#i know that's mild but its still more than my area is accustomed to

[forswornfae]

We're about as ready for Helene as we're gonna get. Time to try to get some sleep before she hits us.

[skvaderarts]

Elden V Chapter 4: The Weeping Peninsula

Chapter 4: The Weeping Peninsula

Note: Sooo… DLC, HU?! Please be a Miquella DLC. Please Be a Miquella DLC. Please be a Miquella DLC. Or a Godwin DLC. Or both. I would love that. PLEASE. I’m patient. I can wait. Just give me what I what, FromSoft!

(-~-) 

I was wholly and utterly unprepared for what awaited me when I exited Sellen’s chamber.

As soon as I left her presence, I started down the road, headed south as planned. And as I did so, I crossed a stone bridge that I have crossed on several occasions with little to no resistance on the part of the locals. But this time was different. This time as I approached the center of the bridge, out from the shadows as if manifested by the night itself appeared an impossibly massive black horse covered in a flowing black cloak. It easily made five of Torrent, and its rider was an equally imposing knight in jet-black armor, their silence as foreboding as their stature was intimidating. I… am not accustomed to feeling so very small, but the two of them easily sat at a height of around fifteen to twenty feet tall from the ground. I may be overestimating that as a result of the head trauma I suffered after being knocked off of my horse and onto my back on the pavement after receiving a blow from the knight’s massive black halberd (or was it a glave. I admit that my knowledge of medieval weaponry isn’t what it used to be.)

I managed to knock the rider off of his horse and do battle against him on the ground for a period of time before he resummoned his mount and came after me again on horseback. Thankfully, although thoroughly imposing, He was manageable enough once I downed him again. I managed to knock him off of his horse after a period of prolonged battle and of course after I managed to secure several minor to mild injuries in the process. But before long, I was able to deal a killing blow while he was on his back on the ground.

After that, I hauled my broken and battered body onto the back of my house and limped down the road towards the unknown, determined to make progress and stick to my original plan. I couldn’t tell you why I didn’t just stop and convalesces for the night, but I was determined to press on. Perhaps it was out of a desire to vacate the area before anything else undesirable showed up.

I can only assume that this is an enemy that patrols the shore’s edge after dark. I will be the first to admit that I do not travel after dark out of a sense of cautious foresight and the general uneasy feeling that dusk in these parts brings with it, but I was unpleasantly surprised to find that my intuition was correct. So very correct.

I encountered a caravan along the road that I’d seen a few times prior. They don’t seem to make much progress in regard to reaching their destination, but perhaps the same could be said about myself, so I cannot make any judgments. Regardless, I continued down the way that they’d come from until I came upon a bridge and was almost immediately fired upon by some sort of ballista. It blew me off of my horse and onto the ground where I only just managed to roll out of the way before the second shot fired and knocked me across the ground. I am certain that I would have been killed upon impact with the second shot should it have hit me dead on. Thankfully, Torrent was still willing to assist me and I charged through the barriers they had used to fortify their position on the bridge before they could get off another shot. I grabbed a few items along the way before escaping to the other side of the bridge to the waiting safety of the sight of grace that I am now sitting at writing this. The experience was difficult, but I am pleased to know that I had what it took to survive it, even if a considerable amount of “what it took” boiled down to extraordinary luck. I shall rest for the night and explore the region further.

Day 14

It’s pouring rain today, more so than usual. And that seems typical here.

The region I now find myself in is apparently known as The Weeping Peninsula if the map of the area I managed to snag is anything to go by. But admittedly, that is much less notable than the fact that what I can only describe as a gigantic arrow came flying at me out of the early morning fog, only narrowly missing me. It made no sound until it was upon me, and I must confess, it scared me half to death.

This is a problem. Not only because of the fact that I now know that something big enough to fire that thing at me from what must be a considerable distance exists in these parts, but because of the fact that I actually need to head that way. You see, as soon as I set out down the path that lead me here, I encountered a young woman named Irina. She was sitting on the side of the road alone next to what appeared to be a detachment of dead soldiers. She heard my approach and begged me to lend her an ear. Apparently, her father had her sent away for her protection after some sort of battle broke out at a place called Castle Morne. He’s the commander there and the creatures that are apparently called misbegotten that worked there rebelled and decided to kill everyone. 

I’m not sure I understand the specifics, but I do wonder what led her father to the conclusion that sending her away with only a few troops to protect her was a good idea, seeing as she’s blind and doesn’t seem to have any way of knowing where she’s going or the best lay of the land, to begin with. That seems… less than ideal. And highly illogical. But it is what seems to have happened.

Personally, I would have escorted her myself, but perhaps there is a reason I simply do not understand. Regardless, she asked me to deliver a message to her father, begging him to come to join her so that they can escape together. A fine plan as far as I’m concerned, and as such, I swore to bring the letter to her father at the castle. I plan to keep that promise. But before I do that, I must investigate the area. I see several structures scattered around these parts, and I am willing to bet that it would be worth my time to investigate them further.

(-~-)

The sun is setting now and I have had what I can confidently call an eventful and productive day. First, I discovered that Torrent can jump up mountains by riding gusts of air. I know not how any aspect of that works or where the air even comes from since it doesn’t seem to come out of the ground, but I shall not question its utility, even if the landing and falling does make me sick and I grit my teeth each time that I do it. Hopefully, I will become more accustomed to it as time passes.

At the top of the cliff that the first gust led me to was a tower with a, let's say, peculiar little puzzle. It asked me to find 3 “wise beasts” which turned out to be… ghost tortoises. I… I’m not sure what to make of them. One was even invisible. And when I touched all three of them the door to the tower opened and I located a strange stone amulet on the top of it. I cannot explain how, but I felt my mind expand as I did so. I think I shall seek out more of them in the future. Anything that might expand my chances of surviving this inhospitable kingdom is welcome by me.

After leaving there I was set upon by a strange group of hooded worshipers who were seemingly guarding some sort of glowing purple crater. I left the second some giant, gangly creature with a large sword charged at me. What’s next, am I going to discover that extraterrestrials are real?

I found a handheld ballista in a nearby tower and another golden seed by the cliffs opposite the tower… but the most disturbing thing that I discovered was the small village at the top of the hill in the area. Everyone there was sick, even the rats. And although it sounds insane, they were doubled over holding their heads and their eyes were on fire. I wish that were simply a jest made in poor taste, but I assure you, flames came from their eye sockets, and the longer I looked at them, the more I felt my own eyes begin to sting. I also found a plant called the Eye of Yelough that apparently has something to do with this. Perhaps it can help cure it? It says it grows in areas infected by madness. All the more reason to leave, I should think. And with haste, at that. And so I did. But not before investigating the little ruined church in the center of town guarded by the biggest rat I have ever seen and hope to never see again. Within it, I discovered a parchment containing knowledge of a spell called The Flame of Frenzy. I’ve learned it and it sounds… disturbing. Perhaps I shall try to use it… 

I left there and investigated several more settlements in that area. Some were filled with more demihumans and misbegotten, while other has soldiers guarding them. But I did discover several more Sacred Tears and a flask tear that can apparently boost my golden power by increasing my affinity towards it temporarily. It shall come in handy, I’m sure. I also stumbled upon several creatures that seem to have branches growing out of them. They were shockingly nimble. Clearly not to be messed with. 

But perhaps the most interesting thing of all for me personally is the things that Melina told me about a woman named Queen Marika. She approached me at each of the churches and told me stories of her. Apparently, she divested the Tarnished people of their Grace and set them to wage war in another land. And once they died they had their grace returned and they were beckoned to return to this land to claim the Elden Ring. I do not think I fully understand what any of that means, but I believe her I shall explore this topic further to better my knowledge of it.

I then stumbled upon something fantastic. Another merchant, and this one had weapons to sell me. I perused his offerings, but something immediately caught my eye. A sword. And not just any sword. A very long sword. I was admittedly very heavy, and I am only barely able to swing it, but I decided to take the leap and purchase it anyway. After all, wielding a blade half as long as I am tall could never be a bad thing, could it? It’s apparently called a Zweihander. I feel as though I may have heard of this weapon somewhere before, but I cannot be sure. What I am sure of is that I can coat this weapon in Glintstone magic as Sellen taught me, and for the first time, I feel confident that I might actually be able to defend myself. And especially since I found a new shield laying on a cliffside nearby. And I can cast a spell on it to repel magic in a similar fashion to that of my blade. Slowly but surely it’s all coming together. A good Ash of War would be a wonderful edition, however. 

I think I could use a good night’s rest.

Tomorrow I head for that castle. I think I may be ready.

Day 15

I am proud to say that I made it through the front gate of the castle. As it turns out, there was a stone giant guarding the front of the castle, and that was the creature that was shooting the arrows. I managed to outflank it on horseback and two swings of my new blade were enough to knock the giant to the ground. I then circled around and stabbed it in the chest. It… died instantly. I think I could get used to this… 

I will head into the castle up the lift to deliver the letter to Irina’s father. And then I shall update this further. Hopefully, I make it back alive. I’m going to besiege a castle on my own, after all.

(-~-)

I… 

I took the letter to her father. Past the mountains of dead bodies and rabid dogs. Past the active battles going on within the walls of the castle. Past the crazed man with the giant pumpkin-shaped helmet on his head and the misbegotten that were literally dancing on the graves of their fallen enemies. I battled through it all until the sun was low in the sky… and he told me that he could not leave, even if the castle should fall. That it was his duty. That he had to guard a sword that had been entrusted to him to make sure that it did not fall into the wrong hands. 

Personally, and to be blunt, I believe that opinion to be nothing but utter buffoonery. His duty should be to protect his blind, currently helpless daughter who is actively in danger, but I did not press the matter for it is not my place to. I did not know him. I did not wish to overstep and start a fight. It would have accomplished nothing. I decided to go looking for this oh-so-important weapon instead. Perhaps then I could persuade him. I journeyed across the rooftops and down the towers into the bowls of the castle. Past the cowering creatures who cowered away from me in fear of the whip that I found in the depths of the castle which I can only assume has been turned against them many a time in the past. Perhaps the reason for this rebellion in the first place?

And eventually, I encountered him. A humanoid creature that stood upright with a red, fiery mane that looked reminiscent of a lion. And he nearly killed me, my new blade’s slower speed working against me unless I kept the pressure on. But he wore me down and I became winded quickly. He was agile and fierce, fast and relentless, and although I managed to defeat him, he did a number on me. And with what I thought might be my very last breath I pried what I could only assume to be the sacred blade that was more important to Edgar from the creature’s hands and returned it to him. He thanked me and told me to keep it safe. I asked him if he would finally join his daughter and he told me that he would set out on the road. And after taking a short while to convalesce at a nearby sight of grace, I decided to go and check on them. To wish them well in their future endeavors. To hope for a safe departure and journey on their part.

Irina was dead.

Murdered in cold blood on the side of the road with a giant cleaver sticking out of her body with her arms bound behind her back. The same giant cleavers that the misbegotten creatures with the wings and the far too wide toothy grins on their faces had been using to chop off dead soldiers on the way to the castle. They had found her during my absence and ended her life.

Edgar was beside himself, weeping openly over her fresh corpse, kneeling in the pool of blood she’d died in. She proclaimed that she deserved better, and even without knowing her, I agree with him. So very much better. We both should have done more. I shouldn’t have taken so long, and he shouldn’t have hesitated. But now it’s too late and the kind girl I met on the side of the road is… 

He swore vengeance on her behalf, but that will change nothing. It will not bring her back. Would that even be justice? Should it have not been for our failures, I don’t believe those creatures would have killed her. Perhaps if not for their mistreatment under his command they would not have sought to harm anyone, least of all her. The hundreds upon hundreds of dead at castle Morne would not have died. This could have all ended so differently. So many lives ended, and for what?

I… I need time to think. To leave this place. I shall head to the lands beyond the Mistwood. Up opon the hillside. The road I met Bernal on seems to lead elsewhere. It should lead me far from here. I have done enough in this region. Perhaps I shall find better luck away from this place. There is nothing more that I can do here, but hopefully, I can find better luck in the East. I can’t do much worse than I did today, that much is for sure. I might have one the battle, but I think we all lost the war.

(-~-)

I assure you, V, there is nothing of value to be found in the East. What happened to Irina wasn’t your fault. We all know what’s out there, and it’s not good. Learn from our mistakes! *violent shiver*. But perhaps there is something useful there. Just maybe… 

At least V is getting stronger. And he’s got a much better weapon! That’s got to count for something, even if his little noodle arms probably wish he would stop swinging the big scary Zweihander. Hehe!

I hope you enjoyed this chapter! I wrote it in the pitch black on my chrome book when our DAMN POWER WENT OUT IN A STORM. It’s still not on. It’s been 4 hours. I’m concerned. Damn you, Texas. Just once I wish the power would stay on when it rains in this damn state. Electricity costs way too much here for how dogshit the power grid is! Ahem… Take care, everyone! I hope your power is working and you enjoyed this chapter smh! See you in the comment section. And I’ll see you next Friday for a new chapter of Petirchor! Sorry for any mistakes Grammarly missed after the power inevitably comes back on and I get to edit this. I know there will be some. Smh. At least I got something productive done in the dark… 

[rheawritessometimes]

A Not-So-Bad Deal

{ Childe x GN!Reader }

{ Summary } Babysitting Childe has its ups and downs. Series Masterlist

{ Warnings } Swearing, Injury, Physical Intimacy, Mild Spice, PDA, Not Beta Read, Barely Proof Read.

{ Notes } Reader is implied to have commitment issues. Accidental flirting, because intentional flirting is awkward and hard. Didn't explicitly state what each breakfast item was, but they're based on popular Russian breakfast foods. Ahah, not me setting myself up for yet another part?? Masterlist

{ Word Count } 2,955

The sentiment of spending Childe's recovery with him being a simple endeavor was quickly thrown into the garbage when you were awakened before the sun had even begun to peek over the horizon to the sound of what you were sure was a break-in. Rolling out of the bed with your sword materializing in your hand was done entirely on instinct, you were still too groggy to have any proper thought. Stealthily exiting the room, you made your way to the source of the noise, the kitchen.

Needless to say, you were more than annoyed to find that the 'break in' was actually a familiar Harbinger making breakfast, tearing apart the kitchen in the process. Your sword dematerialized as you brought a hand up to massage your temples to ward off a headache. Childe was humming cheerily in the middle of the mess of ingredients and cookware, some of which you were certain had not been necessary to whatever it was he was making. There was no way that many bowls were necessary for any recipe.

The Snezhnayan flashed a bright grin when he saw you, but the gesture did nothing to ease the scowl that had settled onto your features. That didn't seem to dampen his mood in the least, he merrily continued preparing what appeared to be enough food to feed a lot more people than were currently occupying his apartment. Was he expecting a lot of company this morning?

"I thought we made a deal that involved you resting and not cooking enough to feed a small army at ass in the morning," you remarked, the sarcasm laid on thick enough to be dripping from each word. Much to your frustration, this only made him laugh as he turned the stove on.

"Well, I usually wake up early but this morning I had nothing to do since someone broke my bones. So, I decided to make a nice breakfast for my guest to enjoy with me," he responded with faux innocence, though there was laughter in his voice that easily gave him away. His words were still effective in making you feel a little guilty, so you wordlessly brought the dishes you were fairly certain he was done with to the sink and began washing them.

The two of you fell into a comfortable quiet after that, you were busy cleaning a mountain of dishes and Childe's focus was on frying a few eggs and cutting up a bowl of strawberries. You were mindful to stay out of the way as Childe cooked and he made an effort to set the cookware he was finished with beside the sink for you. The rhythm you two had quickly settled into felt startlingly domestic, something you reminded yourself not to like, and certainly not to get used to.

"Maybe I did make a little too much," the Harbinger muses somewhat sheepishly as he looks at the table he had just finished setting. It was without a doubt too much food for only two people, the table at risk of collapsing under the weight of it all. You could only nod in agreement.

"Your guard might appreciate a plate," you offered, as though one more person would make much of a difference against the mountain of food. You had to admit, everything did look delicious. The table was laid out with fried eggs, some porridge, a few sandwiches with sausage on them, what appeared to you to be some kind of crêpes, pancakes of some sort, the bowl of cut strawberries, and a kettle of tea. It would be no trouble finding people willing to eat the excess food.

"I suppose my subordinates deserve a nice breakfast," the redhead sighs dramatically, "They're lucky they have such a nice boss."

"Mhm, and if you ever fall out with the Fatui you could certainly find a job as a cook," you reply after sampling a forkful of his work. Living in Liyue had you more accustomed to chopsticks, but it was evident after going through Childe's kitchen that he did not own a pair. As a witness to his attempts at using them, you weren't very surprised by this finding. A fork was easy enough to figure out, anyway.

"I'm glad you like it," the redhead responds with a grin, quickly busying himself with his own plate. As he eats, he begins to talk about having similar breakfasts with his family in Snezhnaya. This turns into him recounting learning how to make these dishes with his mother and you quietly listen along, making the occasional comment and smiling fondly at his memories and the way he became more animated as he spoke about his family.

The sun had emerged by the time each of you had eaten what you could, and you cleared the plates while Childe ordered his guard to distribute the remaining food to his subordinates stationed in Liyue. You were halfway through cleaning the dishes when the Snezhnayan waltzed into the kitchen, leaning against the counter. He contented himself with watching, not bothering to even offer his assistance.

"I was thinking we should do something. I've been cooped up for too long. Maybe a casual hike up Mt. Aozang?" he suggested, causing you to pause in your ministrations and glance back at him with a raised brow. No hike up Mt. Aozang would be a casual one considering the terrain and potential enemies of the area.

"It's been less than a full day," you pointed out, "And, hm, what was it? Oh yeah, and you have a few broken ribs."

"What are a few broken ribs to a Fatui Harbinger?"

"It's a no, Childe," you firmly insisted, causing him to groan and mumble about you being a 'spoil sport'. It was easy enough to ignore him as you finished up with your small chore.

"I'm using your shower," you informed him once you turned away from the sink. He only hummed in response, still pouting against the counter. It was all you could do to not roll your eyes at his childish behavior.

"What am I even supposed to do for six weeks if I can't go out and fight things?" he whined, and this time you did roll your eyes.

"Well, maybe you can still improve your fighting," you mused, "Have you ever tried working on your strategy? Because that could definitely use some improvement."

The Harbinger huffed indignantly at your words, taking the mature route and sticking his tongue out at you as you left the kitchen to take a shower. He could pout to himself in the kitchen while you had a relaxing shower.

The apartment's bathroom was on the smaller side, but it was still easily workable and didn't feel at all cramped. You had brought with you your own toiletries, but that didn't stop you from poking around Childe's well-organized things out of curiosity. There wasn't anything of particular interest so you decided to just get cleaned up and figure out what to do for the day.

Leaving the bathroom wrapped in a towel and feeling refreshed, you made your way to the guest room to pull out something to wear for the day. You decided on something comfortable, it didn't seem like you'd be going out today anyways and if you did you could always change into something more suitable. After getting dressed and taking care of a few more things, you left the guest room in search of Childe.

It was a simple task finding the Harbinger, he was seated at the table flipping through the pages of a book. You were more than surprised to see it was a book on battle strategy, although you noted it was one focused on group tactics to be used in war organization. You supposed it shouldn't have been any great shock to find he had such books, considering his position as a Fatui Harbinger who was known for his knack for combat. But to actually find him taking your advice was not something you had expected.

"Finally done with your shower?" Childe asked, looking up from his reading, "Good, you were stinky."

His tone made it clear he was joking, and you gasped in mock offense. You both laughed at this, his cerulean eyes shining with amusement. You weren't sure you'd ever seen eyes more beautiful than his.

"Anyways, I was thinking we should go for a walk around the harbor and have a late lunch a Wanmin. Then we can just wander looking for stuff to do, or we could go out to that one boat. Or maybe Zhongli will be at the market and invite us for tea," Childe suggested, setting the book down on the table. You raised your brows at his 'plan'.

"It's been a long time since I've had any time off and I don't know what to do," he justified, crossing his arms over his chest. You only shook your head, smiling softly at his pout.

"Alright, I wouldn't mind a walk around the harbor, at least. Lunch at Wanmin sounds good too. We'll see what happens afterward," you conceded, watching his expression immediately brighten. Just a walk shouldn't be too strenuous, so you weren't terribly worried about his bones. Plus, you wouldn't be able to keep him in bed all day and this was a much better alternative to him going out and finding a fight.

"Let me just get changed into something more presentable."

It wasn't long before you were walking along the docks of the harbor with Childe. You were hand in hand with him, the redhead had grabbed your hand early on, intertwining your fingers with a cheeky grin. You didn't resist when he did this, comfortable with showing the small amount of affection even in public.

Looking out across the calm waters of the harbor, you couldn't help but think it matched the blue of the Harbinger's eyes. While he had an excellent poker face when necessary, Childe's eyes were often very expressive, allowing an easy read of his mood at a glance. Smiling fondly at the thought, you squeezed his hand gently before moving on.

The rest of the day progressed just as pleasantly, both you and Childe enjoying the sights of Liyue before getting lunch at Wanmin as he'd planned. After eating, you browsed the various stalls of Liyue's busy market, admiring the vast array of goods on display.

As the Snezhnayan had earlier predicted, you did meet Zhongli at the market and he did invite you two for tea. You wondered if he had planned it with Childe, but the polite man seemed entirely surprised to have encountered the both of you.

Tea with Zhongli turned out to be quite a lengthy endeavor, and you were rather exhausted by the end of it. He had recounted the history of Liyue well into the evening, in a way that reminded you of a professor during a lecture. It was Childe who was finally able to excuse the both of you, after several hours of education on the historic importance of Silk Flowers.

"Well, I did make a promise that I would rest, so I'm afraid we must be going."

"Ah, yes. It is always good to keep your promises," Zhongli agreed sagely, his words carrying a strange gravity. With polite goodbyes, you left with Childe to return to his apartment. The walk back was through darkness thanks to the hour, but the streets of Liyue were lit and there was still plenty of activity.

It was no surprise that both you and Childe were ready for bed by the time you made it through the door. He mumbled out a mostly unintelligible apology for how long tea with Zhongli had lasted before kissing the top of your forehead and disappearing into his room.

You stood in the hallways shocked by the affectionate gesture for a few seconds before deciding it would be best to just go to bed and forget about it. Surely the action was purely the result of exhaustion.

This time when you woke up the sun had already risen. Silently, you thanked Morax for not having to wake up to Childe's noisy breakfast-making. Even if his cooking was really good, without sleep you'd eventually become rather cranky, to put it lightly.

Exiting the spare bedroom, you found the Harbinger sprawled out on the couch looking through a stack of papers. You assumed it was Fatui business, something which you wanted nothing to do with at the moment. Maybe at another time, you would be interested in their secrets, but as of right now, they weren't really your problem.

"How are you feeling? In any pain?" you asked casually, making your way to the kitchen to retrieve some ice. Regardless of his answer, it was still advised to ice his side regularly.

"Mm, I'm fine. Took some of the medication earlier," he replied, most of his focus still on the documents in his hands. You briefly wondered how often it was that the Eleventh Harbinger did paperwork as opposed to fieldwork. You would have assumed he had a secretary or something for this kind of thing, though you supposed it made some sense for him to do it if he wasn't out in the field.

Leaving the kitchen with another makeshift icepack, you noticed he had set the papers down on the coffee table and draped an arm over his eyes. You raised a brow at this but didn't say anything as you placed the icepack on his side and sat on the couch where there was space beside his legs.

"I don't think I can last six weeks like this. I'm already dying of boredom," he confessed, raising his arm to see your response.

"I'm not sure I can last six weeks either," you replied snarkily. It seemed lost on him as he nodded in agreement before furrowing his brows and scowling at you. Realization.

"Hey, wait! What's that supposed to mean?" he asked, sitting up quickly and wincing at the resulting pain. You picked up the icepack that had slid down and pressed it against his side until one of his hands came up to hold it in place.

"It means I think sometimes you're a bit much," you laughed in response, ruffling his hair and causing his scowl to deepen. He swatted your hand away from his hair using his free hand, and you only smiled in amusement.

"I'll have you know I'm a fucking delight and you adore me," he asserted, staring you dead in the eyes with a challenging look. Now that he was closer, your eyes were drawn to the light smattering of freckles that crossed his nose and dusted both cheeks. From a distance, they weren't really visible, but now you could clearly see them.

"Mhm," you agreed absently, bringing a hand up to lightly cradle his jaw, swiping your thumb slowly across his cheek. It was only when he started leaning in that it dawned on you exactly what you were doing and how intimate it seemed. By the time his lips were pressed against yours, heat had risen to your cheeks and you were certain your face was a brilliant shade of scarlet. Luckily his eyes were closed so he couldn't see you in such a state, but you had a feeling he was able to feel the heat radiating off your cheeks.

Despite your flirtations having been unintentional, you didn't push Childe away. Instead, you wrapped your arms loosely around his shoulders and fell into the slow rhythm he had set. You heard the soft thump of something being tossed onto the coffee table, but you were distracted from that when his hands found your sides and he pulled you into his lap.

A soft breath left you when his lips moved down to your neck to place gentle kisses there. The featherlight touch had goosebumps raising across your skin and you were almost embarrassed by your body's reactions.

"Alright, maybe six weeks won't be too bad," Childe murmured against your neck and you could feel his smile. It made your heart flutter, you weren't sure you liked that.

"Oh, what made you change your mind?" you asked innocently, a hint of laughter in your voice.

"Mm, I wonder." His lips began trailing back up your neck and over your jaw until he sealed them over yours again. The drag of his tongue across your bottom lip had you opening your mouth for him without a thought. In response, he pulled you closer to him, one hand reaching up to tangle in your hair.

When he finally pulled away, he smirked at your flushed appearance and the fact you were a bit breathless. The way he looked at you made butterflies flutter in your stomach and when his ocean eyes dropped to gaze at your lips you felt the overwhelming urge to flee.

"I need to go. I want to get you some proper icepacks from Baizhu and I should probably do some grocery shopping for you," you blurted, standing up. His arms fell easily away from you, but he looked up at you with a surprised and what you thought might be a slightly hurt expression.

"Um, okay," was all he could say as you retreated to the guest room to get dressed in something more appropriate for going out in public. Changing didn't take very long and you made sure to bring Mora along as you fled the apartment with barely so much as a 'goodbye'. Childe was still sitting stunned on the couch as you breezed out the door.

Running away was always a good way to deal with your problems.

[kilesplaysthings]

i made a part 2~ :3

How the Comte Fell in Love with Death

Part 2: The House in the Woods

The rumors were not that far off the mark, apparently. Comte thought as he stared in mild awe at the manor house that loomed before him amidst the shadows of the surrounding forest. It was just as everyone had said: the manor was dark and decrepit with ivy creeping up its walls. The shutters were drawn, the garden and lawn were overgrown with weeds and other dry brush. The front porch steps were broken, paint was chipped everywhere and pillars were rotting through. A feeling of decay emanated from the whole estate.

“Looks abandoned. We sure anybody’s living here?” The coachman asked, shooting his employer a skeptical look.

“That is to be decided,” The Comte said. He gingerly walked through the overgrown lawn and approached the front porch of the house. The place certainly looked like it could be haunted – a far cry from the elegance and opulence of his own mansion.

There was still a door knocker – a rusted thing that peeled at the slightest touch. He used it to knock on the door. Even from outside, he could hear the sound echo through the house inside.

A minute passed. Then another. Comte waited. Others may have chalked the rumors up to being just rumors, that this house was simply an abandoned ruin, but his heightened senses told him no. Someone was here.

Finally he could hear someone shuffling through the house and towards the door. It then opened slightly with quite the audible creaking of old wood and rusted hinges. He could barely glimpse a brown eye peeking warily out at him through the crack.

“Who is it?” A voice whispered.

Comte met the nervous gaze and smiled.

“Is the lady at home?”

He could see the eye narrowing. The door did not open further.

“Who wants to know? Why are you here?”

“I am the Comte de Saint-Germain, and I am here to introduce myself to the lady of the house.”

At that, the door suddenly opened more to the point that he could see the person who had answered him. Standing before him was the bent figure of an older woman. She was dressed in the black dress and cap that signified she was a housekeeper. Her face was pale and wrinkled, lines of care etched on her forehead and around her mouth and eyes. She glowered at him, but the Comte’s sixth sense could tell she was not a cruel person.

“How did you know that a lady lives here? Are you here to nose around like all the other busybodies that have come ghost hunting?” She asked sharply.

“Believe me, I am not here to snoop or pry. I only wish to meet her.”

The housekeeper stared at him warily. Then she tilted her head.

“Hm. You don’t seem to be like the others. That’s all you want to do? Meet her?”

He nodded. “Yes.”

“You’re not some investigator or reporter trying to catch a story for a paper or anything?”

“No,” he said firmly. “I have no sinister intentions.”

She took a deep breath. “Come in. I’ll see if she will agree to meet you.”

He thanked her. The door opened wider for him and he stepped inside to the foyer. The house was a little tidier on the inside than on the outside, but everything was dark; quite dark. The widows were shuttered and the curtains drawn. The only light was from a small fire in the nearby fireplace. In the dim light, he could perceive a few pieces of furniture covered over by sheets. They cast shadows on the walls and he could glimpse peeling wallpaper as he looked around.

“Forgive the lack of proper light or furniture, but I’m only one housekeeper. And as you can see, we aren’t accustomed to entertaining guests.”

Comte shook his head graciously. “Do not worry. I’m happy to be standing after a long carriage ride.”

“Is that right? Well, you can warm yourself by the fire while you wait. I’m sure you must be chilled if it’s as cold out there as it is in this drafty house.” She remarked. “I won’t be long.”

And with that, she lit a candle that she took from a candle holder on the mantlepiece and made her way up the shadowy staircase. It wasn’t long before her black dress faded into the darkness and out of his sight.

The house was so quiet to the point that he could hear the rustling of her skirts and her footsteps upon the wooden floor from above. As he warmed his hands, he listened to her walking to the far left until she suddenly stopped. He then heard her quietly knocking on a door before opening it.

He took a deep breath and stared into the small fire. He wondered if the housekeeper had only just lit it now for him. Looking around, he could tell that everything was dark and dank and dusty. He couldn’t imagine any lady living like this. Not only that, he could also sense something hovering in the air. It was something oppressive and foreboding. No doubt it had to do with the lady that he had come to see. He had to do something about her.

Soon, he could once again hear the housekeeper upon the stairs. Glancing her way, he spotted her on the stair, five steps above him. She peered down at him in the light of the flickering fire, still holding the lit candle.

“She’ll see you,” she said quietly.

“Thank you. After you,” he replied.

With a sniff, the lady turned and led him upstairs. The corridor on the second floor was even darker than the foyer, for there was no fire to guide their way. Even someone like him had to keep his eyes on the candle held by the lady in front of him to see. As he walked down the hall with the housekeeper, he felt an overwhelming sense of sympathy for this lady who lived here. To be so ostracized from the world, with only one companion, dwelling in the dark; how lonely she must be! The more he thought about her situation, the more eager he was to meet her.

The two of them stopped at a door near the end of the hall. The housekeeper opened the door and signaled him to follow her inside. They were in what seemed to be a bedroom suite. Unlike the rest of the house, this room was dimly lit. The shutters were open for the windows to let in a little bit of sunlight that shone through faded curtains. There were still sheets covering all of the furniture, but the area had definite signs of cleanliness unlike the rest of the house.

“Give me a minute,” the older lady said as she set the candle down on a nearby mantlepiece.

She then tugged the sheets off of a table and two chairs and invited him to be seated. As he sat down, he watched her go over to a door at the far end of the room and quietly knock on it. Comte assumed it led to the lady’s bedroom. A soft voice spoke and the housekeeper quickly entered the inner room. As he sat there, he could hear two women’s voices speaking softly to one another. Suddenly the door opened again.

A lady dressed all in black stepped out of the room. Her pale face was barely visible behind a veil of black lace and even her hands were covered by black gloves. She slowly approached him, walking with a natural grace that almost looked like she glided across the floor. Comte watched her, standing up politely to greet her. They made quite the pair: a figure all dressed in golds facing a figure all dressed in black.

“Rebecca says you wished to meet me,” she spoke in a soft voice.

“Yes, and it’s a pleasure. I am known as the Comte de Saint-Germain.”

She stretched out a gloved hand to invite him to sit back down. He could feel her watching him even though he couldn’t see her eyes very well.

“A Comte, is it? May I ask the reason for this visit, Sir? I don’t get many visitors, as you can guess. At least, none of the good kind."

"I have no particular reason. I just wished to meet you.”

The lady in black sighed. “You’ve heard all of the rumors, haven’t you?”

“I will not lie to you. I have heard one or two.”

“No doubt people claim I’m some evil spirit who haunts this place that curses anyone who tries to get a glimpse of me,” was her snide remark.

“I have heard something of the like, but it wasn’t because they said you were a ghost that I came here. I knew for a fact that you weren’t a ghost.”

There was a pause.

“You knew, did you? How?”

“May I ask this first? Are the other rumors true that you kill any living thing you touch?”

Another pause. The housekeeper, who was bringing in some tea, gave the lady a nervous glance.

“Did you come for a show? Is that why you’re here?” She asked in a low voice.

“Not exactly.”

“Because there’s nothing here I can show you. I’m not some trained monkey from a circus who will do a trick for a reward.”

“I’m not asking you to,” Comte answered quietly.

“I could do it, you know. One touch from me, and you’d be dead.”

She was threatening him, no doubt to scare him away. He merely smiled at her serenely.

“That’s what I came to talk to you about, actually. How long have you had this, shall we say, ability?”

“How long?” She repeated, confused.

“Yes. You weren’t born with this ability, I’m sure.”

“No…” She spoke in a hushed voice. “I was not…” Shaking hands took hold of her teacup. Comte watched her as she lifted her veil slightly to bring the cup to her pale lips.

“I’m curious about another thing. Pardon my rudeness, but how old are you?”

She hesitated. “One and twenty.”

He narrowed his eyes. “And how long have you been one and twenty?”

“Look here, just what are you getting at?” Rebecca, the housekeeper, interjected defensively.

“I assure you, I mean your lady no harm.” He continued to speak calmly and softly. “I’m here because I suspected foul play on your lady’s behalf and now that I’ve met her, I can definitely sense something dark hovering around her.” He glanced at the veiled lady across from him.

“And I want to help you.”

“Help me? How could you help me?” She wondered despairingly.

“You want to know how I got like this? Fine, I’ll tell you! It was a witch! She cursed me and tormented me and my family! We were all alone, cut off from the rest of society, and she preyed on us like a beast. I don’t know why she hated me, but she put this curse on me and made my life a living hell!

‘Your family will abandon you and the world will hate you. You shall no longer be able to enjoy the caresses from loved ones, for you will take their life!’ And ever since then, from that cursed autumn in 1612, I’ve been like this.”

She gripped her teacup and bowed her head. Comte could see her shoulders quivering.

“I was fine with it at first, completely focused on staying away from people so I wouldn’t kill anyone or be attacked by anyone. But that witch also cursed me with a long life and eventually, cutting myself off from everyone and everything became… so lonely. If not for Rebecca, I feel I would have gone mad.”

“My lady…” The housekeeper uttered softly, tears in her eyes.

“I have been through many hardships. I have lost almost everything. How exactly do you think you can help me?” She continued, gazing at her guest, now more bewildered than angry.

“So it was a witch?” Comte muttered to himself. He took a deep breath and spoke to her in a firm voice.

“I will help you find the one who cursed you.”

The ladies gasped.

“How? It was so long ago, and she’s a witch! Even if she’s still alive, how do you think you’ll be able to find her? And even if you do, what would you be able to do about her?”

“Do not fret. I have my ways.” He suddenly smiled. “You are a human than has been cursed severely. But I am not a mere human.”

The Comte stood tall and strong. He gazed at the lady with gleaming eyes.

“I knew there was something odd about you..” Rebecca whispered. “I said as much to her before you came up here..”

“I will reiterate, I mean no harm,” Comte said to the nervous Rebecca. The lady, on the other hand, sat in her chair unmoving. Whether she was scared or not, he wasn’t quite sure.

“Perhaps it is not my business, but I am very fond of humans and I do not like to see their lives toyed with like this. I have heard your plight and I want to help you. Will you come with me?”

“Come with you?” She quietly repeated. “To where?”

“I have a mansion. It is located not too far from here. It is well furnished and well kept, unlike this run-down house. I am inviting you to stay there. If you agree, I promise you, you will be well-cared for. You will want for nothing, and I will protect you.”

“You..!” Rebecca wanted to speak, but she found that she couldn’t think of the right words to say.

“Why should I come with you?” The lady demanded. She had set her teacup down and her gloved hands clutched the skirts of her dress.

“Are you trying to play the Good Samaritan? I don’t care who or what you are. I don’t need your pity!”

“It is true. My heart does pity you. It aches for you. To be so alone, all these years…”

Comte spoke in a low voice, and as he spoke, he approached her slowly.

“W-what are you..? Sir! You must take care!” Rebecca exclaimed as he walked towards the seated woman. She was about to dart over and grab his arm, but with one sharp glance from him, she froze.

He walked around the table to the lady’s chair and the lady in question stayed rooted to her seat. She knew if she made any quick movements, she could accidentally touch either one of them and they would die. Suddenly, with a dart of his arm, he gripped the back of her chair and leaned down until his face was leveled with hers.

The lady gasped in shock. “You’re too close!” She hissed.

“Tell me,” Comte murmured. “What is your name?”

His other hand held a teaspoon and he lifted it to her veil. It slipped in between the lacy fabric and he used the spoon to lift it up until her face was revealed. He was now gazing upon a pale, heart-shaped face that was petite and fair, with prominent cheekbones and a celestial nose. Long lashes framed a pair of wide eyes of a most unusual color: crimson.

She was beautiful.

“What..?” She muttered. He had asked her a question, but it hadn’t registered.

“Your name, Cherie. What is your name?” His voice was low and smooth; soft and beckoning. It was easy to be entranced by him.

“It is…Sabrina.”

“Sabrina.” He tested her name on his tongue. He liked the way it sounded.

“Quite beautiful. Like your eyes. Such beautiful eyes – the color of blood.”

A surprising faint blush appeared on her pale cheeks as he spoke. He was so close to her, but she still could not move or take her gaze off of his own golden eyes.

“Sir, please!” Rebecca finally exclaimed, frightened for her mistress. “Please be mindful of my lady’s boundaries! For your sake and hers!”

He finally broke his piercing gaze and straightened back up to look at the housekeeper.

“My apologies if I frightened you both. What I said, I said in earnest. I do wish to help you. You need not fear me.” He stepped away from the table and chairs and both ladies let out shaky breaths.

“I will show myself out. If I may be so bold, please consider my invitation Miss Sabrina. I won’t force you to make up your mind right away, but I will be back to visit. I look forward to seeing you again.”

And with a smile, he opened the door and left, making his way downstairs in the dark and back outside.

Rebecca heaved a sigh and leaned against the empty chair. “What an odd fellow. He doesn’t seem vicious, but he said he wasn’t exactly human… I can’t help but worry. Wouldn’t you agree, my lady?” She asked as her mistress slowly got up and stared out of one of the windows. It faced the back of the house, overlooking nothing but weeds and the forest beyond. She couldn’t see the man leave, but she heard the carriage ride away.

She placed a shaking hand against the window pane and stared bleakly out to the trees beyond. His invitation was sincere, she could tell. The thought of leaving this old house filled her with hope, but at the same time, she had no idea who this Comte really was. Could she truly trust him?

[kessielrg]

[Kingdom Hearts] Commission Please!

Summary: In which concentrated bits of chaos meet a shy artist. Dedicated to @chibi-mushroom, my Namine-sensei and to whom I’m converting in to a bunny child appreciator. xD

Rating: K

Word Count: 2,210 words

If you liked this story, please reblog!

---

There was always something interesting happening in Disney Town. The colors, the sounds, the smells- it was nearly overwhelming as Namine breathed it all in. The atmosphere of the place always seemed to knock Namine slightly off guard every time she set foot in it. Disney Town was a very alive world, and all the experiences with it flowed through effortlessly. She was always so amazed that every day was different than the last- definitely a stark contrast to how she started out in the world. Today, Disney Town offered something new, something no one had seen before and was quite hard to ignore.

“Where on earth did all these bunny kids come from?!” Lea demanded once they entered town square. They were very hard to ignore. Every foot or so, there was at least one of the small, blue bunnies getting into some sort of trouble.

“Not sure,” Kairi said, just as a bunny kid hopped onto her head, bent down to look her in the eye, happily wave, then bound off of her head. She couldn’t hide her little giggle as she went on to add, “But they sure are cute.”

“Ri-ight.” Lea snorted. He looked down to see a bunny child at his feet. It stuck its tongue out at him before laughing rather maniacally. “They look about as cute as a wart on someone’s toe. Just as persistent too.”

“Lea!” Kairi admonished, gently smacking him with the back of her hand. The taller redhead did nothing to defend himself. Instead he gave them a charming little grin that feigned innocence.

Namine let out a little chuckle as well. Lea turned to her with the most hurt expression one could offer.

“Not you too, Namine!” he whined. “I thought we had amnesty once we became Somebodies. We’re good now!”

“Not when you’re still being cruel to innocent children.” Namine teased.

“I didn’t even touch them!”

Namine and Kairi looked at each other before dissolving into a round of giggles. Lea deflated, knowing that he was never going to win this argument. Their moment of fun was broken when a loud drum march started to play. The three looked up to find the source of the noise. Sure enough, there was a small group of bunny children with drums and leading a small parade filled with nothing but other blue bunny children. One of the bunnies in front was holding a banner reading ‘Lunch Time 4 Us!’ and waving it quite happily.

 In high, squeaky voices, the leading bunny children started to chant; 

“Who’s the leader of the club that’s made for you and me!”

On cue, another round of tiny voices shouted as they joined the parade, “La-de-da la-de-da la-de-da-da-da!”

“Hey there, hi there, ho there! You’re as welcome as can be!”

“La-de-da la-de-da la-de-da-da-da!”

The chant continued as the parade marched their way through the square and into a cafe. 

“Well…” Kairi was the first to muse, “Guess we’re not going to eat in there.”

“Must be lunchtime.” Namine noted with a grin.

“Must be something.” Lea decided as he scratched the back of his head. All the while, the bunny children continued with their march.

“Uncle Mick!”

“Papa too!”

“Uncle Mick!”

“Papa too!”

“Forever let us hold our ice creams high!”

“High, high, high!”

“Come along and sing a song, and join the jamboree!”

“La-de-da la-de-da la-de-da-da-da!”

The bunny children holding up the rear, who hadn’t entered the cafe yet, let out a cheer before slamming the cafe door behind them. The square was suddenly rather quiet without them all making a ruckus.

“I, for one, am glad they’re gone for now.” Lea told the girls. “That is not a song I want to have memorized.”

Kairi gave Namine a wicked glance before turning back to Lea. She didn’t give any warning before she opened her mouth to sing, “Who’s the leader of the club that’s made for you and me?”

Lea suddenly went pale. “Kairi, no!”

“Hey there, hi there, ho there!”

“Kairi! I’m warning you!”

“You’re as welcome as can be!”

“This is your last chance!”

“Come along and sing a song, and join the jamboree!”

“That’s it, get over here so I can teach you a lesson!” Lea hollered as he barrelled at Kairi. Kairi herself let out a little yelp before bolting away. She then let out a joyful laughter as Lea chased her around the square, and out to a different area. Namine considered following them, but decided it was best they get their energy out. There certainly wasn’t any shortage of it in this world.

Instead, Namine made herself comfortable at a nearby bench and simply relaxed. After being accustomed to the energy of the world again, she carefully pulled out her drawing pad, some colored pencils, and did one of the most relaxing hobbies she had yet to replace; drawing.

She started with the square itself. The bench she was on was facing a nice gazebo, which in turn was framed rather well by the entrance to Disney Castle behind it. She wondered for a moment if she had enough colors in her palette to capture the atmosphere just right. If not, maybe it was time to experiment with cross hatching. As she got into her familiar, comfortable groove, Namine started to hum a few bars of the bunny kid’s march. It was a pretty catchy tune. She’d have to ask Riku if he was familiar with it- he came around Disney Town often enough to visit the King, he must have heard it at least once.

Quite some time passed as she drew. Namine didn’t even notice when some of the bunny children started to file out of the cafe. A little pack of four started to play in the gazebo. It looked like a rather fun game of hide and seek. Namine didn’t realize that she had started to draw the bunny children playing until she had finished shading the first blue bunny. She blinked at her page with mild bewilderment. She had heard stories about ‘automatic writers’ and how they would write whole letters by hand while supposedly controlled by some outside force. She didn’t personally believe them until she saw the blue bunnies in her drawing. It was like she didn’t even recognize her own ability.

“Hey fellas!” a high pitched voice said from beside her, succeeding in scaring Namine nearly out of her wits. She quickly looked to her left and saw one of the bunny kids standing next to her. Namine flinched when it whistled to get the other two’s attention.

Its siblings (she assumed they were all siblings, at least) immediately stopped what they were doing. They took a glance at Namine, then at the bunny beside her, then started to bounce on over. They stopped at her feet. Namine was so bewildered at the past minute’s events that she had to take another moment to register what was going on.

“Oh! Hello there.” she finally greeted. “Would you like to see what I drew?”

All four bunny children nodded their heads- the one that had surprised Namine had gone down with the rest of its siblings. There was power in numbers, and she had a feeling those blue bunnies were well aware of it. Despite herself, Namine carefully turned her drawing around for them to see. Her work was immediately accepted with a round of ‘oh’s and ‘aww’s. It made her heart flutter with pride. She felt rather selfish when the four bunnies decided to just up and leave without another word. Namine sighed, hoping that they’d come back, before going back to finish up a few bits on the drawing.

Her wish was granted quite a few minutes after. Just as she was finishing up her drawing, the four bunny children from earlier were coming back to her. At least, she assumed they were the same as before- it was hard to tell when those blue bunnies all looked the same. Regardless, Namine greeted them all with a bright smile.

“Hello again,” she said, “How can I help you?”

The bunny children all stared at the one bunny standing in the back. It was bashfully hiding something as it stepped forward. The other bunnies let out a pleased ‘ta-da!’ while the bashful bunny presented Namine with a flower. It wasn’t anything too special, probably plucked from the caste gardens based on its hue.

“O-oh, thank you.” Namine stammered. “But I don’t need-”

She stopped dead in her tracks- the pitiful, pleading faces of the bunnies made it increasingly hard to say no. After a moment of mental wrestling, Namine offered a smile.

“It’s very lovely.” she said  as she carefully took the flower. “Thank you. I’ll use it as a commission.”

The bunny children suddenly perked up. A new word had been spoken to them- one that they could already tell held the promise for more lovely drawings. They looked back up at her expectantly. Namine didn’t think herself that good at charades, but she could almost gather what they wanted to ask her.

“A commission is when you give something to someone in return for their goods. In this case, the flower is your commission for me drawing your picture earlier. Do you understand now?”

The bunny children looked at each other for a moment. They seemed to have a moment of revelation before turning back to Namine with a wide grin. In unison, the bunnies happily nodded.

“That’s good.” Namine smiled, giving them a happy nod of her own back to them.

Giving a grin that seemed rather mischievous in hindsight, the blue bunny children bounded off in different directions to do whatever it was they planned on next. Namine wasn’t aware that she was going to be a part of this plan. Not yet. For now, she decided to put her drawing things away to go find Lea and Kairi. She hadn’t seen them since they ran out a good hour ago. Not that she expected anything bad to happen to them, but still. You never knew in their world.

Thankfully, both Kairi and Lea were safe when Namine found them. Apparently they had raced each other to the go-kart track, which then proceeded to be an even more heated race between them. Namine had caught them at the end of their sixth round.

“Who won?” Namine curiously asked.

“I did!” Kairi boasted at the same time Lea mumbled, “She did.”

Namine afforded a small laughter. With the three of them together again, they decided that it was likely time to get something to eat. On their way back to the square, a large hoard to bunny children came bounding to the trio. They bunnies were so packed together that it was just a sea of rippling blue. Not sure of what to do, or where the bunnies were even heading, Lea, Namine, and Kairi simply stopped in their tracks.

“I don’t like how they’re in a stampede.” Lea murmured to the girls. “Who do you think they’re going to terrorize? That’s a terrorizing formation if I’ve ever seen it.”

The girls just shrugged, but they got their answer soon enough. The hoard stopped right at Namine’s feet. A fact that didn’t surprise her nearly as much until a few started to stack on top of each other. They continued to stack until the bunny child on top was at about Namine’s eye level.

“Hi!” the top bunny child happily said, giving a wave so energetic that it made the tower wobble a bit. The bunny didn’t give anyone time to react before pulling out a picture of their own. It was rather crudely done, but it was still easy to depict a black cat with a pink shirt and matching little hat. Putting on a wide grin, the bunny child told Namine, “This is our mama.”

“We want to surprise her!” one of the bunny kids in the stack said.

“Please draw us for Mama.” another bunny said.

“Draw us for Mama! Draw us for Mama!” the rest of the hoard chanted.

For the longest time, Namine was speechless. When she did try to say something, it only came out in a strangled, “I…” as she looked to Kairi and Lea. They seemed just as overwhelmed as she was.

The bunny children must have been expecting this because a few others formed a second stack. This time, the bunny on top was holding a rather large sack that, when shook, sounded like munny twinkling inside.

“We’ll commission you.” the bunny at the top of the second stack grinned.

“It’s all our allowance!” the hoard cheered at once. “63,000 munny!”

Lea let out a low whistle. “That’s a LOT of Mega-Potions…”

Indeed it was, and it only caused more conflict inside Namine. Why was it so hard to say no to troublemakers when they were being so earnest? Maybe it’s because the bunny children were still just that- children. They weren’t perfect, but when they put their heart into something, it was all they desired. It was admirable. It was hard to say no to.

“Sure.” Namine then decided, knowing that she wouldn’t be able to take it back later. “Why not?”

The bunny children cheered.

[hargrove-mayfields]

this is part two of this fic if you want to read that first!! warnings in the tags!

When they finally make the leap out of Hawkins, they move into a one story in Oregon, of all places. It’s not California, but it’s close by, and the doctors say that for the sake of Billy’s lungs, he needs a more mild climate than he’d have there. Besides, Billy insists that anyplace is home enough for him as long as Steve’s with him.

After a few months of living there with a nagging sense that something was missing from the space, they’re able to complete their new home when they find an upright piano for next to nothing on the side of the road to replace the old grand they had to leave behind at Steve’s parents place.

It’s much less sophisticated than what they’re accustomed to, the finish had long ago chipped off and half of the yellowed keys played the wrong notes, but they’re able to fix it up with some work.

Once it’s presentable, shined up and once again functioning properly, it sits like a trophy in the corner of their dining room, a symbol of what they could do with music. That graceful ability to grow and to change and to heal that they were so familiar with, and of the love that developed between them on the bench.

Billy plays more than Steve does, to keep himself occupied when he’s on his own and itching to get out there and break every rule of his recovery laid down by his doctors.

Even after he regains most of his strength, his hands no longer shaking from the simplest of tasks, the piano never loses its power to keep him out of his thoughts, chasing away nightmares and rampant fears so he can feel like himself.

The sounds of Billy’s playing carrying through their houses, the soft twinkling of keys as the first rays of sunshine cut through curtained windows is like an alarm clock, has Steve waking up in a bliss each morning.

Even in the winter, when the cold is especially hard on Billy’s body, his scars sore like they’re still new and his joints stiff and aching, he’s guaranteed to be up to play at the first rays of the morning sun, usually before Steve is even up for work.

One particularly snowy morning, when Steve wakes up to the usual melody of Billy’s playing with the sun in his eyes, he takes a moment to just stay in bed and revel in the warm music drifting in the room before he realizes he’s slept through his alarm.

He panics for a moment, shoves his glasses onto his face crooked and stumbles out of the bed fast enough he almost trips over the comforters still wrapped around him, but in his effort to stay upright he notices a note on the nightstand.

In Billy’s shaky handwriting it reads, “School’s cancelled. Thought I’d let you sleep in -B”

Steve chuckles to himself over the mix-up, and peeks out the window past thick curtains to see a few inches of snow that wasn’t there when they’d gone to bed the night before. He’s not one to say he hates his job, or even dislikes it, teaching is what he’d always wanted to do, but a thousand times over he’d rather be given the chance to stay at home with Billy.

Without bothering to change out of his pajamas, he pads down the hall into the kitchen, focusing on the song drifting in from the dining room, one he doesn’t think he recognizes, as he starts to make their morning white tea.

Billy would’ve rather it be a morning coffee, but that much caffeine is bad for his heart, so they settle for tea with honey and a pinch of sugar.

“Mornin’, Stevie.” Without looking up, he acknowledges Steve as he enters with two steaming mugs. “Did you get my note?”

“Wouldn't I be out the door by now if I hadn’t?” Steve sets their teas on the corner of the dining table to cool, and sits down so he’s straddling the bench. He situates himself so he can wrap his arms loosely around Billy’s braced torso, and rest his cheek against his shoulder so he can watch scarred hands as they glide across the keys.

Billy chuckles, smiles down at the keys. “Touché.”

Once he’s settled, Steve sighs through his nose and asks, “What’s that you’re playin’?”

“S’a song called When.” This tip of Billy’s tongue pokes out just between his teeth, his concentration on what he’s playing intense. He acknowledges Steve again when he reaches a slower part of the song. “You wanna hear it?”

An answer isn’t really necessary, Billy knows undoubtedly that Steve is interested in anything he does, but he gives a confirmation regardless. “You know I do.” He shifts until he’s comfortable against Billy’s side, and Billy starts into the song.

His voice is much better than before, now that his throat is healed. It’s still a little gravelly, gets deeper when he sings where Steve’s gets higher, but it’s smooth and warm and just about Steve’s favorite sound in the whole world.

Closing his eyes, Steve focuses on just listening to the magical sounds that Billy can make, on feeling the soothing vibrations of his voice as he works through the piece.

With words the song is vaguely familiar, and it’s truly a beautiful thing.

It’s a ballad to nature, ironic for someone who spends most of his day confined to indoors or his own backyard. The song is gentle, full of pretty trills to accentuate even prettier lyrics, but it takes on a melancholy tone, given the context.

Appreciation for life, for the world and everything good within it is something anyone can relate to, but apply it to a sick man and it changes the meaning drastically. Gives it more a sense of longing for these things, and it’s got Steve feeling overwhelmed by its sincerity.

Typically, Billy favored songs he thought were fun like The Bitch is Back and piano covers of songs far too hard core for the dainty instrument, so it’s surprising, hearing him pouring his heart out through an actual ballad, but Steve is glad for it, that fond and warm feeling growing in his chest at hearing Billy’s song.

The song trills one more time into a slow crescendo, and finishes off in a way that Steve couldn’t have been expecting with the words, ““When the whole world is filled, with Mother Nature's noises… that's the time to stuff cotton in your ears!”

The change of tone in the song is so abrupt it makes Steve open his eyes again and pull away from his hold around Billy’s waist, keeping his fingers linked but leaning way back to look at his face. Billy’d duped him, had him feeling all emotional before revealing his cards, his normal sense of humor.

He’s wearing a smile, crooked and relaxed as he takes in Steve’s reaction, the confusion at the pace change. Despite the humor twinkling in his eyes, he asks innocently, “What?”

“Nothing.” Steve can’t help but smile back, even if he shakes his head at Billy’s choice of song.

Still smiling, Billy kisses him, soft and slow in a way that has always made Steve feel like it was the first time, his heart doing backflips while he melts into the bench.

They pull away for a breath, and the moment passes bittersweet, just as many do these days. Giggle almost always turn to tears anymore, and Steve feels his lip start to tremble, feels Billy put a hand on the small of his back so he can pull him closer and sigh into his hair.

Billy’s dying.

The doctors say he’s only got a few years left in him, if that. His heart is worn out from too many surgeries and medications to keep the hole in his chest closed.

They can’t fix it for fear of doing nothing but speeding up the process. They’re stuck with the recommendation to take him home and make him comfortable that nobody ever wants to hear, especially not now, when they’re still young, supposed to be living their lives to the fullest.

He’s already lived longer than they initially estimated when his body started rejecting the transplanted lung a while back, but he’s sick, getting sicker all the time.

The weight he’d been able to put back on in the years following that initial hospital stay was gone again, and his lung capacity was worse every day to the point that even with the oxygen tubes he felt breathless and dizzy, and he was coughing up blood.

Steve doesn’t know what he’ll do when Billy’s gone. Doesn’t know if he’ll keep teaching, if he’ll leave the area, he doesn’t like to dwell on it too much.

But what he does know for sure, is that the house will never be silent, and the piano won’t be covered. Won’t be forgotten in that corner or left unplayed after he goes.

It will stay just where Billy left it, to commemorate him and all he’d done with it, to honor and remember his music through Steve’s own.

Moments like these, fleeting as they are, are everything to Steve anymore. When Billy isn’t here anymore, all he would have were the memories of mornings like these and every second together with him, sealed in a box in his heart where nobody could touch them.

To lose the person behind that, there are no words that can describe how hard that’s going to be. Loss has never been easy for Steve, and having time to anticipate it did nothing but draw out the pain of knowing what was coming, what he’d have to let go of.

But it wouldn’t hurt forever.

Of course he would allow himself the time to mourn, how couldn’t he, when he’d be losing the only person who’d been able to take every wish and dream he could ever have possibly had and make them all come true, who’d ever really loved him. But he promised Billy, and himself, that he wouldn’t let himself be sad.

Because he refuses to remember him by his lows, all the countless days spent in the hospital, sleepless nights when he’d have coughing fits and be in so much pain he couldn’t sleep, the teary eyed panic attacks when something triggered a bad memory. That wasn’t Billy.

When the time comes, Steve wants to keep making music. To use the very tool he’d given Billy after government conspiracy and more than a year in the hospital, back then to offer him an outlet to feel better, to now keep his memory alive. Give him a legacy.

In the moment, Steve lets Billy wipe away his tears and pull him closer still to kiss the top of his head. He chokes back a sob listening to that wavering heartbeat from where he’s drawn close, and tries to chase the thoughts away.

Because they’re here now. Billy isn’t gone yet and Steve isn’t letting go. Right now, there’s still time to create more moments to hold onto, to create something beautiful, melodic, powerful.

Steve taught Billy to play the piano, but Billy taught Steve how to live in the moment, how to care for someone with all of his heart. More than anything, Billy taught Steve how to grieve.

[gimmesumsuga]

Beneath the Boughs (M)

Fantastical Tales for Curious Souls - Chapter 3

Pairing: Dryad!Namjoon x Reader 

Word Count: 20K

Warnings: Very mild peril and angst, tooth-rotting fluff, smut - fingering, oral sex (male receiving), unprotected penetrative sex, multiple orgasms, virgin!Namjoon.  

For almost as long as you can remember, the tree stood opposite your apartment has been a part of your life. Countless memories have been made under the shade of its supple branches, but when its existence comes under threat, you soon discover that your favourite tree is more special to you than you ever could’ve known.

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

“Hey!  Stop!”  

As fast as your little feet had been able to carry you, you'd run, furious; hurtling across the grass towards the group of young boys congregated around the base of your apple tree, their figures cast in shade under its far-reaching branches. 

Of course, you didn’t know it was your tree back then - a tree just like any other, no dissimilar to the many others you'd ever seen - but that hadn’t kept you from watching them from your spot from way over by the swings; narrowed eyes, scowling and suspicious.  Huddled together, it was obvious even to you that the curl of their shoulders meant that they must be up to no good.  

Their unfamiliar presence in your park had been worrisome enough, but when one of them had drawn out a switchblade from his back pocket, waving it around in front of his friends only to then turn and gouge its sharp blade straight into the bark of the tree, you were left with no choice but to leap into action. 

At six tender years old you’d marched over to that group of boys, unafraid.  Being several years your senior, they were far less than intimidated by the sight of a young girl in long socks and overalls, copying a pose she’d seen her mother wear before.  They hadn’t even really noticed you were there until you’d cleared your throat to demand their attention, small hands fisted on your then non-existent hips, and even then, the ring-leader had refused to acknowledge you.  He was far too busy carving out a word your innocent mind did not yet recognise at such an age, tongue poking out of the corner of his lips in concentration. 

“You shouldn’t be doing that,” you’d informed them without a hint of fear, so sure were you of your convictions.  The closest boy to you (you’d seen him at school before, you’d thought.  The older brother of one of the girls in your class?) had scowled hard at you, his hands stuffed in his pockets.  

“Why not?” he’d snorted.  

"Because," you'd replied, matter of fact, "You're hurting it." 

"It's just a tree," another boy had said with a shrug of his shoulders, his tone as entirely apathetic as his stance had been.  

"But they have feelings," you’d said emphatically, your bottom lip jutting out when the boys around you began to laugh at your expense.  Their mocking was finally loud enough to pull the attention of the black-haired boy with the knife and he’d turned, blade in hand. 

"Oh yeah? Who told you that?" he'd asked, cocking his head, and you were too young at the time to realise his interest was merely feigned.  False.  

"My mom." You didn't miss the sniggers that followed, nor the unkind looks the boys exchanged, but still, you spoke on, encouraged by the faux-smile of their leader.  "She said all of them ha-" 

"Your mom, huh?" he interrupted, and as he stepped forward the blade he'd been holding was suddenly pointed toward you.  Looking back, you're sure it'd been an empty threat - the boy stood a good few feet away and made no further attempts to come closer - but it was enough to have tears springing into your eyes on the spot, your small body frozen up with fear.  

"Why don't you go running back to mommy, then," he'd jeered, his smile turned into a sneer, "And mind your own damn business."  You'd never forget the way the boy’s eyes had strayed around his friends, then, looking for their approval.  Their laughs and the impressed faces they'd pulled in response to the mild curse word he'd dropped had had him puffing up his skinny little chest; a young boy looking for attention in all the wrong places.

"B-but," you'd stammered out, chin quivering as you'd tried to hold back tears, tugging on your sleeves.  "I-I'll tell on you." Some of the boys had looked concerned, then, shuffling their sneaker-clad feet, but not the one in charge.  

Most children would have let it go by that point, you're sure - run away ages ago to seek safety and comfort in the arms of a trusted adult - but not you.  You always were a stubborn one. The only child of a single mom, she'd taught you to be independent. Brave. Fierce like her.  

"You're not s-supposed to have kn-knife."  You'd quickly wiped away a stray tear with your sleeve, clenching your fist again once it fell back to your side.  "You'll get in big trouble, you know," you'd warned, looking pointedly to the others who'd been starting to waver, casting nervous glances to one another.  

"Maybe she's right, Jimin," the bespectacled boy stood closest to you had said, tentatively.  He hadn't looked like he'd belonged there from the start, really; quiet whilst all the others had laughed.  "Your brother will go mad if he finds out we took it." 

The black-haired boy, Jimin, had paused, then, uncertainty showing on his face for the first time as he'd looked to his friend.  

"Fine," he'd eventually relented.  Glaring at you, he'd flipped the blade away and rammed it back into his pocket. "Stupid park's boring, anyway."  

Unfortunately, the happiness that had swelled inside you at your victory had been short-lived - cut short by Jimin smacking his shoulder into yours as he'd stomped past, hard enough to send you sprawling backwards onto the floor.  

And it'd been there, with a bruised bottom and grass-stained hands, that you'd finally allowed yourself to cry once all the boys had gone.  It'd seemed so unfair that they'd been so mean when you were only trying to do the right thing. They were the ones in the wrong, after all, not you, and yet you'd been the one left crying on your own.  

It was your first taste of injustice - unfortunately, the first of many - and had stayed with you for a very long time after that. 

But then, so had what happened next.   

Through your tears, you'd seen a blossom as it fell; clusters of delicate white petals listing lazily towards the ground.  You'd reached out, sniffling away your sadness, and just as your fingertips had met its silken petals, another sweet blossom had fallen to the ground.  

Another, and then another, until all around you appeared as though covered in snow. and you were laughing instead of crying, brushing the petals from your hair.  It was then that you realised it was a special tree - your tree - and every year thereafter you made sure to visit whenever it was in full bloom and remember the childish, innocent promise you'd made that day: a promise to always keep that special tree safe, just as you'd done all those many years ago.  

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

Nearly twenty years have passed since then, but you never forgot that solemn vow.  It's what's led you to be sat in the very seat you are now, across the meticulously tidy desk of a man who's far too cute to be cast as such a pencil pusher. 

"There's got to be something you can do."  The man - Mr Min, his badge reads - pushes his glasses up the slope of his nose with one long, slender finger.  "Can't we get it registered as like, listed, or something?" He sighs wearily at your question, and honestly, you can't say you blame him.  This has to be the fourth time - scrap that, it's gotta be the fifth - that you've graced his desk in under the space of a month, and even you can't deny what a nuisance you've been.  

"That's not really how it works," he explains in the low, slow drawl you've quickly become accustomed to.  "If it were on conservation land, perhaps, or if there was a tree preservation order in place." 

"Well then let's just get one of those!" you exclaim, nearly leaping out of your seat with so much enthusiasm that the man opposite you leans back out of harm’s way. "That sounds great!" 

"It would be," he agrees, and for just a split second your hopes reach heights the likes they've never seen before. "If you'd have applied for it six months ago, maybe.  Or if the tree had any kind of historical or cultural significance to the local area that would warrant it being granted."  

And just like that, your heart sinks just as your bottom does back into the leather of your chair, hopes dashed.  

More than anything, you wish you were able to argue against his point, because whilst the tree you're so desperately trying to save isn't particularly unusual or special in any conventional way, that doesn't mean it's not significant to somebody.  

That somebody, of course, being you.  

It'd take more than just two hands if you were to try to count out just how many memories you've made beneath the boughs of that tree over the years.  Some are happy, some are sad, but the former outweighs the latter; memories of secrets shared whilst sat astride its branches and picnics in the shade. Your first kiss with a boy who chose to dump you in the very same spot not three weeks later.   

There are so many, many memories that you cherish, and whilst deep down you know that nothing can erase them, part of you still feels like maybe they might be lost if that tree is no longer there - no longer just in sight from the windows of the flat you'd rented right opposite the park in which so much of your youth was spent.  

The same park that is due to be levelled, repurposed and 'urbanised' in accordance with the plans laid out in the papers neatly stacked atop of Mr Min's desk.  Soon enough, your pleasant view will be replaced with that of the same red brick walls from which your building is made; the same roof tiling.  

It's enough to make you want to cry, and Mr Min must notice the way your eyes have begun to shine by the way own his gaze softens behind his glasses, his posture relaxing into a conspirative slouch as he leans across the desk towards you.  

"Look," he begins softly, "I admire how… tenacious… you've been about this."  Oh, he's definitely trying to soften the blow if he's choosing 'tenacity' over 'obstinance'.  You've been like a dog with a bone over these last few weeks, nipping at his heels every step of the way.  

It's a miracle he hasn't kicked you yet, really.  

"But the plans were approved months ago.  Unless you can work some kind of miracle between now and tomorrow morning, I don't really see any other way of stopping this." 

And, sadly enough, you know that he's right.  You'd found out about the local authority's intentions too late to ever really have a chance of challenging them, and when the shortage of affordable housing is the way it is… well… what right do you have to disagree all for the sake of some overblown emotional attachment to a tree?  As doggedly determined as you may be, even you know you'd never really stood a chance.  

"I'm sorry," he apologises, looking at you over the rims of his glasses in sympathy, and as he very gently hands you back the poor attempt at a petition you'd thrust at him some few days before, you get the feeling he really does mean it.  "I wish there was more I could do." 

"It's ok," you reply reflexively, though it's anything but. "It's not like the world needs any more of that pesky photosynthesis anyway, right?"  The joke is lame, you know that, and yet the little twitch you observe to the corners of Mr Min's mouth just before you take your leave almost manages to lift your spirits for a second or two.  

Almost, but not quite.  

***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** *****  Your sleep is restless and fitful that night; full of dreams the events of which you can't quite remember, but leave you with a lingering feeling of anxiety even after you wake, groaning curses into your pillow at the sound of your alarm.  

As you begrudgingly ready yourself for work, you try your best not to look outside.  It'll only upset you all the more if you do. Your curtains remain resolutely closed as you slump about the place, picking at your breakfast with a distinct lack of enthusiasm, your muesli tasting even drier than it usually does.  

You don't finish it; appetite spoiled by the sounds of heavy machinery rumbling above the usual purr of morning traffic.  Out of sight does not mean out of mind, apparently, and as you wash out your cereal bowl and swig down the last dregs of your coffee, you still can't help but keep glancing towards your windows, wondering whether or not your precious tree might already be gone. 

Perhaps if it wasn't so obvious how glorious a day it is, you might do better at resisting the temptation to take a peek, hoping that the view you've so cherished over the years will still be there.  Through the small gap between the fabrics shielding your windows the sunshine sneaks in - a thin slip of light that sparkles across the kitchen tile - and when you finally push them back, the room is flooded with a golden glow so warm and bright you feel it all the way down to your bones.  

Blinking rapidly as the light hits your face, an airy sigh of relief fills the air.  The tree is still there, for now - just as tall and as beautiful as it always has been - but it’s a bittersweet sight.  This might be the last time you’ll ever see its branches full of blossom in the month of May, never again to taste the sweet apples September brings, or feel the crunch of its autumn leaves beneath your feet.  It feels so unjust - so unfair - that a tree so giving and consistent should be cut down in its prime. 

A group of men in bright yellow construction hats come along after a little while, and watching them stand there congregated around its trunk, laughing and joking with one another, puts a lump in your throat that you can’t displace no matter how much you may try to swallow it away.  You turn your back to the window, unable to bear watching them discuss the best way to bring it down, gesturing up to the branches you’d spent so much of your childhood climbing. You’re already late for work, anyway, and it's not as though standing around sulking is going to change anything.  All you can hope is that it might still be there by the time you get home - safe for at least one more day. 

It’s not, though.  Of course it’s not.  Aside from the playground equipment, the tree is - was - the biggest obstacle in the developer’s way.  Logically, you knew that, and yet the pain that pierces your chest when you see your tree is gone so sharp that for a second, it steals your breath away.  You cling to the iron bars of the park fence that you pass every day on your way home, tears gathering in your eyes, frustrated that in the fading daylight you can’t even make out the remaining stump from where you’re standing.  

You’re not even sure it’s a conscious decision that you make that leads you to suddenly climb up and over the bars to enter the park, but somehow you end up doing it anyway, throwing your handbag over first so as not to risk getting tangled.  The last time you did this was as a teenager with a group of friends, back when the prospect of illegal trespass filled you with a sense of thrill rather than the anxiety it does now, your heart bounding as the grass muffles your somewhat inelegant landing.  

“And this is why heels are never a good choice,” you mutter to yourself as they sink into the mud with every step you take across the small field.  Even though it’s getting dark you know exactly which direction to take, and in no time at all you start to see the remnants of today’s slaughter scattered across the ground, kicking up blossom with your feet.  

You’re glad there’s no one around to hear the small squeak of distress that you make when your eyes finally land on the stubby, splintered stump the construction workers have left behind.  You imagine they’ll probably dig that up too, eventually - rip its remains right up out of the soil and dump it in the same place as they did the rest - but for now, it’s still here. A reminder of all the future memories you’ve lost the chance to make.  Perhaps it’s all just stupid sentimentality, but you’d always imagined that your children would one day enjoy this tree - this park, this playground - as much as you did growing up.  

And now it’s all gone, all lost, and before you know it you’re squatted amongst the blossoms and there’s a tear dripping down your cheek as your fingertips trace the many age rings that run through the wood, round and round.  

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, throat tight.  You know you’re being ridiculous, sat here in the dark apologising to a tree - to no-one - but you do it anyway.   Stupid or not, it feels like the right thing to do.  Breath shuddering as you exhale, you close your eyes, palm pressed against what little bark remains, rough to the touch.  “I’m sorry I wasn’t able to save you.”  

“I’m sure you did all you could.”  

It’s amazing, really, how quickly tears can suddenly dry up when someone is caught off their guard.  Startled, you lose your balance at the sudden voice that comes from behind you and end up falling straight back onto your butt with an ungraceful ‘oompf’ and much flailing of arms.  Luckily, you’re too alarmed to feel much embarrassment, (although you’re sure that’ll come later), and it’s with wide eyes that you look up past all of the hair that’s fallen out of place to stare at whoever it was that just so unexpectedly spoke.  

There’s too little daylight left to make them out clearly, though their tall silhouette is decidedly male, just as their voice had been.  He - whoever he is - makes no move to help you as you gape up at him, open-mouthed. 

He does say your name, though, and that's enough to have you scrambling to your feet in a panic as he continues in a tone that sounds almost as panic-stricken as you feel.  

"I'm sorry, I… I didn't mean to startle you." 

“Do I know you?” you ask sharply, frantically pushing your hair back into place as your heart races away - though you try not to let it show.  There aren’t exactly many men in your life - none as tall as this one, anyway - so you’re sure it can’t be someone you know, even if you’ve yet to see his face.  

He seems to falter with his reply, shifting his weight. 

“In a manner of speaking.”  Suspicious, your eyes narrow, arms folding across your chest as you wait for him to explain further.  

He doesn’t.  

“Ok…”  Uneasy, your hand reaches down to rest on the clasp of your handbag so that you’re ready to fling it open at a moment’s notice.   It’s not as though you’ve got anything in the way of protection in there, mind you, but you’re fairly certain that if you lobbed your phone hard enough at his head it’d give you at least a few good seconds to make your getaway.  “How do you know me, then? Who are you?” 

“My name is Namjoon,” the stranger answers, ignoring your first question. “And this is…” He hesitates, exhaling heavily as he continues, “... was… my tree.”  Your head turns to allow your gaze to follow his gesture, your confusion only growing when you realise he means the very same stump to which you were just apologising so sincerely.  

“Your tree?” you ask in a deadpan tone as you turn back to him, one eyebrow raised in scepticism.  

Sure, some people might have called your attachment to the tree in question a little… overenthusiastic, shall we say… but this guy is just weird.  

“Yes,” he states plainly as if his answer should be obvious.  “All dryad has a tree to which they are assigned, and this one was mine.  For over a hundred years, this was my home.” 

“Oh…. Kay,” you repeat slowly, your fingers curling around the edges of your phone having already reached into your bag while he was still speaking.  “Well, that’s… good for you.”  

This guy is clearly nuts.  Either that, or he’s high on something.  There have been stories going around on the news lately detailing a spate of attacks on women in public spaces in a neighbourhood not too far from this one, and it’s with that in mind that you slowly start to back away, making sure not to turn your back.  As you make your way around him he turns on the spot to watch, eerily silent and still.  

“It’s getting late, I better get back,” you explain, taking each step faster and faster until you’re finally a good enough distance away to turn around and half walk/half run the rest of the way across the field, back towards the gate.  

It’s only now, as you hurry your way to safety, that your body begins to exhibit the fright that you’ve been feeling inside; panting hard and fast, fingers trembling.  You can’t hear him following but that does nothing to slow you down, eager to get back to your flat and firmly lock the door behind you.  

“Please wait!” you hear him call out, and now you’re flat out running, stumbling and very nearly twisting your ankle when you glance over your shoulder and see his tall silhouette coming after you.  He calls your name again, “Please!” and against all your better judgement you find yourself slowing down, unable to just ignore the desperation you’d heard in his voice. At least you’re nearer the road, now; nearer the houses where surely someone would hear you shout or scream for help, should it come to that.  

Lord, you hope it doesn’t come to that.  You always thought it was curiosity that was meant to get you killed, not kindness.   Maybe you can be the first.  

“Look, I don’t know what your deal is-” you begin as you slowly turn around, straightening your shoulders to try and look as confident as possible, “-bu-”  

What… the hell?  

It’s not often that you find yourself at a total loss for words, but this is most definitely one of those times; rendered speechless by the alien appearance of the man before you.   Now that you can see him properly - illuminated in the golden glow of the nearby streetlights - you realise that this ‘Namjoon’ is even stranger than you originally thought. Not only is he almost completely naked, wearing nothing but some sort of loincloth wrapped tightly around his waist, but interwoven amongst his hair is an immeasurable number of flower blossoms - almost more petal than there is hair.  

And now you step closer, that isn’t the only oddity you see.  The tips of his ears are long and pointed, like the elves in fantasy novels, and his fingers are strange, too.  They’re longer than normal; wispy at the ends, almost.   

And his skin… his skin is tinged… green?  

“Holy shit,” you whisper to yourself, uncaring of the way your mouth remains open and gaping as you finish your long up and down look and then hesitantly look him in the eyes; the deepest of emerald green.

Now that you can finally make out his expression, you're caught off guard by just how sheepish and awkward this creature looks.  In fact, he seems to be having almost as much trouble looking you in the eyes as you do his - his long fingers moving restlessly where they hang at his sides.   

“I wouldn’t ask for your help, but there’s no one else...” Namjoon explains quietly, almost as though he’s embarrassed. “My kind are so few, now, and so widely spread.”  He looks helplessly around himself, glancing up at the sky, and as the light catches on his high cheekbones you suddenly realise just how handsome this man - this dryad - is.  Full lips, and a straight nose.  A long, limber body… “I… don’t know where I should go… what I should do.  Yours is the only voice I’ve known in so long," he admits sadly, your heartstrings tugging in reply.  

"So you're… a dryad?" you repeat, the word foreign on your tongue.  

He nods, "I am," and all you can do is nod dumbly right back, at a total loss for what to say.  

Outwardly, you look surprisingly calm (all things considered), but inwardly, your frazzled brain is working overtime as it desperately tries to make sense of all this new, strange information. The only trouble is, though, is that none of this makes any sense.  Not even a little bit; not the words he's said, nor the ways he looks.

But what other explanation could there be for his sudden appearance and his appearance, other than the one you've been given?  You've seen some pretty impressive Halloween costumes in your time, but nothing like this.  And how else would he know your name unless he really does know you 'in a manner of speaking', just like he said?   

It doesn't make any of less unnerving, of course, even if it is the truth, but if it is, then you can't help but feel at least a little bit responsible for this creature stood waiting so anxiously in front of you.  If Namjoon really was inhabiting your tree for all this time - god, that sounds so insane even just to think it inside your head - then it's him that you failed tonight, not just some inanimate objects. It's him you let down when his tree had come crashing to the ground, and suddenly filled with even more guilt than you were before for being so powerless to stop it.   

Yes, you lost a tree that you loved, but Namjoon lost his home.  And now he's all alone and all he doesn't even have -

"Ok," you blurt out before you give yourself a chance to second guess the split-second decision you've just made. "You can stay." Namjoon blinks, his head tilting to the side. "With me," you explain further. "It's the least I can do. At least until you find your feet."  

You can feel yourself blushing as you come to the end of your sentence, but the rosiness of your cheeks is nothing compared to the way they flare up when your invitation finally soaks in and Namjoon's face breaks into a smile more breathtaking than any other you've ever seen.  It lights up his whole face; screwing up his eyes, lifting his cheeks and dimpling them deeply.  

God, those dimples.  No one should be blessed with dimples the likes of his when they're already so handsome.  They make your heart flutter wildly, your breath catching as he takes a step closer with his hands clasped together in front of his bare chest in a show of gratitude.  

"I can?" he asks, eyes wide, "You're sure?" 

"Not really," you laugh, not quite believing it even yourself.  Namjoon's smile falters and you find yourself rushing to reassure him, eyes widening. "But I can't just leave you out here with nowhere to go." 

And then it's back - that happy twinkle that has you bashfully returning his smile, adjusting the strap of your handbag as he whispers his warmest of thanks.  

Luckily, there aren’t many people about to witness both you and Namjoon clamber your way back over the park railings; clamber being the appropriate word.  For someone which some long, graceful limbs, Namjoon proves himself to be even more of a clutz than you are, very nearly leaving what little clothing he has behind when he almost gets stuck halfway over, and as the two of you quickly make your way back, you make a note that first order of business has to be to find him something more appropriate to wear.  

He’ll be far too distracting, otherwise. 

“Here we are.”  You stand back from your front door and gesture for Namjoon to head on inside the flat ahead of you, which he does so with a small nod.  He doesn’t think to turn on the lights, though, so you do it for him, smiling when the sudden brightness brings him to a halt and has him blinking up at the lampshade, a furrow in his brows.  

How much understanding does he have of the world in which he now finds himself?  Electricity had probably only been recently discovered the last time Namjoon walked freely, but it certainly wouldn’t have been used commonly or in homes - if dryads even have homes aside from the trees in which they dwell.  If he was able to hear your voice all this time, then surely Namjoon must’ve had some consciousness with which to observe and learn as the times changed around him? 

You watch as he turns on the spot, quietly surveying his surroundings, and have to stifle a laugh when you notice the way his toes are wriggling into the faux fur rug that sits in the centre of your living room.  Cute. Bizarre, yes, but cute.  

His eyes meet yours as he finishes his 360 and you feel flustered at having been caught staring so unashamedly.  Not that Namjoon seems to realise this; smiling innocently as you cough and turn away to lock the door firmly behind you.  

“I know it’s not the biggest place, but it’s comfy enough,” you say, hanging up your handbag on the hooks by the door.  “And there’s only one bed, but the sofa’s not bad.” You pause, thoughtful. “Do… dryads need to sleep?” you ask, hoping he won’t think you ignorant or rude for asking.  Namjoon nods.  

“In our natural form, we have all the same needs and bodily functions as you humans do.”  

“Oh.  Well, I guess I better show you where the bathroom is, then,” you grin, your lame attempt at humour falling flat when all Namjoon does is nod solemnly in response and follow after you down the hall.  

You’re very aware of his presence as you lead the way, and just how tall he really is.  He doesn’t seem to have much of a concept of personal space - so much so that when you come to a stop outside of the bathroom he almost crashes right into your back, not even thinking to take a step back when you quickly turn and do so yourself, cheeks flushed with heat.  

“You’ll find everything you need in there.  Shampoo and…” You glance up at the blossoms in his hair.  Will that even need washing? “Stuff.” Again he nods, taking in everything you say with the utmost sincerity.  “And this one here is my room,” you explain, going just a little further.  

You wish you’d left the door to your bedroom closed this morning.  It’s messier than you’d usually keep it, last nights clothes crumpled in a heap at the foot of the bed thanks to your former foul mood, but Namjoon’s expression shows no hint of judgement as he enters your room uninvited and begins to look around.  He doesn’t touch anything - even he seems to realise that’d be a step too far - but that doesn’t stop him from wandering right over to your bedside table and taking a good long look at the photograph that sits there; you and your best friend at her wedding flashing matching thigh garters to the camera.  

You hide your embarrassment by busying yourself in your chest of drawers, searching for something might just fit.  Everything of yours will be far too short for limbs as long as his, but thankfully memory serves you well and leads you to some old jogging bottoms belonging to your ex-boyfriend that you’d kept stashed away out of sentimentality.  

“Here,” you say, straightening up and then almost dropping the joggers you’d held out to show him when you see what Namjoon’s been looking at whilst you were otherwise distracted; the black lace bra hanging from the post of your bed.   He tilts his head to see it better and once again you feel your cheeks begin to burn, rushing forward and flapping the clothes you’ve found at him to pull his attention away from your unmentionables. “You can wear these tonight!” Your voice sounds near-hysterical when you speak, and you have to make a considered effort to lower your tone from the screech you just made when you next open your mouth, thrusting the joggers into his hands.  “Tomorrow I’ll have to see about buying you some proper clothes but…. these will have to do for now.”  

You hope he’s not picky.  Your waitressing job doesn’t exactly pay well, so it’ll have to be Primark’s finest or else nothing at all.  

“These are perfect, thank you.”  Perfect? Hardly. There are bits of frayed thread hanging from the waistband, and you’re pretty sure the crotch was starting to get a bit threadbare the last time you wore them.  At least now you know he’s not picky - cheap and cheerful should do just fine. “This isn’t how I imagined your room to be,” he says, his eyes leaving yours to glance at the walls.  

“You imagined my room?” you ask, eyes widening.  Clearly, Namjoon has no idea of the connotations attached to what he just said and continues as if you hadn’t just spoken at all.  

“I remember there were some pictures you wanted to buy…” he murmurs, frowning as he recalls the memory. “A boy named Justin?”  Namjoon turns back to you, oblivious to how his reminder of your teenage crush makes you feel as though you want to disappear into a hole in the ground.  “But I see no men on your walls.” You laugh self-consciously, rubbing your arm.  

“Well, maybe you might’ve done ten years ago.”  Namjoon looks vaguely confused for a moment, furrowing his brows.  “Mr Timberlake hasn’t shown his face around here in quite some time.”  

“That’s good,” Namjoon blurts out, and for a split-second afterwards you swear you see his cheeks redden - his eyes darting away before he quickly adds, “I-I like your room as it is.  When I said it was different, I meant… good different.”  

“Oh.  Well, thanks.”  You know you’re not imagining how awkward the silence is that follows.  Namjoon doesn’t seem to know where to put himself now, hovering silently by the side of your bed.  

It’s amazing how human his mannerisms are, really, given how he’s not really human at all.  It’s a little endearing, truth be told.  

“Are you hungry?” you ask, though you’re not very much yourself.  You ate at the restaurant before you left, and it’s getting too late to want to eat a full meal now.  

“No, but thank you,” he says, following after you when you leave the room and pausing when you stop to retrieve a spare blanket and pillow from the small cupboard along the hall.  

“I guess we’ll just get you set up for bed, then.”  Like a puppy, he follows at your heels until you stop again, turning.  “You can go get changed in the bathroom while I make up the sofa if you want.”  Namjoon looks down at the joggers he’s folded over his arm, seemingly having forgotten they were even there.  

“Oh.”  He nods.  “Yes, I’ll do that.”  And then he heads back the way you both came, leaving you on your own, and it’s only when the bathroom door clicks shut that you feel as though you’re able to breathe properly for the first time since coming home.  

Closing your eyes for a second, you greedily inhale; eyes opening again when an exhale escapes as an anxious sigh, shaking a little.  Are you doing the right thing here? Sure, Namjoon seems harmless enough, some might even say a little nieve, but that doesn’t mean he really is.  He could be lying - he could be dangerous - and whilst your gut tells you otherwise, your gut has been known to be wrong before.  

It all feels like too much to think about right now, so you focus instead on arranging the sofa cushions and blankets for his makeshift bed as comfortably as you can.  Whatever Namjoon may turn out to be, he’s certainly going to be too tall for this sofa to be any kind of permanent solution, that’s for sure.  

How long is he even going to end up staying?  It’s not as though he can go out into the world looking like- 

“Can I be of any help?”  You nearly jump out of your skin at the sound of Namjoon’s voice, mouth popping open as you abruptly straighten up to see him standing by the arm of the sofa, watching you.  

“No, no it’s ok.  All done,” you say, distracting yourself from the sight of your ex’s joggers hanging so low across Namjoon’s hips by patting a pillow into place.  

You really, really should’ve given him one of your t-shirts to wear.  Even if it didn’t quite fit, a crop top would still be better than Namjoon completely topless - too innocent to even think of attempting to cover himself up.   

Perhaps dryads are asexual?  You’ll have to list that to the long list of questions you already have but for now, your head still feels too muzzy from everything that’s happened today for you to want to add to it even more.  

Namjoon softly says your name, drawing your attention.  

“Thank you.  I’ve always known you were kind, even as a child, but I still worried-” 

“No, no, don’t be silly,” you interrupt, too flustered by what he’s already said to allow him to continue with such generous praise.  “If you change your mind about being hungry, please just help yourself.” 

“Thank you,” he nods.  You have a sneaking suspicion he’s holding himself back from starting to gush again from the way he licks his lips when they close, smiling when you do.  

“Goodnight then,” you say, stepping away from the sofa to allow him to sit.  He bounces once or twice to test it out.  

“Goodnight.  Dream sweetly,” he bids you, calling out as you disappear down the hallway, and, just as he so wished, you do.   

You dream of warmth and sunshine dappled through branches; the smell of grass and eyes just as green.  You dream of the smell of blossoms and crisp red apples, juice so sweet. The images and sensations are so lovely - so very different from the ones that had plagued you the previous night - that you fight against the light that pours into your room past the curtains you’d forgotten to close, unwilling to wake and leave them behind any sooner than absolutely necessary.  Eventually, you stumble from your bedroom and out into the living room, rubbing sleepily at your eyes; nearly screaming when you open them and see an arm dangling over the edge of your sofa.  

But then it all comes flooding back; last night, your tree - Namjoon.  You’d half expected to wake up and discover that it was all just a dream, but no, here he is, still fast asleep in a position that can’t be anywhere near comfortable: one leg hooked over the back of the sofa and his neck cricked to the side.  His full lips are slightly parted with the weight of the breaths he takes, his bare chest rising and falling steadily having long since lost the blanket you’d given him onto the floor.  

You feel like a creep for staring, but honestly, you don’t feel like anyone could really blame you.  It’d be bad enough if Namjoon’s appearance was just intriguing (and he is, of course, no doubt) but to be so handsome as well?  What right-minded person wouldn’t want to look?  

Still, you tear yourself away in the end.  You have an earlier shift to get to today, and you haven’t forgotten what you said about finding Namjoon some clothes.  With a busy day ahead, you move about your flat getting ready as quietly as you can so as not to disturb your unusual guest, only allowing yourself another long look once you’re ready to go and leaving him a note to explain your absence and asking him to please stay put.  

You’re not sure what the neighbours would make of a topless man with green skin roaming the halls, given that Mrs Taylor downstairs already tried to call the landlord on you once for daring to venture out to fetch your post in just your dressing gown.  

Your shifts tend to drag most days, really, but today’s seems particularly stubborn.   You spend most of the time worrying what Namjoon is getting up to; if he’s woken up yet, if he’s eaten or if he’s listened to your advice.  You presume he must’ve, seeing as you haven’t heard any breaking news on the radio about aliens or demons or such like. You get through it, though - avoiding all the questions your colleagues throw at you about why you’re so distracted - and before you know it you’re already on your way home with paper bags stuffed full of clothes slung across each of your arms.  

You hope he likes the things you’ve chosen.  It’s kind of hard guessing the fashion sense of someone that likely doesn’t even have any concept of the word.   

It’s strangely quiet on the other side of the door when you come to unlock it - so much so that you find yourself bracing yourself for trouble as you push it open with your hip, lacking the free hands with which to do it.  

“Namjoon?” you call out as you push it closed again in the same way, leaning against it till it clicks.  

“Welcome home.”  You breathe a sigh of relief when you hear his voice, all the tension fading from your shoulders when you see him sat there on the sofa with that sweet, dimpled smile on his face.  He rises when he sees all bags you’re carrying; chivalrously taking them and placing them down on the glass top of your coffee table at your instruction. “Did you have a nice day?” he asks, sinking back down into the sofa cushions as you do the same, letting your handbag slip from your shoulder and onto the floor.  

It’s a little disconcerting to come home and have someone ask you about your day, and sound so genuine in doing so.  It’s sad, too, that it even strikes you as so unusual, and not for the first time you find yourself thinking that you really should get out more and meet some other adults worth talking to.  

“Good.  Kinda busy, but good,” you reply, reaching for the nearest bag and pulling it onto your lap in eagerness to show him what you’ve bought.  “I got you some things.” Namjoon tilts his head in curiosity, the gesture so cute you can’t help but smile as you pull out the first thing your hands land on - a soft brown hoodie that you place into his waiting lap.  “I wasn’t sure what you’d like,” you explain as he holds it up to look at it properly, feeling the texture of the material between his fingers.  

Wait…. 

Fingers?  

It’s a good job Namjoon is otherwise preoccupied or else he might notice your dumbfounded expression as you stare at his delicate fingers; no longer thin and willow wispy but fully-formed digits just like yours.  Surely you hadn’t imagined them as they’d appeared last night? But if you hadn’t, when had this sudden change come about?  

Your eyes scan the rest of him, searching for anything else that might be different, but as far as you can tell everything else remains unchanged; the colour of his skin, the point of his ears, the flowers in his hair.  You mean to ask him about it but before you can Namjoon is looking eagerly to the bag on your lap, leaning into your personal space to try and peer inside.  

How is it that he smells so good?  It’s not as though there’s any aftershave lying about that he could’ve used, which must mean this sweet, floral scent is all his own.  It’s addictive, even if not the kind of masculine aroma you would expect.  

“There’s more?” he prompts, giving you a quizzical look when you startle for apparently no reason.  

“Lots more!” you enthuse with a nervous titter, pulling open the bag to better let him see.  

One item at a time, you show him everything you purchased, smiling with pleasure at how enthused he seems with each and every piece.  “Why don’t you go try some on?” you suggest once both his lap and the coffee table are piled high with clothes, helpfully picking out a few pieces that will go together nicely when you notice how overwhelmed he looks.  He takes the clothing you give him with a grateful smile and then heads off into the bathroom to change while you clear up, folding everything else away.   

It’s only once you’re finished and have a moment to stop and look around that you suddenly come to realise just how untouched your living room looks.  The TV stands silent and your books undisturbed; there’s not even any trace of Namjoon having fed himself throughout the day, even when you head into the kitchen just to doubly make sure.  There’s no trace of him - no way of guessing that someone else has been here at all.  

You hear him tentatively call your name and find him standing anxiously by the entrance to the hall, rubbing at an arm now covered by the sleeve of a long, grey cardigan that fits him just right.  

“Don’t you like it?” you ask, mistaking his self-doubt for dislike of the clothing you’ve chosen.  Namjoon is quick to shake his head, his hand dropping back down to his side so you’re able to see just how long the sleeves are - so long that they reach almost to the tips of his fingers.  It doesn’t look silly, though. Quite the opposite. It looks… cute to see someone as big as Namjoon look kind of small.  

“No, I like it all very much,” he assures you, looking down at his torso as he grabs the hem of the white t-shirt underneath and stretches it out.  “It just….” He hesitates, pressing his lips together for a moment. “... Is this your kind of style?”  

“Of course it is!”  Namjoon smiles when you do, his posture relaxing almost immediately at your words of reassurance.  “I wouldn’t have chosen it otherwise. You look really great,” you say, the last bit slipping out without you intending it to. 

Not that it seems to do any harm, mind.  Despite your embarrassment at having so openly admired him, Namjoon seems to grow both in height and pride at your praise, the appearance of his dimples only adding to how flustered you feel.   

You swear you’ve never been this much of a blushing mess around any other man in your life.  What you said wasn’t even that bad, for Christ’s sake - just one friend complimenting another - but everything to do with Namjoon just feels…. more somehow.  

“What did you do all day, anyway?” Eager to change the subject, you turn around and head back towards the kitchen, patting the heat out of your cheeks as you go.  “Have you eaten?”  

“I woke up, and then I waited for you to come home,” he explains simply as he enters the room behind you, tugging on the ends of his sleeves.  It must feel weird for him to wear clothes, you suppose, after so long of not having any.  

Opening your fridge, you expect him to elaborate more but when nothing comes you retract your head from inside and fix him with a questioning look, one eyebrow raised.  

“That’s all?  You didn’t do anything?”  

“I don’t mind,” Namjoon is quick to assure, “I’m used to just watching and waiting… listening.”  

“So you’ve just been staring at four walls the whole time I was gone?!” you exclaim, shutting the fridge door so hard Namjoon flinches, his eyes widening.  “If you’re gonna stay here, Namjoon, you can’t just sit around all day waiting for me.”  

Although, you’ll admit the thought of him doing so is more than just a little flattering.    

“Here, look.  You can watch TV,” you say, leading him back into the living room and making a grab for the remote, turning it on.  The familiar characters of a soap opera appear on the screen, arguing loudly with one another, and up until you turn around and see Namjoon’s wide-eyed stare, you’d completely forgotten how absolutely alien all of this is to him.   “I mean, there are loads of stations,” you hasten to add, quickly flicking through the channels faster than Namjoon can probably even keep up until you finally land on what looks very much like a nature documentary - David Attenborough’s soothing voice playing through your speakers.   

Namjoon still doesn’t look too sure, though, flinching back in alarm as the pride of lions on the screen suddenly roar in tandem.  

You turn it off, abandoning that idea for now. 

“Or you can read,” you offer, grabbing a hold of the sleeve of his cardigan and using it to pull him over to your well-stocked bookcase.  You completely miss the wide-eyed way he looks down to where you’re touching him, and the blush that turns the apple green of his cheeks a sweeter shade of pink.  “You can read, right?”  

“Y-yes,” Namjoon is quick to answer, head bobbing rapidly up and down,  

“Then just help yourself, ok?  I don’t want you to be bored.” You smile as Namjoon shuffles closer to the bookcase and begins to inspect the different titles, his neck tilting at a 90-degree angle to read their spines.  “I can even show you how to use my laptop tonight, if you want,” you offer, though it seems you’ve lost Namjoon to the literary world already, judging by his lack of response.  

Perhaps another night, then - though you imagine he’ll become interested sooner or later.  If he’s hoping to find others of his kind then you can’t think of any better way to do that than via the internet.  It’s not as though you’ve got any books on dryads lying about the place.  

You’re still smiling to yourself, watching with affection as Namjoon gingerly pulls out a book from the shelf to hold it reverently in his hands when the sound of bird song finds your ears.  From somewhere outside your window, the bird stretches its lungs, and despite already having his nose deep in the book he chose Namjoon is quick to look up, his head turning swiftly in the direction of the sound.  

“Parus major,” he murmurs distractedly, abandoning his book back onto the shelf and then walking past you to the narrow french doors that lead onto the small balcony that lies beyond.  His nose nearly presses up against the glass as he peers out through the rectangular panes.  

“Say what now?” you ask, joining him there and craning your neck to try and see whatever it is that he’s looking at.  A bird, you presume, but who the hell knows with a name like that.  

“Great tit,” he clarifies, and for a second you could’ve sworn you seriously misheard what he just said, blinking rapidly in surprise until you see what it is he’s now pointing at past the glass.  Just a few feet away a little bird is hopping across your balcony rail, chirping in the afternoon sun, and your heart swells when you look back to Namjoon and see the absolute affection with which he watches its every move, a contented smile on his face.   

Would it be safe to allow him just a few moments outside?  It might risk him being seen, but then it’s only the communal backyard that your balcony overlooks, and it’s not as though you’ve ever noticed anyone out there whenever you’re ventured out before…  

“Here,” you say, gently nudging him aside so you’re able to unlock the doors and swing them open wide.  A breeze enters the room, bringing with it the scent of freshly cut grass, and you inhale deeply as both you and Namjoon step out onto the little balcony.   Unfortunately, your arrival frightens off the bird, but your companion doesn’t seem to mind. He just looks happy to be outdoors again - a blissful smile on his face as the wind ruffles the petals amongst his hair that somehow never scatter.   

“You have a garden!” he enthuses, having soon spotted the little planting box hooked over the far side of the railing.  He leans over to get a better look at it, and you try your best not to feel too embarrassed by the sorry state of what flowers remain inside, half-dead and holey with insect bites.  Now that summer is on its way you’ve been meaning to dig them up and re-plant it, but somehow you’ve never quite found the time.  

“It’s nothing special,” you dismiss, “But you can come out here more often if you want.  Just make sure no one sees you.” Namjoon smiles warmly, pleased by the idea.  

“I’d like that,” he says softly, gazing down at you from his far greater height.  The colour of his eyes may be somewhat unnatural - too bright and startling a green for any human - but that certainly doesn’t make them unpleasant to look at.  You’re certain you feel your stomach lurch with girlish glee as his smile grows all the wider when you bashfully smile back, fiddling with the buttons of your work blouse.  

It’s strange, the way Namjoon looks at you.  You’ve known him all of a day and yet he regards you with the same easy affection you imagine one would a life-long friend, and you suppose, on some level, you are as far as he’s concerned.  It’s both a little unnerving and yet wonderful all at once, and you find yourself hoping, as you gaze back up at the serene expression on his face, that over time you might get to know him in the same way he seems to know you.  

“Namjoon,” you begin, meaning to make a start on all your questions until his stomach loudly rumbling derails your train of thought.  Frowning, you remember how obvious it was that Namjoon hadn’t eaten whilst you were gone and quickly decide that this needs to be put right. “You have to promise me you’ll still look after yourself when I’m not here,” you tell him in a mildly scolding tone, trying to ignore how utterly adorable he looks whilst so utterly bewildered by the sound his stomach just made.  “You’ll make me feel like a bad host, otherwise.” And, just as you’d predicted, Namjoon’s sense of politeness kicks in, his expression turning sheepish as you lead him back inside.  

“I’ll make sure I do from now on,” he promises, his whole demeanour brightening when you smile, cocking your head to the side.  

“So, what do you fancy?”  

***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** *****  Turns out, Namjoon’s favourite thing to eat is… apples.  

You’re not sure how to feel about that at first, given how close to cannibalism it sounds that a man who was once a tree bearing the very same fruit seems to enjoy devouring them so much, but you figure there’s enough strangeness going on in your life right now for you to fixate on Namjoon’s eating habits as well.  

At least he’s made good on his promise to eat regular meals whilst you’re at work.  Granted, it’s never much more than a sandwich here or there, but he always eats well when it comes to the dinners you cook, wolfing them down with plenty of thanks. 

He’s started to make himself more comfortable in your home, too, over the past week; keeping himself occupied by slowly making his way through the entirety of your bookcase - book by book, cover to cover.  Every day it seems as though you come home to more and more of them piled up on your coffee table or your kitchen counter, but you can’t say you mind the mess. It’s nice that the place feels more lived-in now; all the more homely for having Namjoon in it.  

And when he’s done with all your books, having devoured every word with record speed, he finally accepts your offer to help him find his way onto the world wide web.  He seems intimidated by it, at first; even warier of your little laptop than he had been of the television in the beginning, prodding at the keys so gingerly you can barely even hear them tip-tap as he types.  His full lips press together in concentration as you explain to him how it all works, brows furrowed, but he takes to it all with surprising ease - his eyes filling with wonderment when you introduce him to Google and all the information suddenly right there at his fingertips.  

Every day when you come home he’ll have something new to tell you - some random factoid that you may or may not already know.  Not that you mind either way, of course. Coming home to the sight of Namjoon leaping off the sofa with excitement to come to greet you has become one of your most favourite parts of the day, his whole body positively vibrating from being so full to the brim of things he just has to share.  He’ll take your hands in his and drag you over to the sofa to come to look at all he’s found, and you’ll try your best to not let it show how much even that briefest of touches affects you, willing your face to cool as he shows you art, music - anything and everything.  

Never does he say anything of home, though.  He never gives any kind of indication that he’s been looking into his origins or his kin and… maybe it’s the wrong thing to do, but you’re happy to never go pushing the matter either.  You tell yourself that it’s because it’s not your place - that you’re just not mentioning it because you wouldn’t want to make him feel at all unwelcome, or under pressure to leave - but deep down you know it’s more than that. 

Even in this short space of time, you’ve grown alarmingly fond of Namjoon and the constant companionship he provides.  With him in your life, you haven’t felt the need to grieve the loss of your tree and all the memories that went with it, because Namjoon remembers every one of them too.  He knows all about your family, your childhood friends and all the mischief you got up to, recalling some memories so old that you’d forgotten yourself until he reminds you of them, his eyes sparkling with glee as yours do the same with happy tears on more than just one occasion as the days go by.    

You don’t want him to leave, and though you daren’t ask for his opinion, you only hope that he feels the same.  

Besides, it’s not just you that would mourn his loss about the place.  You’re sure your plants would, too, given how magnificently they’ve grown during the time he’s been here; foliage so thick and lush that it’s as though the winter never happened.  It’s not as if he spends every moment tending to them, mind It’s just a dryad thing, or so he says. His touch and voice invigorate them - breathe new life into stems once wilted - and you can’t help but find yourself drawing comparisons between both your life and that of your flowers.  With Namjoon around, you bloom.  

That’s not to say he’s without any flaws, though.  He’s a little messy, sometimes. A little forgetful.  He can’t cook for shit, either, which is a lesson you learn one afternoon when you come home to the smell of burnt pastry and a living room full of smoke.  You find him in the kitchen, coughing as he frantically turns knobs on the stove, and once you’ve thrown all the windows open and cleared the air enough for him to be able to speak, he confesses with much embarrassment what it is he’d been trying - and failing - to do.  

He’d found a recipe for a rustic apple pie online, he says, and he’d wanted so desperately to surprise you with it when you came home.  Namjoon looks so bereft at the charred lump of… something that you pull out of the oven, that you only wish there was a tiny crumb of it that wasn’t burnt to cinders so that you could at least pretend to enjoy it, if only to make him smile.  Instead, you end up promising to make another one in his stead just as soon as you’re able to, and that seems to cheer him up plenty, all woes forgotten as he smiles so sweetly that it has your heart fluttering wildly in your chest.  

Not that that’s something so unusual, these days.  It seems like every time you look at him your body has something to say about it, and the more time it goes on the harder that physical reaction becomes to ignore - especially as his appearance has continued to change.  First, it was the fingers, but not too long after that, you’d noticed that the points of his ears had started to round, too. It’d taken several days, but they look no dissimilar to yours, now, and not only that but his skin has completely lost the green tinge it once had.  

When you ask him about it, he tells you that it’s a natural thing that happens when dryads are away from their trees for too long; a defence mechanism, if you will, to allow them to blend in.  And if it weren’t for the flowers in his hair, Namjoon would blend in just fine, just as human-looking as any other person on the street.  

“You wanna go out for a bit?” you ask late the one night, turning your attention from the TV to Namjoon sat beside you, absorbed in his latest online purchase - a paperback copy of ‘Me Before You’.  

You’d warned him that that particular piece of fiction was very different from the others you’d seen him enjoy before, but Namjoon hadn’t been deterred.  It seems like he might have a little bit of a romantic side, it turns out, and that makes it all the harder for you not to swoon as you watch him slowly turn the pages, deep in concentration.  

You wonder if he’d hold you as tenderly as he does his books if you were in his arms?  Or if he’d treat you with such care as - 

You stop that dangerous line of thought right there, giving your head a little shake to clear it away before you burst into flame at the mental images that invade your head.    

“Joon,” you call again, realising he hadn’t heard you, and at the sound of his newly found nickname, Namjoon’s head finally rises from the page, blinking owlishly back at you. 

“Sorry?” he asks, his voice husky from having not said a word in almost over an hour.  

“Do you wanna go out?” you repeat patiently, smiling at the way his jaw slightly drops in response.  

“Out?” he echoes, turning to look at the windows despite it already being dark outside.  You suppose the notion of leaving the house might be a little daunting after having been stuck inside for all this time, but now that he no longer looks so different you think it’d be good to get him out a little - to introduce him to some more of the modern world through more than just a screen.  

“Yeah.  It’s a nice night, I thought maybe we could go for a walk.”  Without giving him a chance to reply, you turn off the TV and get up to start getting ready, leaving what you hope is very little room for argument on his part.  

“But… my hair.”  Despite his hesitation, Namjoon still closes his book and rises just the same, though not without first glancing at his page number.  He doesn’t need a bookmark; absentminded when it comes to almost everything other than such tiny little details.  

“You’ve got a hat, don’t you?” you say with a smile, pulling on your light jacket where it hangs by the door.  Without any further argument, Namjoon makes his way into your tiny spare room (which is more of a cupboard, really) to retrieve his beanie from the spare set of drawers you’d assigned as his own.  

He’s pulling it on as he walks back in, and without thinking, you reach up to adjust it as he comes to stand in front of you, within tippytoes reach.  He’s never worn it before, but all this time you’ve had a sneaking suspicion it would suit him. Looking up at him now, as you straighten it out, you see it most certainly does.  It draws attention to the sculpted lines of his face and accentuates his eyes - the eyes that are held wide at the familiarity with which you’re touching him; something that’s been happening more and more often just lately.  

“See?  You’d never know,” you say quickly, pulling away as you realise what it is you’re doing, looking away and then down at the floor.  Knowing how closely he’s watching, you pull yourself together and smile as you grab your keys, jingling them in your hand.  “C’mon, let’s go.”  

It doesn’t take you long for the two of you to walk to where it was you’d hand in mind when suggesting your outing.  Living in an inner-city area, there’s not exactly an abundance of nature to be found (especially now the park has been torn down), but there is a pretty decent river that cuts right through the centre not too far of a distance away. Lined by pavements each side, benches dot along its banks at regular intervals, and you’ve spent many a night before Namjoon’s arrival walking these concrete paths when sleep hasn’t come so easy.  

The two of you do the same, now, in companionable silence, but you don’t mind the quiet.  You can tell from the look on Namjoon’s face that he’s enjoying himself - taking every little bit of it in - and that’s enough for you, even if he doesn’t particularly say much.  You find a nice spot for you to sit, and as you watch the way the water ripples with the reflection of the moon up above, you realise that this is the first time you’ve ever had a relationship like this; one so comfortable and familiar that you needn’t say a word.  

All your life you’ve been told you were a chatterbox - too assertive, too loud, too bossy - but… not with Namjoon.  With him, there’s no need to be. Most of the time he already seems to know what you’re thinking before you’ve said it out loud anyway, so what need is there to shout?  

Dragging away your gaze from his moonlit face, it drifts down to focus on where your hand is resting on the bench, palm pressed flat to the wood.  Beside it lays Namjoon’s, his pinky barely an inch away from yours; so close that all it would take would be for you to stretch out your fingers for them to touch, and god, you so, so want to.  It’s an urge so strong you barely have the words to describe the way it feels; a physical ache in your chest; a pang of longing that comes in wave upon wave whenever the two of you are alone.  

Another glance at Namjoon shows him gazing up at the stars without a care in the world - with no clue of what you’re thinking.  It makes you sigh, frustrated with yourself for indulging these feelings and allowing them to grow, and though you’re sure it was only a quiet one Namjoon picks up on it nonetheless.  He rounds his attention on you, concerned.  

“Is something wrong?” he asks, and of course, your first response is to plaster a smile on your face and deflect rather than address what’s bothering you - what’s been on your mind for every waking moment over the last few days.   

“Nothing, I’m fine.”  The lie rolls easily off your tongue and Namjoon shows no sign of disbelieving you, smiling back and then lifting his chin to look back up at the sky.  Namjoon may be smart but he’s also very trusting - too trusting - and part of you worries that other people may take advantage of that if they get the chance.  It’s just another thing that makes you want to cling to him all the more; protect him in a way that might seem absurd considering his stature.  

This is no good, feeling this way.  Namjoon has never shown anything more toward you than a friendly interest, and you know it’s not right for you to want to covet him or keep him away from his kin.  You need to get over this. Push past it. Because above all else, you want Namjoon to be happy. Even if that means that it’s somewhere else, somewhere not with you.

“Have you managed to find out anything about any other dryads?” you ask, taking the plunge.  Namjoon seems mildly surprised by your question, his eyebrows rising as he looks at you and then very quickly looks away, focusing on something else across the water.  

“Not really,” he answers after a moment of silence.  “There’s a lot of stuff online but most of it is pure myth and speculation.  Nothing useful.” You feel both guilty and glad on hearing that; glad that it sounds as though he’s not about to leave any time soon, but guilty for even feeling that way at all.  “I can’t imagine many others like me would even know how to go about making contact through the internet.” Namjoon smiles ruefully, leaning forward and resting his forearms on his thighs to brace his chin in his hands.  

“What about your parents?  Don’t you know where they might be… planted?”  God, this sounds ridiculous.  

Namjoon shakes his head.

“Dryad’s don’t have families, in the traditional sense of the word.  We’re born as saplings rather than conceived.” The wind blows and Namjoon adjusts his beanie, pulling it down further over his ears against the cold.  “Back when this whole area was all woodland there would’ve been a community here where dryad would’ve been able to walk freely, but…” He trails off, shrugging his shoulders as he straightens up and sighs, leaning back against the bench.  

“Do you miss them?” It must be so lonely, you think, to exist for so long as Namjoon has with no family or friends to speak of.  

“You can’t really miss someone you’ve never met or something you’ve never had,” he answers, and though you expect him to sound sad you’re pleased that he doesn’t.  He sounds more thoughtful if anything. Philosophical. It suits him. “Those sort of communes were long before my time.”  

“No, I guess you’re right.”  Namjoon turns to look at you thoughtfully, a small smile playing on his lips.  

“Do you remember when we first met?”  You scoff a laugh and his smile grows as he tugs on the sleeves of his hoodie to pull them further down, waiting for your answer.  

“You mean back when I thought you were some crazy, naked homeless guy?” you tease and now it’s Namjoon’s turn to laugh, shaking his head.  

“I don’t mean then,” he says, “I mean right back at the beginning when you were still just a child.”  

“That was a pretty long time ago,” you chuckle awkwardly, rubbing at your arm.  It always makes you feel a little strange whenever you get reminded of just how long Namjoon and you have known each other.  Technically, Namjoon’s been around for almost a whole century longer than you have, and even though the two of you look more or less the same age, part of you wonders whether Namjoon still sees you as the little girl you once were.  

God, you hope not. 

“It was, but I still remember it just like it was yesterday,” he smiles, oblivious to the tumultuous thoughts inside your head. “You were so brave, marching over to defend me the way you did.”  You feel yourself blush at his praise, looking away as you dismissively shrug your shoulders.  

“Those boys should’ve never had a knife in the first place.”  

“I never got the chance to thank you, back then.”  You nearly jump when you suddenly feel Namjoon’s hand come to rest on top of your own, ever so tentatively, and when you quickly look up you see him gazing down at where his skin is touching yours, swallowing thickly. He looks nervous when he meets your eyes again, but when you make no move to pull away you feel him relax ever so slightly, the weight of his hand increasing.  “But I was - am - very thankful.”  

His hand feels so warm on top of yours that you can barely think straight, staring dumbly back at him as he continues, 

“You looked at my tree and it felt like you saw me, not just a bunch of branches.  I knew you were different from all the other humans, then.  You were special.” You feel a lump in your throat and try your best to swallow it rather than burst into tears as your body is willing you to do.  It’s overwhelming to find out that in that same moment that you had realised that that tree was so special, Namjoon had been deciding the very same thing about you.  

You shudder as his thumb passes over the back of your hand, body tingling at the lightest touch.  You’re just about to speak - about to confess just how special he is to you too - but unfortunately, Namjoon is all too quick to let go of your hand, assuming your quiver to be down to the cold rather than the anticipation coursing through you.  

The moment is lost, the courage you’d gathered up blown away by the next gust of wind.   

“We should get home,” he says with a frown of concern, rising from his seat.  

“O-ok,” you reply dumbly, still a little lost for words.  Even getting to your feet is slow, both your body and brain lagging behind as you try to process what just happened.  

You knew you’d been developing feelings for Namjoon but even you were caught off guard just now by how badly you wanted to kiss him.  

Oh, this is bad.  Bad, bad, bad, bad.  

Thankfully, Namjoon doesn’t seem to realise how distracted you are as you make your way home through the empty streets.  He prattles on happily about a documentary he watched recently, though if anyone asked you afterwards you wouldn’t be able to tell them what on earth it was about, so poorly are you listening.  You’re too busy trying to ignore the urge to reach and take back his hand as you walk beside him, your fingers twitching with the want to thread them between his.  

You’re reluctant to leave his side even once you get home, though you know that some space to clear your head would probably do you good.  It’s getting far too late now for there to be any legitimate reason for you to stay up any longer, yet you linger around the living room searching for an excuse anyway as Namjoon makes himself a cup of Chamomile tea to drink before bed, accepting when he offers you a cup to you, too.  

“Aren’t you going to sleep yet?” you ask as he sits down on the sofa with the beverage in hand, already having stripped off his thick hoodie and jeans to lounge in t-shirt and shorts instead.   

“I was just going to read a little more first,” he replies, picking up his book from the coffee table and nearly sloshing his tea all over himself in the process, narrowly avoiding disaster.  

“Oh, ok.”  Holding your mug in both hands, you linger by the side of the sofa, eyeing up the cushion next to him.  You take a deep breath. “Is it any good?” He looks up, blinking in befuddlement. “Your book,” you explain further, smiling shyly.  

“Oh. Um, yes, very.”  Namjoon turns it over in his hand, glancing at the cover.  “The main character is quite-” 

“Wouldyoureadtome?” you blurt out and once more Namjoon is left rapidly blinking, trying to work out what the hell you just said.  Taking another deep breath, you gingerly come to sit beside him. “Would you read to me?” you repeat, and this time you know you’re definitely not imagining the blush that fills Namjoon’s cheeks as you ever so carefully shift closer so that your shoulder is touching his arm.  

“O-of course,” he agrees, taking a rather large sip of tea before he re-opens the book and makes a start on the first passage.  

His words are a little clumsy at the first - nervous at having you listen so attentively, you think - but before long Namjoon settles into a steady, soothing rhythm.  If you’re honest, you’re not really listening to the words he’s saying as you slowly finish your tea. You’re just enjoying the deep timbre of his voice instead, relishing in the way you can feel it reverberate from his body into yours where your shoulders touch and luxuriating in this rare moment of closeness the two of you share.  

A few pages in you become vaguely aware of your eyelids beginning to droop, but you’re too drowsy, too warm and too comfortable to give it much care.  You allow yourself to be lulled by Namjoon’s voice till you’re breathing starts to slow and your grip on your mug loosens, only to be momentarily awoken by the feel of it being gently taken out of your hands and placed elsewhere.  Half-asleep, your body moves of its own accord in seek of comfort, not even really aware that it’s Namjoon’s arm that your head has chosen as its pillow or the fabric of his shirt your hand has chosen to fist.  

It’s not until the next morning when you wake that you realise any of it at all, your eyes slowly opening to find yourself curled up against his chest with your legs drawn up onto the sofa, a blanket wrapped over your shoulders despite Namjoon having none at all.  It’s a wonderful way to wake up but it still startles you none the less, and your body goes rigid for a second as you try to piece together the fragments of last night’s memory whilst trying your best not to wake him.   

The sight of your mugs on the table and Namjoon’s book rested between them brings it all back quickly enough, and your cheeks blaze with embarrassment as you realise what happened must’ve happened.  Poor Namjoon. You can only hope he wasn’t too mortified by you lolling yourself all over him, or that it wasn’t just out of politeness that he neglected to wake you up and cart you off to your bed for the night.  

You feel his body shift as he takes a deep inhale and then softly sighs, biting your lip as you wonder what on earth to say if he would wake up.  But then he fidgets again, hips shifting side to side, and you suddenly become aware that it’s not just a blanket wrapped around you but his arm, too, holding you in his sleep.  

The realisation makes you feel giddy - fills you to the brim with girlish glee - and you’re not biting your lip from nervousness anymore but rather to keep yourself from smiling too hard or squealing your excitement into his chest.  A chest that’s more solid than you had ever anticipated it to be, and a stomach so firm that the feel of it under your fingertips has your pulse quickening and your chest tightening with need.  

It’s been a long time for you, and being this close to Namjoon is doing nothing douse the flames of desire that have been gradually gaining heat as the days have gone by.  

Decisive action is what’s needed - right now, before you have the chance to do anything more stupid - so as much as you don’t want to, you pry yourself away from Namjoon’s warmth and comfort.  You do so slowly so as not to disturb him, and for the most part, you’re successful, only rousing him slightly when you bang your shin on the edge of the coffee table and have to muffle a squeal of pain as you hop and stumble your way out of the room and into your own.  

The clock on your bedside table tells you it’s only 5 am - not a time that any decent human being should be awake on a Saturday, in your opinion - so you gratefully climb back under your own covers to nurse your wound and try to get some more sleep.  Unfortunately, it doesn’t come quite so easily as it did when you were snuggled up with Namjoon, and you spend a good amount of time just lying there with your eyes closed, daydreaming what it’d be like to have him right there next to you; to be held tight in his big, strong arms.    

You do drift off again, eventually, only to wake a few hours later to the sound of Namjoon humming to himself in the next room.  It brings a smile to your face immediately, and it stays with you as you ready yourself for the day; showering, primping and preening.  You don’t try to fool yourself into thinking that it’s anything other than last night’s developments between you and Namjoon that have put you in such a good mood, even if you don’t quite know how to proceed from here on out.  You’re not even certain his actions were conscious ones - he could just be a cuddly sleeper, that’s all.  

As with most things, you figure you’ll just work things out as you go along.  Life never seems to go to plan whenever you make one, anyway.  

Dressed in one of your favourite outfits, you’re positively beaming by the time you emerge into the living room and announce that today is the day you’ll attempt Namjoon’s long-awaited apple pie.  He’s excited, of course - even more so when you invite to come into town with you to fetch all the ingredients you might need. It seems your little outing last night has ignited his curiosity for the outside world, and he showers and dresses in record speed as you help yourself to breakfast, eager for the day ahead.    

Having made sure his hair is sufficiently covered by the baseball cap of yours that he borrows, the two of you head out for what ends up being a far longer trip than you’d intended it to be.   You just hadn’t been able to help yourself when you’d seen the excitement written all over Namjoon’s face as you’d walked the crowded streets, and before you knew it the two of you had ended up foraging in bookstores and boutique, eating lunch together in the sun and touring around the local art gallery.  

It isn’t actually until late in the afternoon that you finally manage to drag him to the supermarket to fetch the supplies you need for the pie, and even then he gets waylaid in the gardening section, somehow talking you into buying a bird box for your balcony and what is surely a vastly overpriced bag of seed.  

Still, it makes him happy so you're happy too, your cheeks aching from all the incessant smiling you’ve been doing by the time you get home.  You start baking right away despite how exhausted you are from traipsing around the city for hours on end, knowing how much Namjoon has been looking forward to it to want to delay things any further.  It’ll be the perfect end to the perfect day - as long as you get the recipe right, of course.  

Namjoon is quick to offer his help but you gently turn him down, fearful that this pie will end up just as inedible as the last one should he get his hands on it.  He finds things to keep himself busy, though, using the last of the day’s remaining light to tend to his little garden and attach the new bird box onto the red-bricked wall of your building outside.  

It’s actually a fairly straightforward recipe, and aside from one near-miss where you’d almost added nutmeg to the mix rather than cinnamon, you don’t encounter any other issues.  You can hear the TV playing in the living room as you put the pie in the oven so you assume that Namjoon is watching the crime drama he seems to have developed a little bit of an obsession with just lately.  If it weren’t so good you might regret ever introducing him to Netflix, but you’re rather looking forward to settling down and passing the time it takes for the pie to bake watching it with him, even though you know you’ll spend the whole time wishing you were snuggled up against his side. 

It turns out, however, that Namjoon isn’t quite so fixated on the television as you’d thought he would be when you enter the room.  He’s looking down at something on his lap instead, and when you come to sit down next to him you realise it’s one of your photo albums he’s slowly making his way through, smiling with each page that he turns.  

“Where’d you find that?” you ask, your cheeks already flushing with embarrassment thanks to the childhood photographs that lie within, a lot of which you’d rather Namjoon not see. 

“Your bookcase,” Namjoon answers without taking his eyes off the page, and you could kick yourself for not thinking to stash it away before he inevitably came across it during his search for fresh material to read.  He points at a picture in the bottom left that shows a very sulky very of your childhood self pouting at the camera, arms folded. “I remember you hated that dress,” he grins, “But you still cried your eyes out when it ripped.”  

As clear as day the memory comes flooding back; all your frustration at the stupid Sunday dress your mother had dressed you in that morning and the dread that’d filled you when it’d caught on one the branches you’d been climbing and torn beyond repair.  

“Only because I knew I’d get in trouble!” you exclaim in indignance, confused as to why Namjoon’s started laughing until you look down and realise you’ve got your arms folded across your chest in the very same way as they are in the picture - the very same pout on your face.  You uncross them quickly, narrowing your eyes in a glare that Namjoon pointedly ignores as he turns the page again.  

“Who’re these people?” he asks curiously, pointing at a large family photo of your mother’s side.  It’s the perfect excuse to shuffle closer so you do just that as you begin to explain, pointing at each face in turn, and even once you’re done you don’t think to move away, enjoying each and every brush of your arms or knock of his thigh against yours.  

As Namjoon makes his way through the photo album you helpfully identify each person that he asks about, surprised and ever so slightly in awe of the fact he already knows and can name so many without any hints from you at all.  How is it he can seemingly remember every single person that’s ever been important to you, and yet never to remember to put the toilet seat down?  

“And that’s one of my ex-boyfriends, Brandon,” you explain, grimacing at the sight of him.  You should’ve removed that photo years ago, really, but until now you’d pretty much forgotten you even had this album, let alone thought about rearranging it. 

Oh well, no time like the present.  

You go to peel back the protective plastic covering to take it out, but much to your surprise Namjoon shifts the album out of reach before you can even touch the cover.  Eyes narrowed, he glares down at the page.  

“Yes, I remember that boy.”  You’ve never heard Namjoon’s voice sound so cold, confused by the venomous look he’s wearing.  “I didn’t like him,” he states, “At all. I was glad when he stopped coming to the park, even though it made you cry.”  

Namjoon…. didn’t like him?  Well, he can join the club. It hadn’t taken you long to realise what a douchebag Brandon was, despite the rest of the school acting as though the sun shone out of his arse.  

Namjoon’s about to speak when suddenly the timer goes off in the kitchen and you leap to your feet, telling him to ‘hold that thought’ as you run from the room.   Pulling open the oven you’re greeted by the delicious smell of perfectly golden pastry, and you beam with pride as you take out your masterpiece and dish up two equal slices for you and Namjoon.  It’ll be far too hot to eat yet, of course, but the pouring cream you fetch from the fridge should help with that, barely able to contain your excitement as you near run back into the living room with dishes in hand.  

“It looks so gooooood!” you enthuse as you plonk back down into the sofa and thrust Namjoon’s portion into his now empty hands, photo album discarded atop the coffee table.  Mouth already watering in anticipation, you pour a generous helping of cream onto your slice and then offer the same to Namjoon.  

“It really does.”  

And then suddenly another memory hits you mid-pour - the memory of a time when Brandon had stropped off in a huff because you’d dared laugh when an apple had fallen off the tree and hit him straight between the eyes.  It’d just seemed unlucky at the time, but now having heard what Namjoon just said… 

“Joon,” you begin, frowning slightly as you put the cream back down, pausing to lick the drip that’d spilt off of the end of your finger.  “Did you… were you the one that made that apple hit Brandon right in the face?”  

Namjoon’s body freezes, his pie-laden spoon hovering in mid-air as it stops halfway to his mouth, eyes widening.  

“U-uh…” he stammers, not quite meeting your gaze.  It’s not as though he needs to say anything.  His guilty expression already tells you everything you need to know.  “M-maybe….” It’s almost as though he’s frightened you’ll be mad, but when you start giggle Namjoon visibly relaxes, flashing a sheepish smile.  

“Why would you do that?” 

“I told you, I didn’t like him,” he says, elaborating further when your eyebrows rise questioningly.  “I saw how rough he was with you. How pushy he was, always trying to make you… do stuff.” Namjoon’s cheeks colour with a blush as he looks away, swallowing, and you’re thankful that he does, given how drastically your cheeks redden too.  The thought of Namjoon having been witness to all of the pressure Brandon placed on you to do things you weren’t yet ready for - intimate things - makes your whole body cringe with embarrassment.  

In fact, you’re sure that that time Brandon had gotten pelted with apples he’d been trying to put the moves on you, and by ‘the moves’ you mean slobbering all over your neck and trying to worm his hand down the front of your jeans.  You remember how upset you’d been back then, but now you look back on it Namjoon did you a favour by getting rid of Brandon sooner rather than later.  

“Well, thank you for defending me.”  You smile shyly as Namjoon does the same, your slices of pie long forgotten as they cool atop the coffee table.  “My hero,” you joke and Namjoon laughs self consciously, rubbing the palms of his hands together.  

“It’s the least I could do after everything you did for me.”  

The two of you fall silent for a second as you do nothing but look back at one another, sat close enough that you can feel it when Namjoon takes a deep breath and then abruptly looks away, breaking eye contact.  

“This really does look good,” he comments, reaching out to pick up his bowl only to fall deathly still the moment your hand touches his arm.  Stunned by the unexpected contact he turns to look at you, and as your eyes meet you’re forced to swallow with the swell of emotion that suddenly fills you.  

You’ve never felt like this before.  Never felt like your heart might burst unless you let all the affection and tenderness and… and love held inside of it pour out.  You have to tell him. Just you have to now that you realise just how deep your feelings go - how desperately you’re falling in love with his man.  

“You know last night, what you said about realising I was special?” you start, trying to ignore the way your voice is slightly wavering as you speak.  Your hand is still on his arm but you can’t seem to make yourself let go. If anything your grip only tightens as you force yourself to look up from the floor, hips twisting on the sofa to better face him. 

Namjoon nods, and when his hand comes to rest on top of yours your swear you feel your tummy flip a whole 360 degrees.  “Well, I just wanted you to know that it was the same for me. I care a lot about you…”   

A bright smile lights up Namjoon’s face, his dimples deeper than ever.  

“A-and,” you continue, knowing if you let yourself stop now then you’ll never say it right, “You’re important to me… even more now that I’ve met you.  Really important.” Tentatively, you turn your hand over and thread your fingers between Namjoon’s, laughing lightly at the dumbstruck way he looks down at your conjoined hands and then squeezes back, bringing them into his lap then placing his other hand over the top, too.  

“I am?” he asks, beaming, and with just as stupidly wide of a smile on your face you gleefully nod.  Namjoon lets out a little incredulous laugh, looking down at his lap, and before you know it you’re reaching out and touching his face, lifting his chin and letting your fingers wander up into his hair to gently touch the blossoms within.  

Who would’ve known, all those years ago, that sight of the very same blossoms that’d drifted to the floor all around you back then, would inspire such strong feelings in you now?  Who would’ve known that for all these years you’ve been searching for love it’s been waiting for you, right outside your window?  

Namjoon softly says your name, pulling you back to the present, and it’s only now that you realise he’s reached out and is touching you too, his long fingers running through your hair.  He shuffles even closer, your thighs pressing as he leans in, and you feel pulse begin to bound as he looks to your lips, licking his own.  

“Can I kiss you?” he asks, a little breathless and joyfully, you nod. 

Yours and Namjoon’s first kiss is nothing like the kind you see in the movies.  Neither of you surges forward in some passionate clashing of teeth and tongues, grabbing at each other’s clothes.  It’s a much gentler affair than that; a slow slide of Namjoon’s palm to cradle your cheek as he closes the space between you, neither one daring to breathe until after your lips have finally met - a tentative press, testing the waters.

His lips are softer you’d even imagined they would be, light-headed and giddy even after such chasteness.  

“Can I kiss you again?” He’s definitely breathless this time and, try as you may, you can’t contain the laugh that escapes you then, disarmed by how sweet he is to keep asking.  Overflowing with affection, you throw your arms around his broad shoulders, claiming back what space he’d put between you when you’d laughed and he’d pulled away.  

“You don’t have to ask me every time,” you giggle against his lips, thrilled by the feel of Namjoon’s arms curling around your waist to draw you closer.  

“Ok,” he grins, his lips still smiling when you kiss him again - a little harder this time, a little more bravely.  

He’s a better kisser than you expected he might be, given your assumption that this might be the first time he’s ever done it.  He follows your lead, never asking for more; each brush of your lips entirely innocent until you decide to take it further, leaning your body into his as you encourage him to let you in with a teasing swipe of your tongue.  And even when he does and your kiss deepens, not one moment of it is rushed. Every touch is gentle - the caress of his hands as they slip under the hem of your shirt nothing short of reverent.  

It’s been years since anyone has taken their time with you like this.  Usually, it’s all greedy, grabby hands and the bare essentials of foreplay, but with Namjoon it’s all too easy to lose track of time.  You kiss for what feels like hours - like teenagers who know don’t know any better - until you can no longer ignore just how greatly his touch has affected you; warm, wet and aching between your legs.  

Taking his hands you briefly pull away, smiling as you stand from the sofa only to climb back on but astride his lap this time.  

“Is this ok?” you check, placing his hands on your hips as you lower yourself onto his thighs.  Your knickers are sodden they press against you but it’s not an unpleasant sensation, your core throbbing in time with your pulse with the need to be touched.  

“Y-yes,” Namjoon utters softly just before your mouths meet again, a little more urgently now that you know your desires are reciprocated.  Beneath where you sit you can feel Namjoon growing stiff inside his trousers and when you grind yourself down against him, he lets out a guttural groan of pleasure against your mouth.  He grips your hips tighter as they circle, digging in his fingertips.  

Without breaking your kiss, you remove your blouse, button by button until it slips off your shoulders and onto the floor.  Namjoon’s hands don’t move, though, clutching at your denim-clad hips until you reach down and move them yourself, pressing warm palms to skin. 

“You can touch me,” you assure, feeling his hesitation in the way his kiss loses rhythm and his thighs tense up.  It’s only momentary, though. When your hands find their way back into his hair and you lean your chest against him, arching your back, Namjoon soon gets with the programme.  His hands glide up and down the length of your back, one coming to rest on the back of your neck to anchor you in place. It’s only a gentle grip but it makes you shudder none the less, moaning as his tongue rolls wet and hot into your mouth.  

Have you ever wanted someone as much as this?  You doubt it. Certainly not at this point, when all you’ve done is kiss and grind.  If he doesn’t touch you soon you feel as though you might lose your mind, but you don’t want to rush this.  It means too much for that - for you to wish even a single second of it away.  

You gasp as Namjoon’s mouth changes target and trails scorching hot kisses down the length of your neck, your head tipping to the side.  You reach behind you to unclasp your bra, muttering curses when your fumbling hands can’t get the god damn thing open. Namjoon too distracting - the gentle pressure of his lips and swipe of his tongue too heavenly for you to even think straight.  

Of course, you get it off eventually, throwing it the floor to join your blouse as you sit up straight and detach yourself from Namjoon’s torturous mouth.  His eyes immediately fall to your chest, his jaw clenching and then Adam’s apple bobbing when you take the hands that’d be hovering at your waist and place them onto your breasts.  With a salacious smile, you hold them there, groping yourself with his hands until Namjoon gets the hint and takes over, wetting his lips as the tips of his fingers find your nipples and he tweaks, sinfully sharp.  

“Oh god,” you groan as your eyes fall closed, your hips automatically beginning to roll as his large hands squeeze and knead; pluck and pinch.  And for the first time, you feel Namjoon start to push back, his pelvis rising off the sofa as he instinctively seeks your heat. “Do you wanna- hnng fuck-”  He’s putting that mouth to good use again, one arm wrapped tight around your waist as he dips his head and slicks up your nipple with a lave of his tongue.  

“Joon, let’s go to bed,” you say, running your fingers through his hair to get him to look up, far too doe-eyed for someone that still has his nipple caught between his teeth.  “Only if you want to,” you quickly blurt out, sensing the slight hesitation that shows in his face as he pulls away - that nervousness and naivety.  

In all your excitement, you’d almost forgotten how new all of this is to Namjoon.  His people don’t even procreate, for god’s sake, and here you are trying to grind yourself down onto his dick like he’ll even know what to do with it.  

You shift your weight out of self-consciousness and unintentionally brush against the bulge of his crotch as your move, biting your lip as Namjoon’s eyes flutter closed and his breathing becomes laboured.  

“I do.”  Namjoon’s voice is as tight as his grip on your thighs, and when he opens his eyes the rapid dilation of his pupils stirs your insides in excitement.  “I really want to.”  

“Ok,” you smile, climbing off his lap onto shaking legs and then taking his hands to pull bring him to his feet.  

You love how tall he is; love how large he feels around you when you don’t even make it a step before he’s wrapping you in his arms and kissing you again, impatient.  It’s you who finally has to pull away, pushing against his chest and then taking both his hands to lead him silent and smiling into your bedroom. Stood at the foot of the bed, you slowly lift his t-shirt till you can’t reach any further and Namjoon has to take over, laughing as he pulls it off the rest of the way and you grab it back, tossing it aside with a roguish grin.  

He looks just as good topless as you remember, and you can’t resist the urge to step forward and show your appreciation for all that gorgeous skin with your mouth.  Fingertips running his waist and down to his stomach, you smear wet kisses along his collarbones and then further south, loving the way his solid chest heaves up and down with the weight of his breaths.  Down and down you go till you’re dropping to your knees and his belt buckle is in your face - an obstacle you make short work of in your impatience to continue the adoration of his flesh - and Namjoon is more happy to let you do just whatever you like.  He runs his fingers through your hair with bated breath as you pull open his trousers and sigh at the sight of him so deliciously thick inside his boxers, pushing against the fabric.  

“So big…” you hum happily as you worship, planting lingering kisses through cotton from the base of his shaft to the very tip.  It twitches in response, already leaking pre-cum that stains light blue navy and tastes salty on your tongue. You push down his trousers as you work him over, feeling his buttocks clench as you hook the waistband of his boxers and then bring those down too, freeing his cock to bob tantalisingly in front of your face, begging to be touched and licked and sucked.  

As you wrap your fist around the girthy base Namjoon’s knees actually buckle - his grip tightening on your hair with the broken moan he lets out, head tipping back.  He’s not the biggest you’ve had but he’s sure as hell the thickest, swollen all the way from base to angry red tip, glossy with arousal. 

You can’t wait to get a taste. 

Pumping him slow, you squeeze out another drop and catch it with the tip your tongue, lapping it up and then dipping right into the slit in search for more - an action that has Namjoon near losing his mind, his eyes wide as he gazes down at you, panting hard.  Holding his gaze, your brace your weight on his thighs as you take him into your mouth, focusing all your attention on the sensitive head until Namjoon’s practically whining with pleasure before taking him deeper, letting his hips instinctively buck his cock further down your throat.  

You gag and Namjoon slurs out apologies, his knees shaking as he tries to pull back for of fear of hurting you, only to have you lunge forward and take it right back, sucking hard and fast and sloppy, gag reflex be damned.  

“S-stop, stop, s-stop,” Namjoon chokes out after no more than what can only have been a few seconds, and when you let him slip from between your lips and look up, concerned, you almost expect him to have changed his mind - to have gotten cold feet at the very last minute.  

Lucky, that couldn’t be further from the truth.  As he tries to catch his breath, Namjoon pulls you to your feet, wiping away the saliva from your chin before crashing his mouth against yours.  He picks you up, squeezing your ass in his palms for the few steps it takes for you to reach the bed that you’re then thrown onto, and you giggle when you realise he’d had his trousers around his ankles the whole way there, only kicking them off when he crawls onto the bed after you.  

Sitting back on his heels, his eager eyes never leave you as you shuffle back against the pillows and rid yourself of your jeans and panties along the way too, pulling them down in one fell swoop.  You beckon him into your arms, completely exposed yet somehow unshy, and Namjoon comes without any hesitation, mouths finding each other as he lies down by your side in a hurry to feel his skin on yours. 

It catches you off guard to suddenly feel Namjoon’s hand on your thigh, lingering for little more than a second before reaching between your legs in search of your heat.  His assertiveness isn’t unwelcome - anything but. As the tips of his fingers meet your wetness, slipping and sliding, you gasp and keen into his kiss, pelvis tilting. Wanting.  Needing.  

“I- I thought this wasn’t something you guys normally do,” you say as Namjoon begins to lavish love into the crook of your neck, nipping at your skin just as he zones in on your clit to make you moan again, grabbing at his bicep.  Whether on purpose or by accident, you can’t tell, but either way, you’re not complaining.  

“We don’t,” he replies the words blowing hot air across your wet skin to make you shiver, “But it’s amazing what you can learn online.”  Your eyes ping open at his words, laughter spilling out of you when you look down and see Namjoon wearing a smile that’s unlike any of the others you’ve seen on him before.  It’s devilish. Sinfull. And you love it.  

The thought of Namjoon having thought about this before - to have wanted to do it so much that he’s researched how - arouses you more than you thought was possible, so wet now that you can feel it sliding down onto the bedsheets, smeared all over the inside of your thighs.  

You’re about to say something more when a finger pressing into you robs you of the ability to speak in anything other than gasps and moans.  Gradually gaining in speed, he slips that long digit back and forth, bolder every time, and whilst Namjoon’s technique isn’t exactly precise, what he lacks in finesse he more than makes up for in enthusiasm.  

“You’re so beautiful,” he confesses as another of his fingers presses inside, stretching you open, “So beautiful,” but you can hardly hear him because the words are swallowed up by your desperate kiss and the moans that you’re making.  

“Want you.”  Those words are smushed too, barely heard, but Namjoon doesn’t fight you when you start to push on his chest to roll him onto his back and you climb on top.  He looks up at you with nothing but adoration instead, his breath hitching when you take the hand that was between your legs and stick those fingers in your mouth, sucking them clean.  

“Wow…” he murmurs, mouth gaping open but them firmly snapping shut when you lower yourself onto his stomach and begin to rub yourself up and down his cock where it lays leaking, coating it in your arousal.  

“That feel good?” you ask, keeping that hand and linking your fingers where it rests on your hip as you rock back and forth.  

“Mm,” he nods, lips pressed together tight and eyes screwed shut, “Warm.”  

“Yeah?” You’re getting breathless too, jolts of pleasure shocking through you every time your clit catches against his tip, and god, you want it, but you want him to want it just as badly as you do before you give in.  You want his first time to feel so good that he’ll never forget it, and everyone knows that anticipation is half the fun.  

He groans your name, his chest rising heavily, and when he next opens his eyes you notice a bead of sweat running down from his brow, chest glistening with perspiration.  Slipping his hand out of yours, Namjoon takes a hold of your hips and encourages you to rise, waiting until you’re supporting your weight to let go and grip the base of his cock to stand it up straight.  Biting his lip with the effort it takes to hold back, he rubs the head between the lips of your cunt, flexing his pelvis up just enough to make you feel the delicious stretch and burn.

“Can… Can I?”  You nod without a moment’s hesitation, leaning forward and bracing yourself with palms planted flat on his chest as you take a breath and start to lower your weight, slowly inching him in.  Namjoon can’t take his eyes off where you’re joined, not until you’ve taken all of him in - moaning his name - and the pleasure gets so much that he’s forced to close them, breathing hard. 

It feels so incredible, being with him like this; so close and so intimate.  Even though you’re starting so slow, rocking your hips gently back and forth with your chest pressed to his, lips locked in an ending series of kisses, you can’t believe how good it feels just to have him inside.  

His hands come to rest on your hips, encouraging the rolling motion of your body, and when you start to pick up pace Namjoon groans his appreciation into your mouth.  The low, rumbling of his chest only spurs you on, and though you loathe leaving his mouth you sit up so you’ve more freedom to move - to ride him just as hard as you desire.  Pressing your hands down on his where they lay on your hips, you grind your pelvis down onto his in figures of eight, and Namjoon is transfixed by the motion, his eyes following every circle while he licks and bites at his lips, hair sticking to his forehead.  

“Can I… can I go faster?” you ask, already out of breath, and Namjoon nods just as quickly as you did earlier, eagerly tugging at your hips.  

You never expected the quiet, thoughtful beneath you to be a vocal lover, and whilst he’s not a dirty talker Namjoon certainly doesn’t hold back in other ways, moaning loudly when you start to bounce up and down on his cock.  Breasts bouncing, it feels so good that it’s a struggle to keep your eyes open, but you fight to make sure you do. You don’t want to miss a single expression of pleasure that crosses Namjoon’s face, trying to ingrain every second of this into your memory just in case you never get the chance again.  

“A-ah!” you shout when Namjoon’s pelvis unexpectedly bucks up and drives his cock even deeper inside, and for a second he’s worried, body going completely still until gasping, you beg him to do it again.  And again and again and again until you can feel yourself getting close and you can keep your eyes open no longer and you’re so close - so close - so cl-

Namjoon cries out your name, fingertips digging painfully into your hips from the force with which he drags you down onto his cock as he cums, incoherent with pleasure until the pulses die down and his body no longer twitches.  His eyes open wide as he struggles to catch his breath, looking up at you as though he can’t quite understand what it was that just happened, and though you’re obviously disappointed you didn’t get to finish too you can’t help but laugh, leaning down to kiss him ever so sweet.  

“Feels good, right?” you murmur against his lips, wishing you weren’t still throbbing so badly.  Your cunt is begging you to keep moving - to at least grind your clit down onto his pubic bone until you’re able to meet your end - but you know Namjoon won’t be able to take it.  Not so soon, at least.   

“Amazing,” he sighs softly as you pull away.  He looks entirely fucked out, his hair plastered to his forehead until you reach up to pull it back and plant a kiss there, too, overwhelmed with affection.  “Can you… do that too?” he asks, so adorably nieve, and smiling you nod, resting your chin on your palm.  

“Sometimes.”  Namjoon considers you for a moment, a small crease forming between his brows.  

“Not then?”  For a second, you consider lying to him.  It’s not as though Namjoon would know, but he’s not a prideful man that would take offence if you tell him the truth.  

“No,” you say, “But that’s ok.  No one lasts very long the first time.” 

“But I should make you feel good too,” Namjoon frowns, and before you realise quite what’s happening you’re suddenly rolled off of Namjoon and onto your back and he’s hovering above you with purpose in his eyes - determined.  

In the process of moving some of his cum has dripped out, coating your cunt, and for a moment Namjoon becomes distracted when he looks between your legs.  

“I did this?” he murmurs quietly, running a fingertip through the mess he’s made until it makes you shiver, so sensitive that all the hairs on your arms stand on end.  The sight of his cum oozing out of you seems to spark something in Namjoon - clenches his jaw tight - and with a newfound urgency he comes to hover above you, bracing his weight on one forearm whilst the other hand guides his cock inside your cunt.  

You grab onto his shoulders as the engorged head breaches you, the rest soon to follow, and whine, holding on tight as Namjoon begins to move, rutting into you hard and fast and deep.  

“Like this?” he pants out amongst the sound of skin slapping. “Tell me, show me how.” Blindly, you grab his hand and guide it between your legs, pressing his fingers to your clit in tight, quick circles that make everything feel ten times more intense, accelerating you to the brink of release faster than you ever thought was possible.  

“Like this,” you gasp, letting go to let Namjoon take over and threading your fingers into his hair instead.  He kisses you, hungrily, groaning when you pick your legs up from the bed and coil them around his waist so that he’s able to get even deeper - fuck you even harder.   

“You feel so good.” His mouth travels to your neck, sucking sloppy kisses into your skin. “I never want to stop.”  

“Me too - ahh-ah! - oh my god, Joon!”  You’re reaching your end, eyes screwed up tight as every cell in your body begins to sing, swelling and throbbing and there’s so much heat, so much pressure that you can barely think straight.  

“Show me,” Namjoon grunts, and you’re sure he’s getting close too if the way he’s gritting his teeth is any kind of sign.  “Let me feel you.” 

With Namjoon whispering praises into your ear, it only takes a few more seconds for you to get there.  Crying out, it’s so intense it might feel as though you’re falling if it weren’t for Namjoon holding onto your shaking body so tight, falling with you less than a minute later as he cums again, driven over the edge by the feel of your cunt clenching over and over around him.  

Panting, the two of you lie in an embrace as you recover.  His body is sweaty and he’s heavy but you wouldn’t have it any other way, smiling in content as you gently trail your fingertips up and down his back.  

Breaking the silence, Namjoon looks up with a tentative smile. 

“Did I do it?” he asks, sweet and hopeful; smile growing when you laugh and begin to nod, affectionately patting his butt.  

“You really did,” you confirm, and Namjoon continues smiling brightly even whilst the two of you set about cleaning up and getting comfortable again, side by side under the covers.  

You don’t talk much - too busy smiling and gazing at one another to do anything else - but he sighs happily when you start to run your hands through his hair, knowing it likely won’t be long until he falls asleep.  You’re almost getting there yourself when you suddenly feel something other than hair between your fingertips as you pull them away, opening your eyes in confusion.  

“Joon, your hair...” you say softly, rousing him. “I mean… not your hair but…”  Opening up your hand, you show Namjoon the petals that lie in your palm, small and soft.  This is the first time you’ve ever seen them come loose, and you frown with worry as Namjoon combs his hands through his hair only to come away with more, scattering them across the pillow.  

He sighs, a nervous look in his eyes when they next meet yours.  

“I kind of-” 

“Your eyes!” you exclaim, shifting closer and taking his face into our hands to look at each of them closer.  “They’re not green anymore!”  

And they’re not.  Not at all. Not even hazel; no hint of green in sight amongst the deep chocolate brown his irises.  They’re warm and soft - different and yet somehow familiar - and whilst you loved the startling green they were before, you love this colour all the more.  

“Then it’s done,” he whispers to himself, and your frown deepens even further, confused.  

“What’s done?”  Namjoon hesitates, taking a deep breath before he speaks.  

“When I told you that the changes that were happening to me were to help me… blend in more,” he says, sitting up and drawing his knees up, wrapping his arms long legs, “I wasn’t being completely honest.”  

“What do you mean?” You sit up as well, uncaring that you’re exposed when they duvet falls and pools at your waist - too concerned that Namjoon might be about to tell you something awful, something that might break your heart.  

“It’s not exactly… a temporary thing.  When dryads are away from their trees for too long, or from others of their kind, then, eventually, they lose their powers.  They become… human.”  

You blink, incredulous, trying to process what has just been said.  

“So you’re human now?” Namjoon nods, smiling sheepishly.  Can this really be true? In the time you and Namjoon have spent together he’s told most of the dryad basics; that they have an affinity with flowers and fauna, that they’re grown, rather than born.  That they’re... immortal.  

“Why didn’t you tell me?!” you near shout, almost hysterical when you realise everything he’s given up by staying here with you - everything he’s lost.  “How could you let me keep you here without saying anything?! If I’d have known I would’ve pushed you hard to find the others! If I’d have known I would’ve-” 

“Exactly,” he interrupts, grabbing you by the shoulders and looking deep in your eyes.  “That’s exactly why I didn’t tell you. Because I never wanted to leave.” Namjoon takes advantage of you being lost for words, cupping your face in his hands and pulling you into a kiss so full of feeling it not only steals your words but takes your breath away, too.  

“But you-” Another kiss silences you, and when he pulls away Namjoon is smiling kindly.

“I don’t care.”  His thumb brushes against your cheek and you lean into his touch, so confused by the conflicting emotions raging inside you.  Happiness, regret. Love. “I would rather live one mortal life with you than be still stuck inside that tree, watching and wanting you from afar.”  Namjoon kisses you again, his breath shaking when it ends and your foreheads remain pressed.  

“I love you,” he confesses, and now it’s you that can’t stop kissing him, grabbing onto his face and smooshing your lips together with such force and fervour that it pushes him back down onto the bed.  

“I love you too,” you gush between kisses, “So much, Joon.  So much.”  

And the two of you don’t talk too much again after that, too busy losing yourselves in each other’s bodies over again to want to speak - a perfect way to say I love you.  You’re so happy it feels like a dream. Better than that, in fact, and as you start to drift off to sleep in Namjoon’s arms you can only hope what waits for you in your imagination is just as sweet.  

[lupinsx]

All That Matters

masterlist

Pairing: Harry Potter x Slytherin!Reader

Summary: Harry and Y/N have been secretly dating for the past year. Unfortunately, the reveal doesn't exactly go as planned.

Word Count: 3.4k

Warnings: Some uses of profanity/language, mild kissing.

a/n — Hello! I'm going to be starting a tag list, so if you'd like to be notified whenever I publish new works, dm me. On that note, I hope you enjoy the story!

——————————

Everything felt muted.

The conversations lingering in the air filling the Great Hall, the sound of utensils hitting against plates and bowls in a rushed manner, and the excited squeals of the newly sorted first years. The area was filled with various noises, but you didn't hear one bit of it. You didn't choose to hear one bit of it. Instead, your brain was preoccupied with something of much greater importance to you.

Your gaze was kept on a certain shaggy-haired Gryffindor, sitting too far away for your liking. Your eyes followed the small movements he made to put emphasis on his words, the way his cheeks puffed like a chipmunk as he ate, and how his eyes would light up in fascination whenever a topic of interest was brought up.

Until you could be by his side, observing him left you contented enough. As long as Harry Potter's beaming smile was insight, you were okay.

"Hello? Earth to Y/N?"

A hand waving in front of your face took you out of your trance. Snapping your neck to the side, you were met with a displeased look from Draco Malfoy. You gave him a weak grin and took a bite of your steak.

"You weren't even listening to me. I was talking about my trip to Italy," he pouted, flicking your forehead with a slight scoff. You scowled at his behaviour and nudged his shoulder, playfully bumping him into the person next to him.

"I was listening," you responded, fighting the urge to look back to the Gryffindor table. You didn't want him to notice where your gaze was previously set. The chaos that would ensure was far too deadly for you to even consider letting him know.

With a suspicious glance, he dropped the accusation. "Fine. I believe you. Now, where was I?"

Draco went on about his vacation for a couple of minutes. You kept your attention on him, hesitant about looking away once more. However, the feeling of eyes boring into your head made you quickly divert your gaze.

There, sitting in the Gryffindor table, was Harry, very clearly ignoring the conversation around him. Once you finally looked back at him, he gave you a small smile and an accompanying wink before turning back to his friends. He then stood up from his spot, exiting the Great Hall with an air of nonchalance.

The cue was understood loud and clear.

"Hey Draco, I'm gonna head to the bathroom. I'll see you at the common room, yeah?"

As quickly as you spoke, you rose to your feet and got up from the bench. Before he could even respond, you were out of the hall, heading rapidly down the corridor and up the long flight of stairs.

A wink was the signal you two established near the beginning of your relationship. Whenever one would wink at the other, they'd find a way to leave and meet on the sixth-floor corridor. If they couldn't exit their situation, they would go into a fit of coughs to notify the other. It seemed like a foolproof system for you two. It was conspicuous enough to be noticeable by the other but subtle as to not gain further attention.

By the time you reached the designated meeting spot, you were lightly panting, tired by your efforts from sprinting up the staircase. However, once an amused chuckle was heard from behind you, all exhaustion was forgotten as you turned on your heel with a gleeful expression.

"Harry!" you exclaimed, running into his arms. He caught you effortlessly, arms holding your lower back protectively as you wrapped your legs around his waist.

"Hey Y/N," Harry mumbled, face buried in the crook of your neck. You held on to him tightly, inhaling the scent you missed most. It has been two long months since you last saw him, so the euphoria felt was especially evident.

Releasing his face from your neck, he finally gave you the long-awaited kiss. It was sweet, though undeniably eager, conveying just how much you two missed each other within the short seconds it lasted.

Once you pulled your face away, leaving a final peck on his lips, he flashed you a grin. "God, how I missed you and your soft lips."

"I missed you too. And your thin lips," you teased with a light chuckle. He faked a pout and pushed your waist to climb off him. Your laugh only intensified as you stood to your feet and ruffled his hair with an expression saying I'm only joking.

"How was your summer?" he asked, leaning against the wall as he kept his gaze fixed on you. You took a long sigh before replying, lips curved into a small frown while you crossed your arms over your chest.

"Positively dreadful. I don't remember ever being that bored before."

"Is it because I wasn't there?"

"Don't be cocky," you said with a wide grin. He shot you a joking frown for a moment before you quickly spoke under your breath, "But yes, I really wanted you there."

With an idiotic smile on his face matching yours, he spoke with pink-tinted cheeks. "How about we both stay at Hogwarts for the winter break?"

"Deal."

And with that, you shot into his arms once more, this time deciding to keep your legs on the floor. He laughed at your eagerness and wrapped his arms around your waist before pulling his head down to meet your lips for the second time today.

As you basked in the comfort of Harry's presence, a vague figure suddenly appeared in the corner of your vision. Your eyes opened wider as you glanced to the side with your lips still attached to his. There, you could make out the faint outline of a particularly short student retracting its leg from the corner of the hall visible by you. It suddenly disappeared, presumably running down the corridor connected to yours.

You immediately pulled away from the kiss, head whipping to the side to confirm you didn't imagine it. However, the current emptiness of the hall and the absence of footsteps made the possibility likely.

With a concerned expression, Harry asked, "What's wrong Y/N? You look troubled."

Turning your head towards him, you gave him a reassuring smile as you reached your hand up to stroke his cheek with your thumb. "Sorry, I thought I saw someone run down that hall."

"Well then, should we part ways just in case?"

"I suppose we should," you replied with a frown. Noticing your expression drop, Harry ruffled your hair and gave you a small peck on your forehead.

"How about we meet by the Great Lake tomorrow after our last class?" he suggested. You nodded your head rapidly. You cherished those little moments of privacy you got with him when you don't have to worry about gossiping onlookers or the judgment of your friends. Times, when it’s just you and Harry, are the times that make Hogwarts not entirely horrible.

"I guess I'll head out now. See you at breakfast." You then departed with eyebrows furrowed in dejection. As you approached the intersection between the two halls, you noticed another leg disappearing from the corner on your right. However, it was a brief glance through your peripheral vision, so you doubted a person was actually there.

But what if somebody did see us?

You quickly brushed the thought aside, hoping it was merely a pesky first year wanting to explore the castle if there even was a person who saw. Regardless, there wasn't much to be done now. You just hoped whoever they were, they would keep their mouth shut about you and Harry. Drama at the beginning of the school year was not something very desirable to you.

Attempting to block off your paranoia, you made a beeline to the Slytherin common room. Once arrived, you were met with a concerned gaze from Draco who sat at the couch playing wizard chess with Blaize.

"Y/N? Where were you? And why do you look upset?" Draco interrogated, his attention suddenly off the moving chess pieces. You were quick to raise your expression at that, relaxing your eyebrows and flashing him a reassuring grin.

"I'm alright. Just took a minor detour from the bathroom, that's all."

With a questioning glance, he accepted your response. "Okay. Are you tired?"

You slowly nodded, a yawn escaping your lips momentarily. Draco's expression softened for a moment before he looked back to the chessboard and said nonchalantly, "Then go to bed."

"I'll go do that," you replied with a light chuckle. Turning on your heel, you headed towards the girl's dormitory with a smile on your face as you recalled the events from earlier.

Safe to say, you couldn't wait for tomorrow evening to come.

~~~

The clock couldn't possibly tick any slower.

It was the first official day of classes, and you already felt done with the school year.

You were excited to see your schedule at breakfast that day. You had most of your classes with Draco, and the majority with Gryffindor as well. Although, that seemed to be the highlight of the day since the rest felt positively drab.

Each 45-minute class felt like hours to you. Perhaps it was the fact that you weren't accustomed to school yet. Maybe even the immense workload already assigned in Potions.

Or the fact that you would finally be able to talk to Harry later in the day.

It was distracting, to say the least, trying to focus in class with a certain shaggy-haired boy sitting a couple of desks away. You were glad the first week meant minimal learning because you were sure you retained virtually nothing the teachers said. Admittedly, the syllabus was far less fascinating than Harry was. Though, he seemed to think the same for you, as he kept eyeing you just as much. It was almost a game for you two; who could steal the most glances while pretending to listen to the introductions.

He clearly won.

"I expect you all to read chapter one in your books as an introduction to the Goblin Rebellions," said Mr. Binns, failing the notice the groans of discontent, "and we shall continue our discussion tomorrow. Dismissed."

It was at that moment when the bell rang, signalling the end of classes for the day. You felt your heart begin pumping faster than usual as you slung your bag on your shoulder. Finally, you thought. I could finally talk to Harry. You weren’t usually this excited just to see him, but going a whole summer with only letters to keep your company changes your attitude towards the smallest of meetups.

You decided to travel the long way to get there, allowing him enough time to reach the lake without suspicion. You went to the opposite end of the school before exiting, walking around the grounds until you eventually saw the Great Lake and the boy sitting near it.

A smile crept onto your face as stopped in your tracks before running over to him. Noticing your figure approaching, he stood up from his seat in front of the tree and opened his arms. He was quick to wrap them around your frame once you crashed into his.

"Hello again," you breathed into his sweater. A throaty laugh escaped his mouth as he planted one of his much-loved forehead kisses onto your bare face.

"Hey darling," he replied with an endearing smile. "I- uh, I actually have something to tell you."

You nodded in response, still within the comfort of his arms. He didn't immediately begin speaking, but instead took a moment to gather his words while he rubbed circles on your back with his thumb. It was calm, and you liked it. It was the little moments with him like these which put you into a state of peace.

However, it wasn't long before the tranquillity was abruptly shattered with a roaring yell.

"Potter!"

Your eyes widened the second the familiar tone flooded your ears. Swiftly, you released your grip on Harry and jumped back, head facing down rather than at the angry blond standing not too far away.

"What the absolute fuck are you doing with Y/N?"

Harry's mouth opened and closed repeatedly as he struggled to find the words to explain himself at the moment. Draco was furious, and not even you dared to put fuel into the fire by giving him provocative remarks. You just hoped your boyfriend had thought the same.

Unfortunately, you remembered you're dating a Gryffindor. Daring bastards, they are.

As Harry got over the initial shock of being approached by an angry Draco, a playful smirk spread across his face, sending danger signals to your brain. This was not about to end well.

"I believe I was about to kiss her until you interrupted."

"Excuse me?"

The two boys now stood head-to-head, Draco's hand gripping on Harry's collar threateningly. He looked like he was ready to swing at the boy holding a nonchalant smile, only, the sight of you standing distressed nearby stopped him from causing any injury.

Letting go of his collar aggressively, Draco redirected his attention from Harry. Now under his harsh gaze, you lifted your head to stare him directly in the eye. You figured you might as well come clean about the relationship rather than pathetically attempt to cover it up now.

However, just as you opened your mouth, a loud shriek broke the tense atmosphere.

"Harry! Are you okay?"

From the top of the hill stood Hermione and Ron, faces conveying worry and anger. They saw Harry's messed up clothing clearly gripped harshly and two notorious Slytherins standing nearby. A recipe for disaster, essentially.

Storming down the grassy hill, Hermione gazed at his attire concerningly while Ron trailed behind her, staring questioningly at you and Draco. Harry was shocked by their arrival, and while he forgot to speak for a moment, the two friends faced the Slytherins with a glare able to kill.

"What do you two want with Harry?" Ron asked accusingly. Draco snorted at the irony of their protectiveness, while your eyes widened as you waved your hands rapidly in reassurance.

"Nothing, we aren't trying to cause trouble—" you were suddenly cut off by Draco stepping forward to the defensive pair with a glare to match theirs.

"I want Potter to leave Y/N alone."

His comment caused a near uproar in response. Harry snapped back to reality and approached Draco with a fuming expression while his friends stared in confusion. Meanwhile, your head whipped towards him in annoyance. The line between protective and controlling was a thin one but boy does Draco walk it hard.

"You can't decide that for her!" Harry practically shouted in his face. While Hermione and Ron stood bewildered by the conversation going on in front of them, Draco only became more cross.

The conflict was beginning to leave you exasperated. You hate that argument is necessary in the first place. You and Harry are happy; shouldn't that be all that matters?

Draco never intended to try to control you and your relationships, but when provoked by his arch-nemesis, all of his rationality suddenly goes to dust. "Yeah? And who says—"

"What is this even about?" Ron interjected, causing three heads to snap to his direction. With a mocking chuckle, Draco pointed at Harry with an accusing finger.

"I just found out your precious little friend here is dating Y/N!"

Hermione gasped, while Ron looked horrified. Your expression suddenly turned sour at the sight of their reactions.

"Yeah yeah, big deal. Why do you two look scared? Is it because I'm a Slytherin?" you muttered with a slight glare. You didn't want to be unnecessarily mean towards them and uphold the typical Slytherin stereotype, but how were you supposed to stay civil when they react like this at the news? Shock is a given, but the look of near disgust was uncalled for.

Harry's eyes softened at you once he saw how troubled you looked. He knows you enough to realize that you mask your sadness with anger or sarcasm, so seeing the glare and sneer on your face made him put aside his anger for Draco temporarily. Some things matter more to him then petty issues.

"Hermione, Ron, I'm sorry I haven't told you this before, but please respect my decision. She's a great person— no, an amazing person, and I just want to say that I'm going to continue dating her whether you two like it or not."

Their expressions morphed into admiration as they stared at the newly matured Harry. With a gentle nod, Ron pulled him into a bear hug with Hermione joining in shortly after.

"I can't say I'm not shocked, but who are we to say you can't date her? We're happy you're happy," Hermione mumbled inside the hug.

While you and Draco stood in front of them awkwardly, you nudged his side with a playful smirk. As he turned to you with a scowl, you gestured to the group hug.

"See Draco, that's how you're supposed to respond," you teased, ignoring the ill-tempered expression on his face. It no longer fazed you as it would to most.

"I'm sorry," he said in a sarcastic but light-hearted tone, "but they don't hate you as I hate him. Plus, those Gryffindors are insanely cheesy with the whole group hug."

While Draco faked a gag as they pulled apart, you lightly snickered under your breath. Thankfully, Draco appeared to be less mad at the revelation after Harry's speech, and his friends seemed to approve of the relationship.

"So, are we all good now?" you asked, flipping your gaze between Draco and then Hermione and Ron. While Harry's friends nodded reassuringly, Draco was hesitant to do the same.

"Please?" you mumbled to him, staring at your best friend with pleading eyes. You knew you didn't require his approval to date Harry, but you desperately wanted to be with him while maintaining your friendship with Draco. It would kill you to lose him consequentially.

After staring at you with an unreadable gaze, then directing his narrowed eyes to Harry for a moment, he released a sigh before nodding in approval. A smile widened on your lips as you immediately looked towards your boyfriend.

Without a second thought, your legs carried you towards him while your arms went around his neck. Like muscle memory, his arms snaked around your waist in an instant. With his face buried in your neck, he mumbled into it, "At least now they know."

You looked up at him with a small smile. "At least they do."

"Eww, can't you wait until we leave to be romantic and shit?" Draco groaned from his position. He then turned on his heel to trudge back up the hill. Rolling their eyes at the blond boy's attitude, Hermione and Ron soon followed after, letting the couple finally be alone.

When it became silent again at last, you then remembered what was promised earlier. "Harry, you needed to tell me something?"

"Oh yeah, that," Harry muttered under his breath, face becoming flushed as he released you to scratch his neck awkwardly. You giggled at his expression as you stared at him intently, him not returning the gaze as he looks down at the grass.

"There were two things I wanted to say actually. The first, ironically enough, was going to be me asking whether or not you think we should finally tell people about our relationship."

You snorted, patting his shoulder in a joking manner. "Since that's already done with, what else?"

"Well uh- I wanted to say," he then paused for a moment, looking up to meet your gaze.

"I love you."

With a smile stretched as wide as your mouth could handle, a light chuckle escaped your lips as you held his cheeks in your hand. "I love you too, Harry."

After the heartfelt confessions of love, you two decided to spend the rest of the evening watching the sunset. Your heart felt full as you glanced at him sitting next to you.

The chatter faintly heard from the castle, the light sounds of water moving in the lake, the melodic chirps from nearby birds getting ready for their rest. None of it was heard. None of it you chose to hear. Because when Harry Potter's messy hair, circle-rimmed glasses, and playful grin was in sight, nothing else felt important anymore.

To you, everything else just felt muted. It was only you and Harry. And that was all that matters.

——————————

a/n — Thank you for reading! Please like, comment, and reblog to show support and send some feedback or requests in my inbox! Have a nice day/evening :)

[emeraldtawny]

My Ikemen Vampire OCs

Been a while since I’ve done anything with OCs and I’m not sure if I’ll be using these boyos in fics or the like. I just wanted to add my own suitors based on some historical figures that caught my attention and thought would be cool to bring back as sexy vampires uwu~

Picrew used can be found here.

Marco Polo

Thomas Jefferson

Sigmund Freud

~Details under the cut~

Marco Polo

The Wide-Eyed Explorer

Adventurous x Oblivious

“Life's all about finding something out there in this great wide world that hasn't been discovered yet. How about it, Signorina? Want to take the risk with me?”

An explorer renowned for his treks from Europe to Asia, his documentation of his travels are known the world over. Yearning for knowledge yet grounded in his ideals, he enjoys exploring this “distant future” of 19th century France and pauses to marvel at every detail and moment he can. He accepted the taste of immortality so he could further explore the world. However, the dynamic, rocky expanse of love is one journey even the great Marco Polo wasn’t prepared for.

Birthday: September 15th

Height: 177cm (5’9”)

Occupation: Merchant

Vampire Type: Lesser Vampire

Hobbies: Exploring, Collecting trinkets (hoarding), Taking notes

Dislikes: Staying indoors

Specialty: Storytelling, Charisma

Weaknesses: Lying

Favourite Food: Pasta

Hated Food: Ginger

Pet: Monkey named Viaggio

Random Tidbits

Wears two dangling coin earrings, as a symbol of the currency he knew before learning of and introducing paper money to Europe.

Responsible for bringing noodles - and consequently, pasta - back to Italy. One of his proudest accomplishments, he says.

Gets incredibly pouty when people doubt his memoirs or if he even made it to China at all.

Is endlessly fascinated by the different culture of this “new world” and will ask endless questions to gain knowledge.

Gets flustered and oddly prideful over how many other important figures of history looked to his experiences to guide them (Of course, he is most proud of the children’s game named after him).

Most of his memoirs were written in prison and by his cellmate. *A/N: hmmm, I wonder who comes back to smite him :3*

Is uncharacteristically frugal and likes to hoard any “unique” treasures he finds (most of them are commonplace items, but rare to Marco).

Favourite Place To Bite: Shoulder. He just gets incredible pleasure sinking his teeth into the flesh of the shoulder, and it works in tandem to muffle the groans that threaten to slip through his lips as he feeds. And if they bite him back on his shoulder, he is gone. His arms will always be snaked around their waist and whether he’s pressed against their back or front, he’s absorbed in his feeding so fully that sometimes he doesn’t know when to pull back until it’s too much.

Associates With:

Leonardo - The pureblood quite enjoys the boundless vibrant energy of his fellow Italian, and is more than happy to show him around the city and listen to the younger man’s detailed recounts of what he’s seen. They fuel each other’s insatiable need for new things to learn.

Dazai - Enjoys teasing him for his cluelessness about the world. The mansion’s residents don’t know whether to intervene, as both seem oblivious to the other’s intentions in their odd conversations.

Sebastian - Usually on the butler’s bad side for the constant clutter of “souvenirs” he always returns with. However, is rewarded with the whimsical story recounting of THE Marco Polo, so it isn’t all bad.

How He Met MC

After MC had attended dinner and was making her way to Comte’s room, she almost gets knocked off her feet as she collides with someone whilst lost in thought. Things fall to the floor and she quickly apologises and kneels down to help pick up the fallen items. As she lifts her head, she’s met with a head of white wispy locks and kind ice-blue eyes staring back at her behind his round spectacles. He takes the things back from her and they both return to their feet. “Grazie Mille, Signorina.” He says through a grin. “I’m sorry I didn’t see you there. You must be new around here.”

“Oh, um--”

(Is he a famous figure of history too? He looks nice enough.)

Her thoughts are cut off as Sebas comes into the hallway and seems ready to scold the young man for bringing in another assortment of useless trinkets. He pouts a little and says that these are unique and a brand new discovery that he must look into for their use. Sebas sighs, notices MC and asks if he has introduced himself to her yet. He blinks and exclaims in realisation before turning back to MC with a sheepish, boyish grin.

“It seems I forgot to introduce myself to you, Signorina. My name is Marco Polo. I’m a merchant and an explorer.”

(M-Marco Polo?!)

After MC learns the truth about the mansion and its residents, she’s on her guard as she walks aimlessly around the mansion, avoiding everyone she can for fear of them biting her. She stops as she passes the archive at the sound of a happy tune being hummed. She peeks in to see Marco cross-legged on the floor with a pile of junk in front of him. Yet the way he’s observing each piece makes her believe every single one is an irreplaceable treasure. He adjusts his glasses and inspects the map in his hands with an inquisitive gaze, his excitement of a new discovery at his fingertips vibrant and infectious. 

She’s so lost watching him that she hardly realises that she’s entered the archive, her feet naturally bringing her towards him. He stops humming and turns to meet her curious eyes with a wink.

“Oh! Perfecto! Just the woman I was hoping to see!”

He says it so heartfeltly that she feels her heart leap.

“Would you happen to know what these are? Since you’re from the future, you’d likely have a better idea than me.”

She hesitantly sits down across from him, still unsure yet compelled to help him, the kind, yearning aura surrounding him too strong to resist. [First CG of them looking over the pile of junk. Marco gesturing wide as he imagines the uses of a simple silver spoon and MC staring at him like “...it’s a spoon, not a lightning rod.”]

As she listens to him, she asks him why he finds joy in collecting these everyday items. He blinks at her...before bursting out laughing.

“Don’t laugh, I’m serious!”

“Ah, I’m sorry. Really I am. It’s just I never get tired of hearing that question. To me, that question means that there are people out there who have grown accustomed to what’s around them. So much so that something they see every day has lost its beauty to their eyes. I truly believe that everything out there - discovered or not - has a story, a meaning. No matter how mundane it may be, everything has a unique beauty in this world.”

(That’s...such a wonderful outlook on life.)

...

Thomas Jefferson

The Repentant Sinner

Awkward x Earnest

“I cannot see the merits of wanting to get to know me. So, why can’t I stop you from doing so?”

A diplomat and a scholar, the one thing Thomas Jefferson cannot say he is versed in is the art of conversation. Despite this, he isn’t shy. He simply prefers to observe and document what is around him. Intelligent and soft-spoken, he seems to be more driven in his immortal life despite his tremendous accomplishments in his human life. What so greatly motivated him to be reborn as a vampire?

Birthday: April 13th

Height: 190cm (6'2")

Occupation: Diplomat don't mention the P-word

Vampire Type: Lesser Vampire

Hobbies: Writing, Violin

Dislikes: Public speaking

Specialty: Writing documents (in silence)

Weaknesses: Conversation, His reputation

Favourite Food: Vegetables (selective vegetarian)

Hated Food: Liver

Pet: Mockingbird named Quill

Random Tidbits

Can speak 4 languages (English, Latin, French and Italian) and can communicate through writing in a further two languages (Greek and Spanish).

Wears multiple rings and a wrist cuff on his right hand, as he had dislocated his wrist in his human life yet the bones failed to set right when healing. The discomfort continues as a vampire, though less painful.

His voice is quiet, mellow and of a tenor pitch. He can barely string more than three sentences together unless speaking in private and about a topic he is knowledgeable in.

Developed mild insomnia since becoming a vampire. Coupled with his periodic headaches, some days he will be completely inconsolable.

Enjoys writing and listening to his mockingbird sing in the comfort of his room.

Completely freezes and nearly breaks down when reminded of the dark underbelly of his legacy.

Has no less than four feather quills on his person wherever he goes.

Favourite Place To Bite: Fingers. Feeding on a body part with a smaller surface area helps him pace himself and prevent more harm than necessary. But he truly enjoys piercing his fangs into the tip of the index and middle fingers, giving a cursory suck before withdrawing and taking the fingers into his mouth to suck them that way; he doesn’t wish to harm anyone with his bites if he can help it. Of course, sometimes he can’t help it when he’s lost in bloodlust.

Associates With:

Isaac - Enjoys his quiet companionship. They usually sit in the archive together, working on their different projects in complete silence.

Napoleon - Occasionally goes to the Frenchman requesting a feather from his eagle to make into a new quill. Napoleon agrees under the condition he helps him teach the schoolchildren, something he begrudgingly agrees to.

How He Met MC

The first time she meets Thomas is at her welcoming dinner. She baulks slightly at the height of him and the broad set of his shoulders being accentuated by his perfectly fitted dress shirt. He meets her gaze and nods politely towards her before taking his seat and idly staring down at and fiddling with his rings. She whispers to Napo if she somehow offended him, but he assures her that that’s just how Thomas is; not the best at striking up a conversation. 

When introductions come up, he’s one of the last to speak and definitely the least enthusiastic. He clears his throat softly and makes eye contact with MC, his gaze oddly intense as if forcing himself to meet her eye.

“Thomas Jefferson. Diplomat. A pleasure.”

(Thomas Jefferson. He was important in American history if I remember correctly. Can’t say I know much more than that.)

When Sebas (and Arthur) get it through MC’s head that she’s now in a mansion of vampires, she immediately runs out of the kitchen and just panic runs. She ends up in the foyer and almost collapses with relief because she can finally escape this place. Before she can reach the door, however, she realises there’s someone else right in front of the door, pacing back and forth as if in a trance.

(Oh great. They have someone on guard as well? Even more reason to get out of here!)

She tries to slip by, but the man notices her and stops his pacing to stare at her, saying nothing. MC feels overwhelmed by his gaze and starts to shake. His eyes widen and he goes to reach for her.

“Are you--?”

“Get away from me! Vampire! Monster! Don’t touch me!!”

She swats his hand away and makes a break for the door, but Thomas grabs her around the waist, pinning her arms down. She thrashes and begins to feel tears pricking her eyes when Sebas emerges. Thomas turns to him and asks him to take the young lady to her room. He immediately releases her from his hold and whispers a soft “I apologise for scaring you.” before walking back to his room with long strides.

Back in her room, she reflects on what happened and realises that his grip on her wasn’t tight enough to harm her and instead, he was likely as panicked as she was.

(Even if he is a vampire, it was clear he was trying to protect me. And I called him a monster…)

The next day, she asks Sebas to show her where Thomas’ room is so she can apologise to him. Sebas says to try the archive instead and shows her the way. She knocks on the door and peeks inside. 

Sitting at a desk and brandishing a feather quill, Thomas writes like his life depends on it, his eyes - while still heavy and tired with dark circles - seem focused with an intensity that leaves MC dumbfounded. [First CG of him deep in his scribing, unaware of the pretty lady who watches him with her attention rapt.]

(He writes as if he’s possessed. I feel like if I interrupted him now, I’d be ruining the very nature of his being.)

She waits until he lets out a soft sigh and sets down his quill. When he finally notices her presence, he blinks, a deer in the headlights. His mouth opens and closes, but no words come out.

“Um...can I help you?”

...

Sigmund Freud

The Cold Elitist

Analytical x Insatiable

“Such honest eyes. Yet such boring simplicity in your actions and thoughts.”

An Austrian neurologist whose work helped to shape modern psychology. His work with brains and how they shape our conscious and unconscious mind - his book The Interpretation of Dreams using his own brain as the study - made him observant and insightful; in a holier-than-thou way in most cases. He is private and distancing, yet fiercely loyal to those he deems worthy enough to be close to him. His own findings concluded that personality and unconscious thoughts cannot be so easily swayed. Until he meets you...

Birthday: May 6th

Height: 180cm (5’10”)

Occupation: Neurologist (despises the term psychologist being attributed to him)

Vampire Type: Lesser Vampire

Hobbies: Smoking cigars, People watching, Reading

Dislikes: Being referred to by his first name (Call him Freud or you’ll get one hell of a death stare)

Specialty: Psychoanalysis, Picking apart people’s thoughts

Weaknesses: Accepting defeat or wrongdoing, Smiling through his eyes

Favourite Food: Artichoke

Hated Food: Anything American

Pet: Frog named Ego

Random Tidbits

He has a pet frog because of his early work as a medical student, where he studied frog brains to determine the difference between vertebrate and invertebrate brains. And named his pet after one of the terms he coined of the human psyche, representing the balance of our desires and morality.

Used to smoke cigars heavily, so much so that he developed mouth cancer which led to his eventual human death. Picked the habit back up again after being revived as a vampire.

Had a therapy dog when he was human. Sneaks pets to Vic and King whenever he can.

Was quoted saying “The goal of all life is death.”, yet accepted the offer to be granted eternal life (he chuckles bitterly at himself over this fact).

Was a firm Shakespeare sceptic and remains so into his vampire life. Any conversation he has with Shakespeare usually ends with him bad-mouthing him in German and proclaiming that the Earl of Oxford was the true writer of his plays.

Continues to write books about his discoveries, yet keeps them unpublished.

Is joked as being sex-obsessed (by Arthur of all people), but stands by his claims that sexual wishes and desires play into how a person’s mentality is shaped.

Favourite Place To Bite: Stomach. The way the muscles flex and spasm around his fangs is exquisite in every meaning of the word. He enjoys slowly sliding the blouse up, letting his hands trail slowly to feel the goosebumps that prickle on the skin, before biting right on the curve of the waist.

Associates With:

Comte - The one man who may call him by his first name. Feels indebted to him for another chance at life.

Mozart - Short yet calm conversations between the two Austrians happen every so often; about what, who can say?

Arthur - Pesters Freud for psychoanalytical techniques he can incorporate into his Holmes novels. Gives him the bare minimum to leave him alone. Absolutely loathes the nickname the Brit gives him (“Siggy”).

How He Met MC

When MC first encounters him, Freud is at the dining table with Mozart, Theo, Vincent and Isaac. As soon as he hears the commotion and she enters for dinner, he abruptly stands and leaves without a word, only sparing a cold stare that she feels in the pit of her stomach.

Her first true encounter with him is after Sebas tries to tell her that her housemates are vampires and she runs into him in the hallway. She notes that his eyes of metal run just as cold as the first time she met his gaze, but she still tries to greet him (Comte told her about him briefly at dinner, saying his name is Sigmund). When she addresses him as such, his lips twitch in distaste and harshly tells her not to call him that.

Being MC, she bites back a little, causing him to raise an eyebrow.

”For a meek little thing, you certainly try to bark, don’t you?”

“Hey, I don’t need another person in this mansion referring to me as a dog!”

“Hm. Very well then, Rotznase.”

(Did....did he just call me a brat?!) *A/N: no, MC. He called you a snot-nosed brat*

She goes to bite back again, but something in his eyes stops her dead. Like they can see into her soul, see the exact way her brain ticks. He exudes a harsh aura that makes her want to run, but the power of his eyes on her has her paralysed, like a predator staring down its defenceless prey. He scoffs at her before asking if she knows what he is. When she doesn’t respond, he sighs in annoyance before grabbing her by the throat and pushing her against the wall, hard. [First CG of this kabedon-strangling hybrid. 2/10, not sexy and probably hurts too much.]

”You’re a foolish little girl. And unfortunate in your luck. If you had crossed paths with any of the other beasts in these halls, you may have gotten away with nothing more than nightmares.”

His hand on her throat tightens, constricting her windpipe and cutting off her air supply, the petrified horror in her eyes only increasing as he bares his fangs to her.

”I am not a lenient man, I never have been. And this is no dream. You’re just an unlucky human. No offence intended.”

Just as his hand tightens further and he leans over her, Arthur of all people is the one to save her. He grabs Freud’s collar and yanks him back, barking at him not to scare the bird. Freud only gives an annoyed huff before strolling away as if he never had any part in it. MC loses strength in her knees and passes out from fear, and Arthur brings her to her room before heading to Comte to tell him what occurred.

The following day, Comte invites MC out to the garden for a chat. He confirms that the residents are all men of history brought back from death as vampires, and he apologises for Freud’s less than savoury approach at drilling the message in.

”Listen well, ma Cherie. The men in this mansion may be vampires, but they all show restraint. Sigmund, however, is an unusual case. He is prone to frenzies, where he’s so consumed with bloodlust that he cannot control himself. For your own safety, I would suggest having as little contact with him as possible.”

[grim-faux]

8 - Twisted Warren

Too much had happened in this place, between the time Murkoff had lost control, and the MHS failed to regain control.  The patients had gotten free and had ample time on their hands to undertake all manner of hobbies.

I wasn’t certain what to make of the large hole chiseled through three feet of solid cement, and rebar.  Given there’s not a lot to do around this place but come up with creative ways to get around, I gave this one a seven out of ten.  I doubted that big ugly fucker would have been amused by a commission for big fuckin holes, he seemed dedicated to his current task of decapitating the former law.  I couldn’t envision the inmates having the tools for this sort of work, and then using them correctly to remove the cement, but they were just insane, not stupid.  There was a difference.

The problem was they were not stupid.

  To satisfy my lethal curiosity, I did return to the other side of where I had dropped down, to see if the egress guy was still lurking.  I didn’t want someone following me, I’d rather know at this point and try to lose them than get a nasty surprise in a dark cramped hole.

There was only a small room, and a door.  I tried the handle confirming it was locked, but perhaps earlier it was open and the patient decided to lock it.  Didn’t matter, my path was charted out.  It must’ve led into a lavatory, or female wash room, there were hand dryers on the wall, a mattress flung on its side, and the more important detail.  Sinks.

I tried the dial on one and received a fresh flow of water, its color I couldn’t tell due to the night vision but it looked clean and free of sediment.  After giving my perimeter a quick look I leaned under the tap and tasted it, first rinsing my mouth out of the reek and copper.  The water had a strong metallic quality, I wasn’t sure if I should drink it, much as I was advised not to drink the water when visiting another country, but I was dehydrated.  I reasoned with myself the lines couldn’t all be compromised, and drank just enough to quench my thirst.

There was also the issue of my bloody camera, and my backside, but I felt my jacket was a lost cause and it was cold.  In the dark I flushed water on my sleeve and used it to carefully dab the side of the camera until it felt like much of the stickiness was removed.  I didn’t expect to do a perfect job in the solid black.  I also took the time to rinse the blood from my scalp and the back of my leg, then flushed my tender brow.

I felt renewed, not meeting ready but stable enough on my feet to carry me onward.  I returned to the other side, squelching over the sticky puddle of blood back to the warrens entrance.

Below looked like an access space, for repairs or maintenance on broken pipes that might be reached through the basement.  It might’ve been installed in the past century if this place was as old as I suspected.

The hole wasn’t deep, but there was a passage dug out in the softer earth beneath the crawl space.  A small draft crept over my ankles, warmer air spilling into the cool shower.  The thick reek of natural gas coupled with moist earth reached my nose as I crouched down and used the night vision to navigate, I really didn’t need to get lost under this place. 

Though the path seemed straightforward, I was fully aware of how easy it was to get turned around in a short section of black crawlspace.  A few of the Outdoor Adventurer columns warned of how inexperienced cavers could get lost in less than twenty feet of cave.  One story mentioned a specific case in which a cavern had only a few extending tunnels, but the individuals involved thought only to bring one light source plus their cell phones.  As with any adventure destined to fail, the torch had a mishap and the cavers with their cell phones couldn’t distinguish between the details of the cave through the poor light source, nor could they call for help.  Many would scratch their heads or joke towards their expense, how can you get lost in such a small cave?  Few have ever experienced the total silence, the oppressive dark, and the disorientation that comes with confusion, then panic.  How easy doubt sets in and turns your instincts against you.

This is why they, like many, didn’t live to learn from their error.

Even a few feet into this passage, I could no longer see the light.  Not at all.  Thick pipes ran in orderly groups into the dark depths, railways of electrical input.  My path was carved around a cement pillar, going deeper.  My heart thudded harder against my ribs filling my head with a dull pulse of pain.  How deep did this go?  Would I be able to turn back if I lost my way?  I paused to listen in the crushing black, the total silence but for the thunder of my heart and my heavy breath.  I had my reservations for traveling deeper, I was terribly fucking lost running everywhere through the Asylums endless maze of halls, but this was fifteen times worse.  This was my grave.

I pressed on with no where else to look back on, I fortified my resolve to keep calm and find a way out.  There was nothing that could hurt me here, I could hear nothing, no shrieking, no pleas for mercy.  Dead silence.

The warmer air would’ve been a nice change of pace compared to the chilly asylum, but the reek of sludge and compost did not set me to ease.  Blood was, as always, my guide through this twisting nightmare.  Across the upper portion of the tunnel was a set of pipes, I had to stretch out and slip under them to get through.  It opened up a bit and I could stand, more pipes, for gas or water.

As I moved forward it looked like my path came to an end, but the earth shifted under my feet.  Looking down, I found a deep hole which I had nearly stumbled into.  I dropped down, making sure to evade the bricks on the one side.  The stench and heat was in full force at this point and I turned, locating where the bricks had been torn out of a wall.

The sewers beneath the asylum were huge, possibly to redirect the flow of water and alleviate erosion.  It wasn’t called Mount Massive for the jollies of it.  I glanced beyond the ruptured wall, crinkling my nose at the odor.  To my right was a light source, but my left was difficult to make out even with the NV.  Moisture in the air interfered with the feed.

Satisfied that the path was free of wavering figures, I sloshed into the filthy water of the drainage flow trying not to think about what might be floating in it.  The dark tunnel twisted around and after a few feet I could make out the collection of fallen boulders and earth.  A cave in, a weakness of some sort in the foundation.  This made me uneasy, the tunnels could be subjected to collapse while I was down here, especially with the heavy rainstorm currently hammering the mountain.  I didn’t bother to get closer should there be an opening I could squeeze through, it wasn’t worth it.

The lit tunnel offered two paths, I proceeded through the light, and presumably the path the patients had taken when they came down here.  At least I knew there must be a way out, unless they came down here and backtracked out.  I doubted that.  This was where the blood led me.

No matter how many times I repeated that phrase in my head, it always sounded wrong and insane.

A barricade for flotsam shed some perception on the water levels of these tunnels, if there was a good flood it could reach my hip.  I imagined the water was lower but even now the flow rolled over my ankles, I could only be thankful the water temper was tolerable or I’d succumb to hypothermia.  The barrier offered little trouble, but a sharp pain in my side.  Nice thing, I was growing accustomed to the jolts of pain.  Just had to avoid getting thrown out of windows, or kicked in the chest.

An intersecting tunnel came into view, but it was easy to decide which way from here with no detours.  My right was completely packed by another cave in, giving me some mild grief if that was my way out.  The ruble didn’t look fresh but I was no expert on collapses.

The right looked like another dead end from a distance, but as I moved closer I could see the small drainage tunnel in the shallow ditch was open.  A strong source of light soaked through a large grate overhead, offered by the upper floors perhaps, I couldn’t tell.  I stood off to the side of the gaping drain to look up, but the light from above was too bright to view past and make out its origins.  I thought I heard someone screaming, it could’ve been my imagination.  The echoing chatter of water spilled along the cobblestone bricks into the ditch below at a high frequency.

As I looked down, I thought I saw a body slumped by a grated drain.  It was a body, I crept in close to examine him through the NV feed.  He didn’t look like one of the patients that had come down earlier, a small relief.  He had been dead for some time, his pants and the lower area of his body had absorbed so much water he almost looked fluffy, but it was only skin dissolved and flaking away.  I didn’t need that thought on my mind, though I had already presumed I would find more bodies in the sewer, I didn’t need to see them immediately.  What a naïve hope that was.

Returning to my task at hand, I grimaced as I couched low and scooted along the water into the small tunnel.  The humid stench was overpowering and the cramped space of the drain had me nearly knelt in the foul water, but I managed to only submerge one knee as I felt along.  I tried to bury my face in my collar and hold the camera up so I could see where I was going and not put my knee into something unpleasant.  Blood was one thing, it was tolerable.

I tried to keep my hand along the ‘dryer’ side of the wall, where the tunnel sloped down but wasn’t in the water.  The cuts along the back of my leg stung like hell and I tried not to envision what sort of bacterial infections I’d come away with.  A piece of paper from something got caught on my foot, but I wouldn’t mess with that until I could stand.  The tunnel ended and I assured myself there was nothing here with me poised just beside the opening to lop my head off, before I shuffled out and stood.

Much of the same met me, no light and pipes suspended along the roof of the tunnel.  As I stared through the quivering visor I realized for the first time, I was shaken all over.  Not just mild tremors, I could literally not hold myself still as I inspected the open channel over.  I wasn’t cold, in fact a thin layer of sweat had spread under my coat causing it to stick against my shirt.

I was terrified.

Despite my small reprieve of isolation I was frightened, my nerves frayed.  Where was I going?  How did I get out of here?  What if there was no way out?  What if this was where I was meant to die?

Get ahold of yourself.  I stepped back and leaned beside the wall and touched the cool brick, feeling the vibrations of the Asylum against my palm.  Not gonna die here.  I would get out.  I would get out with the evidence and reveal this heinous mess to everyone.

I took a small breath through my mouth and stared at the long corridor ahead.  I wanted to believe that.  I wanted to make that the truth so bad.

The water sloshed over my shoes, and I flipped off the remains of that sheet of paper–

Something flittered into sight ahead.  I barely turned my camera up, night vision and everything I could see perfectly, and something glided by in the intersecting tunnel.  Looked black, like a shadow, but it was in direct light.  Was something there?

I took a few steps back to the tunnel and perched down, checking on my camera.  Features, playback, last five minutes.  I realized in reviewing the footage that I was breathing hard, I still was.  Didn’t care.

I paused the feed and stared at what was caught, it wasn’t very clear.  Just a black shape, it had passed in barely a second and looked almost transparent.  It wasn’t in the light as I had imagined, the NV had caught it in the dark of the intersecting tunnel.  Maybe it was a residual image, the camera had color mishaps since I flew out that window.  But…it looked suspended, a good six feet above the ground.

I took a deep breath through my mouth and exhaled.  Later I would review the evidence with better equipment, image quality enhancements.  And I’d make copies of everything.

First, I had to get out of here.  And the only route open to me was ahead, where that shadow was.

I exercised extreme caution as I proceeded forward, listening every few steps for sounds or stopping when I thought I heard something.  Carefully I picked my way along the tunnel with my eyes fixed ahead, the camera never picked up another image.

To my right where it must have gone, was a barricade or gap for high water levels.  I decided to avoid that path and check elsewhere, give whatever was there now a chance to clear out.

The left side extended a distance, all manner of trash was down here from dissolving files to cardboard boxes.  The path took a right path followed brick and on the left a drainage tunnel, grated up.  The path took a right and around the corner a light source, and possibly a way out.

I was disappointed to discover it wasn’t to be.  This was an exit, perhaps some time before, but the ladder set here was completely destroyed.  On the floor beneath lay the remains of a human, entrails, rotted limbs, and the ladder.  I attempted to lift it up but it was too short.  Even pushing some cardboard boxes over helped in no way, they were too soggy from sitting in the wet air.  The upper one cracked and folders scattered, patient letters.  I’m guessing Murkoff never sent these to the families, and probably forged return notes.  A few were stuffed into a file, which I took interest in

“"(Found scrawled in pencil on the back of an admittance form. Handwritting matches samples from patient “Father” MARTIN ARCHIMBAUD.)

This God is real. What we’ve mistaken so long for ghosts, spirits, madness. We were only willfully ignorant. The scales on Saul’s eyes were fear, and when you see beyond it, you truly see. This is the gift of the Walrider. The Gospel of Sand. The greatest sin in the world is willful ignorance of God. To receive a revelation and not spread it to the waiting flock. This place… To stand in the way of salvation is a sin for which there is no punishment too great’.”

For some reason this note caused goosebumps to crawl up my skin.  My mind brought back images of the MHS team, throttled and dragged away.  What had I seen?  What did Father Martin ask?  “Will you see?  Can you?”  I still didn’t understand, but I felt closer to understanding these mysteries through these sloppy scribbles.  Something about these words felt more than deranged delusions.  There was a truth.

I left the file and moved around the opposite side of the tunnel, lowering the camera where the lamps overhead still functioned casting deep yellow globs of light to spread over the moist stone.  Save batteries, live longer.

A soft tinkling…turned into an aggressive rattle as I passed under a large pipe.  I tried to find the source, but it sounded as though it were coming from within the pipe itself.  I raised my camera though there was nothing to record, but that sound was eerie, I could see nothing to generate that sort of sound.  Like pouring pellets into a bebe rifle.

I left that place and quickly returned to what must have been my route, where the shape had gone?  I don’t know at this point.  Peering through the tight gap I could make note of nothing threatening or otherwise, despite the distance I could tell there were areas where danger could lurk.  My progress so far had been quiet.

The barricade was tight, difficult even for me to get through.  I grunted as it rubbed on my bad side but I made it.  I’m sure there were hundreds of those down here.

The sewer opened up into another tunnel, a huge drainage gutter sat a few feet ahead with a grate over it.  To the right was a ladder swallowed up in a flood of murky water with a plaque reading Lower Junction

Fuck that.  I’m trying to get out of this place. 

A large pipe directed down into the lower area was clearly labeled ‘Female ward,’ and across from it an identical pipe with the faded words ‘Prison ward.’  More the reason not to go THAT way.  I continued to where some crates had been abandoned, probably filled with replacement parts or materials for the plumbing.  The asylum was nearly a city all in itself and required routine maintenance.

This made sense, they had a lot of people here on residence doing the experiments.  Probably the higher security clearance guys never went out on a sunny day, couldn’t risk them getting hurt or lost.

A loud thud echoed through the tunnel, I stopped near the crates and watched as a shape dropped down at the other end.  I stepped back and knelt behind them as he marched forward, struggling to breathe as he always did after the heavy exercise of killing.

The big ugly fucker just wouldn’t give it a rest!  What was his obsession?  Did he just follow me wherever he thought I was, or was it just chance?  Maybe he was following the patients, and somehow I was shepherd in with the flock.  Didn’t change matters, he was here now for whatever reason.  Damnit.

He moved towards the middle of the corridor and paused, glanced around as his breathing calmed.  Now that I saw him clearly in the light, I could make out details I hadn’t been able to pick out on when he threw me out a window.

No.  I will never let that go.

His face was indeed mutilated, by himself reports said.  I doubt he had sharp items while institutionalized.  Was it from the treatment he became so large?  Or just bad cardio, the guy ran like a horse.  The report also stated he had modified restraints to conform his massive size, and by modified they meant huge chains which he dragged around on his legs and arms.  The ones wrapped about his wrists appeared to have restricted his blood flow, I couldn’t tell from the distance if his hands still worked, they looked pale and skeletal.

Chris turned and began down a path on my right.  I listened to the sound of his chains as they grew soft and distant, with his heavy huffing.  At this point I wasn’t sure where to go, if I used my camera and zoomed, I could see to the end where he plopped down was grated.  One of the tunnels might lead somewhere, someplace where I could climb out of this sewer.  This option was more favorably than sitting here waiting for him to find me while I was indecisive about where to go.

I took hesitant steps forward, listening.  The sounds bounced around the walls, but I only heard the soft swish of water around my shoes.  He entered a tunnel further away on the left, as I moved it I could make out a dark entrance not far from my position on the right.

The tunnel was well lit, it set my nerves to ease but a coil of anxiousness knotted in my throat as I felt exposed.  I gave a small whimper unintentionally as I sprang over a flotsam guard when I twisted the wrong way, and I stopped to listen for a few seconds to assure the bug fucker hadn’t heard that.  As I resumed, the tunnel took a right into shadows and a cool draft, at the end I found a few planks of plywood and another grate drain.  And an open door brimming with light.

The room had little to offer.  Some shelves stacked with paints and boxes, a few batteries that I could use, lockers, and a large pipe with a valve labeled Prison drain

Apparently I was going into the Lower Junction. 

I shut the door behind me and griped the valve tightly and turned.  Or tried.  My arm ached and my ribs just couldn’t take it, a hot streak of pain pulsed in my side.  I stepped back and frowned at the valve.  Maybe I could trick Chris into turning it, or rig him up to it in some elaborate way.

Or I could stop being a pussy and turn that valve?

I took a few shallow breaths and steeled myself.  I was not halfway done with this place, and it wasn’t done with me.  If I was going to survive this, I would endure a lot more than some cheap shots and…

Crashing out a few windows.

I gripped the valve and braced myself, ignoring the throbbing or the red in my vision.  It would turn or so help me.

The valve gave in and wrenched.  I turned until it was all the way open, or what I presumed to be open.  I panted a bit as I turned and left the room.

Nothing.  That was nothing.  I could turn valves all day.  The pain would subside soon, and I could forget it in favor of more compelling matters.

In the dark tunnel I heard chains drag, and a voice mutter.  Two ways to spell dead.  Without a thought I pivoted and returned to the room, shutting the door behind me.  I stood waiting for a short while before I saw the knob twist.  My immediate instinct told me hide in the lockers, but the door was already opening and I was too far to get one open and stuff myself within.  I had already moved to the other side, where there was a large space behind the shelves where the light fell short.  I squatted in the furthest corner and watched as Chris entered.

He pushed the door open fully and stepped inside checking on the lockers.  Yes, they were very lovely.  He must not have known I was here, he didn’t bother opening a one.  Then, he turned looking at the shelves where I was hiding.  I held my breath and stared at him, directly at him.  I thought we made eye contact and my heart stopped, but the big fucker turned smoothly and left the room.

Even when I was certain he was well gone, I couldn’t move.  It felt like my body was frozen.  It took some effort but I managed to adjust my grip on the camera, then raise my arms and took a breath, then another.  I felt my mind begin to clear and the images replayed in my mind, Chris turning and his murky eyes dead on me.  In reflex I shut my own eyes and listened to the sounds of the sewer, soft hissing in pipes, water trickling down ancient mortar.  The tremors were back in full force, but I doubt they ever truly left me.  I only forgot they were there.

In some time I had coaxed myself enough to stand and move towards the open door, I wobbled on my feet and caught the frame before I could go charging out to make a thunderous descent on the slick plywood.

The dark was my only ally. 

I pushed myself off the doorframe and ventured into the tunnel, jumping at every little sound.  The drip of water was incessant, nerve wrecking.  I couldn’t see where he had gone from the opening of the tunnel, I stood waiting for some sign.  The idea that he might’ve left this area by some way was on my thoughts, but I knew better.  If he found a way out, I’d have a way out.  But he would exhaust his search first and that could take hours.

There were two large pipes leading into the lower junction, I already drained one.  The female drain was located on the left side of the tunnel, the pipe must’ve run that way.

While the coast was clear, I went ahead to the backside of the tunnel where the big fucker had initially entered from.  Maybe there was a way out I missed, a break in the grate.

Another dead end.  A dead guard, crumpled and broken, it looked like his legs had been twisted off and the only thing keeping them attached were his blood drenched pants.  I spun about when I picked up on the big fuckers approach, and ducked down behind the crates pressing myself into the edge where they met with the curved wall of the tunnel.  He was getting closer.

For a tense moment it sounded like he was right on the other side of the crate.  My only option was to hold still and pretend I wasn’t there.  The chains clinked as he moved and sniffed the air, I imagine this smell didn’t faze him a whole lot.  I was focused on the sleeve over my arm as I held perfectly still, studying the different colors and stains it had acquired.

“Scout the perimeter, then isolate the target.”

Eventually he continued on his way, his footfalls and muttering getting faint.  I waited a moment certain he took the left tunnel, towards the prison ward.  Of any tunnel, I just wanted to relocate and find a better vantage point.  Slowly I stood up, and there he was no more than fifteen feet away.

Chris bellowed something unintelligible and charged, sounded like “There you argh!”  I bolted, hitting the edge of the wall with my arm and skimmed off heading to the other side of the tunnel.  Had to find a place to hide, needed somewhere I can duck into.  He was screaming something after me, it was hard to tell between the splashing water and his dragging chains.

I vaulted over a drain guard and took a sharp left, into the dark.  No place to duck into, only a few alcoves that heightened my hopes only to crush them.  I slowed to toggle the NV and not drop the camera, he was nearly at my back when I picked up pace.  I nearly missed the sharp turn to the right, I stumbled when I stepped on a greasy cardboard box but managed to stay upright.  Ahead was light, revealing another cave in, but it looked like there was an opening I could squeeze through.  I wasn’t sure if this was a good idea, but standing around debating wouldn’t improve my health either.

The boulders and brick felt sturdy enough as I crammed myself between them, had to get deeper or the big fucker would drag me out.  Or rip my arm off in the process.

“Get out ‘ere!”  Chris was trying to dig me out as I crammed my body deeper.  He could topple the mound onto himself for all I cared.

As it was, I was nearly trapped in this alcove.  But with a firm shove I dislodged some rock at my feet and was able to slip down and crawl out.  It looked like the tunnel did continue down this way, but the cave in extended to that area and effectively blocked this path.

A bent door was lodged in the brick wall a few feet ahead, ripped off the lock by a force of science I didn’t wish to meet.  The plaque beside it read ‘Female drain.’  I pushed the door in and peered inside.  There wasn’t much to note, the room was small and there was no place to hide.  A shelf held a few of the paints, and a few boxes had been abandoned here.

I stepped across to the valve and braced myself before attempting to turn it.  I coughed a bit as my side tingled, but managed to get the handle to turn on my first try.  Small achievements were possible, now if I was able to get out of here.

I couldn’t hear him working to dig me out from the other side, or his heavy breathing.  He knew I was here and had no place else to go, it was likely he was camped on the other side waiting for me to emerge.  He was former military, he could afford to wait hours if necessary without losing focus.  If it came down to it, I could dodge him.  Or try, it worked but I had a sick feeling he’d remember that trick.

The rocks hadn’t shifted at all, I was able to get through with little effort.  I listened when nearly clear but picked up on nothing, only the constant drum of water running from the upper grates, and my own breathing.  The tunnel was large enough I could get around him if I timed it just right, but I didn’t care to test my reflexes against the big fuckers.  He was capable of nasty surprises, and the drain gutter was slick and unreliable.

I moved from the narrow space and took in a deep breath, then began to walk along the side of the drainage gutter where the water rolled down.  It was impossible to eliminate my movement completely, but I would hear him before he heard me.  I raised the camera for the night vision, but the power was getting low.  I paused on the corner checking for the clear before I pulled out the dead battery and put in a fresh one.

The sound of churning water caught up to me.  I didn’t pause as I quickly felt for the slot, and put in the battery before I turned to make a slow retreat.  There wouldn’t be time to crawl in the gap, especially once I hit the light.  I’d need to fake him out.  For a moment I thought I had gained some distance, the sound of his steps quieted.

Then I heard the rapid approach of chains.  “Little pig….”

I sprint the last stretch to my safety, but never made it.  A strangled yelp slipped from me as the back of my collar was snared, I clutched the camera to my stomach as he lifted me off my feet and flung me to the side of the channels drain. 

“Just lay there.”  He stepped over me as I was trying to recover.  Had to keep the camera out of the water, without it I was as good as dead!  I kicked at the slick bricks, I was dead anyway if he got his hands around my throat.  When I twisted my head to see where I was going, I spotted a missed tunnel that had a shattered grate.  A space Chris couldn’t fit.

I kicked at his ankles, throwing myself through the open passage.  Chris was still struggling to grip my shoes as I clambered inside thrashing in the shallow water until I was nearly soaked, but always making sure I was holding the camera away from the water.  I didn’t stop there, I flipped over and kept going when I saw that the other side was open as well.

With a roar of outrage, Chris stalked off, to head me off.  He had speed, I was severely limited as I struggled to move without knocking myself unconscious.

I cleared the other side and lunged to my feet, as I heard the water torn apart by his strides not far from my right.  I hurtled over the dam and ran, relying completely on the effectiveness of the pipes and the factor that they had finished draining.

“Outer perimeter breached!”  A crate flew by my head and shattered on the wall, I didn’t hesitate in my race.  Couldn’t dwell on the effectiveness of his aim either, I just needed to reach that ladder.  I shoved the camera into its hoister and practically dove down the ladder as the big fucker caught up to me.  “Don’t you hear it?”

I glanced up at his fuck grated face, in time to cringe against the ladder when he dropped a crate.  It crashed against the sides splinting in two, a piece hitting my shoulder but I barely felt it.  I continued down the ladder two and three steps, until I hit the bottom and stumbled away blindly in the dark.

Another crate fell smashing against the floor, the reverberation so close and sudden I felt my head spin.  I couldn’t see it until I had the NV active and took the time to give the soggy corridor a quick glance.  From the ladder I could still hear Chris, snarling at my escape.  I’m not sure why he didn’t pursue me, it didn’t seem impossible.  I gave up and accept these matters, and struggled to understand where I was now.

I took a few breathes, wincing at the stale sewage and raw metallic scent.  Not far from where I stood was another body of a patient, grotesquely bloated from being in the water for so long.  My stomach turned at the soured reek disturbed by the drainage.  This place just got better and better.

The heavy sounds of fresh drainage and falling water was tripled here.  In the pipes hung algae or liquefied rubbish, I couldn’t discern.  I only avoided it as I renewed my search, though it didn’t matter at this point, I was thoroughly soaked from my fall.  I suppose the red stains in my coat had either diluted or washed out completely, and yet I was more of a mess than before.  No surprise.

My path was literally straight forward, but I took it slow.  I could easily get turned around or something might’ve crawled down here.  I doubted it, as everything in here seemed to be in the advance stages of rot from the recent flood, but this place was full of unpleasant surprises that made you regret letting your guard down.

Much of them didn’t make any sense either.  I mulled over the thought of what this place might’ve been like if they didn’t use an asylum and crazy people for the experiments.

I took note of a thick pipe overhead which followed the same route open to me.  It didn’t have access through walls that had the small grated tunnels, but it gave me a direction.  I followed it around a sharp corner, and above was another bloated body, the skin around his bare arms slipping off his skeleton, without the water to cushion the buoyancy.  I made sure not to step directly under him, as I continued through the sewer.  A few crates bobbed in the water as I moved by, a few were marked with Murkoff’s faded logo.

More left over plywood, maybe used to board up areas down here where the scientist made their last stand.  Maybe a few of them came down here to shelter from the patients, but as of yet I had seen no evidence of this.  The wood gave me little trouble, stiff but soggy from its prolonged aquatic existence.  Above the pipe made a sharp turn and ended its path at a connecting pipe parallel with the wall.  I retreated as a sharp blast of hot steam shot out.  Damn pipes were now against me.

I skipped over another broken barrier of wood and boxes scattered in the drainage gutter, before finally coming to a ladder, and my escape.  Given, the big fucker hadn’t beaten me here somehow and was waiting above for me to poke my head out of the warren.  At least there was light above.

As I made my gradual progress up the tall ladder, I occasionally glanced up to my destination.  I tried to keep my steps soft, but someone had heard me.  They popped their head over the opening from above, curious to who was coming up.

I stopped debating what that might’ve been.  Too normal to be Chris Walker, but all patients were insane murders at this point.  A little slower I renewed my climb, unable to hear what the variant above might be planning.  It was likely he couldn’t see anyone down in the dark depths, but he did hear me.  He knew someone was coming.

I tightened my grip on the bars when I peered just over the edge, checking around as much as I could for the person.  I was relieved to find myself alone, but I thought I heard voices echoing in the distance.  Set to ease but still wary I climbed up onto the grate and kept low, I was certain they coming from somewhere….

“No.  I can hear it!”  There was a large grate in a tunnel to my left, that the voices echoed down.  Did they mean me? 

“Somebody—” 

“The Walrider!”  Guess not.  I pulled myself up a little more as shrieks splint the calm, I hung back as a sound came to me similar to crashing water, and a low rumbling.  Not rumbling, was it trickling?  Or a hissing, as something caught in the air and lashed out.  I winced as the howls began.

The voices intensified, as people somewhere shrieked with wild release.  I couldn’t place what I was hearing, a lifting swell of agony and terror as the multitude came to a crescendo, cracks and tears of bone and flesh and crushed windpipes catching voices midway through their final throes.  Somewhere, not far from where I was, people were slaughtered by something they had warned me about.

It couldn’t be.  The Walrider was a myth, it couldn’t exist.

Eventually the anguished cries fell silent, as did the sounds of what had enacted its punishment.

[ks-caster]

The Future is Infinite (Chapter 7)

Start || Previous

Chapter-specific warnings: Mild suicidal ideation

“Slow down,” the man who’d been introduced a few minutes ago as Nick Fury demanded, “and start from the beginning.” Octavia resisted the urge to scratch her still-healing burns as Natasha and T’Challa took turns catching the man up on what had been happening with Thanos. According to Bruce (after he’d bravely suppressed a gag at seeing the state of her body) she was healing up at a phenomenal rate, and should be back up to 100% by the end of tomorrow. 

She had taken that as an official release from medical, and had grit her teeth through a painful and ill-advised shower, pulled on another pair of soft pants and a shirt, and had wandered into the introduction and briefing of the former director of SHIELD. She figured it wouldn’t hurt to listen in, if only to get caught up on everyone’s names.

“Shortly thereafter,” Thor was jumping in, “Thanos attacked my ship, carrying the remainder of Asgard’s people as refugees. He slaughtered about half of our number; the other half escaped in pods. While Loki, Hulk and I held them off…”

According to both Wong and Tony, Strange was going to lose it when he woke up and found out that they’d prioritized saving his life over retrieving the time stone. Octavia’s mind replayed those moments over and over, trying to find another angle she could have swung her sword or a way she could have caught up with the fleeing wizard. While she didn’t regret the decision to choose the life of a comrade in arms over an inanimate object, she did know how bad of a thing it was for Thanos to have it. Particularly if the wizard Mordo could use it the same as Strange had.

“...While Wanda was trying to destroy it - we almost lost Vision,” Natasha continued. “If the ship from Phyra hadn’t shown up when it did…”

Steve had looked like he was going to either hug her or cry when he’d caught sight of her upon her return. She’d made a joke about Venus being too hot for a vacation, and when it fell flat, reminded him that the infinity stone made her able to heal. Eventually she’d managed to push off some of the attention on Peter, pointing out how he’d bravely saved her and Valkyrie at the last moment. 

Tony had alternated between worried scolding and beaming pride, and something about the way he and Steve no longer flinched at each other’s presences made her think that someone had forced them to come to an understanding. Maybe it was Shuri, she thought tiredly. She was just glad it hadn’t been her this time.

“And you must be Miss Blake,” the woman who had come with Fury addressed her, holding out a hand to shake. Octavia took it. “Maria Hill, former agent of SHIELD, current hero-wrangler with Stark Industries.”

“Octavia Blake,” she responded, “current human infinity stone.” 

“What abilities does it give you?” Fury asked, somehow managing to look like he was staring her down both with his eye and the patch on his left side.

“So far, I can survive having my ribcage crushed by a titan, and a walk on the surface of Venus; if someone touches me and I don’t want them to, they get thrown across the room” she listed tiredly. “And bonus, when I wish that the floor would open up and swallow me, it actually does.” She focused hard on staying where she was, not wanting to accidentally give a practical demonstration right then and there.

“So in general, not a combatant,” Fury summed up. Half the room raised hands and voices to correct him. Octavia smirked while Fury raised an eyebrow, first at the room at large, and then at her.

“Untrained, then,” Fury corrected himself. Octavia inclined her head, allowing that.

“You happen to have a course available at SHIELD?” she checked, half sarcastic, half wondering what resources they might have. “How to use your infinity stone in 10 days or less?”

“A course, no,” Fury shook his head. “But,” he added thoughtfully, “I do know someone with experience in that area.”

“Actually, so do I,” Rocket realized aloud. Everyone turned to look at him. “Well, not a lot of experience.” he backtracked quickly. “And he can’t do it anymore. But he did pretty good for himself at the time. And he needs something to do anyway.”

“My option is on the other side of the galaxy,” Fury shrugged. “It’ll take her some time to get here.”

“Mine’s holed up in his room down the hall,” Rocket responded.

-0-

Peter Quill was a horrible teacher. 

First, he had no idea what he was doing. His experience was limited to two days living on a planet that was also his biological father (she wasn’t 100% clear on the details there and wasn’t sure she wanted to be). While his ability to control his surroundings sounded a lot like the descriptions she’d gotten of the reality stone’s powers, he understood them about as much as she did - which wasn’t much. 

He also insisted on expressing himself in metaphors based on a culture that Octavia had no context for, and didn’t become at all discouraged by her blank looks and complete lack of understanding. 

“Once again,” she growled, “I don’t know what the force is, or how to use it, I’ve never heard of Krypton, my name isn’t Daniel-san, and I still don’t understand why the thing you want me to do with the power of the universe is bend a spoon.” She held the piece of cutlery up and waved it back and forth between her fingers, thinking that she could easily bend the metal with only her hands. Hardly a god-like feat.

“Look,” Quill growled right back, “the only time you’ve been able to use it is when you were emotional - you wanted to fall through the floor, you didn’t want the King Panther dude to touch you, you were upset and lashed out. Now when I had my powers, they were tied into my emotions too - you don’t fly the arrow with your head,” he choked off, and Octavia bit down on the inner corner of her lips to try to prevent a scowl.

“I don’t know that one either,” she sighed, but stopped there, noticing that he was tearing up. Rocket had warned that he wasn’t terribly stable - his girlfriend had been killed by Thanos hours before he’d landed on Earth. He’d also described the man as funny, irreverent, friendly, and kind of an idiot. A good friend.

Like Jasper, she thought, heart twisting as he tried to make another joke to smooth over whatever he’d been saying about arrows.

“So what you’re saying with all of this is I need to get emotional,” she summed up.

“Not exactly,” he sighed, rubbing a hand across his eyes, ostensibly in frustration, but clearly also to remove the evidence that he’d started crying. “According to Thor, when his ex had it, it protected her when she felt she was in danger. Now the times you described that you used it, you were in danger too - or thought you were. But you’re not in danger here in this room.”

“So I need to… recreate what I was feeling at the time that I used it to defend myself,” she summed up.

“Yes, exactly,” Quill exclaimed. Octavia could feel herself shrinking on the inside. That toxic combination of fear and despair wasn’t something she wanted to relive.

“And you’re absolutely sure that this is the only way?”

“I’m absolutely sure that this is the only way I know of,” he responded, flinging his arms wide, “since I was only a damn deity for about two days, and I’ve only had my hands on an infinity stone for about thirty seconds. And I barely survived both of those things.” He gave her a confused, awed, pitying look with which she was becoming familiar as the people of Terra-Earth learned the various things she’d survived.

“Something something evolutionary next step ,” she said, waving the spoon dismissively. Then she glared at the curved metal, willing it to bend - for the hundredth time that morning, but this time focusing on the fear and pain she’d been feeling when she ran from the medical wing. 

The spoon glinted defiantly at her, a perfect, smooth curve. 

She forced herself to go back into the darkest recesses of her head, tracing the thoughts lurking at the edges of her consciousness, threatening to flood in and consume her if she let her guard down.

Functionally immortal. She’d gone from comfortably courting death, knowing that her final rest was on its way and having faith in all the good that would do her people, to possibly never being released from this life. She’d never see Ethan again. Or Jasper. Or Lincoln. Or her mom. And her people would never truly be free of The Dark Year. The last of the human race wasn’t even the last - just an abandoned test colony. It had all been for nothing, she’d given up her soul for nothing… 

“-Tavia! Octavia, geez, stop! Stop!” Her eyes snapped to Quill’s wide, terrified ones. The spoon stood, perfect and unbothered by her inner turmoil.

“What?” she began to demand, irritated that this man would demand she tear herself apart with emotional pain only to interrupt her before it did any good.

“I think maybe your problem is less about power, and more about… aim,” he explained quietly, pointing off to the side. Turning her head first one way, then the other, Octavia found her eyes going just as wide as his had. 

The columns supporting the room’s roof had all bent down, doubling over in response to her command. She glanced up, noting the red mist holding up the ceiling, and then following the long tail streaming off of it to its source of Wanda Maximoff’s hand.

“Nice catch,” Quill thanked the woman as he stood and dusted bits of plaster off of himself.

Octavia exhaled slowly, making a concentrated effort to calm herself down.

She was accustomed to power. She was accustomed to scaring people.

She was not accustomed to being unable to control those things.

‘The sword doesn’t care what you meant,’ she remembered coldly admonishing Illian, lifetimes ago. ‘It just cuts.’ This power was far more destructive than a sword or a gun, and for the first time in her life, she wasn’t sure if she could stop herself.

“Hey,” Natasha greeted them from the doorway, and three heads swiveled in her direction. “Strange is awake.”

“Awesome,” Quill responded dryly, “he can take over as Mr. Miyagi.”

“About that,” the red-haired agent sighed. “There’s been a complication.”

-0-

“Mordo’s spell was intended to remove his magic at the source,” Wong was explaining as they arrived. “Thanks to Octavia’s timely intervention, he didn’t succeed, but the damage is extensive - and it seems to have reset his memories back to June, 2016.”

“Look, Mr… whatever your name was,” Strange was trying to growl, his hands shaking even more uncontrollably than usual as his voice cracked. “I don’t know who the hell you people are or how I got here, but if someone could quit talking about magical miracle bullshit for ten seconds and call a real hospital, that would be great.”

“I take it June 2016 is prior to him becoming the master wizard we all know and loathe?” Tony sighed, pressing a half-full glass of something brown to his temple.

“Right before,” Wong confirmed. “The last thing he remembers is going to look for Pangborn. We think that that since Mordo’s spell was meant to remove his magic, and said magic is obtained through study and practice, he had to suppress the relevant memories..” 

“What the hell kind of hospital allows this many visitors to pile in at once?” Strange grumbled. “What country is this? And who’s in charge here?”

“Well that’s an unfortunate twist,” Octavia sighed, scrubbing her hands down her face as Shuri introduced herself and started to talk about chemical memories and a bunch of other scientific stuff that the warrior didn’t pretend to understand. They were short one time stone, one wizard, and she still didn’t have a competent teacher. 

Fear froze through her at the familiar thought that she might be on her own in this, carrying a power she neither wanted nor fully understood, again. Was it too much to ask of the universe that she not be alone to carry such a burden? She squeezed her eyes shut, breathing deeply as Wong had instructed her to do when she felt her mind start to slip down that path. 

In, out, Strange’s voice was relieved as he began to realize that Shuri really actually did know what she was talking about.

In, out, this wasn’t her earth, there was no more bunker, no more Blodreina.

In, out, Tony and Steve were discussing how this would affect their plan in low, stressed voices.

In, out, she just needed someone who understood this, who knew what the hell they were doing, she needed she needed she needed she needed so hard that the universe was warping around that need.

She swallowed, clenching her fists against her forehead. Too much, too much power, too much need.

In, out, Rocket was quite vocal about how screwed they were now. Strange was quite vocal - and in a much higher register - about the fact that a raccoon was talking.

In, out, she could feel the power flowing through her, infinity crying out to infinity, the whole universe beneath the soles of her shoes and more, answering her call as it had every time she’d felt cornered and afraid so far. 

Her heart pounded, once, twice. 

Their hearts pounded, once, twice.

In, out, a green-skinned woman was waking up, breathing herself for the first time in a long time, blinking in confusion at the light coming in through Quill’s window as she threw back the curtains and stared at the city below, trying to get her bearings… 

“Octavia!” The hands on her were Wong’s and she realized that she could feel the stone’s power about to throw him off, and reined the impulse in with an iron will, the same as she had the impulses to murder and maim so many times when she was queen. She felt the power rising against her, but she opened her eyes, aiming her fist at the window and letting the burst of red power shatter it. Wong’s hands left her shoulders out of sensible caution - not because she’d hurt him. 

Progress.

“I think I’m getting the hang of this,” she commented blandly.

“So the light show and broken window were on purpose?” Rocket snorted.

“That window could withstand a missile blast,” one of the red-armored warriors who followed the princess around said, her eyebrows up. “If that was on purpose, I’d hate to see an accident.”

“Who the hell gave me LSD?” Strange choked.

“Some guy named Mordo,” Octavia responded flippantly, “I’m sure Wong can fill you in. Rocket, Nebula, with me please.” She turned and walked out of the room, knowing and not knowing where she was going all at once. She felt the stone singing beneath her skin, felt another pulling at her, felt a third pricking at the edge of her consciousness, wanting to wake...

“Uh, where are we going?” Rocket demanded, standing up from all-fours after he’d caught up. 

“Quill’s room I think,” Octavia responded, turning left and descending a flight of stairs.

“Why?” Nebula shot back, not trying to disguise the irritation and disgust in her tone. Octavia threw open the door to the guest hallway, and came face to face with the green woman, dressed in what were probably Quill’s spare clothes, holding two halves of a broken stand lamp like batons. For a long moment, no one spoke. No one moved. No one breathed.

The poles clattered to the floor as Nebula flung herself at her sister.

To Be Continued... 

[sohannabarberaesque]

Meanwhile, some random notes from the Winona Steamboat Days stop on the latest Hanna-Barbera Road Trip/Convocation ultimately concluding at the Moxie Festival in Lisbon, Maine:

Talk About Taking the Donuts: The legendary Bloedow's (say "BLAY-doughse") Bakery in Winona has long been famed for its cake and glazed donuts, as well as its maple-frosted long johns, the fact of which was not lost upon the Funtastic crew when Snagglepuss and Huckleberry Hound arranged for Bloedow's donuts and long johns to be brought over to a modest little reception center in a hole-in-the-wall storefront for the benefit of fellow Funtastics throughout. Not to mention plenty of coffee from the Acoustic Cafe, roasted and ground right there. Understood to be a particular fan of the donuts: Those Goofy Guards (Yippee, Yappee and Yahooey), as were especially impartial to the plain cake such.

So Much for Old Accordions Playing: Sis and Honey's legendary pop-up remote shortwave radio station saw some rather interesting broadcasting opportunities from the Winona Levee proper, even to the extent of parking on Cal Fremling Drive, practically next to the Mississippi River itself. Which certainly generated QSL e-mails galore, thanks to mild weather in particular fuelling decent shortwave reception; Friday night's worldcast in particular generated some 3,000 e-mail reception reports from as far afield as Argentina's Patagonian hinterlands, the shadow of Table Mountain outside Cape Town and "a rather seedy hotel" in Pattaya close to the night life quarter. (In fact, 38 countries were represented in the QSL count.)

Coffeehouse Crowds Tend to Be More Laid-Back Anyway: A particularly unusual challenge over Friday and Saturday nights of Steamboat Days saw The Banana Splits and the Cattanooga Cats performing in the two downtown coffeehouses of Winona, as in Blooming Grounds Coffee House and Acoustic Cafe, both nights--but they had to perform in one such one night and in its rival the other (i.e., the Splits performed the Acoustic and the Cats at Blooming Grounds on Friday night, with the reverse scenario Saturday), winner (based on total crowd generated on aggregate) to pay for an after-hours soup-and-sandwiches party for all the Funtastics there. By the time it was all over, even allowing for the intimacy of the venues and their relatively small sizes of stage and audience ... the Banana Splits barely won by but three in the crowd between the two appearences. A coin toss to decide the venue came out for the Acoustic, which wanted to get rid of some day-old bread anyway to begin with, not to mention some beef barley and chicken wild rice soup as well.

Misadventures of a Pancake Fiend: During the Merchants Bank Pancake Breakfast on Saturday morning, Peter Potamus and Big H from The King's crew were in close proximity to each other, and went into an impromptu wager to see who could eat the most pancakes ... and at any rate, The Original Hungry Hungry Hippo put down 15 cakes in toto, while Peter Potamus tore into 25. For which Big H, as loser, had to supply a case of bottled water to Peter Potamus' Magic Zeppelin--for which The King's crew chipped in enough to fulfill same.

He Couldn't Believe He Ate The WHOLE Bag!! With sheer disbelief, Doggie Daddy had to acknowledge that his buying a large bag of kettle corn for his son Augie to consume risked the likelihood of Augie getting a massive stomach ache from eating the contents of such rather substantial bags ... but was reassured by that ever-faithful Son of Sons that he actually shared the kettle corn with several carnival patrons in exchange for selfies and/or autographs. (Not to mention conversation with Sis and Honey over their mobile shortwave station, during which the hostesses tore into the kettle corn, with Honey acknowledging that it was "slightly gummy-feeling" even if it was basically a sugar glaze.)

The Parade Was Only The Beginning: As if the Skatebirds' trick skate routine scored to classic burlesque numbers didn't wow the crowds enough in Sunday's Grand Parade, they repeated the routine Sunday evening in Levee Park to what the local gazetta noted were "appreciative crowds" coming early ahead of the fireworks. Especially interesting was their scoring of Buddy Guy's classic "Night Train".

Staying With The Parade for the Nonce: In line with established practice at previous Character Convocations as included parade appearences, the Hair Bear Bunch eschewed the Invisible Motorcycle out of safety concerns and opted instead for walkabouts with the attendees. And in a show of sheer chivalry, the Bunch purchased bottled water for a number of attendees to stay hydrated in the face of borderline muggy conditions, as if selfie posing wasn't good enough. And during the Watkins Products entry in the parade, as involved a sampling run, Penelope Pitstop "herself" was presented with samples of Watkins body lotion, foot creme and deodorant--which, given her objections to testing on animals, "satisfied me rather well."

I Just Love The Feeling of Ta'i Chi in the Morning: Such must have been Hong Kong Phooey's mantra doing ta'i chi exercises in the early mornings in Lake Park, with Sugar Loaf in the background. Spike, his pet cat, ran the CD player for the accompanying music, generally traditional Chinese melodies. And even a brisk jog downtown wasn't too much for Number One Super Guy's psyche until a leg cramp set in Friday morning, prompting Spike to apply a hot pad onto the site of the cramp.

They're Not Called "Shine-and-Show" For Nothing: We understand Ruff and Reddy, during Saturday's downtown car show, couldn't help but laugh at a rusted-looking 1947 Studebaker pickup truck entered in competition. Nor could Droopy take his eyes off a Crosley Hotshot of about the same time period ... or even Speed Buggy's crew (Mark, Debbie and Tink) swap stories galore with several vintage car collectors so displaying, even if there was utter disbelief in their mentioning how they rebuilt Speed Buggy to use synthetic lubricants for the sake of improving engine performance. An attempt by the Hair Bear Bunch to enter their Invisible Motorcycle in competition was rejected by the judges, let alone the VW minibus rebuilt for them (as took a door prize, so to speak, of some car polish and a gas card).

Not Quite A Touch of Brooklyn, But Still--Top Cat's crew, in coming over from Hollywood, acknowledged looking for some "decent deli meats of the New York kind--you know, corned beef, pastrami, smoked ham, that sort of schtick," as TC was quoted as saying. Which they were able to find at the local Hy-Vee supermarket, along with some Jewish rye bread in the classic deli style and some multi-grain bread from the in-store bakery. (In an early-Friday morning interview over Sis and Honey's mobile shortwave station, Choo-Choo admitted that finding decent delicatessen "may not be easy in our travels, yet still, you don't want that pale Buddig or Land O'Frost nonsense." To which Brain added, "I have to agree there; anything less than real deli isn't deli.")

Meanwhile, Among The Food Trucks: After the Beer Tent closed for the night at bar close time, Kwicky Koala's take on same, with Australian meat pies and sausage rolls, may have been something of a novelty in the face of the established tacos, gyros, bratwurst and smoked sausage. But there were several who, unable to stand the same old tacos, tried the meat pies to see if they were any good ... and, by my understanding, were impressed. And appearing in the Sinclair Park concessions area during Sunday's parade, it was obvious that novelty value mattered more than offering something decent; Kwicky K "himself" ran out of pies by the time the first marching band appeared in the parade. (The verdict, understandably, was that such were unlike all the Swanson or Banquet pot pies they had been accustomed to, especially with the lighter crust and richer fillings.)  

[rgr-pop]

i unfortunately (due to, am broke) am going to be in the market for some new powders in a few months! powders are cool because i use them up--amazing, the panners were right. so here is a post on my powder usage. (for newer followers interested in makeup talk: i do not wear foundation but i do conceal pretty much every time i go out, i have only mild dark circles with significant variation on account of i sleep only sometimes, and okay-to-normal dry skin that is finicky and about which i am reasonably self conscious. i’m a dry in a dry land.)

i cannot say i have ever purchased a setting or finishing powder in my life, and it has only been a year or a year and a half since i have been using either regularly. powders made their way into my daily life because youtube rotted my brain about how much i have to do to my skin, but it’s interesting because my increase in powder use coincided with a sea change on youtube (at least among the marginally-hip youthful medium hurus, who i follow a lot of), a move against powders in favor of dewier low-coverage looks that wear away naturally. i have not found that powder usage impedes these qualities in my own makeup use, and while i respect the techniques of these hurus (and implement many of them) i characterize this as one of many subtly homophobic beautube backlashes going on right now. i do not necessarily find that powder intensifies the condition or appearance of dryness, and i do not experience cakiness. i am, like everyone under the influence of the huru brain worm, at least a moderate user of oil or glycerin based “setting” sprays. i like the versatility of powdering, and i find powder particularly useful for keeping my watery eyeballs from ruining my whole face. i do not do anything difficult or strenuous ever, but i do expect the upper half of my face to hold its makeup for the duration of whatever it is that i wear it for, and i always find that my makeup looks okay (slightly smudged and faded but acceptable) at ten or twelve hours. this is one benefit of not wearing foundation.

here is an overview of the powders i have had and what i’m looking for:

tarte’s “smooth operator” amazonian clay pressed setting powder. i have had this for years. is it a mini, or just small? where did it come from? i think free with something, years ago. can i tell you what kind of good skin privilege i had? when i got this--YEARS ago, five years ago??--i wasn’t precisely sure what to do with a “setting powder.” i was very makeup literate about everything except for doing things to your skin, because i never did anything to my skin, either because it was  perfect or our culture was less hellish (a little of both). it is just lucky that i ended up purchasing the concealer that is supposed to go with this item that i had acquired for free. they work beautifully together and used wisely i never experience anything like creasing, cakiness, migration, transfer of eye makeup including mascara. not ever, nothing like this. this concerns me, i am worried that i have gone and gotten myself reliant on an expensive powder. and it turns out that high end powders are expensive! (the concealer, which i cannot imagine using up in two years, is $26 and i got it during the sale, the powder, which i would imagine would last me the same amount of time, is $35). as a non-foundation wearer with skincare literacy (no offense rich girls who buy vitamin c), i am not accustomed to spending that kind of money on a “practical” item, only fun color cosmetics, or perfume, either of which would last me typically my entire life. lipsticks, blushes, highlighters, maybe a palette, etc. i would be tempted to buy this powder again, however the drive to educate myself on the world of powder is telling me not to! so i will not.

a loose silica hd powder from modelco or city colour or jcat or something, i am not going upstairs to check. i am not going to use this item up anytime soon, but i do like having it on hand. it came in a subscription service back when i did those. i do not believe that just a silica hd powder is the kind of product you need to invest a lot of money in, flashback or no. i am not precise enough in application to use this powder on my undereyes--i tend to sweep it into my eye wrinkles and then i get eye crease flashback in mood or retail lighting (the only kind of atmospheres i am ever in). i am unsure whether i would have this issue (being unable to get away with imprecise dusting) with other loose powders for the undereye, and i’m curious to confront this problem! i can lightly pat and then lazily dust around my eyes with a pressed powder because it is not as airborne. but is this lightness a problem with all loose powders, or just the cloudy silica ones? unsure. i’m overall not worried about facial flashback if i were to set my cheeks or something with this, because my skin is already quite literally flashback colored, so who cares. but there is nothing elegant about this kind of product and i do not need it.

this pressed color correcting powder palette from elf. wow i have had a journey with this item, which i have had for years! i got this because lucas s*******ed it for me one year. he would always choose the weirdest things! he is still like that. i had no idea what to do with this--and i still wonder about such a product. for a long time i believed pretty strongly that your color correcting product should be your cream base product, combined with a translucent or skin toned powder. but the yellow and green in here have been very useful to me, once i figured out what to do with them, so i was wrong. the yellow is an adequate undereye powder when my purple is more pronounced and i’m using a less-yellow or low-coverage undereye concealer, such as today! i really am a believer in the low-coverage but quite-yellow undereye for me (color correction instead of coverage), but with this powder it is easy to go overboard and become noticeably yellow, so i have to use restraint. i would be interested in trying a pale yellow pressed powder from the drugstore to replace this one--i will not buy this product because i have never used the blue or the pink. (when yellow and green are used up, i will probably mix them together and try them as a spot setting powder, given that my natural tone is “pink and blue” anyway.) i think i will probably buy something like this essence banana powder--people say they love essence powders. it may be a little warmer than what i’d prefer but for the price it would be worth it. there is also a banana powder backlash on the wind that i disagree with! overall a color correcting backlash that i find misguided and racially concerning! anyway, it’s the green in this elf product that i have loved. i heavily conceal my jawline with concealers that fix + powders, to cover redness that is just the color that i am there, and to lock it in place because i touch my face a lot. i like this area kinda blanked out to heighten the impact of blush. i do a similar thing to my upper lip area when it is all inflamed, as it has been. a pale green powder is very good for this and i would like to buy another one--cheap is fine because i do not need any kind of elegance here, as long as it is pale. this looks just perfect and if it is that price in store i will pick it up soon. i also like to use green-leaning pale concealers for this purpose, but that is another topic for another time!

the bare minerals mineral veil, i think it was. i had a couple of minis of this that had been my mother’s, and i finally used them all up, as finishing powders. this was just okay, but i am VERY into finishing powder techniques for my personal face, somewhat like this. i am very interested in using a probably-too-illuminating powder all over my entire face. perhaps even to set my undereyes, like jaclyn hill does with lancome absolue peche. people still call her insane for doing it but i think she is brave and can i tell you how badly i want that powder?? badly. the unfortunate thing is: what i need is a luxury--like, not even high end, luxury--finishing powder; and loose powders get used up so quickly... like, i cannot even allow myself to try the hourglass loose setting powders because i know i will love them and they will own me for life. but when you look at it like that, maybe i should finally get my dumb ass the ambient lighting powders? i would absolutely set my undereyes with them like a fucking despot vampire king. it would really work for me. so yes i definitely need to get my hands on absolue peche and figure out which ambient lighting powder i’d need :[.

okay! so what’s the deal about loose vs pressed powders? like i said, a lot of the hurus are going powderless now just as i’m getting serious about subtle powdering, but even other huru/muas i usually take advice from are swearing by loose powders when i’m into pressed powder! what’s the truth? what is good? powder me

[yogaadvise]

10 Meditation Tips for Ambitious People

Ambition is a splendid trait to have! Ambitious individuals can spruce up an area with their resolution and also excitement. They are normally the ones who motivate others to remain on job and also see completion objective as a certainty. Here's the important things that go-getters typically neglect though: their individual down time and self-care when it pertains to health and wellness, relaxation, and sleep.

It's easy for goal-driven individuals to get swallowed up in the project at hand. This is easy to understand and much of the factor they so usually do well. There is a specific loosen up time that is not just great for you, however likewise good for your objectives: meditation.

You might be assuming you do not have time to sit around as well as meditate or you can't turn off your ideas. The truth is, you do have time-- if you select to make the moment. A reflection technique doesn't need to take a lot of time. Actually, there are some easy means for you to include it right into your active life, no zen room needed.

1. Desk Time

More than likely, you spend a considerable quantity of time at a workdesk. Whether researching, emailing, or invoicing, today's world of work calls for a great deal of tech time. Resting for extended periods can be harsh on your body-- all the tabs as well as jobs can bewilder the mind. Taking a psychological break for five to 10 minutes for a brief reflection can really be productive to the present goal. You will reboot with a more kicked back mind, less tension in the body, and potentially a surprise toward the mission.

Here's how to do it:

Put your computer on rest mode.

Set a timer for five to 10 minutes.

Find your most comfortable placement in the chair.

Allow your arms to loosen up and revolve your neck down as well as about, rolling the anxiety away.

Think quietly to yourself affirmations such as "I achieve success", "I am effective", "I am healthy", "I am a leader." Choose any kind of sentence you would certainly such as and repeat it gradually. After each rep, boost the moment prior to starting the sentence again. If another thought enters your mind, simply observe it, and begin your picked affirmation again.

As you duplicate the affirmations, spend some time to extend in or out of your chair. You can see some chair yoga positions here. Do not concentrate on a complete chair yoga exercise routine, simply a pair suggestions each day.

2. Road Warrior

You're called a warrior for a factor. You have actually combated web traffic, roadway rage, weather condition, lengthy hrs, punctures, and also break downs. The concern is: Were you educated for this? Possibly not. You were educated the fundamentals of driving, yet there is a whole lot more to deal with that how well you handle the wheel. Meditation can be a tremendous aid in battling everything:

Pull off the road.

Turn off the radio.

Hear that? That's your breath that you may not have heard for a few hours now.

Take a couple of mins to breath in and also out your mouth gradually, with objective of filling your lungs. Listen to the sounds of your personal life force.

Before taking off once more, remind yourself that no issue the situation, you are secure. Frequently you end up being quick-tempered with the length of time it can require to obtain from factor A to B. Relax and also remember the amount of more goals can be met when you're unhurt.

3. Team Time

Introducing as well as urging your coworkers to practice meditation as well is effective for every person. Reflection is crucial to the manifestation procedure. If you are all meditating, think of just how much faster and also smoother it will be to reach each objective marker. Your team will certainly be much more patient with themselves, each various other, as well as clients. They will certainly construct an user-friendly process that can aid lower mistakes, rise efficiency, and also provide a much deeper understanding to challenges. This is certainly a win-win for each individual and the team.

Provide them with this write-up, show to them how it is affecting your life, and be a "pointer system" once in a while too. If a coworker states, "hey, did you meditate yesterday?" it aids maintain each other on track.

4.  Visualizing

What is the end goal? Can you see it? Many ambitious people have fantastic vision. Take that into your meditation method. This will certainly aid you manifest the result while you do something fantastic for your health and wellness. This action is extremely simple:

Sit in silence or with songs on a reduced volume.

Close your eyes.

Build the vision in your mind like an art piece, one item at a time.

Enjoy the sight for a couple of minutes. If arbitrary thoughts develop, you may repeat among the affirmations covered above.

If you like to draw, take this step to one more degree as well as draw your vision, which is additionally a form of meditation.

5.  Lunch on the Lawn

Any possibility that you have on your lunch break to obtain outside, take it! Did you know you can practice meditation with your eyes open? After your meal, rest for five mins-- this benefits the digestive tract as well as your mind:

Set your eyes on something in sight: a bird, a tree, or a couple delighting in a date.

Look with intent, making use of the exact same precision you utilize when reading each word thoroughly on a crucial email or spreadsheet. Other than currently, you are in the moment-- your mind is really where you are instead of back at the workplace or running via the manuscript of the next conference. What is occurring right in front of you?

Notice your breath and also the peace of your body as you appreciate this real-life, present moment.

6.  Indoor Elements

All humans enjoy the components. Fire, water, planet, space, and wind just make your soul pleased. Which one is your fave? Beginning there and also bring it right into the office! Do you love fire? You don't need to wait to enjoy it until you most likely to your friend's bonfire evening. There are several, low-cost methods to have a fire, flowing water, or visions of room in your office.

Choose your favorite element to produce inside.

Stop for five to 10 minutes a few times a week to just observe your production. Enjoy each flicker of light or stream of water.

Use different affirmations for each component as you see. Fire may be an improvement declaration as water may be nurturing or cleansing.

7.  Chakra Power

Goals call for greater than just difficult job. Energy behind the work can be more crucial than the quantity of hrs. Our intents and daily techniques of maintaining a greater resonance is the real work. Once this becomes a day-to-day routine, you will certainly observe objectives showing up with even more efficiency.

If you are not accustomed to what a chakra is, read about it here. When overcoming all chakras, begin near the bottom and also function your method up. You might likewise target specific chakras if you're aiming to obtain the take advantage of that area or increase its activity. There are numerous aspects to chakras, but this short article will certainly remain focused on using them for objectives:

Root (Muladhara) Chakra lies at the base of the spine. This chakra is your foundation. You can not construct an empire without a solid structure? This power facility is in charge of your sense of sensation secure, grounded, and stable. When out of balance, you might attempt to manifest from a survival setting subconsciously. A reflection for this area can be done by regarding to the very lower of your spinal column with eyes closed. Picture the shade red as well as imagine your spine connecting to the earth like tree origins. A concept for this location can be, "I am a survivor" or "I am secure."

Sacral (Svadhisthana) Chakra lies 2 inches below your stubborn belly switch. Below is where your creativity comes from, an essential facet while aiming for destination. Maybe you need some innovative brand-new advertising ideas-- this would be your go-to chakra. Shade right here is orange. You will do the exact same meditation technique just like the origin, but utilize the concept of affirmation of something like, "My suggestions are special as well as acquire the interest that is required."

Solar Plexus (Manipura) Chakra lies two inches above the stubborn belly switch. Right here is where your personal power, confidence and real sense of self-respect emerges. If this chakra runs out balance, you tend to second-guess yourself, hold your head a little less high, as well as overthink the small points. The shade is yellow as well as a great rule would certainly be, "I am powerful by the divine method" "Nerve is my nature" or "Toughness concerns me easily."

Heart (Anahata) Chakra is located in the facility of the breast and the color is environment-friendly. Normally, this chakra is in fee of love, feelings, as well as feelings-- something that is usually rejected as well as castaway in the organisation world. As previous generations were told, it's weak to show feeling. The world may be transforming, yet the programming can still exist. You may feel it is much better to have a "more challenging" exterior at work. This can take its toll on your mind, body, spirit, goal outcomes, physical health and wellness, and also connection to other humans as a whole. Remember, you can be solid, yet caring, reasonable, yet mild. Utilize this mantra: "Real love is constantly the ideal path."

Throat (Vishuddha) Chakra is located in the throat with the shade blue. As an individual with an enthusiastic drive, communication of what you require, desire, and also picture are important aspects of that you are. It's essential to keep in mind that everyone refines words as well as life from their very own perspective. Your sentence may indicate one thing to you, but something totally various to an employee. Focusing in this field will assist with communication to make sure that all recognize plainly, allowing the world to talk via you. A great mantra for below is something like, "All ears hear me with comprehension."

Third Eye (Ajna) Chakra is situated in between the eyebrows with a color of indigo. This chakra is your intuition-- that suspicion is first processed in this field of the mind. If you do not give this location interest on a regular basis, you may begin to permit your questions as well as subconscious to move in, thinking they recognize far better. The intuition is constantly appropriate. This is your personal GPS system to any kind of and also all indications, security, as well as alignment. An excellent rule for the ajna is "I obtain messages clearly, with a reasonable difference of my thoughts versus the presents of my higher self."

Crown (Manipura) Chakra is located above the head with a color purple, often additionally shown as just intense light. This chakra is not only a link to your greater self, but likewise the feeling as well as awareness that you are linked to all things. When you procedure from this location, you aim to develop a globe better for all things on this planet. From people, plants, animals, water, air, and also area, you understand that what you do to one, you do to all. Your objectives and also passions, regardless of how excellent or little, automatically supply a greater vibration for every single creature now as well as to come. In some cases it may really feel as though your dedication to whatever it is you do goes unappreciated. Via regarding to this chakra, you can feel that those around you do not require to see or recognize your initiatives because you can notice numerous that do.

8. Becoming a Vessel

You may have listened to the claiming, "you can not pour from an empty vessel." Numerous enthusiastic people focus so extremely on the goal before them they neglect to refill. This can be dealt with a basic reflection. Whatever it is you feel you need even more of, allow deep space to supply:

Close your eyes and also envision the top of your head like a battery and also a battery charger. Use an aesthetic overview of when you plug in your phone and see the juice begin climbing to the top.

The universe is your power, healing, and also resource of "juice" for all you need.

Repeat a rule right here like "I am ______" (whatever you are wanting to get).

9. Phone Games

Phone games can give a kind of meditation. They need your attention, the rating is unimportant, and also fear or stress and anxiety appear to escape with all the fun. Allow on your own to play a game in times of long term waiting-- at a medical professional's consultation, waiting on the bus, or while children go to soccer practice. Bear in mind having enjoyable is being efficient, too.

10. Guided Meditation

Guided meditations are enjoyable, unique as well as provide endless opportunities. Examine your area for real-time directed meditation occasions or utilize the many possibilities on the internet with apps, YouTube, and also SoundCloud. Several wonderful reflection instructors are available to assist be your voice to make sure that you can simply pay attention and also choose the flow.

As you begin this journey, remember to take your time, experiment with each technique, and see what you like one of the most. Maintain your fave for your basic method as well as miss around when various locations need your focus and also objective. This is all regarding what you desire, there are no regulations to the number of variations you can develop. The top idea is do a minimum of one meditation each day. If you intend to enhance to more times each day later on, that's wonderful, too.

As a person that aspires, it is essential to maintain your focus as well as health intact. If you feel you don't have time, ask yourself: Would certainly I rather take a couple of mins a day to meditate or take weeks dealing with a mistake or recovering from a disease? Meditation has actually been proven time after time to give so much of what we want. Beginning the trip today and also gain the benefits.

Learn how to allow go of battle and also locate minutes of peace within your active life at I am Infinite Possibilities, our unique event led by Deepak Chopra. Learn More.

[indigoforiver]

I wrote a fic for @garashirweek day 7 (AUs)! You can find it here on ao3, or read down below! Apologies in advance for the uh liberties I’ve taken with canon, but it had to be done for the human AU to work.

Title: Anyone Who Knew Anything

Rating: Gen

Summary: Anyone who was at all familiar with Fontaine’s Cafe recognized Doctor Julian Bashir and his lunch companion, Mr. Elim Garak- their regular literature debates are the main draw of business to Fontaine’s over the middle of the day. The hidden truths of their relationship, too, are well-known to those who watch them.

i. a most interesting new friend

Though he’d only been practicing medicine in the area for four months, anyone who knew anything about Fontaine’s Cafe recognized Doctor Julian Bashir. He came in for lunch there nearly every day of the week, unless a pressing medical emergency barred him, and everyone had the dubious pleasure of talking with him at least once. The man was gregarious, with a sunny smile and awkward charm, but he was plagued by an inability to ever, ever shut up that was amusing at best and mildly abrasive at worst. Despite that, Dr. Bashir was cautiously well-liked by Fontaine’s lunch crowd. That was why, when Elim Garak stepped into the cafe, glanced around briefly, and then made a beeline for the doctor, a startled and rather concerned hush fell over all assembled.

Anyone who knew anything about Fontaine’s also knew of Elim Garak. He was a tailor, owned a shop across the road, and his wares were top-notch. But nobody trusted him. His movements were just a little too smooth and his mind was a little too clever for him to just be a tailor like he always insisted, and conversation with him felt like a battle that he always won. Rumor had it the man was from Cardassia, though his accent would never give it away, and if you caught the barkeep at just the right time she’d tell you that rumor also had it that he couldn’t go back. Everyone in the know gave him a wide berth, just in case, though nobody had bothered to warn the doctor to do the same. Sometimes talking to the doctor was difficult, as politeness seemed to fly completely over his head, and nobody wanted to be caught gossiping about the tailor, just in case. Garak never visited Fontaine’s during the lunch hour, anyway, so why bother?

The restaurant watched, near silent, as the tailor approached the doctor. On his part, Bashir was completely unaware, engrossed in a massive old book with a faded cover that nobody in Fontaine’s could recognize from a hole in the wall. The doctor’s literature habit was the only thing that could ever get him to stop talking, and the lunch crowd usually was grateful to see the doctor arrive with a book tucked under his arm. His favorites weren’t always in the mood for conversation, but saying no to him was difficult. “Like kicking a puppy,” everyone agreed.

Garak stopped next to the doctor’s table and stared down at him. He seemed to have forgotten his food in favor of reading- Bashir’s customary sandwich, ham and cheddar on wheat, sat on a plate pushed off to the side with only one bite missing, and his glass of iced tea was untouched and sweating condensation across the table.

He read on, oblivious, and Garak quirked a brow. “Excuse me,” he said, mild, and the doctor damn near jumped out of his skin.

All around the restaurant, patrons stifled their amusement as the doctor blinked in confusion and swung his gaze around to Garak, whose smirk could be mistaken for a smile. “Oh dear me. I do hope I’m not disturbing you overmuch.”

The doctor searched uselessly for something to say and, after a long moment of opening and closing his mouth, gave up. It was the first time anyone in Fontaine’s had ever seen him lost for words.

“I couldn’t help but notice,” the tailor continued, politely ignoring the doctor’s floundering, “that you enjoy classic literature, much like myself.” Then he paused for a moment and gasped, eyes comically wide. “Where are my manners? I am-”

“Mr. Garak,” Dr. Bashir interrupted, eager to finally get a word in. “I’ve heard of you- your clothes are quite good, if anyone trusts you enough to step foot in your shop.”

Sharp inhales and murmurs of dismay echoed around the restaurant, though nobody groaned louder at the tactless statement than the doctor himself. He slapped a hand over his mouth and shook his head, immediately apologetic, and everyone could see him flushing behind his hands. Luckily, the tailor didn’t appear to be offended, as he simply chuckled and took a seat in the chair across the table from the doctor. The contrast between them was striking- the doctor, wearing rumpled scrubs and sprawled over his chair, and the prim and proper tailor, sitting neatly upright.

“I see my reputation precedes me. But I am a simple tailor, nothing more.” Then Garak gestured to the book that sat open on the table. “Tell me, doctor, what is your opinion of the narrator’s preference for the color blue?”

Dr. Bashir, and indeed everyone in Fontaine’s, blinked in confusion. But the doctor rallied, rambling for nearly five minutes about the book that nobody else in the restaurant had ever heard of.

Then Garak raised a brow and demolished the doctor’s analysis in three neat sentences.

The doctor’s jaw dropped, face the absolute image of outrage. “Now you see here, Mr. Garak!” he protested, and they spent the next three quarters of an hour embroiled in a passionate argument over the book on the table as the rest of the cafe looked on in a potent mixture of abject confusion and extreme interest. The two of them left together, still bickering, and as soon as the doors swung shut behind them the restaurant burst into a flurry of conversation.

ii. waiting games

Before anyone knew it, the doctor and the tailor had established a pattern. Once a week they met for lunch and discussed literature, though their discussions really were mostly arguments. The rest of the usual crowd at Fontaine’s established a pattern too- one of observation. Something in the tailor seemed to loosen, just a little, when he was with the doctor, and somehow the doctor’s roughest edges were blunted by the tailor. They sat at their favorite table, in the warm glow of the sun, and argued, blind to the watchful eyes and ears of the restaurant. Occasionally Bashir was detained by his patients and arrived late or not at all, interrupting his own routine, and the tailor’s analysis was particularly cutting those days, displeasure plain to those accustomed to looking.

Rumors spread, like always, but nobody knew anything conclusive. Despite the emotions that flitted constantly across the doctor’s face, he was remarkably difficult to read properly, and it seemed nobody but the doctor himself could even begin to comprehend Mr. Garak.

Someone suggested that maybe that was evidence enough, but he was quickly shushed by the rest of the lunch crowd. They would all know it when they saw it, but not a second before then.

iii. sunshine

Dr. Bashir was a perpetual optimist, always seeing the best in characters and their motives and arguing doggedly for happy, or at least hopeful, endings. Mr. Garak, by contrast, was only ever able to see gloom and doom in the novels he and his lunch companion read.

“My dear doctor,” he would say, and the barkeep would add a mark to the official tally. “You are entirely too generous.”

“My dear Mr. Garak,” Bashir would rebut, smile shining in the summer sun, and up crept the tally again. “You’re far too much a miser. But don’t worry- I can change that.”

iv. close encounters

“I must confess,” said Garak, like the words were being pulled from him beyond his control, “I find myself agreeing- this tale does, indeed, end well for the leading lady and her suitor.”

Bashir beamed and reached across the table for Garak’s hand, and to everyone’s shock, the tailor actually allowed it.

v. shadows

The next week, Garak waited nearly three hours for Bashir to arrive, and the furrow between his brows grew deeper and deeper as each minute passed. The light of the sun, which usually fell evenly over their regular table, had completely abandoned Garak by the time he gave up and stormed back to his tailoring shop.

He left his book behind.

vi. dashed

The barkeep scooped up the book for safekeeping in the lost and found behind the bar. Curious, she flipped through the novel, just to see if she could understand or even enjoy the dense literature the doctor and tailor argued over so passionately.

“Oh no,” she breathed. Page after page was annotated in Garak’s spidery hand, pointing out symbols of hope. The final annotation, a particularly long paragraph at the end of the last page of the novel, was scribbled out with dark black ink, as if it had personally offended the tailor with its mere existence, and the barkeep couldn’t help but wonder at the dashed possibilities.

vii. do no harm

Rumor at Fontaine’s had it that Dr. Bashir had lost a patient that day, and that was what kept him from meeting Garak. The barkeep shook her head sadly. When questioned why, she said, “He may have lost far more than that.”

viii. a matter of time

It was a long, long time before either the doctor or the tailor came back to the restaurant.

Fortunately for business, and for each other, they did come back. Eventually.

ix. last call

The lunch crowd had to grudgingly admit they liked Doctor Bashir more than anticipated when his presence during the midday meal was actually missed. Fontaine’s seemed too empty and quiet without the doctor’s perpetual babbling, and of course, some of the appeal of lunch was gone now that his arguments with the tailor had ceased. Everyone was worried about him, and none moreso than the doctor’s favorites. Gradually, slowly, they hatched a plan to coax the man back.

When Bashir returned to Fontaine’s, it was nighttime, and for the first time in the restaurant’s memory, the man wasn’t wearing scrubs or a white doctor’s coat. His off-duty clothes were well-worn and several years out of style, and the brittle expression on his usually smiling face didn’t vanish until he’d played three rounds of darts and drank two brightly-colored cocktails. Even then, everyone could tell that his good mood wouldn’t last. When his favorites- his friends- eventually had to return home to their families and happiness, the doctor remained behind until last call, sitting beneath a flickering hanging light at the bar with his head in his hands.

x. bashir, alone

After that, the doctor drifted back to lunches, like his presence in Fontaine’s was inevitable. Nobody dared ask about the tailor, for risk of offending him or upsetting him, and he was quieter and more rumpled than usual, sad lines worn around the corners of his mouth when he thought nobody was looking and a wistful quality to his voice in quieter moments. He begun haunting a different table, hidden away out of sight from where he used to sit with Garak, but his new corner seat was still illuminated by the sun.

xi. concerning garak

The restaurant had been able to convince Bashir to return, but they couldn’t say the same for Mr. Garak. Nobody even knew if the tailor was still in town until the barkeep bravely ventured to the man’s shop and caught sight of him sewing in front of a window. He wasn’t trusted, not really, but his friendship with the doctor had improved his standing with the lunch crowd enough that even his harshest critics couldn’t help but feel a bit sorry for him. After all, Bashir had been the man’s only friend, and if he really was an exile, as rumor suggested, then he’d lost everything a second time. So when he finally emerged from hiding and came to Fontaine’s one midmorning, ordering a tea drink no one remembered him ordering before, well, was it any surprise that everyone had something to say about it? It was eventually agreed that Garak came back more polished, sharper than he’d ever been, dark hair slicked back and pale blue eyes filled with vicious mockery whenever anyone so much as thought of approaching him, and he gave lunch and therefore Doctor Bashir a wide berth. But Bashir kept odd hours, and avoiding lunch was no real guarantee of also avoiding the doctor.

The usual easy flow of conversation stuttered to a momentary stop when the door opened on one overcast fall day to reveal the doctor, scrambling in later than usual. Garak, sitting at the bar and poking at a garden salad, stiffened ever so slightly, and otherwise gave no indication of acknowledging the doctor’s presence. Bashir ordered the first thing off the lunch menu and spent his whole meal staring at Garak’s back with big wounded eyes, completely oblivious to the rest of the restaurant.

Once the doctor and the tailor had gone, the cafe burst into speculative conversation. Surely, the consensus went, the tailor would never come back, now that he’d encountered the doctor.

The lunch crowd had never been more wrong, or more glad to be.

xii. fall

Though Doctor Bashir and Mr. Garak had returned to their old table and literature discussions, it was obvious to everyone in the know that things were not the same. The doctor stammered more, backpedaling and giving in far too easily when Garak pushed him, and the tailor was far too cutting and cruel to truly enjoy discussion for its own sake. The changing fall weather didn’t help either. Cloudy days cast long and heavy shadows across the table, adding weight to every awkward and frosty silence that would’ve before been filled by easy conversation.

Behind the bar, the tally board was dusty and neglected from lack of use, and every bet over the date of the next appearance of the elusive endearment ‘my dear’ fell through without success. The patrons, discontent, looked helplessly to the bartender for some plan of action, but she shook her head. They’d done all they could. The rest, now, was up to the doctor and the tailor.

xiii. handle with care

“I think the flocks of birds the author describes in the last third of the novel represent faith,” Dr. Bashir argued.

Garak rolled his eyes and scoffed. He was particularly prickly these days, and needed careful handling that not even the kind doctor could always provide. “Doctor, you are an optimist. Those birds represent faith disappearing- they do fly away, do they not?”

The restaurant, breath bated, froze in anticipation of the doctor’s response.

Bashir was undeterred by his companion’s bad attitude, and he offered the tailor a regretful smile. “Just because we don’t see faith doesn’t mean it isn’t there.”

Garak had a lot to say about that, but the doctor could not be swayed.

xiv. found

“I believe,” said Garak to the barkeep, during one of his early morning visits, “I left a book here, quite a while ago. Could you check for it?”

The barkeep nodded and headed into the back office, lingering a moment to pretend to search for the book she knew sat in a place of honor in the cafe’s lost and found, before picking the novel up reverently and returning it to the man waiting patiently at the bar.

The tailor gave her a peculiar little nod of his head and set off for his shop, book clutched tightly to his chest.

xv. know it when you see it

Anyone who was at all familiar with Fontaine’s Cafe recognized Doctor Julian Bashir and his lunch companion, Mr. Elim Garak- they had been a fixture of the cafe’s lunch hour for ages, and were indeed perhaps the main draw of business to Fontaine’s over the middle of the day.

“- really now, you can’t possibly be saying the ships symbolize the end of the world!” Dr. Bashir protested, hands waving wildly. Mr. Garak, in contrast, was perfectly cool and collected as usual, observing his lunch companion with the faintest hint of a smirk.

“My dear doctor,” Garak started, and all of the restaurant inhaled. Under tables, coins and bills and IOUs changed hands, and the barkeep incremented the official tally, but Dr. Bashir and Mr. Garak continued their discussion, oblivious. They always were. “If you would simply place your antiquated notions of literature aside and take advantage of a broader perspective, you would easily see the true meaning of those ships as simply apocalyptic.”

Dr. Bashir scowled, though the almighty mess he made of his fluffy hair ruined the effect. “My perspective is plenty broad, although I couldn’t say the same of yours.” He settled back in his seat, taking an aggressive bite of his sandwich- turkey and swiss on rye.

Garak quirked a brow and leaned forward. “Oh?” he challenged.

Bashir swallowed hard and slammed his sandwich down. Turkey spilled out between slices of bread as the doctor mirrored his companion’s posture, save for his elbows on the table. “Yes,” he insisted, meeting Garak’s eyes without blinking.

A hush fell over the cafe. At the bar, the barkeep quickly and efficiently took bets. She had her routine down to a science by now, after much practice.

“Do enlighten me.”

Bashir grinned, hazel eyes sparking with fire. “From the very first chapter,” he began, and he proceeded to lose every spectator in the cafe. None of them, of course, had read the book that was being discussed- that wasn’t the draw. The draw was the life present in the youthful doctor, the thrill of the collected and private tailor Garak losing any of his poise and mystique, and, of course, the illicit bets. It was rumored that one of Dr. Bashir’s friends had made thousands of dollars from predicting the outcome of the literary arguments, though of course the honorable barkeep would never confirm or deny such a thing.

At his table, the doctor reached the final pitch of his argument. “So you see, my dear Mr. Garak-” again, money exchanged hands under tables all around the restaurant, and the official tally was updated- “those ships don’t represent the end of the world. They represent a beginning.” The doctor searched for any hint of emotion in the tailor’s face, but he seemed to be unmoved. Bashir’s eyes squeezed closed, and when he finally opened them again they glimmered with tears in the tentative rays of unseasonable sunshine. “Elim, those ships represent hope.”

Never before had the cafe been so silent. Nobody who knew anything so much as dared to breathe out of turn as slowly, ever so slowly, the tailor brought his hand forward to rest atop the doctor’s. “Julian,” he murmured, with the faintest hint of a genuine smile, and when the doctor sighed in relief and victory, the rest of the cafe sighed with him.

Gradually, the soft clinking of dishes and the hum of conversation returned to the restaurant. Bashir and Garak continued their lunch as Julian and Elim, and anyone who knew anything about Fontaine’s could tell you exactly why.

[pokepartners]

partner / team / trainer class / region request!

Hi! I’d like to make a big request! Partner+Team & Trainer Class+Region~

I’m a gay cis guy who is pretty fem leaning!

Zodiac: My birthday is November 1st, so that’s Scorpio! I kinda agree with Libra more, though. So I guess vedic/sidereal could make sense as well. 

MBTI type: ENFP, but I’m the more quiet/shy & lazy type. I still have all the goofy & weird antics ENFP’s are popular for.

Favorite Colors: white/cream, mainly cool pastels + pink.

Favorite animal: Rabbit, fish, panda, deer.

Favorite Types: Fairy, water, grass, normal, psychic

Favorite season: Spring & Autumn.

Favorite place: Forests, gardens, beach, mountains, small cities, my bedroom, somewhere new 

Things I Like: K-POP girlgroups, mythology, the environment, perfume, plushies & knickknacks, traveling, flowers+plants, mermaid stuff, ocean, moon watching, clothes+makeup, animals, sleeping, animal crossing, mysterious & weird themed stuff, being with friends, anything calming, emotional/artistic animation, nature documentaries, being comfy

Things I don’t like: Gore, violence, scary things, neon+loud colors, loud noises, busybodies, eating meat, bugs bothering me, sweating, grumpy people

Good Traits: Friendly, flirty, chatty, enthusiastic, very difficult to anger or upset, mellow & goofy, intelligent, capable of enduring tough times, adventurous, good with animals, very interested in friendship, witty, kinda have an innocent child like nature to my core, has a new main interest every week, adaptable to change, sharp humor

Bad Traits: Oblivious to how I come off to others, shy, erratic, naive, clumsy, forgetful, not super responsible, more interested in play rather than work, runs away from & avoids problems, comes off standoffish, bad at initiating social stuff, history with health paranoia, stubborn with my personal opinions, aggressive when truly annoyed/offended, sometimes come off as annoying & overly trivial, emotional intensity from others makes me feel uncomfortable, so I might not be good at handling touchy situations (but I will try), confidence issues with my appearance, lazy, allergic to most cats & dogs :((

I can’t wait to see what you come up with!! I’ve always wanted to have one of these done for me by someone else. xoxoxo

hello! it’s pretty great to see another enfp - i don’t actually meet them all that often. but anyway, this was a pretty nice request to start off with, since a good few pokemon came to mind straight off the bat!

✧ this is a pretty impressive pokemon to start this blog off with, but i really feel like mew would be your partner! mew is a pokemon that’s drawn to people with a pure heart, and is very curious and playful. despite its immense power, it is incredibly gentle with everybody so long as it isn’t in danger - and rather than fighting, it prefers to make itself invisible so as to avoid conflict! being an adaptable pokemon that enjoys new experiences and sensations, mew would be the perfect partner for somebody adventurous and changeable like you - but equally, mew is small and affectionate, meaning that lazier days will be taken in its stride just as eagerly as the more exciting ones!

✧ being insatiably curious, mew fears very little, and is a sociable, outgoing pokemon. it shares in your childlike innocence, naivety and goofiness, but can also help combat your shyness, as it wants to meet everyone new it comes across, which can easily help break the awkwardness of social situations! furthermore, its eager energy may help to motivate you when you’re feeling like putting things off - it’s a brilliant cheerleader!

✧ being as rare as it is, mew doesn’t often come across members of its own species, if at all, and is very accustomed to the weird and wonderful, given its almost cryptic-like status - any unconventional interests of yours will be incredibly interesting to it as a result. all in all, mew is an energetic and adaptable pokemon that’s ready to take on anything it meets!

as for the rest of your team…:

✧ granbull is, despite its appearance, a really shy pokemon - even more so than its pre-evolution! it despises fighting more than most pokemon, even though it has all the tools for it, and would much rather spend its time relaxing or enjoying life with its trainer. despite this, people tend to assume it wants to fight because of its fearsome looks - and as such, granbull can be quite self-conscious about the way people perceive it! i feel like training a granbull to overcome that timid nature and nervousness about its looks would really help boost your own confidence, and you can grow together!

✧ like granbull, clefable is a pretty timid pokemon - it doesn’t like spending time in loud, crowded areas, and is pretty easily spooked around negativity and chaos. however, in the right environment, clefable is a wonderful companion; it’s mysterious and ethereal whilst also being really friendly, and it’s said to bring good luck to married couples (and possibly, by extension, those who are lucky enough to encounter it)! furthermore, clefable is the perfect friend for somebody who likes moon watching or stargazing; it loves nothing more than to gaze up into the night sky - and, if you’re really trusted, it might even dance for you!

✧ audino is a very caring pokemon - it’s often used in hospitals and pokemon centres because of its natural urge to help. furthermore, its sensitive ears can tell how a person is feeling and check on their heart and other vitals just through listening! having this constant check of health would be a soothing for somebody with a history of health paranoia like you - and its naturally-calming disposition will help put any troubles to rest! audino is also very soft to the touch, so hugging it will feel much like hugging a plushie!

✧ like you, chikorita is incredibly mellow and laid-back! very little disturbs this calm and docile pokemon - and, being a grass type, it likes flowers and forests just as much as you do! if you ever go for a walk through the woods, chikorita will happily be by your side, and whenever you’re feeling down, it can use its aroma to make you feel better. despite only being a baby, chikorita is actually very self-sufficient, and so long as it has sun and a nice place to sleep, it’ll be happy - but it does love cosying up to its trainer, so be prepared for a lot of affection once you get past its aloof exterior!

✧ brionne (shiny) is an incredibly hard worker, and, like mew, is an excellent cheerleader - maybe even the best! brionne works tirelessly to achieve its goals, and never gives up regardless of how unmotivated it may feel on the day, because it knows that the end result is always worth more than the boring work it takes to get there. having a brionne around would really boost your motivation, as it’s impossible to not want to strive to achieve your own goals once you see how much effort brionne is putting in!

as for your trainer class, i feel like you’d be a fairy tale girl - or, err… the male equivalent? a fairy tale boy? fairy tale trainer? whatever it’d be called! fairy tale trainers specialise in normal, fairy and psychic-type pokemon, and have a mysterious - but elegant and inviting - aura about them! given that most of the pokemon i’ve given you fit into - or have the ability to fit into - one of the three types fairy tale trainers are known for, and given your love of the mysterious and aesthetically pleasing, it seems to fit that you’d be a fairy tale trainer!

finally, your region. since spring and autumn are your favourite seasons, it seems like you stray towards milder temperatures rather than the extremities - so i actually have two regions in mind, those being kalos and hoenn! my reasons for picking kalos are that aside from being a region with a mostly-mild climate, kalos is a place shrouded in mythology and aestheticism (the name kalos comes from a word for beauty!) - it’s a brilliant place for somebody who likes travelling to be, as the place is bustling with life no matter where you go, and every city / town is radically different from the last! as for hoenn, it’s a little more tropical than kalos is, but it has plenty of water for you to indulge in your love of the ocean, and, like kalos, it is also shrouded heavily in mythology and traditionalism. furthermore, hoenn is much more in touch with nature than kalos, and is very heavily focused on environmentalism!

sorry this got a little long, but i had a lot to talk about, haha! i hope you like everything, and feel free to request something different if things aren’t to your liking! <3