end of the day they were still the parents, she was still the child, sometimes they had to make choices without her. It made sense but she still wasn’t happy about it. She sunk back into her seat when her father climbed out of the taxi, he took his things and stopped outside of the hotel doors to turn back and wave at them through the window. Tami idly pressed her fingertips to the glass, barely comforted by the quiet of her mother’s touch squeezing her fingers. She wasn’t sure she could do this without both of them.

The taxi pulled away though and took off through the city again, then away from it, pulling them further away from her father and closer to something she wasn’t sure she was ready to face. It was an odd feeling, honestly, she wanted to hide herself away from the reality that she was having to face, so nervous about it she could hear her heart thrumming in her chest, but at the same time she couldn’t look away from the window. She longed to take in as much as she could while she could, this new place was where her parents had been born and grown, the language and culture was theirs and so she wished it to be hers too- as much of it as she could learn, at least. So she curled up into her mother’s side, tucked her face against her shoulder and allowed herself to be wrapped up in her hold, but continue to gaze out of the window. It must’ve taken them over an hour, at least, the bustle of the scenery changing to something quieter and much less overwhelming. She liked the way the streets winded here, around homes and shops with curved roofs, it was cold out and anyone who walked the streets was wrapped up from head to toe with their breaths ghosting and their cheeks pink. They slowed after what seemed like forever and Tami’s brows furrowed as she sat up- a station? A fairly small building from the outside, it had a bright red open front with a roof that sloped more on one side than the other. Her mother spoke to the driver briefly before she opened the door, introducing a gust of cold air into the space, and once stepped outside offered a hand back for Tami to take. She stepped out too, held tight to her mother’s hand, and allowed herself to be lead to the boot of the taxi.

“Are we taking a train?”

“Not quiet.”

She watched her mother spare a glance around them, assuring no one was watching, then she waved her hands and their suitcases began to shrink down to the size of lunchboxes. Her mother packed them in their rucksacks, one each, then hauled hers up onto her back and handed Tami her own. She shut the boot and offered another thanks to the driver, stepping off to the side of the road as they drove away. Tami followed suit, hoisting her rucksack up onto her shoulders and watching the taxi disappear out of sight. It was different to the city here, so much quieter, and when she turned in a slow circle to take in her surroundings she noted how the land grew wilder and steeper here too, winding it’s way up with roads disappearing behind bends and trees grouping together more and more until in the distance all she could see, in part, was endless trees climbing higher and higher into mountainous terrain. It was beautiful. She imagined what it must be like to live here, a breath away from all of this, not unlike but also completely different to the forest that neighboured Hogwarts.

“We’d better get going, it’s a long walk but we can take it slow.”

"A long walk?” Tami’s brows furrowed. “Where exactly do your family live?”

“Up there.”

Her mother gave a casual gesture to the mountainous forest climbing away from the houses and shops of the town and Tami’s jaw dropped- she had to be joking?

She was not.

Walking boots made a lot of sense now though even with them Tami had to question whether these trails were meant to be tackled in the middle of winter. The ground beneath her feet was uneven, the path was less of an actual path and more a carving in the dense undergrowth that had been formed after years and years of feet treading upon it. It never failed to amaze her how quickly dense a forest could become, from nothing at all to towering trees that let mere flecks of sunlight through their branches. The trees were different here, many of them were tall but thin, their bark an ashy grey. It took her breath away when she tipped her head back to watch them climb up into the sky. Apart from the trail itself the forest seemed untouched by people, especially as the sounds of the town began to disappear, though their energy lingered behind everywhere. It wasn’t a bad thing to feel. She wasn’t even sure it was people as much as it was the forest itself. It held a warmth within it’s twisting trees, this was a quiet place, a good one. Sacred. Untouched. Almost. The first choishi they came across rose from the ground like a stone soldier, tall and aged, man-made but weathered in a way that could make one believe it had been born from the forest itself. She liked the way they stood, a pillar with other shapes piled atop, it seemed to her a very tall stoic man with a very tall hat. It was the first time she overtook her mother on the trail, they hadn’t gone too far but it had been an even path to follow, and when she spotted this forest soldier stood waiting ahead she picked up the pace and jogged up to greet him. She reached her fingers out and touches the stone with her fingertips, pushed up onto her tiptoes to trace over the kanji characters that marked the surface, a smile curling the corners of her mouth.

“We’ll see a lot of them,” Her mother confirmed as she stopped beside her, taking a deep breath of the forest air. “They call this the Koyasan Choishi Michi trail, it leads through the forest all the way to Koyasan and these lead our way- or part of the way, in our case. If we keep up a good pace we can probably see one of them every ten to fifteen minutes so look out for them, ok?”

Tami grinned.

She took the lead for some time then, the trail wasn’t easy on her feet or legs but there was a great deal of motivation in wanting to see her next forest soldier. Though soldier almost didn’t seem right, tall and powerful as they were, she felt as though they were her guides as much as they were her protectors. How long had they stood? How many people had walked passed them as she would? There was so much history to be held in something so simple, the air was cold but her skin felt warm as she walked and mulled these questions over in her head, when she saw the next choishi she sucked in a breath and forced more power into her legs so she could job up to meet them. She touched the engravings again. The same for the next and the next and the next after that. They took turns leading, her mother would overtake her and take her hand as she did so, pull her along a short while to keep her legs moving, release her again so she could set her own pace and after a while their roles would switch. As they moved higher the path opened up more, it was still a near constant climb and she had to watch her steps as she moved but the quiet, open space was settling to her. When the path opened up, with no one else around, she would occasionally apparate further ahead when her legs were aching and she needed a break. She reached out on occasion and touched the trees, standing tall and proud for as long as they had, she willed them to give her some of that strength. She couldn’t say if it worked or not, there wasn’t much choice but to just keep going. After three hours of walking another trailed joined onto theirs and her mother explained to her how the trail could be accessed through several points if you took the train up the mountain, from where they’d started the overall hike to Koyasan could take over seven hours but they wouldn’t be going that far. As well as choishi there were maps along the path too though it was hard to stray from the trail when it was so obviously sliced into the forest, she needn’t even think too much but merely let her legs move and her feet find the easier ground to step upon.

It was half an hour later or so, after the first trail had cropped up on their left, that enough came into view to their right. She paid it no mind, at this point her thoughts were well and truly running wild, she was taking the time to concentrate on anything other than the burning in her legs and the fact that it had been hours and it was going to get darker soon and she couldn’t be in a forest in the middle of the night- flashbacks to eight months ago filled her head, dropping through the air, mud in her cuts and blood in her mouth, branches pulling at her flesh as she fought her way through them. She inhaled, pushing the thoughts away and reminded herself that the footsteps behind her were her mother’s, she was safe. Just keep walking. She took a few more steps, came within a meter of the new trail, and immediately stilled. Set back from the current path but framing the new trail stood two more stone pillars, not as tall as the choishi she’d seen so far along the trail, and they were less guardians as they were a welcome sign. The box that sat upon each of them hadn’t been noticeable before but now, as she got close, a warm light pooled in the hollow stone space and illuminated where the paths met. Her mother moved ahead of her, stopped where the paths came together and stared ahead down the new path with her expression unreadable. After a moment she turned to Tami, smiling encouragingly and offering a hand back to her.

“I think this means ‘welcome home’.”

She took her mother’s hand as she stepped up beside her and they crossed over to the other path together and continued on into the forest. It seemed infinitely quieter here, the energy was different, the traced of people gone and the path more overgrown, roots crawling across the space as though they sought to hide it. As they walked, hand in hand now, her mother explained that no one else could walk this path. Other people didn’t even see it. It was there for their eyes and their eyes only. It was another half an hour of walking before the path began to change, the earthy ground disappearing into a path paved with smooth slabs interlocked together. Either side of the path, ever few meters of so, similar entrance lanterns to the start of the path could be found and each time they neared a pair they lit up, showing them the way. The trees were still thick either side of them but their endless lines began to vanish, they turned a corner and through the gaps where they stood she could see the forest wasn’t endless, instead a huge roofed wall split the treeline. That wasn’t what caught her attention though. It hadn’t been clear at first but as the path bent the structure ahead of them came into view, stood proud and tall at the end of the path, a black and gold karamon gate with it’s sweeping roof sheltering it. Her heart was pounding, her mouth agape, she squeezed her mother’s fingers as they followed the lights towards the boundary. The wall became clearer and clearer, she looked either side and it seemed to stretch off into the trees for some time, whatever lay beyond it wasn’t visible except the very tops of sweeping roofs that peeked above it. They stepped passed the last lanterns and the giant gates before them gave a rattling creak, groaning with their weight and age as they swung open themselves.

She stalled.

“I- I don’t know if I can do this,” Her voice left her so softly she wasn’t sure her mother had heard her, a moment passed and then the fingers clasped around hers squeezed.

“I know,” Her mother whispered back. Tami looked up at her, heart in her throat, her mother’s other hand was clenched at her side and when she smiled there was a nervous glint in them that Tami wasn’t sure she’d ever seen before. She inhaled, looking surprisingly vulnerable when she added in solidarity, “Me neither.”

“Really? You couldn’t have told me this before the hours of hiking?” Tami smiled at her, releasing a humourless laugh as she shook her head. She squared her shoulders, forced herself to stand up straighter, taking in a breath before she confirmed, “Together?”

“Together, always.”

They held onto each other’s hands tightly, she couldn’t tell which one of them was shaking nor did she think it mattered at that moment who was having to reassure who. She felt stronger for having her mother there and if she could provide that same strength back then she was glad of it. When they stepped forward they did so together, one foot in front of the other, beneath the towering structure before them and into the open space beyond. It was a courtyard of sorts, a paved space that was cut off at the front by the outer wall and framed on the other three sides by a series of connected buildings- three by the looks of things, joined together and only told apart by the three different roof structures sweeping above them- lifted above the ground with a wooden walkway wrapped around the edge of them. There were lanterns here too, on the corners of each walkway, that filled with light when they stepped foot into the space. She could hear her heartbeat in her ears, thrumming away, and that was all she could here. Just her own heart in her chest, her own nerves twisting inside of her, her own frazzled energy buzzing off her skin like electricity. Nothing else. Just the sounds of the forest, the branches dancing in the breeze, the distant whispers of chimes greeting the wind with their song. The gate wheezed shut behind them, causing her to jump as they clattered back into place, she cast a look over her shoulder and before she’d had the time to turn around she heard a not completely unfamiliar voice.

“Chiharu?”

Tami was barely able to twist around on the spot again, recognise the nervous squeeze of her mother’s fingers around hers, before all of a sudden the grip was completely gone from them. It left her breathless, the speed in which her mother’s hand was snatched away from hers, panic bubbled up and she jumped back a step with her hands clutching together over her heart. It took her a moment to fully take in the situation, her mother’s expression as surprised as hers from where she now stood, a few steps further back than Tami, with another woman wrapped around her front and clinging to her tightly. She’d seemed to come out of nowhere, Tami hadn’t even heard her- no, she hadn’t felt her. Stood right there, clinging tightly to her mother, the woman was falling over her words, voice high and emotional and Tami waited to feel it. To have to push back against it’s force. But she just felt nothing. She could see it though, see the surprise turn to overwhelming joy as her mother’s face lit up and her arms clasped around the woman who clung to her, pulling her close and holding her there. They spoke to each other in rushed, warm tones and though she couldn’t understand the words she could see the emotion well up in her mother’s face as she stroked her fingers through the woman’s hair, then drew back to cup her face, gazed at her with a teary laugh leaving her.

“It’s Chiharu!”

The woman turned to call over her shoulder and when her gaze landed on Tami she froze, her mouth hanging open. Her face was streaked with her tears, face full of surprise, but Tami looked at her and she was beautiful. In fact, she looked like her mother, just a little fuller in the cheeks and her hair fell all the way down to her elbows. She turned back to her mother, clasping hold of one of her hands as the other came to hover over her heart, she looked between them a few times before a breathless laugh left her.

“Oh, Chiharu, she’s beautiful-” The woman turned to her, eyes filling as she confirmed. “You’re so beautiful.” Then she released her mother altogether and closed the space between them to envelope her in a tight hug. She let herself be held, be squeezed tight, and it overwhelmed her how much warmth she felt and how it was actual warmth. Actual arms wrapped tight around her, the swell of feeling in her gut hers and hers alone, nothing else from the woman who held her close except the simple warmth of her skin. When the woman pulled back she didn’t hesitate to cup her hands to Tami’s face, drawing her close to get a good look at her, she brushed her warm thumbs over her cheeks and as she did she muttered, “Oh, you’re so big! You were such a tiny little thing in your pictures and now look at you- utsukushii.” She seemed to realise how close they were very suddenly and laughed, taking a small step back and releasing her cheeks so she could wipe at her own. “Look at me, I’m getting carried away, you don’t even know me. I just- I have seen your picture so many times, I feel as though I know you. It’s nice to meet you, Tamiko, you can call me Oba but you will have a lot of those so Chinami is fine too.”

“Tami,” Her mother came back into view, stepping up next to Chinami with a smile. “This is my sister, your aunt, Chinami. Second oldest of the family.”

“Your little sister,” Tami breathed, feeling her face flush with emotion. She had so much to say but all she managed was a soft, “Your English is really good.”

Chinami laughed, bringing a hand up to cup one of her cheeks again. She nodded, “Of course, most of us can speak it fluently. Not so much the little ones, you will have to be patient with each other.”

“Oh- no! I didn’t mean... That’s not... You don’t have to make an effort for me or anything, I know a little and I can learn more while I’m here- I want to learn more so...” She trailed off, releasing a shaky breath before she shook her head and diverted to a bashful, “It’s nice to meet you too, finally, Chinami.”

The moment was interrupted as a door from the building before them slid open and from it came running two other woman, practically racing each other- one jumping down the walkway before reaching the stairs- bringing a chorus of ‘Chiharu’ with them. They descended on where the three of them stood in a stumble, crashing into her mother and clinging to her immediately, and not a moment later did a third woman join them. Then a fourth. Tami shied away from the slight commotion by a step or two, watching as the four new woman crowded her mother and took turns holding her hands, cupping her cheeks, stroking their hands down her face or clutching onto her arms. A final excited call came from the house and the whole bunch turned to where another woman, an arm clasped around a very round tummy, was waddling excitedly along the walkway towards the end of the stairs. Her mother let out a burst of laughter and shouted over to her, removed herself from the group to run over to where the woman now sat on the top of the steps, and Tami felt her face flush again as the other four woman rounded to turn their attention towards her.

It happened all at once, she felt her lips part and she tried to form some kind of greeting but she had no chance to do so before they descended upon her in a similar fashion to how they’d come upon her mother- just gentler. They surrounded her, two taking her hands, another cupping the side of her face, the fourth holding a hand to her chest. They spoke over each other, excitable and emotional, muttering things in Japanese she couldn’t pick up even if she’d tried. The two holding her hands drew her attention first, they were strikingly similar to each other, their faces made up of sharp cheeks and full lips, still it was in the eyes most that she could see her mother in them. Her aunts Ruriko and Nanako. Twins. Second youngest. The woman to their left, her hand to her heart, spoke up next. She was a little taller than the rest, her hair swept up atop her head in a ponytail. Her aunt Sakura. Third oldest. Finally, the woman with her hand cupping her cheek introduced herself. She was shorter, a little rounder, with colour in her cheeks and an apron tied about her waist. Her aunt Satomi. Technical middle child. Each of them took a turn to hug her then, tucked her right up against their chests one by one, making comments about how big she was, how much she’d grown, how long they’d wanted to meet her. Ruriko and Nanako kept hold of her hands as they lead her towards the stairs, her other aunts gathered around her, to where her mother was crouched down before the pregnant woman on the stairs. When they approached the woman looked up from gazing at her mother to Tamiko in the centre of the small crowd and her face lit up. She looked much like her mother too, her hair shortened in a wavy bob and held back by a thick white band. The youngest. Her aunt Michiko.

Her mother’s sisters.

Her mother had six sisters.

“You must’ve been walking for so long, are you hungry?” Chinami asked as she took Chiharu’s hands in hers once again.

“Dinner is almost ready,” Satomi assured. “I made all of your old favourites, Chi.”

The sisters began to chatter again, using words she didn’t understand but she didn’t have to, as they spoke to each other Tami couldn’t take her eyes off her mother. There was such emotion in her face, a mixture of things she wasn’t sure she’d ever seen in her before, in all of them. She could see it so clearly in all of their faces, the overwhelming warmth and joy they shared in being reunited, the bittersweet ache of all the time that had passed- how long had it been since her mother had been back here? 17 years, at least. What struck her the most was all of this emotion was around her, surrounding her, so obvious that anyone could see it but Tami couldn’t feel any of it. There was no rush of feeling carried and brought by them, no invisible weight pressing down on her she had to push back against, no barriers to build up and space to be created in her head. She was overwhelmed for sure, filled with such emotions she didn’t know what to do with them, but they were undoubtedly, unarguably hers. So much of them too. Filling her right up from the tips of her toes to the top of her head. It made her want to cry. The conversation continued but as it did the group began to move, they helped Michiko stand up on the steps, took her mother’s rucksack and her own from her without so much as a debate, lead her up the stairs and set off along the walkway to the centre of the building with it’s door still slid open.

When all at once they stilled. Tami and her mother had been ushered to the front of the group and stepped out onto the walkway was a woman both familiar and completely unknown to her. A tall, proud woman with long, dark straight hair pulled over one shoulder. She had been alive years more than her mother and the group of women surrounding her, though no part of her looked withered or aged except her eyes, that held in them more depth than Tami would expect for someone who stood as quietly tall as she did. She was important. Tami couldn’t quite say why only she felt it, some strange pull in her chest, a shudder along her spine when the woman’s gaze landed on her. She looked like her mother. Or more, her mother perhaps looked like her, as all of her aunts did in some way. Some had the curves of her cheeks, others the posture she held as she stood before them, all of them had her eyes. She walked the space between them and she brought with her a calm, not in the way she felt other people but it was a settling in her bones, an understanding deep in her core that told her if there was any control here it belonged to this woman and perhaps her alone. She didn’t look at anyone else, just Tami. She stopped a step or two before her and appraised her with her gaze, slow and unreadable. Tami was shaking when she reached forward and lifted one of her hands, then her heart jumped up into her throat when she plucked the glove from her one hand, lifted and did the same to the other. She held them both them, lifted both of her scarred hands up to inspect them closely, brushed her thumbs over the sensitive marks with a feather-light touch.

“They did this to you?”

Tami opened her mouth to speak but no words came out. Did this to her? They were really that awful. A constant reminder to her, the experience she couldn’t shake, already she hated them so much and now she could see she had good reason to. They were wrong, they were terrible, they had left her tarnished and she should’ve known her family would see it.

“No, they are a result of her escape,” Her mother spoke up, saving her from the silence, she felt her place a hand on her shoulder and was grateful for the relief if brought her. “And they make her all the more beautiful.”

There was a moment of silence, the older woman had not taken her eyes off Tami, she looked between her hands and her face then something in her expression softened.

“We all have scars, some are just easier to see. They tell our stories but they do not define us, just decorate us with our past.” She brought her hands up then and gave them both a gentle squeeze. “Watashi no mago no Tamiko-chan. Beautiful, indeed. You have great strength in you, bravery beyond your years, wear your scars with pride. You have done well with her,” For the first time the woman turned her attention towards her mother, a soft smile curling her lips when she added, “Okaeri, Chiharu.”

Her mother released a breath, eyes creasing and smile widening when she replied, “Tadaima, okaa-san.”

It was a tense moment as she watched her mother dissolve into tears before her and before she could help it she was crying too, tears streaming down her face and hands coming up to hide it from everyone else. Not that it made much of a difference. She was wrapped up in so many arms she couldn’t make sense of it all, held tightly and safely, cradled and supported as the weight of the moment overwhelmed her completely and there was nothing more she could do but cry about it. Cry because she was relieved, cry because she was happy, cry because her mother seemed so young then that she barely recognised her, cry because none of it mattered. They ushered them both into the open building, straight into a large open room with a row of chabudai running along the centre. She crumbled to a heap at one end of the tables with her mother at her side, they cried there side by side and found each other’s hands to hold tightly, allowing the rest of the family to bustle around them. They served tea and sweet little cakes to them both and Tami sipped from her cup and tried to take bites from the treats but it was hard with how much she shook as she sobbed.

She thought back to what her mother had said earlier.

I think this means ‘welcome home’.

#[ drabbles ]#e: christmas15 #Tami has a huge family hahaha like so many relatives it's insane #and I have a lot to write about them but had to break it up a little because this was so long already

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