#and somehow the part that makes my heart twist most with grief is 'i have seen no color but lingonberry in fourteen years'

[queenlucythevaliant]

Time to share another of my favorite Christian poems with you all. It’s a martyrdom poem by Varlam Shalamov, a victim of the Soviet gulags and also the writer of Kolyma Tales. A few favorite stanza are written out here; the entire poem is typed out below. It’s a little on the long end, but entirely worth it. 

“Avvakum in Pustozyorsk” by Varlam Shalamov

The walls of my church

  are the ribs of my heart;

it seems life and I

  are soon bound to part

 .

My cross now rises,

  traced with two fingers.

In Pustozyorsk it blazes;

  its blaze will linger.

 .

I’m glorified everywhere,

  vilified, branded;

I have already become

  the stuff of legend.  

 .

I was, people say,

  full of anger and spite;

I suffered, I died

  for the ancient rite.

 .

But this popular verdict

  is ugly nonsense;

I hear and reject

  the implied censure.

 .

The rite is nothing—

  neither wrong nor right;

a rite is a trifle

  in God’s sight.

 .

But they attacked our faith

  in the ways of the past,

in all we’d learned as children

  and taken to heart.

 .

In their holy garments,

  in their grand hats,

with a cold crucifix

  in their cold hands,

 .

in thrall to a terror

  clutching their souls,

they drag us to jails

  and herd us to scaffolds.

 .

We don’t mind about the doctrine

  books and their age;

we don’t debate virtues

  of fetters and chains.

 .

Our dispute is of freedom,

  and the right to breathe—

about the Lord’s will

  to bind as he please.

 .

The healers of souls

  chastised our bodies;

while they schemed and plotted,

  we ran to the forests.

 .

Despite their decrees,

   we hurled our words

out of the lion’s mouth

  and into the world.

 .

We called for just vengeance

  against their sins;

along with the Lord,

   we sang poems and hymns.

 .

The words of the Lord

  were claps of thunder.

The Church endures;

   it will never go under.

 .

And I, unyielding,

  reading the Psalter,

was brought to the gates

  of the Andronikov Monastery.

 .

I was young;

  I endured every pain:

hunger, beatings,

  interrogations.

 .

A winged angel

  shut the eyes of the guard,

brought me cabbage soup,

  and a hunk of bread.

 .

I crossed the threshold—

  and I walked free.

Embracing my Exile,

  I walked to the east.

 .

I held services

   by the Amur River,

where I barely survived

  the winds and blizzards.

 .

They branded my cheeks

  with brands of frost;

by a mountain stream

  they tore out my nostrils.

 .

But the path to the Lord

  goes from jail to jail;

the path to the Lord

  never changes.

 .

And all too few,

  since Jesus’s days,

have proved able to bear

  God’s all-seeing gaze.

 .

Nastasia, Nastasia,

  do not despair;

true joy often wears

  a garment of tears.

 .

Whatever temptations

  may beat in your heart,

whatever torments

  may rip you apart,

 .

walk on in peace,

  through a thousand troubles

and fear not the serpent

  that bites at your ankles—

 .

though not from Eden

  has this snake crawled;

it is an envoy of evil

  from Satan’s hand.

 .

Here, birdsong

  is unknown;

here one learns the patience

  and the wisdom of stone.

 .

I have seen no color

  except lingonberry

in fourteen years

  spent as a prisoner.

 .

But this is not madness,

  nor a waking nightmare;

it is my soul’s fortress,

  its will and freedom.

 .

And now they are leading me

  far away in fetters;

my yoke is easy

  and my burden grows lighter.

 .

My track is swept clean

  and dusted with silver;

I’m climbing to heaven

  on wings of fire.

 .

Through cold and hunger,

  through grief and fear

towards God, like a dove,

  I will rise from the pyre.

 .

O far-away Russia—

  I give you my vow

to return to the sky

  forgiving my foe.

 .

May I be reviled,

  and burned at the stake;

may my ashes be cast

  on the mountain wind.

 .

There is no fate sweeter,

  no better end,

than to knock, as ash,

  at the door of the human heart.

[dangermousie]

Farscape Rewatch - Different Destinations, 3x05

I think DD is the single most depressing, bleakest episode of Farscape and one I find hardest to watch and rewatch; it makes me cry. There are more heartbreaking episodes out there, true. Episodes I ended up sobbing in more than I do here (DMD for one). But the reason DD is so profoundly bleak is that the message, the meaning of the story seems to be: there is no point in trying, anything you do makes it worse and there is nothing you can do to make it right.

Because the whole situation is ultimately no one’s fault? Or everyone. I suppose, if you want to really attenuate the blame, you can blame John, because he wanted Stark to be comforted. Stark is, after all, now near catatonic in his loss of Zhaan. I think his initial composure was just shock and it wore off and he descended into this. Here he is imitating Zhaan’s words and gestures, as if he’s turning himself into a facsimile in grief.

I think that part of the reason that John wants to comfort Stark is because John is, despite everything, despite the fact that it has been beaten out of him until there is only narrow scope, is innately kind. But another part is that I think John recognizes a certain kinship, with insanity in Stark, and with loss of love driving one mad. It’s further and twisted but there and I think John has a certain ‘here but for the grace of God go I reaction. I love the scene with D’Argo, Aeryn, John and Stark, where Aeryn, frustrated, turns to D’Argo if he is feeling lonely because he and she are the only ones not hearing voices in their head. 

Or I am thinking of a later scene in ‘Meltdown’ when John tells Stark that Aeryn ‘is my Zhaan.’

But yeah, to give borderline insane, grieving, and very powerful energy being a vid which is half peace treaty, true, but half last battle? Bad idea. But no one in their right (or even wrong mind) would expect a tear in time created by Stark. We can’t blame John for it any more than we can blame Stark for creating the tear, or D’Argo and Aeryn fighting when they got there (they are attacked) etc etc. And John almost did fix everything right, if that nurse didn’t shoot the general at the last minute. I understand her, but I just want to shake her and yell ‘stupid woman.’

The is one of the episodes I get mildly frustrated with the crew playing ‘pin the blame on John’ game, even though they don’t do it overly much, and it’s frustration talking, not genuine blame.. It. Is. Not. His. Fault. UGH. Stop. I know, I know, emotional masochist. Still, come on.

I love the surreal scene of Scorpius playing the harmonica, in cowboy boots with ‘Andy’ on them. And I love Stark’s kindness, even in the midst of his own grief and madness, towards the little girl, Citrina. I never realized before that when he hugs her, once she said she never cried when her father died, he is crying instead and for her. Another transfer of sorts.

He is so gentle throughout, in a way death is his mileau.

But the show, in its consistent bleakness, does not allow a comfort of a peaceful death or life after or anything but bleakness. It refuses even crumbs of comfort.

Or Aeryn, amazing Aeryn, learning that the PK hero Deacon was still a hero, just a very different one, and that underneath the propaganda myths is truth of honor, and the past where PKs were not yet perverted but were defenders of truth and justice. And having to send this kid to die and it ending up meaning nothing in the scheme of things, except another burden for her. She has more optimism in the beginning of this episode than John (who is utterly bleak in his worldview and yet somehow it still goes below his nonexistent expectations, still breaks his heart.)

I love D’Argo’s moment of bonding with the kid, as well. But he is not as distraught at the end because ultimately, both he and Aeryn are tougher, soldiers from birth by nature and nurture and culture and blood. Unless it’s the death of a few very specific people, they can function on, stiff upper lip, no wound on them as bad as John’s, who is despite it all, just a talented amateur.

And so we end the episode with John utterly hollow, broken, sitting there just sifting sand through his fingers, because yes, they minimized the damage but the nurses were slaughtered anyway, the same nurses who would have been saved if they never went through. And I love that, as always, it is Aeryn who is there for him at his lowest, who is there to answer his hopelessly decent person’s ‘What was the point? [of the murders]’ with her PK-nihilistic ‘There probably was no point.’

The Universe is cruel and even trying to help ends up worse and how far has John come (been broken) from the idealist of the beginning, and how much further into darkness and despair he still has to travel. I think he is so shattered because he never gets truly used to the cruelty of the Universe. I wonder if it’s because he’s had a safe, proper childhood. It makes him fight because of his burning sense of injustice, but it also makes him vulnerable the way Aeryn and D’Argo, who are soldiers by birth, culture and breeding, or even Chiana and Zhaan never are. 

I love that at his lowest moment in this ep, in this season so far, Aeryn is there for him (I remember years ago on Farscape boards someone pointed out that her name, ‘Aeryn Sun’ is really ‘air and sun,’ two essentials for living. Because that is what she is to John. I have no idea if the makers thought of it, but how incredibly appropriate.)

And the fact that John tried to go back, to fix it, or to save them and die trying is…GUH. I love Crichton so much. Of course, I really don’t see how it’s his fault (not even not leaving the guns, they couldn’t leave future technology), so it’s just his enormous sense of responsibility (just as that is what made him talk to Nurse and tell her they were leaving, as if he wanted to be focal point for blame later).  

[foxgirlontherun]

ooh, the mother of four wip??

It's a Joyce Byers and Billy Hargrove-centered story, two stories to be exact, because most of the time I dream up something terribly sad, my mind comes up with a tiny bit less traumatic version, too, to even things out.

Version one: Joyce took three of her kids to California to start a new life, and left one buried in Hawkins. She struggles with grief, for Jim, but for Billy, too, and on Mother's Day while she gets some time to think and just rest, she tries to understand how she feels so much grief for a kid she barely knew.

She tried to look after Billy after the night she found him beaten and drugged on her floor, but Billy wasn't really letting her. She talked to Hopper about him and even tried talking to Susan, but then he seemed to be doing better and Joyce had her hands full with her kids. Then that 4th of July happened.

Here's a little something the idea started with:

Billy was lying on the floor, shaking uncontrollably and weakly gasping for air, with Jane leaning over him, chanting it’s gonna be okay over and over again. He was covered in fluid that appeared to be black blood, way too much of it, it was pulsing out of the countles wounds on his torso, and up his airways. His eyes told Joyce he was a million miles away already. There was no way he was gonna make it. Joyce felt weak at the knees. When Jane noticed her she started crying.

„He saved my life,” she said, swallowing the tears.

"It's gonna be okay," Joyce lied, already kneeling beside the kid, one hand pressed on the wound on his chest that she covered with her jacket just so that none of them had to look at it again, the other one gently cradling his face, her fingers slippery with blood.

„Hey, sweetheart, do you remember me?” she asked. It came out strained and desperate. He didn’t seem to hear her. 

„Shit. Billy, can you look at me?” she tried again with more force in her voice, stroking his face.  His eyes found her this time. She almost hoped they didn't. „There-there, stay with us, sweetheart,” she crooned. He blinked a few times, trying to make sense of what was happening. Then his eyes widened as he locked them with Joyce's and his face twisted. Please, let him go gently, please, please, please. He desperatelly tried to talk, at first it was just blood bubbling up from his throat. Then he asked -

„Mom?” with a small, shaky voice, gasping for air right after. It took a second for Joyce to find her voice, and the strength in her heart that was down in her stomach, to answer this. (It's a cliché, I know, but it still makes me cry.)

Version 2: Joyce somehow managed to keep Billy alive until the paramedics came. Since that Billy has been in a coma, and Joyce, even though the older Hargrove made it clear that no one was welcome at his bedside outside the family, found herself in the coma ward every weekend. And the visits got more and more frequent, with her kids tagging along, taking Max with them, too, lifting her spirit the best they could. It turned out Hargrove wouldn't know about it, because he was never fucking there. For him Billy was already dead, he just didn't want anyone to pry on his slow and pitiful demise.

It took Joyce a few months to fully realize, but she had four children now. And she was sure he was gonna get better, and once he does, he's gonna have a place to come home to.

(It's fun to imagine Billy waking up to have a new family that "found him without his consent". I don't have any coherent parts to include here, sorry.) Thank you for the ask!

[snailsandpuppy-dogtails]

Unspoken and Unseen

My brain told me the first part while i was driving home from the grocery store.  🤷‍♀️ I didn't intend on it being so long or doing what it did. Oh well. Garvez 16x6 retellingish wc: 2,052 ao3

It’s that smile. That breath stealing, lung crushing, heart shattering, smile- that she’d miss the most. The one that for the briefest of seconds disarms her and so she shoves up reinforcements because that smile lies, he could never love her like that, would never love her like that. But he did and he had and she knew it and that���s the part that hurts. She’s changed that smile, it’s a bit softer now, it’s guarded. She’s muted it and she hates that. She hates that she’s hurt him, because she loves him. So she notices when they’re walking through the door how he instinctively turns towards her, but she also notices how he kind of stops…kind of leans away, giving her respectable space. But she can’t let him. She can’t let him give up, and she feels terrible about it, she wants to let him slip away, she needs to let him slip away, because she can’t give him what he wants, even after all these years and the knowledge of that hurts her heart even more, she feels wicked and evil and awful. A villain in his love story.

But she can’t, something in her won’t let her, so she pulls them both in and god she misses him so much. His heart is on hers beating together, knocking on the ribs of the other, begging to be let in. His arm around her, she’s holding him so tight, and JJ, she’s there but not really, not in this moment, all she feels is Luke. So she lets herself slip, she slips instead of letting him slip, her whole body leaning into him, her head resting against his shoulder, a sigh of relief. He groans in protest, too tight, too much, but she finds his hand on JJ’s back and holds it with her own. He's alive.

The bomb scare confirmed why she wouldn’t be with him, but it didn’t alleviate anything, in fact it exacerbated it. Digging up old and polishing off to make new again.

Tyler’s free, she watches him go, too preoccupied with her own feelings to be cognizant of the situation. She realizes when it’s too late that he might need someone too. But he’s stubborn and she only grudgingly likes him. Under different circumstances, given more time, she could have befriended him, would have gotten along very well with him. They were like peas in a pod deep down, two sides of the same coin; Tyler is who she used to be. She watches as the doors close on his angry face knowing it won’t be the last time she sees it. She’s not surprised when she gets the call a few hours later. So she goes, because she’s a helper and a fixer. She knows what it’s like to find out the person you love has died. She also knows what it’s like to find out they haven’t died. She’s experienced that one far too many times. Somehow, the knowledge of them being safe doesn’t entirely wash away the fear and grief your body starts the process of digesting even while you still consciously cling to hope.

She picks him up. He’s drunk. He comments on how Esther looks just like her, he shouted as they were leave the precinct “OH don'ttellme I know whossyours” It was slurred and silly. She glared at him irritated at the dig and rolled her eyes because the corner of his mouth picked up. He was teasing her. She kept the window rolled down the whole drive and kept shoving his shoulder to keep him pointed out of her car, there was no WAY he was puking in here. His fingers curled over the rim of the window frame and he twisted his head just so, cheek resting on the cool metal, “I loved her you know,” She thinks he's talking about Allison, so she tries to be courteous and listen, “The Black Queen.” he clarifies. Penelope glanced at him, eyes leaving road, then back. She wishes he wouldn’t bring it up, wishes he’d leave it. “My friends and I, we’d meet up for LAN parties, but the games would get boring after a while and we’d end up going places we shouldn’t, trying to find people we couldn’t. We’d find the message boards talking about what they’d done, logging it all in awe. All of us had a crush on her. But I found her.” He ends sing-song.

She didn’t like this. She still valued what she did back then, it felt meaningful, but she was a hurt person letting another hurt person control her. She wouldn’t ever do that again, she wasn’t her anymore. “There’s nothing to find. She’s gone.” She’s still thinking about Luke. A hurt person, hurting someone else. She was the Shane in this situation. But, no, that wasn’t really right. She thinks about how she told him he can’t just show up anymore, even though she knew it would crush him. But he couldn’t because, really, he could, it would be a welcome intrusion any time.

She can’t let him be alone, she’s sure if he had anyone else near by he would have called them instead of her, so she takes Tyler to her house. She thinks he’ll make some comment about how cluttered and immature it is like he did her cat screensaver, instead it’s more flattery, he likes the colors, likes the vibrancy. He’s not so bad, Tyler Green, he’s even a color, she like’s colors. He’s like a hurt puppy, she thinks, a stray she’s taken home. Shouldn’t take stray home, no telling what they’ll do. She leads him to her couch and he promptly slumps over, head still spinning. She gets him a bucket, because well, he hasn’t thrown up yet, but she’s sure it’s only a matter of time, and a little green froggy icepack for his face. They talk. He tells her what happened. He wasn’t out for revenge, he wasn’t out to cause trouble. But it found him. She knows that feeling.

He sleeps for most of the day. While he’s resting she video chats with the team letting them know what she’s found, and runs pictures through facial recognition to help find the man in them. Their theory is the man locked up, Silvio, chose to stay locked up, take the blame for the murder to protect the man he loves. He’d rather them be apart thinking Juan was safe than together knowing it could lead to death. She knows that feeling too.

Tyler wakes up, his face or head or both making him moan out in pain while she’s on with the team, nearly blowing it- she needs to keep it quiet that he’s here, that she’s taken him home. They wouldn’t understand, they’d tell her it was dumb and unsafe. Luke even asks her if she’s safe. He plays it off as a joke, but she knows he knows, it’s why she lies. Tyler makes her tea, very sweet of him, and he only shows up at her side once he sees the computer close. No chance to be discovered. He’s sober now, he tells her about Allison, tells her about his pain, about how he thought it would make it all better- the knowing. And how it hasn’t. Again, a feeling she’s not unfamiliar with. Something she’ll never get used to.

But this script is comfortable, familiar, it’s one she’s been a part of for years, decades. Someone tells you their pain, you reciprocate, tell them your story so they know they’re not alone. She goes through the motions, the same lines she's said year after year in her grief group. The tears still well up, because even after decades to accept it, and therapy to adjust to it, she still feels guilty and she still misses them. But they meet on some plane, her and Tyler, understanding met, and he’s looking at her, and she can’t look away, the pain, the confusion, the realization that someone knows exactly how you feel, he’s leaning in and she starts to lean in before,

“Gahh!” Not right! Not right! Danger! This is why we don’t bring stray home!

Gut knotting, she pulls away in terror, rambling, putting physical and emotional distance between them. This place is too charged, this place is too small, out, they need out. She ushers him out, for a walk. Walk it off, Garcia. But while they’re out they continue to talk and it’s so nice, she’s missed having someone to talk to, someone to talk with. He’s talking about nothing, and she’s wondering what’s wrong with her, when she became so broken, when she became so isolated. With Luke it was the job, right? It was so obviously the job…but Tyler, he’s passionate, and caring, and sweet, and guarded, and dumb, and she pulled away. She won’t let herself get wrapped up with him either. Why? There are no charges being pressed, he’s free, he’s in the clear, he’s not a suspect anymore, he understands what she’s gone through, she understands what he’s feeling, and she wants to be there for him, through all of it. But she also knows she can’t. She knows it’s not right. But she doesn’t care, she’s not part of the FBI, right? And she’s been so lonely and he gets her…He's kind of comforting and comfortable even in the short amount of time they've known one another. If I feel so much now, what could it be like with time for more?

He’s talking about how he hasn’t been where they are in a while, it’s near Delilah’s, which despite wanting to figure out the personal conundrum she was in, sends her work-brain whirring. It hits her, it’s here, it’s this place, that’s the connection. His subtext is that he hasn’t been there because it reminds him of his murdered sister and oh god this was a terrible place to take him, but she needs to tell the team, she needs to go.

She rushes away, calling a cab. This could be it, she could have it, and then they could have him, and then she could just go back. Go back to her lonely life filled with platonic interactions to help distract from not having him. But Tyler, she thinks…and she turns back. She can’t leave him in this state a second time, here of all places, so she gives him her key, telling him she’ll meet him at home and runs away again. Running away. Again. She owes it to him, she owes it to herself- to see, to find out. She’s filled with hope and excitement and an overwhelming bubbling at having got it. The rush. It’s lucky, maybe this will be lucky. She runs back, stopping herself short, hands planting for balance as she brings her lips to his, a little sound of surprise trapped between their pressed mouths. She kisses him goodbye and it’s

nothing

She pulls away, looking at him, almost sad that it’s nothing, but can’t help the smile that spreads. It’s nothing and she knows what a something kiss feels like. And all the kings horses and all the kings men can’t save her or put her back together again.

On the cab ride over she thinks about Luke, about her, about Silvio and Juan, even Tyler and Allison and her parents to an extent. She realizes it doesn’t matter about trying to save someone from the hurt that might get them, because we can all get hurt regardless. Action, non-action, involvement, abandonment, carefully placed distance. Wasting time, that's all it was. Wasting time you could be with them, could be happy making the other happy, she didn’t want to do that any more. She wasn’t going to feel for anyone like she did Luke, even someone as weirdly fitting as Tyler didn’t fit, only Luke fit. But she’d hurt him in the process, he restrained himself and held back because he thought it hurt her, smile tarnishing, his heart tarnishing. She wanted to restore it, she wanted it to shine for her again, she needed it.

She was done not seeing that smile every day.

After this was over. She'd tell him, when it was over.

[002yb]

Okay, so this is a little dark. Dick and co from an alternate universe kidnap Jason because their Jason died but didn't return so maybe during a crisis they somehow ended up in our world or maybe they're the crisis and AU!Dick sees Jason and together with his AU! team/family manages to kidnap him. It's your choice if you want to write it. As always though, thank you very much for sharing your writing and these prompts!

Hey there~ sorry for the wait on this. Going to write some casual thoughts on this; hope you don't mind! TW for darker content further down!!

When I read this my thoughts went to an Earth 3 AU's Talon!Dick searching universe after universe for Jason. His Jason, specifically, because his dearest brother would have disappeared and Talon!Dick is determined to find him and bring him home.

It's not uncommon for Jason to run from the family. Talon!Dick has always liked their games of chase though. There's something thrilling about hunting Jason. It gives Dick a rush that he hasn't felt since his days at the circus. Nothing beats having his little wing kept close to him though, so the fun never lasts long.

This time would be different though. No matter what Talon!Dick does, he wouldn't be able to find his Jason and it would be distressing. Talon!Dick has a thing about family and Jason is his, so for Jason to be truly lost would make Talon!Dick lose it.

(This universe's Dick and Jason wouldn't have a healthy relationship. It'd be cool to leave it up to interpretation on if it was welcome and consensual or if it was entirely one-sided and miserable; either way, it would be a twisted, sordid sort of love affair; very possessive, incredibly intense).

(Further background note, Dick's feelings are very much genuine. Maybe they're confused, but I feel even if it were dark his affections would be very real. The way he expresses such would be messed up, but the love he feels for Jason would possibly be the realest, most stable thing in his life).

Anyways, Talon!Dick would have lost Jason. And maybe there would be signs of foul play: a kidnapping, a murder. Or perhaps, more devastating for Talon!Dick, signs that Jason ran and made it so no one would ever have him again. If it's the latter, Talon!Dick wouldn't be able to process that reality. So he'd be convinced Jason is just throwing a fit and ran or that someone took him and staged a scene to throw Dick off.

Which would put Talon!Dick on a warpath with tracking down his little wing.

Only his universe turns up nothing, so he moves on to the next. And the next. Again and again. With each universe he looks into though, it never fails that Jason is dead or that he never existed at all.

It'd be a slow, painful descent into madness as denial overwhelms him. Talon!Dick would flip between rage and impatience, desperation and devastation as reality sinks in that Jason might be truly lost to him.

But right at his lowest he would find main!Jason. And Talon!Dick would obsess. It wouldn't matter to him how, be it by dragging Jason kicking and screaming like he has in the past, or through burning an entire world to ash and cinders, Talon!Dick will bring Jason home. He's been away far too long and Talon!Dick would refuse to be without him for any longer.

Grief, denial, and an unhealthy obsession would make for a fierce foe for the main!bats. Talon!Dick would have nothing to lose (because in some repressed part of his mind and heart he knows; he knows that his little wing is gone, but a replacement will settle the crippling heartbreak, surely; he doesn't want to be alone again).

Whether Talon!Dick succeeds or not is also open to interpretation.

Anyhoo, that's what I got! Thank you so much for this, though I'm sorry I didn't write a proper something. This was fun to brainstorm though. As much as I like darker content and themes, I don't write it nearly enough lol. ˉ̞̭(′͈∨‵͈♡)˄̻ ̊

[minijenn]

Keys to the Kingdom AU Master Post

Ok so now that Keys to the Kingdom has reached its first big Plot Twist that I had to keep hush hush about for over a year, I’m excited to finally be able to share everything we’ve been cooking up over on my Discord server (PM me if you want to join the chaos)! This includes a whoooooole bundle of Keys AUs, many of which hinge upon the Grandfather Twist, but some are AUs I’ve talked about/drawn for on here before. A lot of these are things I’ve written oneshots/commissions/ect. for, so I’ll be sharing those previously unreleased pieces too over the next few days. Either way, this post is your one stop shop for all things Keys AU related. Enjoy! (also spoilers ahead for anyone not caught up on Keys, obvs)

Family Ties AU: Instead of staying on the islands, Thalassa decides to leave the islands with Xehanort. Venturing out into the worlds shifts her worldview to one similar to his and eventually, she joins him in his schemes (though eventually, she starts developing plenty of evil schemes of her own, basically Thalassa is a villainess here and she’s one of the best parts of this AU cause she puts her dumbfuck husband to shame). Xehanort and Thalassa still have Tsuki, who they raise to follow in their footsteps and, once he’s older, basically kidnap Himari and force her to marry him. The pair has Sora, who is basically raised within the Organization here and is kind of a villain/anti-hero who goes through Character Development? Either way, this is definitely one of the most developed Keys AUs here, there’s a lot of Lore behind it, and a lot of differences in characters’ roles, like Roxas’, Xion’s, ect. You can learn more about Family Ties by checking out this somewhat semi-incomplete timeline of how it all goes down here. 

Trifecta AU: Instead of just Sora, Riku and Kairi are also slowly being corrupted by Xehanort’s darkness at the exact same time (as a way to ensure Sora falls in line mostly, he’s still the one Xehanort wants most but hey, two more vessels, why not?). Caught between fear and lies and pain, each of them hides the truth of their worsening conditions, failing to see just how much the others are suffering as they all slowly slip into the shadows. (Rage Form (Sora), Fear Form (Riku), Grief Form (Kairi)). I’ve actually talked about this one on here before, and I’ve drawn each of the trio’s “dark” forms, you can check those out here. 

Heir to Hatred AU: This is basically just Tangled but Keys Edition. Xehanort steals Sora away from his parents as a baby and raises him in isolation. He’s an abusive fuckhead about it though, and Sora longs to see more than the World that Never Was, which is where he’s lived all his life. Just so happens that Riku, who’s kind of a fugitive bc of working with Maleficent in the past, is on the run from the Guardians of Light, and happens to stumble upon the CTNW and finds Sora, helps him outta there, and the entire time they’re being chased by Kairi (a representative of the lights) who they win over, and Xehanort finds out his little shit grandson is gone and is pissed and chaos ensues. It’s a fun time (also the Heartless pet that died in Keys lives here! It basically fills the role of Pascal lol) 

Chains of Memory AU: Keys kicks off as usual but when Sora is norted, he loses all of his memories somehow. Xehanort immediately takes advantage of this and takes the kid in, immediately making the grandfather reveal and also lying to this amnesiac child that he’s meant to be with the Organization and that the lights tried to destroy his heart or something. Basically, its just Keys but if Sora was willingly in the Org. the entire time (Xehanort lies and tells him YX is hiis older brother and Ansem and Xemnas are his uncles). It’s a lot of Sora being absolutely sunshiney and oblivious, while the Org. is baffled by this kid they all hate slowly winning them all over, and also the lights fucking panicking because Sora doesn’t remember any of them and thinks he hates them all. Yay, angst!

Wayward Destiny AU: Upon returning to the guardians of light, Yen Sid proceeds to be a Shithead and does what Sora feared would happen to him if he went back, he locks this traumatized kid up, thinking Xehanort has already corrupted him too much and that he’s too far gone. Riku and Kairi, upon finding out, are pissed, and so they save Sora, take him, and run. Meanwhile, Yen Sid lies to the rest of the lights, making them think Sora has also “corrupted” Riku and Kairi and that the need to find all three of them; at the same time, these three dumb kids are trying to survive on their own while not being captured by the Org. and by the lights. An alternative title for this AU could be “Yen Sid is a Fucking Asshole AU” 

Survival AU: Tsuki survives Xehanort’s attempts at killing him by summoning his own Keyblade; he takes Sora and Himari and they flee the islands, hopping from world to world to get his son out of his father’s range. Throughout the years, Tsuki becomes very overprotective of Sora to the point of stifling him, and even refuses to teach him how to use his Keyblade after he summons one. Along the way, the family eventually joins up with the other Guardians of Light, though the events of Keys still happen and when they do, family drama abounds. I’ve actually written a oneshot about this one way back when, which you can read here. 

Brotherly Shove AU: Sora manages to talk Vanitas down from his attempts at killing him out of revenge, and they both decide to figure out Rage Form/Blight Form together. They bond along the way in the weeks that Sora is on the run from the lights, and eventually Vanitas gets to the point where he starts to care about Sora and strives to protect him from Xehanort and Maleficent alike. Because I just can’t get off my fucking high horse that Vanitas deserves a redemption arc, can I?

A Mother’s Love AU: When Sora briefly returns to the islands while on the run, he goes to see Himari, who’s heartbroken when she hears what’s happening to him. To the point that she actually follows him through the dark corridor he tries to leave through and ends up stranded on the run along with him. This eventually leads into her striking a bargain with Xehanort that leads to her heart falling into his hands, with her ending up norted as a result. Queue a whole bunch of mother/son drama that I wrote about in a short story I’ll be posting soon! 

Equivalent Exchange AU: Riku goes to Xehanort and challenges him to a duel; if he wins, then Sora will be set free. If he loses, then Riku will become Xehanort’s newest vessel in Sora’s stead. Riku loses, but Xehanort doesn’t set Sora free, and thus both boys are stuck in the Organization together. 

Destiny’s Embrace AU: Kairi goes to Xehanort and offers herself up as his vessel in Sora’s place; in this one, Xehanort tricks her and does NOT let Sora go, and both of them are trapped in the Organization together, trying to keep their love strong while Riku desperately searches for a way to save them both (basically Equivalent Exchange, Kairi Edition) 

Guardians of Darkness AU: The guardians of light lose to the Organization in the final showdown and as punishment for their “infidelity”, Xehanort forces every last one of them to join the Organization, each of them essentially serving as personal slaves to the other members. 

Dearly Beloved AU: In the aftermath of claiming his thirteenth vessel, Xehanort invites the guardians of light to a “celebration” where he forces Sora to “propose” to Kairi. In the weeks leading up to this mysterious wedding, the lights try to scramble to free Sora and Kairi from this situation, while also trying to figure out why Xehanort is so keen on seeing a “union between pure light and pure darkness” take place. (kind of a dead AU, Family Ties absorbed it)

And those are basically all of the big/named ones! Some of these are def more talked about/developed than others, but if you’re curious about any of these, then please don’t hesitate to ask! I’ll be sharing art and drabbles that I’ve written for the Keys AUs over the next several days, so keep your eyes peeled for that!

[gothoctopus]

For the oc ask, I am curious about questions 12, 13, and 20 for Lyle.

Ooooh, good questions!! (moderate content warning for child abuse, if that troubles you)

12. What is your oc’s biggest fear? Why?

This one's pretty easy, and if you know anything about him, you probably already know the answer. Priests. He's suffered a lot of horrific abuse at the hands of the Priests from his realm, so much so that his fear of them extends past the boundaries of that particular order to any member of any priesthood.

He and Pollux had a brief, fraught conversation once in which Pollux very gently informed him that something he'd done went against Pollux's religion and Lyle just. Froze up. Angering the Priests back home was not typically something you survived, and Lyle has so much trouble deciphering tone or understanding when he's done something to upset someone. He really thought he'd fucked up somehow and was about to get skinned. Nothing Pollux said afterwords managed to calm him down, poor guy.

The Priests are also just. Very influential where he's from. As Lyle settled into his work at the King's side and became more politically-savvy, this only became more and more obvious. And it doesn't exactly alleviate the fear when you realize that the thing you're afraid of controls everything around you.

13. What is your oc’s most prized possession? What’s the importance/meaning behind this item?

*rubs my grubby little hand together*

His dagger! While its undergone various modifications over the years, the actual blade is still the same make. It's very well cared for and he uses it as his primary weapon of choice. He has a sort of shrine set up for it in his tower, actually. You might even catch him talking to it, sometimes.

Or, more accurately, you might catch him talking to the person who's name is engraved in the blade.

Hektor was Lyle's childhood...friend? Love? It's hard to say. He didn't really have the language or experience to describe what Hektor was to him back then, and he certainly doesn't have the heart to do any introspection on it now! Well regardless, the Priests didn't like them being happy together, and so when the King's personal spellcaster died mysteriously (wink) the pair were forced to compete for the position. This long and grueling competition all culminated into them needing to fight each other to the death using only a simple knife, no magic.

Lyle was physically much weaker than Hektor, much more sickly, so he knew from the get-go that he wouldn't stand a chance besting him in a physical altercation. But Lyle's never been the sort to just lay down and die, so the moment the timer began he gave it all he got. It wasn't until the knife was embedded in Hektor's chest that Lyle realized his friend hadn't even tried to fight back. The image of him smiling down at him through the pain of the wound still haunts Lyle to this day. Lyle won. Hektor died. He was still clutching the bloody knife in his fists when they dragged him off to the carriage that would take him to his new job.

Lyle has very...complicated feelings about Hektor's self-sacrifice, to say the least. Part of him hates him for it, part of him hates himself for it. Part of him wants to believe that Hektor let himself die as a cruel trick to get Lyle to doubt himself. Part of him is grateful that he got the job working for the King instead of Hektor, because honestly it's a nightmare that Lyle wouldn't have wished on him.

Lyle kept the knife as his own twisted way of...honoring him, I suppose. It's his way of keeping Hektor with him. He uses the knife in his work because doing so almost feels like he's allowing Hektor to do the job he likely would have earned if he'd just fought back. I know it doesn't make much sense given how Lyle doesn't believe that spellcasters have souls, so by his own logic Hektor very much can't still be with him, but eh...Grief manifests in strange ways sometimes. But in the end the Priests got what they wanted. One child dead, the other far too weary of the consequences of being happy to ever be happy again.

20. What does your oc’s bedroom/house look like? How does this reflect their personality?

Lyle lives at the top of a tall tower located just behind the throne room in the castle, accessible only through a number of hidden doors scattered about the estate. Compared to the rest of the castle it's a rather decrepit, dingy and dark space with little to no attention being allotted to its upkeep. Several of the lower rooms in the tower are used as working spaces (so...torture rooms and dungeons). All in all it's mildewy, drafty, and its metal fixtures are coated with rust, but in spite of that its...relatively cozy at the very top?

Lyle has a lot of sway in the kingdom on account of his reputation. While the King isn't about to bend over backwards to offer him extravagant accommodations, Lyle can usually get away with just ordering a servant to fetch him nice things. Over the years of working there he's accumulated a lot of high-end items --silk bedding, fluffy pillows, expensive fur rugs, nice bookshelves filled with mostly his own notes on medical science, an expensive and expansive wardrobe, a vanity with lots of pricey products and fancy handmirrors and brushes, an impressive wine cabinet, and a whole lot of art supplies. He spent his childhood living in a 5x5 stone cell with no bed or windows, so excuse him if he intimidates a few unfortunate passerby into going out and buying him luxury items.

He keeps things very tidy in the living space, too. The lower levels are a mess of blood stains and cobwebs, but what hardened prisoner is going to be scared of a clean table anyhow? I honestly feel like that says a lot about him in general. He has a very abrasive and unpleasant way of presenting himself, but when it comes down to it he craves comfort and luxury.

[shartingfleacircus]

Drarry fanfic rec list

A list of my all time favourites gathered from my nearly 5 years of reading this ship. I’d like to say I’m joking when I tell you my weekly screen time for ao3 has been 25hrs the entire time, but I’m very serious.

Most of these are the classics because they’re raved about for a reason! Almost all are very sad and share common themes. My projection is painfully obvious at times. Either way this is a great beginners list.

The Bucket List (32k words)

Draco will die in six months if he can't get Harry Potter to fall in love with him. Since that's not going to happen, he might as well spend his last days working through his Bucket List. Tap-dancing lessons? Rock climbing? Poetry-writing? Threesomes? Cocaine? Getting to know his adorable cousin, Teddy Lupin? Draco will try them all!

You will cry. That’s a warning. And probably for the entire duration.

It’s a good read if you feel like you’re always stuck in the same place emotionally, having an identity crises and/or grieving.

It’s an absolutely rollercoaster, and wonderfully authentic. Draco’s friendship with Pansy is beautiful. His character is dorky and his humour wonderfully twisted.

You will laugh a surprising amount. There’s lots of angst, drama, and Hurt/comfort. What more could you possibly want?

Your own mortality will haunt you, and you’ll need to give your loved ones a hug after this read.

Tea And No Sympathy (70k)

It's Potter's fault, of course, that Draco finds himself trapped in the same twenty-four-hour period, repeating itself over and over again. It's been nearly a year since the unpleasant business at Hogwarts, and Draco's getting on with his life quite nicely, thank you, until Harry sodding Potter steps in and ruins it all, just like always. At first, though, the time loop seems liberating. For the first time in his life, he can do anything, say anything, be anything, without consequence. But the more Draco repeats the day, the more he realises the uncomfortable truth: he's falling head over heels for the speccy git. And suddenly, the time loop feels like a trap. For how can he ever get Harry to love him back when time is, quite literally, against him?

Another great read if you feel like nothing will ever get better. An inspiring tale about learning to be authentic about who you are and what you want.

The writing is amazing and again with plenty of humour. Watching Draco grow, experience freedom, and be torn down over and over again will leave you feeling lighter and your struggles a little more manageable.

Lessons In Grace And Decorum (49k)

In Azkaban, Narcissa Malfoy gives Draco lessons in how to manipulate people into loving him. When Draco is released on the condition that he is bonded to Harry as his prisoner, he finally has a chance to put his newfound skills into practice.

Possibly my all time favourite. Once again this will make you cry your heart out.

The writing is so beautiful I can’t praise it enough. It deals with grief in such a raw and painfully accurate way. Featuring record breaking amounts of angst.

Draco so lonely you can’t help but hurt for him. And Harry is understandably very broken after the war.

If you feel misunderstood there’ll never be a fic better to project onto than this.

Running On Air (75k)

Draco Malfoy has been missing for three years. Harry is assigned the cold case and finds himself slowly falling in love with the memories he collects

Generally regarded as the best drarry fic out there, and with good reason.

Incredible use of liminal spaces. It will make you think and feel in equal parts. It alters your perspective and you’ll leave feeling like you’ve changed somehow. Definitely a fic that stays with you. It never fails to leave me in a daze.

Deals with feeling like you don’t fit in anywhere, loneliness and the world moving on without you.

Who We Are In The Shadows (100k)

What happens when you’re forced to become the very thing you despise?

Ex-Auror Harry Potter, tossed out of the Ministry for something he had no control over, has been looking for a way back to his former life. When he comes across Draco Malfoy in the criminal underbelly of Wizarding London and in need of protection, Harry figures bringing him in to face the Ministry's justice is his ticket back to everything he's lost.

But nothing is exactly as it seems. Not even Harry himself. And as he gets drawn further and further into Malfoy's world of honour and deception he finds himself questioning everything he thought he knew—about his childhood nemesis, the Ministry job he misses so much, and most of all, about himself. What happens when you’re forced to see that you were wrong?

Another one to bring the tissues for, but not as heart breaking as some of the others. It will leave you inspired and with some introspection to do.

There’s so many layers to this story. The mystery keeps you on the edge of your seat. Draco and Harry’s characterisation are breathtaking.

Gratuitous identity porn. Tackles loneliness, internalised prejudice, and learning to live with who you are. It was a ride from start to finish, and I cried when it was over because I wasn’t ready to let go.

Stop All the Clocks (This Is the Last Time I’m Leaving Without You) (45k)

Living with Draco was difficult; living without him is unbearable. But if there’s one thing Harry learned from the war, it’s that even when one life ends, the rest of the world goes right on living.

The perfect read for the empty hours of 3am. There’s no words for how viscerally heartbreaking this work is. It had me bursting into tears at random intervals even two weeks after finishing it.

The writing is beautiful, and the way the author intertwines the past and present creates an effortlessly fluid effect.

If you’re grieving, this fic will encapsulate what you feel like no other. The attention to detail transports you into Harry’s skin.

I seriously doubt i’ll ever be able to face this again, as much as I’d love to. I’ve never felt so empty as I had after this. A thorough emotional cleansing leading to a catharsis like none other.

Tissues of silver (76k, series 122k)

A love story concerning possessed furniture, black silk pyjamas, courtroom drama, premonitions of doom, assassination attempts, Death Eater yoga, absinthe, bare feet and a sensible werewolf. Beware: coarse language, brief drug use, some sexual content, and consideration of issues of sexual consent.

Will have you crying and laughing in equal measures. Sometimes even crying from laughter.

Draco’s character is so layered it’s incredible. It bridges the gap between canon and fanon Draco. It highlights his role as a pawn, creating sympathy as we see parallels between him and Harry on both sides of the war.

The writing is commendably executed. The dialogue creates incredible tension, the verbal sparring is unparalleled. Some moments will have you holding your breath.

Severus lovers will greatly enjoy his role in this story. He’s the character we rooted for him to be in canon.

One of the really old school drarry classics, written before many of the books.

Can I Tell You Something (34k)

It's not a party unless Draco Malfoy is there. He's so fun! So wild! So crazy! So many drugs! So many drugs. Too many drugs? Harry's starting to think it's probably a lot too many drugs.

A startlingly accurate portrayal of what it’s like to love a drug addict, and painful for it. Deals with loneliness, identity crises, general hopelessness and loving someone who doesn’t love themselves.

Draco’s growth as a person is beautiful and leaves you inspired. The sort of read that makes you think maybe it really can get better. A great take on empowerment and conquering your traumas.

It’s definitely heavy, heed the trigger warnings.

The Light More Beautiful (81k)

Thirteen years after Draco accepts Potter's help escaping the horror of his sixth year, he returns to England where he makes the unfortunate discovery that Potter is still as obnoxious as ever. And worse, more than a decade overseas hasn't been enough to dim Draco's obsession with him.

Significantly more humour and less tears than the others on this list. Running jokes suck you into feeling involved. I can’t tell you much much I laughed reading this. Some parts had me chuckling to myself in public like a madman.

Still a healthy dose of angst and an even healthier dose of pining. There’s so many lines you’ll want to screenshot to reread again later. The character growth is phenomenal and their relationships layered.

Pansy’s character here is my absolute favourite depiction of her! You’ll be itching to read more of her.

The tension is thick enough a knife couldn’t cut it, and the smut is intensely erotic. What’s not to love?!

All Our Secrets Laid Bare (150k)

Over the six years Draco Malfoy has been an Auror, four of his partners have turned up dead. Harry Potter is assigned as his newest partner to investigate just what is going on.

The writing is amazingly intricate, and the symbolism is beautiful. It’s so difficult to put down, you’ll want to stay absorbed in their world. The plot is absolutely gripping and complex. It’s definitely the kind of story you revisit like an old friend from time to time.

A very healthy dose of angst and tension built. A lighter read than the others, but you may still cry. But it’s heavier on the fluff too!

The characters are equally frustrating as they are lovable. This fic will definitely put your emotional range to the test.

[katnissmellarkkk]

Hmmm I should probably wait another day to post part two of Finnick being there for Everlark / being their friend but I don’t wanna sooo. Here it is 🤗

-

I see my mother lead in a group of mobile patients, still wearing their hospital nightgowns and robes. Finnick stands among them, looking dazed but gorgeous. In his hands he holds a piece of thin rope, less than a foot in length, too short for even him to fashion into a usable noose. His fingers move rapidly, automatically tying and unraveling various knots as he gazes about. Probably part of his therapy. I cross to him and say, “Hey, Finnick.” He doesn’t seem to notice, so I nudge him to get his attention. “Finnick! How are you doing?”

“Katniss,” he says, gripping my hand. Relieved to see a familiar face, I think.

-

Finnick, who’s been wandering around the set for a few hours, comes up behind me and says with a hint of his old humor, “They’ll either want to kill you, kiss you, or be you.”

-

Just as the elevator arrives, Finnick appears in a state of agitation. “Katniss, they won’t let me go! I told them I’m fine, but they won’t even let me ride in the hovercraft!”

I take in Finnick — his bare legs showing between his hospital gown and slippers, his tangle of hair, the half-knotted rope twisted around his fingers, the wild look in his eyes — and know any plea on my part will be useless. Even I don’t think it’s a good idea to bring him. So I smack my hand on my forehead and say, “Oh, I forgot. It’s this stupid concussion. I was supposed to tell you to report to Beetee in Special Weaponry. He’s designed a new trident for you.”

At the word trident, it’s as if the old Finnick surfaces. “Really? What’s it do?”

“I don’t know. But if it’s anything like my bow and arrows, you’re going to love it,” I say. “You’ll need to train with it, though.”

“Right. Of course. I guess I better get down there,” he says.

“Finnick?” I say. “Maybe some pants?”

He looks down at his legs as if noticing his outfit for the first time. Then he whips off his hospital gown, leaving him in just his underwear. “Why? Do you find this”— he strikes a ridiculously provocative pose —“distracting?”

I can’t help laughing because it’s funny, and it’s extra funny because it makes Boggs look so uncomfortable, and I’m happy because Finnick actually sounds like the guy I met at the Quarter Quell.

“I’m only human, Odair.” I get in before the elevator doors close.

-

At dinner, Finnick brings his tray to my bed so we can watch the newest propo together on television. He was assigned quarters on my old floor, but he has so many mental relapses, he still basically lives in the hospital.

-

Finnick presses the button on the remote that kills the power. In a minute, people will be here to do damage control on Peeta’s condition and the words that came out of his mouth. I will need to repudiate them. But the truth is, I don’t trust the rebels or Plutarch or Coin. I’m not confident that they tell me the truth. I won’t be able to conceal this. Footsteps are approaching.

Finnick grips me hard by the arms. “We didn’t see it.”

“What?” I ask.

“We didn’t see Peeta. Only the propo on Eight. Then we turned the set off because the images upset you. Got it?” he asks. I nod. “Finish your dinner.”

-

“This is what they’re doing to you with Annie, isn’t it?” I ask.

“Well, they didn’t arrest her because they thought she’d be a wealth of rebel information,” he says. “They know I’d never have risked telling her anything like that. For her own protection.”

“Oh, Finnick. I’m so sorry,” I say.

“No, I’m sorry. That I didn’t warn you somehow,” he tells me.

Suddenly, a memory surfaces. I’m strapped to my bed, mad with rage and grief after the rescue. Finnick is trying to console me about Peeta. “They’ll figure out he doesn’t know anything pretty fast. And they won’t kill him if they think they can use him against you.”

“You did warn me, though. On the hovercraft. Only when you said they’d use Peeta against me, I thought you meant like bait. To lure me into the Capitol somehow,” I say.

“I shouldn’t have said even that. It was too late for it to be of any help to you. Since I hadn’t warned you before the Quarter Quell, I should’ve shut up about how Snow operates.”

-

Finnick and I sit for a long time in silence, watching the knots bloom and vanish, before I can ask, “How do you bear it?”

Finnick looks at me in disbelief. “I don’t, Katniss! Obviously, I don’t. I drag myself out of nightmares each morning and find there’s no relief in waking.” Something in my expression stops him. “Better not to give in to it. It takes ten times as long to put yourself back together as it does to fall apart.”

Well, he must know. I take a deep breath, forcing myself back into one piece.

“The more you can distract yourself, the better,” he says. “First thing tomorrow, we’ll get you your own rope. Until then, take mine.”

-

The camera pulls back to include Peeta, off to one side in front of a projected map of Panem. He's sitting in an elevated chair, his shoes supported by a metal rung. The foot of his prosthetic leg taps out a strange irregular beat. Beads of sweat have broken through the layer of powder on his upper lip and forehead. But it's the look in his eyes--angry yet unfocused--that frightens me the most.

"He's worse," I whisper. Finnick grasps my hand, to give me an anchor, and I try to hang on.

-

“You have two hours to get footage showing the damage from the bombing, establish that Thirteen’s military unit remains not only functional but dominant, and, most important, that the Mockingjay is still alive. Any questions?”

“Can we have a coffee?” asks Finnick.

Steaming cups are handed out. I stare distastefully at the shiny black liquid, never having been much of a fan of the stuff, but thinking it might help me stay on my feet.

Finnick sloshes some cream in my cup and reaches into the sugar bowl. “Want a sugar cube?” he asks in his old seductive voice. That’s how we met, with Finnick offering me sugar. Surrounded by horses and chariots, costumed and painted for the crowds, before we were allies. Before I had any idea what made him tick. The memory actually coaxes a smile out of me. “Here, it improves the taste,” he says in his real voice, plunking three cubes in my cup.

-

Haymitch’s footsteps are still echoing in the outer hall when I fumble my way through the slit in the dividing curtain to find Finnick sprawled out on his stomach, his hands twisted in his pillowcase. Although it’s cowardly — cruel even — to rouse him from the shadowy, muted drug land to stark reality, I go ahead and do it because I can’t stand to face this by myself.

As I explain our situation, his initial agitation mysteriously ebbs. “Don’t you see, Katniss, this will decide things. One way or the other. By the end of the day, they’ll either be dead or with us. It’s . . . it’s more than we could hope for!”

Well, that’s a sunny view of our situation. And yet there’s something calming about the idea that this torment could come to an end.

-

I want to run, but Finnick’s acting so strange, as if he’s lost the ability to move, so I take his hand and lead him like a small child.

-

"Oh, Peeta," says Finnick lightly. "Don't make me sorry I restarted your heart." He leads Annie away after giving me a concerned glance.

-

I'm unaware that my feet are moving to the table until I'm inches from the holograph. My hand reaches in and cups a rapidly blinking green light.

Someone joins me, his body tense. Finnick, of course. Because only a victor would see what I see so immediately. The arena. Laced with pods controlled by Gamemakers. Finnick's fingers caress a steady red glow over a doorway. "Ladies and gentlemen..."

His voice is quiet, but mine rings through the room. "Let the Seventy-sixth Hunger Games begin!"

I laugh. Quickly. Before anyone has time to register what lies beneath the words I have just uttered. Before eyebrows are raised, objections are uttered, two and two are put together, and the solution is that I should be kept as far away from the Capitol as possible. Because an angry, independently thinking victor with a layer of psychological scar tissue too thick to penetrate is maybe the last person you want on your squad.

"I don't even know why you bothered to put Finnick and me through training, Plutarch," I say.

"Yeah, we're already the two best-equipped soldiers you have," Finnick adds cockily.

"Do not think that fact escapes me," he says with an impatient wave. "Now back in line, Soldiers Odair and Everdeen. I have a presentation to finish."

-

Boggs told Peeta to sleep out in full view where the rest of us could keep an eye on him. He isn't sleeping, though. Instead, he sits with his bag pulled up to his chest, clumsily trying to make knots in a short length of rope. I know it well. It's the one Finnick lent me that night in the bunker. Seeing it in his hands, it's like Finnick's echoing what Haymitch just said, that I've cast off Peeta.

-

He weaves the rope in and out of his fingers. "The problem is, I can't tell what's real anymore, and what's made up."

The cessation of rhythmic breathing suggests that either people have woken or have never really been asleep at all. I suspect the latter.

Finnick's voice rises from a bundle in the shadows. "Then you should ask, Peeta. That's what Annie does.”

-

Masks go on. Finnick adjusts Peeta's mask over his lifeless face.

-

"I just murdered a member of our squad!" shouts Peeta.

"You pushed him off you. You couldn't have known he would trigger the net at that exact spot," says Finnick, trying to calm him.

"Who cares? He's dead, isn't he?" Tears begin to run down Peeta's face. "I didn't know. I've never seen myself like that before. Katniss is right. I'm the monster. I'm the mutt. I'm the one Snow has turned into a weapon!"

“It's not your fault, Peeta," says Finnick.

-

I shout a warning to the others to stay with me. I plan for us to skirt around the corner and then detonate the Meat Grinder, but another unmarked pod lies in wait.

It happens silently. I would miss it entirely if Finnick didn't pull me to a stop. "Katniss!"

-

[ephemerlskies]

of honey and cinnamon | jjk

⇢ pairing: jungkook x reader

⇢ genre: fluff, one shot, slice of life au, enemies to lovers, musician!jungkook

⇢ word count: 14k

⇢ warnings: explicit language, mentions of terminal illness, mentions of death, themes of grief, slight plot twist, a surprising consumption of sugar, enough cheesiness to last you a lifetime

⇢ summary: what makes a three-day train ride back to your hometown anything but dull and dreadfully long? the answer, and your salvation from a boring trip home, was being stuck in the same cart as jeon jungkook for the entire ride there. unknown to you, he would turn this mundane trip into an unexpected adventure.

♪ playlist: dream a little dream of me - ella fitzgerald, departure - joe hisaishi, a journey (a dream of flight) - joe hisaishi, longing for mother's return - satoshi takebe, the sixth station - joe hisaishi, a town with an ocean view - joe hisaishi, you're in love - joe hisaishi, one summer's day - joe hisaishi ♪

a/n: this was honestly one of my favorite fics to write! ever! it was heavily inspired by studio ghibli movies hence the playlist because i recently binged a bunch of ghibli films (and i do not regret it) so, i tried to replicate the vibes from the movies i watched as best as i could!! :)) i hope you lovely readers enjoy!

They tell you love takes time. If you are patient and attentive enough, it courses through your body easier than your own blood and sinks itself in each vessel and bone and cell. Love will melt into your heart until that is all it knows. And in tales where lovers make grand gestures, like slaying the dragon and giving the moon and the stars and the sky along with the world underneath it and bestowing true love's kiss, it takes an entire story to get to the part where they are in love.

Love takes time, and in that time, there is a series of sometimes likely, and sometimes unlikely, events woven delicately within each minute that leads to the moment you know, you are in love. Traditionally, love makes itself known. It is loud and beautiful and anything but hidden within the ordinary moments used to fill in the gaps between the bigger moments. 

This story, your story, existed during the moments in between.

This train station had always emulated such an archaic ambiance. So much so that you believed you'd traveled back in time to when it was first built. Everything felt surreal, when you stepped on the train making a beeline to Cart 102, the floors felt like water; the surface tension clinging just strong enough to keep you afloat not without the occasional toss and turn. You swore it was just the rusted tracks that jostled you, but a part of you knew it was the water.

"Single rider?" The attendant stood at your cart's checkpoint, hand extended and waiting for your ticket.

"Yes, here." You handed him the paper, along with your baggage but kept the book for future entertainment and the pillow because you could tell the seats were no softer than wood.

"The train is fully occupied, so someone will be sharing your cart."

Perfect. If the world wants to do you a favor, just this once, then you hope that it sends you a quiet passenger. One that exchanges the customary 'hello' and 'goodbye' which is the extent of your interaction with them because you were tired in a way that sunk you into your zone of unsociability and on your way back home for the worst possible reason.

And the world did, in fact, do you a favor. It delivered Jungkook to Cart 102. But it just was not the favor you expected.

At first, you believed him to tick all your requirements for the ideal travel companion. Perfectly manicured company with a clear sense of boundaries. For one, he entered with a wall of silence that not only kept a greeting gated in but even the slightest acknowledgment that you were seated right across from him. It was so natural for him to ignore you that you had to glance down at your hand to check if you really were invisible.

He took his seat, stared out of the frost dusted window that reflected the sliding door that separated you and this man from the rest of the train and the world, and sighed. For a moment, he just stared and you thought it would get easier from here. But then he turned to you, and smiled.

"Hi, I'm Jungkook." It was a full smile, one that showed nearly every tooth, which reminded you of a rabbit. That paid enough respect for the previous shouldered entrance, and at first it was cute. Then, it made you feel guilty.

It was a smile you couldn't afford to return at the moment, so instead, you offered back a slightly upturned lip and a cordial nod.

"___." His hands looked strong like they had handled an array of heavy things and had the calluses to prove it. The way he sat made you feel a spark of something.

It was only a few seconds later when you realized that something was an unbridled annoyance. His legs were spread out, having you picturing the times he'd monopolize the space on a crowded bus. Jungkook was probably the type of man who was born with an entitlement that carried through to every part of his life, including the way he sat down on trains and pissed the living hell off of you.

"Like what you see?" Now you were pissed off for two reasons. The way he sat and the fact that you just got caught staring at him; his lap to be specific.

Soon, the two reasons doubled when your eyes returned to the smile on his face that didn't seem to have gone away. He was proud to catch you in the act, and most likely assumed your staring was due to an attraction so gripping that you couldn't help yourself but to stare at his crotch of all things.

"No, I was just..." Your words caught in your throat, because you weren't about to explain why his spread position on the seat had drawn an irritation from you thicker than the blood pulsing loudly through your body. You didn't want him to know you cared enough to be irritated in the first place, even if that meant letting him believe your staring was a form of unspoken flattery. "No."

"Okay, whatever you say, ___." It was the sarcasm this time, and the way he said your name that pissed you off. There was a seed inside you, ready to bury in your gut and grow just enough for you to rip his tongue from his mouth so he'd never have to say your name again.

"You'd think you didn't want to make the person you're about to spend three days on a train with angry, but maybe you're just that dumb." Insulting him gave you instant relief from the headache you knew was about to assume your forehead.

"Damn. Guess you're not the type to take a joke." Jungkook revealed his teeth one by one again, but you didn't describe it as a smile. A smile is something you thought to be beautiful, a physical expression of joy. No, what his face possessed was something sadistic. You were sure of it.

The way he carried himself and voiced his thoughts were more concentrated than arrogance. There was not a word in any language that could properly describe Jungkook. Nor was there a feeling that could render yours into something palpable. And the world had sealed you inside this cell marked Cart 102 with the person who was grainy and slick like quicksand, and just as deadly because you were sinking into him and every feeling he had provoked within the ten minutes you'd known him.

Jungkook was the first person you hated. Beyond every rude customer, every demanding boss, every high school bully, every cut tie, there was Jungkook who wore that heavy medallion of hatred around his neck like he was proud of it.

In all honesty, you thought he should wear it. He earned it. Everyone should know that you hated Jungkook and that it only took him a record-breaking ten minutes to attain the once unattained title.

You began to read your book, however 'read' didn't accurately describe what you were doing, which was staring blankly through the same words while collecting more reasons why you hated this man. It became an obsession of yours in a few short moments, because now you didn't just hate the way he sat and spoke and smiled. You hated how his breathing was somehow louder than the wheels grinding against the metal tracks or how whenever another train would pass by, he'd bring his face so close to the window you could see the warmth of his breath cling onto the glass and form a small, foggy patch.

You especially hated that you could quite literally feel his eyes on you, blistering your skin like the way a magnifying glass would redirect the sun's rays onto a target, which just so happened to be your face. Jungkook was unrelenting; as if he were trying to sear your skin with a permanent brand of his eyes.

Between the rhythmic flipping of the pages that you weren't reading, you were compelled to reprimand him for the staring. Maybe throwing his own words back into his face about 'liking what you see' would do your own vengeance justice. But that might indicate you were thinking of what he said to you this whole time.

"The weather looks so cold. It's practically raining." You moved only your eyes up from your book to study him.

He was looking out the window again, eyes chasing each speck of mist preluding the raindrops that were surely going to fall. It always rained at night.

"Looks like another thunderstorm." You packaged up the gasp that was about to burst from your chest.

For reasons you'd rather not share with a complete stranger you were hellbent on hating, you were terrified of thunder. Not lightning, but the loud crash that followed it. It was the last thing you wanted to experience while bottled up in a train with Jungkook.

"Excuse me." Your abrupt stance interrupted Jungkook's rain watching.

"Hey, where are you going?"

"None of your business." The slam of the sliding door echoed the anger you didn't express before as it snapped shut, fractionating the air you once shared with Jungkook.

You took a deep breath, the air outside felt cooler. The attendant was loyal to his assigned post, which was convenient for you.

"Sir, is there any way I can switch carts?"

"No, full train. And your ticket says Cart 102, so that's where you were meant to be." His eyes were sheltered by his hat, so there was no chance of pleading with your eyes if you couldn't even see his.

"Fine." It was a long shot, one that you didn't have the aim or trajectory for. You suppose he was right. Cart 102 was where you belonged for now. You just couldn't accept that Jungkook also belonged there with you.

Inside, the warm yellow light was beckoning you back in. Through the door, the brightness glimmered out until it was consumed by the dark hall where you stood. Jungkook was looking out of the window again with a rising and falling chest; you could hear his breathing even from behind the door or at least, you could imagine how it would sound.

"If we're going to share a cart, we could at least be friends." Jungkook's suggestion made him too human, too real for you to hate. You wanted to cling on to the idea that he was a horrible person, harboring more vices than the devil himself. But his voice was friendly sometimes, and his smile looked loving, occasionally, when he presented it to you.

"I don't see why we can't just be silent for the rest of the ride."

"Why are you going back home?" For a second, you were shocked enough to forget you were supposed to hate him. His gaze was calm and carried none of the worries yours had. You wondered, just for a second, about all the others who were on the receiving end of his gaze, and if they felt the way you felt when he looked at you. That look that distinguished him from anyone you had ever met.

You didn't want him to be right, because you didn't want the 'why' to be real. The tragedy, the only thing demanding enough to peel you away from your life away from home, should not have been the 'why' that put you on this train. But it was, and it made you angrier than he did.

"How do you know I'm going home?" You injected each word with a sharpness that you hoped would sting Jungkook.

"Well, are you going home?"

"Yes... are you?"

"No, just visiting." His eyes returned to the window, like a refrain in a poem. Always returning to look somewhere out into the beyond.

"Well, you should count yourself lucky." And you returned back to your refrain, pretending to read just so you wouldn't get caught staring at him and listing more reasons you hated Jungkook because that was easier than thinking of what was really bothering you.

"Lucky. Huh." You wanted to know what was so captivating on the other side of the window. What could have possibly supplied his eyes with something that was more interesting than the inside of this train? "Why are you going back home?"

"You already asked that."

"And you didn't answer me." Perhaps it was the stars, and he was tracking them in his mental inventory, examining until they were replicated along his memory the same way they were plotted across the sky. "Why are you going back home?"

"My mom. She's dying." Stars seemed to be a beautiful thing to keep your eyes occupied in a way your mind couldn't be, but you couldn't see past the thick fog and lack of light. "She's sick."

"I'm sorry to hear." His sincerity worked against all the animosity you'd cultivated for him.

How could he see the stars? You were going to ask, but you didn't want him to know what lied beyond the small beacon of light surrounding the train was lost to you, or rather you lost them. You wanted to hate him, so you didn't ask.

"I knew something bad must have happened to get someone like you to come home." That comment certainly suffocated any benefit of the doubt you were going to bestow upon him. Jungkook was arrogant and entitled, and in your most recent discovery, presumptuous and judgmental. Everything wrong with this world. No amount of dashing smiles and considerate questions could change that. You had to remember, you hated this man

"How dare you! How- How dare you assume something so rude!" The cloth of your pillowcase had almost worn through from how tight your fists were gripping them. You felt the fire burning through your nerves, soon about to combust and set Cart 102 ablaze. "I hate you."

It was two in the morning, or at least those were the numbers shining from your watch. The window offered the same pitch blackness that frustrated you, so you decided to give your legs some employment from sitting.

The hall of the train was nearly as dark as the outside; the overhead lights once drizzling down a soft glow were turned off. You wandered down the stretch of the medium but the further you walked, the thinner the walkway felt. Soon, the walls on either side of you were pressed against your shoulders so snugly, you had to turn your body to squeeze through.

"Having trouble?" You knew that voice; you hated that familiar inflections and conceit planted in each word he spoke.

"Can't you see I'm trying to walk?" Squinting proved to be obsolete while trying to see whatever destination was in the distance. "Why is everything so dark?"

"Because, you're not trying." If you could turn around, if these walls weren't beginning to smother your body to immobilization, then you would have run over to him and slapped the smile right off of his face. Because you were trying, you were trying to see this whole time but the dark had infested everywhere.

Unfortunately for you, the walls were connecting closer and closer, as if trying to move through you so they could reach each other and close altogether. But where would that leave you? When the gap was stitched shut, where would you be?

The walls were softer than you thought, but still forceful enough to steal all the air from your lungs leaving you a panicked mess lodged between these unkind walls. And the pressure wasn't enough to kill you, but it was just enough to leave you stuck and miserable.

"Jungkook, help me, I can't..."

Day One

Your dream was vivid enough to mislead you into thinking it was real. It wasn't until your eyes fluttered open, and consciousness spilled into your mind like a gentle breeze that you realized the nightmare was over. The window allowed a soft light into Cart 102, making you more thankful for the day than you had ever been in your entire life. You lifted your head from your pillow placed on the seat that you didn't recall placing there, and now that you think of it, you didn't remember falling asleep either.

You especially didn't remember covering yourself with this wool coat that smelled like the air after a bonfire had just finished browning marshmallows and dissolving wood.

"Someone's finally awake." Then it all came back to you. You wondered why everything felt so tranquil. It was a shame you couldn't enjoy the peace before the omen of annoyance, your special nickname for Jungkook, had returned.

"What time is it?" Your eyes were blinking away the sleep, and when that failed, your hands began to rub them until they were able to prop open fully.

"Eight-thirty. Here." He set down a Styrofoam cup of something hot enough for steam to escape through the open space of the lid. It smelled sweeter than coffee.

"What is it?" Your question came after you had already picked it up to furnish your hands with warmth and your nose with the delectable aroma leaking from this cup.

Jungkook’s smile was hidden behind his cup, already half empty, withholding an answer from you because he wanted to see if you would try it before you knew what it was.

"Don't worry, it's not poison." You figured it could be counted as retribution in the form of a nice pick-me-up for all the irritation he'd caused you, not to mention the fact that even in your dreams, he couldn't seem to leave you alone. No, Jungkook's presence was something that would slip through the realm of your sleep, the only place you thought you could escape him.

You sipped slowly, and the drink inside the cup made a quick and favorable acquaintance with your tongue. The contents were something you'd be able to identify separately, but when combined, they were delicious and elusive all at once.

"Wow, this is great!" The smile escaped faster than a spilled cup of water, and before you could clean the messy evidence of your gratitude, Jungkook returned the same smile, but his wasn't a spill; his smiles were never an accident, and you could almost resent him for it.

Almost.

"You like it, huh? Didn't take you to be a fan of sweet things." Both pairs of eyes were taken by the scenery just on the other side of the window decorated with streaks of the fallen dew drops.

His pride was untamed, and you assumed it was because Jungkook never took any action to dilute his own conceit. You liked to imagine how often Jungkook could arm himself with that smile, that laugh, which you were not too blind in your own despise to admit were both conventionally attractive assets of his, and everyone in a ten foot radius would fall into his hands. The world seemed to rest in his hands, and all he had to do was smile.

Not you, though. You were certain you had polished yourself with enough perspective so you wouldn’t be foolish enough to let something as shallow as a charming smile fracture your walls. Though, it was increasingly frustrating, verging on the point of catastrophe, how difficult it was to convince yourself of this and to ignore the image of his smile, sneaking its way to the forefront of your thoughts after brushing it off seconds before.

It was overcast, and the grey from the sky had permeated along the air below, yet it didn't puncture the vibrancy of the ever-extending grassy plains. They seemed to continue on forever, as if you walked out to the horizon it would take an eternity to find the end of the green landscape. The wind acted as music to which each blade of grass had been dancing an instinctive choreography.

And every so often, a patch of flowers would appear, perform its part, then disappear just as quickly.

For a moment, you wondered what Jungkook thought of the small bits of the world this window was displaying. Did he think it was just as beautiful as you did?

"It's honey, cinnamon, and milk. My mom used to make it for me when I was a kid." Though the view was timeless, you finally broke your gaze to look at Jungkook.

It was hard to imagine this man, the harbinger of almost every ounce of anger you have ever felt in your life, as a child who would drink milk with honey and cinnamon made by his mother. But then again Jungkook's face began to change, or at least the way you saw it morphed into something entirely different.

His bright eyes didn't look like they could be from this world. Not when they seemed to hold everything in his line of vision within them so warmly that it could spread magic over everything around him; like a fairy tale, but this magic rested in the two sockets of his eyes. Something so enigmatic made you want to snap at him just so he would look at you instead, and hold you in his eyes. As though to be held by his eyes would fix all your problems.

"Hm." You looked down at the cup, trying to savor each sip however ultimately failing since the honey melted in with the milk and perfectly heightened each flavor.

Without thinking, you wrapped the coffee-colored coat tighter around your body. It was blissful, sipping a cup of delight inside Cart 102, protected from the prickly wind of the winter while still being vended a view of its beauty. This train ride was almost perfect, if not for the (slightly less) bothersome burden that sat across from you.

"Looks good on you." He didn't have to specify he was referring to his jacket that was giving you comfort.

"Oh, sorry. I didn't-"

"Nah, keep it. You looked cold when you were asleep. You were shivering so much it basically sounded like you were begging for my jacket." Jungkook laughed softly.

Maybe two hours ago you would have been brimming with enough rage to rip his jacket off of you and throw it in his face because it sure sounded like he was pitying you or guilting you into a 'thank you' that you were too petty to relinquish. But now, in the morning that tamed you, stomach digesting a tasty drink given by none other than Jungkook, you let it slide.

Just this once, you thought.

"Well, that was very kind of you. And thank you for the drink, but I don't need some stranger doing me any favors."

"Wow, you sure are stubborn!" He laughed again, even though you had been nothing but uninviting of his advances, he just laughed.

"Am not." You muttered.

"Whatever you say." Just this once, you let him have the last word. Just this once.

One emptied cup of Jungkook's special later and you were energized enough to read, and hopefully retain the story rather than flipping mindlessly through the pages while you fueled your attention with rage.

Jungkook was busying himself, putting thought to paper. The quick ticks of his pencil against the wooden table was enough to earn him a passive-aggressive sigh from you, and you hoped he was perceptive enough to get the hint.

The ticks continued, even spaced out to a consistent pace as if he was beating a drum just to anger you. Your annoyance was once again brimming over, ready to spill into another display of it that consisted of a furrowed brow, a scowl, and a slew of incoherent retorts that had been brewing in your mind.

"Can't you write any quieter?" It hadn't measured up to all the clever insults you had loaded into your verbal weaponry, but it did the job to convey your frustration which obviously hadn't been communicated through your previous sigh.

"I'm not writing, actually! I'm trying to figure out the time signature for this piece. Three-six just isn't right." The pencil once tapping out a rhythm was now tucked between his teeth, and you could tell this was a habit of his from the various other tooth-shaped indents along the end of the pencil.

"Whatever, just... do it quietly."

"Quietly? This process is anything but quiet."

"Then try your very hardest."

"I'll try. Emphasis on try."

Though your eyes had reunited with your book, your curiosity pledged allegiance to what Jungkook was writing on his paper. It took an effortful battle between your urges and your restraint to finally ask him.

"What's a time signature?"

"Kind of like a rhythmic guide. For music. I'm a composer, and I'm hoping I can get this fellowship to work with professionals all around the world!" Jungkook's response came almost immediately after your question and his answer consisted of more information than you asked for, which meant this was something he was passionate about. Either that or he just loved talking about himself. It could have easily been both.

However, from the way his eyes held the world, they seemed to hold the music etched onto his paper the tightest. Like, if he were to let go then he would lose any and all purpose to hold on to anything else.

"You make music? Like songs on the radio and stuff?"

"No, not really. Songs for movies. I want to be a film composer."

"Oh. Is that why you're traveling? To study with a professional?" You surprised yourself more than him with that question.

"No... I, um. I wish that was the reason." Before asking him what his reason was, you stopped yourself from letting yet another question slip from your mouth.

Because you were supposed to hate him. Jungkook made everything difficult, even the notion of hating him was made to be a challenge. Asking him questions, learning about him, making the person in front of you turn into something with more dimensions than two was pointless when in a couple days, you'd leave this train and never see him again. Better to go back to hating him.

It wasn't as satisfying as before. Now that you've acquired some knowledge of who he was beyond an obnoxious seat hog and arrogance asshole, the reasons to hate him were beginning to be outweighed by all the other reasons to not hate him.

So far, you learned he was a musician. A passionate up and comer who gives strangers his jacket when they look cold, and shares a drink of milk and honey and cinnamon because it reminds him of his childhood. Someone who has made biting his pencil into a habit when he was working through a thought, who would often stare out windows and saw all the stars you couldn’t; someone who was quick to try to make friends with even the most emotionally withdrawn people.

Shortly after taking more time than planned on recounting all the things you learned about Jungkook, you felt indebted to him since he only knew two things about you. 

You were stubborn and you had a sick mom. Or at least, you believed these were the only parts of yourself he picked up on. The rest were things he’d observed with an attentive eye of which you had not noticed had been studying your mannerisms in the same way you studied his. 

When you left the cart abruptly after he mentioned the thunderstorm that was somehow delayed for tonight, he was correct to assume it was because you were afraid of the storm. Now, whether it was the thunder or lightning that rattled you so viciously you had to walk off your fear was yet to be discovered. Jungkook was confident he’d figure it out.

Or, how he watched you when you were sleeping in a way he wouldn’t describe as creepy since it was endearing to see you sleep. In fact, he was doing his best to ignore you, but your muffled groans had revealed to him you were the type to have the occasional nightmare. Again, the dream itself was something he was more than interested in discovering.

And your adorably executed performance of passive aggression didn’t evade him in the way you presumed it did. He heard the sigh and understood exactly what you were attempting to accomplish with that, but decided to act like your effort to shut him up wasn’t completely transparent. Mostly because he wanted you to ask him what he was doing. 

Jungkook wasn’t ready to admit it yet, but he enjoyed the way you spoke, even if it was drenched in a thick layer of annoyance. For now, he decidedly stuck with finding innocuous ways to fall back into a conversation with you, to slowly but surely learn all that he could in this three-day train ride. 

At half-past three, lunch had been served, consumed, and digested. Jungkook’s plate, however, was just short of being completely gone. Everything had been notably ravaged by him except for the pile of walnuts he picked out of his salad at the beginning of the meal.

“Not a fan of walnuts?” You convinced yourself this question came from a place that was starting to feel queasy from the silence that was more intoxicating than the small glass of complimentary wine you downed a little too quickly. 

“Allergic. Nothing too serious, though. My throat gets itchy and sometimes I get a rash on my skin.” You made a mental note that Jungkook was allergic to walnuts, which you stored in the part of your brain that harbored knowledge that was completely useless to you yet you still reserved space for it to be memorized.

“That sucks.” 

“Yeah, but it did come in handy when I was in class and didn’t want to be. I’d tell the teacher the cafeteria food had walnuts in it and I needed to go home and get my EpiPen before I died.” The list of things you knew about Jungkook continued to lengthen, and you couldn’t specify when it happened, but you began to enjoy every detail that made the list grow. 

You wouldn’t have guessed it would take a single day for you to wish it would never stop growing. But then again, you didn’t realize this at the time.

“And that worked? Sounds like you had your luck laid out for you from the beginning.” Jungkook smiled at this, the same bunny-toothed smile from yesterday, but it felt much different to you now, as if you were one smile away from forgetting your once insistent hatred of Jungkook. 

“Yeah, I guess so. What about you? What are your allergies?”

“Other than overly friendly weirdos on trains? Nothing.” It was the strangest reaction to feel proud, of all things, when you were rewarded by his laugh. It was softer than the wind rushing against the side of the train, however his laugh outperformed every other sound in the surrounding area until it was all your ears could focus on.

“Then it seems you’re the lucky one. No allergies. Free to eat whatever you want.” His eyes parceled between the sheet music in his hands and you. Though, it was difficult to pull them back down to his work since this was the first time he had your undivided attention that was not born from annoyance or repulsion to whatever he was doing. 

“I wouldn’t go so far as to say I’m free to eat whatever. I have standards.”

“Really?” It was his not-so-discreet way of trying to capture all the pieces of you that he could, but from your slow intake of air, it seems as though you weren’t entirely finished with talking to him either.

“Cilantro. It’s absolutely disgusting. And mushrooms. I can’t stand mushrooms.”

“I love mushrooms.” Of course, you do, you thought. He didn’t have to say it, but he most likely loved cilantro as well. And you were most definitely right. 

“I suppose you love everything I hate?” Eye contact with Jungkook was more than you could handle ever since his mannerisms stopped annoying you and started intimidating you, so you found refuge in the scenery beyond the window. It never failed you during the day, but at night you would have to scavenge for something to stare at when Jungkook’s eyes were close to stealing your breath away. 

“I suppose you hate everything I love.” 

It took a careful eye to catch the subtle hints of emotion that even you were too distracted to notice. Jungkook’s eye was trained pretty well in observation of the hidden traces of even the most thoroughly subdued emotions. His eyes were so well versed in gathering the scarce evidence of emotions that it prompted him to ask his next question:

“What are you looking for?”

Now, your eyes were still averted by his, so you held on to the slowly fading daylight while you still could. But, sadly, the window was a distraction of sight, not sound, so you heard his question loud and clear and felt obligated to give him an answer. Even if your answer was pathetic.

“Just looking at the grass. It’s pretty.”

“I didn’t ask what you were looking at, I asked what you were looking for.” 

Determining what emotion you let slip through the quiver in your lip was a task Jungkook wasn’t well equipped for just yet. In all fairness, he had only known you for a short while and he still felt disappointed in himself for not being able to know what he made you feel with that question. 

“I don’t know.” You couldn’t help the stunned tone of your voice, but that was all that could fuel your words at the moment. “I guess… A distraction. It’s so beautiful out there.”

“Everything looks beautiful when you only have a small amount of time to admire it.” Whatever distraction you were looking for had certainly met your eyes and did its job since you had absolutely no clue he was staring right at you when he said that. That he was savoring the small amount of time he had to admire you.

Jungkook was right, which was a habit of his that he took unrestrained pride in; life was beautiful when you moved through it with such little time to spare. Though slamming your hand in a doorway was something you would sooner do than admitting he was right.

The fabric of time moved in a peculiar fashion when inside a train. You move so fast and yet, not at all, and it is as if there is a tear where the train moves through, and evades the grips of each minute that transports the future into the present and the present into the past. It felt this way the moment you stepped onto the train, so when you checked the time, it didn’t surprise you that it was already an hour before midnight. 

The daytime had slowly melted away, carefully, the way ice shrunk inside a glass of water until it combined with its surroundings, and the plains of grass could only exist in your memory right now. The blackness of night consumed everything beyond your window once again, though there was the occasional streetlamp that provided a glimpse of everything you couldn’t see as of now. 

What you couldn’t see was nowhere near as frightening as what you were about to hear. 

The first flash of lightning felt like a warning. It took a few seconds for the wretched boom of thunder to follow, which was the interval of time you foolishly hoped it would, just this once, fail to accompany that streak of light. That perhaps this train moved quick enough to outrun the storm.

“___? Are you okay?”

You didn’t notice your hands had immediately cupped your ears until Jungkook’s voice was filtered through as a jumble of indiscernible noises.

“Sorry, I just…” Steadying your breath was a toll that required an upfront payment of all your attention, so your previously muted voice and steady tone had gone out of the metaphorical window, along with the rest of your response.

“So it’s the thunder.” Jungkook said softly to himself. It didn’t matter since your hands were being utilized as makeshift earplugs. They seemed to deflect every sound except for the thunder that punctured through your barrier effortlessly. 

Before, Jungkook had this preconception of you. From the minute he stepped into Cart 102, he could tell you were the type to carry yourself steadily, the type that supplied their own assurance and isolated their emotions in the same way you isolated yourself. But here you were, hands clamped against your ears, eyes pressed shut and body shaking; this was a surplus of emotions you let seep through your walls. It was expressive enough for any dimwitted onlooker to know exactly what you were feeling: pure fear. 

And Jungkook had always been adept to telltale signs of what was buried beneath the obvious emotions. He could tell you wanted to be distracted. You needed help.

It was easier to stifle one sense if you stifled them all at once. If you didn’t want to see, you had to plug your ears and hold your breath. And in this case, to block out the sound, you had to shut your eyes and numb the rest of your body in the slim chance that the thunder wouldn’t penetrate through your poorly constructed firewall. 

Suddenly, you felt the space beside you sink lower which meant Jungkook had taken the liberty of invading your space at the worst possible time. It was difficult to focus on blocking out the sound when you could feel the side of his shoulder bump lightly against yours. 

“___.” You shifted towards him slowly, waiting for his explanation of why he was on your side of the cart. “Can I touch you?”

You were past your wit's end, spending the last bits of your sanity trying to calm yourself from the second crash of thunder that made your body lift from the seat for a solid two seconds. All you could do was nod, and hope he wasn’t a serial killer that was about to strangle you to death in a moment of vulnerability. 

He was working in your favor, just like when he wrapped you up in his coat and set that cup of milk in front of you, he moved in determination to comfort you. And if it weren’t for the dire circumstances, your pride would have refused the security of his arms that were carefully enveloping your body and eliminating the frigid space around you. You hadn’t realized how cold this train was until you were invited into Jungkook’s warmth. He had somehow silenced the storm, and all you had to do was let him. 

The third blast of thunder pushed you deeper in his embrace, and you wrapped your arms around him tightly like the lifejacket he was that kept you from slipping below the surface of the angry ocean currents. 

“If you couldn’t tell I-” Boom, “I hate thunder.” Your voice came out strained through the fear-induced filter lodged in your throat.

“No, actually, I couldn’t tell at all.” Nine out of ten of your thoughts were concentrated on the thunder, and that one exception was applied towards how annoyingly sarcastic Jungkook managed to be through thick and thin. It was impressive enough that he could subtract the fear even by a small fraction for you to laugh. 

“You’re so-” Boom, “You’re insufferable.”

His laugh was noticed through the gentle bounce of his chest that rocked your head more than the actual sound of it. Soon, a hand came to run through your hair and with each stroke, he somehow removed your terror layer by layer until you were afforded with indifference to the storm simply because you were lulled into a half-sleep and were now too exhausted to care about the thunder. 

“You’re okay. Everything is okay. You’re doing great. Breathe deep.” His chest smelled the same as his coat. A fire burning so brightly, sending the aromas of everything it consumed into the air.

Now your attention belonged to the warmth of his arms, and how he moved his hand through your hair with something deeper than kindness. It was selflessness because he too was scared and tired and in need of rest. Despite this, he used the last of his energy to ward off the threat of a second panic attack. 

“Thank you.” You whispered into his chest, and it seemed as though it permeated through his flesh and ribs and absorbed straight into his heart from the way he held you even tighter. 

The storm had settled, and the horrors of loud thunder were abandoned for quite some time now, but it felt too comfortable, too perfect for you to be anywhere else but here in his arms. So, what went unsaid was more than enough for him to retract any intention to return to his seat and instead hold you against his chest, where his heart would retain strength from being close to you. 

You couldn’t tell if you had already slipped into a dream when you heard him singing softly, or if the melody of Dream a Little Dream of Me was actually being crafted by his voice so beautifully and fell into perfect synchronization with the rhythmic beat of his heart. Either way, you were thankful to bear witness to a sound that reduced the idea of thunder down to something that could never hurt you again, and instead made seeing all the stars the heavens could offer possible even through the darkest nights. You felt a well of tears moisten your cheeks.

In his arms, with his voice, you could see the stars.

Back in the dimmed hallway of the train, you could make out the outline of a figure standing in the distance, waiting for you. Waiting, but about to run out of time. You saw her slowly disappear the way wind would rustle the dying leaves off a tree in autumn. Slowly her body was wilting, disappearing, and the wind only picked up speed. 

All you could think to do was run to her, your mother, the shell of a woman you had known and loved your whole life. Her frail body being stripped of flesh as easily as wind undresses a tree of its leaves until there is nothing but branch and bone.

The walls began to close again, and you knew you had to act faster. You had to push past the pressure of closing walls even if they were squeezing so tightly movement became impossible. All at once, the impossible became your burden to redesign into something possible, which was the only thing crushing your spirit more than these damn walls.

You were so close; you held your hand out and—

Day Two

Winter mornings always start the same. Your eyes began rediscovering sight before the rest of your senses flooded into function, then your stomach would get angry for digesting nothing but its own acid until you filled it. And just like yesterday, your pillow cushioned beneath your head on the seat and your body shielded from the rogue winter winds that snuck inside of your cart by the same bonfire scented coat.

“Rise and shine.” Jungkook said from behind the sheet music he was examining. He must have been stealing glances of you every five minutes or so to catch the moment you’d finally wake up.

“Time?” Part of you didn’t want to get up. Part of you, the more persuasive part, wanted to remain tucked under Jungkook’s coat and slip back into a light sleep. If it weren’t for the hot drink waiting for you on the table then you would have done just that.

“Nine. A little later than yesterday.” You sat up eventually, wrapping the coat around you, and for a moment life was comfortable on the train. So much so that you didn’t mind how your hair was in complete disarray. 

Jungkook enjoyed seeing you this way. When you had first woken up and didn’t wear the usual veil of detachment from the rest of the world. Your guard had surrendered to your sleep ridden body. He guessed very few people saw you like this, natural and raw and untouched by the pressure to be presentable, and counted himself lucky, just like you would say, to be one of those few.

“Thanks, again.” You said softly into the warm cup between sips. “How much?”

“No. It's okay.”

“But-”

“Seriously! Don’t mention it.” He was firm, but that didn’t stop the gentle smile that crept its way back onto his face. You didn’t know what to say other than the thanks you had already said, so you just kept drinking. It was still just as delicious, but today familiarity was peppered into the milk among the honey and cinnamon which gave it that much more reason to love it.

“You get up this early every day?” You asked, because you were at a loss for words but felt less comfortable without hearing his voice to accompany the brisk, quiet morning. 

“Usually I do. I like the morning. It feels like I have the world to myself before everyone else wakes up.” Charming. It was the last thing that came to mind when you would picture Jungkook. Now, however, it seemed to be the only characteristic that came to mind when you thought of him. 

Sitting in front of you, half mindedly scribbling notes onto the staff and half his attention expended on sharing the small ways he saw the world, he was just charming. As easily as he once drove a blunt edge of annoyance into your chest, he erased every bit of evidence that he could ever be anything but charming.

“Sorry to steal the morning from you. I gotta wake up sometime.” You felt entirely unpracticed in the realm of light, friendly conversations, and that was evident from the way you wanted to gag at your own response to his. What you thought was a tasteless, almost pathetic attempt at banter was, to Jungkook, another reason to enjoy the morning. 

“I’m glad it’s you that I have to share it with.” Jungkook certainly sat higher on the hierarchical scale of wit compared to you, but even that didn’t agitate you in the way it would have before. What was more shocking than that was the fact that you felt the muscles in your cheeks changing your flat lipped expression into a smile.

“Flattery gets you nowhere, Jungkook.” You responded that way only to save face. It was a habit of yours you didn’t realize you were doing until the words had already been deployed by your tongue.

“It seems to have gotten me a smile from you. Those are hard to come by.” You jerked your head quickly over to him, the same grin stained with smugness there to meet your surprised ‘o’ shaped mouth. 

He was right again. Your smiles have always been punctuated lately, but you were too busy paddling through every distraction available to even notice.

“Very funny.” Your voice was low enough for Jungkook to nearly miss it. Once the soft tone of your voice delivered to his ears, he looked away from his sheet music to mine through your face like a cavern, searching for the hidden bits of the treasure-like emotions strewn in along the subtle details. 

“What’s wrong?” It was a leap of faith, his question, a leap that sent him plummeting blindly into the depths of everything he craved to know about you. 

“That thing you said the other day.” Your expression was unreadable to the whole world. But inside the train, the whole world rested just on the other side of the window. There was no reason to come off as impassive, cold, or unconcerned, to care so much about trying not to care. “About going home.”

“Mhm?” You waited to see if he had anything to say, anything to stall what was about to escape from your lips. You knew it wouldn’t take long for your thoughts to go rogue, especially when he made you smile like that. 

“I’m angry.” He gave you a look that said ‘no shit’ without having to actually say it. It made you nervous, but still willing to go on. “You're right. I didn’t visit home ever until now. I thought I grew out of it. I thought I became someone too big to fit in a town so small and stuck in its way. But I was never too big, I don’t think I ever actually grew. Because when I got the call, after stupidly ignoring it a hundred times before, I felt like the same child. So scared of the idea of a world without their mother. So, yeah, I’m angry. I’m angry I could be arrogant and stupid enough to think I could live the rest of my life never looking back.”

Jungkook just watched you, with those eyes that held the world. His eyes were holding so much right now when they were looking at you. So much weight from a source he couldn’t define with his own intuition. So much weight, he couldn’t understand how you had been shouldering it on your own this whole time, if he couldn’t stand a few minutes holding it now. 

“Going back home.” You scoffed. “It's not about looking back. It was never about that. I think returning to something familiar is almost just as scary as fleeing somewhere new. All your past mistakes and demons that you have to face…”

“Demons. Is that any way to talk about your mother?” It was his way, unique to Jungkook alone, to litter in a bit of lighthearted teasing even when he was supposed to be serious. As if he couldn’t stand to let the air in Cart 102 become too damp with sadness, as if his heart wouldn’t have been able to handle it.

“I made a mistake. I spent too much time away, and now the last way I’ll see her is weak and sick. That’s my demon. My mom was just unfortunate enough to be the arbiter of it.” 

Jungkook wanted to tell you that if he could, he would take all your pain away and send it back into the universe to find someone else to harbor it. Someone who deserved to feel a loss so heavy, because he knew just by looking at you that you deserved none of it. But he held his overly romantic tongue for now in regards to easing you into him smoothly. Since he had come such a long way with you, making gentle strides to win your affection, it would be greedy of him to tarnish that by saying something as outrageous as that, even if that was truly how he felt.

“Come with me. I have an idea.” It would have been easy to refuse him, to swat his hand away and never speak to him again for the rest of the train ride. But what prevails after the wear and tear of expecting the worst and knowing the painful and permanent scars it will leave you is the trust of someone who turned scowls into smiles, who held his hand out to you and waited for you to take it kindly.

Those tales they tell about feeling sparks when you make contact with your soulmate were decidedly wrong. Wrong to you, because when you touched Jungkook’s hand, you felt those sparks nestling under your skin and learning its way through the rest of your body. Wrong, because Jungkook was no soulmate of yours, just an unlikely stranger you met on a train once. 

And yet, you couldn’t help but wonder, you couldn’t help but hope he too felt these sparks that supposedly meant nothing.

Jungkook pulled you into the hallway, which was brighter than the way it looked in your dreams. At the end of the walkway, there was no ghost resembling your mother, and the walls weren’t closing in, and instead of pushing through alone, you had Jungkook holding your hand tightly, and graciously guiding you down.

“This way.” He whispered, and you mimicked the stealth in his voice through the way you muffled the sound of your feet hitting the train floor, which felt less like water and more like sand with him; soft yet solid sand.

You arrived at an unattended area of the train. The only hint of what Jungkook was up to was that grin. That grin was too playful to be a grimace, and too mischievous to be a smile. That grin that you hadn’t noticed you were looking forward to seeing, the same one you could sense you would miss when the train arrived at its destination. That when he grinned, you finally found the courage to return it. Needing no conditions or second guesses, you were just you, somehow smiling on the train that was taking you to your sick mother. And it was all because of him and his stupid, lovely grin.

“What are you doing? Are we supposed to even be here?” 

“Shh, we’ll get caught.” He began to wriggle with the door handle until it opened. 

“So we’re not supposed to be here! Jungkook, let’s go before we get kicked off!” To silence you, he simply held his hand up. You pouted your lip but did as he commanded. 

Inside the door, there was a collection of all the food meant for purchasing. Your assumption was confirmed that Jungkook had no intention of paying for the bags of pretzels and packets of cookies he was stuffing into his pockets. Hands full with quite the assortment of foods, he looked to you and raised his eyebrows.

“What?”

“Come on, put these in your pockets! Hurry.” He held the food out towards you. There was no convincing him to put all the stolen goods back, and there was no convincing yourself to not go along with his sinfully sweet plan. 

The fast-paced walk back to Cart 102 was the most exhilarating thirty-five seconds of your life. Jungkook looked all too calm, like spontaneity fell into his hands naturally or like it was a birthright, belonging to his life from the beginning. Life with Jungkook, even if the short span of time he’d claimed part of yours was fleeting, was the most excited and fearless you had ever felt. 

Jungkook and you emptied the haul of food onto the table. For a second, they went untouched only for the two of you to admire your successfully pirated goods. Then, for the first time on the train you met eyes with Jungkook and laughed.

It was the sort of laugh that exercised muscles in your abdomen you weren’t aware that you had in the first place. The kind that began at the top of a hill, and with one push it was tumbling faster and faster, growing louder and wilder. 

Jungkook was laughing too, a sound which could qualify as the only competitor to surpass the beauty of his singing. And whatever music he was scribing onto the paper would have to be beyond masterful to sound anything close to as immaculate as his laugh.

“I can’t believe we just committed grand larceny.” The words came out of your throat between fits of laughter, eyes now with an abundance of happy tears.

“Woah there, “‘grand”’ is a stretch. I like to think of it as unlawful borrowing.” The rest of the afternoon was spent with celebratory feasting of your unlawfully borrowed goods. Your favorite was the packs of chocolate mints, and Jungkook had cleverly avoided eating them when he noticed how much you liked them. 

When dawn arrived, Cart 102 settled into a comfortable silence, now consisting of you reading your book tempered by a glance out of the window every few pages and Jungkook tapping his pencil against the wooden desk while marking up every blank space on his page. To anyone else, including the likes of you, the page was nothing but a jumble of incoherent scribbles. To Jungkook, it was his next masterpiece; the best idea he made tangible on paper and hopefully soon, audible when someone agreed to commission it.

“Done!” 

His remark startled you, being that there had been no warrant for him to exclaim his progress with the music he was working on. You chuckled softly, closing your book and looking back to Jungkook.

“Done with what?” 

“This song. I know this one will sell. I just know it! It’s perfect.” Jungkook’s passion was bursting past the seams of his body. “I just wish… I wish I had more time.”

“What does that mean?” Again, all he offered was the same grin, and that was all you needed in order to know he wouldn’t be dropping any more hints on the account of your curiosity. 

“It means this train ride is ending tomorrow, and I’ll have too much on my plate to work on anything else. So this right here,” He held up the paper with the same tact one would for a pile of pure gold, “Is my last chance to get my work out there for a while.”

For reasons born from an unidentifiable place, you felt like crying. Last chance. It sounded serious. Something you weren’t ready to know and something he wasn't ready to tell. So, instead of pestering the answer out of him, you let him have his secrets. You let him have all the secrets he had somehow gotten out of you. 

And somehow, you were okay with it. Just this once.

Jungkook said he was taking a quick nap. Quick must mean something entirely different where he was from since it lasted about three hours and counting. For someone who had nothing to do but sit on a train all day, he sure was tired. It would have concerned you had it not been for witnessing how much energy he exerted into writing his music, as if each tap of his pencil required the same amount of energy as running an entire mile.

You were looking out of the window, which looked like it had been coated with tar. The departing sun left no remnants of its light and the moon must have been situated on the opposite side of the train, so it was up to the stars to illuminate your view of the world. But, outside the train was dark. Dark, and almost pitch black.

The first few specks were thought to be a hallucination that bloomed from your own wishful thinking. But soon, there were more and more twinkling lights dusting the sky and that outshined any doubt you had before. The stars were so bright and glimmering clearer than you had ever seen. Only something so beautiful, something that ingrained itself into the grooves of your brain to keep forever, could elicit the gasp that came louder than expected.

“Woah.” It jolted Jungkook awake and you would have felt bad if he weren’t already supplied with three and a half hours of extra sleep. 

“What?” His voice was hoarse from being unused for such a long interval.

“The stars! I can see them! They’re so bright, Jungkook. So bright.” The tears began to form in part from the lack of blinking and in part from how happy you were to see the stars. The same stars your mother was probably looking at and the same ceiling of glitter that loomed protectively over you and Jungkook. They were more than just constellations tonight; they were a celestial map navigating you back home and an astronomical assurance that everything would be okay. Even if the worst happened, everything would be okay.

“They are. They’ve been bright for a while. It took you long enough to notice.” Your smile was not yours to control anymore. It was a small price to pay considering you had a world full of stars to last you a lifetime.

“I guess I haven’t been trying as hard to see them as I thought I was.”

And you turned to him, which was the only thing besides the starlit arena above you and Jungkook and the train you’d rather be looking at right now.

“I can’t wait to go home. I miss it so much.” It was the first time you said it out loud, as well as the first time you were able to admit that to yourself. 

“I’m glad you feel that way. You should feel that way.” 

“Thank you.”

There were a plethora of reasons that prompted that thank you. Far too many reasons that were decidedly unfit for just a single thank you. So, you concluded that the thank you was for Jungkook; for becoming a part of your life. For every decision he made on this train that rearranged your feelings towards him into something pleasant. Something that felt warm and safe.

Tonight, the last thing you saw before slipping away into sleep was all the stars that weren't at your disposal before. Every silvery diamond brandished along the expanding sky was so mesmerizing, you wished you could imprint them into the backs of your eyelids when they eventually lulled you into a calm slumber. That and the memory of Jungkook’s rendition of Dream a Little Dream of Me set on repeat in your head. 

This time, you weren't trapped in the confines of a dark train hallway. You were standing in the middle of a grassy field, laden with a diverse collection of wildflowers. The mellow green hues seemed to lift from the blades of grass, stretching into the air around you.

And your mother was there. She wasn’t being blown away by the wind. Just like the sturdy trunk of a tree, she stood with dignity and conviction at the top of the highest hill that provided a view of your hometown; it was the most beautiful you had ever seen her. 

“Mom!” The way you were running felt more like gliding, or flying even, because you moved through the wind without a bit of resistance. Your body was frictionless and unstoppable. And when you finally fell into your mother’s arms, it was the most freeing feeling in the world. 

“I’ve missed you so much. I thought you were going to leave me.” The blue sky that sealed you and your mom into the earth made a stunning partner for the fields of green underneath you. 

“I’m always with you, darling.”

It was difficult to decide whether the sound of her voice or the sentiment behind it made you cry, so you decided not to decide at all, and instead, you simply let yourself cry. Everything was so beautiful, but still not complete. 

“Mom, I feel like something’s missing.”

“There is.” She responded, but it wasn’t a question. Your mom was not your mom, just a figment herself cultivated by your own mind. She was one with you, and she knew exactly what was missing. 

“Where do I find it?” Her hands cupped your cheeks, just like she would when you were young and crying over a scraped knee.

“You know, love. You know.” 

The wind pulled a gentle melody from the spaces between the leaves. A melody you were quite familiar with and grew to love. It slowed, then everything was silent.

Day Three

Waking up came to you in a hurry, as if you shouldn’t spend another second living life through dreams because today was the last day on the train. The last day you’d spend with Jungkook, and possibly the last time you would ever see him.

It was uncharacteristic of you to feel this way. Disappointed at both yourself and your situation. You knew from the beginning that this was a temporary arrangement, and Jungkook was not a permanent fixture in your life. In fact, you used to be thankful for those circumstances because you hated Jungkook. 

But, of course, you went ahead and let him in. You let him buy you tasty drinks, hold you during thunderstorms, and offer you a coat, a smile, a laugh when everything felt cold. You let him ripple currents of fun into your life, but that would be giving yourself too much credit, you suppose.

Because it was never a matter of allowing him to do any of this. He did all of those things, and more, all by himself.

What was even more uncharacteristic of you was greeting the early morning before Jungkook. He was sound asleep, with skin being lightly freckled by the glints of sunlight shimmering through the gaps in the clouds. The morning sun was always docile, kindly shedding light in a way that wouldn’t pull sweat from your skin like it did in the afternoon.

You liked the sight of him sleeping, mostly because it was one of the few moments of the day when he was completely silent, and those were rare.

“Better take this opportunity.” You whispered to yourself before getting up, covering Jungkook with the coat, and heading to the concession stand you had raided with Jungkook yesterday. 

Wondering if the workers noticed the missing inventory, you idled by the counter before ordering but they all looked too tired to care to serve you let alone realize a quarter of the chocolate mint packs were taken.

“Hi, two warm milks with honey and cinnamon please.” The attendant seemed to appreciate how closely your voice was to a whisper. He sluggishly poured two steaming cups of milk and sleeved them before exchanging them for the money already placed onto the counter. 

“Honey and cinnamon are over at the self-serving station.” You followed to where his finger was aimed towards and nodded politely with the two cups in each hand.

You didn’t know why, but imagining Jungkook making this drink himself, instead of ordering it premade, ranked this act as something more motivated than customary kindness. Because getting these drinks wasn’t simply walking to a stand, purchasing, and walking back to Cart 102. There was now an erroneous step you hadn’t accounted for. The act of making milk with honey and cinnamon. 

As you scooped a spoonful of honey to mix into the creamy liquid, one of your mother’s many proverbs rang in your ears, as if she was standing right beside you saying it.

“When you make food for someone, it’s just another way to express that you love them!”

It froze you for a second. Recalling what she would say when you would throw together a meal for the pair of you when she was too tired to. She worked so hard as a single mother, so every shortcoming felt like a colossal failure, no matter how little it mattered to you. And she would always say that to you because ‘thank you’ just didn’t cut it.

This was the first thing you made for someone other than your mother and yourself. But, there’s no way it was because you loved him. 

Just this once, you thought. Just this once I’ll make food for someone that I don’t love.

You were relieved to greet a still sleeping Jungkook when you returned to your cart. The cart you studied closer, because you were about to leave it and wanted to retain all the details that you could before it became a memory you would only visit when you were feeling reminiscent.

The beige walls, the small table where you would read and Jungkook would compose, the stiff leather seats that you had surprisingly gotten used to, and the large window that gave you a glimpse of the blurry world waiting for you.

Jungkook’s groan snapped you out of your trance. Before he regained full cognizance, you placed the cup in front of him so you’d be able to boast that you had woken up before him and had the morning all to yourself for a moment. That now you were the one sharing the world with him.

“What’s this?” He said groggily. 

“You know.” You tried your best to mirror his smugness, the way he would sip his drink after sending a witty one-liner through the air like it was no big deal to him. 

Before you became lost in the person you changed into with Jungkook, a person that felt more like a fun costume to wear when you didn’t feel like being yourself anymore, the more neurotic and controlling part of you fell back through when you remembered that the measurements of the ingredients might have been off.

Maybe you had gotten the drink entirely wrong, so your deed would shrivel down to a failed act of kindness. Nothing at all your mother would consider a gesture of love. And that was more frightening than any blast of thunder.

“It's delicious.” Jungkook said out of nowhere, almost as though he knew he was interrupting your thoughts. Breaking them down into a powder thinner than flour, so he could blow all your worries away with one puff of air. He wasn’t lying either, it was delicious.

You spent a gracious amount of time and energy avoiding the book you were meant to finish during this train ride. Instead, your efforts were fully consumed by the last person you thought would ever be the center of your attention. At least, you thought if he were going to be the focus of it, then it would have been because you were mentally berating him for reasons that didn’t bother you much at all anymore; in fact, they started becoming admirable.

“If you could run faster than a train, where would you go?” He asked.

“Paris. Or Italy. I'd just have to figure out how to run on water.” You earned a good laugh from Jungkook with that comment. And finally, you felt like you were beginning to find your niche in conversations, and it relied heavily on sarcasm.

“I’d love to see the day when ___ walks on water.” 

“What about you? Where would you go?”

“I would make my legs take me straight to Carnegie Hall and force the organization to play one of my pieces.” Each word was formed by his tongue as if he had that response rehearsed a hundred times over. Jungkook knew exactly what he wanted, and given the chance, he would use any and every asset to get him there.

That alone was why you fell into something deeper than attraction. Why you began to take notice of things about him that weren’t of importance before. And why your intentions to observe how the world designed this man to be so stunningly unique was less cryptic than you’d hoped.

Maybe if you noticed how his white button-up was undone down to his sternum and tucked into the waistband of his slacks tastefully, then your heart would have taken a quicker pace long before now. If you noticed how his jet black hair was gentle and fluffy when it draped over his eyes, then you would have been frustrated with yourself sooner for not seizing the chance to introduce your fingers to its texture. And if you noticed how the ridges along his palm looked perfect to be held in, then you would have savored every second he held you the night of the storm. There was an astonishing number of details about Jungkook, about as many as the stars in the sky, that would have made you mountains more intimidated to even speak with him. 

One of the attendants left all your observations of Jungkook scattered when she peaked her head through to give the two of you an update on your arrival.

“Looks like we’ll be getting in earlier than expected!” In theory, that was a blessing. You’d get to finally deboard the train and be with your mother. Though, you’d be lying if some piece of you wanted this train to continue west until there was no more land to travel on; and if you could, you would redistribute each part of this train to assemble a boat, so you could sail Jungkook across the seven seas. “Our arrival will be in twenty minutes! I hope you both enjoyed your trip.”

And if Jungkook felt the same way, he didn’t show it through his polite smile and nod at the attendant. 

“We’ll be getting off soon.” He said to you, though you could tell it was his way of interrogating your thoughts on the matter.

“Time moved by so oddly on the train. I didn’t even notice it was already day three.” You paused and took one last glance out of the window. “Funny.”

"It's funny,” He began, and you settled into what you knew was about to be another piece of Jungkook's mind served in the form of his delicate words, “when you're inside a train you don't feel like you're moving. Even though you are, of course. You're moving faster than you would outside of a train. But we feel like we are still because we are moving with the train. When you're in a train, you are moving with time too, so it feels rushed and stagnant all at once. When you're not inside, time moves past you. It feels better to move with time, don’t you think? It feels like you could outrun it if you wanted to, or it feels like you will never run out of time at all. That you and time are equals. But soon, we'll have to get back onto the platform, and time will move past us again, and it’ll feel like we’re running out already."

“You’re right.” You finally admitted. “We’re running out of time.” 

We’re running out of time— together, you wanted to say. However, courage and boldness was a currency you weren’t rich in. Unspoken desires and lost hopes were all you had left to tender. 

“Yeah, I guess so. Hey, I-” He hesitated as well, because when you looked at him with such wishful eyes, it made what he had to say entirely too real and all too scary. “I really liked being your travel buddy.” 

You could tell he was holding back too. That everything you wanted to say to him and everything he wanted to say to you wasn’t meant to be translated into words, that exchanging sentimental smiles was all you and he could afford. Instead, it was better to exist through the language of emotions, floating around the train, moving with time, and eventually, when you and Jungkook returned to the world, those emotions would remain with the train and travel beyond your destination. 

That’s why you let them go. Sometimes, a train is only meant to be a train. 

“Me too. Though, I have to admit I hated you at first.” 

“I know.” He grinned as you etched the most accurate memory of it in your brain as you could. 

His stance came unprecedented. The small radio tucked in his bag now sitting on the table, serenading an unfamiliar melody and overtaking the silent air inside Cart 102. Then, came his hand, extended to you just like he had yesterday. Only this time, you didn’t need to wonder what he wanted from you because you would give whatever he asked. 

You took his hand, or rather you gave him yours, and followed his gentle tug until it led you to his body, pressing away all the space once separating the two of you. Jungkook’s hand followed the curve of your waist until it landed at the small of your back while you instinctively rested yours on his shoulder. 

You and Jungkook swayed to the music until all those words about moving with time became real. The way he held you close had you immune to the passage of time. The soft brush of his breath against your cheek felt welcoming, and you would try your very best to remember the way existing felt when your skin was touching his. It was odd, dancing on a train with someone you didn’t know well enough to call a friend but weren’t estranged enough to call an acquaintance. Again, it felt like you were in between two walls, stuck, trying to out-think your way through a collapsing maze of judgement. 

Though, no matter how odd it was, it stopped neither you nor Jungkook from holding onto each other for the last few moments available. 

The train must have hit a rock, one you would like to thank because it knocked the two of you over until you had fallen into his lap, laughing so hard your bodies shook. You would have been uncomfortable in this compromising position if not for the sense of belonging fostered in the empty space in your chest while being in his arms.

Jungkook didn’t notice you were detangling your limbs from his until you were already gone, seated across from him in the same spot. 

Once, he learned in science class of this phenomenon called ‘afterimage’, which is when your eyes get so accustomed to staring at one particular thing that when you look away, the thing stained your vision in the form of a silhouette, like an echo of something your eyes grew so comfortable seeing that it stayed with you, even when you looked away.

And he knew, even when the view of you sitting across from him in this train wasn’t there anymore, he would carry that afterimage of you, always echoing in his vision like a beautiful melody he couldn’t get out of his head. Not that he wanted to let go anyway

It was sour, the cruelty of letting go. When the train began to brake, it felt like a lifetime of agony. A bitter, unforgiving slap in the face courtesy of the confines of reality, stealing you away from the shelter of a train; a place that made it so easy to be swept up in something as dazzling and impossible as magic. You were onto important things, you knew this, but it was nice to live, even if it were just for a bit, inside something as magical as Cart 102, where you could count on a generous supply of warm coats, milk with honey and cinnamon, and Jungkook.

“Well, our stop is here. Hey, how about we share a cab? Why not save some money, right?” You could only nod, because speaking would have led to tears, which would have led to a failed explanation of why you were crying.

Jungkook hailed the yellow vehicle over, the opening of his shirt widened just an inch too much to let your mind wander.

“You’re going to the hospital, right?” He asked.

“Yeah, the only one in town.” You said, knowing the driver wouldn’t need any more specifics than that. This town was so small there were a lot of singular facilities that made the layout equally difficult to be crammed into and easy to memorize. One library, one park, one church, and one hospital.

As Jungkook went to give the driver your destinations, you packed up the luggage into the trunk. Not too long after, you were side by side in the back of a cab. All you could bring yourself to do was gaze out of the window and watch all the familiar scenes of your hometown pass by, each landmark dousing you with a strong presence of nostalgia. 

No matter how sad parting ways with Jungkook was, it was good to be home.

The cab finally arrived at the hospital, and you got out not expecting the other person in the car to get out with you. Perhaps he was being polite and saying goodbye. You knew you would have done the same if his stop preceded yours.

The two of you stood in front of the entrance, gawking up at the tall building that was in desperate need of reconstruction. You turned your gaze over to Jungkook. 

“Where to now, Mr. Jeon?” You asked, since this town was small enough, and you were fluent in every secret hiding spot it had to offer, you might be able to visit him if that wouldn’t come off as too invasive.

“I'm here.” He responded just as ambiguously and ever so matter-of-factly as always. This time, you demanded to know more.

“What? What do you mean?”

“It took a long time to find a doctor that specializes in my condition.” Jungkook finally turned to you, his eyes crowded by tears. “My heart is weak, ___. I came here to get better, and hopefully, I do. I'm going to be a famous composer one day, and I’ll need a strong heart to get me to that point.” 

You felt angry at him again. For not telling you, because it felt less like keeping something from you and more like lying to you. For telling you, and making it sound like it wasn’t a big deal, that it wouldn’t break your heart into pieces weaker than his own.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” It was the harsh snap he expected from you, but he was committed to keeping this a secret until he couldn’t because it was easier that way. 

“I didn’t want to admit it. I’m scared, ___. Really scared. If I don't get better…” 

“Well, you have to! Carnegie Hall is waiting for you and I didn’t waste my time getting to know you for nothing. So, you just go ahead and get better okay?” Your words were coated in anger but layered on top of something compassionate, sweet even. Sweeter than milk, honey, and cinnamon. 

“I’ll try.” He grinned again, knowing it would satisfy you for the time being. Grinning, like a goodbye gift. 

“You’re an idiot, Jungkook.” 

Before you could lose the last word, you gripped your luggage in one hand, the pillow in the other, and made your way into the hospital, leading to what you knew would be countless nights spent at the side of a hospital bed, eating foods you’d rather not eat, and watching daytime cable while taking care of your mother.

What you didn’t know was that a good portion of those nights would be spent with someone else. Someone who resided in the west wing of the hospital. 

Someone who would bring your hand to his heart, and ask you if it felt stronger, and you would always reply with ‘yes’, or ‘yes, you idiot’, even when you were terrified that one day your hand wouldn’t feel the tap of his heart against his chest. Someone who would sing to you in exchange for the times you would read to him. Someone who you would leave notes and small gifts for, his personal favorite being the packet of walnuts accompanied with a folded paper inscribed ‘for when you need to get out of class’. Someone who, when he would be having a particularly difficult night, you’d fall asleep holding hands with, and you’d wake him up with a warm cup of his signature beverage.

Someone you would inevitably begin to fall in love with. 

A month later, one of two people you loved dearly would walk out with you through those hospital doors. That person was Jungkook. And the melancholy of losing your mother to the battle between her and her cancer would also follow you, and stay with you almost as long as Jungkook had.

A year later, you would return, hand in hand with Jungkook. Every two months. It was the promise you sealed onto your mother's gravestone that you would always return every two months. Even if the weather dispatched the most terrifying thunderstorms, or your work piled a stack of paperwork high enough to reach the sky, you’d still return home.

You and Jungkook placed a bundle of wildflowers you picked on the way to her grave, sitting at the top of a grassy highland, at the base of the granite stone. She was overlooking the world, with a perfect view of you; it made you feel safe that she was watching over you, and she was watching over Jungkook and his slowly recovering heart. 

The weather was perfect. The sun blanketed everything beneath it with a generous warmth but didn't restrict the gentle breeze from tempering it. The leaves and grass moved with the wind, but your mother’s tombstone was strong and unmoving, losing no part of herself to the fluid motions of the spring air. 

“I kind of like it here.” He said softly, adorning the view of the hilltop with you. It was the morning, and it didn’t feel like he was sharing the world with you anymore. It felt like it was yours to begin with, and he was just lucky enough to be allowed a part of it. 

“Me too.” One hand was with Jungkook, and the other was with your mother.

“I think it would be a nice place to get married and raise our children. You know, after I become a world-renowned composer and all.” This would have shocked you if you had not been wishing to hear him confirm these dreams of yours for a while now. “Did that scare you? I didn’t mean to be too forward.”

“No, I think this would be the perfect place to live. Only if it's with you.” Because you knew, something was missing here without him. He made this hometown of yours finally complete in the wake of your mother’s passing. 

When you kissed him, he tasted like honey. And he would have told you that you tasted like cinnamon.

It could never scare you, because you were in love.

You were in a debt of gratitude that was deeper than the ocean. There was so much you wanted to say to him.

The town is milk. It is up to you and me, Jungkook, to provide the ingredients that will liven this town of milk into something sweeter, something survivable, something that will continue to sustain a force as powerful as love. Without the honey and cinnamon, all you have is milk. It seems we are the perfect blend of the two to make this bitter place palatable when it hits our tongues. This town needs us together in the same way milk needs honey and cinnamon. 

You didn’t say any of those words out loud. You didn’t need to. All you needed to say was:

“I love you.”

And all he needed to say was:

“I love you too.” 

[shinygoku]

gordon gordon gordon gordon

Gordon Gordon Gordon Gordon!!

He's been sneaking into these asks by proxy, so it's finally time for his dedicated session, hehe~

First impression

WUAAAGH what's up with this WEIRD LONG NOT-THOMAS and his FACE?!

Impression now

His face is still pretty weird! But you know what else it is? Part of an Absolute Legend ✨

Like, man, Gordon is such a big presence and interesting character, the entire premise leans heavily on him. I'm inclined to go as far as to say that the Blue Boys of 1, 2 and 4 here are the three most important characters for the franchise (not at all to knock everyone else lmao) and they slot nicely into a Triforce of Courage, Wisdom and Power, and Gordon has Power in spades!

Gordon is The Vain One (not James!). He's legit very strong and the fastest on Sodor (which isn't just being a big fish in a small pond because that island has some crazy cool engines!) but unfortunately he lacks humility. His success seems to have been lodged in his head before the series even begins and this Pride is the source of pretty much every single conflict he's involved in.

But when it isn't his self satisfaction in his actions, it's being smug about being such a grand, magnificent Tender Engine and he is snooty as hell about it. He seems to look at smaller engines [pretty much everyone compared to him lol] as a lesser class, particularly if they're small and cheeky and Tank Engines. This may not be the case exactly, but his way of talking to them and some other things he says are very condescending.

However... as much as a gigantic jerk he is at several points, with Gordon I kinda feel like he plain ass doesn't conceive of his words being out of line. That and having to Unlearn things... he's not innately better than everyone else. He sees things in black and white. There are Useful Engines, and those who should be scrapped. There are Noble Tender Engines and Lesser Tank Engines who exist to do the tedious chores on behalf of the Superior ones. Edward doing shunting is seen as Demeaning and contradicts Gordon’s world view that Tender Engines Don't Stunt™, and he doesn't like that one bit! (Also Edward was crossing the picket line but that wasn't Awdry's concern lmao)

Related is Gordon does seem oddly dense at times, like assuming that Tenders are in of themselves a Status Symbol rather than a large lunchbox of sorts lol, or that Tender Engines like him being too heavy for Branch Lines being because something about Branch Lines are degrading. This might be all Elitist Brainwashing influence. But still, that he just takes these as The Truth means I get to affectionately call him an idiot. And there is no other way to explain how he genuinely believes Bill and Ben were going to murder him if he wasn't missing a few brain bolts in there.

Fortunately, he does eventually start to learn the important lessons.... very gradually, but the Early Gordon is a pretty different beast to Later Gordon, and it's wonderful~

Also, I gotta give credit to him for having some moments of utter brilliance and actual grasp of reality and more complex matters, like culture. (Yeah, I'm rolling with his geniune Opera Knowledge from s6 of all things. It's good!) As much as Awdry himself may have disagreed, Gordon was in the right to want a Station Pilot and the Strike was called for (not bullying Edward for it, but myeah) ...but this leads to my next point: He seems to have a mental block when it comes to Emotions.

Certainly, he's as emotional as the others are, it's not just a scale of Snooty, Arrogant, Condescending, Prideful ....well, it is, but ALSO the more mixed and varied feelings: Shame, Sadness, Fear, Ambivilance, Irritation, Anger, Passion, Amused, Delight and so on. However, Gordon is seemingly unaware of how his words may make the others feel, and even at his cruellest it doesn't look like he's aware he's twisting a knife in. To Gordon, he's being honest, but his verbose manner ends up twisting and wriggling away from any valid point like an overgrown vine that somehow links back to how [Other Engine] is disgracing him, Gordon, by association.

Examples include: Being offended by Henry's new shape (??? Gordon dude he nearly died and this is an improvement, a good thing!), saying that Edward's age and difficulty starting a heavy ass packed load of passengers is grounds to be Retired or even Scrapped, other little insulting things like calling the likes of Thomas and James Little insistently (it seems to vary if he's trying to put them down or actually be affectionate), and many more when in the hands of inept writers who have to wheel out the same Gordon Learns A Lesson Plot every other season.

Like I said in the James post, I also think he kinda poisoned the Red guy with his snooty attitude... but I maintain that I think Gordon was unaware of this. He may know he has Influence, and enjoy that, but he really truly doesn't appear to mean to mould James into a smaller, redder version of himself. He's oblivious and from his own point of view, benevolent. Which is in fact a dangerous combo indeed!

It's... a lot o7;;

Again though, if you're looking at the books and s1-s5 of TVS you can see him grow and change. He does take a while to learn the lessons, but as time goes on he moves 2 steps forward and 1 step back, then eventually less steps back entirely. It's great! And so is Gordon. A big dumb meathead with not entirely uncalled for delusions of granduer. A dramatic so-and-so who is the best engine for his job.

I love this sophisticated jock who grows more kindness~ 💙

Favourite moment

Hm! This isn't as easy to decide lol. We all like Gordon Goes Foreign... but you know what sticks in my mind more?

hOOOOOOOOOOSSSSSSSHHHHHHHHHHH

Look, I’m not 100% objective, here! But Ringo’s read of this line is fantastic (and keeps making me expect him to finish saying OOOHH SHIT) and it’s also a well deserved bolt of divine retribution for how rude he was being earlier. (As long as my essay already was, he very much needed the knocking down of some pegs here!)

Idea for a story

While both my fics with him thus far have been variations of Pre-Canon, Full-Arrogance and Snobbish Gordon (and both were a lot of fun!) ...but I cannot bear the same expired horse being beaten more when the story is set waaay later but he’s still up his own ass. Please, PLEASE writers, let him hold what growth he’s managed to gain!

I think it’d be good to accept that he’s gonna be outdated sooner or later, so have him help train another High Speed Engine and take them under his wing. The Christopher Awdry books kinda have something similar with Pip and Emma, but I think a better way of having Gordon be involved would be if he was actively doing some mentoring himself, as well as being a neat parallel with Edward, whose type was once Express only but got outclassed by A1s, and so the same can happen to this big A1 -> A3 lad and he can form a healthy relationship with some bright eyed newbie (and maybe have some self awareness and try to stop their head getting too large, lol).

Unpopular opinion

I know I just said him mentoring would be a cool story idea, but in canon? He is NOT a resident Dad type!! He’s a hotshot young man but he’s also a hot mess. He’s physically large but he’s not got the Energy of someone who dispenses sage advice and a shoulder to cry on. At best, he’s a weird uncle! One who means well but you shouldn’t take his life advice to heart because he’s actually just as, if not more clueless than you!

Favourite relationship

I feel inclined to say Thomas here. Emphatically not because Gordon is ‘old’ and Thomas is ‘young’, but because they’re so damn alike and actually make an excellent, albeit unconventional type of Rivalry.

Both are self important with genuine finesse in their respective talents, both are honest to a fault, both have redeeming qualities to offset their initial abrasiveness, and the first TVS episode is centred on the both of them and sets the tone for the series as a whole. There’s more parallels, of course, but I also wanna point out they’re effectively the mascots of North Western Rail in universe too, and I absolutely love this picture:

I also have immense fondness for the Down the Mine paradigm shift! Thomas gives Gordon grief over the ditch incident and later when it emerges the Fat Controller is gonna send for Gordon to pull him out, Thomas is filled with dread. But Gordon isn’t using the chance to lord over Thomas, he’s actually so amused by Thomas’ mishap and it coming at a time where he’s been significantly humbled, they instead become Comrades and I love it. I eat it up! Paint Pots and Queens isn’t anywhere near as good but I adore the little bit where they’re appealing for the other, equals and watching each other’s back~

But yeah, as Friendly Rivals they both feel very authentic and yet, in a daft way, sweet ;3

Favourite headcanon

He still says “Hurry, hurry, hurry!” when pulling the Express. That’s a HC as I think the show phased it out, but I like it lol. I feel like my essay on him contains most of the headcanon stuff, but it’s all based on what’s shown, baybee!

[hellowkatey]

it's too late

for whumptober day 5: i've got red in my ledger / betrayal / broken nose | 678 words | obi-wan & anakin (gen)

AU: Obi-Wan makes it back to the Temple while Anakin is still conquering it

* * *

He can feel him. The same vessel of raw power that somehow forms the shape of Obi-Wan's best friend. The fact he can feel him means that Anakin knows he's here too.

It is customary for Masters and padawans to sever their training bonds after the apprentice is knighted. Customary was never a word that described Obi-Wan and Anakin, though. Obi-Wan feels the touch of darkness from the familiar invisible hand gliding along the edges of a linkage that once brought him comfort .

Or, who was once familiar. Obi-Wan doesn't recognize this twisted cloud of darkness, anger, and malicious hate that now terrorizes the Temple halls. Though Anakin's distinctive fingerprints in the Force saturate every charred painting and crumbled body the Master passes with a heavy, mournful heart, Obi-Wan still cannot find it in him to believe this is the truth.

It can't be.

He's wrong, and his failure manifests as a swift, mind-numbing punch that sends him keeling to the side. His earlier fall from the upper levels of Utapau exhausted his energy. The Jedi Master already teeters on the edges of Force exhaustion, which means the figure in the dark hood was able to strike him across the face with his durasteel hand without interference.

He could have done far worse, Obi-Wan realizes when his hand falls away from his face dripping in blood from his throbbing nose. Yet, now they stand face-to-face, and Obi-Wan cannot take his eyes off the glimmer of gold that peeks out from beneath the hood.

"What are you doing here?" Anakin asks in a low, dangerous tone.

"You really don't know, Anakin?" Obi-Wan blurts out in outrage before he can think better of himself. His words are slightly slurred from the blood dripping down the back of his throat, but the tears already beading in his eyes would have caused that effect either way. "You had to step over the body of a creche-mate you slaughtered to reach me, and you're going to wonder why I've come?"

"You were supposed to be dead."

"Are you disappointed?" Anakin doesn't reply. Just stares out the window at the embers that float by. Obi-Wan's shoulders droop, words he never thought he'd ever say starting to feel sour on his tongue before he's even uttered them. "If you are, just say it. I'm not afraid to say I'm disappointed in you."

Gold eyes blazing with fury meet his.

It's not just fury, though. That's the narrow line Obi-Wan has chosen to walk.

"Your disappointment means nothing to me," the padawan who used to curl into his side after missions and drowsily ask if he did a good job, says. "This is who I was meant to be," the boy of supposed prophesy who Qui-Gon used his last breath to vouch for, yells. "and I won't let you get in my way, Obi-Wan. I'll do what I must,"

The last part statement is the only part that Obi-Wan thinks Anakin truly believes.

"I don't want to hurt you, Padawan," Obi-Wan whispers, but his grip still tightens around the hilt of his saber. "I want to help you."

Their training bond strains. Obi-Wan feels the fear and anger poisoning their once-impenetrable bond. Had the last years of the Clone Wars not frayed it considerably already, it maybe would have held out for longer. Just before it snaps, a tiny glimpse of light brushes against him. It's too late, it whispers, heavy with remorse and apology and grief that rivals the weight on Obi-Wan's own heart. Obi-Wan's most prized accomplishment— his student and the bond they formed— shrivels, and Anakin Skywalker is silenced.

"Then you will die trying," the Sith sneers, and the quiet halls that once stood for peace and light are filled with the desperate clashes of lightsaber combat.

* * *

more of my whumptober fics here

[alj4890]

All Through the Night

A Choices: The Royal Romance Dark AU

@gkittylove99​ ​​ @krsnlove​ ​ @kingliam2019​ ​ @texaskitten30​ ​ @yourmajesty09​ ​ @mom2000aggie​ ​ @ofpixelsandscribbles​ ​ @twinkleallnight​ ​ @lodberg​ ​ @twinkleallnight​ ​ @amandablink​ ​ @neotericthemis​ ​  @mm2305​ ​ @sfb123​ ​ @iufilms​​​ ​ ​ @tessa-liam​ @busywoman​​

Masterlist

Catch up here with Prologue and Part 1

Part 2

Fydelia...

"Madeleine dear, have you seen the lost book of Aurelia?" Regina called out when she noticed the countess passing by. "There were some notes in there that I think can be useful for Maxwell."

"No mam." Madeleine stepped into their library.

The walls were covered with a variety of the history of the five kingdoms and the mysterious sixth. Madeleine had spent years studying every single myth in the hopes of finding hints of cures and such for the ailments of her people. Her usually sharp gaze softened at the faded leather spines. They had been her source of comfort long before Regina arrived.

When her parents were alive they rarely spared their daughter a single glance. As long as she was quiet, well behaved, and properly attired; they expected little else from her. She had been their disappointment. Her father had hoped for a son while her mother hoped to never have a child.

She did not feel grief when they died. In fact, she had rarely felt any emotion until Regina took over her care. Through her cousin's encouragement and treating her with kindness, Madeleine began to understand happiness and contentment.

She also began to long for love.

The stories she read about the great love Queen Kenna shared with Dominic had made her begin to daydream about her finding someone of her own. She rather liked the idea that the creatures of the Dark Kingdom fell in love instantly. It certainly took all the guess work out of he loves me, he loves me not.

Though Regina was a kind and nurturing soul, Madeleine wanted something more.

And she had found it one afternoon with the banished prince of the Dark Kingdom.

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

A year ago, the capital of Cordonia...

Madeleine ran down the sidewalk as a torrential downpour began. Being lost in thought, she had wandered away from the market place without paying attention. Townhomes with small parks and cottages with flower gardens dotted the quiet neighborhood.

"Oh!" Madeleine slid down, landing not only upon her left ankle, but also in a puddle.

She closed her eyes at the painful throbbing. Tears began to intermingled with the rain falling upon her face. She tried to standup but ended right back in the puddle.

For the life of her, she couldn't think of a single spell that she could use to help herself. It was part curse and actually a blessing to others that a witch could rarely use magic to improve their own circumstances. Other than being able to take potions to improve their physical health, most spells could only be used for someone else.

If she had asked Regina to come with her for a visit to the capital, then she could have healed Madeleine easily. She probably knew a spell offhand to immediately dry her clothes. But then again, Regina was the most powerful out of their coven.

She attempted to stand once more, only for a cry of frustration mixed with agony to slip out.

She could hear footsteps rushing towards her from behind.

She turned her head and saw a man. Her lips parted at how handsome he was. His drenched clothing revealed what was a definite muscular body. His blonde hair had darkened from the rain. But his eyes...they were the most intense blue she had ever seen.

"Are you badly hurt?" He asked.

She nodded. "It's my ankle. Either a bolt of lightening struck when I fell or I definitely heard a definite pop."

Without another word, he scooped her up in his arms as if she weighed no more than a feather.

He kicked open the wrought iron gate and ran with her into his townhome.

"There's a light switch behind you." He waited for her to find it then continued on into his living room. "Here." He set her down on the couch. I'll try to find you something dry to put on and then we'll have a look at that ankle."

Her lips parted then closed as he dashed upstairs. She took advantage of her solitude to study what was clearly the home of a bachelor. Her eyes touched on the masculine décor of oversized leather furniture and no pictures on the walls. There no trinkets of any sort nor any type of color to add to the brandy colored leather and beige walls.

She turned her attention back to her ankle and winced when she tried to rotate her foot.

"That will teach you not to do that again."

Madeleine jumped at the sound of his voice tinged with amusement.

He handed her a towel then knelt beside her. Using another towel, he dried her foot and leg after removing her shoe.

"Thank you, um..." She bit down on her bottom lip when his fingers gently pressed around the swollen area.

"Leo." He looked up at her. "And who might you be?"

"Madeleine." She sucked in a painful gasp when he lifted her foot.

"Madeleine," he shook his head, "I believe it is just a bad sprain."

She slumped back in relief at that news. "I think so too."

He took off his shirt off and pulled a dry one on.

Her parted lips at the sight brought a grin to his face.

"If we're going to get you an x-ray just to make sure nothing is broken, then you'll have to stay in your dress." His eyes roamed over her petite figure. "I don't have anything that will work for you out in public."

"Yes, of course." She lowered her eyes. "Thank you for your assistance. I'm certain I would still be sitting in the puddle if you hadn't come by."

"I saw you slip down from my bedroom window." He scooped her up once more and carried her out to his garage. "Don't worry Lady Madeleine, we'll have you fixed up in no time."

Her head jerked up. "How do you know I'm a noble?"

He paused then shrugged. "With your beauty and the way you speak, it seemed likely that you were one." He set her in the passenger seat of his car. "Then again," he winked at her, "perhaps I was hoping to be your knight in shining armor."

Her pale skin flared with color from his flirting.

Leo chuckled at the sight then patted her hand.

After taking her to a nearby emergency care clinic, he then drove her back to her hotel.

He carried her and her crutches to her room despite her arguments that she could manage now that she had something to lean on.

"You shouldn't trouble yourself, Mr.--"

"Leo." He insisted. "And it is no trouble at all, I assure you." He set her down on a chair. "So, what brings you to the capital?"

"Nothing in particular." She lowered her eyes. "I had a few council meetings to attend and then I decided to stay over for a few days."

Leo nodded. "Wanted to get away?"

"Yes." Madeleine twisted the hem of her skirt. "I shouldn't feel this way. My life is filled with responsibilities that I actually enjoy handling." She lowered her eyes. "But sometimes..."

"It isn't enough." He smiled at her. "I've been there."

"You have?"

"Of course." He stretched his legs out and took a deep breath. "Though, I think the worst thing that can happen to someone is to have those very responsibilities that they thrive on taken away."

He bent down when he saw her struggle to prop her foot up on a small table. Before she could utter the words that he needn't feel like he had to keep helping her, he had slid it over closer.

"Thank you." She smiled shyly at him. "If you don't mind my prying, what responsibilities do you have?"

His easy smile dimmed. "Ah, none."

Her eyes widened. "But you seem to understand --"

"Like I said," he got up and went to stand at her window. "Nothing is worse than being denied what you are made for."

"What were you made for?" She prodded.

He glanced at her from over his shoulder with a smirk. "Me? To be king."

Her eyes widened with realization. The infamous handsome looks. The chivalry. The recognition of her nobility.

"You're the Dark King's son." She whispered in disbelief.

He turned to fully face her. "And you're The Guardian's ward, the very one she gave up being queen for."

Madeleine swallowed nervously. "I--I'm sorry you lost your kingdom." She gripped her hands together in her lap. "I heard about your father naming Liam as heir."

A brief flash of anger appeared in his blue eyes. "Yes, it seems that my embarrassment of not being a vampire extends to all areas of Cordonia."

"No!" She lifted her hand toward him as if to try and comfort him. "It isn't anything you could control." Her brow furrowed. "I'm certain you would have been an excellent king."

He returned to his chair. "Do you?"

She nodded. "I've always had a gift of, well...of sensing a person's true nature."

"Sounds impressive." Leo reached for her hand. "And what do you sense with me?"

Madeleine bit down on her bottom lip. "I can't quite find the words, but I sense great things in your future." A blush formed on her cheeks as she locked eyes with him. "And that I am somehow tied to your destiny."

He lifted her hand to his lips. "I think you're right."

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

It had to have been fate for their paths to cross. The young man had been wandering Europe in search for a place he could belong.

"Once I saw you," Leo told her late one night, "I knew I had finally found the right place."

She had lost her heart to him. His stories of not being loved by his father matched her own, especially in being considered a great disappointment. She had not been born a boy and he had not been born a vampire.

There was little either could do about it.

Leo admitted that he had gone in search of a vampire in Sweden to try and turn him. Something though went wrong when he was given the Vampire's kiss. He did not change. He had remained in his mortal form even after completing the procedure by drinking from the Chalice.

There was no increase of strength. There was no vulnerability to the sun. There was nothing new or different about him.

Only further frustration and heartache.

Madeleine kept their encounters to herself. It wasn't that she didn't trust Regina. She simply didn't trust what she might say to Constantine.

The King continued to invite Regina to visit. He understood her reasons for refusing his marriage proposal but he refused to never see her again. Since she was in love with him too, she went each time he called for her.

Madeleine didn't approve of their relationship, yet she also kept this thought to herself. She had seen as a child the effect speaking one's mind had on others and she never wanted anyone to know her plans or opinions.

But then she began to sneak away to see Leo.

He had been the first person she had actually opened up to. His charm and confidence seemed to spill over and infect her with an openness she never knew she possessed.

Leo was interested in everything about her, especially her knowledge of spells and potions. For nearly a year, he marveled at her intelligence and encouraged her to dig further to find ways to push magic to its very limit.

Then one night, he shared a dream he had recently had.

"You and I were the King and Queen of the Dark Kingdom." His blue eyes flashed with emotion as he gazed off into the distance. "The people were overjoyed to have the true heir back within the fold."

"We were married?" She asked.

"We were." He squeezed her tight, drawing a startled gasp from her lips. "Everything was how it was meant to be for me. I had claimed the black crown for my own."

"What about your father and Liam?"

He turned toward her. Images from his dream of their ashes floating about his feet brought a slight smile to his lips.

"They weren't there."

"Did you feel in the dream that they approved?"

"Of course." He replied. "I have no doubt they finally saw my true strength."

"You would be an excellent ruler, my love." She pressed a kiss to his cheek. "No one has as big a heart like you."

With her head pressed to his chest, he softly agreed. "Yes, I believe I would be just the ruler this country needs."

As the months passed, he fed her little by little tidbits of stories he claimed he had heard. The creatures of the Dark Kingdom were miserable. They were being ill treated by their once beloved monarch.

"I can't stand the thought of any of them suffering." He paced back and forth before her.

"Of course you can't." She replied. "I wish there was something we could do."

His steps faltered. Turning toward her, his sharp eyes filled with tears.

"Do you truly wish you could help them, Maddie?"

"I do." She reached for his hands. "It seems so wrong to be given these magical powers and not use them in some way to help your people."

He smiled warmly at her. She had stopped referring to the people of the Dark Kingdom as monsters. It had taken a long time to get her to do so, but he knew it would all be well worth it in the end.

Leo sat down before her. "If anyone can find a way for us to take our rightful place, it is you," he pressed a kiss to her hands, "my love."

Madeleine blushed at his faith in her. She loved that he saw her as no one else did. How could she not spend every single spare moment she had in pursuit of a way for him?

"I'll try, darling." She vowed. "I'll do everything within my power to return what is rightfully yours."

He captured her lips in a ravenous kiss.

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

Now...

"I received your message." Leo climbed the trellis to Madeleine's balcony. "Did you find something?"

"I think I have." She showed him the lost book of Aurelia. "It is taking me a while to decipher, but I believe that what you need will be in here."

He stared at the book that might possibly hold his future.

"For instance," she opened it to the third chapter, "a witch held a vampire hostage to discover where their super strength and mind powers originate from."

His eyes narrowed on the crude symbols meant to be letters of the ancient Aurelian language.

"And you believe you will find a way to destroy Father's powers?" He asked.

"No." She gently placed her arm around his waist. "I believe I will find a way to give you those same powers without the vampiric nature."

His eyes widened. "Are you serious?"

"I am." She smiled up at him. "What will your first act as king be?"

He returned her smile. "After naming you queen, it will be to heal our fractured kingdom once and for all."

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

That same evening, near a bustling market place in the capital...

"Lady Hana?"

Hana spun around and smiled. "Lord Beaumont?"

"Maxwell, please." He grinned at her. "It's nice to meet you."

She shook his hand then gestured to the lady beside her. "This my best friend and business partner, Riley Brooks."

"Hi." Riley shook his hand. "Hana said that you would be our tour guide."

"Well," he slipped his hands in his pockets while summoning his charming façade, "I don't like to brag but I do know all the best places to see in Cordonia."

"Great!" Hana relaxed some. "We have quite the list prepared of what we want to see most."

"Oh?" His eyes widened when she handed him a notebook. "Wow. You, uh, you weren't kidding."

"We're vloggers." Riley explained. "Our subscribers depend on us to be thorough with the places we travel to."

"Then you've got the right kind of tour guide." He hesitated when he came to Riley's section. "Interested in the supernatural?"

"Yep." Riley laughed. "You wouldn't think it of us," she nudged a giggle out of Hana, "but we have a lot of fun exploring the creepy."

"Not that we have ever come across a ghost or creature of the night." Hana added. "But we refuse to give up."

"I see." Maxwell mumbled. He looked up at them with a grin. "I'm a fraidy cat myself."

"That's okay." Riley shrugged. "It won't be the first time Hana and I have to venture into the unknown alone."

"She means supposed haunted houses and woods." Hana added with a chuckle.

"But that's not all I want to see." Riley pointed at another section of her list. "Night clubs and historical spots are another part I want to spend time on."

Maxwell shut the binder. "How about for your first venture into Cordonia's nightlife we go dancing?" He flashed another dimpled grin. "No need to spook you on the first night here."

"Sounds good to me." Riley replied when Hana tilted her head in agreement. "Lead the way."

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

"Why did we come here of all places?" Drake grumbled.

"I sent Leo a message to meet us here for a drink." Liam sat down at one of the bar's balcony chairs. "He hasn't replied but I am still hopeful he will show up."

He had always enjoyed this particular bar simply for its view. The bustling marketplace of Cordonia's capital was the perfect place to people watch.

It was one of his favorite past times and he usually came by himself. Tonight though, he had dragged Drake and Sherry along while forcing Rashad to promise to meet up with them once he concluded a business dinner.

"Here we go." Sherry set some glasses down. "One whiskey for Mr. Grumpypants."

"Hey!"

"Sorry, I meant Sir Grumpypants." She teased. "One scotch for Liam." She sat down between them, "...and one--" her eyes began to glow as she zeroed in on an all too familiar figure down in the crowd.

"Sherry?" Drake poked her when she stilled.

"What is it?" Liam became alarmed by her fury forming.

Her eyes narrowed to mere slits. "He wouldn't dare!"

Sparks shot off from her hands as she shoved her chair back.

"Sherry!" Liam grasped her arm to try to calm her down before her emotions gave away what she was. He believed though that he should be able to alter the few patron’s memory here yet he hoped it wouldn't come to that."

"Who are you--" Drake's jaw spasmed as he tried to remain under control. He finally saw what she had seen. "It's that damn Beaumont!"

Liam turned to scan the crowd. He noticed the hunter walking with a lady on each arm. His brow furrowed at the strange sight. He knew Sherry had secured for the most part a future with him, and yet he was out with two--

Liam sucked in a strangled breath. The lady on his left had lifted her face to look at the upper level bars and restaurants. Her deep brown eyes met his and she smiled before continuing on her study of her surroundings.

Sherry jerked her arm out of his grasp. "I'm going to burn off some pieces of his body for this!"

Drake didn't bother to help stop her, hoping she would indeed hurt the man.

Liam shook himself out of the haze seeing the strange woman had caused. "Wait!" He took off after his relative. "Sherry!"

Drake heaved a groan, downed his drink, and begrudgingly followed in their wake.

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

"...and if you are looking for the latest fashions, Hana, this store has a direct from Paris line--"

Maxwell took a step back when Sherry appeared before them.

Hana and Riley looked first at the furious woman then at his shocked face in curiosity.

"What do you think you're doing?" Sherry hissed.

Maxwell swallowed uneasily. "Will, uh, will you ladies excuse me a moment?"

"Sure." Riley replied as he grasped the mystery woman's hand.

He released it with a yelp as if touching her had hurt.

"Is something wrong?" Hana asked.

Maxwell shook his scalded hand. "No."

"That's what you deserve." Sherry muttered for his ears only. "How could you--

"Ladies, allow me to introduce Lady Sherry Alcantar." Maxwell bit out. His blue eyes seemed to spark with a fire of his own as he gazed upon the woman. "My love, this is Lady Hana Lee and Ms. Riley Brooks of New York. Lady Hana's mother is an old friend of my family who asked me to show them around."

Sherry's eyes narrowed somewhat. She was slightly mollified in hearing him call her his love, but that still gave him no right to escort two disgustingly beautiful women around Cordonia at night.

"It's nice to meet you." Riley held her hand out. "Maxwell told us all about you on the way here. I'm so glad we have a face to put to the name he says in every other sentence."

Sherry took a deep breath to cool her fiery temper. She shook her hand with a sincere smile. "It's nice to meet you both."

Hana smiled warmly at her while describing their work. "Lady Sherry, perhaps we could question you about some of the places we hope to capture on film.

The two friends shared a significant glance when Maxwell and Sherry merely stared at one another.

"If you don't mind, I would love to go in there and look around." Hana gestured toward the shop. "I can already see some dresses that I think would be perfect for our videos."

"We'll be back in a few." Riley added, winking at Sherry on her way inside. “I’m sure Maxwell would prefer staying out here with you than be stuck shopping with us.”

Sherry took a deep breath once they were gone. "Why are you really out with them?"

"I received a call the other night from Hana's mother." He explained. "She heard about Liam's search for a bride."

"Her mother knows about the Dark Kingdom?" Sherry couldn't hide her surprise. It was rare to find anyone today who actually believed that the stories were true.

"Yes, she is from one of Cordonia's minor houses." Maxwell sighed. "She doesn't want her daughter to be the next Dark Queen."

Sherry tried to control her temper. Nothing sparked it like someone denying the sweetest, most gentle man she knew a chance at happiness. She clinched her fists when she felt the heat move over her body.

"Sherry?" Maxwell took a cautious step forward. "You're overheating." He tried to take her in his arms, wincing at how hot she felt.

Her eyes flashed as she glared at him. "I know."

He let her go. "I'm sorry, honey."

The unexpected apology and endearment was what instantly cooled her. "You're what?"

"I know how important Liam is to you." He added, running his hands down his face. "But, I doubt this will be then only lady I'm tasked with protecting from him."

"Liam deserves a chance at finding his mate as much as anyone else. Maybe even more so." Sherry argued. She raised her eyes to his. "If you would spend time with him, then you would see what kind of man he is." She looked back into the shop at the two new ladies. "Maybe then you wouldn't take on jobs like this."

Maxwell hated seeing her so down and knowing he was partly responsible. He reached out and took her in his arms, cuddling her close. He dropped a kiss on top of her head.

“I know you want me to meet him. I’ll try to do so one day.” He tried to fight how wrong that felt saying aloud. “But for the moment, I can’t take a chance on Liam meeting Hana.”

“Why did you accept this?” She asked. “You've never taken on bodyguard duty before.”

"Hana's family offered incentives that I needed to help with Bertrand's healing." He rested his cheek against her head when he felt her arms wrap around him. "I didn't think about how it would affect Liam or you. I just knew I couldn't pass up this opportunity for my brother.”

Sherry lifted her head and gently kissed him. "I understand." A rueful smile formed on her lips. "And I apologize for blowing up at you earlier. When I saw you with two highly attractive women and clearly having the time of your life, something in me just snapped."

"You know, you ruined me for anyone else." His dimpled grin appeared. "I could be out with a dozen so called gorgeous women and all I would notice is that they aren't you."

She beamed at him. "Really?"

"Really."

When silence fell between them again, Maxwell exaggerated clearing his throat. He cocked an eyebrow when Sherry looked up at him.

"You ruined me too." She admitted.

"I better have." He grinned once more when he heard her laugh. "Just so there is no misunderstanding, I have to spend the next few weeks with Hana and Riley." He nudged Sherry's chin up. "I want you to come with us as much as you would like."

"You do?"

He nodded.

"I suppose I could find the time." She teased. With a sigh she looked up at the bar. "I should probably head back up there."

"Where?"

"I was up there having a drink with Liam and Drake." She pointed toward the empty balcony. "I wonder where they went."

"Liam's here?!" Maxwell let her go and rushed over to the shop window. He breathed a touch easier when he saw Hana critically studying a dress Riley had tried on.

He then scanned the crowd. His hand immediately went to his side, causing him to curse aloud when he remembered he had not brought his sword. He had left it behind to keep the illusion of a fun, party lord intact.

He really needed to start carrying a hidden dagger like Olivia kept insisting.

Sherry folded her arms while watching him revert into hunter mode. "Max? You know Liam would never harm them."

He narrowed his eyes as he searched for the Dark Prince and his right hand man.

He glanced at the lady beside him when he heard her deep sigh.

"Let me see where he disappeared to and I'll try and get him out of here."

"What was he doing down here anyway?" He asked.

"Oh." Sherry bit down on her bottom lip. "He recently found out that Leo is back in Cordonia and invited him to meet us for a drink."

"Leo's here too?!" Maxwell briefly closed his eyes. "I've got both of Constantine's sons converging on the very spot where I bring the woman I'm supposed to protect from that family."

Sherry rolled her eyes. "Stop panicking. I don't think Leo will show."

Maxwell noticed the bitterness in her tone. "He’s still not speaking to any of you?"

"Nope." Sherry wrapped her arms around his waist when he placed his arm back around her shoulders to try and comfort her. "No one in our kingdom has heard a word from him since Liam was named heir."

Maxwell pressed a kiss to the side of her head. "I'm sorry--"

She jumped when her phone vibrated. 

"What's wrong?" Maxwell asked when her brow furrowed.

"Liam has gone to the palace. He said he needs to talk to Olivia." She sighed. "I guess Leo really is going to ignore us." She looked up at Maxwell. "You can rest easy in your job this evening, Lord Beaumont."

He hugged her close against his side. "You want to come with us? Riley wants to check out the nightlife here and I offered to take them to one of the clubs."

"A night club, huh?" She laughed. "It might actually seem like a date if I did come along."

Her heart melted at how bashful he suddenly seemed over the reminder that they had yet to have an actual date.

"I guess I have dropped the ball on that."

"It's hard to find the time when you're guarding the border nearly every night." She reminded him.

"We'll have our date one day." He promised.

"I'm fine with our nights at the border."

"You deserve better." Maxwell kissed her once more. "I'll make it up to you."

Sherry's lips parted to reassure him, only to pause when Riley and Hana came out of the store.

"Ready?" He asked them, summoning his fun loving persona once more.

"Please get us out of here." Riley pleaded playfully. "I think I actually heard my bank account cry after buying these." She held up the garment bags.

Hana laughed while keeping her own purchases off the ground. "Perhaps we should call it a night since we ended up buying so much. Is there any chance you can show us more tomorrow?"

Sherry could feel the tension in his body ease completely at the notion of putting these two safely away from the night.

"Sure." He looked down at the lady in his arms. "Sherry and I were just deciding on the places to show you these next few weeks."

"That's wonderful!" Hana beamed at the new lady. "We are grateful for all the help we can get."

While Riley and Hana began to eagerly question Sherry on her favorite restaurants and things to do, Maxwell guided them out of the market place, all while keeping a lookout for any sign of Liam.

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

"Why are we going to see her again?" Drake grumbled. "Isn't it bad enough we had to see a Beaumont tonight? Now you want to add a Nevarkis to the evening's entertainment."

Liam ignored him as his jumbled thoughts focused in on one fact: he had actually seen the woman he knew to be his mate.

When he chased after Sherry, he had decided to hang back in the shadows. Knowing that the hunter his relative had lost her heart to would not be comfortable with his presence, he decided to remain far enough that he could intercede if Sherry's temper caused any problems.

Plus he hoped to hear more about the woman Maxwell was escorting.

Ms. Riley Brooks of New York. 

He not only had overheard her name but also where she was from. He was able to see her more clearly in the lights from the nearby shops. Her beauty and the sound of her voice stirred something he had never felt when looking upon any other person.

She had to be the one. There was no other explanation to his reaction to just the sight of her.

Then he heard the reason Maxwell was with them.

The Dark Prince could not have cared less about the lady named Hana. But his job to protect her was going to make Liam's courtship of Riley difficult. He knew he would need some help if he was to get her away from her friend and Maxwell.

He couldn't ask Sherry to manipulate Maxwell into time alone with Riley. It didn't seem right to use the love between them in such a manner.

While frustration grew, he overheard the fact that Hana's mother was a Cordonian noble.

And he finally knew who could help him.

"Wait here." Liam ordered when they reached the palace gates. "I want Olivia in a good mood when I ask for her help. Seeing you, sadly, will not accomplish that."

"You're asking for her help?”  Drake asked. “In what?"

"I'll tell you everything once the plan is in motion." He promised.

"But--" Drake rolled his eyes when Liam vanished. Within a second, he saw him climbing into the queen's window of her study.

"Good luck." He mumbled as he settled in for a long wait.

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

"Hold on." Olivia raised her hands. "You want me to invite you and these Americans to my masquerade ball?" Her eyes widened. "Are you insane?!" She got up from her desk and began to pace. "Liam, my guards are trained to find and destroy any vampire who dares to enter the palace during such events!"

"I won't touch a single drop of blood that night and my manners will fit right in with the rest of the nobility." He explained. "Plus with wearing a mask, no one will recognize me."

"Why here?" Olivia asked. "Can't you do whatever you vampires do when you find your mate without involving me or my home?"

Liam leaned against the edge of her desk. "Because of Maxwell and Sherry."

"Maxwell and Sherry? What does my most trusted monster hunter and one of your dragons have to do with this?"

Liam's brow furrowed. "Hasn't he told you that he is Sherry's recognized mate?"

"Maxwell is a dragon's mate? Maxwell Beaumont?!" Oliva sat down in a chair completely stunned by this news.

"I can't believe he didn't tell you." Liam hoped he hadn't ruined anything by revealing this.

"Maxwell owes me nothing, especially when it concerns his private life." Olivia quickly explained. "If anything, it is me and Cordonia that owe him for all his years of service." A wiry smile flirted about her lips at the irony of it all. "A renowned monster hunter and a monster in love and destined for one another. Poor Maxwell. That had to be a shock."

"You know, you really are a nice person." Liam grinned and sat across from her. "That's why I knew as a little boy that we were destined to be friends."

Olivia rolled her eyes. "Back to your request. Why will my ball not only help you but also keep Sherry and Maxwell out of it?"

"Because Maxwell will be forced to come along once you invite Lady Hana and Riley. And if I'm here--"

"Yes, but my head of security knows your name and what you are." Olivia stressed again. "I can't have him see your name on the guest list and--"

"But I will simply be company with the Duke of Domvallier." Liam explained. "Rashad's duchy is technically Cordonian, as you well know. Since only a rare handful know that Rashad and Sherry are dragons, I assumed your head of security would think it was a myth too."

Olivia nodded. "That's true. Bastien believes that the only creatures of the Dark Kingdom are vampires."

Liam's smile grew. "I can be a business associate of Rashad's. While Maxwell is keeping an eye on Hana and distracted with Sherry, I can then meet Riley under easier circumstances."

Seeing his excitement, she knew she couldn't refuse him.

"You're the only one who can do this for me." Liam added. "Plus, you're one of the few I can trust with this."

"Geez. Why not whip out those mind powers of yours while you're at it?" She grumbled.

Shaking her head over how easily she was ready to help him, she couldn't help but return his smile. "Fine. I'll send invitations to Rashad for the three of you and for Lady Hana and company."

Liam scooped her up out of her chair before she could blink and hugged her tight.

"Thank you!" He bowed and kissed her hand. "I knew I could count on you."

"Uh huh." She waved towards her window. "Now get out of here before I change my mind."

He winked at her and did as she said. "I'll see you at the Masquerade Ball, your majesty."

She walked over to the window and watched him disappear through the gate. Her smile dimmed as she thought of the report she had been reviewing when he appeared in her private study.

Olivia wondered if she should have told Liam about his brother's secret meetings with the Countess of Fydelia. There could only be one reason he had recently become so close to the witch. Leo must be searching for a way to gain the power he had been denied since birth.

Deciding to keep a close eye on the banished prince, she planned on telling Liam once she had more information. He was so happy with finding his mate that she couldn't stand the thought of taking that away from him with this news.

"Damn it." Olivia muttered. "Liam really is my best friend."

Somehow a Nevarkis had developed a love for a Rhys.

*Character moodboard for Madeleine and Leo*

[kanohivolitakk]

Since its 3Hs anniversary some really cool things I like about the game that aren’t talked about enough because the fandom is too busy arguing who is right and who is wrong

The worldbuilding just. 3H has honestly one of my favorite fictional settings. Its just both expansive but also genuinely interesting. I have spent HOURS thinking about the world and made so many ocs its not even funny. I love thinking about the setting of the game so much.

I LOVE the puzzle like way the game explains its world and story. Like I know some people don’t like it because it makes the game a bit too convoluted but personally? I LOVE 3Hs way of not telling everything but rather giving hints and clues the player has to piece themselves. It makes the games world feel more interactive and feels so satisfying. Then again I enjoy that kind of approach to worldbuilding

In general I love 3hs fragmented story and the way how the story is placed in many different fragments. It is geniunely rewarding to replay the game from another storypath and notice the foreshadowing Would’ve the story been probably better had it been just one storypath? Honestly yes. But 3h is ambitious and one of the ways it is is with its fragmented story structure.

The structure of White Clouds is criminally underrated honestly and gets way more hate than it deserves. I love how the first few chapters set up the world of Fodlan and show injustices/conflicts of the world with chapters like the chapter where you face off Lonato for instance. Then the next few chapters are spend in deepening the mysteries such as the conspiracy against the church and the mystery regarding TWSITD. Then Jeralt dies and the last few chapters are spent as “beginning of the End” so to speak, as things clears to the intense climax.

On related note I LOVE how the game handles perspective and how the lords are the respective ways we view the story. I know so many people say “WHite Clouds is same on all paths” but I do feel that’s kinda the point. The story is the same but there are differences that come from the way each of the lords is strongly characterized and has different values, worldviews. The subtle changes on what are focused on in each route also foreshadow what will be focused on each route, which I think is super cool.

Even beyond the lords and routes the game does explore the idea of perspective well. I do think 3h has this very “everyone is the hero of their own story” type of approach to perspective and it shows it well. Each character believes they’re in the right and you can get this view that they view themselves as right. Even Agarthans who are the designated villains have this sense they think they’re in right and that the Nabateans were evil.

The way how games routes being divided into having a different focus is very cool. I love how AM is a smaller scale personal tragedy, how CF is a battle of ideals and how VW explores the world and reveals deeper mysteries. I also love how all of these are related to the lords ideals and worldviews: Dimitri is the most conflicted of the lords so he gets the most characterfocused story focused on . Edelgard is the most ideologically driven so her path focuses on her ideals and battle of wills against Rhea. Claude is the one who is the most freespirited and wants to know the truth so his route focuses on revealing the mysteries.

Also the way the houses characters reflect their respective routes storyline and central themes: Black Eagles are nobles that have conflicting relationships with nobility reflecting Edelgards goal, Blue Lions are all united with the trauma of Tragedy of Duscur, and Golden Deer are a house of misfits who give this “ragtag group who will save the universe with POWER OF FRIENDSHIP and this cool gun I found” vibes which fit the route PERFECTLY

I LOVE how the game plays with and subverts a lot of Fire Emblem tropes. While it does play some tropes straight (dad death and evil cult manipulating behind the scenes) it does do a lot to break from series conventions and playing with ideas to make a more ambitious story. The way it either subverts expectations (The evil emperor being female well intended extremist, Rhea being the Gharnef/Medeus instead of the Nyna archetype she’s presented as), twists familiar tropes to their natural extreme (Dimitris arc is basically the natural extreme end of stereotypical FE lord) and other similar things make the game feeling so planned out, like the writers understood FE stories and wanted to make something that challenges FE while still feeling like it.

The way how every major player acts as foil/pararell to another player is so GOOD. Every faction leader can be compared to the other somehow and that just makes the game SOOOO fun to analyze, trying to find all the similarities and differences and pararells is so rewarding.

A more specific example on this is how i love how the game plays with the idea of holy/sacred weapons. While normally these weapons are artifacts from goddess that defeat dragons, here the holy weapons are bones made from dragons and just???? HOW METAL IS THAT????????? It’s just such a neat way to subvert the idea of sacred weapons. Rather than being blessed creations of the goddess, they are weapons of destruction made by the villains.

I ADORE THE GAMES science fiction elements. I know people say they feel out of place but personally, they make the game memorable for me. I still remember the first time I saw that scene with nukes. I especially love the heavy implication that Sothis isn’t a goddess but rather a powerful alien. It makes her character much more interesting

I know a lot of people don’t like Agarthans but can I just say their backstory being “forced to hide after their land got conquered and desiring it back” making them a dark mirror not just 3h lords/Rhea but FE lords as whole is SO FUCKING METAL. This is what I mean with 3H writers knowing their tropes like back of their hand.

I love how in Part 1 sometimes you’d talk to two characters in Monastery at once instead of just one. It’s something I miss in part 2 honestly.

I love the small sidequests such as the fishing tourney and White Heron cup and wish Part 1 had more of them, it would’ve made the school part feel more alive.

I LOVE how some missions (esp paralogues) have subgoals that you can clear to get better rewards. I wish the game had been more clear with them or even made them main goals of maps sometimes.

I LOVE THE WAY Paralogues act as small gaiden stories that show more of the games world and characters. Its a neat way to let the sidecharacters shine and reveal some neat secrets of the games world and story.

The gameplay loop is honetly fun and satisfying. It is rewarding and while it gets tiring towards the end overall its a good gameplay loop.

I ADORE the aesthetic of Shambhala. Its just so sleek and sinister. The cyrillic letters spelling different words is so cool. Shambhala is my favorite map in the game and the aesthetic is a big reason why.

The games soundtrack is so good!!!!!!!!!!  But not only that I LOVE the way its electro elements subtly hint of Agarthans being in control behind the scenes. This is especially cool in Road to Dominion where the electro parts are barely noticeable yet present. but other tracks have subtle electro vibes as well.  The other way the games music tells the story (such as use of leitmotifs or how the monastery music changes once Jeralt dies) is great as well.

I love how 3h can be read as an allegory for reformation era and reneissance. Its such an interesting way to read the games events and compare it to a real historical periods there’s quite a bit of f

In general I ADORE the cultural references of the game. There’s surprisingly lot of way the games world is based on real life and the details are just *chefs kiss*

THE GAME IS DENSE WITH THEMATIC IDEAS. Besides the perspective the game tackles ideas of how trauma can affect a persons psyche and worldview  (as well how a persons trauma affects the way they interact with the world which in turn can affect the world as well), grief, societal values, historical revisiniosm and so much more. The game tackles SO MANY topics in an interesting manner, it is thematically just as dense as it is storywise as well.

I also love how the games thematic parts work in harmony with the story rather than one overshadowing with the other. Its super refreshing honestly where a games themes and story are both rich and I don’t have to pick one over the other.

Lastly I ADORE the games central message (or at least what I see as the central message anyway): The world’s fucked up and most people want to fix it, but what they deem fixing differs and because of that they go into conflict or outright war rather than trying to find a common ground. Everyone wants a better world but no one can agree what a better world truly means  so they fight over it. It was a theme that not only resonates with my personal values but also hit me REALLY hard when I first played it as it’s a theme that I found incredibly relevant and reflective of our own world during the time I played the game for the first time.

So yeah. I made this post since there’s SO MUCH neat things about the game, its gameplay and story that sadly get swept under the rug in favor of either arguing  which lord was right/wrong or complaining how the game is an unfinished, rushed and overambitious mess. Is 3h perfect? Hell no. But it’s a game that I hold near and dear to my heart and does genuinely SO MANY THINGS RIGHT, I’m sad no one talks about the genuine strengths the game has anymore, instead just complaining.

I’m not even joking when I say that 3h should be up there as heralded as one of the best, most ambitious and complex JRPGs alongside Xenogears, the first Xenoblade game, Suikoden and Trails series as whole along other such games. Its a shame the games reputation is less like those games and more like Persona 5s where everyone focuses more on its flaws and the fans being annoying than the fact the game does geniunely A LOT right. It’s just that good, ambitious game I love so much.

[edgeofmyniall]

The Arrival: Part Two

taglist | masterlist | 

trigger warning: descriptive telling of a miscarriage

The warm air hits Niall like a sudden force that kicks him in the stomach. His hand still lingers on the crook of Penelope’s back and he knows all too well that his heart is screaming for her. One look from her and he feels like he could vomit. 

It had always been that way for him when it came to Penelope Myers. She could make his thoughts dizzy, his heart sing, and his stomach knot with one singular look. If love was illegal, he would forever be in the top ten most wanted criminal in the world. He was absolutely, without a doubt, still in love with Poppy. 

Until he started to notice that Poppy cared for more of the material things than himself. Her gaze would linger on the necklaces and rings that he presented her when she thanked him. She could not stop praising the new car that sat in the garage when she called her mom. It was him that worked hard and gave Poppy the nicer things in life. And she failed to respect him in the way that Niall seemed fit. 

She was shallow, only loving him for the diamond on her hand and the car she drives.  

“How have you two been?” Amelia asks as her drink slings against the carpet. Clearly under the buzz of wine, she pulls both Niall and Poppy into a forced hug, letting her Yorkshire accent free from her imprisonment. The pretend couple look at one another before Amelia lets her grip go, forcing smiles on their faces. “Been a lot of rumors going about… a divorce, an affair? Not the two of you, I say,” Amelia smiles, genuinely believing her friends were still together. “Aren’t you two trying to have a baby?” 

Poppy cradles her torso in an unconscious decision-grief swallowing her whole. Niall presses his hand tighter around Poppy’s back, pulling her closer to him. They had been, trying, to say the least. Until one night Poppy woke up with bloody sheets and her torso feeling as if it’s been ripped open. Niall grieved only for a few weeks that his wife miscarried, but Poppy still grieves in silence. 

Three Years Ago

“Niall,” Poppy whined, her stomach feeling torn to shreds. She had woken from a deep slumber to the intense pain that scratched and clawed at her torso. She felt weak, both physically and mentally. She thought it might have been the food she had eaten for dinner, but it was more than that. She felt the loss move through her body. She moved her legs closer to her chest trying relieve the pain somehow. “Niall, please… I-”

“What is it?” Niall sat up, leaning on one arm as he turned toward his wife whose tears had soaked into her pillow. “What’s wrong?” Niall tries to wrap his arm around Poppy’s shaking body when he feels the dampness on the sheets. Quickly he turns on the lamp beside the bed and tosses the white sheets off Poppy’s body. The dark red liquid had stained the entirety of Poppy’s side of the bed. In the scene of life or death, Niall watches his wife lose the greatest joy she had. Still crouched in the fetal position, Penelope screams out as another wave of pain courses through her body. Her back muscles were tight contracting with the pain as her lower abdomen pulsates its muscles with the pain. Niall’s heart races as he becomes frantic. His breathing is erratic as he scoops his wife into his arms and carries her downstairs. 

“Please, please, please not the baby,” was the only thing that ran across his mind.

“It hurts, Niall. I can’t-” Poppy tries to speak through the tears and the gut wrenching pain, but fails as she buries her head into Niall’s chest as she cries. 

“Baby, shhh, it’ll be alright,” Niall lied, panic rising in his chest, trying his best to soothe his wife. He awkwardly opens the back seat of his car and lays Poppy down gently before racing back up the stairs to grab his phone. 

“Sam, get an emergency cleaning crew to my house as soon as fucking possible,” Niall tries to steady his request, but it comes off more as a demand. “I’m taking Penelope to the ER. Cancel all my meetings for tomorrow or today or what the fuck ever day it is. My wife lost my child and I- '' Niall screams into the empty house as tears fall down his face. His body shakes as he hits his fist into the wall, putting a hole into the painted drywall. “I got to go.” Niall shoves the phone into the pocket of his checkered pajama pants and flies to the nearest emergency room.

“Sir,” the doctor, a young and fairly new attendant, walks into the room. She carries herself in a way that one would when delivering bad news. Niall had been waiting in the hard metal chair while Poppy was rushed into the operating room. “Your wife has lost a lot of blood and she could have lost her life if you hadn’t made it here in time.”

“What about the baby?” Niall’s eyes wide as he takes in the unspoken words. He could read between the lines. “What about my baby?”

“The fetus did not make it,” the doctor’s face scrunched as she tried to break the life changing news. She tried so hard to stop her own tears from falling. “Penelope wasn’t far along and in the first trimester there is-”

“Eighty percent chance that a miscarriage could happen. I know, I researched everything when Poppy told me.” Niall hung his head and wept as the doctor stood in the solidary of Niall’s grief. “Is my wife okay? Did she make it?” Niall’s voice cracked at the thought of losing his best friend. His life would be shambles if he ever lost Poppy. 

“She’s in the recovery room asking for you. Penelope, it seems that she does have polycystic ovarian syndrome. It’s a condition that affects her hormone levels. Penelope has more male hormones than she should. PCOS makes it hard for women to become pregnant…”

“We had a hard time… We had an appointment to start with In Vetro, but then she was pregnant by some miracle,” Niall looked at the speckled white floor tiles, trying to steady his voice. 

“The high levels of testosterones caused the miscarriage. Mister Horan,” the doctor crossed her hands in front of her body. “I’m sorry for your loss.” Niall knew the doctor was truly sincere when she apologized, but nothing, no words, could bring his growing baby back.  

Niall’s trek to the recovery room seemed never ending. He wanted to reach his wife and to hold her close so badly that the white walls and floors of the hospital were an endless maze. Niall curses at the barriers that are keeping him from his wife, his best friend, that needed him. He tried so hard to hold himself together when he saw his wife, laying in a stiff hospital bed hooked up to beeping monitors. He watched her heart rate continuously flash across the screen. He held her hand, still soft and gentle just like the first time he held her hand. 

“I’m sorry,” Poppy said. Her eyes were still closed and heavy from the pain medication, but she knew the warmth of her husband’s hand. “It’s all my fault. My body... I-” Poppy’s voices cracked under the weight of her words. Everything she tried to say was too burdensome to speak.  The invisible barrier between them was overshadowing both of them and Niall had already begun to crack under it. 

“No. No, no, no,” Niall repeated as he pushed the wet, sticky tendrils of  light colored hair out of Poppy’s face, his voice finally cracking. He tried to be strong for his wife when she was at her weakest, but the sight of one of the strongest people he knew lying in a bed in grief that consumed her broke him. It was not her fault. It wasn’t anyone’s fault, but maybe his own. If he would have watched more closely for the signs, anything, he might have prevented this from happening. Pale and sickly cold with sweat, Niall smiles at the angel with dark circles under her eyes as if she was the inspiration of the Mona Lisa. Poppy swallows hard as she brings her husband’s hand to her lips, the touch of his hand to her skin causes another wave of tears. She had failed him and the baby. “We’ll try again.”

“We’re...giving it some time,” Poppy dances on the right words to say. She dares not speak of anything that might give any indication of what’s happened. She curses herself for living a secret life.

“Ah, well, it’ll come. All good things come when in their own time, innit that right, Niall? The business hasn’t been doing well, yeah?” Amelia’s eyes flicker with sarcasm as Niall swallows his anger. He knew deep down that Amelia had always been jealous of his success- the way that the business skyrocketed when the firm had helped their country in the decrease of pollution. He wants to say what he’s really thinking, what he really thinks of Amelia and her winery, but instead, he only gives back what Amelia dished. 

“Same could be said for you and Maxwell? Or is it Josh this week?” Amelia laughs, hurt and anger flash across her face, a look that would kill Niall where he stood. Poppy nudges Niall with her elbow and whispers, “Be nice” after Amelia disappears to fetch the unlucky lad of the week.

“I am. Being nice. Did you hear what she said about the business? Jesus Christ I could twist her head off. Ah, here is the lucky man. Name’s Niall.” Niall extends his hand out to the tall, tanned male who looks to belong in a magazine. His blonde hair is gelled back with a tiny curl swooping down his forehead. He flashes his teeth when he smiles. 

“Jayden. Nice to meet you and Miss?” Jayden almost bows as he looks at Poppy. “Mrs. Poppy, Niall’s...wife.” The word is a lie and it tastes bitter in Poppy’s mouth. She wishes she could get used to the taste by now, but it still is just the same. Poppy looks at Jayden, who is still holding her hand. Niall clears his throat as he pulls Poppy closer to him. 

“Leave your luggage by the door,” Amelia says before folding her arm around Jayden’s and showing them Justin’s home. As if they actually needed it. It was only to show off that the successful business couple came back to their roots, even if for a little while.

“Now, tell me,” Amelia whispered when Niall wandered over to the bar to collect a bottle of bourbon, “I saw a ginger hussie standing over Niall with her breasts all out when I came by the office one day to drop off some of my samples. I tried putting in the code on the gate at your house, but it wouldn’t work, but you would know that if you ever returned my calls.”

“Sorry about that, Millie, I’ve been busy with the magazine. Niall said she’s the new intern.” Poppy hates the taste of lies, boiling inside her as she spews one after another. 

“Well, she was all over him, and Niall was eating that shit up. I swear, I almost threw the bitch off the balcony meself.” Amelia’s brow furrowed as she looked up to her friend. “If the rumors are true…”

“No!” Poppy said a little too quickly and loudly, “I mean, no they aren’t. I trust Niall. He knows what he comes home to.” Poppy smiles reassuringly, but doubts her words. Does he really know her the way that Poppy does? Poppy only disciplines herself for ever believing that she knew Niall. She never did.

“Well, I trust you. I know that you would never lie to me cuz you’re me best friend, and I love you so fuckin’ much,” Amelia’s words slurred as brought her friend in for another hug. Poppy’s heart sank as the lies burned in her mouth. She could never take them back, and if her friend ever found out, their trust would be severed and the domino effect would begin. 

“I just hate that we’re together again under these circumstances. Justin was…” Poppy tried to find the words to describe what Justin meant to her. He had been her friend throughout college, and they had been close until the divorce. She was angry at Justin for keeping his cancer a secret from her for so long. She wanted to help, but Justin reassuringly let her know that unless she held the power of God, that there wasn’t anything that she could do. 

“Amazing, to say the least,” Amelia finished her friend’s sentence. Poppy looked over to Niall who stood next to Alex with a smile wide across his face. He was firmly gripping his glass of red wine when he looked over to his ex-wife and felt an old happiness and yearning for her. He swallowed the feeling down as he sipped his wine, cursing himself for letting his guard down. He still loved her. 

Two Years Ago

“Where were you last night?” Poopy asks, her hands crossed against her chest. “Where the fuck were you?” She cocks a brow as she looks at her husband who remained silent. The cold grey morning seeped into the pale white living room where the two were standing. Niall had only just come inside when Poppy stood at the base of the stairs. Her eyes, rimmed with red from worry and tears, watches her husband as he tosses his briefcase to the floor. 

“I was out, alright?” Niall sighed as he looked Poppy in her swollen eyes. He didn’t call her. Not even after the floods of texts and calls, Niall never once picked up his phone.

“Where?” Poppy asks, her voice sharp as a knife. She could feel the tears brimming over the edge of her lids and her mouth formed a frown. She thought of the worst.

“I was at the office late with reports,” Niall walked over to Poppy kissing her temple as he pulled her close. “I fell asleep. I should have called.”

“I was…” Poppy folded her arms around her husband and sighed, “I was so worried.” Poppy's head rests inside the crook of Niall’s neck and as she breathes in her husband, she breathes in the musk of a perfume she didn’t recognize.

“I’m going to take a shower and then we can go see your mother, okay?” Niall asked as he let his embrace go. It was foreign to her now. Who was this Niall standing in front of her now? The faint outline of red lipstick still stained his skin where she kissed him. It was smudged, like Niall had tried to vigorously rub the act of possession away.

“Yeah, sure.”

One by one, the two are reunited with old friends that they had lost contact with over the years. Each time, the two forced smiles and laughter for shared memories and explanations. No one dares to address the rumors that the couple are no longer together. That would mean facing the truth and digging up each lie they’ve spoken over the past year. Hours passed and the two felt as if they had finally come home after wandering around for years. Niall steals a quick glance from Poppy who is laughing at a joke that Jayden said. He wants to rescue her as he watches her subtly flirt with the stranger. His fear of losing Poppy had come true, by his own demise, but here in the warm fire scented room, he felt that he could lose Poppy all over again.  

“Where’s our rooms?” Niall finally asks after sharing a chardonnay with Alex, Justin’s long time girlfriend. Alex tried to keep the wine from coming up when Niall asked his question. Niall felt the secret becoming like loose strands the longer he stood there in front of his friends.

“Rooms? You and Poppy only need one, unless…”

“No, none of it’s true. Just misspoke is all,” Niall swallows the last of the wine in hopes of the conversation and upcoming questions dying. The bottle of unopened bourbon still stands on their suitcases waiting for Niall’s lips to taste. 

“Last door on the left upstairs. The usual room,” Alex cocks a brow when Niall strides over to Poppy and pulls her in the direction of the luggage. 

“Grab your bags and let’s go,” Niall breathes hard, angry at himself for letting the one word almost unravel the lie they’re both living. “We’re in our old room.”

“One room? We’re sharing?” Poppy asks as she pulls the handle out of her rolling suitcase. “Are you sure?”

“They don’t know, Penelope,” he growls, looking Poppy in the eyes before trudging upstairs leaving Poppy to her own demise. 

They don’t know.

She has to repeat this to herself, reminding her that while life moved forward for the two of them, their friends are stuck in the past. 

taglist: @niallerlover​, @yourpolaroid07,  @militrybarbi  

[eclecticstarlightconnoisseur]

VISIONS IN THE SNOW

Good Evening All! I have a new one-shot that was inspired by the horrific weather that recently swept across the U.S. It caused so much grief, suffering to so many people. I hope this would bring a smile to some faces. This was written with one particular person in mind (and you know who you are) and I’m glad you like it.

Thanks as always to @scubalass for the read through. Your suggestions were, as always, spot on. It made the final story so much better.

Status of Edinburgh to Boston: There is progress but it is painfully slow. There are two characters that are essential to this chapter whose voice I do not hear as well as I do Jamie and Claire. I write something, then I delete it and I do the same thing over and over. We will come to an understanding at some point so dinna fash. There will be A/N at the end to explain words or terms.

Without further delay I give you Visions in the Snow.

Here goes nothing:

VISIONS IN THE SNOW

February 1968  - Boston

The responsibility for hosting this week’s poker game fell to Joe Abernathy.  He took his duties in this regard very seriously. It was the way the surgeons decompressed after a week of stressful surgical procedures and this week was no exception. 

“It must have been a full moon,” he thought. Motor vehicle accidents, stabbings, gunshot wounds, volvulus, a ruptured esophagus, the works. It was during these times that he dearly missed his friend. Claire. He cast his glance over to the card table set with one extra place, Claire’s place. On the seat was her green visor that she wore when she played poker with the boys. It sat in repose like a memorial to a fallen comrade.

Silly thing! She believed wearing it masked her glass face.  Nothing could be further from the truth, but none of her colleagues had the heart to tell her. They all knew what Claire Randall was thinking. So much so, they often let her win which caused her to think she was good at playing poker.

He glanced around the room and saw that everything was in readiness for the evening. The sideboard groaned beneath the bounty of food, snacks, and brews.  

Outside, the wind blew fiercely rattling the windows drawing his attention. Joe looked out the window watching the two front trees bowing to the brute force of nature. Their skeletal fingers scraped at the roof almost as if trying to gain entry. It had been snowing for the last six hours with no sign of it letting up. He had considered canceling the game but a majority of his colleagues soundly vetoed that idea. Only Callahan and Peterson dissented. Callahan’s wife would kill him if he left her alone to deal with their six small ones while he went to play poker. Peterson lived thirty miles away. The remaining players all lived a short walking distance from his home, on Doctors Row. It was so-called because many of the physicians who worked at the hospital lived on the same street.  These surgeons were gambling men betting they had enough time for some comradery, hands, and beers before the brunt of the storm arrived.   

For a Boston snowstorm, it hadn’t accumulated very much. Yet. Regardless, it would not hamper these hardened surgeons accustomed to driving through Boston’s worst to get to the hospital. Without warning, the storm picked up intensity driving the snow hard enough to erase the landscape before him. Amid the squall, a hazy light glowed like the high beams of headlights in the snow. A wraithlike figure emerged from its center. Joe wasn’t able to make out any of its features. Man? Woman? He wasn’t sure. But one thing was for sure, it was headed directly toward his house. 

Joe leaned closer trying to see if the person was in distress as they were caught out in the snow. Maybe they had abandoned their car and were seeking help.  His warm breath met the cold pane fogging it, wholly obscuring his view.  Using his shirt sleeve, he wiped away the condensation hoping to improve his ability to see. As the person drew closer, it became apparent that it was a young woman and her attire was totally inappropriate for the weather. She wore a long dress whose hem floated across the snow. It looked like a green and black plaid and a white scarf crossed her neck to cover her bosom. Her hair was dark, curly, piled high on her head, and tendrils framing her face. She looked a lot like… It couldn’t be, could it? She came closer. So close that he could see her eyes. Eyes the color of a fine whisky. Claire? Claire! How? She had left for Scotland, disappearing into the past, to find her true love.

Anxiety flowed through him. He needed to speak with the woman. He needed to know if it truly was Claire. Joe tried to open the window, but it wouldn’t budge. The frame had swollen from the moisture, he thought. He rapped on the window calling her name, but she paid no heed.

Claire was running and laughing bright and merry. Stopping suddenly, she turned and extended a hand into the haze. A man appeared laughing and chased after her. He was a big son of a bitch standing at least six feet four inches and as big as a brick…Well, he was big. He had a mop of red hair, but to simply say red would deny the richness of the color. It was a curly thick mosaic of cinnamon, auburn, gold, and cinnabar.  And his eyes were the deepest blue Joe had ever seen. The man was kitted out in traditional highland garb right down to the sword strapped to his side. Reaching her, the young man made a courtly bow. He straightened, then took her hand to bestow a kiss. A moment later, he lifted and spun her around. She tossed her head back and peals of joyous laughter rang through the air. He set her down gently settling his hands on the swell of her hips. His eyes danced with love as he lowered his head to kiss her most thoroughly. Joe felt his cheeks burn as he watched such intimacy. 

Time advanced in front of him. He became witness to a lifetime, to a marriage, to the bonds of love that could not be broken. The vision changed from the blush of first love through to a life fully lived.  He wept at their trials, tribulations, and heartbreak. And he reveled in their accomplishments, triumphs, and joys. But through all their hardships, and there were many, their love for each other never wavered, never changed. 

The final event showed the couple had aged. The woman, Claire, had streaks of grey in her hair while the man’s hair had lightened. They stood atop a ridge overlooking some land. The man had his arm securely around her waist pulling her protectively close to him. Claire stood on her tiptoes wrapping her arms around his neck and pulled him down for a fiery kiss. She nodded her head and started to pull him toward a cabin. He scooped her up and carried her across the threshold kicking the door shut. 

As the vision faded back into the vapor as a voice called out, “I am happy Joe. I found my Jamie.”

Resting his head against the cold pane of glass provided a sense of comfort to his unsettled mind and spirit. Uncertainty gripped him as he grappled to understand what happened. Had this been a dream? Or a hallucination? Or had the fabric of time somehow been rent apart? He shook himself, much like a dog dispelling the rain from its coat, hoping to lift his state of bewilderment. 

Psssst, pssst, ssssssss! The homely sound of the radiator hissing brought him back to himself and away from his ruminations.

Mercilessly, the wind blew about the house ferociously shaking the windowpanes in their frames then suddenly died away. Out of curiosity, Joe tried to open the window. This time it slid open with ease. The blinding snow stopped returning to light flurries. As he turned to walk away from the window, he noticed the clock on the mantel. It was one minute later than when he last looked at it. “Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ,” he muttered.

Joe walked over to Claire’s chair and picked up the visor cradling it to his chest,  “Wherever you are Claire, I’m glad you’re happy and you found your Jamie. Jamie, if you can hear me, take good care of our girl.”

With that, the doorbell rang and Joe went to greet his guests.

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

Claire woke with a start bringing Jamie to instant alertness. He grabbed the pistol he kept by his bedside in preparation for any threat. Seeing none, he turned to look at Claire. She looked like she had seen a ghost.

“Sassenach, what’s amiss? Are ye alright?”

“I dreamt...I dreamt I was back in Boston going to play poker with the other surgeons. It was our regular night to play. The game was at Joe’s house and there was this blizzard.”

“Poker? What kind of game do ye play with a poker?” he was afraid to ask. Claire had told him so many peculiar stories about her time that he thought this would be another one. The only poker he knew about was the kind used in a fireplace.

“It’s a card game. I was rather good at it too. Someday I’ll have to teach you.” Claire snuggled up against Jamie seeking his heat, his comfort. She yawned greatly, “Except I will miss my green visor.”

 “A vi-zor?” All he could envision was a knight’s helmet with a visor covering the eyes and face.

“It’s a sort of hat with a green brim. It shades your eyes and some of your face. People use it to hide their facial expressions when they bluff at cards.”

Jamie looked at her as if she were a bit daft. He knew nothing could hide her thoughts on that glass face. He tucked her head under his chin, “Come, Sassenach, rest yer head, aye? I think ye had a bit of the nightmare. I’ll keep ye warm and safe.” He lowered his head placing a kiss on the top of her head.

Jamie closed his eyes and thought about the black man he had seen in his dreams too. “Aye, dinna fash, Joe. I’ll care for her with my life,” he whispered just before lapsing into sleep.

A/N:

VOLVULUS: A volvulus occurs when part of the colon or intestine twists. The twisting causes bowel obstructions that may cut off the blood supply to areas of the bowels. This can cause the bowel to die or left untreated the person can die.

RENT: This involves a story. When I was in catechism class the teacher was telling the story of Christ’s trial before the Pharisees. When Jesus was condemned one of the Pharisees was said to have rent his garment. You say that to a bunch of kids and they start to giggle. They wanted to know who he rented his clothes to and for how much. So the teacher explained that to rent something meant to tear it apart violently. I fell in love with the word’s usage and I never thought I would get to use it in this way. But I did!

And poor Jamie, Claire’s stories always leave his surprised, confused, shocked among other feelings.

The truth behind this story was that it was supposed to be smutty. Instead, it evolved into this. It was supposed to happen that the Ridge was also snowed-in. Claire was bored with playing chess with Jamie and wanted to play something else. She wanted to teach him strip poker. So I left myself an opening if I chose to do a second chapter. But I have to finish E2B first.

I hope you liked this and it brought a smile to your face.

You can find me on AO3. There I am LadyJane518.

Thanks for reading!