#fight against windmills

[hauntingblue]

Arlong park musings

First things first, these beauties in the art gallery.

What I believe is inspiration for the alabasta bath scene (also what is usopp doing there lmao, but most importantly how Zoro nor Luffy are there begs questioning for how the current readers saw them). And first ever Luffy chad?????

This actually parallels nami believing in luffy when he dies in wano. Nami believing in him making him "resuscitate"

And what makes me more insane is Luffy making nami smile again and promising to keep it that way:

Surprisingly I don't have much to say because I have said it all I think. Luffy nami twins together in the womb together in the tomb like this 🤞 etc etc

I can't put more pictures but arlong yapping about how humans are inferior and can't do anything and Luffy getting the strength to finish arlong when he realises how badly nami was treated like..... Which is funny bc arlong got mad and Luffy was still beating him but when Luffy got mad.... It was arlongver... Also arlong saying how Luffy couldn't use nami as good as him and how Luffy doesn't intend to do that even if he still needs her bc they are truly a crew and not a leader and his slaves...

[briefinquiries]

Tyler Owens x Reader: Read Between the Lines

Request: anonymous said: "I was wondering maybeeee if you could write some protective bf Tyler ( because i would be swooning ) maybe either someone keeps hitting on her so he steps in or someone maybe in another storm chasing crew is being mean so he steps in and defends her <3 idk"

Word count: 3.9k

Warnings: language, mild fighting i guess?? slight angst

A/N: sorry I haven't been posting as frequently! I started work up again and ya girl has been BUSY. Anyyywayyy, thank you for reading! please keep the comments coming! I love to see all your requests and I promise i'm getting to them as quickly as i can :)

“Need anything?” Tyler asked, leaning against the hood of the truck in a way that shouldn’t be as adorable as it is. 

“I’m good,” you said, offering him a gentle smile before brushing a few loose strands of hair from your sticky forehead. 

“You wanna come in with me then?” 

You shook your head– the idea of sitting in a stale diner with no AC was just about as unbearable as the thought of driving another second. “No, I think I’ll stretch my legs out here.”

“Okay,” he said in a tone that indicated you’d be missing out. He gave the truck a pat before adding, “We won’t be long.”

“Take your time,” you assured him. 

He offered one final nod before turning and following Dani, Boone, and Lily across the parking lot. Dexter also stayed behind. Instead of shitty diner food, he’s opted to take a nap inside the RV accompanied by his noise canceling headphones and a fan blasting right at his face. 

You were exhausted, down to your bones. You and the rest of the team had driven nearly six hours that day tracking a cell that hadn’t ended up amounting to anything. You were stiff and tired and irritable– just like everyone else. But you hoped that some time alone outside might help at least level out your mood.

You extended your arms over your head, groaning when you felt something lightly pop in your back, before craning your neck from side to side. The air was stifling– thick and humid with little to no breeze for any sort of relief. The heat hadn’t broken in nearly a week, and unfortunately for just about everyone, the truck’s AC didn’t work as well as it used to. 

The parking lot to the diner was relatively empty. Aside from the crew’s RV and truck, there was an SUV parked in one of the front spots and a small sports car with a steady cloud of smoke pouring out the cracked window.  

You let your eyes wander past the diner parking lot at the sprawling field across the road. The windmills were agonizingly still in the stale air– like even they were desperate for some reprieve. 

Your eyes fell shut as you took a few deep breaths, trying to get your bearings. 

Your peace lasted for about thirty seconds. And then the sound of blaring music and screeching tires had you turning your pulsing head. Instantly, you rolled your eyes at the sight of the familiar vans pulling into the lot beside you. 

Merrill Anderson and his crew started chasing in the area almost thirteen months ago. You knew because each and every moment that you’d known about their existence had been more painful than the last. 

Anderson was a meteorologist out of Texas that wore a cowboy hat almost as big as his mouth and an inflated ego to match it. He made sure you and everyone else around him knew that he had a PhD, and therefore, in his opinion, was automatically more entitled to chase. Him and Tyler had hated each other from the moment they met while chasing an EF2 in Arkansas– their feud only grew each time their paths crossed. 

Anderson was grinning at you through the window as soon as his van rolled by. You did your best to avert your gaze– hoping that lack of eye contact would avoid any sort of conversation. 

Unfortunately, you weren’t so lucky. 

“There she is,” he announced, boots scuffing against the dirt parking lot as he hopped out from the driver’s seat. 

“Now what're you doin’ out here all by yourself? Your team finally leave you behind? Realized they didn’t need two uni drop outs on their team?” he asked, tone already dripping in sarcasm. 

He was an antagonizer who got off on provoking others. And although you and Anderson had your fair share of unpleasant exchanges, you knew he only ever bothered you to get under Tyler’s skin. 

Tyler’s biggest weakness was that he was endlessly protective of the people he loved. You saw this particular trait as a strength– but you knew that Anderson fed off Tyler's anger, which you could only imagine was his intention now. Thankfully Tyler was in the diner– hopefully gorging on raspberry pancakes as you spoke. Because if he were to see Anderson talking to you– you knew this whole interaction would escalate quickly. 

“Anderson,” you sighed, leaning casually against the hood of Tyler’s truck. The smile you forced on your face was almost painful. “So lovely to see you, as always.”

You hoped if you withheld from his taunting, he might move on quicker. 

Instead, to your despair, he backtracked from his van to stand across from you. “You guys go ahead,” he instructed his crew. “I’m gonna spend some time with my friend here.”

They nodded before heading towards the diner, leaving the two of you alone. 

“You should teach that hillbilly- boyfriend of yours some manners. If I remember correctly, last time I saw him, he drove through a puddle to splash me.”

You bit back a grin as you recalled the moment he was referring to. “I’m sure it wasn’t on purpose,” you lied (it was absolutely on purpose). 

Anderson chuckled. “You know– I don’t know if we’ve ever had a conversation just us, without him lingering around. You’re much more pleasant. Both in conversation and in looks.” 

You felt a chill run down the length of your spine at his words– but the way he was looking at you was infinitely worse. You watched as his eyes flickered from your face to your chest– currently more exposed than you would like in the tanktop you wore in the stifling Oklahoma heat. You wished you had grabbed a shirt to cover up in– but they were all either dirty and packed away somewhere in your duffel. 

Clearing your throat, you stood up straight and crossed your arms, attempting to shield yourself from his lingering gaze. 

“Oh, hey now darlin’, don’t cover up. I’ve been stuck in the van all day with these jokers, this is the most action I’ve gotten all summer.” 

You could feel the blood rushing to your cheeks as you tried desperately to remain level headed. Anderson was a jerk– and he’d definitely make you uncomfortable… but you couldn’t imagine that he’d ever actually do anything to harm you.  

Then again, you’d never interacted with him for longer than a minute or two with Tyler and the rest of the crew at your side. This was uncharted territory that you didn’t care to explore. You felt your earlier determination to handle him on your own fade away with uneasiness.  

You turned your head towards the diner, hoping you might catch Tyler’s gaze through the window or something. Of course you were too far away for that– all you caught was the glare from the sun. 

“You know I’m not used to seeing you in clothes like this, usually you’re all covered up,” Anderson whistled. 

As soon as he took a step closer, you instinctively moved too. Except your legs collided with Tyler’s truck– preventing you from actually going anywhere. For some dumb reason, you felt obligated to hold your ground– to not let him see how uncomfortable he was really making you. But with each passing comment, you grew more and more fearful. 

Anderson now had his body angled towards you with a look that could only be described as predatorial. “God, it’s true you don’t know what you’re missin’ til you see it. We should have these heat waves more often if it means I get to take a look at this every day.”

You tried and failed to remain stoic. You wanted to yell– to tell him to shut the fuck up. But for some reason, your body and brain weren’t connecting. 

“C’mon, where is she?” he taunted. “You know, your sweet side has its perks. But I much prefer ‘em a little spicy.” 

He took another few steps closer to you. It was subtle, but you noticed. Anderson was so obviously getting a kick out of whatever the hell he was doing here, and you were doing a piss-poor job at withholding from it, like you’d originally planned. 

“Why don’t you come on back in my van with me,” he winked. “I’m not sure how your hillbilly does it, but I can show ya a real good time.” 

Get away from me, you wanted to scream. But your mouth wouldn’t move– your voice was lost somewhere inside of you. And all you could get your body to do was lean away from him slightly. 

“Don’t be like that, darlin’,” he cooed. He was so close that you could almost smell his breath. Your brain told you to fight– to shove or kick or do something to get him away from you. But all those previous instincts you had to fight back faded into paralyzing fear. 

Anderson reached across the space between you to move a loose strand of hair from your face as you began to tremble. “And don’t be afraid, baby doll. I don’t bite… too hard. Owens ain’t gotta know–”

“Anderson!” 

Your head snapped at the sound of a familiar voice… Not just any familiar voice– Tyler’s voice. He was currently storming across the parking lot with a look of pure hatred across his face. The second his eyes landed on you– undoubtedly and obviously terrified, that anger only intensified. 

“Get the fuck away from her,” he demanded. His eyes were narrowed and shockingly darker than their normal shade of sage. 

“Here he is!” Anderson taunted. “Her douche bag in shining armor.”

You couldn’t help but notice Anderson didn’t step away. In fact, if anything, he looked like he was about to step closer, just to really test his limits. But then, to your relief, you saw Boone, Dani, and Lily storming out of the diner in Tyler’s wake– all coming to your rescue. 

In an instant, Tyler was there, stepping between you and Anderson– forming the protective barrier you needed to finally feel safe again. Without thinking, you fisted the back of Tyler’s T-shirt for good measure. 

“Easy, Rambo,” Anderson sneered. “I was just tellin’ your sweetheart here how much I enjoy her new look. Who knew she had all this hidin’ under those baggy shirts? That the reason you keep her hangin’ around, Owens? I knew she had to be good for something–”

But Anderson didn’t get a chance to finish his sentence. Because before you knew what was happening, Tyler was lunging forward and connecting his fist with Anderson’s nose. 

The crack as it broke was deafening, you released Tyler’s shirt to cover your mouth in shock. Tyler hit him with enough force that he went staggering back a few steps, his hands instantly moving to cup his face. 

Tyler was still shaking off his hand when Anderson stood up straight, blood pouring out of both nostrils. 

“Damn, that bitch must be as good as she looks if she’s worth all this,” Anderson continued to taunt. Even with a broken nose, he didn’t back down.  

Without even hesitating, Tyler moved to strike again. But as soon as he did, Boone and Dani were both stepping in front of him to break things up. 

“Easy, T–” Boone said. 

“Stay the fuck away from her,” Tyler snarled in warning, pointing his finger over Boone’s shoulder. You’d never quite heard his voice so malicious or threatening before, and even though it was in your defense, it sent shivers down your spine.   

Suddenly, Lily grabbed your hand from the side, causing you to flinch. “It’s okay,” she said, tugging you a few steps away from the chaos– like she knew how badly you needed space from everything. “You alright?”

You nodded, flustered.  

“Next time you want to settle this without your little army of strays, you let me know, Owens. And next time you want a good time, Y/N, you know where to find me,” Anderson said, offering you a wink that churned your stomach. With that, he wiped some blood from his nose and began sauntering back towards his van. 

“I’m gonna fucking kill him,” Tyler snarled, still being physically held back by Dani and Boone. 

“Yeah, and he’d deserve it. But he’s not worth catchin’ a charge,” Boone said. “It’s been a slow season and we don’t got the kind of money to bail you out of jail.”

“Take a breath, T,” Dani said. “He’s walkin’ away. Take a breath.”

You watched Tyler slowly come back to his body. He listened to Dani and took a deep breath– his shoulders visibly relaxing when he exhaled. It seemed to be enough for his friends to finally release him. 

As soon as he was free from their grasp, Tyler turned around– his attention landing on you. “Are you okay?” he asked, his previously menacing voice now laced with so much care and concern. He stood in front of you– his body blocking all views of Anderson and their vans. His hands moved to cup your cheeks gently. 

“I’m fine,” you said, attempting to convince yourself more than anyone else. But even you knew it didn’t sound convincing. Your voice subtly cracked on the final word. 

Tyler stroked his thumb along your skin. The look on his face told you he didn’t quite believe you as his eyes flickered down to your trembling hands. Thankfully he didn’t ask more. 

“I gotta say that was a nasty right hook, T,” Boone said, clapping Tyler on the back as he approached. “I didn’t know you had it in ya.”

“What’d that asshat say to you?” Lily asked. “You looked really shaken up when we saw you out the diner window.”

“Nothing,” you mumbled, too embarrassed to repeat his taunts. You were shocked by how self-conscious you suddenly felt with everyone’s eyes on you. Anderson’s previous words had made you incredibly aware of every inch of yourself– like there was an electrical current humming underneath the surface of your skin. 

“Just the usual shit,” you tried to brush it off.  

You felt grateful when they didn’t push. 

Eventually, the crew disassembled– everyone focused on getting their stuff together to hit the road again. Anderson didn’t reemerge from his van, but as you sat idly in the passenger seat of Tyler’s truck, you didn’t take your eyes off from where it was parked– like you were anticipating some sort of retaliation. 

You remained hidden from the team– feeling so awkward and uncomfortable– like you didn’t want to be perceived or noticed by anyone. And you hated that Anderson’s words were the ones to make you feel that way. You couldn’t find any shirts in your duffel bag that weren’t disgusting. And currently you didn’t have the time or patience to dig through your second bag in the RV. So instead, you wrapped your arms awkwardly over your chest, trying to make yourself as small as possible just as Tyler climbed into the front seat. 

“Everyone else is riding in the RV, it’s just us,” he said, eyes lingering on you. 

“Okay,” you said, trying your best to sound casual. You wondered if he ordered everyone in the RV so that you’d feel more comfortable. You made a mental note to thank him for that later, he was always so good at reading between the lines.  

Tyler instantly noticed your uneasiness. “Baby, what’d he say to you?” 

You shrugged, refusing to meet his gaze out of sheer embarrassment. “I mean, I think you caught the gist of it at the end there… Just a lot of that.”

You heard his loud exhale. “Just say the word and I’ll barge into that stupid van and kill him right now.”

The corner of your lip tugged into a small smile. “I just want you to stay here,” you admitted. 

He nodded solemnly. Without another word, Tyler passed you something he had scrunched up in his fist. It was one of his T-shirts– like he knew you wanted to cover up without even having to say it. You took the shirt– the thanks you wanted to offer him remained stuck in your throat, but Tyler didn’t seem to mind. 

Instead, he pretended to fiddle with the radio while you silently slipped the shirt on. Almost instantly, you felt like you could relax underneath the fabric of his clothes. 

You curled your arms around yourself and tucked your knees to your chest. When Tyler asked if you were ready to head out, you nodded without another word. 

…

It was only seven when you arrived at the motel. Tyler went into the lobby to book the rooms while everyone else hung back. Boone and Lily were going on and on about using the pool later that night, but once you’d grabbed your bags from the truck, you sort of tuned it all out. 

Tyler found you sitting on the curb once he’d passed out everyone else’s room keys. He picked up your duffel from the ground before speaking for the first time in almost an hour. 

“You ready for bed?”

You nodded, offering him your best attempt at a convincing smile.  

“C’mon,” he motioned his head to the left. “We’re upstairs.”

Tyler led the way to your room– and even though this was a dingy motel, you’d never seen anything more perfect. The shades were dark, the AC worked, and there was a single, plush-looking queen bed in the middle of the room just screaming your name. 

Tyler let you shower first. And when you emerged from the bathroom, all the sweat and grime finally washed from your skin, he was gone. But in his place, he’d laid out one of his T-shirts and a pair of his boxers on the bed for you to use. You almost teared up at the sight of just how thoughtful he was… Still reading between the lines. 

You’d spent the entire duration of your shower trying to convince yourself that what had happened earlier wasn’t that big of a deal. Anderson was a jerk– of course he was going to say some jerk-ish things. It shouldn’t have been a surprise– and yet, you couldn’t shake the discomfort you felt. It was like all the words he’d said to you had nestled underneath your skin and made a home for themselves. 

In an attempt to shake the thoughts away, you quickly shrugged on Tyler’s clothes before sitting on the edge of the bed and wrapping your arms around yourself. 

Almost as soon as you sat down, you heard the front door to the motel open up. Tyler stepped into the room carrying his own bag and a couple of water bottles he must’ve grabbed for the two of you. 

“Better?” he asked, handing you one. 

You nodded and cracked it open. “Much.”

Tyler sighed before joining you on the edge of the bed. “Baby, are you sure you’re okay?” 

“I-” you started and then stopped. Your hands were shaking, but you jumped when you felt Tyler’s hand close around yours, steadying them. His touch gave you just an ounce of courage to speak. 

“It wasn’t even anything that bad–” you admitted. “I meant it earlier, you heard the worst of it… I just, I don't know, I can't explain it. But everything he said made me feel so gross… and dirty, and…” And, well, you didn’t quite know what else. Words were hard to come by tonight. 

“Oh, baby,” Tyler exhaled. He released your hand to wind his arm around your shoulders, tugging you to his chest instead.  

It wasn’t until he shushed you that you even realized you were crying, but it came out in a rush. You clung to him, instantly impressed by his ability to just make you feel so much safer. 

“I’m sorry,” you said. 

“You don’t have to be sorry,” he assured you, only squeezing tighter. 

“I don’t know why this bothered me so much–” 

“Because Anderson is an asshole and he intentionally said some gross shit to shake you up,” he answered for you. “You’re allowed to be upset by that.” 

You exhaled against his shirt, and when you licked your lips, you tasted salt. 

“I’m the sorry one,” he said. 

“What?” you shook your head. “You don’t have to be sorry–”

“I should have been there.”

“You were there,” you reminded him. “Unless I blacked out or something and I was really the one who punched him in the nose…”

Tyler chuckled softly, you felt the vibration against your chest– instantly soothing you. 

You sighed after a moment, trying to decide if you wanted to share what was really bothering you. You bit the inside of your cheek. It was so tempting to keep it to yourself, but more tempting than that was the idea of finally feeling a little more at ease again after just telling Tyler the truth. 

“I just–” you paused again. “I–” 

“Hey,” he said. You looked up at him briefly. “It’s just me.” 

That was the problem– it was Tyler. And you didn’t want Tyler thinking less of you because of what had happened. 

“I didn’t fight back,” you said quietly. “I just froze up– it was like I couldn’t even think straight. And he kept going and going, and I just stood there– taking it.”

Tyler ran his hand up and down your arm reassuringly. “What are you talking about?”

“It just felt like…” your voice tapered off. 

Tyler waited a moment before asking gently, “Like what?” 

“It just felt like I didn’t do anything to stop it,” you whispered so quietly you weren’t even sure he’d heard you. “Like I let it happen.”

“Baby,” Tyler sighed. “Baby, no. Anderson is such a jackass, it wouldn’t have mattered what you said–”

“But I could have told him to get the fuck away from me–”

“You were just trying to keep yourself safe. Baby, we can’t control how we react when we’re scared. It’s fight or flight–”

“Or freeze,” you mumbled, embarrassed. 

“Or freeze. I’m pretty sure fawning is one too, now,” he said. “But it doesn’t matter– what matters is you can’t control that you froze. Just like–”

“Just like you couldn’t control punching him in the face?” you asked. 

You glanced up just in time to see Tyler’s lips tug into a smile. “Exactly,” he said. 

“I just wish my fear reaction was a little more effective,” you pouted. “Freezing didn’t do much.”

You let your eyes fall shut when Tyler tugged you closed to his chest. “I guess it’s a good thing you have a douchebag in shining armor to come help whenever you need it,” he smirked. 

“Thanks for protecting me,” you said quietly. 

“I’ll always protect you, you know that,” he said, planting a soft kiss on the top of your head. 

You smiled against his chest. You really did know that. “And thanks for punching him in the nose.”

Tyler snorted. “Anderson’s had that coming for a long time.”

[badjokesbyjeff]

An Australian Army Recruit sends home a letter...

Dear Ma & Pa,

I am well. Hope youse are too. Tell me big brothers Doug and Phil that the Army is better than workin’ on the farm - tell them to get in quick smart before the jobs are all gone! I wuz a bit slow in settling down at first, because ya don’t hafta get outta bed until 6 am. But I like sleeping in now, cuz all ya gotta do before brekky is make ya bed and shine ya boots and clean ya uniform. No cows to milk, no calves to feed, no feed to stack - nothin’!! Ya haz gotta shower though, but its not so bad, coz there’s lotsa hot water and even a light to see what ya doing!

At brekky ya get cereal, fruit and eggs but there’s no kangaroo steaks or possum stew like wot Mum makes. You don’t get fed again until noon and by that time all the city boys are dead because we’ve been on a ’route march’ - geez its only just like walking to the windmill in the back paddock!!

This one will kill me brothers Doug and Phil with laughter. I keep getting medals for shootin’ - dunno why. The bullseye is as big as a possum’s bum and it don’t move and it’s not firing back at ya like the Johnsons did when our big scrubber bull got into their prize cows before the Ekka last year! All ya gotta do is make yourself comfortable and hit the target! You don’t even load your own cartridges, they comes in lil' boxes, and ya don’t have to steady yourself against the rollbar of the roo shooting truck when you reload!

Sometimes ya gotta wrestle with the city boys and I gotta be real careful coz they break easy - it’s not like fighting with Doug and Phil and Jack and Boori and Steve and Muzza all at once like we do at home after the muster.

Turns out I’m not a bad boxer either and it looks like I’m the best the platoon’s got, and I’ve only been beaten by this one bloke from the Engineers - he’s 6 foot 5 and 15 stone and three pick handles across the shoulders and as ya know I’m only 5 foot 7 and eight stone wringin’ wet, but I fought him till the other blokes carried me off to the boozer.

I can’t complain about the Army - tell the boys to get in quick before word gets around how good it is.

Your loving daughter,

Patricia

[batboyblog]

The United States is experiencing scorching new levels of heat fueled by climate change this summer, with dozens of people dying in the West, millions sweating under heat advisories and nearly three-quarters of Americans saying the government must prioritize global warming.

But as the Republican Party opens its national convention in Milwaukee with a prime-time focus on energy on Monday night, the party has no plan to address climate change.

While many Republicans no longer deny the overwhelming scientific consensus that the planet is warming, party leaders do not see it as a problem that needs to be addressed.

“I don’t know that there is a Republican approach to climate change as an organizing issue,” said Thomas J. Pyle, president of the American Energy Alliance, a conservative research group focused on energy. “I don’t think President Trump sees reducing greenhouse gases, using the government to do so, as an imperative.”

When former President Donald J. Trump mentions climate change at all, it is mockingly.

“Can you imagine, this guy says global warming is the greatest threat to our country?” Mr. Trump said, referring to President Biden as he addressed a rally in Chesapeake, Va., last month, the hottest June in recorded history across the globe. “Global warming is fine. In fact, I heard it was going to be very warm today. It’s fine.”

He went on to dismiss the scientific evidence that melting ice sheets in Antarctica and Greenland are causing seas to rise, threatening coastal communities around the world. He said it would result in “more waterfront property, if you’re lucky enough to own.” And he lapsed into familiar rants against windmills and electric vehicles.

At the televised debate with Mr. Biden in June, Mr. Trump was asked if he would take any action as president to slow the climate crisis. “I want absolutely immaculate clean water and I want absolutely clean air, and we had it,” Mr. Trump responded, without answering the question.

Mr. Trump’s spokeswoman, Karoline Leavitt, later declined to clarify the former president’s position or discuss any actions he would take regarding climate change, saying only that he wants “energy dominance.”

The United States last year pumped more crude oil than any country in history and is now the world’s biggest exporter of natural gas.

A clear majority of Americans, 65 percent, wants the country to focus on increasing solar, wind and other renewable energy and not fossil fuels, according to a May survey by the Pew Research Center. But just 38 percent of Republicans surveyed said renewable energy should be prioritized, while 61 percent said the country should focus on developing more oil, gas and coal.

“Their No. 1 agenda is to continue producing fossil fuels,” said Andrew Dessler, a professor of atmospheric sciences and the director of the Texas Center for Climate Studies at Texas A&M University. “Once you understand their main goal is to entrench fossil fuels regardless of anything else, everything makes sense.”

The party platform, issued last week, makes no mention of climate change. Instead, it encourages more production of oil, gas and coal, the burning of which is dangerously driving up global temperatures. “We will DRILL, BABY, DRILL,” it says, referring to oil as “liquid gold.”

By contrast, Mr. Biden has taken the most aggressive action of any president to cut emissions from coal, oil and gas and encourage a transition to wind, solar and other carbon-free energy. He has directed every federal agency from the Agriculture Department to the Pentagon to consider how climate change is affecting their core missions.

If Mr. Biden has taken an all-of-government approach to fighting climate change, Mr. Trump and his allies would adopt the opposite: scrubbing “climate” from all federal functions and promoting fossil fuels.

Mr. Trump and his allies want to end federal subsidies for electric vehicles, battery development and the wind and solar industries, preferring instead to open up the Alaskan wilderness to oil drilling, encourage more offshore drilling and expand gas export terminals.

Project 2025, a lengthy manual filled with specific proposals for a next Republican administration, calls for erasing any mention of climate change across the government. While Mr. Trump has recently sought to distance himself from Project 2025, he has praised its architects at the Heritage Foundation, a conservative research organization, and much of the plan was written by people who were top advisers during his first term and could serve in prominent roles if he wins in November.

When pressed to discuss climate change, some Republicans say the country should produce more natural gas and sell it to other countries as a cleaner replacement for coal.

While natural gas produces less carbon dioxide than coal when burned, it remains one of the sources of the greenhouse gases that are driving climate change. Scientists say that countries must stop burning coal, oil and gas to keep global warming to relatively safe levels. Last year, at the United Nations climate summit in Dubai, United Arab Emirates, the United States and nearly 200 countries agreed to transition away from fossil fuels.

But if elected, Mr. Trump has indicated he would pull back from the global fight against climate change, as he did when he announced in 2017 that the United States would be the first and only country to withdraw from the Paris Agreement to limit greenhouse gas emissions. (The United States subsequently rejoined under Mr. Biden.)

And it’s possible he would go even further. Mr. Trump’s former aides said that if he wins in November, he would remove the country altogether from the United Nations Framework Convention on Climate Change, the international body that works on climate policy and created the 2015 Paris deal.

When it comes to international relations, Project 2025 calls for an end to spending federal funds to help the world’s poorest countries transition to wind, solar and other renewable energy.

The blueprint also calls for erasing climate change as a national security concern, despite research showing rising sea levels, extreme weather and other consequences of global temperature rise are destabilizing areas of the world, affecting migration and threatening American military installations.

Federal research into climate change would slow or disappear under Project 2025, which recommends dismantling the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration, which conducts some of the world’s leading climate research and is also responsible for weather forecasting and tracking the path of hurricanes and other storms.

NOAA, according to the authors of Project 2025, is “one of the main drivers of the climate change alarm industry and, as such, is harmful to future U.S. prosperity.” At the agency’s research operation, which include a network of research laboratories, an undersea research center, and several joint research institutes with universities, “the preponderance of its climate-change research should be disbanded,” the blueprint said.

Project 2025 also calls for the president to issue an executive order to “reshape” the program that convenes 13 federal agencies every four years to produce the National Climate Assessment, the country’s most authoritative analysis of climate knowledge. The report is required by Congress and details the impacts and risks of climate change to a wide range of sectors, including agriculture, health care and transportation. It is used by the public, researchers and officials around the country to inform decisions about strategies and spending.

Project 2025 also calls for the elimination of offices at the Department of Energy dedicated to developing wind, solar and other renewable energy.

Waleed Abdalati, a former NASA chief scientist who is now at the University of Colorado Boulder, said downgrading climate science would be a disservice to the nation. “That’s a loss of four years in pursuit of creative solutions,” he said.

As president, Mr. Trump tried to replace top officials with political appointees who denied the existence of climate change and put pressure on federal scientists to water down their conclusions. Scientists refused to change their findings and attempts by the Trump administration to bury climate research were also not successful.

“Thank God they didn’t know how to run a government,” Thomas Armstrong, who led the National Climate Assessment program under the Obama administration, said at the end of Mr. Trump’s presidency, adding, “It could have been a lot worse.”

Next time, they would know how to run the government, Mr. Trump’s former officials said. “The difference between the last time and this time is, Donald Trump was president for four years,” Mr. Pyle said. “He will be more prepared.”

[ruruumin]

pearl jewelry.

₊˚ ᗢ mermaid! kazuha x gn!reader.

⤷ when his attempts at a marriage proposal flies over your head.

⤷notes; based on this thread.

Mermaid! Kazuha, who thinks that it’s been more than enough time to pop the question for you. 

He has consulted his other friends about the process. This was his first marriage proposal, and he certainly wasn’t going to want something similar to everyone else. Yoimiya suggests that he offer you a pearl necklace, so that you may never lose it. He pouts at the idea, saying that it was tradition for humans to give each other rings and that perhaps you would want a more normal proposal. The bubble quickly popped when Gorou clarifies the notion by saying: “If they wore a ring, what if they go off to fight? What if they lose it? It’s better to give them a necklace so it stays on longer!” 

And so he makes it his absolute mission to get you the best of the best. He searches the bottom of the sea for weeks while you were traveling Mondstadt. He even made sure that it was approved by Kokomi to have the roundest shape. He wasn’t going to give you just any pearl! It would be an insult to his culture if he were to give you something so half-baked. 

It’s been nearly a year since the two of you met. And your routine hasn’t changed much for the most part. You still come to the shores to see your favorite platinum-haired boy, and he would come back to you with the same smiling face you’ve grown to adore. Although you’ve long traveled the seas, visiting places like Liyue and Sumeru, you end up coming back to visit Watatsumi Island to see him. No matter how far you may be, or how dry the lands are, his memory remains fresh like salt water.

You’ve been teased on many occasions by Beidou. She comments that you’ve been staring off into the sea a lot more than usual, perhaps too much with that lovesick look in your eyes. You try to brush it off by saying you were merely friends, tied and bound together by your love for travel. Though she begs to differ. That expression was much like her own, and she too has been infatuated by the strange, mystical creature of the sea. At last, she leaves you alone when you wish to depart the Alcor. 

Stepping onto Watatsumi Island, you make your way to your favorite spot. Tucked in hand was another book that you bought from a bookstore in Mondstadt. It was about the history of grilled fish, and you thought Kazuha might like it. It was rather simple, but you figured that he might appreciate it a little more if it was something that reminded you of him. He was sort of one big fish after all. One that liked to jump into your arms more often than not, leading to the two of you being covered in sand.

To your surprise, Kazuha was sitting on a rock, already waiting for your arrival. He fiddled with something in his hands, his face looking quite nervous and shy. You smiled as you approached the man, sitting down next to him as you stared off into the horizon. You both share a conversation about your recent travels and how beautiful the nation of Mondstadt was, from their windmills to the sound of birds singing, it was nothing short of lovely. Though you would let slip that instead of listening to the drunken bard at Angel’s Share, you loved to listen to Kazuha’s singing.

At this comment, he blushed profusely. He shakes his head in denial but you know him too well to see that he was rather flattered. Finally gaining enough courage to show you what was hidden in his hand for the longest time. He opens a clam, revealing to you a neatly tied pearl on strings. It shined underneath the sun and you found yourself rather captivated. Smiling, you allowed him to wrap it around your neck, the pearl settling neatly on your collarbone. Pressing your fingers against it, you feel those same butterflies jitter in your stomach.

“This is the nicest gift you’ve given me so far,” You giggle, bringing your knees close to your chest, “What’s the occasion?” 

“It’s a lot more than that,” He whispers, leaning his head against your shoulder as he lets out a deep breath. 

He’s been planning this moment for months and everything seemed to go by so quickly. You accepted it so easily that it made him wonder if you even knew the implications behind this gift. While he has given you more pearls in the past, there was nothing more special than how perfect this specific one was. It takes a lot of dedication and time. You would only give something like this to someone you wish to marry, so for you to accept it so easily… 

He snaps his head up at you, looking at you with a confused expression. 

“Kazuha?” 

“Do you… know what this means?” 

You raise your eyebrow. Were you missing something? The gift was lovely, especially when he offered it to you in such a romantic way. It sort of makes your gift for him a lot more lame. You blink several times, unsure of what to say at the moment. So silence fills the air.

 It takes a few moments for everything to click in your head. This necklace must be extremely special. Was it something regarding mermaid culture? You were certainly unfamiliar with the ways of life for him, and the only time you’ve learned much was from Beidou. "That woman I was talking to you about," She started, looking out at the grand ocean, "She used to gift me a lot of pearl necklaces. I didn't understand the sentiment until she told me that it was her way of asking me to be hers," The captain grinned, "Do you think Kazuha would give you something like that?"

Was it a proposal? You stare back at him with a surprised look. He suddenly raises his hand, covering the lower half of his face with his webbed fingers. His cheeks are as bright as apples, and his ears were red. He was embarrassed that he had to spell it out for you in your human language.

“Do you think I’d give something like this to just anyone?” He murmurs, shyly peeking at your eyes. You tighten your hold on the book in your hands, your breath hitching at the sight.

“You wound me, Starling. This is… our equivalent of marriage. So please treat my heart kindly.”

trying out a new format for writing small ideas that sort of feel like fics but aren't super long! i just had to write this one and post it because it's gonna be stuck in my mind if i dont!!

thanks to @maehemthemisfit for the idea ♡♡

[we-fancy-you]

Weirdo

Kuroo tetsuro x f!reader We all know how childish Kuroo sometimes may be, but just know that you won't take his shit every time. NSFW 18+ only established relationship, unprotected sex, creampie, riding, teasing a lot, overstimulation, timeskip!kuroo it's pretty vanilla smut

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“Don’t push like that!” you said while walking to the bathroom. “I’m sorry.” He said with a lying smirk on his face. “You’re not sorry at all! It’s written all over your face!” He gave a soft snicker before groping your but. “Tetsuro! I am serious! You can’t just do this to me when we are having a serious conversatio- “he was mimicking you with a lousy expression while his hand is mocking your mouth. Knitting your eyebrows together you planned on calling him out for it. As a small feeling of rage bubbled in your stomach and you could almost see red.

For some annoying reason he always did this. Whenever I pointed something about the past week that I didn’t like, out. He would start acting like a horny moody teenager.

“Babe, you take life too seriously. Can’t you just let it go?” “You know what you should do. You should grab the spare blanket and pillow because you’re not sleeping in the same bed as me tonight.”  You puffed out. The burning heat in your veins hadn’t cooled off yet and you were stomping out of the room.

“Ahh, don’t say that. You know you can’t sleep without me.” Even though that’s partly true, your pride didn’t give in. He was being a total jerk and you needed to put him in his place. “I am going to give you a nice one to the jaw. Then were going to see what you need.” “I honestly think you can’t even reach my shoulder from down there.”

That’s it, you couldn’t do it. As your face flushed beat red and felt like had gasoline on it waiting to be lit and set everything a blaze. “You.” you slowly turned around on your heels and looked him dead in the eye. He didn’t flinch a bit and only had that stupid fuck boy smirk displayed on his face. The one that says ‘hey to yah sexy ladies. If anyone want some good dick tonight. Hit me up.’

“What did you just say?” Even though everything of your body was burning. Your voice could make Antarctica gasp. “See you have to even bend your neck to look at me now. How are you going to hit me?” Even though this bastard had the same height as a windmill you weren’t scared off by his petty insults. You pushed him as hard as you could against the wall and pulled him down his collar. “You listen here you little shit, I know you have a hard life with all your work and sport on the side but guess what.” You pulled him so close. Your breath was dancing against his. As much as you hated him, he knew how to turn you on and that ruined hairstyle was doing it.

“I too have a job, and yes work out.” He laughed at that part, the hard and ha! Type of kind. “You working out? I think I have a bigger chance of winning the lottery than to see you working out.”

Another vein in on your forehead pulsed with irritation.

“How did you get so full of yourself? Huh? Was it the old ladies that called you handsome? Because I can promise you, they are blind.”

“No, it’s the fact that you always get wet when we fight.”  As you two were in such a heating argument you didn’t notice his long slender fingers travel to my lower parts. The tip of his index finger suddenly pressed on your clothed clit, and a jolt of pleasure hit your body. Gasping and closing your eyes, his other hand brushed the hair out of your face. “You really are the worst.” You huffed out.

With his big arms he picked you up and walked to the bed. He gently placed you down and was about hover over you when you pushed him back. “You know” he looked confused but listened because he obviously wanted to do something about that tent set up in his pants. “Why do you think you are allowed on top? Hmm. You have been very rude and now all of a sudden you want to use me? No.” you slowly whispered in his ear. You got up pushed him down once more on the bed. “Don’t move.” You said while slowly opening your blouse. He was whistling at your action, but it didn’t faze you. You trailed your hand over his shirt from his neck down to his chest that lingered a bit before you pinched his nipple. He tensed up and you s straddled his lap after that. Slowly rocking your hips just to get the smallest amount of friction between the two of you. His hands were at his sides, and you could feel the pent up frustration he has. “I want to be on top tonight.” you said. Your bedroom experiences usually consist of him being on top or behind. So, you being on top is something special. After you said that his smirk deepened.

“You know you’re hot when you are angry right. My dick is so hard.” you blushed harder and tightly held his face in your hands. “Listen boy.” Rubbing his lower lip. “Tonight, we will do all the things I like. And you can’t complain, can’t whine, or cry.” I brushed my lips to his ear and bit his lobe and blowed lightly. “Yes ma’am” he said while he swallowed big time. “I want to tie you up, but since that takes too much effort you have to promise me to keep your hands behind you.” He slowly nodded as you got of his lap and took off the rest of your clothes, leaving you in a black lace under garments. As you untied your hair you saw his eyes drift to your mounds and licking his lips. But that’s not going to happen yet.

You knelt down between his legs not breaking eye contact and undoing his belt. He was hard and you could feel the light twitching through his trousers. While getting it all off and rubbed his big thigh you could feel goose bumps forming beneath your hand. Softly kissing the muscular part up and down making sure to leave hickeys while making your way up to his centre. His eyes were closed, and he now was laying on the bed with his long legs dangling off. I got up and turned him vertically so I could lay in between his legs. He sighed at your cold hands touching his warm stomach and I teased him more. I missed the touch of his lips him, but you couldn’t give up now.

 Tugging his boxers down for the show to start. You were going to make this painfully long for the both of you.

After many times of him cumming on your face and mouth. And seeing the masterpiece of hickeys you left behind on his pelvis and v-line. You took off your own panties and pushed his, still hard surprisingly, dick inside you. It felt good and God you were wet. So wet. The slick sound of him rubbing your walls filled the room. Maybe it was because you where on top or maybe the long-time spend on foreplay, but it felt so good. Tears filled your eyes, and you were just slowly moving up and down. Keeping a steady pace so this was going to take a while, but you were right on the edge. If you opened your eyes right now and look at him the sight of him alone could give you your release. Secretly opening one to look at him. Both your hands were on his abs making small marks from your nails, but his Oh, his were giving you an ego boost. One of his hands was between his teeth and the other was pulling his hair. A hard moan escaped your mouth, and you couldn’t even recognize your voice in it. Your stomach was all tingly and skin was set ablaze, the sweat coating your body and his was making you dizzy. Just to get that push you rubbed your clit and your jaw dropped, back arched, and eyes rolled back. You moved your fingers to his nipples and rubbed them making him twitch inside you he was letting out muffled groans all the time this time a hoarse moan left his mouth, and it was so sexy. And you couldn’t take it anymore. You needed him, to touch you, you needed him to fuck you. “Touch me, Tetsu.” You gasped out and at the exact moment he shot up his hips. Sending ripples of sensations and all types of pleasure through your body. And now loads of sexy moans filled the room, the ones you see in movies. You came but he didn’t quit you tried to tell him to slow down but he didn’t the overstimulation was killing but you couldn’t stop it felt too good at the same time. His warm calloused hand grassed your skin as he found the clips of your bra and threw it to the corner of the room. “Finally.” He muttered as his mouth connected to your nipple. The pleasure and pain messing with your brain. “Tetsu, ah, it’s to-ah, much.” You got out. “Oh yeah? Well, I don’t think you’re seeing these hickeys because they also were too much.” He gave one more thrust when he came again. Delicious warm fluid painted your insides and he finally got soft. The smell of sweat filled your nostrils as you saw him pull out.

Your thighs were shaking, and your insides were spasming. Slowly pushing yourself up you felt the warm mix of your fluids run down your thigh. “You look so hot right now with all my cum down your legs. I just want to-.” He scrapped some of it with his fingers and pushed it back in. The sudden touch on your sensitive area made you see starts. Too braindead to form actual words other than a simple “eh” your half open eyes looked at his golden ones as you tried to caress his cheek.

“Let’s get you cleaned up, shall we.” He picked you up kissed your lips on his way to the bathroom.

Bonus:

The next day Kuroo had his weekly volleyball game with his friends and was walking into the changing room.

A few of his friends were already changing into their jerseys.

“Hey guys.” He greeted them and started changing himself.

“Damn Kuroo, I see yah.” Bokuto snickered. “Hmm?” “Yah got laid good didn’t yah.” He pointed to his stomach. Deep purple bruises were visible as he had removed his shirt. “Oh this.” He scratched the back of his head and laughed sheepishly. “He made her real mad this time.” Kenma said while shaking his head.

[2cmtall]

Diluc: A Helping Hand

Context: you recently arrived in Mondstadt, around the same time that Dvalin was attacking the city. You had no choice but to enter the city and try to find shelter. You were almost swept away by the wind when a certain dark figure saves you.

A/n: yay! I wrote another story!

=================================

You really could not have come to Mondstadt at a worse time. Dvalin was still raging in the nation of wind and freedom—and you happened to get swept into the mess.

The only thing you had on you were the PJs you wore to bed, since it was at night when the gods decided to trap you in the world of Teyvat. You woke up on one of the jagged hills overlooking the city—its windmills and barbatos statue in the distance.

You had nowhere else to go, even though you could see the dark clouds looming over the city—trees rustling violently as leaves were strewn in the air.

As you approached the main gate, the clouds began to douse you in heavy rain. The unrelenting pellets quickly soaked you, the cold seeping into your bones.

Nobody was present in the streets—god knows that would be crazy—but nobody seemed willing to open their doors for you either.

The effort to stumble door to door, fighting off the relentless cold, to no success seemed useless. You were quickly losing heart with each unreceieved knock on the doors.

‘I only just got here and I’m already gonna die.’

Your heart was pounding harder as more debris were swept up in the wind.

‘Somebody please just open their door!’

You made a mad dash to yet another house, but you only got so far as the middle of the streets before an extra powerful gust of wind pushed through the streets. The wind was so powerful that you struggled to stand in one place, your hands flaying for purchase on the ground, your nails trying to dig into the cracks of the streets as your body was pushed farther and farther back.

Your mind was racing as you could feel your body getting lifted from the ground. You screamed as hard you could, your life flashing before your eyes. ‘I’m actually going to die!’

You thought for sure this is how you meet your demise, the unlucky fool who had to knowingly put themself in this situation. Of course nobody is going to be here to help you. Nobody is crazy enough to be out here!

But before you were swept away, your body fully lifting for just a second, a dark figure rushed towards you. The force of the figure was able to push you towards the other end of the street near Angels share.

“Quickly! Get inside!” The dark figure shouted over the violent noise of rain and the howls of wind. The figure opened the door to the tavern and pushed you inside, coming in right behind you. You both struggled to shut the door against the outside forces, but eventually you heard the click and you fell to the floor. You were exhausted.

You curled up on the wooden floor. Water dripped from your hair and clothes as it created a puddle underneath you.

Your teeth were chattering so bad, you could barely get the words out. “I feel sorry for the owner of this tavern.”

The figure in all black, who you now guess is a man, regards you in silence before walking behind the bar counter, retrieving a small towel for you. “I don’t think the owner would mind. Besides, you should focus more on not freezing to death.”

You thank the man and began drying your face and your arms. Your hair and clothes on the other hand. . .

“What were you thinking going outside in this weather?” He turned to start a fireplace in the corner of the tavern. You followed along, leaving a trail of small puddles across the tavern floor.

“I wouldn’t choose to go outside if I already had a place to stay. I came into this city to look for exactly that.” You sat near the fireplace, greedily soaking up as much of the warmth as you could. Your poor fingers were numb.

“You’re a traveller?” The man sat down on one of the seats, seemingly getting dryer by the minute. It’s then that you see the glowing vision tucked behind the black cloak. ‘How unfair.’

“Something like that.”

“On second thought, maybe not. You have nothing on you but the pajamas you’re wearing.”

“My stuff got swept away in the wind.”

He mulled over your words, clearing not buying it. Your eyes squint in anticipation for him to pry more, but it doesn’t come. Instead, he comes and sits down next to you.

“You don’t need to be alarmed, I simply want to help dry you quicker. I have a vision that might help, you see.” He pulls out the pyro vision, its colour the same vibrancy as the locks peaking out from his hood.

“I noticed earlier.”

“I see. May I?”

You looked at him. To the fireplace. To your still sopping wet self, and back to his already dry self. “Thank you. I’d appreciate it.” You turned your back to him so that he could run his fingers through your hair, gentle yet firm heat emanating from his hands.

He worked in silence, and to keep yourself distracted you opted to keep using the small damp towel to dry any skin that you see. It didn’t help much with the clothes. You could still hear the raging whirlwind that was going on outside the tavern, and you looked towards the window to see branches and even roof tiles being swept up. You sighed. ‘What a-‘

“A hopeless situation, don’t you agree?”

You looked behind you at the man who spoke, a mask covering his face. His identity.

“It is, which makes me wonder why you were out there as well. Are you some kind of hero?”

His eyes, which were also a crimson hue, looked at you for a second before he scoffed. “A hero? What a ridiculous notion.”

“So a vigilante then?”

“. . . More along those lines, I suppose.”

“But why risk yourself out there? Did you really think there’d be anybody out there for you to save?”

“There was you, wasn’t there?”

“One person.”

“One person that could’ve lost their life but fortunately did not. It wasn’t like the Knights of Favonious was going to come out in this weather.” He said that last bit with distaste.

“So you’re basically calling yourself crazy?”

“I could say the same for you.”

You mulled those words over in your head. You suppose he’s right, though you don’t want to say that to his face. Useless, considering your expression alone said it all for you.

A few more minutes pass by and not only is your hair dry, but your pajamas are relatively the same as well. Your teeth no longer chatter, and your extremities aren’t numb either. All is somewhat good. But you are both still stuck and it’s been hours since the last time you’ve eaten anything. The man seemed to notice since he got up once again to behind the counter, taking out shakers and stirrers and various bottles. “Care for a drink?”

“Should you really be using up the tavern owner’s products?” You walked tentatively over, sitting yourself down on one of the tall stools.

“He won’t mind.” He pulls out yet another drink.

“You seem so certain, yet you can’t possibly know that for sure.” You’re curious for his response but he instead asks a question. “What’s your drink of choice?”

‘It’s not food, but I supposed I’ll indulge.’

“Preferably something non-alcoholic. . . Though, I’m not sure if this tavern would have anything like that.”

“They do, actually.” He puts some bottles away and instead grabs a few different ones from the shelf. It’s so seamless, it’s like he knows these bottles’ locations by heart.

“Do you come here often? You’re so sure of everything that comes with this tavern.”

His hands stalled, only for a smidge. Barely noticeable had you not been captivated by his assured movements. “You could say that. Minty or fruity?”

“Fruity.”

“Then might I suggest Angels Share’s grape juice. You’re sure to love its exceptional quality.” He showed you the bottle, an image of two angels sharing a drink on the cover. You hesitated. ‘I really don’t like grape juice though. . . But maybe this time it’ll be different?’ You’re too hungry to ask for a different option and his gaze makes you wonder if he’s waiting on you to say yes?

“. . . I suppose I will try.”

He hummed once and dipped the bottle into the expectant cup, gracefully filling it with the dark magenta liquid. He pushed it towards you. He also filled another cup with the same liquid, wasting no time to bring it to his lips to taste. You had no choice but to hold your own cup and bring it closer, inspecting it. You expect the worst. You take the tiniest sip and. . .

You’re pleasantly surprised. “Hey this actually tastes good! It tastes nothing like medicine!” You down the whole cup, relishing in the drink. You might actually like grape juice now!

You hear a surprised huff coming from the man. But he doesn’t sound disgusted. “Medicine? No wonder you seemed so hesitant to try it.” He took another sip from his still full cup. “I’m glad you liked it so much.”

You looked back at your empty cup and couldn’t help but feel sheepish. ‘He’s definitely teasing me about that.’ Thankfully he changed the subject before you could drown in your own embarrassment. Lest he have to fish you out and dry you off again.

“What’s your name?”

“Sorry? Oh, it’s y/n.”

“That name doesn’t sound like it’s from here. Where are you from exactly?”

You couldn’t look him in the eyes, his perceptive eyes staring at your hesitant conscience. “You’re right. I come from a land far away, in a place much too obscure for the average person to know.”

“That’s interesting. I remember you saying you were a traveller trying to find a place to stay? Archons knows this is the wrong place and time to look for one.” Now you really can’t look him in the eyes.

“Haha, right. . . About that. . .”

A pause. You could almost feel his eyebrow going up in expectancy. “I’m listening. . . ?”

You sighed before giving him the run down. “Yeah, I probably won’t be able to find one here. I don’t have any mora and nobody has been willing to open their doors for me. Granted, it was probably due to the raging storm outside, but I get the feeling I won’t have better luck even after the storm settles.” Which it has been, as you can hear and see outside the window. The dragon seemed to be relenting a little now.

The man in front of you regarded you in silence, sometimes looking elsewhere for a while. Ultimately he says this: “you could stay at the Dawn Winery.”

You looked up at him in surprise. “The Dawn Winery? How do you know the owner wouldn’t mind me staying there?”

“I have somewhat of a connection with the owner. He won’t mind.”

“Oddly confident of you, Mr—”

‘Oh, I never asked for his name.’

“It’s probably for the best that I don’t disclose my identity to you.”

“Right, because you’re a vigilante.”

“I— yes, precisely that.”

“So after this storm settles, I should just go over there and ask the owner if I could stay over at their place?” You were skeptical. But the man doesn’t seem phased in the slightest.

“In essence, yes. I could take you there. I assure you, if you were to mention to whoever answers the door that I recommended the place, they will let you in.”

“Your confidence knows no bounds.”

[instantcaramel]

A month ago I went to Amsterdam and visited all the filming locations for Ted Lasso‘s „Sunflowers“, so I figured I‘ll finally put something together here.

First of all, basically all the scenes involving the majority of the Richmond himbos were not shot on location - their epic discussion followed by pillow fight was filmed in an abandoned hotel in London. (Info per David Elsendoorn). The same would go for Ted & Beard‘s room. Scenes on the bus or outside it were also filmed in Richmond.

The only Greyhound who doesn‘t have his own larger plotline in the episode who was actually in Amsterdam was David Elsendoorn, because they did film the first scenes at Johan Cruijff (you know how to pronounce it now!) ArenA, the home of Ajax Amsterdam (which is also the one place I didn‘t have time to visit). They could have easily filmed that in London in a different stadium but I guess they didn‘t want to pass up the opportunity - and give David something to do on his home turf.

Edit: I visited 3 months later, so here‘s some pics from the ArenA, I couldn‘t find out which hallway they used/dressed up for the press interviews, but here‘s some shots from the stadium and the VIP lounge we see at the beginning.

So, first up is Roy & Jamie‘s adventure: Jamie takes him sightseeing against his will, and the first place they stop on is Magere Brug (Skinny Bridge). (They run up the street to that before.)

Edit thanks to @warriorhoneybee: Roy grabs Jamie’s wrist at Diamond Factory on Rokin and then tells him he can‘t ride a bike outside Lyppens Jeweler at Langebruugsteg.

They go around the corner to Oude Turfmarkt (which is what I took a picture of) for Jamie to teach him how. For Grandad!!!

The fucking windmill they see before they lovingly gaze into each other’s eyes is De Riekermolen at the Southern end of Amstelpark, where they also cycle. (It‘s actually realistic for them to do that, it would be about half an hour between those locations by bike).

Rebecca doesn‘t see the obvious bike lane (that doesn‘t actually exist there) and falls into the gracht at Raamgracht. Boaty McBoatface‘s houseboat is still there, they just had it dressed up a bit with plants and such when they filmed. (Unclear if anyone currently lives there). The interiors were shot in a studio.

Trent follows Colin to Prik night club (which was absolutely buzzing when I was there, I really want to go back).

And then they sit at the Homomonument, the Pink Triangle memorial at Westerkerk, having that tearjerker of a conversation, before returning to party. (It walked that distance at night, it‘s a beautiful stroll and less than 10 minutes). When I visited someone had left sunflowers. 🌻

Leslie & Will first go to Hotel Prins Hendrik in the Red Light district (and steps away from Amsterdam main station) where Chet Baker died. They then make their way to Jazz Café Alto, which is just down the road from where Boom Chicago used to be on Leidseplein. (It‘s about 30 mins on foot between those two locations so they could have walked or just taken the tram for a few stops. The interiors were done at a studio though).

Ted of course visits the studio-filmed fictional themed restaurant where he has a BBQ sauce induced, Corey Burton-narrated epiphany about triangles, but first he sees Vincent‘s „Sunflowers“ at Van Gogh Museum during Museumnacht (which btw would mean the episode is set first weekend of November). As you can tell they moved some things around, so at least currently the painting isn‘t hung on that beautiful blue wall anymore.

As a bonus, here is a picture of where Boom Chicago used to be when Jason Sudeikis, Brendan Hunt and Joe Kelly performed there - Brendan also used to live above the McDonald‘s on Leidseplein just steps away for a while. And the other picture is the current Boom Chicago on Rozengracht, definitely go enjoy a show there if you can.

Anyway thus concludeth my trip around Ted Lasso‘s Amsterdam. I visited for the Boom Chicago Comedy Festival and fell in love with the city, it was … magical / gezellig. I will never forget it, but then again, some people get Alzheimer’s.

[neptuneunworthy]

Devour

Pairing: Astarion x GN!Durge

Synopsis: It is so early in your adventures, you've yet to even infiltrate the goblin camp and save The Grove; there are so many things you don't know about your companions...and so many things they don't know about you. At least you don't go around and bite people awake however, like certain bloodthirsty rogues.

Word count: 3k

Warnings: Violence, Blood, Injury

Rating: Teen and up audiences

Stars always shine brightest when away from the hustle and bustle of the large cities like Baldur’s Gate or Neverwinter. The sky is not scarily illuminated by a gross cacophony of embers aching for more. It is when they shine so bright, when they twinkle just perfectly, that hope is born.

You were born without Hope. 

You were created without Hope.

This is not an odd thought, though as quickly as you register it not to be odd you also register you are unaware of how you know this fact about yourself. How can you be so sure? Because, if you were honest, you cannot for the life of you recall anything.

His smile is small and gentle as the boy crouches beside you with a ladybug on his finger, a leather-bound journal loosely folded in his lap. He’s small, like you, and just a kid, also like you. Though he could not be more different than you.

“What’s your name?” Your voice is squeaky, yet cracks from dehydration clawing its way up your throat.

The boy looks at you with a grin and worried eyes. Very few have looked at you before like that. Then again, you’re only eight years old.

“I’m-“

“Tav!” 

Your hands tightened around the thin linen, wringing it out a last time as your name was shouted by a certain wizard. Of course this likely meant supper was ready, hells even all the way out here by the lake you could smell the sweet aroma of spiced and juiced meat; the burning wood mixing with the scent in a way that made you truly realize you had been starving

You tossed the tunic over a rock with the other clothing and armour to dry and dust the mixture of sand and dirt from your legs, before turning on your heel and going to join the others. Their voices had already begun to mix with each other in chatter around the fire, Gale the loudest of them as he explained in detail what part of Faerun he would be feeding everyone tonight. 

Of course, only Wyll and Karlach seemed interested. Maybe that wasn’t wholly true. Lae’zel was interested, after all she was a woman of respect and even admitted Gale’s cooking to be “suitable.” However, she still will voice her very loud complaints against Faerun and it’s cooking even so.

Gale didn’t seem to mind, though in your humble opinion you think that’s just because he’s a mixture of too kind, but also Lae’zel even finding his cooking “suitable” should be considered a victory.

You took your seat next to Shadowheart, admittedly she was the person you had found yourself the most comfortable around thus far. That was putting it lightly of course. But she was open and honest about her loss of memories, though she seemed to understand exactly why. Whereas you were not aware of anything. Save for certain…feelings when it comes to violence.

Still, there was a nice and quiet camaraderie formed over this; though you opted to not mention to her or anyone much about certain urges. Save for when you first inquired most everyone about them and they all gave you unsatisfactory answers.

You still had yet to confess it was you who killed Alfira. Though there was plenty of time to say as such, right? After all, the whole past day was spent fighting goblins at a windmill and spiders before you resume your trek toward the goblin camp once more. You were just busy and focused on other things that didn’t include confessing maiming an annoying bard only after just meeting her.

Ah.

Has it truly only been five days so far?

Everyone was such chums already.

Well, save for…

“It seems our white-haired friend has disappeared off to gods knows where again,” you mumbled. You weren’t an idiot, you had seen him stalk off the past few nights. “Where do you think he’s gone to?”

Shadowheart hummed in thought, biting down on a tender piece of pork before sipping from her goblet. “I pray somewhere won’t require me to heal him again. ”

She followed this by also side-eyeing yourself, which resulted in a quiet chuckle from you. It would be correct that both the pale elf and yourself had already made a pattern of needing frequent healing from her after battles.

“I mean it,” Shadowheart continued, though there was an ounce of teasing in her tone, “you would think for someone as sneaky as him he would be able to dodge out of harm's way. I suppose I should be glad he doesn’t beg me to heal him like you do--”

“-I do not beg-”

“-and instead he feigns ignorance to his wounds. Acting all annoyed and like a cornered cat when I manage to finally cast a spell on him. You can be thankful but him? You would think he would at least try to be cooperative since he is on a team…”

Her words now had taken a turn to actual complaining, which you listened to, and even admittedly agreed with. 

You looked down at the food, picking at it with your fingers. “I think he shows thanks in uncanny ways. He’s disarmed more traps and swiped more gold for us than any of us ever could--not without being caught or killed at least.”

As you ate, finally, she seemed to ponder these words. Even if you agreed with her rant over the man, you had to be tactful and give him the benefit of the doubt as much as you have given her. Hells, as much as you have given everyone else. There is a part of you that calls you stupid for it, a tremor in your hand wishing to claw its way around your companions throats. 

However, if you are to survive, if you are to hopefully eventually understand that supposed butler , then you need to ensure everyone gets along. 

“You may be correct Tav,” she said after taking another sip of wine (which had been stolen from The Grove), “but it would be nice to feel recognized.”

You understood, though for several reasons that felt lost to you. So you simply agreed with a nod. Recognition could mean a lot of things to both of you, but that was the unspoken truth in the statement, wasn’t it?

People eventually returned to their tents, save for yourself and Gale, whom you had offered your help to when it came to cleanup. He appreciated the offer. Despite your reservations about Gale, mostly as he insulted your knowledge as a fellow wizard…and perhaps guilt (why do you feel guilt?) from almost ripping and eating his arm unbeknownst to him, you find his companionship affable. 

It’s a type of acquaintanceship you can appreciate because you both can prattle on about the arcane to someone who actually understands it. 

“A shame Astarion did not make it to dinner tonight,” Gale bemoaned as he changed the topic away from cantrips. “I set a portion aside from him and everything.”

You eye’d at the plate of sauteed pork, likely a bit cold by now.

“I can wait for him. Make sure he gets it.”

Gale looked at you with a soft smile. “Truly that would be wonderful. I must admit I have grown a bit worried about our friend. At first I thought it was maybe my food smelled as foul as the Owlbears nest, but I have not seen the roguish man eat anything thus far.”

“I promise you he will eat your very delish and not putrid smelling meal.”

That gained a chuckle from both him and yourself, but you additionally also said, “I will finish up here. You already have done more than enough in cooking the whole camp a delicious meal, go get some rest.”

He placed a hand on your shoulder and gave a squeeze, “thank you, Tav.”

This is what Shadowheart means by wishing people (Astarion) said thank you, or that people (also Astarion) gave proper recognition where proper recognition is due.

You understand that the elf is probably just a very secretive person, which made sense considering his role in your camp after all. Honestly, you were pretty certain that he simply reads his books as he dines lavishly in the woods by himself with whatever tasty foods he swiped during the day. He is here for the reason everyone else is, and that’s to find out more about the pesky parasites burrowed in your brains.

Which perhaps is why Shadowheart is right; he needs to be more cooperative with the group. Though you can also understand the reasoning for keeping distance.

You cleaned off the plates from everyone else, leaving the one for Astarion untouched. Scratch, the dog that you had met crying over his dead owner, seemed more than happy to eat and lick any crumbs or residue left on the plates before you washed them by the lake. At least before he made his rounds to everyone’s tents; a ritual the dog performed each night to decide whose tent he shall sleep in.

When you settled back down by the now dwindling fire, you leaned back on the palm of your hands and looked up to the sky, taking it all in as you waited for the man of the hour to return. The stars did shine bright. They winked and kissed at you from afar. Whispering soft nothings in their twinkles and glimmers. A feeling swells in your chest as you look up at them. A profound loneliness overtaking your being. It didn’t feel right to be sitting here under the sky with the dim fire all alone. 

Obviously you weren’t actually alone. You had the aforementioned tadpoles to make sure of that. But it was different. You could feel yourself actually begin to relax as you looked at the gleaming night sky, but at the same time your chest swelled for something your mind believes was once real. Yet you had no name to place it to. No person to place it toward.

You slumped down onto the bedroll, one spare you brought out so you hadn’t been waiting patiently on the hard dirt ground, and laid on your back. Your hands rested over your stomach, your chest rising and falling gently, as your eyes stayed trained up above. 

It was horrible to miss something you didn’t know. 

Against your better judgement, and your word to Gale, you felt the mistress of sleep had called as your eyelids had grown heavy, and they had begun to shut. 

You had caught yourself, your eyes opening wide and body slightly jumping awake. Of course, you were thankful. Because for some odd reason your luck had kicked in, and you now lay face to face with Astarion loomed over you, his mouth slightly ajar. 

It took a lot for you to not cast thunderwave and send him flying, but his own surprise drew him back instantly, an unusual look of horror painting his face like he was a child being caught.

“Shit.” 

Even despite the fact he pulled back, your instincts send you standing up and engulfing your hand in flames as you glare at him.

His breath hitches and he steps back, shoulders and neck arching while he throws his hands up. His eyes are wide and feral. Shadowheart was right. He does act like a cat always trapped in a corner. This time though, he actually was.

“No—no it’s not what it looks like, I swear!” His voice is fill of an uncanny desperation for what you once thought to be a dashing rogue. “I wasn’t going to hurt you! I just needed…well, blood.”

You felt a pit in your stomach as you damned yourself for not recognizing this sooner. How stupid and oblivious had you been? Really? It should have been clear as day with his overly sharp canines and the scarring on his neck. You should have been able to smell it; the blood. Yet Astarion had’t smelled of anything rotten and iron. He smelled of—no that didn’t quite matter.

You gritted your teeth and spat, “I can’t believe I didn’t see it—we even found the boar * you * snacked on!” 

“It’s not what you think!” His hands fall down slightly with an almost sad and hesitant tone in his voice, “I’m not some monster . I feed on animals…boars, dear, kobolds—whatever I can get. I’m…just too slow right now—too weak.”

His gaze fell on you, almost pleading. “If I could just have a little blood, I could think clearer. Fight better. Please.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“At best I was sure you’d say no. More likely, you’d ram a stake through my ribs. No…I needed you to trust me.” He lowered his voice and leaned forward. “And you can trust me.”

You frowned, quiet as you studied him. Your hands shook at your sides, your head thumping; urging you to—

“You tried to bite me. How can I trust you?”

“Because we don’t have a choice! Not if we’re going to save ourselves from these worms. I need you alive. You need me strong.”

He took a breath, sighing and stepping toward you slightly. “Please. Only a taste, I swear. I’ll be well, you’ll be fine, and everything can go back to normal.”

Normal. What a load of crap. Even if you understood what he meant by it…though he was right. Astarion had been one of the best in terms of fighting and safely manoeuvring the party through traps. He was a natural born killer, with instincts not unlike your own. You needed him, the whole party did; and now he needed you and the beautiful scarlet that pumped through your veins.

You close your eyes and take a deep breath, then let your shoulders relax finally, willing The Urges deep down.

“Fine.” Your eyes meet his own, “but not a drop more than you need.”

He seemed stunned by this response, not that you blame him, you are sure if you had been in his shoes you would have fully expected—and embraced—a stake to the gushing heart.

“Really? I—of course.” A charming but warm smile fell on his lips, “not one drop more.” His eyes then fell down to the makeshift cot on the ground before falling back on you, “let’s make ourselves comfortable, shall we?”

You hesitate, just for a moment, before nodding and slowly sitting back down. You look back up at Astarion now, who lowered himself over you as you then slid your back against the cot—head comfortable on the pillow. 

Astarion is quick to bite into your neck, your body immediately tenses; knees folding up and hands gripping onto the sides of his loose poet shirt. It’s searing, it hurts, just for a moment. Then it’s just surprise at the feeling of your own blood being sucked out of you that keeps you held tightly onto him.

There is something familiar about someone so dangerous being so close, hands on either side of your head. Was pain and blood involved as well? 

Your brain fogs at the thought, and you only realize it’s from the pure dizziness you are being to feel. You are reeling now. Shaky breaths leaving your mouth as your hands press against his abdomen. He doesn’t move. So a moment later you try again. “Stop! It’s—it’s too much-“ your voice is small but pleading; something hates how pathetic you sound.

Thankfully, Astarion is quick to stop, and he pulls away, licking his blood stained lips and wiping gently at his chin with his thumb. “That—that was amazing. My mind is finally clear. I feel strong—I feel…happy!”

He peers at you, before quickly then helps you sit up, and you almost immediately lean your head into his shoulder. He tenses, but you pay no mind to this. Your breathing is shallow; mind still reeling from moments prior. 

“I—“ you chuckle weakly, “—I look forward to seeing you fight.”

Astarion is quiet as he brings the plate of now-cold food close, careful to not move you except to force it close. A clear sign that you should eat. That he is suggesting as such.

“Shouldn’t take so long. So many people need killing.” He hums as you finally pull your head back, and slowly begin to devour the plate. 

Your hands rip apart the meat, it’s cold by now, but you don’t mind it that much; though it’s tougher, the spices from Gale still make it a worthy meal. Astarion watches you, you can feel his gaze still on your neck, though truly all you can think about is the pork as your jaw clamps down on it. A part of you knows you  have chomped down onto much more sturdy meat before; flesh, maybe? 

Would that make you a hypocrite for your judgement of Astarion just moments ago?

You wipe your mouth on the back of your hand, grease and grime painting your skin while you finally catch your breath. Sated. Dizzy still, even a bit cold, but sated . Your eyes fall back on him, his gaze doesn’t reach your eyes; he’s hungry still. There is something tempting about offering more blood to him. Just offering more to him.

“Now,” he says in his usual sing-song voice, now rising to his feet, “if you’ll excuse me. You’re invigorating, but I need something more…filling.” He doesn’t offer you any help as he turns on the heel of his foot to leave. Though, he does hesitate, just for a moment before slightly turning his head toward you.

“This is a gift, you know, I won’t forget it.”

You bring your hand up to your neck, wobbling slightly when you stand; from both the wet feeling on your neck and his face just before he left, you understand he is a messy eater. Similar to yourself. As he disappears into the woods, you can’t help but wonder if he will devour the next creature with such greed. You dislike how you can relate.

Perhaps Shadowheart’s comment about Astarion acting like a cornered cat makes more sense now. If you were a vampire, or perhaps a monster in a similar fashion, you think that you would view the world as your enemy; trust no one, even clerics. Who are you kidding? Especially clerics.

[rvllybllply2014]

It’s midnight as I’m writing this and I can’t sleep so have a little expanded idea of Amos and his wife being killed with baby Raylon being found by Willem.

It’s long sorry. This also took an hour and half so probably sucks/doesn’t make sense.

Amos had heard reports about robbers becoming more common especially near the borde. But his wife loved having picnics near the old windmill where the ground was flat, Raylon was over a year old and toddling everywhere, and the river is nice and calm which would make a nice napping spot for him. So that’s how they ended up near the borders against Amos’s better judgment.

It was going great until Amos heard horses ridding up behind the old mill. There wasn’t much time for him to react, so he told his wife hide with Raylon behind the boundary stones, he’ll scare the riders away, fight them or negotiate with. He promises her that neither she nor Raylon will be harmed.

He had his sword with him but didn’t draw it yet, he wanted to see if he could peacefully send the men away. Amos finds out that the men have been on the road for months, hiding from the king’s justice, they were wanted for murder. Amos tells them that he doesn’t have any gold to give them other his seven pointed star necklace and a ring that he’s wearing, plus they have the food that’s left as long as they leave him in peace.

Just as they were about to leave baby Raylon lets out a cry. He’d been smothered in his mother’s bosom to keep him from making a noise, but she adjusted her hold on him and he was able to let his discomfort known. The men call out to her, they tell her to leave Raylon at the stones they don’t want anything to do with the child. Amos tells her it’s okay just follow their orders. They demand her bracelet, ring, and necklace which she readily gives them. The trouble starts when the men notice how fine her dress is and demands that she give it to them. Amos protests by drawing his sword and telling that they’ll not have her dress, they have enough so leave them in peace.

The leader says no they will take her dress too, it was made of fine silk and would fetch them many gold dragons. Amos’s wife starts to undo the dress, when he stops her. He will not have her expose herself to those vile men. He tells them to also draw their weapons he won’t kill them in cold bold. Unfortunately for Amos it was three against one and they fought dirty, they all attacked him at once. He managed to slice one before another one silt his throat while the third man stabbed him in the stomach.

They kicked Amos to make sure that was truly dead and once they were satisfied, they turned their attention back to lady Bracken. She was on her knees begging them to spare her child, he’s just a babe. They debated on if they could spare her or not but decided that she might be able to identify them so it’s best to kill her. They also save her dignity by letting her keep her pretty silk dress in death, it was covered in her blood since her throat had been silt. The last thing she saw was baby Raylon toddling over to her calling out for his mama and dada.

The Blackwoods had increased their patrolling on their side of the border, they too had heard the rumors of robbers roaming their parts of the river lands. After they stumbled upon Lord and Lady Bracken with baby Raylon asleep, they sent their fastest rider back to Raven Tree Hall to tell Willem the news.

Willem doesn’t believe the news, his ex and his family dead at the border? Impossible.

So he gets on his horse and rides as fast as he can to the borders. By the time he gets there baby Raylon has woken up and while covered in his mother’s blood is screaming his head off. Willems men didn’t want to touch him, nor did any of them have babes of their own. Willem had some practice with brother’s bastard babe Davos, so he crossed the border and picked up baby Raylon bushing him and telling him it will be okay.

Willem turns to his men telling them that he is taking this babe back to Raven Tree Hall, he’s claiming Raylon as his own bastard baby and he’ll be raised as a Blackwood and treated as such. If he hears one word of how this babe is actually a Bracken then he will not hesitate to kill them. True to his word the first time he hears one of the men say that Raylon isn’t his he kills him for lying about Raylon.

Back at Stone Hedge, Amos’s half brother Raylon is mourning his brother and good sister’s deaths while also wondering about the fate of baby Raylon. Baby Raylon is the heir to Stone Hedge but he’s missing, so adult Raylon does the only thing he can think to do, send ravens to all the great houses of the river lands telling them the news. He also asks the lords to send the message out to their small folk and that there is a reward for the safe return of baby Raylon with no questions asked.

Everyone in the river lands mourns the loss of baby Raylon, thinking that he’s dead and how no child deserves to be killed. Stone Hedge needs an heir, so after a month of searching for baby Raylon adult Raylon reluctantly accepts the title of lord with Aeron being his heir.

Willem hears the news from house Tully that Raylon has taken over lordship of Stone Hedge. He doesn’t care as long as nobody comes for his baby Raylon, even Samwell knows that Willem will do anything to keep Raylon, he might even kill him. So Samwell sends a letter to Stone Hedge wishing his condolences and congratulations on Raylon being the lord.

Eight years have passed and now Raylons features are starting to look more like a Bracken. When the whispers reach Willems ears, Samwell cautions Willem that now that he has a true born heir he doesn’t need Willem anymore. Samwell tells Willem that he should start saying that Willem slept with a bastard of house Bracken and that’s why Raylon looks like a Bracken and also explains away his name. Willem agrees mainly because he can’t leave his son triple orphaned. Raylon doesn’t remember his mother’s and father’s death, but he would remember Willems.

Samwell also tells Willem that he needs to start letting Raylon outside of his rooms more, the very least he can do is let him train in the courtyard with the master at arms. Also Raylon should take his lessons in the library with the maester. Besides Davos is too old to be forced to entertain a ten year old, and Davos has to watch the border and boundary stones. Willem reluctantly admits that what Samwell is saying is in the best interest of Raylon.

So that’s how Raylon was finally let out his rooms and to explore Raven Tree Hall just like his older cousin Davos. Raylon was also excited for when baby Benjicot would be able to follow him around, Raylon was determined to find all the best spots to play in.

As Davos gets to know Aeron and really study his features, he starts to get specious about Raylon. It takes him a couple of more years before he finally works up the courage to ask Aeron about his uncle and aunts deaths along with his missing cousin. So Aeron points out the spot where they were slain and explains that nobody ever found Raylon, he’d be about eleven years old now. Davos asks what Raylon would looked like, Aeron tells him that Raylons eyes were blue with brown flecks and his hair was a light brown, almost straw colored but prettier with some gentle waves.

That’s when Davos knows that his uncle Willem stole Raylon. He doesn’t know why he did but he knows he did, and seeing Aeron in pain at talking about him and his dead aunt and uncle makes Davos resolve to get Raylon back to his true family.

Davos is not stupid enough to bring up the fact that he knows Raylon is the heir to stone Hedge, especially with his father dead and Willem acting as the heir until Ben’s old enough to rule. Davos sends a raven to River Run to tell the Tully’s his suspicions about Willem and Raylon. And how lord Tully needs call both the Blackwoods and Brackens to River run, while specifying that Raylon needs to come.

As soon as lord Tully receives the letter he’s sending out his own ravens demanding that Willem bring Raylon to River run and Raylon the elder needs to come to River run. Willem leaves Davos behind to rule for Ben but before he leaves he threatens to kill Davos if he finds out that he’s the only to tell lord Tully about Raylon. Raylon the elder leaves Aeron to rule Stone Hedge while he goes to River run to see why he’d been summoned.

Willems Raylon spends the whole time taking in his new surroundings while also asking Willem all about what he’s seeing. Willem doesn’t drag his feet, but he’s not hurrying either. He wants Raylon to soak in the world as much as he can, and he also knows that this will probably be the last time he gets to see his son.

By the time Willem and Raylon reach River run, Raylon the elder is already there and in his rooms. Lord Tully has both men and Raylon come into his solar to see the truth for himself. As soon as he sees both Raylons he knows that the boy is Raylon Bracken. Now he just has to decide what to do, he doesn’t want to execute Willem Davos is old enough to rule for Ben but it’s not ideal. But he knows that Raylon belongs to the Brackens, even if they already have Raylon the elder as their lord.

After a couple of minutes lord Tully declares that young Raylon will be his cup bearer and become a squire along with his son Oscar when they are old enough. Raylon the elder stays lord with Aeron as his heir.He tells Willem that if he dares to deny it he’ll be executed for stealing and holding hostage Raylon for eleven years. Raylon the younger is confused, but Willem explains to him that it’s best for him to live here now. He’s done the best that he could and he hopes that his parents are smiling down on them both, but especially Raylon. Raylon agrees to lord Tullys decree.

When Willem gets back to Raven Tree Hall, he hits Davos but then tells him he forgives him for taking Raylon away from him. The next time Davos sees Aeron, Aeron thanks Davos for solving the mystery of what happened to his baby cousin. Davos says it was nothing he’s just glad to have helped him.

A year passes and Raylon becomes a squire along with Oscar, so he writes a letter to tell Willem the good news and Willem tells him he’s proud of him. He also writes a letter to Davos telling him the good news while also talking about how pretty Oscar looks when they train together. He hadn’t meant to it just slipped out. Davos tells Raylon that it’s okay if he develops feelings for Oscar, just guard his heart until he’s sure that Oscar also likes him like that.

The battle of the burning mill doesn’t happen, neither the Blackwoods or Brackens want to fight the other mainly because of Raylon the younger it would hurt him to know that his family fought each other. Davos marries while still being with Aeron just like Aeron gets married. Both Davos and Aeron produce heirs in the future. Oscar and Raylon date while knowing eventually they’ll have to marry and produce heirs, but that’s still along way off.

[taevbears]

Magic Shop - 13

Every coin has two sides

⤑ pairing: OT7 x witch!reader, Namjoon focused ⤑ genre: magic au, romance, angst, hurt/comfort, found family, domestic/slice of life, action/adventure ⤑ rating: 18+ ⤑ word count: 10.3k ⤑ warnings: descriptive violence, body horror, near-death of a main character, prejudice and oppression of mages, heavy angst. ⤑ note: lol bc last week, i had already written out the entire chapter and just meant to edit and post it last weekend. but then another idea struck me while i was at work, and even tho i meant to just change ONE scene, it started leading to a completely different ending. so lol here i am, one week later, after rewriting half this chapter 💀 this chapter is also heavily inspired by "A Village Under Siege" and "The Attack at Nightfall" quests in Dragon Age: Origins + the world of necromancer bells from the "Old Kingdom Series" by Garth Nix

Chapters: Series Masterlist | 09 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15

From the distance, an old windmill is spotted over a hill. Its turbines spin slowly with the breeze, and the weathered bricks keep it standing tall after all these years. The distinct landmark signifies one thing.

Hawthorn Village. You’re finally here.

And it’s just as Namjoon remembers it.

Nostalgia hits him as you all cross the bridge that leads into the village. Thatched roofs and walls made of stone and wood. A large well near the center of the square where he used to make wishes upon as a kid. The elementary school he went to, the old church that his parents religiously attended, and the farmlands with livestock and crop mazes.

Much to his dismay, the aftereffects of the nightly terrors have taken its toll on his beloved hometown.

People are trying their best to get through another day, distributing produce to feed the hungry and burning the dead. A blacksmith with tired eyes insistently pounds iron with a hammer to make new weapons that will give them a better chance against the enemies. A militiaman tries to keep up morale, although most of the remaining men are just farmers and workers – none of them trained to fight. Survivors step out of the infirmary tents, wrapped in bandages but still in pain. A small child cries, looking for their parents.

Doom hangs in the air. Haunted and defeated are the faces of Hawthorn’s residents, as the looming threat of another unsettling fight is set before them.

“What’s happened here?” Seokjin asks one of the villagers.

A middle-aged man’s light up when he sees your group. “I haven’t seen you folks before. Have you come to help us? Did our notices finally reach someone?”

It isn’t long until the group is ushered to the local church. Gathered by the altar is the mayor of the village. Dark circles are under his eyes from sleepless nights, but he looks at you all with hope as the villager announces you’re all from a guild. Then, he explains to your party their dire situation.

Decomposing corpses return to life at night with the hunger for flesh, and they have been attacking this small village for the past few nights. From dusk until dawn, these attacks on Hawthorn are relentless. Each night, they come in greater numbers. Due to the necromancer and dark magic being involved, no one has been responding to their urgent calls for help. The local hunters have been summoned to the capital, and guilds often overlook their tiny settlement when they pass by.

All of Hawthorn fears that tonight will be the worst attack yet.

“You’re our only hope,” the mayor pleads. “Hawthorn won’t stand a chance otherwise.”

The Oathkeepers look at Seokjin, but his eyes are on Namjoon. He feels the rest of you looking at him too. As if it’s up to him to decide whether his hometown is worth saving, or if the quest at hand is deemed too dangerous to assist. Allowing him to back out now before they’re obligated to see things through, no matter what the risk.

“Of course we’ll help,” Namjoon decides without hesitation. “Tell us what you need.”

Tonight, things look pretty grim.

Morale within the village is at its lowest. After multiple perilous nights of terror and gruesome deaths, the ones still alive are worried they’ll be next. That nothing will remain of their beloved Hawthorn once the sun goes down.

“Someone has to know something about the necromancer. We have to find out who is terrorizing the village and what their motive is,” Namjoon concludes as you all gather outside the church to debrief. “We also need to help the residents prepare for tonight’s battle: teach them how to properly hold weapons, encourage every able-body to help with the fight, and inspire them to defend the land and their community.”

“Leave the villagers to us,” Seokjin offers, gesturing at himself and the members of his guild. “We’ll do our best to get everyone ready before sundown. You just focus on finding that necromancer.”

“Taehyung and I are going to look at their resources,” Hoseok informs, surveying the infirmary tents. “I might be able to make something for the injured.”

“We’ll check on the blacksmith,” Yoongi says, putting a hand on your shoulder. “He was in rough shape when we passed by. Half of the villagers aren’t wearing proper armor and are carrying broken weapons. Repairs need to be done if they want to stand a fighting chance.”

“Taverns are a great source of information,” Jackson mentions as he eyes the local pub. A smile touches his lips as he wonders out loud, “Maybe I can even convince the owner to give out free shots of courage to the fighters.”

“Then Jungkook and I will talk to the farmers,” Namjoon decides as he looks at his familiar, who nods his head in agreement. “The notice mentions that they’re the ones who suspect dark magic is at hand. Maybe one of them saw something that can give us a clue to where our necromancer is.”

With a solid plan set, the party breaks off to their assigned tasks.

Tonight still looks grim, but there’s hope.

With success, they might be able to turn everything around before nightfall.

“Any luck?” you ask when you see Namjoon and Jungkook circling back to the village square after a while.

“Not really,” Namjoon mulls with a sigh.

“They said the horde comes from all around the village. One night, they’re skeletons from the village’s graveyard. Another night, they’ve come from the nearby lake or from the thickets of the woods,” Jungkook explains with a frown. Whoever they talk to seems to have different descriptions of the undead creatures. “Most of the villagers are too busy trying to stay alive to keep track of what’s been causing the dead to rise.”

“They did confirm one thing, though,” Namjoon adds before he throws a glance at his familiar. “They heard the sound of bells.”

“Bells?” you echo, looking between them.

“It’s how the necromancers summon the dead,” Jungkook simply explains. “Without them, they’re just like any other mage.”

“Good to know,” you mutter, shivering at the thought of hearing strange bells in the middle of the night. At least, if nothing else, you’ll be able to take away their advantage.

Still, a mage that has the skills to control the dead must be incredibly powerful.

“How is everything here?” Namjoon asks as he looks around.

“Good. Jin is a natural at raising morale,” you reply, looking over to where a small crowd chants Seokjin’s name. The others in his guild have been teaching them how to use their weapons, and although they’re still clearly unskilled, their progress is still quite an improvement from before.

“Hoseok-hyung looks like he has things under control in the infirmary,” Jungkook points out. The nurses and patients around him are in awe at the simple potions he had given them, claiming that he must be a miracle doctor. They also look smitten over Taehyung, who’s soothing voice calms and comforts the bedridden a bit.

“Yoongi-hyung, too,” Namjoon notes when he looks at your familiar, sitting over an anvil and helping the blacksmith craft weapons of steel. With assistance, it seems like the blacksmith will be able to get repairs done in time after all.

Shouts and cheers from the tavern show that Jackson, somehow, persuaded the bartender to give out free ale to the villagers. Although tipsy, their spirits are high, and they seem eager to fight after a round of complimentary drinks.

“I’ll help Yoongi-hyung,” Jungkook states, interested in what they’re doing. He approaches the blacksmith, who seems elated to have additional assistance.

“We should probably check on Jackson. Maybe he’s heard something,” you suggest, turning toward the tavern. But Namjoon grabs your hand and pulls you back.

“Actually,” he starts, suddenly a little nervous. He takes a deep breath before he tells you, “There’s something I need to do first. Before it’s too late.”

At age thirteen, Namjoon awakened the power of magic. The feeling of bestowment is like fire. The initial spark of energy courses through his veins and spreads within him. Mesmerizing, alluring, and dangerous. No matter how much he reads and tries to understand his abilities, there’s always something new to learn, to incantate, and to master through his connection to the Veil.

Magic is both a blessing and a curse. Two sides of the same coin.

At first, Namjoon hated what he was. He hated that he became a mage.

Every night, when he was locked away in Alterwood Keep or WIndshire Tower, he questioned what he had done to be damned with such misfortune.

Magic is what burned his family’s home to the ground. Magic is what got him taken away from his parents, his friends, and his village – everything he knew. Magic is what lured the hunters into killing Ignis, turned Adriel into a beast, and shunned him from his home for so long.

The same home he stands before now.

“This is it,” Namjoon tells you, looking at an ordinary-looking house.

It’s been rebuilt over the years. Shabby, but somewhat similar to what it used to be. The curtains are identical to the ones his mother had put on the windows, down to the same shade of color. The front has pots of flowers that she liked to grow, and as the weather warmed, she’d smile as they began to bloom. Inside, Namjoon is certain he’d find a small collection of books his father would’ve read, and upon his favorite chair, he used to emphasize the importance of education and the pursuit of knowledge.

Your fingers thread through his. “Are you ready?”

He looks at you and nods his head.

At age nineteen, shortly after he was transferred to Blackstone Castle, he finally started to see magic as a positive force in his life.

Magic is what brought you all together, intertwining your fates with each other like red strings of soulmates. Magic is what makes the ordinary, unassuming shop at New Haven come to life and keep you all safe and happy. Magic is what brings him back to where it all started, with you by his side.

Years have passed since that fateful day he was taken from his parents. He’s started to accept that magic is a part of him. For all its wickedness and destruction, and all its serenity and wonder. Two sides of the same coin.

He just hopes, as he raises his hand to knock on the door, his parents will accept him as well. Magic and all.

The door swings open. An older woman stands on the other side. “Yes, can I help you?”

There’s a polite but cautious smile on her face, and deep dimples on her cheeks that match Namjoon’s. The resemblance between them is unmistakable.

“Hi Mother,” Namjoon greets her with his own nervous, dimpled smile. His hand squeezes yours for assurance. “It’s me. Your son.”

Confusion turns to recognition, which turns from surprise to disbelief. You watch as the woman looks at Namjoon like he’s a ghost.

“Y-You. You shouldn’t be here,” she stutters, lip trembling as her eyes water. Her hand is pressed to her heart as she steps away from the door. 

An older man notices his wife’s distress and comes to the door as well. He puts an arm around her and frowns at you two, not seeming to recognize the young man who has his height and strong build. “Who are you? What do you want?”

“Father, it’s me,” Namjoon tries to say, but his voice is small. He’s starting to think that this is a bad idea. “Kim Namjoon. I’m your son.”

Like the woman, the man is initially shocked by the news. But then, his eyes narrow at Namjoon angrily. “What are the likes of you doing here, boy? Don’t we have enough to deal with?”

Namjoon visibly stiffens at the harshness in his father’s voice. “I’m here on a quest. I’ve come to learn that our village is under attack.”

“My village doesn’t need your help!” his father yells, spit flying as he holds his wife protectively. “Magic is what got us into this mess! Magic will make things worse!”

“Let’s get out of here,” you quietly urge, frowning at their hostility.

This is like his nightmares. Their looks of hatred and disdain burn under his skin, searing themselves into his memories. It’s hard for him to breathe, it’s hard for him to think. Suddenly, he feels so small. Like he’s a child again, standing before the fires that destroyed his home and took everything from him.

“Get away from him if you know what’s good for you, little girl,” the man warns, finally noticing that you’re there. “He’s something Wicked. His magic put us all in danger and ruined our lives!”

“I’m sorry,” Namjoon chokes out. The words that he wanted to tell his parents after all these years. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“Get out! Do not come here again!” his father interrupts as his mother bursts into tears, burying her face into her husband’s shoulder. He grabs whatever is closest to him and waves it in a threatening manner. “Get away from our house before you destroy it!”

Namjoon obliges, stepping away from the door. He looks deeply hurt as he tries again. “But Father—”

“Do not call me that!” he barks as he gives him one more hateful glare. “We don’t have a son. Not anymore.”

Then, he slams the door shut.

“That went well,” Namjoon comments, sarcasm thick in his voice. He sits on a broken crate in the alleyway the two of you end up in and sighs. “I feel like an idiot.”

Part of him had known that, maybe, his parents weren't going to give him the warmest welcome. Part of him even thought that, perhaps, his parents wouldn’t recognize him.

Still, it hurts.

It hurts that he had expected otherwise. That he had hoped his parents would listen to him and forgive him. That they’d come to accept him.

But they’ve made it more than clear that Hawthorn Village and the house he grew up in is no longer his home. And that the parents who raised him are no longer his family.

Namjoon always knew this scenario could’ve been a possibility. And yet, he foolishly wanted to be wrong.

“Joon…” Your voice calls out from behind him, but you seem at a loss of words.

“I’m sorry, baby,” he apologizes, feeling incredibly dejected as he keeps his back to you. “I shouldn’t have bothered. I should’ve known it’d be a waste of time.”

And it hurts. It hurts so badly.

Knowing that all his efforts to return home — and all the punishments he took for running away — were fruitless. That no matter how hard he tries to be good and understand his magic, nothing will change.

In the end, Ignis really died for nothing. And that’s probably what hurts the most.

Namjoon half-expects you to scold him for dragging you along. For you to comment how you knew this was a bad idea, and that you both have other important things to worry about right now.

Instead, you approach him and gently wrap your arms around his neck. Your body is pressed against his back, hugging him from behind. Neither of you speak as he stiffens under your touch. But he places his hand over your arm in a wordless request to stay.

And you do. You stay with him, kissing his tear-stained cheeks and wishing you could do more to comfort him.

But to Namjoon, this is enough. Being with you is more than enough.

When the sun goes down, the dead awakens.

Villagers of Hawthorn scramble indoors, locking themselves inside and barricading the doors and windows. The church bells are quiet, not to be rung until morning light. Everywhere is an eerie silence, and those left to fend off the inevitable enemies swallow their fears as they train their eyes on the horizon.

There, a green fog mixes with the misty air, and the putrid stench of rotting flesh slowly advances toward them. Death is coming, and with it, alarming numbers of the undead.

“All right, everyone!” the mayor begins, taking command of the last line of defense. The odds are heavily against them, but he has to keep up what little morale they still have left. “We’ve driven off this evil before. We can do it again for one more night. We fight, or we die trying!”

With that said, the villagers charge in. Battle cries ring out as they use their pitchforks, shovels, and scythes to attack the incoming herd.

But they only get so close before the fear sets in.

Death looks them in the eye. Corpses with lifeless, glowing eyes, flesh rotten and decayed, and bones visible as they unhinge their jaws and let out an unsettling groan.

Some of them flee the opposite direction, running away from their foes. Some stand frozen, panic seizing them in place. Some, unable to stand the horrid smell, drop their weapons and retch out their stomach’s contents.

The villagers don’t stand a chance.

Then, they begin to hear it.

In the dark, rural farmlands, the sonorous sound of bells toll. Yet, when their eyes gaze to the local church, the large brass on the tower is completely still. If it’s not from the church, where are the bells coming from?

A scream pierces the air. The mayor turns to see a woman swinging an axe around violently. Her eyes are wide with terror, fixed on something before her, but there isn’t anyone around her. She continues to scream at something to get away from her as she slashes the air.

Two friends suddenly turn on each other. The two men have been buddies for years, and it’s like they don’t recognize their friend. They have that same, wild look in their eyes as they grab each other and raise their weapons.

The mayor’s heart hammers in his chest as they turn against each other, mistaking alley for enemy. “Men, what are you doing? Stop it!”

But it’s too late.

Blood splatters. Followed by cries of agony.

Horrified, the mayor gets away before they try to hurt him as well. As he runs, he grabs a woman’s shoulders and tries to warn her not to listen to the bells. But when she turns to face him, her face is completely disfigured. The flesh looks like it’s melting off her skin, bone and muscle peeking as she smiles wickedly.

“What’s wrong, mayor?” the woman asks, but her voice sounds off. Another voice is layered over hers – deep and raspy, almost demonic – that clearly isn’t her own.

The mayor lets her go and shrinks back in fear. As he looks around, he sees that the undead have somehow surrounded him. They stand there and watch him with their lifeless eyes. Their rotting flesh. Pitchforks, shovels, and scythes in hand.

Mysterious bells continue to echo, drowning out his screams.

“Do you hear that?” Hoseok asks from beside you. The two of you are stationed a little away from the village, near a part of the woods that locals claim was one of the spots the dead have risen from. It’s foggy and creepy, and you’ve been eyeing the thicket and expect a horde of undead to stumble from beyond the trees.

But it’s been dead quiet.

Even as you hold your breath and stand perfectly still, you can’t hear anything.

“What is it?” you ask, your voice a whisper.

Hoseok glances over at you with a frown. “I hear the ringing of bells.”

The sound of footsteps crunching on leaves and twigs catch your attention. Seokjin calls out to you and Hoseok as he and Namjoon appear from the fog. “We need to regroup. Something is happening at the village.”

“What do you mean? Are they under attack?”

Neither of them answer you. The concern on both their faces only makes you worry more as you and Hoseok follow them toward the old windmill where the rest of your party is waiting. It’s a little closer to the heart of the village, and you can hear some commotion going on, like the villagers are in the throes of battle.

You spot Taehyung in his raven form, flying from the direction of the village and landing before you and Hoseok. When he transforms into his human form, he reports, “The recently deceased have risen, but they’re not the biggest problem.”

“Then who are they fighting?” Namjoon asks, eyebrows furrowing together.

Taehyung leans against Hoseok for support, bringing his palm against his forehead like he has a migraine. “They’re fighting each other.”

Silence follows the unsettling news.

Seokjin is the first to break it. “What the hell is going on?”

As if to answer him, you all hear it too.

The haunting, sonorous sound of bells in a nearby distance.

Hearing them sends a chill up your spine. And knowing that they’re beckoning death makes them even more terrifying.

“We need to get the bells,” Jungkook reminds you, turning away from the village to look you in the eye. “It’s the only way we can stop their madness.”

“We’ll have to be quick,” Namjoon agrees. “Or Hawthorn won’t make it to sunrise.”

There are seven necromantic bells. Each is more difficult to wield properly as their size and power increases. And, without proper care, the bells have a negative effect on the ringer that could backfire to certain death.

As you and the others approach the village, you hear the chime of the first bell.

It’s been a long day. Traveling the long roads to the village by carriage and on foot. Helping the residents prepare for the gruesome attacks tonight. Getting ready to face a powerful mage hiding somewhere nearby.

Sleep. The first bell sings. And you’re hit with a wave of drowsiness.

Yoongi catches you before you collapse on the ground. His eyes are tired, as if he hadn’t slept for days. In a slurred mumble, he commands, “Stay with me.”

The others aren’t faring any better. Long yawns and slow steps plague your group. Some of them look like they’re about to slump over and fall unconscious. You and the other mages ignore the lull of the bell and stay awake and alert. With tired eyes, you try to scan for the source of the sound and see a shadow slip into a building.

“There,” you point out, readying your wand. You follow after it with half your party close behind you. Seokjin stays behind with his guild, promising to catch up. Jungkook looks lethargic as he kicks open the entrance a few times before nearly tumbling inside.

A home abandoned is what you’re met with. The people living here seem to be gone, hurriedly leaving in the middle of making dinner. Flies swarm the rotting food, but it doesn’t look like anything else has been touched.

“Be careful,” Jackson warns, going further into the house. He uses his wand as a light, cautiously going from room to room to make sure the coast is clear.

It looks empty. But you know it isn’t.

You feel someone watching you all from the shadows.

When you turn to face the main room, your eyes widen when the figure emerges. Shrouded in tattered robes and carrying a bandolier of old bells is the necromancer. Deathly pale as a ghost, thin and bony like a skeleton, and decayed like the very creatures they summon. 

The necromancer — a truly Wicked creature — isn’t human at all. It’s a phantom.

It towers over you, face covered in darkness. In its hand is the second bell, which rings and beckons the dead with every step it takes toward you.

A burst of flames comes from your wand, aiming right at the necromancer’s face. Fire catches on its robes, but the necromancer seems unphased. Even as it’s burning alive.

Behind you, wooden boards split and break, and arms of the dead reach through the window to grab you. A startled scream escapes your lips when something does.

You’re pulled tightly to Namjoon’s chest as he leads you away from the doors and windows. He keeps a wand pointed at the necromancer as he holds you protectively. From your peripheral vision, you see Jackson, Hoseok, and the familiars trying to keep the horde out.

Distracted, you don’t notice the necromancer tucking the second bell away and taking out the third one from the pouch. With two hands, it rings the bell – up, down, left right – each toll causing different sounds from one bell, but they make a dancing tune that compels your legs to move on its own.

“Namjoon!” you gasp, trying to hold onto him. Mechanically, one foot marches over the other. Against your will, you leave his side. Neither Namjoon nor the other boys could stop you as their own feet seem planted in place, unable to move.

By its command, you spin around and start to slowly head straight toward the window, into the reaching arms of the undead. The boys call out to you, and you try to resist the magic. Every fiber of your being tries to hold you back from being torn apart by their greedy hands and mouths.

But your body won’t listen. You continue to march forward.

With all his willpower, Namjoon leans as far as he can and reaches toward you. His fingers grasp the back of your clothes and he yanks you backwards. You stumble a bit, but you reach back and cling onto him, anchoring yourself as he pulls you closer.

“I got you, baby,” he assures you, wrapping both of his arms around you.

Relief washes over your face, even as your legs continue to move on its own, you and Namjoon hold onto each other. With the wand still in your hand, you manage to point it at the necromancer and cast a spell of frost, just as it takes out two more bells.

The necromancer freezes. Icicles form around it for a few seconds before it shakes it away. Namjoon’s eyes widen when he realizes something.

Magic is very effective against the necromancer.

Just as he realizes this, the phantom necromancer starts to rapidly swing the bell in its left hand.

Whispers from beyond the grave seem to float around the room with the fourth bell, disembodied and ambiguous. The voices are in every direction, layered with the quick and steady rings. And Namjoon swears one of the voices is calling out to him.

His eyes look for who is calling him, and his gaze turns toward the crowd of undead by the window. Then, his eyes widen when he hears the chime of the fifth bell.

One of the skeletal remains starts to look familiar to him. The clothes are tattered and weathered, but the scraps of what’s left are the same from that day, slightly charged from when the hunters burned him. Flesh and muscle start to form around the skeleton, bringing back the teenage boy Namjoon once left behind.

Impossible.

Ignis, alive and well, is among the horde. His first friend since he’s become a mage.

“Namjoon,” Ignis calls out to him again. His voice is echoing and weak, but it’s still very much the same as he remembers.

Hoseok, and Jackson are looking in the same direction, stunned. Namjoon would’ve thought they’re also seeing Ignis until he hears the names they call out.

“Mina?”

“Adriel!”

A sense of confusion draws Namjoon out of the spell. He doesn’t see Adriel or Mina in the crowd, but he sees Ignis. Are you two seeing someone different?

Taehyung grabs both Hoseok and Jackson before they could step closer to the window. “Don’t. You’ll get hurt.”

Yoongi and Jungkook block the window as well, trying to keep you and Namjoon safe. He doesn’t realize it, but Namjoon’s grip loosens around you from the shock. The spell from the third bell still lingers, causing you to move away from him again, but Yoongi easily catches you this time.

“Is that—?” you begin to ask, but Yoongi shakes his head.

“It’s a trick,” he says as he tightens his hold around you. “Whoever you see isn’t there.”

Namjoon’s heart drops a little when he realizes the fourth and fifth bell must’ve brought back memories of a deceased loved one. An old friend to each of you that had passed on. Their voices. Their likeness.

“Hyung, you have to get the bells, Quickly,” Jungkook reminds him as he glares at the phantom necromancer. “Before it uses the seventh one. That’ll cause death to everyone who hears it.”

That means there’s only two more bells left, and the last one is deadly. If there’s a chance to stop the necromancer, it has to be now.

The necromancer tries another combination. It exchanges the fourth and fifth bell for the second and sixth ones. With the second, it’s able to summon the dead, beckoning them to come to it from beyond the grave. And with the sixth, it has complete control over them, binding them to its will. Within its shrouded face, its eyes begin to glow an eerie yellow the moment it wields the sixth bell.

Namjoon casts a bolt of lightning from his wand, but the necromancer vanishes before it hits. The bells ring somewhere that he can’t pinpoint, and he sees you and the others regain control of your bodies and try to look for the necromancer all over again.

“It couldn’t have gone far,” Namjoon reasons, scanning around. All of you are on high alert, wands ready to strike the moment the phantom necromancer appears.

Then, he hears the sound of wood breaking. More reinforcements join the previous herd and start to come inside. Namjoon completely loses sight of you and the others, using gusts of wind to blow the undead back and knocking them against walls and furniture. He calls out to you, but the disembodied groans, the stench of rotting flesh, and the sight of disfigured creatures keeps him from looking for you.

One of the creatures he comes to face is Ignis. Or at least, what looks like him.

“Stop. I don’t want to hurt you,” Namjoon says, pointing his wand at him. It feels like his Harrowing all over again. Being forced to face his biggest regret.

Ignis has his wand pointed at him as well. It’s a broken stick. The old, dirty clothes that he wears barely covers his chest and waist, but there’s a deep wound where the hunters have stabbed him through the heart. There are burn marks from when they had set him on fire.

Namjoon feels a burst of hot air as a fireball flies past him. He counters it with a water spell, dousing the flames before it hits him. The two elements collide as steam fills the room, causing Namjoon to lose sight of his old friend.

Sparks of lightning flash to his right, and he barely dodges an electrifying bolt. The attack hits a picture frame behind him, and the glass shatters as it falls on the floor. Wind sweeps up the broken glass and hurls it toward him, and Namjoon levitates the broken boards in front of him and uses them as a shield to protect himself.

Spells after spells become a dance between offensive and defensive attacks between Namjoon and Ignis. He can feel himself getting tired. The overuse of magic is causing his hands to blacken. He’s breathing heavier, and pain shoots from his arm when it got hit with a critical ice attack.

But Ignis is slowing down too. He’s proven to be an incredibly difficult opponent. But like Namjoon, Ignis is panting for breath and from the tips of his fingers down to his wrist is inky black of magic overuse. The wound on his chest expanded, bleeding heavily, yet he still stands. Stubbornly, he continues to point his wand at Namjoon, still wanting to fight.

However, Namjoon knows he needs to end it now.

While in battle, it seems like the others have taken care of the undead herd, but the necromancer’s whereabouts are still unknown. He can hear them shouting at him, but he doesn’t know what they’re saying. All he can focus on is the opponent before him.

Needing to end the fight, Namjoon tries a new spell.

Keeping his eye on Ignis, he slowly crouches and puts his hand on the ground. The earth moves beneath his fingertips, and covering the house are thick vines. They come from one side of the house, through the window, reaching across the floor and ceiling, and finally snagging Ignis. He seems surprised when they wrap around his wrist and disarms his wand, and around his ankles to immobilize him. 

The surprise turns to worry when one of the vines wraps around his neck.

Then, they begin to tighten.

Namjoon tries not to react as he watches his old friend die by his hand once again. He feels the sting of tears threaten his eyes as the wand falls on the ground and Ignis begins to choke.

As much as Namjoon wishes he could go back in time and undo his old friend’s death, as much as he’d like to think this is the real Ignis and not some undead creature wearing his skin, he knows his friend is long gone.

He points his wand at Ignis, the tip of it heating with a fire spell.

But before it’s cast, Namjoon is knocked to the ground. As he comes to his senses, he realizes three horrifying things.

First, the phantom necromancer had been there the whole time. It’s been ringing the bells, conducting them like a puppeteer. And Namjoon is its puppet with strings.

Second, it isn’t just Namjoon that was being controlled by the bells. His party has been immobilized, forced to watch as Namjoon fights Ignis. But Jackson – who was standing closest to the phantom – manages to break from the spellbound restraints, covering his ears to block the sound. Out of willpower and determination, he puts one foot over the other to sneak up on the necromancer. Until, finally, he yanks the hoister of bells before the necromancer has a chance to grab the seventh and deadliest one.

Third, the moment that the necromancer is no longer in control, Yoongi lunges at Namjoon with his hand curled into a fist. Jungkook manages to grab Yoongi’s waist, but they both topple over and knock into Namjoon. The three of them are on the ground, and Namjoon realizes that Hoseok and Taehyung are yelling at him too, but their voices are where Ignis is.

Or what he thought was Ignis.

It isn’t an undead creature caught in the vines of his spell.

It’s you. This whole time, it’s been you.

“Let her go, Namjoon!” Hoseok screams, trying to yank the vines away from you. Every time he pulls one away, another takes its place. They start to tangle around him and Taehyung as well. He can feel it grabbing his ankles and see it wrap around Taehyung’s hand as he tugs on the one around your neck.

Fuck, he doesn’t even know if you’re even breathing. Your body looks lifeless as they continue to constrict your chest and your neck.

Taehyung curses and tries to shake off the vine that’s spreading up his arm and toward his neck. Hoseok’s mind is spinning, wanting to use a fire attack to burn the vines, but afraid that it’ll hurt you and Taehyung. And Namjoon is still dazed from the effects of the bells.

Seokjin finally catches up after helping the surviving villagers. His eyes widen when he sees what’s happening and immediately rushes to you with his sword at hand.

“Hyung!” Taehyung exclaims as Seokjin carefully cuts the vines to free the three of you. Hoseok immediately catches you, and to his relief, you’re still alive. You’re still breathing, but barely.

“Is she okay?” Seokjin asks, his hand still around his sword. The Oathkeepers have jumped into battle with Jackson, trying to take the necromancer down with standard magic spells now that the bells are not with it.

“She’ll be fine,” Hoseok says as he sees Yoongi rush toward you. He hands you off to him. “Watch over her, hyung. We have to help Jackson.”

Yoongi merely nods. His hands are trembling a little as he holds you in his arms, taking you somewhere safe from the fight.

Namjoon finally snaps out of it when he sees Yoongi passing by. He catches a glimpse of you too, but Jungkook shakes his shoulder and urges, “Hyung, come on, let’s go. They need us.”

Slowly, Namjoon stands and his eyes narrow at the necromancer. The spells are aggressive as it targets Jackson, trying to get its bells back. The Oathkeepers surround him, protecting him as they use their weapons against the powerful mage.

“Push it toward the vines,” Namjoon instructs, and they do. Each swing of an attack that the Oathkeepers land, and each spell cast from Hoseok and Jackson causes the necromancer to step closer and closer to the vines where you were.

One of the vines manages to snag the necromancer’s ankle. Another starts to wrap around its arm. Everyone watches as a being associated with death struggles to free itself from the plants that are full of life. But that only tangles it up even more, constricting it until it can’t move at all.

Then, Namjoon stands before the necromancer. He still has a bit of magic in him, and with it, he unleashes a small fire. Just like he had accidentally casted all those years ago, when he first awakened his power.

This time, it’s with purpose as the flames engulf and destroy everything before him.

There’s an unnerving feeling that settles throughout the remains of Hawthorn Village.

All night, the Oathkeepers gathered everyone they could find and brought them to the church. They figured it would be easier to protect everyone if they’re all in one place.

Priestess and the faithful Devoted clasps their hands so tightly in prayer, their knuckles turn white. Mothers hold their young children close, comforting them as best as they can. Men guarding the inside of the chapel anxiously pace with their hands hovering over their weapons, anticipating that they’d be the last line of defense if your party fails to stop the necromancer.

It’s been a long night.

The fighting and shouting beyond the church door lasts for hours.

But beyond the horizon, there’s a silver lining of hope. Dawn breaks, and a new day begins. As the sun rises, so does their salvation.

Word spreads of what you and the others have done. How you all saved the village. How Namjoon defeated the awful creature that’s been terrorizing them.

“Didn’t you have a son named Namjoon?” one of the villagers asks, but Namjoon’s father shakes his head and denies it. There’s a frown on the old man’s face as others have gathered to talk about the news.

It’s finally over. Their village is saved. They’ve survived those perilous nights. And it’s all thanks to the guild that came to help them.

Stepping outside, the morning light greets them. Fighters return to embrace their loved ones after the long battle. Children cheer with joy for their heroes, and tears are shed from relief between reunited families and partners.

Among the fighters, there’s Namjoon and his group.

One of the boys – the one with a slender build and a sharp face – has you on his back. The others are worn and exhausted, but seem okay from the distance as they help support each other back to the village. And Namjoon, with two of his comrades holding him up, keeps trying to disregard his own injuries as he worries about yours.

The concern on his face, the remorse and sorrow in his expression – it’s just like when he was a kid on that fateful day.

“How do you reckon they did it?” another villager asks him, looking at the direction that Namjoon’s father is staring at. It would be easy to reveal the truth. That Wicked mages are among them, and the entire village would be full of distrust and anger toward them.

“Who knows?” the old man says instead, and turns away from the group with a frown.

Magic may have gotten them in this mess, but in an ironic twist of fate, magic is what saved them.

For the first time in days, Hawthorn Village is promised a good night.

The mayor and the surviving villagers hold a small ceremony to honor the deceased and to hail your party as heroes. It will take time for their tiny village to recover. Even with the threat of the necromancer gone, there’s still fear of the night and what it could behold. But the mayor is confident that they can rebuild.

You’re then taken to Hawthorn’s inn to recover. Luckily, no one else is severely injured, but you and Namjoon have the worst of it.

Hours pass, and you’ve yet to open your eyes.

“It’s not your fault,” Hoseok reminds him, wrapping a cloth bandage around Namjoon’s arm. “That necromancer made you guys attack each other.”

It doesn’t make Namjoon feel any better.

“I nearly killed her,” he laments. At Blackstone Castle, Hoseok once swore that if Namjoon ever hurts you, he’d kill him. Truly, this warrants his friends to turn against him like others have done before.

But somehow, they don’t.

Hoseok finishes up and examines his work. “To be fair, she did a number on you too.”

Namjoon is told to rest, but he can’t bring himself to let his guard down. He keeps thinking there must be a catch. That, perhaps, the others are still angry with him and are starting to resent him.

“Namjoon-ah, come eat,” Seokjin calls out for him, gesturing for the mage to sit at the table. He serves him a bowl of stew the innkeeper made. “Be careful. It’s still hot.”

“Hyung, are you healing okay?” Jungkook asks again – probably for the fourth time that hour alone. He frowns at the bandages Hoseok put on him, and there’s genuine concern in his big, doe-shaped eyes. “If you need anything, let me know. Got it?”

“Be careful, hyung. You don’t want to hurt yourself again,” Taehyung scolds when Namjoon nearly bumps into something. It’s the closest any of them have been stern with him all day, yet Taehyung frets over him like he does with you and the others.

Even Yoongi strikes up a casual conversation with him, flipping through a book of Devoted scriptures he’s found. “What is this garbage they’ve been teaching you?”

Namjoon frowns. “Hyung, what are you doing?”

“There’s nothing else to read,” he states with a scowl.

“I mean, why aren’t you angry at me?” Namjoon asks, his heart still full of guilt. You mean so much to all of them, and what he did is unforgivable.

“You didn’t mean to hurt her,” Yoongi simply replies.

“But I did it,” Namjoon protests, feeling a bit frustrated. He doesn’t get it. “Why are you all so nice to me after what I’ve done? Why don’t you hate me?”

Isn’t this how it always goes? Why is it so different this time?

“You’re family to us, Namjoon,” Yoongi tells him. “We could never hate you.”

Namjoon wants to believe that, but he doesn’t feel like he deserves to. Not after what he did to you.

Whenever he feels overwhelmed and stressed, Namjoon likes to run to clear his mind. Usually, it’s along the river near New Haven, where he can relax beneath the shade of a tree he liked afterwards. But as he lets his feet take him somewhere, he finds himself by the Hawthorn Lake.

Most of the villagers have gathered here as the late afternoon sun colors the skies with reds and oranges of twilight. To honor and mourn the lives that were lost the past few nights, they’ve decided to hold a small ceremony for them. And standing a short distance from them is a familiar face.

“Where’ve you been?” Namjoon asks, walking up to him.

Jackson is quiet as he watches them. The villagers pray and hug each other, and some sing hymns and play instruments by the shore. Paper lanterns are lit and sent off into the water, representing both hope and remembrance, as well as grief and loss. With the setting sun hitting the water’s surface, it matches the small flames being carried across the lake.

It’s a beautiful ceremony.

“I wish we could’ve done something like this,” Jackson quietly confides without looking at Namjoon. “For Adriel, Mina, and everyone else we lost at Blackstone.”

“We still can,” Namjoon tells him, facing the lake as well. It might be difficult now, but maybe when things settle down with the hunters, they could go back to the lake by the castle and hold a memorial for them one day.

Silence passes as the sun continues to sink. For once, it’s a peaceful evening. And the somber songs start to turn to ones of celebration as a relief washes over them. Tonight, they no longer need to fear the dark.

“You know, I wanted to take up this mission so I could bring them back,” Jackson confesses. “Adriel sacrificed himself to give us our freedom. I’ve been trying to enjoy the gift he gave us, but it isn’t fair that he’s dead while I get to live outside the prison he desperately wanted to escape from.”

Namjoon frowns. “Necromancy is dark magic, Jackson. What if it backfired?”

“I didn’t care. I would’ve used whatever they had to bring them back: bells, tomes, ritual circles,” Jackson lists as he looks at the stash of bells he’s been carrying with him. “Whatever it took. Wouldn’t you want to do the same for that old friend you told us about? The one you saw during the fight?”

Ignis.

Immediately, Namjoon thinks of how the bells convinced him that his old friend had come back. How it took his shape and form, and how it used his voice.

“If I did, he wouldn’t have been the same.” He’d probably be no different from any of the other undead they saw last night. A shell of a human with its spirit gone. A mere illusion of what he once was.

“I probably wouldn’t have been the same either. Had I tried, I would’ve lost a sense of who I am and become a monster like that necromancer phantom,” Jackson concludes with a frown. “That thing we fought… it wasn’t human. It was truly Wicked.”

“Yeah,” Namjoon agrees. The necromancer felt like it had lost its humanity a very long time ago, and now just wanders into towns and villages to torment and cause chaos.

“Here.” Jackson holds out the bells to Namjoon. “Make sure to destroy them.”

Namjoon takes it, and he can feel the weight of its power in his hand. “What’s your plan now?”

“Don’t know yet. But I’ll figure it out,” Jackson replies with a small shrug. “I might stay here for a bit and help them rebuild. The guys at the pub really liked me.” 

You’re not sure how long you’ve been asleep.

For a while, you drift in and out of consciousness. You feel the warmth of Hoseok’s healing magic before he applies an ointment to your wound. You hear the sweet tune of Jungkook’s song as he sings to you. You feel Taehyung brush the hair away from your face and press his lips against your knuckles. You hear Seokjin bargain with you – a kiss from your handsomest boyfriend if you open your eyes. When you do, you see Yoongi sleeping on a chair nearby, and you’re certain he hasn’t left your side since you were brought here.

But you don’t see or hear from Namjoon. You force yourself to sit up as the memories of last night come back to you.

In all the years you’ve known Namjoon, he’s always been a strong person. He has thick skin and a level head, and is eloquent and witty with his words. He shoulders a lot of the hard work so you and the others don’t have to. Whenever you need advice, comfort, or someone to rely on, he’s always the first person that comes to mind.

But Namjoon is also human. He can’t always be strong.

And while the details of the fight are still a bit foggy to you, there’s one thing that haunts your mind. The absolute horror on his face when Namjoon finally realizes it’s you he was attacking.

Yoongi stirs when he senses you’re awake. “Where are you going?”

Caught halfway to the door, you stop mid-step and ask, “Yoongi, have you seen—”

Just then, the door opens. Jungkook blinks in surprise when he sees you out of bed. “Oh? You’re awake?”

The others start to crowd in when they hear you’re up. You’re met with relieved sighs, lingering touches, and questions about how you’re feeling from all of them. But as you look around, you notice someone is missing.

“Where’s Namjoon?”

The boys look at each other, exchanging glances as if they don’t know what to tell you. Then, Jungkook speaks up. “He went to get some fresh air. He feels really bad about what happened.”

“I should talk to him,” you decide, determined to find him. You want to look for him anyway. “Do you know where he went?”

Soon, all of you are outside the inn. It’s incredibly empty by the square, and you learn that it’s because most of the villagers have gathered by the nearby lake. From what you’ve heard, it seems Jackson and Namjoon heeded over there as well.

“You’re the girl that was with that boy, aren’t you?”

For a second, you almost didn’t realize someone was talking to you. Then, you turn to see a familiar face. A woman that looked at you with terror and coldly slammed her door at your face yesterday. Namjoon’s mother.

“I am,” you answer, honest but a bit guarded. Now that you have a good look at her, you can see how much Namjoon takes after her appearance. He has the same high cheekbones, the same shape of her eyes, and the same deep dimples in his smile. She stares at you as well, but she doesn’t say a word. Self-conscious, you ask, “Is… Is something wrong?”

She blinks and shakes her head. “My apologies. I didn’t mean to stare.”

You don’t sense any hostility from her this time. Rather, you feel like she’s genuinely curious about you. Perhaps, after the battle and hearing people talk, she had a change of heart about her son.

“That’s all right. I must look terrible.” 

You laugh awkwardly, trying to dust off any dirt from your clothes and fix your hair. Magic helps make you look presentable enough to go out, but you’re still exhausted from fighting all night. Your spells are still weak from overuse, your current clothes are battle-worn, and you’re in a dire need of a bath.

“Actually, you’re quite beautiful,” she quietly admits, and you’re taken aback by the compliment. She looks away from you. There’s a sadness in her eyes as she asks, “How do you know him?”

She doesn’t need to name him for you to know who she’s talking about.

“We’re…” Friends? Lovers? Housemates? Family? “Together. He’s my partner.”

She still doesn’t look at you, but you can see the frown form upon her lips. “And you know what he is?”

“That he’s a mage? Of course I do.”

“And that doesn’t bother you?”

You blink at her, confused. “Why would it bother me?”

Her gaze lifts to meet yours, and she stares at you for a long time. It begins to occur to you that, although she knows that Namjoon is a mage, she doesn’t know that you’re one as well. To her, it seems outlandish that a human would willingly love a mage.

“He’s a monster. At least, I believed so,” she finally tells you. “I blamed him for ruining our lives. Don’t you know how shameful it is to have a child cursed with magic? The whole village shunned us for years.”

“Perhaps that’s a problem with your village’s beliefs and not your son,” you retort with a scowl. “His affinity to magic isn’t the only thing that defines him. He’s a good man with a kind heart, and while he’s many things, a monster is far from it.”

Remorse flickers on her face. “Forgive me. It seems you care an awful lot about him.”

“Of course I do,” you tell her so earnestly. “Whether he’s a mage or not, he’s still Namjoon. And I love him.”

Again, his mother stares in silence. She seems baffled, and, perhaps, a bit guilty. For a moment, she hesitates, and just when you’re about to walk away, she asks, “And… is he happy?”

You glance back at his mother. “You can always ask him yourself.”

“No, no. It’s too late for that now. It’s better that he doesn’t know I talked to you,” she backtracks, but there’s a small hint of relief to know what’s become of her son after all these years. “Thank you for indulging an old, shameful woman. I’m glad that he has someone like you who loves him for all he is.”

Night has fallen over the village of Hawthorn. But for once, it’s met with laughter and festivities of celebration. Jackson spots his new friends from the pub and introduces them to him. A guy named Mark invites them both for a drink and to hang out as the lantern ceremony continues.

The moon shines brightly as its light reflects against the lake’s surface, and the glow from paper lanterns being carried across the water is a breathtaking sight.

“Namjoon.”

But despite all the people and festivities around, all you see is him.

Namjoon leaves Jackson and the others and sprints toward you, but stops himself before he gets too close. His hand reaches out to touch you out of habit, but he holds it back. He swallows the fear and hesitation building within him before he plasters a nervous smile. “Hey, baby.”

You look him over, not saying anything at first. Your eyes seem fixed on the bandages he has around his arm. “Are you okay? Did I hurt you?”

His smile fades. A short chuckle of disbelief escapes his lips. “How is that the first thing you ask me when I’m the one that hurt you?”

“You didn’t know.”

“I could’ve killed you!” His voice raises, causing a couple passing by to look at you two. He steps a little closer and frowns. “I’m sorry, baby. I swore to myself that I’d always protect you, and I put you in danger. I don’t ever want to put you in that situation again.”

“Namjoon…”

“So, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking.”

You seem to know where this is going. He could see the shakiness in your breath and the way your eyes water. “Namjoon, stop…”

“I think it’s better that I stay here at Hawthorn.”

This decision didn’t come easy. But after hearing that Jackson planned to stick around, he figured he’d stay with him. Help the villagers rebuild. Reconnect with old friends and maybe even his parents. Make this place feel like home again.

It seems like a reasonable idea, but the hardest part is leaving you, the family you brought together, and the shop that became your home. As Namjoon stands before you, he knows he doesn’t deserve any of them. Not you, not the others, not the shop.

“You don’t mean that.” You’re crying now, and even as you wipe your tears, you can’t bring yourself to stop.

In all the years Namjoon has known you, you’ve always been a strong person. You carry an admirable confidence when it comes to your magic. You’re as kind as you are protective of the people you care about. You’re capable of handling yourself when faced with difficult situations.

Before he realizes it, he reaches out to you again. His hand cups your face and his thumb gently strokes your cheek, wiping your tears away. “I’m so scared of hurting you again.”

“And I’m scared to lose you.”

But you’re also human. There are times when you’re not always strong.

It dawns on him that you, like him, are terrified that your magic has hurt him. That you think the reason he wants to stay at Hawthorn is because you attacked him.

“You’ll never lose me,” Namjoon promises. Because he knows, even if you’re far apart, he’ll always think about you. In his dreams, in his thoughts. You’ve already claimed every part of him like a fire. “I love you.”

“Then don’t stay here,” you tell him. “Come home. With me.”

And it strikes Namjoon that this is what he’s been searching for his whole life. All the times he’s tried to return to his family, and all his efforts to understand his magic were to get what you’ve given him all along. Acceptance, trust, love. 

Namjoon nods his head, swallowing back his own tears. “Okay.”

“Okay,” you repeat, smiling with relief. And on that beautiful night, with the moon shining brightly and the paper lanterns glowing in the water, he kisses you.

Hawthorn is just as Namjoon remembers it.

The small, farming village with a tight-knit community. Every morning, the villagers rise at the crack of dawn, tending to their animals and crops, fishing by the nearby lake, and selling their produce at the marketplace. His parents still live here, and so do many of his childhood friends and their families. And when he looks around, he sees the familiar buildings of the old windmill, the local church, and homes made of thatch roofs and mud and stone walls.

Even when he was forced away, he couldn’t imagine anywhere else could be his home.

Years later, after finally returning to the village, Namjoon realizes he couldn’t be any more wrong. He had once thought – while trapped in a tiny room in Alterwood Keep – if he ever made it back here, he’d never want to leave. That this place was his village. This place was and will always be his home.

“Ready?” Hoseok asks, looking at you, Namjoon, and Jackson. The three of you nod as all wands are drawn over the necromancer bells.

With the power of four mages, the powers are sealed away and their tempting call to beckon the dead is nearly silenced. They look like ordinary bells, but should anyone try to ring them now, it’d be muffled and mute. Its effect is significantly weak with the magical seal intact, and the bandolier of bells tucked away in Jungkook’s pack.

“Let’s get out of here,” Seokjin decides once the spell is done. His hand slips around your waist protectively, weary eyes double-checking that none of the villagers have seen you guys use magic.

“It was nice seeing you guys again, man,” Jackson says, hand clasping Hoseok before he pulls him into a quick hug. He does the same to Namjoon and adds, “I’m glad you changed your mind. It doesn’t feel right to separate you all for some reason.”

Namjoon smiles a little at that. “Feel free to stop by at the shop anytime, Jackson.”

“I’ll know where to find you.” There’s promise in his voice that he’ll keep in touch.

Your party heads out of the village, receiving final thanks from the mayor and some of the other villagers for your help. Namjoon pauses when he sees his parents among them. His father merely nods at him and says, “Take care of yourself, Namjoon.”

“Thanks. You too,” he replies, a bit stunned. His parents leave it at that, shuffling away as Hoseok calls for him not to fall behind, but for Namjoon, that is more than enough.

When he catches up to you, you’re at the bridge that enters the village. He pauses and takes one more look around at the old windmill, village, and the farmlands. It really hasn’t changed that much since he was a child.

But Hawthorn no longer feels like home to him.

“Ready?” you ask, offering your hand to hold.

Around you, the others state how they’re looking forward to going back to New Haven. Yoongi complains that he needs a bath and a long nap. Jungkook wrinkles his nose at his muddy pants and mutters how he’s eager to start his meticulous laundry routine. Hoseok and Taehyung invite the Oathkeepers for food and drinks at the shop once you’re all back, and Seokjin complains how he’ll end up doing the majority of cooking.

Namjoon smiles fondly as he watches you all. Then, he nods and takes your hand.

These days, home to him is a small, ordinary, and unassuming shop in a bustling trading town. It’s a building that’s much bigger and more extraordinary on the inside than it is on the outside, with a tavern, a parlor, a mysterious door by the entrance that fulfills a person’s greatest desires, and bedrooms on the upper-floor curated to their residents’ tastes and styles.

Lately, home is waking up to bread baking and coffee brewing when Seokjin and Hoseok wake up early to start the day. It’s afternoons when he’s reading a book and listening to Yoongi playing the piano in the parlor, or Taehyung and Jungkook giggling as they play games with each other. Home is evenings when Jimin stops by with a bouquet of flowers for you, and all eight of you are gathered together for dinner as the weariness of the day melts away in each other’s presence.

To him, home is picnics by the river with you, basking beneath the sunlight of a gorgeous day. Home is debating what fruit is the best at the marketplace, and ending up taking home both of your favorites anyway. It’s childishly teasing each other with pranks and mischievous spells, and then finding ways to be in each other’s arms by the end of the day.

Home is with you.

Thank you for reading ♡ Comments & reblogs are greatly appreciated!

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[pickledpascal]

The Way The Water Flows

Chapter Three: Bittersweet Music Playing in the Dark

Warnings: blood, some action, power imbalance (?), kind of love at first sight, someone (logan) is feeling guilty, mentions of unethical experimentation

Word Count: 2.5k

The Way The Water Flows Masterlist

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Over the next few days, Maya had slowly but surely settled in. Though, she wasn’t completely comfortable, it was much better than that first night. She could barely sleep, plagued by nightmares of the experiments she was put under and reliving the pain of how she got her scars. The plush mattress helped, easing the mental pain as much as it could.

Those first few days, she mostly familiarized herself with the grounds while the kids were in class. She discovered the greenhouse, wide-eyed as she looked around at all the different plants, they came in all different sizes, heights, and colors. Many she had never heard of before. While in there, she thought she might as well water the plants, a soft look on her face—a feeling she hadn’t felt in some time rising in her chest.

A sense of peace.

But she wasn’t sure how long that would last. And that scared her.

The day after, Charles wanted Maya to train with Scott. Simply to see the combat skills she already had. Maya couldn’t argue with that. They wanted to know what she could do.

Arguably, she was put at a disadvantage when they locked her in the room with Scott. A room with zero water to be found, no objects to use her telekinesis on, and Charles has asked her not to use her telepathy so as to not predict Scott’s movements.

It had surprised Charles that she came out on top. Although Maya was taller and had more brute strength than Scott, she was able to use her agility to her advantage. She learned fairly quickly that, unless he wanted to destroy the whole school, he had to turn a knob on his visor in order to use his powers. He wasn’t the best in hand-to-hand combat and he certainly couldn’t hit a target who moved fast enough.

Once out of the danger room, Maya rolled her shoulder, doing a windmill motion with her arm to ease some of the tension starting to build there. She glanced at Scott who was sporting a growing bruise on his jaw, a hand on his face to press against it.

“I’ll give you this time,” He grumbled as he shook his head. “Next time I won’t go so easy.” He didn’t know why but he believed Maya was as inexperienced as the kids under their care. Most times they’ve used their powers were for fun, accidentally, or to defend themselves.

To be fair, they didn’t teach all the kids how to fight. Only the ones who were old enough, fifteen and older.

Charles wheeled up to them, “I’m not sure there’s going to be a next time.” Maya cocked an eyebrow. “It’s clear you’re more experienced than I thought. It might be beneficial if you spar with Logan instead.” She could hear Scott scoff next to her.

Logan was the only teacher Maya had not met yet. She already knew Charles, Colossus, and Storm and had met Jean after she decided to introduce herself to the younger mutant. Hank, she had met after being asked to go to a few classes of his on history, asked specifically to pay attention to the news of the last decade. Apparently, same-sex marriage was now legal everywhere, which she thought was nice. And Scott, well, she had just met prior to training with him.

Maya had heard about Logan, though, from other students. How rough around the edges he could be but also that he cared deeply even if he didn’t want to admit or show it. Oh, and also the rivalry he had with Scott. Maya wasn’t sure if it was serious or not but Rogue and Yukio seemed to think so.

The next day, Maya did as she usually did in the morning—wake up earlier than everyone else and find something to eat before classes started so she wasn't left with nothing. Children could be ruthless with food. She learned that the hard way.

She was in the middle of taking a bite of cereal from her bowl when she heard another presence enter the room. She looked up at him from the cereal floating on top of the milk in her bowl, cocking her head. There was a hint of recognition in his eyes.

“Sorry, didn't realize anyone was in here…” His voice was deep, rough in all the right ways and it matched his appearance well. He was tall with thick shoulders and arms, showing them off since his torso was clad in a white tank top while his bottom half was in some jeans, a belt keeping them on his hips. He had dark eyes with a similar shade of hair. He was… attractive.

Maya had never seen him before. But she was still new. Charles did mention someone who wasn't a permanent stay at the mansion but who would occasionally leave for a few months and come back. Perhaps this was that man.

“Don't really care,” She shrugged and tried to muster up a polite smile. “Just wanted to get something to eat before the children leave me with crumbs.” Maya's gaze moved down to her spoon.

She could feel him staring. “What's your name, kid?” He had asked while she pushed her spoon around her bowl.

“Maya.” She offered, taking her last bite from her cereal.

“That short for something?” He pressed, going to the fridge to look for something to drink.

Maya let out a scoff and shook her head even though he couldn't see. “Nope. Just Maya.”

The man hummed in response, deciding to grab a soda out of all the options available. He twisted off the cap and threw it in the trash before taking a long sip. Maya stared at the way his Adam's apple bobbed and a particular vein in his neck became more prominent.

“Why're you here? You're a little too old to be at school.” Maya's eyes flickered to meet his.

Good thing to know he could tell that she wasn't an actual child. She did have a few scars on her face; her eyes appeared to be perpetually tired like she had seen things no one ever should. The man had the same look about him too.

Maya looked down at the counter, softly scratching a finger against the side of her bowl. “Haven't had a home in a while,” She didn’t want to explain everything to a man she didn't know, she didn't even like that Charles knew. “And it doesn't hurt that Storm and Colossus went looking for me specifically.”

His eyebrows raised, eyes widening with interest before realization seemed to dawn over him. He fell quiet.

Which Maya deemed as the perfect time to wash her dishes and leave. She wanted to water the plants in the greenhouse again before she had to go down to the lower levels to train.

As she did, she wondered what Logan's mutation was. It had to be, arguably, better than Scott's if Charles believed he'd be a better opponent for Maya. Something that he could use while more mobile. Or maybe he was just more experienced? She'd heard Rogue mention that he was old, in turn, making her assume the man was a little younger than the Professor.

She shook her head as she entered the locker room, grabbing one of the training suits to put on. He couldn't be that old or he wouldn't be able to keep up with her.

Charles guided her to the training room. Maya's eyes widened softly when the doors opened to reveal the man from this morning, although he was now dressed in an official X-Men uniform. This was Logan? He didn't look a day over forty—maybe thirty-five.

She stepped inside, noticing that she piqued his interest as well. She heard the doors seal shut behind her as she looked him over.

“Nice to officially meet you, bub.” Logan hummed, hands on his hips with one jutted out to the side. “Scott told me you're a tricky one,” He grinned, showing a glimpse of sharp teeth, “But he can't really talk, anyone with enough brain could take him down if they put their mind to it.”

Maya simply stared at him, narrowing her eyes as she crossed her arms over her chest. She was sizing him up. He was larger than her in every way—taller, thicker, more muscle. She needed to use that to her advantage.

Logan cocked an eyebrow. “Alright, all work, no play?” He got into a fighting stance, three metal claws unsheathing from his knuckles on both hands. “I can work with that.”

The younger girl hummed as she glanced down at the claws. That was certainly interesting. She widened her stance as she circled him, hands clenched into fists as she studied him for any weaknesses—a bad hip or knee.

His eyes followed her as she walked around him. “I showed you mine, you show yours now. As a courtesy.” Logan winked.

“There has to be water around for me to use my mutation. And there is none here.” Maya responded, her lips twitching into a barely noticeable smile.

But Logan noticed. He let out a soft chuckle but his face quickly became serious.

It was obvious she was waiting for him to make the first move, so he did. He ran toward her, slashing his claws at the less vital parts of her, intentionally giving her some time to move out of the way.

He didn't expect her to dive between his legs to dodge the attack, making him lose his footing from surprise. He dug his claws into the floor to catch himself as he whipped his head to look at Maya who was crouched on the floor, a hand behind her from the momentum.

Logan stood up, removing his claw from the floor but before he could even blink, Maya had jumped up onto his shoulders with her thighs wrapped around his neck, squeezing to suffocate him as they both fell onto the floor from her body weight. He struggled to breathe, both from her legs but the air was knocked out of his lungs because of the fall.

He writhed in her grip, this felt a little too real. He clawed at her arm when trying to get her off him. Nearly immediately, Maya rolled off him as she hissed in pain.

Logan's ears picked up the sound as he tried to regulate his breathing, claws retracting. He looked over at her and realized she was bleeding. Fuck, he didn't mean to do that. He pulled her up so she was sitting, brows furrowing with concern.

“Huh. I haven't gotten hurt in a while.” Maya hummed as if it was a scientific discovery. She seemed fine if that was anything to go by but that didn't ease the worry settling in his gut.

“We're going to go to Dr. Grey.” Logan told her, hoisting her up to her feet with ease, an arm around her waist which he kept there as they walked to the medical bay.

Jean was going through some medical files when she saw Logan and Maya enter, her eyebrows raising as she looked at Logan. There was a clear question hanging in the air.

“Training accident.” Logan answered, letting Maya go when she sat on the gurney in the middle of the room.

Jean pursed her lips as she replaced where Logan stood as he moved off to the side to watch, making sure everything went smoothly. She helped Maya slip off the top of her suit and Logan felt his chest clench at her wince of pain when the fabric rubbed against her wound. Jean then began treating her.

And Logan, well, he had to keep his mind occupied because seeing Maya in a simple black tank top was making his brain whir in a way he didn't want it to

“How did this happen?” She had asked, wrapping the wounds on her forearms in gauze after cleaning and disinfecting them. They would scar but she was more worried about something else. “Scott said he landed a hit on you but you came out of the danger room unscathed.”

Maya's jaw clenched, her shoulders tensing slightly, causing the muscle there to become more defined. “I have a healing factor,” Logan tilted his head at that. He knew she had scars, quite a couple were displayed on her back and arms. “But, um, the people who… kept me,” his eyes narrowed, his own jaw clenching as well. “They found some way around it. A weakness. Some sort of metal.”

“Adamantium,” Jean whispered, glancing up at Logan. What else could it be? Guilt settled in his gut as he looked down at his boots. “The same metal of Logan's claws.”

Not only did he hurt Maya but with something that she was specifically weak to. Something that was surely tied to a lot of bad memories she wanted to forget. And he was filled with it. He screwed his eyes shut, clenching his jaw as he ran a hand through his hair.

Maya turned her head to look at him, eyebrows furrowed slightly at the ashamed look on his face. “It was an accident. I don’t blame you.” She said firmly. “And yet you still feel responsible.” Logan's eyes opened to meet hers as she stood from the gurney. It was like she was staring into his soul and he wasn't sure if he liked it. “Y'know, guilt is something that helps people atone for what they've done. This is shame, which isn't helpful for anyone. Least of all yourself.”

Logan's heart pounded in his chest. And he wanted to respond but Maya walked away before he could. Her words hit harder than she expected them to.

Jean pursed her lips, tilting her head as she looked at Logan. “She's right, y'know. You have a habit of blaming yourself. You can't be a perfect man, Logan.” She stepped closer to him, eyebrows furrowed as she expressed her concern.

“Yeah, well I can't be a good man either.” Logan murmured, his expression was hardened but his eyes were a different story—they held such sadness that Jean didn't even know the depths of.

She smiled sadly and shook her head. “The definition of ‘good’ changes from person to person, decade to decade, place to place. I think you're a good man. I know you try your hardest to do the right thing, but people make mistakes. Even the most perfect of all.”

Logan shifted slightly, adjusting his weight to rest more on his right leg. Sometimes he hated to admit when Jean was right. But she was. One of the reasons he loved her.

But his brain kept thinking back to Maya. The scent of her distress mixed with her blood, his heart still ached at the memory. He wasn't the kind of man who apologized often, if at all, but he felt like he had to make this up to her somehow. But he knew almost nothing about her.

Guess it's time to find out.

[furious-blueberry0]

Welcome to my blog!

Hello! My name is Blue, I'm a 21 y.o. Italian Aro/Ace and I go by she/her.

In this blog you'll find my current obession: Star Wars

Here is my Art Blog, where I reblog the art I post here.

Here is my Side Blog, where I reblog cool headcanons and my writing.

Here is my Ao3, where I post my fanfictions.

Here is the post about how I take Commissions.

I take art requests sometimes, I do not mind OCs but pls send at least a reference image or a short description with the request in that case.

If I don’t like or don’t have the time, I may not answer the ask 🤷‍♀️

Some little things to know before engaging with me:

- I will block anyone that participates in any type of discriminatory behavior, as it is NOT welcome here.

- I don’t care what others ship, I don’t have time to fight against windmills, live and let live

- My DMs and asks are always open, especially if you want to talk about mine or yours OCs, so don't be afraid to ask!

[i-am-vita]

That Last Night

A Shanks x Ghost Rose Oc (FemReader)

👉 My Masterlist, Inspo

+1,600 words

This was suppose to be a very short less-than-1000-words drabble, but Shanks wouldn't stop talking and demanded time with Ghost Rose again.

It's placed roughly two years after my fic At the Bathhouse (which is X months before Shanks arrives at Windmill Village in OPLA) and barely a month and weeks before my other fic A Night at Loguetown.

Summary: You and Shanks had been kind of an unofficial thing for the last two years since you reconnected At the Bathhouse. Both of you had always been happy to give each other your friendship and sincere affection while also enjoying your bodies. Until one night, watching you sleep peacefully by his side, he wonders what could be and steals a kiss from you, vowing to confess himself the next day, not knowing that this is the last night he will have with you. Warnings: SFW but implied sex. Some swearing. Suggestive themes. Expect: No dialogue, just inner thoughts. Friends with Benefits. One side longing. Lost Chance. Use of You not Y/N. Bad english, Consistent Time Tenses are for the not sleep deprived.

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Since you two met, Shanks had never kissed you on the lips.

That was your unspoken agreement, but now, so many years down the road, watching you sleep peacefully by his side, Shanks wondered...

The stump of what was left of his left arm moved in a subconscious intent of touching your lips with his phantom fingers.

After two years of missing his extremity, his mind kept tricking him with illusions of past sensations. The texture of his sword on his palm, his fingers tangled in your hair, both his arms around your figure when you coaxed him to dance with you, arguing how good it would do to his stance and footwork.

He hated to admit it was an excellent idea, especially after he started dueling Mihawk.

But the softness of your lips was an impression yet to be made on his own.

He knew you left your heart behind when you ran away with him. Allegedly to give you a ride to your birth town where you still had extended family. But the liberty of life at sea soon caught you.

You fought tooth and nail for him to let you stay. Were you mad? Some little runaway socialite wouldn't last a day in the real pirate routes. They were at the East Blue, the most tamed of all the seas. That was the only reason he had let you come aboard... and the surprisingly good loot you managed to steal from your chaperones ship as payment for the ride. And the knowledge you had of the secret states of some upper class officers where they kept some recovered pirate treasures "to keep them safe". And...

Ok, fine, you were a sneaky little mouse.

You had a week to learn basic fight skills and if you lasted three minutes against him, you could join his crew.

A week later, you lasted two minutes with the sword before he disarmed you, but still he couldn't score at any point of your body. You kept a safe distance from the training sword. Every step he made forward, you made backward. Every attack towards a flank, you eluded to right or left. Just-moving-your-feet.

You were a total newbie at this, how was your footwork so precise and fast?

It was your attempt at taking his sword that you made the mistake of spinning to capture his arm under yours, enough for him to immobilize you from behind... or trying to because it still took him another half a minute to finally hold you down.

It was like trying to wrestle a ferret!

Fine, yes, he was going easy on you, but he had to use real force to finally subjugate you.

Tho the three minutes had already passed and you smiled triumphantly.

Money changed hands. Shanks was amazed to know that Beckman of all people had bet on you, as well as some other crewmates who had agreed to teach you and were ecstatic to see how light you were on your feet and ok, maybe you did have a chance.

Those ballroom dance lessons did pay off after all.

The ecstatic smiled on your face, the first real laugh he heard from you after days of brooding and sulking around his ship... His stomach did a little flip.

The crew ended up pulling on your idea of taking the loot from the secret Marine Officers' states. And how were you so knowledgeable about the location of the states and how to infiltrate them without being seen? You would be surprised how much the help loved to shit talk their bosses when you befriended them.

Pro Upper Class Tip: always be in excellent relationships with your staff or others would be. And those specific officers were assholes to their underlings and used the loots for bribery or to enrich themselves.

There it was the spark of mischief Shanks had spied on you when you dared to call out some sailors that wouldn't let you be at that bar where you met. And what was such a fine little lady doing by herself in such a low rent bar? Trying to find passage out of your current life. You had money and means to acquire more valuable goods if it wasn't enough.

A day later, that spark was gone, replaced by the sorrow of a broken heart. Or so had said Yassop who confessed having catched that same look on himself still from time to time when looking at a mirror.

Was it really that bad where you came from? It wasn't, but you used to want more things than just being a fancy stay at home wife waiting for an always absent Marine husband. You wanted to live, to know the world, to have a purpose of your own before settling somewhere with someone of your liking. And then you met someone. Someone who made you desire to stay and who was about to leave everything to stay with you too.

Were really out there people who settled down at such a young age? You were roughly a year younger than him. What about your dreams? Living your lives? Exactly. The world you came from didn't care for personal goals, just that you assumed a place in their society and stayed there, looking good. You couldn't stomach a life like that, and worst, drag your beloved into it. You both were meant to greater things. So you had ended your relationship and ran away as soon and far as you could.

That's when Shanks knew he had no chance of winning your heart. It would always belong to the young man you left behind.

Fine, yes, he liked you. You were funny, kind of mischievous, headstrong, and have more backbone than most newbies of his crew. You didn't back off from a challenge, and that was something he would ask you to work on because it could lead you to trouble over things not worth it.

You were brave and the most beautiful girl he had met.

Still, Shanks was willing to share his friendship and whatever more of himself with you as long as you both wanted to. No commitments or promises.

Tho your lips would always belong to the memory of your love and he had never dared to taste them.

Until now.

Of course Shanks had kissed other women. He wasn't ashamed to admit he was the one-girl-at-every-port kind of man. He had always made sure to let things clear with his lady friends about the nature of the relationships he seeks. Everybody was happy about it and he didn't get all tingly at the idea of a compromise with any of them.

But...

Would it be that bad?

Shanks had eluded that kind of relationship all his young and adult life. He never sought any other woman when you were around, but neither of you were faithful to the other in the months or years in between. Hell, you even tried to pursue a formal relationship with that assrat Captain of the Black Cats before discovering his real character and dump him.

You got closer to his body unconsciously and let yourself be held like many nights before. Many nights. He had lost count. Normally he could pinpoint the amount of time per year your paths crossed since you met, but he was sure you had spent more time together in the last two years since the loss of his arm than all the previous eight.

From the moment you heard of his injury (damn it, Beckman, why would you worry her like that? It wasn't that bad), you had remained by his side helping him recover until regaining his full strength and ability to perform most of his skills again with just one arm.

Pun-totally-intended.

You would go when your crew needed you for something. And he would seek his usual company where he could find them... Usually... Of course he had... Shanks realized he could actually count the number of women he had sought on your recent absences this year. Less than the fingers he was left with.

Mostly out of boredom than actual desire for another body beside yours.

Well, fuck.

He supported himself on his right arm before lingering over your sleeping form. You always slept so soundly near him despite his overactive sleep anctics. But would be ready to rise to action at the first alarm.

Shanks prayed you didn't stab him with the knife he KNEW you always kept hidden somewhere somehow.

His lips hovered for a second before finally daring to lower towards yours to place the softest of kisses. He felt a small movement under his lips, a small sigh left yours while he retired from you, your mouth forming a sweet sleepy smile, but no other sign of you having been bothered by his caress. He let himself fall back on the mattress, you nuzzled gently against his chest, seeking his warmth, and Shanks smiled.

He will ask you. With his Captain in full wielding of his fighting abilities again, the Redhead's crew was set to sail back to the New World any week from now. Would you come with him? Sail under his flag again like when you met? To be just with him and he with you?

Yes, he will ask you in the morning. To come with him. To try this thing together.

Little did he know that his chance would be gone mere hours after when a Den Den Mushi call from your sister regarding a danger from her husband’s past would lead to you having to disappear from his life.

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Moots and interested people I remember: @fanaticsnail @jintaka-hane @gingernut1314 @writingmysanity @feral-artistry @indydonuts

[stardust948]

Twins AU

Sweet 16 Birthday part 2

Zuko: Everyone find a seat. Azula's out for a jog but I brought us some time. She always jog to the end of her playlists so I added six more songs.

Zuko: You are all here because you are Azula's best friends and family and I want you to help me throw a surprise party for her! But you have to keep it a secret.

Zuko, looking at his parents: I know that won't be a problem for you two.

Ozai and Ursa: ಠ_ಠ

Kiyi: Mom said Azula doesn't want a party this year.

Zuko: I know my twin. She's devasted and we're gonna fix it!

Ursa: That's very sweet.

Ozai: We'll do anything to help.

Zuko: Of course you will. You're totally on the hook for this.

Ozai and Ursa: (T_T)

Sokka: I'm in! I want Azula's Sweet 16 to be as amazing as her!

Ozai: Careful.

Sokka, straightening up: Right! Sorry!

Zuko: Sokka, Mai, and Ty Lee, I want you to take Azula out Friday night while the rest of us get ready for the party. Don't bring her back until midnight because that's when actually birthday is.

Ursa: Midnight? Isn't that awfully late for a party?

Zuko: You mean like 16 years late, mom?

Ursa: Midnight party! Fun!

[Later]

Azula: Thanks for taking me out guys.

Sokka: No problem.

Ty Lee: Yeah it was fun!

Mai, sarcastic: Whoo...

Azula: I feel kind of bad though. I've never missed Zuko's birthday before. We should head back. It's late anyway.

Others: !!!

Sokka: I have an idea!

[After spending the last part of the night stalling]

Azula, rushing to the front door: Ugh! It's midnight! And 16 wrong turns?! Really Sokka?!

Sokka: ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Azula: And I've never heard of that law that says you have to go 5 miles per hour past a graveyard!

Mai: That's just showing respect.

Azula: Wait a second. I don't hear the tsungi horn and melodramatic poetry. You guys! I missed Zuko's birthday!

Azula: *Goes inside and turns on light.*

Sokka, Ty Lee, and Mai: SUR- *sees nobody there*

Sokka: SSSSupper was great at Jasmine Dragon!

Azula: Where is everyone?

[Goes to the backyard and sees decorations]

Everyone: SURPISE!!!

Sokka, Ty Lee, and Mai: *runs in*

Ty Lee: We missed saying surprise? Are you kidding me?!

Zuko: Happy Sweet 16 Azula!

Azula: Wait this is all for me? Where's your theater party?

Zuko: There was no party. I played you. Don't feel bad though. I am a day older.

Azula: *laughs*

Mai: *clears throat* Remember us? The people you were screaming at the whole way past the graveyard.

Azula: You guys were all in on this?

Ty Lee: Suprise! *fist pumps* Yes!

Azula: Zuzu, mini golf? It's just like old times.

Zuko: We got so wrapped up in what party we wanted, we forgot the best part. Doing it together.

Ursa: That's what I said!

Ozai, patting her shoulder: Not now.

Ursa: Anyway, we made you a cake!

Azula: A Kuai ball cake?!

Ursa: 16 layers of buttercream and guilt! Mama's done. Time for my twins to get their party on! *dances*

Everyone:

Azula: Mom! We've forgiven you. Stop punishing us!

Ozai: Azula, we even got you a number six jersey because we figured you would want to change your number.

Azula: Actually, I've decided to stick with the number five. That's the day my best friend was born.

Zuko: *smiles*

Azula: Help me blow out these candles!

Zuko: Wait, let me get my phone. We gotta get a video of this! *leaves*

Kiyi: Video? Then we have to have the windmill going. Dad, would you do the honors.

Ozai: *Presses button*

Azula: I love it!

Ozai: We did a good thing today.

Kiyi: See what happens when you listen to me.

[Windmill starts going super fast and destroys the decorations and cake]

Azula: We have to turn this thing off!!!

Sokka: Don't worry birthday girl! *grabs her hand* Your hero's here!

Sokka: *Fights against the wind*

Azula: *pulls plug* Hey superhero, plug's right here.

Sokka: 👍

Zuko: *Returns and sees everyone disheveled and covered in birthday cake*

Zuko: o_o

[awakenthemusic]

Threshold

Summary: Cas is gone… again. That doesn't mean he's not still haunting Dean's dreams, though.

Tags: Destiel, Short fic, ~600 words, Angst, Grief/Mourning

For Suptober 2023 Day 1 - Liminal.

Under the cut or on Ao3

Dean woke with a gasp, the stench of singed feathers clogging his nose and coating his throat with ash.

The smell of burning wings.

His heart pounded as he fought the bed sheets tangled around his legs where they clung to the sweat that drenched his skin. He wrestled his way out enough to turn on the bedside lamp and searched his surroundings with frantic eyes.

He was in his room at the bunker. There were no sunny green fields with the grass scorched black. No tang of char and lightning. No angels.

No Cas.

Dean buried his face in his shaking hands and tried not to scream.

The dream had felt so real and so hazy at the same time. He’d seen so many angels, recognized them and known that they were kin. He’d stared them in the face as they’d burned.

Even now, the guilt and the fury and the godawful smell made his stomach roil. It took him back to kneeling in the dirt outside the house where Kelly Kline was giving her life to bring a possible monster into the world. Took him back to the paralyzing grief that had reached into his chest and ripped out his heart only to grind it into the ashes left behind by Cas’ wings.

A vicious voice in his mind taunted, You don't even have a body to burn this time.

Dean wrenched himself from his bed, stumbling over to grab the bottle of whiskey he'd left on the table by the door. He held it for a long moment, his shaking arms screaming with the impulse to throw it, to smash it against the wall and watch it shatter, to grind the broken glass under his feet like he’d been walking on the shards of himself ever since Cas had said… had said goodbye in the fucking dungeon.

He squeezed the neck of the bottle so hard, he started to lose feeling in his fingers.

“You son of a bitch.” The words wrenched out of him, jagged and ripping at his throat. With sudden clarity, he knew he had to get himself somewhere else before he lost the ability to bite them back entirely.

He threw on yesterday’s clothes and grabbed his keys, tearing out of the bunker’s garage like he had hellhounds on his ass.

Baby flew down the highway, eating up the miles as Dean’s thoughts spun faster than Baby’s tires. Emotions twisted up in his gut so tight, he worried he’d never get the knot to come loose.

He angrily scrubbed away the tears that itched as they flowed down his cheeks.

He drove to a field outside town, one with a brook, a little garden, and a windmill nearby, all bathed in moonlight.

He skidded to a stop, uncaring of the way the tires tore into the grass on the side of the road. He marched out into the field and screamed.

All of the pain, all of the turmoil raging in his head, poured out of Dean, burning his throat like acid as it went.

“You SON OF A BITCH!”

He paced the clearing like a wild animal, uncaring if the town’s newly-returned residents heard him. “You fucking asshole! You were supposed to be here! Paradise on earth, that was the plan! How can I— How could you—“

Dean screamed wordlessly at the sky, falling to his knees in the soft grass.

The fight left him in a rush, nothing but empty ache left behind. He sank back onto his ass and buried his face in his hands. His voice cracked as he whispered, “There’s no paradise for me without you.”