#in an old mansion which was the only place in the fucking country with illumination - and in labs with people who fucking worshipped him

[nicolos]

you know I am just obsessed with how much Milner vacillates in s2 about finding out what he did to it. like the moment philip is invoked it stops being about janus - if, in fact, it has been for any point since "you are a fucking god." she fully says "we lost him" and means it, and while she's clearly mad about him having made a change, it's less to do with the principle she's very fucking clear about early on and much more to do with the incredible thing they've done together. jessica is philip's baby but janus is THEIRS. it's her child with him.

and then. "you did it for HER?" not for us? not for that separation of ours, that little platform where it was just us and nobody else mattered? to save Her? but it's alright. she'll pardon him choosing his child if she can also have theirs. it's only a few - million - casualties. they're trying to save a species here: that will be what she and philip give the world

[twiistedgalaxies]

Genesis: Chapter 7: Clandestine Meeting

How two brothers can take two opposite paths. How a man can be made into a monster and how the other must pay the ultimate price to save everything he knows and loves.

Or, alternatively:

The origins of All for One and One for All.

Previous Chapter

First Chapter

        The rest of the day had gone on agonizingly slow, with Hisashi constantly glancing towards the clock and mentally recounting contingency plans. He sat on his hard bed, chewing on his lower lip as his eyes darted around the sleeping quarters. Several hours had been spent observing the staff’s shifts. A glance towards his burner phone. He only had just enough time to get to the rendezvous point, it was now or never. The floor creaked as Mr. Stewart crossed the room’s threshold and left. Hisashi sprung into action, throwing on his clothes at a pace that would impress what remained of the firefighting force in this country. Hastily, he patted down his pockets, making sure that he had all of his things. Burner phone? Check. Bobby pins? Of course. Knife? A familiar companion in his coat pocket. Placing his bag and some dirty laundry under his covers, he made it look like, at least at a distance in the dark, that he was still asleep in his bed. He was about to start to climb through one of the large windows in the back of the room when he heard the door open. Quickly, he dropped to the floor and slid under one of the beds, heart in his throat. Footsteps

        “There they are!” he heard Mr. Stewart softly proclaim. Out of the corner of his eye, a rotund hand picked up a shiny object from the grimey wooden floor. A jingling of keys. After what felt like ages the door finally clicked shut again. Hisashi breathed a sigh of relief.

        He resumed his escape through the back window, and landed in thorny rose bushes with a wince and a silent prayer that they wouldn’t tear one of his only jackets. Before stepping out, he cautiously scanned the grassy yard. There was a chain link fence in the back, something he’d frequently climbed throughout the week. He ducked his head down and held his breath. The janitor walked across his field of view, flashlight in hand. Absently, Hisashi realized he would need to close the window behind him, otherwise he might arouse some suspicion. The janitor, a sickly sallow man, rounded the corner. Hisashi shut the window as quietly as he could, then he shot forward, quickly tossing his coat and scrambling up the fence. Time was of the essence after all. Oxford shoes, significantly more worn than they were a week prior, landed on the pavement with a loud thud. Grabbing his coat, he cringed at the racket he was making. The flashlight pivoted towards him. He lunged towards the safety of the dark alleyways, determined to put as much distance between himself and possible capture as possible. It seemed he’d evaded pursuit, and ended up behind a McDonald’s, hands on his knees and gasping for air. Perhaps he had overreacted. Besides, what would the Janitor have done if he’d been caught? Cane him to death? Doubtful. He only resided in the orphanage for the convenience of food and shelter. They wouldn’t be able to contain him if he was truly determined.

        With a deep breath to compose himself, he set off towards the abandoned warehouse. 

                                                        -@~*^*~@-

        The warehouse was a rickety old thing, next to a junkyard and ramshackle houses. Its broken windows were sunken eye sockets housing spiders and rats. Warm breath pushed out a cloud of fog from Hisashi’s mouth and curled in the air. He appraised the location from a distance. It seemed to have long fallen out of use, an old Costco perhaps. There were likely two exits, in the front and back, and the windows were always an option if need be. He didn’t understand why his clients had insisted upon meeting somewhere so filthy. People in these trying times seemed to lack class.

        There was no point in beating around this bush with this, he’d take the front entrance. If this truly was a trap, they’d soon be well acquainted with the sharp end of his knife. He clutched the metallic thing in his pocket as an odd sort of comfort. Like a child with their favorite stuffed animal. Finally, he set off, and opened the building’s front double doors with a flourish. It would be poor form if he didn’t at least try to make a good first impression after all. He felt the wind pick up behind him, it was wonderfully timed and added more drama to his entrance.

        The warehouse was pitch black. He felt his eyebrows knit together. When he stepped forward he noticed the floor was sticky and made a god awful noise whenever he picked up his feet. Hisashi grimaced. Disgusting. Truly this was Eastern Los Angeles’s finest.

        A light was flicked on, and he squinted at the sudden harsh glare. A lantern sat upon a crate in the center of the vast, otherwise empty room. It illuminated four figures. An Asian girl, around his age, with mousy hair drawn up into puffy pig-tails and baggy clothes obscuring her slouched form. From her mouth dangled a toothpick. A black man in what seemed to be his early twenties, dressed in a bomber jacket and earth coloured jeans. An older looking Hispanic gentleman clad in a dress shirt and slacks, like he had just gotten off of work at a call center. Finally, there was a hulking, pale man who towered above his companions. He had long hair and a beard. His clothes were simple, jeans and a muscle tee, the latter of which showed off a series of ornate tattoos.

        Hisashi’s interest was piqued, this was certainly a vibrant bunch. “So I presume you all have summoned me here for something other than a staring match, yes?” he began.

        The girl scowled, a muscle in her cheek twitching, “You’re the one who wanted to meet us face to face, scumbag.” Ah, so she’s the one he’d spoken to.

        He hummed, the ghost of a smile on his lips, “A reasonable request. Now let’s talk business, who, exactly, am I working with?”

        They all exchanged glances, having a silent argument amongst themselves.

        Finally, the Hispanic man spoke up, “We’re part of a network of Meta-humans, fighting for a just cause. Unfortunately, not much of the country views us this way, so we occasionally have to recruit outside help. I’m Raquel.”

        “Amy,” the brat spoke up. Hisashi had the sudden urge to rip the toothpick out of her mouth and stab her with it. He restrained himself.

        “Michael,” the black man said, his voice a smooth baritone.

        The large man looked awkwardly between everyone else, and then muttered something under his breath. Michael nudged him, a sly smile on his face. The man flushed red, “Bjame.”

        Hisashi felt his head tilt slightly with curiosity, it was an odd name, sure, but why would Bjame feel embarrassed about it?

        “So,” Raquel cleared his throat, “What did Amy tell you about the job we’re giving you?”

        “Something about taking someone out, I didn’t get all of the details, I prefer to learn them in person,” he shrugged. It was far easier to ascertain how much bullshit you were being handed when you could see others’ tics.

        “We need you to kill Isaac Markov, he’s the head of a pharmaceutical company and has a heavy security detail following him around,” Raquel continued. 

        Hisashi frowned, that might be above his pay grade. Sure, if he had the right tools he could probably manage, but going after a well-guarded business executive with a dull pocket knife and force of will? This was going to prove to be a challenge.

        Raquel must have sensed his hesitance, because he said, “Always surrounded by security that is, except for on Christmas. He prefers to spend it with his family in Beverly Hills, his bodyguards only get in the way. We’ll provide you with what we can on loan to help you finish the job.”

        That would make things easier. “What intel do you have? I’m not going in blind,” he replied.

        Michael pulled a crumpled piece of paper out of his back pocket, and passed it to Hisashi, “Here’s a map of the place. Amy can hack into their security, it’ll be up to you to sneak in while they’re sleeping that night and execute the target. Honestly? Your best bet will be to enter through their cellar window, but I’m not the boss of you, do what you want.”

        Hisashi looked over the floor plan. The mansion was convoluted and massive. Fucking rich people, who needs six sitting rooms?!

        “How do we know he’ll be able to pull it off? He’s just a kid!” Amy pointed out, fixing Raquel with a glare, it seemed like her face was frozen in that expression at all times.

        “So are you,” Bjame pointed out gently. She let out a huff of indignation.

        “We trust our contact,” Raquel replied simply, “She’s never led us astray before after all, and who else among us is more devoted to our cause?”

        “Fine.” Amy bit out, clearly not happy with the situation.

        “I don’t work for free,” Hisashi casually brought up, “I’ll need some form of compensation.”

        “You can have whatever you find in the mansion, plus any cash we can scrounge up,” Michael replied offhandedly.

        Hisashi tutted, “Now, you all know that I don’t work with cash, it’s too… fragile.”

        Michael raised an eyebrow, “Then what do you want?”

        “I need information. Anything you can dig up on one Hana Shigaraki and her connections with the mafia.”

        “We don’t tangle with the mob,” Bjame said with a frown.

        “Then you need to find someone else to do the job for you, and given that Christmas is in a few days? I bid you good luck,” Hisashi smiled and shoved his hands into his pockets. Amy looked like she was on the verge of lunging towards him to try to beat him senseless.

        Raquel raised his hand in a silent gesture to stop further protest, “We’ll do what we can. Do we have a deal?”

        Hisashi reached out his own hand towards Raquel as if to shake, “Of course.”

        “My colleagues and I will stay in contact,” the man replied, shaking Hisashi’s hand with his own.

        “I look forward to it.”

                                                        -@~*^*~@-

        The journey back was relatively quiet, and a little longer than Hisashi had originally anticipated. He had come across a mugging in progress, and had to quickly change directions to avoid it. The meeting and repeated late night outings had sapped him of any motivation to get involved. It wasn’t his business, and truly? He just wanted to crawl back into his uncomfortable bed and scrounge together whatever sleep (and sanity) he could.

        Hisashi was just about to climb up the chain link fence into the backyard of the orphanage when he froze. Matron Abra was leaning against the building’s wall, the orange ember of the cigarette in her hand illuminating her hawkish face. It seemed she hadn’t spotted him yet. He slinked backwards and slipped into the shadows of the alleyway. Unfortunately, he’d have to wait her out. There was no way he was reenacting Monday night’s meeting with the front room cameras, especially now with the enhanced security.

        Someone approached her, by the looks of the silhouette it was a man. She exhaled a puff of smoke, its wispy tendrils wrapping around her head like a crown. “Detective Shepherd,” she began, voice raspy from nicotine, “What a pleasure it is to see you.”

        He hummed, “I made sure you got your latest stock, now it’s your term to uphold your end of the bargain.”

        The matron took another drag, “Yes, yes, well, you know my specifications,” she paused, glancing towards the detective, scanning his face for something, “and yet you failed to meet them.”

        Shepherd shook his head, “I have a.. feeling about these ones. They’re going to be something special.”

        “Doubtful. The youngest is defected and the eldest too rebellious. If anything, you should be paying me for getting them out of your hands,” she hummed, the shadows on her face grew harsher as her expression soured.

        “But their hair-”

        “We both know that a slightly unusual physical appearance is hardly an indicator of mutations,” she crossed her arms.

        The detective clenched and unclenched his fists, “Look, you either pay me what we agreed upon, or I’m telling the precinct about your little operation.”

        “No need to get hasty,” the matron huffed, and took something out of her night gown’s pocket, “I have your payment right here.” She passed over a wad of cash into the detective’s hands.

        “Thanks,” he grit out.

        “A pleasure doing business with you,” she replied, tapping the ashes from her cigarette onto the grass, voice far too chipper for the exchange they just had. The two went their separate ways, Abra slipped inside the orphanage through a back door (had that always been there?) and the detective walked towards the front entrance.

        Well, Hisashi thought as he watched their retreating forms, we don’t have enough time to unpack all of that. Once he was certain that the coast was clear he climbed over the fence and headed towards the boy’s dorm window. He looked into the room, it was difficult to see if the coast was completely clear, but it seemed that sleeping quarters were empty of staff. He opened the window carefully and slipped inside, closing it behind him. Hisashi chewed on the inside of his mouth as he crept to his bed. Slipping off and stowing away his gear was easy, the thin blanket on his bed was able to obscure what was under the metal bed frame fairly well. The less bulky (and more incriminating) items he slid under the mattress or into his pillowcase. When his pajamas were finally returned to his body he collapsed onto his bed like a dead weight. The full force of his exhaustion and sleep deprivation had hit him like a truck.

        He burrowed himself under the blanket and pulled out his burner phone, using the blanket to obscure the light it radiated.

                                                        Pest

                                                      2:08am

                                                                                         [The meeting went well.]

                                       [What do you know about a man named Isaac Markov?]

[I’m glad to hear it!]

[How much are you paying me?]

                                         [I’ve been doing tasks for you all week. You owe me at 

                                                                                                      least this much.]

[Fine, fine, I’m just pullin ur leg.]

[Wikipedia says that he’s some pharma company CEO]

                                                                                                              [Obviously.]

[He got into a scandal a few years back for charging 

states crazy high prices for rona vaccines.]

[Also some embezzling.]

[CEOs can have a little embezzlement, as a

treat.]

                                                                                                      [Anything else?]

[Not really? There’s some rumors of his

company doing something shady, but

that’s a given at this point.]

[Oh that’s spicy!]

                                                                                                                    [What?]

[If you find a way to confirm or deny that his

company is doing human experimentation,

I will pay you handsomely.]

                                                                [It’s too early for this. I’m going to sleep.]

[Goodnight, sleep tight, don’t let the bedbugs

bite!]

        Hisashi turned off his phone and stifled an irritated groan, what had he gotten himself into?

A/N: I almost didn't put out a chapter this week, things have been busy with college and the like. I was able to pull what I wanted together this weekend thankfully! As always, comments and feedback help fuel my writing, so feel free to leave them. 

AO3

Next Chapter

[alleiradayne]

There’s Something Strange A Reader/Sam Winchester Series

When Y/N Y/L/N escapes to the upper Midwest for a weekend of inspiration to begin her tenth paranormal thriller novel, she never imagined the source of that inspiration to be her own life. Between the old mansion, two peculiar men posing as antiquers, and the mysterious death of the heiress of Hill Manor one-hundred and fifty years ago, Y/N learns the truth about far more than the paranormal.

Part I - The House on The Hill

Summary: Y/N Y/L/N spends her first hours at Hill Manor attempting to begin her tenth paranormal thriller, but finds herself completely distracted. Warnings/Tags: Alllll the fluffy flirting Square filled: Author AU Characters/Pairings: Reader/Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester, guest appearances of Journalist!Natalie Murphy and Basketball Player!Elizabeth Andersson, Father Justin Smith, Widow Harold, Andrew the Groundskeeper, unnamed cook, and a young woman traveling the country named Alysha. Word Count: 2,021 A/N: For @spnfluffbingo2019, this entire series fills the Author AU square. Super giant huge thank you to @atc74 who beta’d this giant thing for me.

As she stood in the reaching shadows of the towering spires and peaked eves of the mansion, a breeze too cold for August’s heat snatched the hem of her skirt and whipped it about her knees. Dark grain rested for centuries upon darker stone, both worn grey by nature’s unforgiving touch. And in the center of that ancient façade stood an entry consumed by foreboding shadows like the gaping maw of a slumbering beast.

Y/N tore the page from her notebook and tossed it aside, forgotten the instant it hit the floor. Slumped over the writing desk, she stared at a fresh page of lined paper, blank as her mind.

Well. Mostly blank. Blank but for that damned mansion. Get away, they had said. Take a vacation, go someplace quiet. You just need some inspiration.

Quiet. When had quiet ever helped her write anything? It only served as a distraction as far as she was concerned. An empty space in her head for nuisance thoughts to take up residence.

Like the ridiculous mansion in which she sat.

The idea of finding inspiration on a trip wasn’t foreign to Y/N. Quite the contrary, she had written her first best seller that way. In Manhattan. Not in rural Minnesota, surrounded by nothing but forest while staying in a rundown mansion-turned-bed-and-breakfast.

Okay, maybe she exaggerated. The mansion had come highly recommended, and the surprisingly young and numerous staff ran a tight ship, too. Not a spec of dirt or dust marred any surface, a request for afternoon coffee had been served at great haste, and by four o’clock on the first night, the scrumptious aromas of dinner had wafted up the stairs to her room directly above the kitchen. And in two nights, the owners would host a large party for family and friends, as well as current guests, to celebrate the mansion's bicentennial birthday.

Far from quaint, her quarters spanned half the eastern wing of the house. A living space and a bedroom, as well as a full bath with a separate shower and tub rivaled most apartments in which she had ever lived. Ornate furniture and art filled the space, encroaching on crowded and only narrowly avoiding such a trespass.

Bronze sconces, ornate hearths surrounding massive fireplaces, and the darkest wood from floor to ceiling all amounted to one giant, fucking distraction. After weeks filled with useless attempts to start her tenth and final novel, Y/N had hoped beyond all hope that her writer’s block might meet its match there at The House on the Hill.

But after three hours, she decided to call round one in favor of writer’s block. Despite the number of times she had retied her bun, adjusted her glasses, and straightened her shirt, the start of her story eluded her. They typically did, and too often for her tastes. Y/N had in mind the perfect paranormal thriller, filled with suspense, mystery, and plenty of terror. But where to start? In the middle of the fray, leaving the reader confused, yet intrigued and desperate to learn how Natalie had ended up the owner of a haunted house? Or at the beginning, when her parents died under strange circumstances after having bought the place to flip, and the mess had fallen into her lap?

Neither met her standards. Too many stories about haunted houses started in the thick of things, right at the apex of fear, then fell flat and left the reader bored. But worse would be to start at the beginning only to drone an on endlessly about how everything came to pass on one neat, single-threaded plot.

As Y/N stood from the desk with a forceful shove of her chair, she entertained the thought of starting at the end, with Natalie responsible for a house full of vengeful spirits bound to her and her blood for eternity. That might work. But the risk? While she was a successful novelist, Y/N knew that sort of creative license to be reserved for other authors. Particularly, authors that were not women.

That might be reason enough to do it anyway.

Maybe.

The growl of her stomach interrupted her internal debate, her hunger exacerbated by the succulent scents that filled her nose. A full stomach would help. And a fresh pot of coffee. A little conversation with the other guests might relinquish her muse, too. Without any further delay, she strode to the door and rounded it for the wide hallway lined with gaudy art and overstuffed furniture.

The smells of the kitchen faded as she neared the main staircase where the two wings of the mansion met in a grand entry illuminated by a monstrous chandelier. A once heavy layer of carpet covered the near black wood of the stairs, dampening her footfalls as she descended into the foyer of the mansion. Two guests stood at the bottom of the staircase, an elderly woman in deep conversation with a young man, his dark curly brown hair and priest’s cassock destiny contrasting each other. Effervescent stories bubbled to life, she a long-time widow of a farmer and he a newly minted priest at the local chapel.

As she passed them, she overheard their debate: it might rain tomorrow.

Eavesdropping any further served her only if she were researching the small talk habits of Midwesterners. Not that the social elite of New York fared any better. Want something banal to discuss? Fall back on the weather.

But Y/N desperately needed the opposite of banal. She craved spice, juicy details and salacious rumors. The stuff that ruined presidential candidates. Or vaulted them into office. Those glimpses of private indiscretions fueled her writing. She created entire lives from little nuggets of unrest. Sure, she wrapped it up in the thin veneer of the supernatural and paranormal. But the underlying implications, the intent in her themes, remained the same.

So, when she spotted a burly middle-aged man towering in the shadowy corner near the entrance to the dining room all on his own, she gravitated to him like a moth drawn to a flame. Dirty fingernails, cracked hands, and corded muscle screamed manual labor. He, she decided, was the mansion’s groundskeeper. You didn’t get shoulders like his doing paperwork. Sunken eyes stared through a shroud of fog only he could see, and he hardly paid her any mind as Y/N strolled past into the dining room. He might serve her story well, but he would need work. A lot of work. Probably more than it was worth.

Another sigh followed her into the dining room where she found the remainder of the guests already seated at the long table that stretched the length of the room. Laden with plates, table cloths, and autumnal centerpieces, she could hardly see the heavy mahogany beneath it. But a quick peek under the layers of fabric revealed a pristine and delicately carved corner, and she cursed that anyone would think to cover such a beautiful work of art.

Though disheartened, Y/N found solace in the matching chairs, their work on display beneath another tremendous chandelier and a line of candelabras on the table. And when it came time to choose her seat, she had but to glance at the guests for single beat to decide.

At the head of the table a young woman sat in a sharp pantsuit, a recorder in her hand and held out to the woman on her left. The two could not be any different. If the recorder stood, Y/N assumed she’d barely reach five feet. The woman speaking into the recorder had to be nearly six feet tall and all muscle, with broad shoulders and defined arms.

Between the interviewer’s jet-black hair, bright red lips, and piercing blue eyes, Y/N wondered how she had landed a job as a reporter and not some sort of movie star. The blonde amazon, she determined, was an athlete of some sort. Again, nobody ended up with shoulders like hers sitting on their ass all day.

A third woman sat across from the blonde athlete and stared without reservation at them both, her big for eyes sliding between the two of them as they spoke. Y/N couldn't blame her, what with the reporter’s Hollywood style and the athlete’s power dominating the room, it was any wonder that the remaining two guests has buried themselves in their phones.

Two men sat beside each other to the left of the athlete but paid her and the reporter no mind. Directly on her left sat the shorter of the two, although neither man could be considered small. The man to his left sat an easy four inches taller than him, with long brown hair and a long pointed nose. Though they paid her no mind as she sat across from the taller of the two, their subtle, wordless communication indicated an old, deep relationship beyond that of mere guest of the bed and breakfast.

They must get the honeymoon suite all the time. Poor sods. Anyone with half a brain who took a little longer than a cursory glance would know they were brothers.

The thought vanished as she reached for her glass and the ring on her right hand clinked every so gently on the crystal. The shorter man startled so, the athlete shot him a glare that he tried to return with as much dignity and charm he could muster. On Y/N it would have worked. But the athlete turned back to her interview without another look and the man turned back to his phone.

The taller man, however, had not reacted but for the flick of his eyes—Jesus Christ, what color were they?—as they snapped to hers. He watched as she raised her glass to her lips, stared as she drank, and his phone slowly drifted to the table, the screen darkened and turned face down.

Whatever had those men on edge, it seemed serious. Civilian clothes and high anxiety suggested air marshals or rangers. Maybe even detectives. Maybe they were investigating a crime. Like a murder. Good thing there wasn't a butler. Y/N had no stomach for murder mysteries. She wrote best about the long dead. Not the recently departed.

Antiquers? They had that charm about them, disheveled, road weary, worn. Liked they lived in their car. But just as she was about to create another ridiculous history for the two men, Mr. Long and Tall reached across the table as he smiled and spoke.

“Sam.”

With her glass returned to the table, she took his hand in a full grip only to realize too late his grasp dwarfed hers. Double-down. Stay confident. A coy smile crooked her lips as she squeezed his hand and said, “Y/N.”

“That's quite the handshake,” Sam said, his own subtle smile peeking through.

“That’s quite the pickup line,” she retorted.

Sam laughed as he released her hand and averted his stare. “I'm out of practice,” he muttered as he glanced up from beneath his prominent brow.

A likely story. “Not with that look, you aren't.”

A hard backhand connected with Sam's shoulder, wiping the smile off his face as Sam turned to his right. But before the shorter man could put words to the irritation plain on his face, the cook entered the dining room and announced dinner. A stern glare earned him a threatening look from Sam, but the two settled as the cook mentioned homemade pecan pie for dessert.

“Okay, this job was officially worth it,” he muttered too loudly. Sam's angular glare flicked from Y/N to the other man, who merely shrugged. “Just sayin'. Glad there's pie. Even though I think we're jumping the gun here.”

Another flat glare from Sam sealed it; they were definitely brothers.

The remaining guests filed in one by one until the table sat full, the priest on her left and the elderly woman on her right. Mr. Shoulders took the remaining seat at the end of the table, his distant gaze still staring straight ahead and unseeing.

With all guests present, dinner commenced, and Y/N bet her life on finding the perfect start to her best novel yet.

If you want to be tagged for this series specifically, send me an ask or a DM! If you want in on any of my tags (Sam/Jared, Dean/Jensen), you can ask for that, too!

THERE’S SOMETHING STRANGE MASTER LIST

ALLEIRADAYNE’S SPN FLUFF BINGO MASTERLIST

ALLEIRADAYNE’S SPN MASTER LIST

The Whole Thang:

@atc74  @hannahindie @bevans87  @meganwinchester1999  @plaided-ani-on-hiatus  @oneshoeshort @jonogueira @andkatiethings @elfinmox @wonderfulworldofwinchester @princessofthefandomrealm  @just-another-busyfangirl @jmekitchens @81mysteriouslyme @dolphincliffs  @seenashwrite  @canadianspnhunter  @meowmeow-motherfucker @depressed-moose-78 @staycejo1 @hobby27  @pretty-fortune @mypopculturediva @fanfictionjunkie1112 @sandlee44 @4llmywr1tings @claitynroberts @maddiepants @scarletluvscas @donnaintx @blackeyedangel9805 @rainflowermoon @winchesterprincessbride  @lazinessisalliknow @the-is13 @waywardafgrandma @keymology @sister-winchesters99

Sam’s Sasstresses:

@morganas-pendragons @karouwinchester

There’s Something Strange:

@peridottea91 @amanda-teaches

[james-stark-the-writer-wips]

Of Witches And Demons - An Excerpt

Chapter 2: The Immortals. 

WC: 4000 words. Wanted to get this out asap tbh so it’s not the most polished thing but I hope you’ll forgive that and enjoy this!! If you wanna read a slightly more polished version, it’ll be up on wattpad soon so, 

LINK

(“Let’s go away a little. Different town, different people. Doesn’t matter where. Just know we’re not in Tenebris anymore although we will get back there soon. Does matter who. So pay attention.” Krilla said. Almadea nodded.)

“So,” Alice said, lighting the candle in her hand. “Who are we this time around?”

The forest was calm, quiet, isolated. They liked coming here a night. Listening to the crickets hiding in the grass, the hooting owls, seeing the moonlight giving everything a soft glow. It was magical. Even after so long, the magic hadn’t faded. The man beside Alice sighed as he looked away from the moon and towards her.

“Who do you want to be?” He took the candle from her. “Billionaires? Eccentrics? Business owners?”

“I can’t decide, Xan.” Alice said.

A soft breeze began to blow, carrying cool water along with it. The candle flame flickered as the wind blew past it. Xander put a hand around the flame to keep it from going out.

“So, you’re here. Took you long enough.” Xander said.

A branch crunched under the foot of the man walking towards Xander.

“I’m sorry I don’t finish as fast as you do, Xander.” The man said.

“You took an unusually long time.” Xander replied.

“I take a perfectly okay time, Xan. You’d think you’d know after two centuries together.” The man stopped in place. The wind began to die down.

“I should, I suppose.” Xan nodded. “Anyway, get over here, Cy.”

“So why the meeting outside?” Cyrus asked.

“I wanted to talk about our plans on Thursday.”

“Couldn’t we have had this conversation in the house?” He protested.

“I wanted the fresh air. Now get over here and stop whining.” Xander said. Cyrus let out a frustrated groan and walked over to the two of them.

“So, have you decided who we’re going to be?” Cyrus asked Alice.

“Well, I’m not sure yet. But definitely something new, someone we haven’t been yet.” She said.

“New, huh?” Cyrus chuckled softly.

“Let’s start at the basics. What have we been?” Xander said.

“Doctors, magicians, circus folk, philanthropists, bakers, politicians...” Cyrus began.

“So, what do you think, Alice?” Xander asked.

“How about ourselves?” Alice said.

“Don’t be naive, Alice. You know we can’t do that.” Cyrus said.

“I’m not saying tell everyone who we are.”

“Then what are you proposing, Alice? You know I hate vague people.” Cyrus leaned against a tree.

“Let’s be a family again instead of distant siblings. I’m tired of playing siblings.”

“Then, what? You wanna be my mother?” Cyrus scoffed.

“It’s not the 1800s, Cy.” Alice replied, picking up the candle and putting it to her nose. “You’d be my father. Besides, you are older than me.”

“You want me and Xander to be your fathers?” Cyrus said.

“Yes. And what’s the problem? You two used to date each other, right?” Alice vaguely pointed at both of them.

“There’s no problem, I’m just confirming.”

Xander interrupted before Cyrus could get another word in. “That’s fine and all, Alice, but what do we do? You know, for a living?”

“We’re rich, that’s for sure. I have had enough of being poor. We’re immortal, for fuck sake. There’s no fun being poor. Certainly not in this world.” She grumbled.

“Okay. Then you better come up with a good reason for us being rich.”

Alice pondered over it for a minute. What should they be? People would ask, that’s for sure. After so many years, Alice had learned that people couldn’t help but stick their noses in other people’s businesses. 

Alice snapped her fingers. “Ooh, how about you be oil princes?” She said. “We haven’t done that yet.”

“Both of us?” Cyrus asked.

“No. Don’t be silly. There’s no way anyone would believe that. It’d be more plausible if you started the business together after you met and fell in love or you started the business then fell in love but that feels old.”

“Then, what, pray tell, should we be? It’s your turn, Alice. Otherwise we skip your turn and we do my thing.” Xander said.

“No! We did your thing the last time we moved. I’ll think of something. Just give me a second.”

Cyrus sighed. “Okay, then. Take the night to sleep on it. We have a long trip ahead of us soon, anyway.”

“At least we’re sure of the location, yes?” Alice asked.

Xander nodded. “Yes. That hasn’t changed.”

“Where was it again?” Cyrus asked.

“You know where it is.” Xander said.

“I wasn’t listening when you said it.”

“You’ve got to start paying more attention, Cyrus. You’re wasting that photographic memory of yours.”

“Please, let’s not do this right now, Xan. Just tell me where we’re going. And let’s let Alice decide till tomorrow, yes?”

“Sure, whatever.” Xander let out a soft sigh. “We’re going to Tenebris.” He turned to Alice. Let’s go.” He put a hand on Alice’s back and turned to Cyrus. “You coming?”

“Go on ahead. I’ll catch up. I’m going to enjoy some of that fresh air you dragged me out here for.” Cyrus said. 

Xander handed him the candle and began to walk away. 

“Where the fuck is Tenebris?” Cyrus called out.

“You’ll find out soon enough.” Xander kept walking.

“Don’t be vague, Xan.” Cyrus shouted but Xander and Alice had already walked away. 

A slight smile crept onto Cyrus’s face without permission as looked up at the moon, its glimmering light illuminating the entire forest in a silver blanket. Anyone who says the night is evil has never looked at the moon. He thought.

He put his hands in his pockets. The air seemed to grow colder every passing second. He could smell the fresh, wet grass from last night’s shower. It clung to the air like glue, filling it with a soft hint of earthiness everywhere.

He began to walk back towards the mansion they currently resided in. They owned the forest (at least parts of it) and the mansion. They’d bought it to make sure the number of tresspassers and onlookers would go down and it had helped a lot, actually.

But people were getting suspicious. It was time to pack up and move, as they did every twenty or so years, whenever they thought someone was onto them. They’d lived in France, Italy, Russia, Switzerland, India, Japan, Canada, Brazil, Mexico and every big city and country in the world. Now they’d had enough of the city life — one of the primary reasons they’d moved to this town from NY, in fact —  and wanted to move somewhere more quiet and peaceful. 

While cites sure had their advantages —  a prominent one being everyone was too busy to give a shit about new people in town — it got lonely over time. And even in big cities, there was no escaping nosy neighbours.

Though it had been only nine years in this town, they’d decided to move somewhere they could live in peace. A place where they wouldn’t have to worry about getting shot or killed and being found out. This town had its charm but even it’s residents were wondering why the people in the mansion didn’t seem to age a day in the last few years. They’d started believing the ‘good genes, I guess’ excuse even less every time it was told to them.

Cyrus had personally seen what happened when humans found out about one of them being an Immortal.

When Cyrus had been granted the opportunity to be an Immortal, there were eight of them. Now, only Cyrus and Xander remained of the original eight. The others had either died, left to live in isolation or moved away to try their best to stay out of regular human business, trying to live normal lives unhindered.

Alice had only recently – 167 years ago, to be precise – joined them but she was a fine addition. She was the first woman to be turned in almost five centuries.

Cyrus took in a deep breath, letting all of nature’s beautiful smell consume his body as if tasting wine. He took his hands out of his pockets and blew on them to warm them up a bit. It was freezing out here.

Time to head back, he thought as he turned around and began to walk uphill back to the mansion.

With over twenty rooms in the mansion, the place was fit for kings (and had actually once belonged to a prince, of sorts). Everything about this place screamed ‘We have too much money’. Which wasn’t a bad thing, really. They had actually helped build an orphanage in the city, which had finished construction three weeks ago.

The mansion sat alone on a cliff, with no houses for miles and no one to disturb them. From the balcony, you could see the entire town in all its glory.

In one corner, smoke arose from the town’s bakery as Keith, the owner of said bakery, baked the last bread of the day, shutting down for the night. 

In another corner, if you lived in a mile radius, you could her Mrs. Radley screaming at her husband for being home late again. As the clock struck ten, the town began to close up, with only the twenty four hour pharmacy and the famous Powers’ Coffee Shop staying on.

Even in this small town, you could see a few people sitting in the coffee shop, writing away on their laptops all night long. It was the students from the nearby college that came out to Powers’ for their famous coffee.

Justin Powers and a single employee kept the shop open all day with them looking after it during the day while Justin’s son Max looked after it at night. 

And their coffees were delicious. And, thankfully close by to Joanna’s Pie Shop, the best pies you’ll ever taste.

And in two days time, they would all be a faint memory, never to be seen again, if possible.

Cyrus made his way into the mansion. All the lights had been turned off, no surprise there, and Alice had gone to bed.

Xander, on the other hand, sat by the fireplace, a glass of expensive whiskey in hand and a novel in the other.

“I’m gonna go sleep, Xan. I’ll see you in the morning.” Cyrus said.

“Mmhmm.” Xander said, flipping a page in his book.

Cyrus walked up the stairs and found his way to his bedroom, the smallest of all the rooms in the mansion, and crawled into bed, pulling the covers onto him.

He reached under his bed and grabbed the long stick he kept there. He quickly extended it to the opposite wall and flicked off the light switch. He put the stick back in its place and opened the curtains behind his bed. As he closed his eyes, he found sleep quickly.

-

As the sun rose above the horizon, Alice woke up, yawning, gently outstretching her arms. She had given much thought to what they should be… and nothing seemed as exciting as good old star crossed lovers. Ala gay Romeo and Juliet. Except without the dying part.

She pushed the bed covers aside, heading straight for the bathroom. She couldn’t wait to tell Xan and Cy what she’d chosen. As she took a quick shower, she began to iron out the details of how it would work and what their story would be. Sure, star crossed lovers was old and cliche, but it was perfect. To be honest, she was always trash for Shakespeare and star crossed lovers. This was a perfect pit. Besides, they’d been siblings for far too long.

About twenty minutes later, the clock rang nine and Alice stepped out of the shower, quickly drying herself off and slipping on a nice pair of jeans and a plain red t-shirt.

She rushed down the stairs, jumping two steps at a time, making her way to the dining table where a sleepy Cyrus sat, slowly sipping on his coffee. Besides him sat Xander eating his regular bowl of cornflakes.

“Guys!” Alice said, rushing to take a seat besides Cyrus.

“Please, just…softer.” Cyrus said, halfway through a sip.

“Just listen. I’ve decided.”

“About?” Xan asked

“Our cover.”

“Alice. Softer.” Cy scolded.

“Shut up, dick.” Alice snarked. She turned her attention to Xan. “So, our cover. I know what we wanna be.”

“Alice, you know what we say about cussing at the table.”

“You’re not my dad!” Alice said.

Xander had a rule about being civilized at the table. It was a surprise he’d managed to uphold it all these years, especially with Alice and Cyrus in the house — half their vocabulary was curse words.

“Well I’m gonna be soon, apparently so you better start listening, right?” Xander retorted.

“Ugh, I hate you.” Alice groaned.

“Perfect. Means I’m being a good parent.”

“So much wrong with that statement but we don’t have the time to explain all that. Anyway can you just listen to me?”

“Alright alright. Go on, I’m listening.” He shoved a spoonful of cornflakes into his mouth.

“Right. Our story. You two are, drum roll please,” She paused until Xan put down his spoon and reluctantly did a little series of taps on the table, “star crossed lovers.”

“Good god.” Cyrus sighed. “Why did we let her choose again?”

“I can hear you, you know.” Alice said.

“Her birthday comes up soon. It’s her gift.” Xan reminded, not noticing it was a rhetorical question.

“So,” Alice continued, unfazed. “I’ve been thinking all night and Xan was the rich guy…”

“Obviously.” Xan said, taking a bite of his food. Alice rolled her eyes.

“Would you just let me tell it?”

“Okay!” Xan backed off. “Sorry.”

“Right, so, Xan was the rich guy. You met at a mutual friend’s party, had drinks together and hooked up. Cyrus was still in the closet at the time and his dad was super homophobic. But, you kept seeing Xan because you felt a connection. When you meet him the second time, three days have passed. Xan sees you and says, “I’ve been waiting for you.” And you ask, “For three days?” and he nods and you kiss him in public for the first time. You stay over for the night but the next day your dad finds out. He’s threatened to cut you off if he sees you with Xan again.” She paused for a breath.

“But, you like him so much, you risked being broke. Your family isn’t super rich, but you do pretty well. You went off to live with Xan and your dad said he cut you off. But, your dad suddenly falls ill only you don’t learn that until a week later when your mom calls you to his funeral. He couldn’t bear to see you go and he died of a heart attack. When his will is read after the funeral, you realize he never took you out of it. In fact, he left you most of his possessions. You give a lot of it to your mom and you and Xan continue living together. After two years, you have an amazing fall wedding. Then the year after that, you adopted me from an orphanage at age six or something. At this point, Xan is 28 and Cy, you’re 26. And since then, it’s been like eight or nine years and now I’m starting high school.”

Xan almost spit out his milk. “Wait, hold up. You’re going to high school?”

“Yeah, I mean, I didn’t really get to go back when I turned and I haven’t really been to one since. It’ll be a good learning experience. Plus what am I gonna be? Homeschooled? I need to start hanging out with people my own age!”

“Good luck finding a hundred and seventy year old people. Do you need me to buy you a graveyard, hon?” Cyrus teased. Alice ignored him.

“It’s going to be awful. You haven’t been to school for what, a hundred and sixty eight years at this point?” Xander said.

“Sixty seven.” Alice corrected. “Sixty eight next month.”

“Yeah, a lot has changed since then.”

“Don’t worry about me, I’ll pick things up quick.” Alice reassured him. “Plus there will be cute boys and girls there.” She added softly.

“You can’t be serious.” Cyrus put his cup down, fully awake now, and turned to Xander for an answer.

“Oh, come on, Xan.” Alice begged.

“Eh, let her do it. She’ll be fine. You know how she can be if she doesn’t get what she wants.” Xan resigned, after some thought. He continued eating.

“Yay!” Alice squealed, jumping out of her seat. “You lose, I win!” She stuck her tongue out, making a face at Cy. He ignored her.

Alice blew a raspberry. She turned to Xan. “So, when do we leave?”

“Tomorrow afternoon, earlier if we can manage it.” He chewed on his food before continuing. “Start packing, say your goodbyes.”

“Great. I’m gonna go do that then.” Cy stood up and left the room.

“I’m gonna go to Joanna’s then. Grab some breakfast and say goodbye.”

“Bring something back for me and Cy, yeah?” Xan said.

“Sure.” Alice grabbed her coat, her purse, the car keys and rushed out the door.

-

Joanna’s Pie Shop was a quaint little shop, tucked between a McDonald’s and a Starbucks. But it got by surprisingly well, all because of how goddamn delicious Joanna’s pies were.

Alice had eaten a lot of things in her relatively small existence but having had a taste of Joanna’s pies was her most proud moment. 

“Joanna!” She called out as she pushed open the door and walked in.

“Coming, darling!” Joanna’s voice came from inside the kitchen. “Just getting some pies ready. Be out in a minute. Take a seat.”

Alice took a seat on the black bar stools by the counter and sat patiently as she waited for Joanna to come out.

Joanna arrived from the kitchen with thick gloves and trays with steaming hot pies, her apron covered in flour.

“Hot from the oven!” She announced, placing the tray on the counter and slipping off the thick gloves. “Want a slice?”

“Yeah.” Alice said. “A full Chocolate Coconut Creme for me, two slice of green apple for Cy and a slice of Pumpkin pie for Xander.”

“Coming right up.” Joana said. “Feel free to help yourself to some coffee if you want.” She grabbed a mug from behind her and handed it to Alice.

“Thanks, Jo. You’re the best.”

Joana smiled before disappearing back into the kitchen.

As Alice sipped on her coffee, Joana walked out of the kitchen with the pies. “Here ya go, hon.” She quickly stuffed them into a large box and handed it to Alice.

“Thanks. How much is it?” Alice asked.

“Oh, don’t worry, it’s on the house. I’m in a good mood today. Plus you’ve already done so much for us.”

“Oh, come on, Jo. This’ll be the last time you get to charge me.”

Joana gave her a puzzled look, “What do you mean, hon?”

“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about…” Alice said. 

“You’re not dying or nothing, right, hon?”

“No, no. Nothing like that.” Alice reassured her.

Joana let out a deep sigh of relief “Well, good. Then what is it?”

“We’re moving. Me, Xan and Cy.”

“Moving?” Joana gasped. “Where?” 

“It’s far. That’s all I can tell you about it. It’s family business.”

“But you’ll come back eventually, right?” Joana asked.

“No, I’m afraid not. We’ll be staying there permanently.” Alice said softly.

“Permanently?” Joana couldn’t believe what she was hearing.

Alice nodded. “So, this is… technically, goodbye.”

Joana choked up. “When uh— When are you leaving?”

“Tomorrow. Afternoon. Maybe earlier.”

“Oh. Alright then.” Joana cleaned her hand on her apron and wiped off a tear.

“I’m sorry, it’s just the decision was so sudden. We made plans last night.”

“No, it’s fine. Just, before you leave, promise me you’ll stop by one last time? For old times sake?”

“I’ll try, Jo.”

“No, promise me, Alice. Just stop by before you leave. It shouldn’t take very long.”

“I’m sorry, it’s out of my hands. But I’ll try my best.”

“Very well then. I hope you come.” Joana started to go back in the kitchen.

Alice held up the box. “Joana? How much?”

“Like I said, Alice. They’re on the house. Enjoy them. I’m not gonna charge you and that’s final.”

Alice smiled. “I’m gonna miss you, Jo.”

“I’m gonna miss you too, hon.” Joana disappeared back into the kitchen.

Alice sighed and walked out of the shop.

-

The next day came quickly and everyone rushed frantically to stuff their things into a million bags. It’s insane how much junk you collect over the years. A lot of it would go into the storage facility they’d kept over the years but beyond that, everything else they were attached to came with them.

This time, the furniture, most of the paintings, the utensils, some small things and other stuff they didn’t want all stayed. They’d decided to donate the mansion to the city and open it to the public for free use by anyone. Xander had even talked to some of the townspeople to turn it into a lodging for the homeless free of cost of something similar. But now they had to leave so who knew what would happen to the house?

The truck came, the important stuff was loaded in and Cyrus and Alice sat in the car, waiting for Xander to lock everything up and bring out his bags. Finally, he did come out and got in the car.

“Ready?” He asked, putting on his seatbelt.

“Yeah.” Cyrus said. 

“Hey, Xan, you mind if we stop by Joana’s? She asked me to stop by if we could.”

“What’s the time right now?”

“It’s uh, 1:36 pm.” Cyrus said.

“Sure. We’ve got some time to kill. I guess that’d be alright. Plus I have to go give the house keys away too.”

“Great. Just drop me off at hers then and come pick me up after you’re done.”

“Alright, give me a second to go tell the driver the plans have changed.” Xander said, getting out of the car. He returned quickly.

“He’s gonna go ahead and he’ll be waiting on the outskirts of town for us to lead the way.”

“Cool.” Cyrus said. “Turn the AC on and let’s go already.” He put in headphones and lied down on the backseat, using his forearm as a pillow. “And wake me up when we get there.”

Xander sighed. “Fine.”

The car whirred to life.

-

Joana stood idly in the shop, expectantly staring at the door, waiting for Alice and the other two to arrive.

As she saw their car turning the bend, she rushed out from behind the counter and ran outside.

“You came!” She said as Alice opened the car door.

“Yeah.” Alice said.

“No, no don’t get out.” Joana said. “Or I’m going to start crying and I don’t want to ruin my makeup. “Just wait here, I’ll be back in a second.”

“O-okay.” Alice said.

“What’s wrong?” Xander asked.

“She told me to wait here.”

“Fine.” Xander said.

Joana reemerged from the shop carrying a large box of pies. She quickly handed it to Alice.

“What’s this?” Alice asked, opening the box. 

“It’s my coveted smores pie. With extra marshmallows. Made them specially for you this morning.”

“Thank you, Joana.”

“I’m gonna miss you, hun.” 

“I’m gonna miss you too.” Alice said.

“Now go, before the waterworks start.” Joana said.

Alice nodded, closing the car door. As the car drove away, Joana waved a last goodbye.

-

Almost thirty six straight hours of driving later, Xander called out for Cyrus who had woken up and gone to sleep multiple times at this point.

“Cy, we’re almost there.” Xander said.

“We’re here?” Cyrus sat up, rubbing his eyes.

“Just about. We’ll be there in five.”

“Great.” Cyrus said.

The car slowly cruised along the road, the truck following behind as they passed into Tenebris’s borders. 

“Welcome to Tenebris, babe.” Xander said to Cyrus. 

“I am not calling you babe.” Cyrus said.

“You better start.” Xander said. “Our daughter wants us to, don’t you, hun?”

“Mmhmm.” Alice said.

“Fuck you both.” Cyrus said.

“Yeah, love you too, babe.”

Cyrus let out a frustrated groan. God, he wished this wouldn’t last long. It already felt weird. But, here they were: in Tenebris, a town smackdab in the middle of fucking nowhere. And for a while, this would be their home.

*

[elane-in-the-shadows]

Drabbles... #8 Shade and any of his family not Farley or Mare. :)

#8 - “Forget it. You fucking suck.” 

Fade Modern AU  - A NewPlace

A/N: I’m so sorry this took me so horribly long. I can’t excuse myself saying I didn’t know what to write since the basics of the story were in my mind for a while. I can only hope the long time means I made the best version of it. As this is a modern AU, there’s a lot of real lfe stuff (as in my other AUs), but please don’t take it too seriously, I don’t have reliable personal experiences in every regard ;-)

As most of my stories, my Modern AUs are related/taking place in the same story at different times. Here are the other parts:

A New Place

Growing Up

The Dinner

Roman Holiday

The Wedding

Find this on wattpad and on AO3

Shade POV

When I wake, all I seeis her face. I blink, too tired even to just move my hands and rub my eyes. Itfeels like the middle of the night.

Only the small bedside lamp fights the darkness, itsreddish sheen gentle to my senses as it reveals Diana’s widely open eyes. Shecrouches beside the bed, her hand on my shoulder.

“Sorry,” she says, because she woke me up. “Justtelling you I’m leaving for work.” She bites her lip, seeming insecure. “Andthen I’ll be at the uni, so until later … the afternoon.”

“Bye,” I whisper with a yawn.

She smiles faintly. She lingers, undecided whether tostay or go. I don’t want her to go, want to fix her with my eyes although I canbarely keep them open. I can only feel her fingers squeezing my shoulder oncemore, and her lips brushing a kiss on my temple. Then she rises and I wish tostay awake even more and to give her a real goodbye. But I barely notice herwhispered “sleep well,” and neither when she turns off the lamp and closes thedoor, leaving me behind to rest on in this cold and dim early morning.

I don’t remember what I dream afterwards, but when I’mconscious enough, I see Diana’s beautiful face, illuminated by the warm, redlight.

The secondtime I wake today, I’m hit by Diana’s absence. Theharshness of aloneness unsettles me, indeed so much I wonder where I am. Ittakes me a minute to recognize Dee’s flat. Our flat now, since I moved inyesterday. It doesn’t feel that way, like my home. When I stayed the nightbefore, it was at days when we both had the same schedule. On a free day, itmeant sleeping late, cuddling in each other’s arms, and a big and longbreakfast. If not, we woke together and left together. I thought that werecouple things to do. How wrong I was. Only now, alone here for the first time,I learn that Dee made it a welcoming place for me. Without her, I’m a fish outof water.

Between my bags and boxes, most still unpacked, andthe few things we’ve already found space for, the herness of the placespeaks to me. Her smell and phantom shape left on the bed, the book and waterbottle beside it. There’s the rack by the door, with my coat hanging ungainlynext to her bi scarf, her summer jacket and the empty space where her coat hasbeen, and a couple of clothes lying here and there. She doesn’t bother to putaway all of them, although the closet is just a meter away from them, from thebed, from the desk filled with her papers in progress. Everything is soclose to everything, the space made even tighter with the onslaught of myboxes. Separated from the “bedroom” only by an open wall, I can see the kitchencorner and its table from the bed, where some food or drink always lie readyfor a quick snack of the single inhabitant. The bathroom, invisibly on theother side of the wall, would be even worse, organized thoroughly utilitarianto see to Dee’s needs.

She left in a rush today, I remember, too fast andquiet for having cleaned much. Yet I find no stains of a breakfast at all andinadvertently, I ball my fists. Did she skip breakfast so she wouldn’t disturbmy sleep even more? Or was it a bout of morning sickness that killed herappetite? If so, it’s another thing I failed to notice. I moved in to be therefor her now that she’s pregnant, and all I feel is out of place and useless.

I let myself fall down onto the chair at the kitchentable and stare at the bread instead of eating it. I don’t know how we’llmanage. I can’t imagine how a child should grow up in this little den where Ican hardly find space for myself. I snort at the silly thought, as I didn’tgrow up a mansion either.

I promised Diana.

Yet I know the difference between wishing andbelieving and I feel anything but certainty.

While Dee’sday is scheduled with duties, I have the day off. We eventalked about this before, making it a reason for when to move in. “You canunpack and clean a bit,” she proposed, and I agreed, thinking nothing aboutstaying “home” alone for the first time. But the cleaning reminds me this isnot my home, and unpacking of how much more work and re-shelving the nextmonths – no, years – will bring.

After one bag of clothes, I give up. I grab twolecture books I’ve littered on the floor and snatch my messenger bag to getout.

I hesitate at the door, thinking what a horribleboyfriend am. I’m running away, I realize. But not really, I want tobelieve. I run to shake loose the looming dread, wishing to get one gaspingbreath outside of here. I hope.

I can’tconcentrate on the books while riding the train taking me to myhometown. My thoughts keep on revolving around that specific personal problemthat leaves no entry way for neither Socrates, nor Plato, nor Aristotle. Afterall, I know it isn’t nice to run to my family, about to tell them about its newmember without Dee present. She’s alluded to the matter before, vaguely, butnot decidedly. I let it rest in my uncertainly. Probably, she didn’t thinkabout it that much. She doesn’t have many people to tell, unlike me.

She needed some time before she told me about herfamily, but when she did, her relief in sharing her story was palpable. Almostlike she’s glad to have me as a family now.

I’ve felt proud about it, to be honest, as I suspectedshe trusted her college friend Tristan as much as me. They seem so close,having made me wonder what exactly went on between them. But as I got to knowhim better, my suspicions dissolved piece by piece. They’re friends, and godsknow she needs them, having come here to study as a foreigner. If she toldTristan her personal history, good for her. But I stick to the honour of havingbeen the first she trusted with her family’s fate.

Her mother and younger sister died in a car crash,mere months before her high school graduation. Her father wasn’t even home butoff on a military mission at the time.

His return for the funeral and to take care of thingsdidn’t improve the situation, least of all the relationship to his daughter. Hestayed with Dee until she left the house, the country, to study abroad and live with her aunt Rosa, hermother’s cousin.

Although Diana relied on family when she came here, itstill astounds me she needed to get away from her home, her family, hermemories in the first place. I’m going to all of them, at least for today, hopingto find my way. My dad’s been a soldier too, until he was gravely injured andforced into an early retirement. He still struggles with his past and his newlife, so I can imagine some of Dee’s problems with her father. I don’t pressher about contacting her father as it’s not my decision to make. I’m here tosupport her once she knows how to treat him. But I’d never be able to cut awaymy family from my life.

I doubt that’s Diana’s wish either. She misses the peopleshe’s lost and she’s grateful for Aunt Rosa. We told her about the baby a fewdays ago, when we started to prepare my move-in. While Dee just spat out thetruth after some hesitation, I hardly know what to say and Rosa hardly knewwhat to reply. But that awkwardness, the accidental eye contacts, pauses andhand-wringing, bonded us in a weird way.

Rosa’s cool, obviously, from what I’ve seen of her.She travels often due to her work, so Dee fends for herself most of the time,which gives me hope it’ll work out in the future too, when Rosa’s small housewill have not only one, but two new inhabitants. So far, Diana’s been hesitantto ask Aunt Rosa to take more rooms for herself – for us – although she doesthink we’ll need a study room for one of us to work alone without infantdisturbances. It’ll happen eventually, and this is why I’m moving in after all. Dee’s livings are easier to adapt for couple with a baby than collegedorms or a new flat.

The roads of the Stiltsare as wet as in the city, and as I walk the three kilometers to my old house,I pull up my hood against the wind and occasional raindrops. Yet rays ofsunshine break through the heavy grey clouds every now and then, giving onefalse expectations for a nicer weather. A tiny spot of warmth doesn’t drive offthe cold, or the winter settling in. Thus when I see the transporter at ourhouse, I don’t hesitate to ring the doorbell to get in.

I rue it immediately. I wasted my time not thinkingabout what to say. And while I crave just to jump into Mom’s arms, I don’tdesire to break Dee’s trust and spill out everything without her. I take a stepback like a coward, intending to re-consider my options. But before onepresents itself, the door opens, with my brother Tramy on the threshold, a mugin hand.

He smirks. “Hey, where do you come from!” he exclaimsand pulls me in. I follow without resistance. My brothers and I have ourquarrels, but I’ve missed him too much. The sight of the corridors, crammedwith our stuff, the smells of the rooms, the sounds … no, there are nosounds besides our shuffling feet.

I blink. “Is … no one here?”

“I’m here.” He laughs as we reach the kitchen. I rollmy eyes and sit down. Tramy chuckles as he refills his mug, obviously withcoffee, and raises his eyebrows suggestively when he takes the seat oppositemine. “Maybe you’ve forgotten in your fancy college life,” he says, “but it’s aweekday?”

I give him a shove although I do blush at his correctassumptions. I prompt only more chuckling. “What, it’s true,” Tramy says. “Thegirls are in school, Mom’s at work and Dad is at physio. Remember?”

I nod, blushing harder. And our oldest brother Breehas moved out, too. Yet I cross my arms obstinately and lean back. “And you?”

He takes a long sip from his mug and rises from hischair. “I should offer you a drink too, huh?”

“Like a good host?” I smirk. “Don’t worry, I don’tthink I count as a guest yet.”

He nods along and gets a coke from the fridge, andfills a glass that he shoves to me. I raise it in thanks.

“Finished the job in the neighbourhood early,” Tramyexplains. “I thought that’s the perfect chance for a good lunch at home.” Hewinks. “Don’t tell my boss.”

“You have lunch?” I ask.

“Sorry, too late.” He pats his belly and laughs whileI shake my head in jested accusation. The idea of our parents’ homemade food ismouth-watering. I down my coke instead.

“Why don’t know tell me why you’re really here?” Tramyasks, all jokes and amusement gone from his demeanour.

I freeze, startled and at loss for words, but Tramy’sseriousness doesn’t falter. It’s me who skittishly breaks eye contact to stareat my hands, knowing Tramy’s gaze remains on me. “I wanted to get some stuff,”I say with a shrug, lifting my head without looking anywhere. “I, uh, moved outof the dorm.”

“You what?!” he cries out. “Shade, you didn’t fuck up,did you? Didn’t leave college? Or got expelled? Tell me you aren’t ruining yourlife!”

“No! Tramy, please.” He’s rather morebewildered. I realize I’m again in the corner I wanted to avoid. And didn’t I‘fuck up’, in a way? “Maybe,” I concede, before a cackle overtakes me anddestroys any inklings of composure. I laugh so hard I start coughing, swallowit out, and laugh more, until my eyes tear up. So it takes me a moment tonotice Tramy’s aghast face, but even that doesn’t help me calm down quicker.The chuckles are still dying slowly as I hide my face with my hands, wiping myface.

“Don’t worry,” I manage to say eventually, “I moved inwith my girlfriend.” I lower my hands when Tramy sighs and in this second offalse relief, the words slip out, to never be taken back. “She’s pregnant.”

The following set of Tramy’s expressions are imagesfor the gods. Relief switches to shock, into disbelief and then amusement thatfreezes as it, finally, shifts into the appalled realization that I meant whatI said. He stares at me, with compassion and helplessness.

I wonder what I’ve looked like in these last seconds.I’ve no idea.

Tramy doesn’t ask more. He takes my hands, then he’sbeside me, hugging my head to his stomach, for I don’t know how long. I relaxinto is presence. He isn’t Mom or Dad, not my best friend, but he gives mesomething I need right now.

Shouldn’t Dee and I give that to one another?

The thorn of the sudden doubt cramps my heart. But I dowant this with Diana. We had it, and we’ll have it again. I won’t let stress,demands, responsibility, money, fucking life, take it from us.

“Have you thought about buying her flowers, Shade?”says Tramy, and pulls me out of my thoughts – as I pull away from him.

“What?”

He smiles. “A bouquet of flowers for congratulation.Roses – or whatever she likes. We have quite a variety at the workshop,especially for occasions … like this.” He shrugs. “Of course, I’ll give you‘uncle discount’,” he finishes with a wink.

M chair scrapes the floor as I jump up. Suddenly, Ican’t deal with teases. “Forget it, you fucking suck,” I snort, throwing up myarms and then grapping my bag to leave.

He runs after me, full of apologies. He clasps myshoulder and I turn, wanting to apology myself, to explain that Diana isn’tinto flowers. I can’t. Because Tramy’s more than sorry or concerned, he’sashamed.

“Sorry,” he says oncemore in an unsettlingly coarse voice. “I shouldn’t have … I mean, if you don’t… want …” He swallows, and I understand before he has to go on with hisstruggle for words.

“That’s not it,” I sayquickly. “That’s not it,” I repeat, quieter now, and let my head sink.

Tramy gestures to thecouch and I follow suit without resistance. Again, I sit down as he crouches infront of me, keeping silent to wait for me.

“We’ve having thebaby,” I state. He nods. “And I thought, uh, I don’t know what exactly. To askMom and Das about … stuff. Or for stuff.” I look up into Tramy’s eyes. “To behonest, I was uncertain whether to tell you all yet, without Diana. I guess, Icame without a plan.” I cackle, and I’m grateful Tramy doesn’t remark theobvious – although his creased brow speaks by itself.

But as I don’tcontinue, he swallows the words on his tongue, finding something better to ask:“What do you want, then?”

I snort. The decisivequestion. As if it didn’t chase me everywhere nowadays. “You don’t have to pityme, Tramy. I know what I’m getting into. I hope. I mean, we, Dee and I, we doour best.”

“I didn’t imply theopposite, but that’s not what I’ve asked about,” he retorts, his eyes boringinto mine. “Is it what you want? Because you don’t seem … elated.”

“I want Dee, okay?!” Isnap. “I love her, and I’m not letting her alone with it.” I gather the energyto dart one fierce glare at him before I fall back onto the couch.

“She asked me the samething, you know,” I begin. “But what should I have said? I couldn’t tell herwhat to do, and it was obvious she didn’t want an abortion. I don’t know whetherI would’ve wanted that, but …” I shrug. I lean farther back, so I face theceiling. “After a while, she told me why. She couldn’t imagine doing it. Not ingeneral, but for herself. She’s … lost too many people she loved to give up another.”

Silence. “And do youthink that’s unfair?” Tramy asks eventually, trying to tread carefully.

I jerk up anyway.“Unfair? That I support her in what concerns us both?” I shake my head. “It’sunfair it’s happening now. Unfair we couldn’t plan to have a child at our pace.Unfair that our situation is so insecure. Unfair that our child will have togrow up with this insecurity too.”

I’m afraid. So, soafraid. But I also wish to meet this new person that’s both Dee and me andsomeone entirely their own, and see them grow up. Sometimes, I dare to thinkabout how it’ll be, and not only to wonder about the problems it’ll bring. Iimagine their smiles and wobbly tries to stand, their first words and theSpanish I could teach –

“But it’s not unfairthat it exists, nor that the woman I love wants to … ah …” Heat creeps up myface. “That she wants a family with me,” I manage to conclude.

Tramy, having listenedattentively to my declaration, starts to grin like an idiot. “My little bro’sbecoming a dad,” he says. “Congratulations.”

I give him a shove. Hissmile becomes broader, and I feel my eyes starting to wet. “You could say‘thanks’,” Tramy reminds me, but instead of doing so, I fall forward andembrace him.

He returns the hug, hishands stroking my back during my sobs. I’m shocked this happens for the secondtime today, with him, but I’m not complaining. After the doubts plaguing metoday, I finally find my ground.

“Don’t tell the others,okay?” I rasp. “As I’ve said, I’m glad to have talked to you, but Dee and Ishould tell you all together. We’ll visit soon, or something.”

He pulls away to lookat me, his silly grin still plastered on his face. “Sure,” he agrees. “But canyou tell me before you come? I might get you something.”

I sigh, “Tramy …”

“No, listen. I’ll getyour girlfriend a plant, a nice little orange tree from the workshop.” Hewinks. “Then you can train to look after someone.”

“What? I don’t think –“

“And whenever Dianasees the tree, she can think of the us Barrows, welcoming her into the family.”

I’m too stunned forwords. I believe Diana will be too, if Tramy actually does it. But even so, Iknow he’s absolutely right. It’s a gesture she’ll cherish.

“That’s … cool. I mean,thanks,” I reply, awfully helpless, and wipe my face.

He accepts my gratitudewith grace.

I forgo my intention to searchthrough whatever baby utensils we might still have in attic; as the ones who’dknow, our parents and Gisa, aren’t here and Tramy has to return to his job. Inthe end, I guess I didn’t come to find some old blankets I won’t need formonths, but for something else. And I believe I’ve found it.

My brother offers tobring me to the train station with his transporter and I agree. When we arriveand I’m about to jump out of the cabin after a half-hug-handshake, Tramy pullson my sleeve. “Wait a sec,” he asks, and then we both go out to round thetransporter form different sides. Tramy rummages through the cargo area untilhe can produce a tiny bouquet of three red flowers that look like oversized daisies.

“Gerbera,” Tramyinforms me.

I raise an eyebrow.

“Well, I still think youshould give Diana a little present. It’s a treat from me, of course,” he adds.

“Okay, thanks, butactually, I didn’t go along with your bouquet idea because Dee isn’t intoflowers. At all.” He laughs. “What?!” I snap.

He pats my shoulder.“Shade, I won’t go on telling you that all women secretly love flowers becauseI know you’d only say I’m repeating florist ads, but see it like this:” Hetakes a breath and spreads his arms wide. “These are something nice andpretty,” he begins, and holds the bouquet toward me. “And before we talked, youdidn’t appear to feel nice and pretty at all.” When I frown, he adds, “nooffense, I don’t mean your face. But I’m just saying, put these in your flat,look at them, smell them, and think of today. Of anything you enjoy. Let themcheer you up for a second, okay?” He winks and hands me the flowers.Begrudgingly, I take them.

“You make adisturbingly good gardener-florist,” I admit.

He waits.

“And I’m glad of it.”

“You’re welcome,” heanswers, and we go on our ways.

Back at home, Dee’s home, I getback to settle myself in, to unpack and re-order, with more vigour than in themorning. I shove down my doubts about whether she’ll like changes in theclutter as they’re necessary. The sinking feeling remains, and it still nearpanics me to imagine a child and their things fitting in here as well. A baby, I remind myself, as in the end,we can always search for a bigger place in a few years. If we can afford one –

Still, while the weighton my heart has lightened, the prospect of thinking in years pulls me down to earth, every time again. But that isn’t abad thing. I won’t let it be.

With what I find in thekitchen, I prepare myself a late lunch, one also large enough to serve asdinner for Diana and me, once she comes home. Indeed, her absence tells me howlong this day has been. I make the best of being alone, starting with my ownpapers and homework after eating. The understanding and the words arrive fasternow with my new determination, while the sight of my phone poses a temptation totext or call Dee to feel closer to her.

I think I only refrainbecause while cleaning up, I saw she’s currently attending a lecture; thus Idon’t want to disturb her. I get back to writing.

I’ll have to learn herschedule by heart fast.

Darkness falls early thislate in the year. It doesn’t assist me in staying concentrated forever, so I’myawning for the fifth time and finally shut down my laptop when the dooropens. I sit up immediately and get up when Diana enters. She looks tired anddishevelled.

Instead of greetingher, I take her into my arms and she doesn’t hesitate for a second to leanagainst me. “I missed you,” I say softly, brushing her hair and loosening itsbraid even more by doing so.

“Missed you too,” shemumbles, before turning her head to kiss my cheek. I feel goose bumps at hertouch, while she’s wearing a thick coat that rustles at our movements.

She’s out of itquickly, tossing it and her bag aside in a motion so natural she must’ve doneso hundreds of times. Her fingers play with mine as she leads me to the bed tolay down. I rush to slide my laptop away. She groans as she let herself sinkinto the bed. “You didn’t have to stop working because I’m home,” she says.

“I did already. I’mjust making space.” When she raises her eyebrows, I add, “oh come on, we are still adjusting to living together.”

“We are,” she admits,smiling faintly. “But honestly, I’m too tired to work on it tonight.” She yawnsin demonstration, although it makes me worry a bit. Dee’s so energetic most ofthe time, is it the pregnancy that tires her? And if not directly, shouldn’tshe be careful not to exhaust herself either way? But I don’t tell her so.“Surely you’re hungry?” I ask instead.

“Later,” she mumbles,“give me a moment.”

I do. She splays on thebed she’s still used to sleep alone in on most nights, looking peacefulhalf-dozing and as gorgeous as when she laughs or argues.

I find a space tolounge beside her, stroking her thigh where I can feel the pulse of her blood.Has her pulse changed now that her body nurtures someone else, too?

Dee isn’t a thin woman.At a random meeting, a person would think nothing of the roundness of her bellyyet. But I know it’s new, the first sign she’s starting to show. It’s humbling,really, to glimpse our child come into existence.

I rest my head next tothe curve of her waist. As she isn’t fully sleeping, I’m not surprised when herhand finds its way to my head and begins to play with my hair.

“Sorry I didn’t reply,”she says eventually.

“Hmm?”

“When you texted. Ishould’ve replied.”

“No matter.”

“No – ” She gets up alittle, and so do I, slightly confused. “I know I implied I had no time tospare, but I did – well.” She blushes and her other hand moves closer to her,brushing her belly. I don’t think she notices. “I made an appointment with anobstetrician next Wednesday. I believe you’re free then?”

She appears genuinelyuncertain. I nod to relieve her. I’ll make time if anything gets in the way.

“Good. I thought it’sabout time, to find out if the little one’s alright.” She bites her lip and inthat moment, her composure shifts. “I’m afraid, you know. Really afraid. Idon’t want anything to happen to it. And also …” She hesitates, lowering herhead as her hand takes mine and holds tight.

“I just hope it’shealthy. If it wasn’t … if it was sick, I’d have no idea how we’d manage. Ourbudget’s tight. Probably will get only tighter after the birth. It’ll be sohard, Shade, and if we had to care for a sick child, nothing will – ” shestops, wiping her eyes. I inch closer to her, to embrace and calm her, althoughI fear the same. And I can’t promise her worries away.

“I’m so afraid, Shade,all the time. It’ll only get worse.”

“I know,” I utter,taking her other hand as well, squeezing and kissing it. I meet her eyes. “Iknow,” I repeat in a coarse voice. “I’m afraid too. And I’m grateful you speakabout it. We can’t pretend everything will be alright, can we?” She blinkswildly as a tear rolls down her cheek. I pull her closer still and she sagsagainst my chest. I don’t let go for a long time, rubbing her back and, finallymumbling some reassuring nonsense. The words aren’t the point. I’m here, withher, and I won’t leave, even though – or because – I might cry myself.

“Now I am hungry,” Dee says with asniff as we disentangle.

“Good.” I smile at herand start to get up. “I hope you like – “

“Shade?” She hasn’t letgo of my hand and her blue eyes staring at me tether me similarly. “Would youlike to know …”

“What?”

“You know …” She rollsher eyes.

“What?”

She snorts. “When we goto the ob/gyn, would you like to know if it’s a girl or a boy?” her playfulexpression vanishes as sudden as it came. Likely because my face fell.

“No,” I answer.

“That’s determined.”She lifts an eyebrow.

I sit down in front ofher and cup her face with my hands. “Dee, don’t you think that’s oneinformation we really don’t need yet?”

“Well …”

“And if theobstetrician is wrong? That would be worse. Not that the kid won’t know best intheir time…”

“Sure,” she agrees, andshifts onto her knees to kiss me on the mouth, her fingers soon on my cheek, myneck, my hair. Not that I can keep my hands off her. I love the feel of herwaist, the soft flesh above her hips contrasted by her strong back muscles.“I’m proud of you, Shade Barrow,” she whispers between kisses. “You make mebelieve we won’t be awful parents.

I laugh against herlips. “Ditto. And if worst comes to worst, I have a great family for help.”

@inopinion @lilyharvord @mareshmallow @sarcasm-and-procrastination @redqueenfandom @clarafarleybarrow @elliemarchetti @eurydicel @marecalrandomstuff @a-scarletguard-member @selenbean-beany @choosemarecal @bookworm0123 @dansilvery @gisabarrovv

[6bunnies]

i promise ☆ zelo scenario

word count: 1,991

skydive au series: yongguk - himchan - daehyun - youngjae - jongup - zelo

It was the last thing you’d ever thought you’d be doing; working as a bartender at a club owned by one of Seoul’s most prominent gangs; serving some of the most powerful men in the entire country.

Associating yourself with these types of people, working late into the night. You knew it was bad. You knew it was dangerous.

But you didn’t have a choice. In your mind, being able to get a college education was something worth the risk. And if you had to work in unideal conditions in order to make tuition money, then so be it.

“____, refill this for me will ya?” your boss’ gruff voice boomed as cigarette smoke filled the air.

“Yes sir,” you approached him, never able to look him in the eyes as you took the glass from his hand.

It was 4 AM, the club long past closing time. It was merely you, your boss, and two of his right-hand men. They always stayed late, and you were forced to stay as long as they were there.

You walked over to the bar, taking a bottle of scotch of the shelf and pouring the glass half-full before you hearing a bang on the door.

“Who the hell his that?” you heard your boss yell, commanding one of his men to answer the door.

Mere seconds later, you heard gunshots. Several of them, coming one after another.

Your heart slammed against your chest, panic setting in immediately. You had feared something like this happening. Someone coming for your boss while you were in his presence.

You quickly scanned the room, trying to find some sort of hiding spot, some sort of escape as the footsteps of intruders neared closer and closer.

Seeing the small supply closet behind the bar you rushed to the door and locked yourself inside, hoping to god no one would find you.

Tears began to form in your eyes as more gunshots bellowed through though the club.

“B.A.P?! Why the fuck are you in here!?”

Your eyes shot wide open at the sound of your boss screaming.

B.A.P

The city’s most notorious group of hitmen, known for being one of the most lethal groups on the entire continent, were ransacking and taking down some of the most prominent figures in the gang world mere feet away from you.

And you were frozen, with nothing but a fragile, old wooden door to protect you.

You began sobbing, trying to be as quiet as possible. If they found you, you’d be dead. No doubt about it. They wouldn’t even think twice before sending a bullet straight through your head.

“Please, please don’t find me, please don’t find me,” you softly whimpered to yourself, hoping to god they wouldn’t think anything of the little supply closet behind the bar.

But, boy, were you wrong.

You heard one last gunshot fire before hearing a deep voice command, “Start searching the place high and low. They’ve their money stashed around here somewhere.”

Oh god.

Oh god no.

Your hands were shaking uncontrollably, sweat poring down your body. You knew there was no way they wouldn’t look in the closet. If they were searching the whole place, there’s no way they wouldn’t come across it. No way.

You looked everywhere, trying to find something that would possibly be used as a weapon but it came with no avail. The closet was full of nothing but old empty boxes and cigars.

You had nothing but hope left. Hope that somehow, they wouldn’t find you. That somehow, they’d give up and move on.

But that hope was fleeting, for it was then that you heard the sound of bottles rattling as someone hopped over the bar, footsteps nearing closer and closer.

You watched as the person tried to open the lock, your hands flying to cover your mouth.

Please give up, please give up, please.

Suddenly, the knob of the door stop moving. You breathed a sign of relief, believing that the person had moved on.

But before your heart even had the chance to calm down, you watched as the door was violently busted wide open, your throat uttering a blood-curdling scream.

“Please don’t kill me, please, please!”

“Hey, hey it’s okay it’s okay, I’m not gonna hurt you, I promise.”

You looked up to find a man with a soft, almost child-like face. No doubt around your age. He was tall, with black and blonde hair and a small piercing on his delicate nose.

You watched as he tucked his gun back in his holster before he slowly bent down to join you on the floor.

“Are you okay?” he asked you. His voice was soft, and gentle, his eyes bright and kind but still filled with concern.

“I…I…” you could barely speak, still unsure if this man could be trusted.

“Are you one of Jung Hyunwoo’s girls?”

“No…I…I…he’s my boss,” you stuttered out, your eyes barely meeting his, “He…He hired me to bartend at the club.

“You got lucky then, you were about to be for sure. It’s how he reels in all his girls.”

“His girls?” your eyebrows furrowed, not having the slightest idea was this man was telling you.

“Jung Hyunwoo runs a rather notorious prostitution ring,” he watched your eyes go wide as he continued, “He finds girls in need of work, so he offers them positions in the club and gains their trust before kidnapping them and forcing them into sex work.”

“You’re alright now though. My name’s Zelo,” he reached out his hand, offering to help you up.

“____,” you told him, shying away from him.

“I swear we’ll help you out. We’ll take you back to your place, make sure you get home safe. None of us will hurt you.”

You paused a moment before hesitantly giving him your hand.

Pulling you up, he gave you a soft smile; his hand still holding yours as he lead you out of the closet.

“Himchan,” he called out as your eyes travelled to the five men at the table sorting through what looked like thousands of dollars, “I found a Hyunwoo girl.”

You stood behind Zelo as Himchan’s sharp eyes turned soft at the sight of you.

“It’s alright,” Himchan told you while your mind still reeled over everything Zelo had said. “We will assist you in anyway that we can.”

Your eyes traveled across the faces that looked at you, their eyes filled with sympathy.

You weren’t sure how to process it all. This was a group of men that murder people. A group that ruthlessly shoot down people an not even bat an eye. Why were they being nice to you? And could you really trust them, knowing what they do?

“Youngjae, drive Zelo and the girl to her home,” Himchan ordered as he worked to gather more cash into bags, “I am trusting you two to return her safely.”

“Yes sir,” Youngjae and Zelo answered in unison.

“As for the rest us; we will be taking the money back to our downtown hideout. Everyone should report back to the mansion by 6AM.”

“Yes sir.”

You watched the men scatter as Zelo turned to face you. “Come on, _____, let’s get you home.”

You hesitantly followed him out of the club and into the car where Youngjae was waiting, Zelo sitting next to you in the back seat.

“Where do you live?” Youngjae turned to look at you but you avoided meeting his glance.

“The apartments 15 minutes from here, near the subway stop.”

He nodded, starting the car and driving off.

You remained silent in the back, still shaken over everything that had happened. Still uncertain if  you could trust these men to get you home.

Glancing over to your left, you watched as Zelo sat calmly, his delicate features illuminated by the passing city lights. You wondered how someone who looked so soft, so innocent, could do such cruel and aggressive work.

But yet at the same time, he was kind towards you, and seemed to want to help you.

You were perplexed by the boy. Completely and utterly perplexed.

“We’re here.”

Youngjae’s voice snapped you out of your train of thought as you unbuckled your seatbelt and opened the door.

“Thank you for the ride,” you sent them a soft smile, knowing it was the least you could do for them.

“Wait,” Zelo hopped out the car with you closing the door behind him. “I’ll walk you to your room.”

“Oh,” once again, this boy seemed to catch you off guard. “Thank you.”

The two of you began walking, your apartment on the very top level of the building; footsteps the only sound filling the air.

It stayed silent like that for awhile before your curiosity finally got the best of you.

“Zelo, why did you help me?”

“What?”

“Why did you save me? Why didn’t you just kill me?”

Zelo chuckled a bit, his hands traveling to his pockets.

“Is that really how bad our reputation is?”

You looked up at him quizzically.

“We aren’t savage murders, _____,” he looked up to the sky, taking in the stars that would soon fade once the sun arrived. “We don’t kill for fun, we kill for money. We kill the people we’re paid to killed.”

“But even then,” he continued, “it’s not always that black and white. Sometimes we get asked to to kill perfectly innocent people in which case we refuse. We don’t believe in a bitter husband wanting his cheating wife dead, or killing of some innocent kid just because their father pissed someone off in the mafia. We have a sense of humanity and we pride ourselves on that.”

“Regardless of what you’ve heard, we aren’t bad people, we really aren’t. I know we’ve done some pretty extreme stuff but….” he paused for a moment, looking down at his feet, “…I don’t want you to see me as some animal hunting for his next prey. I’d like for you to see me as a regular person, if that’s possible.”

Your body that was once tense relaxed at his words. Certainly his occupation was by no means normal, but at the same time, his words showed another side of him; a better side of him. One you could respect.

“I understand, your job doesn’t define you. I mean, just an hour ago I was a bartender at club owned by gang bosses. I’m sure people have their bad perceptions of me too.”

“I don’t,” Zelo quickly cut in, “I mean, I don’t know you very well but…I can tell that you’re kind. I can tell your job was never something you really wanted.”

You smiled at him, your cheeks turning light pink, “Well thank you Zelo, I’m very flattered you think that way.”

Continuing your way upstairs the two of you eventually reached the door of your small apartment.

“Thank you for everything, Zelo. For taking me home and walking me to my door, you’re very sweet,” you told him as you fumbled through your purse for your keys.

He rubbed the back of his neck, his face turning red, “It’s nothing, ____, really…and hey you know, if you ever don’t feel safe walking home alone I can always…come pick you up you know?”

You looked up from your purse and chuckled at him, “Really?”

“Yeah! Or you know if you’re just bored, and wanna you know, get some food or something that’s totally fine too.”

“Well,” you reached in your bag to grab your phone, “If you’d like we can exchange-“

“Yes!” he quickly cut in, whipping his phone out of his pocket. “You can text me or call whenever it’s fine, emergency or otherwise.”

“Anytime? Anytime at all and you’ll come help me?”

“Of course.” he grinned, typing his number into your phone and handing it back to you, “I promise.”

[dombumboo]

Welcome! This blog serves as a temporary hub for research that circles around an is about the life of Douglas Traherne Harding. Because of this temporaryness, and until the research finds a more permanent home, the material presented is constantly undergoing reconfiguration - which may be echoed in it’s fragmentary form. 

Research was first utilised at The Well; an exhibition developed through a year-long program at Open School East, alongside many other interesting works. The material for this first iteration was collected and displayed by George Harding, with support from Lou Lou Sainsbury, Chloe Ashley and Sara Trillo - amongst many others. 

Subsequent projects, works and events that arise through utilising Douglas’ research will also be documented here.

Documentation of the first iteration can be found here. A pdf copy of Douglas Harding Dream Estates can be found here.

“The speaker (player, performer) begins with a description of a landscape; then an aspect or change of aspect in this landscape evokes a varied but integral process (or jogging) of memory, thought, anticipation and feeling, which remains closely intervolved with the outer scene. In the course of this meditation the speaker (player, performer) achieves an insight, faces up to a tragic loss, comes to a moral decision, or resolves an emotional problem - which often rounds upon itself to end where it began, at the outer scene, but with an altered mood or deepened understanding - a result of the intervening meditation.” 

M. H Abrams on Samuel Taylor Coleridge. ‘Structure and Style in the Greater Romantic Lyric’. Oxford University Press. pp. 527–8. 1965. [edited]

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Profile: Douglas “Traherne” Harding 

(12 February 1909 – 11 January 2016)

A child of Shoemakers and Innkeepers, Douglas Harding was born and raised by elders of the Plymouth Brethren – a strict sect of the Christian church. His upbringing was harsh and presented very few opportunities for interaction with those outside of his immediate community. After impressing his tutors with the speed at which learned to read and write, and showing promise in many of his early literary endeavours, Douglas was granted access to various journals and illustrated books. This rare and lucrative material granted him a momentary glimpse of the outside world  – and set many things in motion.

When the abrasive nature of his home grew to much, Douglas retreated to the journals he kept, slipping away to a secretive realm, a place of his own making - a shifting landscape, unfettered by the Brethren's grasp.

Upon his twenty first birthday, after finding courage in the mind of another conflicted member of the Brethren, Douglas confronted his community and announced his departure...

Douglas’ Walk & Early Collections

Upon leaving the Brethren Douglas was known to have undertaken an extensive journey by foot across the lower parts of England - leaving a note that illustrated a desire to find himself in thorned bush and ploughed field.Little was known about this journey until a few key fragments of information were recovered from a battered lockbox found trapped under a number of _________. The first section of the archive presented here is split across eight sites that Douglas is now known to have visited. Though each sites relevance is slippery, Douglas’ wandering his way through an on-going revival of folk music in the British Isles, whilst simultaneously being present at a number of the first table top roleplaying games. The archive was built on an exposure to two rigorously active communities - one very much at the forefront of political and social change, the other a underground, subversive network.

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Folkloric Episodes

As more of Douglas��� journals, notebooks and other ephemera are unearthed and documented, whilst other outside perspectives are illuminated, this section of the archive will expand. 

Site I  J. England’s Garden

Site II  The Hill of Vision

Site III  Rock Mill

Site IV  Warlock & Moeran

Site V  The Kyrle

Site VI  Fairport House

“Think of Fairport Convention as an old county mansion, its entrance and exit doors permanently open to successive tenants who have passed through, stayed, abandoned it and returned. Some have lived there for most of their lives, some are new, some come knocking on the door again after a turn of travelling out in the world. Each new set of inhabitants may refurbish rooms; the exterior might become a little shabby sometimes; but it’s never quite allowed to tumble in ruins. And the house has now been standing for so long that a whole community has sprung up around it.”

Rob Young on Fairport Convention. ‘Fairport & Electric Folk: Faber Forty-Fives 67′ - 70′. Faber & Faber. pp. 2. 2012

A Space of that coming and going - of ritual renewal. Reforming and redecorating itself around those who interact with it.

Site VII  Holst & Noel

Site VIII  Vashti & The Road

Site IX  A Song Has No Ending

“Only a palace with interior doors / Well painted well gargoyled with multiple floors / Two windows let free this projector machine / And the magical world here appears on the screen / My servants attend me with tricks of the senses / The past and the future and similar tenses.”

The Head. The Incredible String Band ( taken from ‘God’s Holiday’)

Be Glad for the Song Has No Ending. The Incredible String Band. 1970.

An important film (shot by the BBC) that was intended to be a ‘straight laced’ documentary of the band.  It was quickly morphed into a theatrical excavation of the bands ethos and influences - tapping into the mystical landscape that they had dug themselves into around the broad fields of ____  - At 1:28+ a dizzying recital formed equally as a setlist and inventory - akin to a Georges Perec text - of the bands influences, that serves as the portal at which to dive, head first, into their fragmentary and wild world.  To exhaust and understand their subject.

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The Pirate and the Crystal Ball pt.1 + pt.2.

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Folk Collectors: Variations on Memory

A Selection of English Folk Songs. A. L. Lloyd. 1960.

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A Selection From The Penguin Book Of English Folk Songs. Various Artists. 1985.

[Both of the above form an important compendium of folk song - in written and sonic form. All of the songs featured on the 85′ album were taken from the ‘The Penguin Book of English Folk Songs’ edited by Ralph Vaughn Williams and A. L. Lloyd - important archivists alongside Cecil Sharp]

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Cecil Sharp’s Collections

>  A comprehensive source for information on other folk archivists can be found in the ‘full english’ section of the EFDSS site.

“We haven't all that many fairy ballads, and this (Tam Lin) is by far the finest. It's fairly venerable, it was already printed on a broadside in 1558, and it wasn't new then. It seems to be uniquely Scottish, though there are international folk tales that come near its story; a Greek tale considerably more than two thousand years old tells how Peleus, wanting to marry the sea-nymph Thetis, lay in wait for her in a cave and seized her as she came riding in naked on a harnessed dolphin. She turned herself successively into fire, water, a lion, a snake, even to an ink-squirting cuttlefish, but Peleus “held her tight and feared not”, and in the end she gave in and the Olympian gods all came to the wedding.” ~ A. L. Lloyd’s liner notes

Greek myth can be fucking crazy and should be referenced with care but it keeps popping up in many forms. Here we have an good introduction to protean thinking/being - a notion that will present itself further into the archive, and an introduction to one meeting central to the revival and adaptation of folk music during the 60s.

Tam Lin, Tamlyn and Young Tambling REF

>  Fairport’s adaptation & lyrics

>  Steeleye Span’s version

“The way in which folk tunes would appear, in slightly different versions (often as settings for completely different worlds) in various parts of the country was a source of fascination for Vaughan-Williams and the other composers and musicologists who were busily collecting tunes.”

Five Variants on “I Bid You Goodnight” REF

A Very Cellular Song. The Incredible String Band. 1968.

“Weaving between styles as divergent as Bahamian funerary music, East Indian incantation and ancient Celtic mysticism, 'A Very Cellular Song' represents a high point in the band's creativity. Handclaps, kazoo, harpsichord and pipes intermingle and morph into each other. If this sounds like dissonance and chaos, it is.” ~ Music Is Rapid Transportation. Bill Smith.  p164. 2010.