#i even started all the seeds i started to a little grow light station downstairs w my moms plants

[batslime]

In my bathroom I currently have four orchids (two large two small) a chunk of wood full of mushrooms and an old spider nest a venus flaytrap a pitcher plant (i feed them dermestids since i have too many rn anyway) a petra croton a climbing ivy a little dish full of mossy rocks (i wanna make a stained glass terrarium to put them and my carnivorous plants in) a big ass fat ass monstera some dried eucalyptus a pothos hanging from a ceiling hook and a chunk of it im propogating. and its not enough i want more i need ferns i need shit growing along the ceiling

[69why-am-i-doing-this69]

Someplace Quieter

Aesop Sharp x OC

Description:

An American auror transferring to the British Ministry of magic for some peace of mind. She first has to undergo supervision under oath of not meddling in the British affairs. It was only a benefit to the ministry to place her under the supervision of the former auror now potions professor.

Notes:

I didn't proofread most of this.

Also one of the things I thought about while creating my oc:

*Aesop doing something probably potion related with his sleeves rolled to his elbows*

*Nani thinking of the filthiest thing known to man at his exposed forearms*

TW: no smut but highly suggestive at one point.

Chapter 4

Chapter 5 – Two Petals and a Potion

I hum to myself while watering my little collection of California poppies sitting closely to the window downstairs, the Ivy plant swaying along to my tune. The watering can, enchanted to move along with my wand. The whole table I pressed against the window grew into what looked like an orange shrub. I gently touch their bright orange petals with my fingers, checking to see how healthy they were.

“They’ve grown so wonderfully, haven’t they?” I turn to my Ivy, bringing my hand to its leaves as it shakes in agreement. I lift my wand, the watering can follows after I am satisfied with the amount to glaze over the room, checking one final time if I cared for everything I’m currently growing. The watering can floats to my side. The Ivy plant caresses my calves, which catches my attention. I grin at it before slightly lowering my wand, tipping the watering can onto it. It shakes in enjoyment from being showered with water. I turn to the empty pots sitting in the corner, by the fireplace, practically begging me to be used. I raise my wand to prevent my Ivy from drowning while pondering what I should grow next. I lower my gaze to look at it beside my feet, “Have any ideas? Maybe Silas could use some more things to experiment with,” I then eye the pristine little box, barely touched unlike the other collection of seeds at my makeshift station. “Or maybe…” I trail, unsure if I wanted to complete that thought, let alone say it. I grab the floating watering can, breaking its enchantment and placing it on the table beside the poppies.

The plant droops, taking that as it doesn’t know. I gave up on the thought, picking up the now watered ivy. I went upstairs and place it on the windowsill for it to soak in what’s left of the light. It shakes approvingly, little droplets spread everywhere. I instinctively look away while raising my hands as a little shield.

My attention falls to the little black book sitting on my nightstand. I walk over to it, picking it up while turning to the first couple of pages. The consistent work for Aesop only allowed me to scour the contents by little pieces at a time. With the information, it did have left multiple questions. The list of ingredients was the largest portion of the book, I assume the single letter attached to the ingredient was an initial of the client. The identities of these buyers were the first of this mystery. At the start, it all seems a wide spread of different clients wanting a small amount of items but as I flip through, the pages fill with larger and larger quantities and a single initial beside all of them, S. Quite odd. I can only tell that whoever is making these purchases is mass producing something of some sort, or at least experimenting with them. I tilt my head with the thought of asking Aesop about this, but I quickly shut it away. This could be considered meddling, and I was in no position to take any heat from it. I then tilt my head to the other side. If only Yuki was here, maybe he’d understand what could be made with these items.

The other major portion of the book was even more bizarre, flipping to the end. The last couple of pages were filled with ancient runes. I close the book with a sigh. What wouldn’t I give to have an ancient runes textbook on hand. I pace around the room, my hands coming together to fiddle with themselves. I quickly fold my arms instead once I notice; the ivy occasionally shakes in my presence. Should I buy one from one of the shops here in Hogsmeade? It would look strange since I haven’t been in school for about seven years now, plus I didn’t want to invest in a book for one unique situation. I reject the idea.

 Does the library allow anyone to check out a book, let alone an ancient runes textbook? I shake my head; it would look incredibly suspicious. Or perhaps I could sneak into the library to borrow one? I pause my movements at the thought. It is conveniently close to the potion’s classroom. The only complication from that plan is that the books are probably enchanted to prevent stealing, not like it was a challenge. It's just more of an annoyance to cast a counter charm. I slightly regret not intently listening to Leroy’s passionate rambles about runes a little more back in Ilvermorny. My head lifts just a little bit with a slight grin, I could sneak into the library right after I get my list from Aesop and store the book here while looking. I turn back to the pot of ivy, making sure to pet it eagerly before making my exit into the streets of Hogsmeade, using accio to quickly grab my broom on my way out.

“Nani dear,” a voice exclaims. I turn my head to see Mrs. Sepony watering her moonflowers, her watering can also enchanted to move by itself. She glances at my broom in hand, “It’s quite unfortunate that you couldn’t join us tonight.”

I feign disappointment, “It is a shame, really.”

“But you must come over next weekend to have tea with my grandson Friedrich and I at the very least,” she negotiates. My face slightly flinches, with a strained grin, at another mention of another man’s name. This would make it the third man she’s mentioned this week.

“I’ll do my best to try to make time,” I nod at her with a grin, wanting to end the conversation, determined to find out the contents of the book.

She smiles at me before turning back to her moonflowers, “don’t stay out too late, dear.”

“I would never,” I reply, getting on my broom before taking off for Hogwarts, one would compare my speed of that of a final stretch a chaser uses before launching the quaffle into a goal. I walk my usual route as I land, making sure to pay close attention to the library. It should be close by now or at least supposed to be. Many prefects patrolling around it, something I need to take close note on as I do my errands.

I walk into the classroom, but Aesop is not sitting at his desk, instead he’s at the stove beside it, multiple ingredients resting in random positions on the counter. I place my broom in its usual spot, leaning on an unlit stove, before stopping next to him peering at the array of jars. He finally glances at me, and I couldn’t help but grin at him.

“What kind of list do you have for me now?” I ask him, turning to glance at the desk if he left it there. His desk seemed to be cleared of all materials.

“I have none for you, Ms. Davis,” I turn around so my backside could lean on the attached counter. I fold my arms while looking at him with a glare. He notices the intent behind my sudden action and corrects himself, “Nani.”

“Then why have me here?” My face twists into one of subtle puzzlement. My plan to retrieve an ancient runes book completely foiled merely a few moments after my arrival. I might have to set back the plan for at most few hours.

“It was your suggestion, though I do find it rather odd that you’re interested in spending your Friday evening in a potions classroom,” he answers, looking at me questionably while occasionally glancing back at his cauldron.

“I’d rather be in a more familiar company than pounding shots of fire whiskey to escape the awkward small talk with a guy or two,” Aesop eyes me curiously. I continue more quietly, “My neighbor, she’s been making attempts to introduce me to all the eligible bachelors in Hogsmeade.”

He laughs, “and you’d rather be here?”

“I don’t find any interest in them,” I say shyly, walk to the end of the counter, pushing the various jars towards him.

He squints at me, “but you’d rather spend your time in my company than any potential prospects?”

“Certainly,” I lean on the counter, elbows resting on the table while using my hands to rest my head. He eyes me out of shock that I’d answer so bluntly. I focus on all the different ingredients on the counter, occasionally turning the jars for me to read, “So what’s all this for?”

He pours a purple liquid in the cauldron, “experimenting.”

“Experimenting? What are you trying to make with all this?” I ask, lifting the jar of asphodel for me to look at closely. I was met with his open hand, needing the ingredient.

“A medicinal potion,” I place the jar in his hand, looking at him curiously while he opens the jar, shaking a generous amount into the liquid. There are many medical potions already made, so I can only guess it’s for one particular reason.

“Is it for your leg?” I lift another jar filled with a powdered substance. I turn it around to read pearl dust, and I pause. It was one of the biggest ingredients purchased by S, one of the most expensive too.

“You’d be correct,” he dismisses as a passing comment, his focus zoning into what’s happening in the cauldron, “could you hand me the valerian roots?”

I glance at the counter, still holding the pearl dust in my hand as I grab the jar of valerian roots with my other hand. “Pearl dust”, I read aloud, “It’s quite expensive, isn’t it?” I raise the jar for him to take.

“Extremely, I was told to use it sparingly and to eye it carefully by the previous potion master,” he takes the jar, but my attention doesn’t leave the sparkly material I’m holding.

“And why is that?” I look up to see Aesop staring at me skeptically. I don’t recall what it’s used for, but asking rose suspicion. I put the jar back on the counter in favor of a less important ingredient.

“Many students try to steal some during valentines,” he says, pouring another liquid, “horklump juice.”

I laugh while looking at the liquids, following the system we’ve managed to fall into. So, it was for love potions, I tilt my head slightly in confusion. It didn’t make any sense to produce a large amount of love potions. I put the juice in his hand and watch him in his craft. He recklessly pours the juice in the cauldron while grabbing the stirrer from the shelf above. I took the juice from him when he’s satisfied, fastening it, and placing it along with the other jars.

He rolls up his sleeves, and I watch every movement. Unbuttoning the sleeve from its cuffs, folding the material, and pulling it to his elbows, exposing his forearm. I immediately got lost in my imagination of the other things he could be doing instead of stirring the potion. Like holding my face from behind while he presses me against the counter. Lips trailing kisses along my shoulder to my neck, his thumb parting my lips. His woodsy scent fills my head from how close he is.

“Nani,” he’d whisper in my ear, I can only pray to keep myself quiet. He pulls my face closer and to the side while he trails more kisses along my cheek. His lips would feel delightful, and I would crave more. Desperately wanting them against my lips.

“Nani,” a husky moan fills my ears as I grind against him. His head would fall in the crook of my neck at the feeling. My hand lacing itself in his hair as I continue my teasing. Only stopping when his other arm wraps around me to hold me in place.

“Nani!” A shout breaks my trance. I quickly shake my head from my indecent thoughts of him. His concentration is not breaking from the cauldron while his hand is stretched out to me. I look up at him, confused. He shakes his open hand with urgency, “The dittany.”

“Sorry,” I choke, immediately lifting myself from my leaning position. I look at the counter. Quickly lifting the dittany jar, unscrewing it before placing it in Aesop’s open hand. He slightly shakes the jar, eyeballing the measurement into his hand before he sprinkles it in the cauldron. My face flushes in embarrassment, which causes the stove to spurt slightly in flames. I quickly remove myself from the stove before I ruin his potion, backing up a couple of steps away to calm it. Once Aesop finishes, he breaks his concentration, looking at me with his eyebrow lifting disapprovingly. I smile apologetically, “I got distracted.”

“Bitter root,” he says, turning back to the cauldron. I grab the jar before outstretching it to him, maintaining as much distance from the stove as I can administer. He plucks a few of them before carefully placing it in the liquid mixture. He starts, “How—?"

“I just…,” I cut him off, fastening the jar and placing it on the counter to buy myself time to quickly think of something to say, “I just find it extraordinary when someone makes a potion without any difficulties whatsoever.” It’s not a complete lie, I’d get the same sort of awe while watching Yuki make his late-night potions. But I would rather throw myself in front of a flame hurled from a Chinese fireball dragon than admit to what I was really thinking.

He looks back at me, noticing the awkward distance I caused, “how difficult was it for you?”

“When certain potions require a specific degree of heat that needs to be converted to the cauldron I’m using, along with the chaotic nature of my affinity. It’s almost inevitable that something is going to go wrong given the many pressures of an academic setting,” I ramble, taking small steps closer to the counter. Paying close attention to the flames to make sure it doesn’t react to my presence. I broke my focus once I stood next to Aesop, turning to lean my backside on the counter again.

He was about to speak, but our heads snap to the door as someone enters. It didn’t take too much to understand that she was a beautiful ball of sunshine. Walking with a bright smile, dressed in all green with purple accents. She looked around my age. Two long amber braids fall to her waist. With the flowers attached to her hat and the basket of rather large thorns, probably from a spiky bush, I would’ve bet she’s the herbology professor.

“Mirabel,” he greets with a nod, returning to the cauldron. I side eye Aesop, trying to suppress my immediate annoyance. Saying my name is ‘highly unprofessional’, my ass.

“After a few love scratches, I’ve managed to gather the thorns you requested,” she places the basket on the unattended desk.

“Much appreciated,” Aesop mutters, his attention concentrates on the cauldron once more. Mirabel’s gaze meets mine, and she smiles.

“Ah, you must be the person with a firebush core that Aesop’s been talking about,” Mirabel walks to me with her hand outstretched for me to take. I hesitate at her description of me, how surprisingly fitting it is.

“Nani Davis,” I shake her hand, “kind things I hope.”

“Mirabel Garlick,” She laughs slightly. “Don’t misjudge his rather grumpy exterior,” She shakes her head before looking over to him, still focused on his cauldron. Her hand hasn’t left mine, “Think of him as a young venomous tentacula, quite defiant at first, but after some time has passed, you’ll find him highly enjoying your presence.” There is absolutely no way she wouldn’t be the herbology professor.

“Well, we’re certainly getting there,” I joke before finally letting go of our physical contact. Her smile brightens as Aesop turns off the stove, waiting for the potion to cool. I slide slightly against the counter to make room for him to lean on. He notices the gesture and joins our conversation.

“How are your budding endeavors today, Aesop?” Mirabel asks.

“Dreadful as always, Mirabel,” she glances at me before returning to meet his gaze. I glance between the two, confused at the action. He straightens out, “though tolerable in the right company.”

“Chin up Aesop, wonderful things grow even in the most horrid conditions,” she responds brightly.

“My condition will only get better with an ingredient with an unfathomable magic potential,” he sighs. I thought of the most powerful plant I could ever think of.

“What your describing sounds like thaumatagoria,” I quip, gaining all attention from the herbology professor.

“thaumatagoria?” Aesop looks at me with both confusion and curiosity.

“It might not even exist,” Mirabel eyeing me in question, “though it is said to have legendary magics.”

Aesop face lifts with understanding, “Oh that’s what that is? Even the most accomplished potioneer, Zygmut Budge, thinks that it’s a myth.”

“Well, he’s a potioneer whose job is making potions. Not finding a possibly nonexistent plant” I argue. Aesop looks at me, falling into his typical unamused demeaner, causing me to flash my best grin at him.

Mirabel tilts her head at me with a humorous smile, “I never would’ve expected a person with the core of a firebush would know so much about the wonders of herbology.”

“Given that I tend to make things warm, it allows me to raise plants quite easily, actually,” I respond.

Her face brightens with interest, “You grow?”

“Very much so,” I eagerly answer. Her face lights up with passion, ready to unleash every bit of plant knowledge she could administer for both of us to discuss.

“As much as I’m interested in the magical capabilities of a possibly unknown plant, I’m currently in no position to find out. Can we experiment on plants that are known?” Aesop interrupts, capturing both of our attentions.

“Hmm…maybe we need to think about plants outside our region,” Mirabel suggests. She starts pacing the left and right. Both Aesop and I lean on the counter next to each other with our shoulders almost touching, watching her as she pondered. My brain thought of a few ideas.

“Are we thinking of plants with known medicinal purposes or ones that need further experimentation?” I raise the question; I look up to Aesop for his answer.

He looks down at me, leaning closer, “any idea is welcomed.”

I lost thoughts that I had for a moment, looking into his eyes with his close presence. I blink before turning away, Mirabel now looking at me with curiosity. “Well, I’ve grown California poppies. They are used heavily as a pain reliever,” I glance at Aesop’s leg, “and well, as far as experimenting goes, the witch’s ganglion is said to have powerful magical properties.”

Mirabel eyes went wide at the latter option, “A witch’s ganglion? They are only found in the Far East! They’re far too expensive even for me to get my hands on!”

“Or a seed of it is sitting in a box in my little house in Hogsmeade,” I mumble quietly. Aesop look’s down at me, confused at Mirabel’s reaction and my sheepish response.

Mirabel walks over to me, grabbing my hand in hers. “How did you even get it? And not even grown it yet?” she says with ferocity.

“I got it from a friend. His family is from the Far East. He told me that if I won the combat arena during the exhibition, he’ll give me ‘the most powerful plant I can think of for you to grow’,” I nod my head slightly back and forth, mimicking Yuki’s tone as I said it, “I didn’t know it’ll be a witch’s ganglion. Information about taking care of the plant is just as sparse as it’s magical properties plus it’s only grown on ponds which I don’t exactly have access to,” I explain, looking between both Aesop and Mirabel.

“Grow it here then,” she chimes, a wide smile spreading on her face. Practically hugging my arm against her chest.

“Here?” I ask, astonished at the offer.

“Yes, it will be an excellent place for it to grow and now that there’s two cultivated flowers here that will raise it,” she happily exclaims, referring to the both of us. Her bright eyes fill me with unconditional joy. How could I say no?

“I can’t say no to such a face, and I’m sure it’ll grow wonderfully with your cooperation,” I smile just as brightly to her. She removes herself from me, antsy with excitement.

 “I must prepare immediately for such a splendid revelation on our findings,” Mirabel gathers her now empty basket. “And Aesop,” she looks up at him from the desk, “make sure to guide her to the greenhouse when I make a suitable spot,” she smiles before skipping down the classroom, humming to herself as she exits. I stare at her every movement in awe. Her demeaner is a large contrast from the likes of Black and Aesop.

“Well, isn’t she delightful?” I look up at him with a smile.

“Nothing but helpful when it comes to needing certain plants,” he praises. My smile falters a little at his immediate response.

“I can certainly believe that. How long has she been helping you?” I bump his shoulder, trying to be encouraging of his interest in at least someone.

“Ever since she first started her position at Hogwarts,” It couldn’t have been long given how young she looks.

“So, you two are pretty close,” I prod, trying to understand the level of intimacy they share.

“We frequently share a drink at the three broomsticks,” he pauses. My gaze drops to the floor, maintaining a strained grin. So that’s why I didn’t need to worry about his marital status, “have you been there?”

I snap out of my dejected thoughts, “I would’ve been there tonight if I weren’t here.”

“Mirabel’s friend Sirona runs the place, so you’ll probably see Mirabel there often if you want better company” he says, trying to help my situation.

“And you?”

“Strung along,” I scrunch my eyebrows at his choice of language, “It’s better to accompany her than to get an urgent letter from Sirona late at night to take her back to her quarters.”

I laugh, wondering how many of those letters he received before settling on joining her. “Must be terrible,” trying to compose myself.

“Extremely,” he simply states. I start considering his proposition, quickly being reminded of the plans of tea that I forgot I’ve agreed to. My face drops at the realization.

“So, if I ask if you two will be there next Saturday?”

He laughs, “We’ll certainly be there for you to avoid your neighbor’s matchmaking attempts.”

I sigh in relief, my shoulder contacting with his, “Thanks.”

He gets up from the counter and makes his way to the desk, “Has it been long enough to make it back to your place unnoticed?”

“I probably should before my neighbor starts to get worried,” I follow suit, walking over to grab my broom before quickly making my way out of the classroom. Filling with anticipation to get the book and translate whatever is in that book.

“See you Monday then,” he says taking a seat.

“Of course,” I turn back to him with a grin which disappears as soon as I turn back around and finally exit the classroom.

I walk a bit away from the potions class before casting the disillusionment charm, creeping against the wall to peak at the state of the library. The prefects don’t seem to notice my exit as they don’t make any glances towards my direction. A Gryffindor prefect standing uncomfortably still watching the entrance to the library as it’s Ravenclaw partner is patrolling the entryways to the common area. It's not too difficult to maneuver. I place my broom in a well-hidden spot before spying on them again.

I wait till the Ravenclaw prefect made it’s rounds, making sure she won’t do anything out of the ordinary before making any move. I quietly move to the fountain in the middle of the fountain as the prefect turns her back on me. The Gryffindor in the corner of my eye, fiddling his fingers as he continues to stand still. I use a basic cast towards the statue. Both students turn their heads to the statue.

“Did you hear that?” the Ravenclaw asks. The Gryffindor student nods at her, readying their wands as they start walking towards the statue. I waste no time walking past them, quietly muttering alohomora before entering the library. It’s incredibly expansive, as it should be for a school as ancient as Hogwarts. The only problem is trying to find the book I’m looking for. Thankfully, the librarian is nowhere to be found.

[foxtophat]

HEY HEY HEY!!!!  hey guys. haha. um, idk what to say exactly and tumblr likes to eat my posts so lets see how long this lasts:

its’ only been a couple months but i have been frothing at the mouth trying to figure out what next part of mercy to put out. i have a lot of much bigger stories to tell than this one, but kim and john sharing insomnia felt sort of like the right segue into those bigger bits.  so for now, let’s just enjoy a 20k fic about Kim and John, and also a little about John and Nick, but mostly just about John and Jacob.

there are 3 chapters. i’ll post the 2nd one later this week (wednesday or friday i think) and the third will probably go up next monday.  YEAH THAT’S RIGHT i actually have most of this one finished right out the gate!!!

as usual, i’ll put the entire chapter under a readmore in case you don’t want to leave tumblr.  i hope you enjoy what i’ve got for you this time -- if not don’t worry, there will be more dramatic bullshit later :)  comments, kudos, reblogs and likes are all the things that make ficwriting more fun than it already is, so consider helping me out if you enjoy what i’m doing. otherwise, have a good day!!!

Kim's dreams are normally composed of fleeting images in dark, monochrome colors. They're howling-wind nightmares or ethereal moments of peace, but they're short-lived and she's always disconnected from them. She hasn't had a real dream in probably nine years. She used to miss them, before John Seed reappeared with all of his night terrors, just in time to remind her of how good she has it. Now, she's glad that the most she has to contest with is a looming sense of dread that fades almost as soon as she wakes up.

But tonight, Kim is a long way away from all of that. She's standing at the kitchen sink in her childhood home, which is in full summer swing. The rosemary plant her mom keeps on the sill is in full bloom, thick green spikes dotted with blue puffball flowers. Beyond it, the Canadian sky is seawater green, and Kim marvels at the fluffy clouds drifting through the unnatural color. They seem to be floating by much faster than the still air outside would imply. It should rattle her, confuse her, but before that realization sinks in, her mom's voice distracts her away.

"Do you really think he's the one?" she asks, as skeptically as she had all those years ago when Kim first decided to move to Montana. Her mother had liked Nick, of course, because he was a likable guy, but Kim had known from the start that her parents were worried about her. They'd worried about her moving to a red state, about her trusting a man she'd seen a handful of times since they'd met. They hadn't understood the idea of purple pockets or internet dating, and while they supported Kim's love of rifle showmanship, they'd never trusted Nick owning more than three guns.

"What's the point, is all I'm asking," Kim's mom laughs in response to Kim's unspoken comment. "It seems strange to collect weapons..."

"Mom, he hunts !" she chides. "And anyway, he isn't the worst one out there."

"That's exactly what I worry about," her mom says. "What if something bad were to happen? His family is gone, and we'll be so far away..."

Kim sighs, the words stinging more than they should. The aqua colored sky begins to churn outside, the light filtering through a strange red haze. Inside, the sunlight reflects off the white counters, nearly blinding Kim.

"I'll be okay," she says, reciting an amalgamation of all her old defenses as her eyes readjust. "There are a lot of good people out there. They rely on each other a whole lot more than we do here."

"I worry about you, Kimiko. That's all." Her mother sighs sadly. "You'll understand when you have kids of your own."

"But mom..."

Kim tries to tell her that she already has a kid, but she can't muster up the words. After all, shouldn't she know? Wouldn't Kim have visited? Wouldn't she have brought Carmina into this very kitchen, all the surfaces glowing with light, and introduced them? Wouldn't her mom have been there when Carmina was born?

"It's unseasonably warm, isn't it," her dad remarks at the table. He's sitting there with a magazine as if he'd been there the whole time. He, like the rest of the room, glows from the inside, as though a flashlight were shining through his skin. It shines through the wood of the table, through her mom's curious smile, until Kim has to turn her face away. The room grows hotter and hotter, and in the far-off whistling wind she hears the first lonesome wail of an air-raid siren beginning to pick up. There's a blinding burst of light and howling wind, and Kim lifts her hands to her face, desperate not to look directly at the blast —

The bedroom is dark, warm and humid. At first, Kim doesn't know where she is, struggling to sit up, desperate to run, until all at once reality comes crashing back into focus. It doesn't help that she's pinned beneath Nick's arm and Carmina's full dead-sleeping weight.

Normally, moving would be out of the question. But Kim doesn't want this dream clinging to her memory, and she desperately wants to put some space between her and the nuclear glow of her mother's smile. Hell, maybe it isn't the dream at all — maybe it's the heat that's making lying here unbearable. Maybe it's the extra weight pinning her down, or a panic attack waiting in the wings — whatever it is, she needs to get up and run from it. As she worms her way out from underneath her family, Kim can feel the pressure building behind her eyes, fueled by the need to jog out the tension that will soon become unbearable. She needs to exercise the nightmare away before it sticks around and ruins the rest of her night.

It's probably already too late for that. The back of Kim's eyes are itchy with tears as she struggles to get free. She's already memorized her mom's smile, trapped forever in radioactive amber, and that alone is enough trauma to fuel ten more terrible dreams.

Nick and Carmina remain peacefully asleep, even as Kim extracts herself from the bed. That's good — the last thing she needs to do is worry Nick, whose own sleeping habits have just started to even out. He'll try to keep her company, and they'll just wind up keeping each other up, which wasn't ideal back in the day and definitely isn't ideal now .

Even though Carmina sleeps like the dead and Nick isn't likely to hear her, Kim is careful to watch out for the creakiest steps as she heads downstairs. Sunrise isn't for a few hours yet, but Kim isn't going to let that stop her from insomnia-pacing around her own home. It used to be that Kim would jog laps on the runway to clear her head, but that isn't going to work nowadays. She still wants to, of course; she's desperate to step out into the relatively cool night air and run herself ragged enough to pass out again, but that's out of the question. She's not about to break her own rule.

It's only once Kim is downstairs that she starts to relax, lighting one of the candles left out on the table. The light is just barely enough to see by, and Kim struggles to find something to clean up or organize in the half-dark. All of the coping mechanisms that got her through eight years of bunker living have fallen flat in the face of the apocalypse, but that doesn't keep her from trying them over and over again. Some techniques are more adaptable, but it isn't like she can dig into reorganizing the hangar for Nick at... whatever time it is now. Not without somebody catching her breaking her own rules about going outside alone.

If she had any books worth reading, she could throw herself into that, but she can't bear the manuals and children's books right now. Maybe if there was a radio station she could listen to... but no, she wouldn't want to risk burning out the radio after everything Nick and John went through to fix it. There's not going to be another Hail Mary when it comes to that kind of repair.

Her mom would probably use this time to make a series of endless lists. Grocery lists, to-do lists, lists of pros and cons for buying new appliances or inviting Kim's awful step-grandmother to her wedding... there was nothing that her mom couldn't organize into a column of bullet points or check-boxes. Kim could probably do with a few lists herself, but where is she supposed to get the paper? And even if a supply list wouldn't be a waste of resources, where would she go to fill it? It's going to be a while before they can pick up flour from the farmer's market again, that's for sure.

Well, at least wasting some paper will keep her mind busy. There's too much stuff they need, and she's going to drive herself crazy trying to remember all of it. Anyway, they've been using decades-old junk mail to prop up the radio desk — it can't be wasted if it was already trash, right?

She's careful in her search for a decent piece of mail, not wanting to tip the radio over as she jimmies a yellowed envelope from under the desk. It's only once she's back at the table with a worn-down nub of a pencil that she finds herself hesitating. After all, what is she supposed to write? What could they reasonably expect to get out here, with no supply chain to rely on? Everything that comes to mind is laughably improbable at best.

It doesn't really matter, though, does it? They're probably not going to be able to find anything besides what they can hunt and grow for themselves, so any food she writes down will be wishful thinking. John had offered to help their scavenging efforts, but it isn't likely they'll find working walkie-talkies or a new car. People who have been above ground longer than the Ryes have already taken over key resource points, and they'll be hard-pressed to give up things without a fair trade. And until they can reliably communicate with one another, trading is going to be nearly impossible. One day, maybe, they'll have trading posts and reliable supply chains, but like other pieces of their fractured society, that's not coming for a long time yet.

Staring at a blank piece of paper is worse than writing something stupid down, and so Kim quickly scribbles the word flour across the top of the envelope. She can't imagine that's going to be a reasonable expectation for a while, but at least it's on paper — and it's outlandish enough that it encourages her to continue, her thoughts darting between impossible dreams and honest reality. Salt , she thinks might not be quite as hard to find. Sugar, probably impossible. For now, they can hope for honey instead.

It goes on like that, growing more abstract as Kim lets herself dream. Milk, eggs, bread, twinkies , meat grinder, hamburgers, tomatoes, grains (seeds), grill (charcoal), gas, gas canisters (storage), duct tape, insulation foam (spray, sheet), toilet cleaner, toilet, hot water, plumbing, bathtub! , tarp, doors, ammunition, floodlights, security system, cans + string (security) —

Her flow is interrupted by a soft, distant thud somewhere upstairs. Kim listens for a few tense seconds, waiting to hear boots on the roof, the hiss of a walkie-talkie, or the slide-click of a gun being cocked. Without the cult, those fears go unrealized, and Kim slumps tiredly into her seat. She's just as paranoid about armed cultists tonight as she is about wild animals, although she's sure that's just her nightmare talking. Eden's Gate is nowhere near the threat it used to be.

The relief is short-lived, as is her solitude, when she hears an upstairs door click shut, followed by the sound of quick footsteps on the landing. The house is too old for any real attempt at stealth, but John tries to avoid the worst offending stairs on his way down. He only realizes Kim is there when he notices the candlelight, coming to an abrupt stop on the last step, one hand clutching the banister tight.

He's sweaty and out of sorts as he wipes his limp hair out of his face. "Oh," he rasps. "Kim."

He's surprised to see her. Kim should be surprised, too — it's one thing to know that John wanders the house at night, but it's another to see it happen in real-time. Honestly, she's barely phased by his appearance. John's sleep schedule has been bunker-erratic ever since Nick brought him home, and no amount of diurnal activity has managed to change it. If anything, Kim suspects he gets less sleep now than he did underground. It isn't for lack of trying, she's sure, but this isn't the first time she's heard him stumbling around in the dark. It's just the first time she's been in the same boat.

"Late night?" she asks.

John struggles once more with the hair in his eyes before giving up. "Just needed some air," he rasps, minding his volume. "Some water."

"Don't mind me," she replies, surprising herself with her own ambivalence. Knowing he moves around while they're sleeping is one thing, but seeing it should be upsetting. It should bother her when he avoids creaky floorboards on his way to help himself to their fresh water. It should make her angry to see him using their resources; at the very least, it should have upset her back when it began normalizing. But, honestly, it hadn't. Kim had just been relieved to see John acting like a person, and not just a haunted shell.

John wipes the back of his hand across his mouth, regarding Kim with deep uncertainty that Kim mostly makes out from his hunched shoulders and tense posture. He tries to hide just how lost he is, but Kim never misses it when he slips. It's not that she's sympathetic towards him, exactly, but she knows just enough about his history to want to pity him.

He doesn't speak, not even after the silence stretches out. Maybe he's waiting for her to make the first move?

The thought almost makes her laugh, but she still cuts him some slack. "Can't sleep either, huh?" she asks.

"Hardly ever," John replies, although he clearly isn't looking for reassurance. He takes a step away from the kitchen, hovering in the nebulous space between the table and the stairs. He's usually quick to leave Kim alone — quicker than he is with Nick, anyway — and so she appreciates the fact that he doesn't run now.

His voice cracks on its low pitch as he haltingly asks, "What are you doing?"

For just a second, Kim imagines giving John the cold shoulder and telling him it's none of his business. But the thought fades as quickly as it comes; it's replaced by the knowledge that John is just as dependent on the family's supplies as she is. Anything she needs, he'll also need. And besides, she's almost positive he'd been in control of the cult's supplies, which means he might have an idea of what they should realistically be looking for. He would know what the cult had planned to do, and she could probably translate that into useful advice.

"Just making a list," she sighs. It sounds stupid enough to make her wince, and she concedes with a joke, "You know, for the next time we're at Wal-Mart."

John huffs in amusement and approaches the table. Now that she's got an audience, Kim wants nothing more to do with the list, and so she pushes towards him before slumping back into her chair. Instead of the quick, distracted glance she had been expecting, John leans over to read it in full. The longer he reads, the more embarrassed Kim is of her late-night daydreaming, but he finishes with the list before she can grab it back.

"Some of these are... more manageable than others," he says, using the same kind of diplomacy he utilizes whenever Nick makes a particularly dumb comment.

"Uh, yeah ," she says, embarrassed even if she isn't surprised. "I know. It was just... taking up space in my head. I needed to write it down, otherwise, I'm going to be up all night."

Kim runs her hand through her hair, waiting for John to retreat as quickly as he'd arrived. Instead, John rereads the list once more. Kim can see his amusement much more plainly as he leans into the candlelight. It highlights the deep bags under his eyes as well, but who isn't carrying that particular mark of exhaustion these days?

"Ammunition isn't as high on the list as I'd imagined," he comments.

"We're okay on bullets for now," she replies. "And it's not like there's much to spare."

Whether or not that satisfies John, Kim isn't sure. He only hums in response, eyes roaming down the paper.

"I see you didn't bother to add more guns."

"We don't need more guns," Kim insists, although it's not strictly true. She's just hesitant to overwhelm the house with firearms. They've been getting on just fine with what they have — any more, and they might turn into a target themselves. One day, sure, they'll need to find something for Carmina to carry on her own, but that day is a long, long way away.

She doesn't need to explain herself to anyone, let alone John Seed, but as he watches her and waits for more, she feels compelled to justify herself. "I don't think we're going to find spare guns or ammunition just lying around, and I'm not about to take them by force. We've managed just fine with what we have."

"For now," John points out. "Things could change. It won't stay this calm forever."

"Why not?" Kim retorts, feeling childish and petulant as soon as the words leave her mouth. "Why do you even care? You're certainly not getting armed."

John clicks his tongue against his teeth. "It's not that," he says, only to abruptly roll over with a muttered, "Never mind."

If John thinks he can avoid the conversation that easily, he has another thing coming. "No, what is it?" she asks.

"It's nothing," he sighs, as if arrogantly dismissing her will keep Kim from pushing. When Kim only frowns unhappily back at him, he reluctantly relents. "Joseph had said taking your weapons was the only way we could ensure you wouldn't use them after the Collapse. And if we didn't lock them away, it would be all you would look for." He stares at the list, although Kim imagines his thoughts are about fifty miles away. "It's stunning how wrong he was about everything. But there are reminders everywhere."

John rarely speaks about Joseph; Kim hasn't heard him broach the subject of his own volition before. The only person who ever talks to him about his brother is Jerome, and those conversations are private and short. Having John bring him up with almost no needling feels like a step forward, even if it's only a small one. Even though John is anxious saying Joseph's name.

It's so easy to forget how much control Joseph had over John. Kim has to make a concentrated effort now and again to remind herself that Joseph hadn't only brainwashed normal, desperate people, but his own family. She can't imagine doing anything to Carmina or Nick that would turn them into the angry, anxious mess John had been even before the Collapse. Not even if it meant they would always do what they were told and would trust her implicitly. She couldn't bear it if Nick ever talked about her the way John talks about Joseph. It's late enough that Kim finds herself wondering how Joseph can even sleep at night.

"It's stupid," John says, taking Kim's contemplative silence as disapproval. "I should have known better."

He inhales, letting out a shaky breath, and closes his eyes briefly. When he opens them, they're suspiciously shiny in the candlelight. It sparks a genuine pang of sympathy in Kim, but there's nothing she can say or do to help him. Nothing she's done so far has made an impact.

"Some of this is reasonable enough," John says, desperately trying to redirect the conversation back to the list. It's an obvious, flat-footed attempt to avoid a tender spot in his psyche, but Kim is willing to let it slide.

"Sure, eventually . But we're a long way off from hot baths and backyard barbecues, much less flour and sugar."

"Those are... less reasonable," he admits, dragging his finger across one of the harder to come by items. Still, he isn't nearly as deterred as she is. "But not everything is impossible to come by. Insulation, for one. Tarp, duct tape. Components like that should be easy enough to find." He taps his finger against the envelope. "And there still places to investigate. Root cellars nobody bothered to touch. Caches you never found. Things hidden in places you wouldn't know to look, especially if you weren't in the Project."

Frowning, Kim rereads a few of the items upside-down from her side of the table. "It's been almost nine years," Kim points out, reluctant to get her hopes up so easily. "Isn't it more likely that everything good has already been discovered?"

Still... John's mentioned secret Eden's Gate supplies before. Given the size of the project and how long they were operating in the county, it's not impossible that some of their hidden stashes haven't been found yet. And they were planning for the apocalypse, right? They'd likely have saved things that could last for a long time. John isn't wrong — more ammunition and more weapons would be helpful. At the very least, they could help arm other survivors.

"It wouldn't hurt to have a look, I guess," Kim relents after thinking it over. "How good is your memory?"

That earns her a rare, quiet chuckle from John. "Middling to poor," he admits, "Although if I had a map, it would help. It would make it easier to mark what I remember."

"To think, it only took nine years and an apocalypse for you to finally hand over the intel."

John huffs, but his response is only mildly offended. "Do you want what I have to offer, or not?"

"Don't be like that," Kim says, placating him with a smile. "It would be a big help. It'll help me sleep better, anyway."

It seems there's more on John's mind than Kim teasing him, since he takes the non-apology and moves on without a fight. "Jacob had caches buried for after the Reaping," he says. "They'll most likely be weapons, but he was... hard to read. It could be that he stored survival equipment in one. There were a few in the valley, but most of them would be in the mountains."

Kim shakes her head at that. "As far as I've heard, nobody's made it very far north. And the stories I have heard aren't good. The dam broke, so a lot of the area is flooded, and supposedly the radiation is still pretty bad."

John hums briefly as he considers the facts. He leans contemplatively over the list, and for a moment Kim wonders if this was a common occurrence for him before the Collapse. How many late nights did he spend bent over a map while his brothers watched and waited for his decisions? She has to suspect it was a lot, because this is the first time she's seen John look even remotely confident.

That confidence is clear in his voice as he remarks defiantly, "I suppose the valley will do until we get airborne again. Let flooding stop us then ."

"Oh, okay," Kim laughs, checking her volume before she lets her amusement wake up the rest of her family. "You are just like Nick. Neither of you are going to give up until you get back in the sky, huh?"

"Exactly," John replies. "I won't trust anybody else to do it. Realistically, a helicopter would be the best option..."

"Oh, right," Kim chuckles. " Realistically ."

John taps accusingly at the list and raises an eyebrow at her. "Less realistic than hot water and iodized table salt?"

If Kim didn't know better, she might think that John is actually teasing her. He normally saves that kind of attitude for Nick, who prefers arguing through and around problems. Kim, on the other hand, rarely has the energy to deal with avoidance tactics, and so she tends to demand his sincerity. Thankfully, the liminal time of just-about-three has softened her stance on the matter.

"Okay," she relents with a smile. "Sure. Might as well add helicopters to the list." It would be a pretty big get for them, all things considered. And anyway, John's right — Kim wouldn't trust flying in a plane jury-rigged together by anyone other than Nick.

But that's a resource that will come in the nebulous future, and Kim's too realistic to worry years in advance right now. There are more pressing concerns to deal with, first — like food, water and security. Any caches John can find will at least fulfill one of those priorities, although Kim can't imagine the cult storing anything other than ammunition and weapons. But even if the caches don't pan out, they might find valuable scrap, like logs for firewood, furniture they can re-purpose, or even old survivalist caches that nobody thought to dig up after the world ended. And now that there are four of them, Kim won't feel so uncomfortable when Nick wants to drive to the middle of nowhere looking for supplies.

Kim sighs with relief, feeling a weight roll off her back that she hadn't been trying to remove. "Things will be a lot easier if you can help us with supplies. And I'll feel better about Nick going out if he has somebody to watch his back."

John pulls the same face he usually makes when someone implies they trust him. Kim could ignore it — after all, John doesn't need to believe they trust them for it to be true. Too bad for him, it's too late at night for her to turn a blind eye. "Oh, get over it," she tells him, unable to help a lopsided smile at his offended scowl. "I seriously doubt you're planning on murdering us at this point. And I know Nick is smart enough to knock the crap out of you if he thinks you've changed your mind."

"I won't," John immediately replies.

Kim believes him, if only because there's nobody left for John to rely on other than them. "Good. Because if I can trust you, that means I won't worry about Nick when he decides to go farther than town. It means we can spend more meaningful time with Carmina, too. Anyway, Nick likes bossing you around, and you like being bossed around, so everybody wins."

John ducks his head, embarrassed, but Kim laughs to let him know she's only teasing. "Seriously," she says, relenting for his benefit, "It does help. It's good to have somebody else to rely on."

"I... want to be helpful," John replies, although Kim suspects that he might be confusing his wants and needs again. It's not quite a compulsion anymore, but even John's most heated attempts to argue about a job end with him rolling over quick. He hasn't outright refused to do something, and Kim doesn't think he ever will, if only to prove to himself one more time that he might actually be capable of change.

It might get annoying one day, but for now, Kim can respect his intense desire to make amends. She just wishes he would accept some form of gratitude or praise in return, to make it less awkward on her end.

Kim rests her hands momentarily on the tabletop, tapping her fingers briefly against the wood. "Okay," she softly declares, "I think I'm going to try to get back to sleep." Whatever she winds up dreaming about now, she's pretty sure it won't be the same awful nightmare again — and that's at least partially because of John's intervention. She figures it's worth telling him as much. "You made a pretty good distraction, so thanks."

He nods immediately in response. "Of course," he replies, momentarily bewildered as he checks Kim's expression for signs of sarcasm or annoyance. His posture relaxes as Kim stands, although Kim imagines his relief is temporary. He's pretty good at working himself up into anxious frenzies — staying out of them is another matter entirely.

"Try to get some sleep yourself, okay?" Kim suggests.

There's no way John means it when he says, "I will," but at least he's willing to placate her instead of getting mad at her being concerned in the first place.

"And try not to wake up Carmina."

John nods affirmatively. Kim's positive that he'll sneak outside once she's gone upstairs, but at least he's waiting patiently for her to leave. If it weren't for her returning exhaustion, Kim might've used him as an excuse to do her own late-night workout, but it'll have to do to merely turn a blind eye to him edging around her rule about going out after dark alone. Kim and Nick have both been woken up by the exterior doors, but John never goes beyond the planters out back, and he always closes up when he comes back in. Kim could call him out on it, but... well, it seems like he needs the freedom.

Kim says goodnight and is mildly surprised when John returns it without any lingering sarcasm. He must be pretty tired, but that's not really a surprise. Hopefully, he'll try to take some of her concern to heart, or at least pretend for her sake.

Although Carmina is definitely still asleep when Kim returns to the bedroom, Nick is watching her with bleary-eyed curiosity. He waits until she's closed the door to speak up, and even then it's a dull, quiet whisper.

"Everything okay?" he asks.

He doesn't mind waiting for Kim to creep back to bed before she answers. "It is," she tells him, gratefully crawling into bed as he opens his arms for her. He folds his arms over her shoulders, letting her wiggle into a comfortable spot before she explains in a whisper. "I needed to move around, and John came downstairs. That's all."

"Hope he wasn't a creep," Nick mumbles into her hair. Kim sighs laughingly into his collarbone, which is already sticking to her cheek with sweat. There's no way she's going to be wrapped up in Nick's arms all night, not when it's this hot, but she'll appreciate it while she's got it.

"Not yet," Kim says. "Just talking about supplies." She presses a kiss to Nick's shoulder and whispers, "We'll talk about it in the morning."

Nick hums happily into Kim's hair. "Sounds good to me," he mumbles. The less they talk about John Seed, the better, after all. Especially right now, when they're tangled up in bed with their daughter snoring next to them; there's no room for serious conversation, and there's absolutely no room for John. There's no space for the nightmares that woke her, either; as Kim falls asleep, Nick's hand tangled up in her hair, she thankfully forgets everything save for a warm, melancholy amber glow.