Floral Phantom

+ Because of his fight with Undergrowth, Danny abosorbed his plant powers, like he did with Votex. But Undergrowth had no problem with Danny having them, not like Vortex. + So. Danny has plant powers, just like Dani, who did learn it from Danny.

Dani once again destabilized, and Danny had the perfect idea how to help her!

++++ Danny visited an Arkham cell for a problem.

Danny:" So, Dr. Pamela Isley. I would like to have your DNA." Poison Ivy was angry:" What!" Danny opened his hand, and out of his hand, a plant started to sprout from it. As Ivy saw that, she looked at the boy and waited for what he wanted to say. Danny:" I need your DNA to stabilize a girl who has genetic problems." Pamela:" Genetic Problems?" Danny:"Well, Clone problems, and I think your DNA would help her. So are you okay with it?" Pamela:" Sure." Danny smiled and took her into the portal. ++ Undergrowth Realm. That was how Ivy was taken to this prehistoric place, just plants and all of them speak to her. Many extinct plants too, like the Cooksonia. And it was massive! Bigger then she thought possible. There she meet that massive Plant god, and the tiny girl in the tube. The boy left as he shows her the place, he has to go back being a hero.

A DC X DP #19 Our Pharaoh, Your Duke

Imagine dis…

I kept reading about Tucker as a reincarnation of a powerful Pharoh from the Ancient civilization of Egypt and he wouldn’t stop reincarnating as long as people kept making and improving tablets. I don’t know if that is part of the canon or if that episode in DP is just another Sam and Undergrowth situation.

Anyway, just a thought is passing by…

….

Tucker was enjoying his afterlife with his spouses, Danny Phantom the High Ghost King in the Infinite Realm, and Sam Manson the heir and apprentice to the Ancient of Nature Undergrowth. All three of them were enjoying a rare day off that over-laps each other’s schedules. Tucker became the high leader also known as The Pharaoh in the Egyptian section of the Infinite Realms when the old ruler wished to pass on and when he was able to prove himself to be powerful enough to protect his section in the Realms as well as wise enough to lead them to prosperity. Add the fact that he is married to the High King and bump up other ghosts’ attitudes toward him as he is one of the official consorts of the new King.

The trio was just in a middle of a picnic when Tucker started to feel dizzy accompanied by a headache. Both of Tucker’s partners look at him with worry and concern in their eyes, as Tucker is about to reassure them that he was fine when darkness suddenly invaded his eyes.

…

Tucker is so sure that he has his reincarnation in control but the fact that he suddenly had clarity after months in the standard of his new body. Tucker felt panic fill him, A powerful entity or not every time he reincarnates, he forgets his life before and during his time in the Infinite Realms to not disrupt the normal flow of events, he only recovers his original memories when he was in the brink of death or something is need to change.

He also is worried about whatever his spouse would do as he remembered being in their presence when he was forcibly reincarnated. But by the looks of it, whoever did target him knew nothing about the complexity of the cycle thus having his memories with him along with some abilities that were muted to something more discreet. Tucker was just glad that it was him instead of his spouse.

…

As a child, Tucker no wait his new name is Duke Thomas, took it upon himself to explore this new world as it is taking his spouses a while to find him, which led him to believe that this universe may be part of a small sector of which Clockwork cannot interfere due to the delicate relationship between time and its citizens. Tucker was ecstatic when he had seen the futuristic appeal around him but felt disappointed when he had a need that only the rich and those who have connections can own them. He felt his eyes widen at the mention of aliens and other world beings and people around seemingly saving the world daily, not because of the heroes his lovely husband is an interdimensional/universal Hero and King, but because it has aliens which made him think about the opportunities of bragging rights to his husband the moment, they reunited.

When Tucker/Duke took notice of the city that his parents decided to call home, he was already thinking about his wife’s reactions will be, it seems she will either fall in love with the architecture that screams everything goth and the amount of gargoyle around each building or joins a rogue named poisoned Ivy to her crusade towards nature. It also seems that some of his powers mutated that seems to focus on his eyes, to accommodate this new universe or is it to accommodate this new body, he wondered.

As he was growing up, he began to have doubts about his so-called ordinary family as Danny’s luck rubbed them off the moment they all said I do at the altar. He just hopes that it is something he can handle future he could handle. There have been rules and laws about protecting people with power that were later named as Meta humans, he breath a sigh of relief when he saw no mention of the Infinite Realms from all data base.

…

When Bruce took him into his ward it took everything in Tucker/Duke to not scream fruit loop at the billionaire much more when he discovered a hidden base below his mansion’s basement, he doesn’t know that if Bruce is an upgrade is a degrade at the fury persona. It just never occurred to him that one day he will be a daytime vigilante like the origins of his husband. Honestly, he can’t help but have a new profound respect for his husband when he was just starting, he may be in the daytime schedule but it still took time to adjust. He also had a family of an experienced team from the start yet Danny has only him, Sam, and his sister as safety nets, he is so going to spoil Danny the moment they all saw each other.

The moment he laid eyes on Jason he can’t help but hiss quietly at his state. A liminal at the verge of hunger, no wonder his random outburst of anger kept getting worse each time he lost himself. With little to no materials that can handle the contaminated ectoplasm as well to turn it into a pure ectoplasm he was able to make a filter, yet it takes too much time to purify a liter of it yet reveals a small vial of a pure version. Yet it was better than nothing, whenever he was tasked to get them treats and coffee, he would always put the small vial of pre-ectoplasm into his drink which greatly improved his mood but unfortunately, he was the one who kept doing errands as Jason won’t drink anything else without his secret ingredient. Cass had already noticed him doing something to Jason’s drink but shrugged it off seeing that it was improving his mood, but he can’t help but feel that there is another shoe about to drop.

…

He was right, there was another shoe waiting to drop. You know, with his experience with Danny Tucker should have already known not to jinx things.

A group of archeologists found a new hidden tomb deep within Egypt and decided to go exploring yet the new guy on the job seemed to have done something and unleashed an endless number of Egyptian soldiers that seem to attack everything in sight. Though they are not killing anyone anyone who was sliced with their weapons is immediately teleported to a prison deep below the surface and forced to live a life of hard manual labor like a slave.

Tucker/Duke was shaken awake by Stephanie as the news of the Egyptian soldiers made their way to the mainland and the soil of the US. Much worse is that these soldiers found themselves at Gotham harbor and Batman is calling in every vigilante in Gotham to hold off the army while the JLD finds a way to undo the mess, every member of the magical side of the JL has already interrogated the new archeologist whether he had stolen something or he had disrespected someone in the site. Duke was pretty sure he heard Constantine grumble at the fact that this would be much easier if mind control magic is present but no, it just had to be neither of the common reason when an army of the dead raises themselves from the dead.

Now when Tucker/ Duke was wakened up after he had just gone and stayed awake for the past 14 hours straight due to an exam that his dumb professor insisted on having despite having no to little effect on one’s final grades as well as a case that needed his vigilante self his full attention, much to say he is not happy.

…

At the battleground, other members of the JL have already gone into Gotham to aid Batman and his associates while others were able to evacuate the civilians and now joining in the fight. Every person fighting is starting to feel hopeless as this Egyptian army kept coming back at them while their fighters are getting wary and tired at each wave they faced. As some of the people of the JL were about to succumb to what looked like their inevitable fate there come Signal in his yellow-clad suit and looked like he just crawled out of bed, climbed the Wayne tower with a megaphone in one hand, and proceeded to… scold the army?

Some of them blinked at the ridiculousness while some seem to pinch themselves at the absurdity of the situation. How Signal kept screaming at the undead army how his GPA and sleep is much more important than their so-called invasion to return the Ancient civilization of Egypt to its former glory. As jaws began to drop as all undead Egyptian soldiers seems to lower their heads in shame as they listen to Signal scold them for what looked like a half hour scolding before he heaved a deep breath and ordered the soldiers to go back where they came from and return the prisoners to the living world.

Just moments before each JL and JLD members try to reboot their respective minds at what had just transpired a crack was heard seemingly echoing throughout the ruins and a green portal began to form. There, two beings came through a black-haired woman with plants crawling up to her arms and legs with a wreath on top of her head and a white hair man with a crown floating above his head and a cape that looked like made out of stars dragged Signal by the arm and dragged him back to the portal. Now all heroes are scrambling to make sense of what had happened in a matter of minutes as well as trying to get back their youngest brother back, Duke may be older than Damian but he was the latest one to be adopted thus making him the youngest by their standards.

…

Back in the Infinite Realms Duke is quietly sleeping sandwiched and snuggled between the loves of his life while wearing his Pharaoh regalia he just can’t help but feel like he had just forgotten something.

Meh, he’ll tackle that after he had his full rest with both Sam and Danny’s arms and presence beside him.

…

PS: If someone out there wanted to continue or make a fic about this you are free to do so, don’t forget to tag me though.

part of the 2020 sapphest fic fest, cross-posted to ao3

pairing: jungkook x hoseok x namjoon

word count: 8.1k  ||  rating: sfw  ||  genre: magical realism

summary: jungkook doesn’t know what she wants in life. but maybe the cottage-dwelling botanist and warlock she moves in with could help. or, perhaps, they might even be the answer.

notes: i apologise if this isn’t up to scratch, i haven’t written an actual oneshot i think since jan/feb (?) so i know i’m rusty. also, this fic contains a trans female jungkook, cis female namjoon and non binary hoseok so i really do hope i’ve done them justice, it’s my first time writing characters with differing gender expressions. please do let me know what you think with a reblog or an ask, it really makes my day and would help a lot as i’m trying to get back into writing. thank you and i love you xxx

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Jungkook feels the gripping pressure around her heart ease with every step she takes down the street, fading into phantom pangs once the tall apartment building falls out of view.

She had never quite gotten used to it; the relief in a lack of something, the bliss of less. Her family’s worries seeped into her bones, soured her tongue when she was home. At high school, and especially at university, the stress of other students buffeted her like gales of wind. The brief moments of respite when she’d walk to the bus stop always felt so fleeting, like a gasp of air that didn’t quite fill her lungs enough.

Now, though, she didn’t stop there. She walked further, sucking in deeper breaths.

The train station lay close to the centre of town, but it was never that busy in the late morning, something she’d known fully well before going.

Her phone buzzes in her front pocket, no doubt her mother wishing her safe travels again. She doesn’t answer it, though. Happiness is a sweet tang behind her teeth, and her respite from obligation is a welcome one.

Her train is already pulling into the station when she steps up to the platform, and she wastes no time in scanning her card and finding a seat, tucked in the least occupied corner.

It doesn’t take long for the cramped blocks of Seoul to open up into countryside, and with it comes an openness in Jungkook’s chest that she only remembers feeling once before, a family vacation to an island that felt so blurry in her childhood memory.

Her gift wasn’t so strong then, but still Jungkook finds herself, over a decade later, seeking out nature as a balm for the mood pollution of city life.

When she’s as far south as the train allows, she disembarks. Not a single other soul steps foot off into the station, and it seems nobody is around.

It’s more a bus stop with rails than a train station, really. A roughly squareish pad of thick concrete sits beside the old tracks, a steel park bench and signpost the only things adorning it.

Around the lonely station is an open plain with few trees. On the opposite side, vast untended fields sprout daisies and dandelions, rising gracefully to low hills in the distance. On Jungkook’s side, a single narrow path of sun bleached dirt cuts through the wild grass, leading her to civilisation.

It’s a quiet walk. Not that she minds, of course; on the contrary, the remoteness of this place settles her and allows her to appreciate the finer sounds that normally get drowned out. The grass and scattered trees rustle gently in the wind. A few birds that roost in the shade of the branches chirp to each other, and the melodic noise brings a smile to Jungkook’s face.

When the small path she wanders along finally leads her to a series of small, traditionally-built houses, she’s unsurprised to find them seemingly abandoned. There’s no signs of life outside, and no evidence of human mood anywhere in her body. Even more than the rundown appearance of the outpost, Jungkook trusts her natural gift.

So when a tug in her chest leads her past the small crop of houses, she doesn’t hesitate. There is something for her here, something she may not yet have the words to explain, but for the first time she’s letting herself follow the currents that run through her veins, instead of trying to live around them.

The path lifts.

Like the train station was the base of a funnel, the land rises into hills on this side too, the extra exertion heating her calves with each step. Eventually, the narrow spine of dirt becomes overgrown with grass, and she’s forced to trample over it, ducking around low-hanging branches and stumbling over roots as the trees cluster around her, welcoming her into the cool shade of the hillside.

The crest of the hill has a jagged notch missing like a chipped tooth, providing a shortcut to the other side. The sun peeks through worn walls of ancient stone. It glares in Jungkook’s eyes, but even that brightness is overwhelmed by something stronger that radiates from the very ground itself. Euphoria.

Though her gift was still sometimes a mystery to her, Jungkook had learnt to distinguish most moods. In her cramped suburbia, she’d generally just been exposed to human feelings and the occasional animal, but she could still recognise the specific energy that plants give off.

Stronger with every step she takes, her soles practically vibrate with the flow of plant life singing out in joy - the joy of thriving, of being taken care of. Her own excitement wells up inside her, and her feet pick up their pace until the thud of grass changes into the slap of heavy soles on rock. She slips through the narrow crevasse of stone at the peak of the hill, breath catching at what greets her on the other side.

Like some kind of paradise, lush colours and fragrances mingle in the fresh air. The slope is much gentler here, and instead of uneven undergrowth and stubborn shrubbery, graceful rows of trees fill the open plains in front of her.

An orchard of plum trees with their pink blossoms rests to her left, rich purple fruits beginning to grow from them. Beside, a thicket of orange trees brighten the landscape with the bold citrus, only a few white flowers remaining on the branches. The green apple trees in front of her are laden with fruit, the branches hanging low. To her right, she even spots the brilliant pink spheres of pomegranate, though surely her eyes deceive her.

There’s no clear path through the foliage, though each row kindly provides enough space for a person or two to wander through, so Jungkook takes one such gap at random. There looks to be a fairly old though well-tended cottage beyond the trees, and even as the ecstasy of the healthy orchards envelops her in warmth, she feels the tug in her chest still guiding her forward.

Her body adjusts to the strong flow of positivity. It clears her mind, opens her lungs; like breathing pure mountain air. She has no idea what she’s really doing - trespassing and approaching a stranger’s house like this - but already the thought of having to leave here and find a place to stay makes her stomach curl.

Between the line of trees she can make out the front-facing wall of the cottage. Made up of wide planks of wood, slightly uneven with all the knots and flecks left on the surface, green creeping ivy runs lines across the edges of the plants like earthy seams. That’s all she can see, though, and the first sign of human life doesn’t come from what she sees but rather what she hears.

Reaching her ears even around the happy murmur of greenery, a bright voice hums a meandering but cheery tune, interspersed with chirped phrases that Jungkook can’t quite make out yet.

She approaches slowly, but impatiently peeks around the trunks of trees for a glimpse at the individual. The movement, the colour, the tint of energy that she feels off of them is unlike anything she’s felt before. Pure light, just as brilliant as it is tender.

She steps forward again, foot snapping a fallen twig. Suddenly, that stranger’s energy wobbles, the freezes in the air altogether. Jungkook pauses, knows she’s caught.

“A visitor?” the new voice exclaims incredulously, almost as if talking to themselves. “Are you human, visitor?”

Jungkook swallows. Whoever it was must not have been able to see her. “Mostly,” she replies hesitantly.

As if that’s the right answer, a joyous hoot rings out through the orchard, and light thumps skip closer. A smile stretches across Jungkook’s face entirely unconsciously, her eyes widening when the person finally darts into sight, hand hooked on an orange tree at the very end of the row.

“A friend, then!” the apparent owner of the house declares. They’re dressed for gardening, though dressed is perhaps overly generous. With bare feet and cropped, slightly curly hair, the only thing the person is even wearing is a pair of overalls, dirt on the knees, the leg cuffs rolled up to their calves and the front only just covering their otherwise naked chest. Every inch of skin revealed down to the elfish slope of their nose is a warm, rich bronze, like the sun itself has sunk below the surface and is instead shining outwards. It matches the high energy that Jungkook feels off of them, making her heart race.

Used to modest - even prudish - city fashion, Jungkook swallows at the delicate shoulders and collarbones that contrast enticingly with the swell of their biceps. Averting her eyes, she clears her throat and introduces herself. “And sorry for, uh, intruding,” she offers up with a grimace.

But the stranger waves it off, the movement exposing a flash of something gold on their palm. “Don’t be,” they respond easily, “we haven’t had a guest in years. Name’s Hoseok, by the way.”

“Jungkook,” Jungkook replies without thinking, making the other’s eyes light up even more. “I don’t even… I don’t really know why I’m here.”

Hoseok seems to be expecting this answer. “You should come inside, Jungkook. I built up wards against humans about three years ago when we moved in - it’s not even on any maps now! - so if you’re here, you’re here for a reason. Just because you don’t know it yet doesn’t mean it isn’t important.” They state this all like it’s a matter of fact, and Jungkook herself feels instinctively swayed by the logic. Or, perhaps, swayed by the way Hoseok’s back flexes behind the straps of the overalls as they turn towards the house, leading her there.

Jungkook swallows, trying to distract herself from the beautiful being in front of her. “Are you a, um-” but even her first question isn’t so clear. Unsure what to choose, she goes with the statistically more common option. “-are you a witch like me?”

Hoseok cranes their head back with an easy grin, boyish waves framing their face like a dark halo. “That’s up for debate. Technically, sure, but I don’t really like using the term witch or wizard. Lots of non-binary folk just use warlock, mostly. But yes, I have magic. Come see.”

They hold out their palm, then, and Jungkook jogs forward a few steps to catch up, just breaking out of the shade of the orchard as Hoseok tilts their hand towards her.

Like the rest of Hoseok’s skin, their palm is a warm golden shade, though it positively glows, an ethereal brightness resting below the skin, centred in their palm but reaching as far as their fingertips like five tiny lamps. “Sunhands,” Hoseok explains simply, their hands radiating a delicate warmth. “Had them since I was born. Helps me grow things year-round,” they finish, gesturing loosely in front of them.

Finally breaking her gaze from Hoseok’s beautiful gift, Jungkook looks ahead, unable to stop herself from gasping in a breath. “It’s gorgeous,” she offers up, but the compliment feels lame in comparison to the haven she’s met with.

Hoseok hums proudly nonetheless, and gives Jungkook time to take it in.

The house is every bit the rustic, homely cottage Jungkook had envisaged from the glimpse she got, but her heart is taken by the details. The wooden face she’s met with is clearly the side of it, hosting a small woodshed complete with an axe half-embedded in a tree stump and a tiny freestanding barbecue grill. The house itself is two-storied, although the second floor looks much smaller than the first. A round glass window peeks out from the top. Jungkook thinks she sees something move behind it, but her attention is quickly pulled by the glint of glass in the sun off to her right.

Behind the house, taking up almost the same ground space as the other building itself, a glasshouse blooms with vibrant green. Lush ivy trails up the frame on either side of the rounded top like a set of ribs bracketing the plant life inside. Unlike the neat rows of fruit trees, it looked like a dense forest within those crystal clear walls; the only signs of human intervention were the rows of metal shelves housing smaller plants, and irrigation pipes fitted inside.

“Our little sanctuary,” Hoseok sighs happily, seeing where Jungkook’s gaze has wandered. “My wife’s a botanist by trade, her specialty is in endangered species. Most of these only bloom very rarely, or don’t survive well in regular soils. We’ve spent a long time cultivating them. I use my gift to grow them; she uses her gift to study them.”

Jungkook tries to tamp down the ebb of disappointment that arises. “Your wife?”

“In all ways but legal,” Hoseok confirms with a dreamy grin. “She’ll just love you, I know it already. Come on; let’s get out of the heat.”

There’s a swing bench on the porch outside the front door with a lone novel resting atop it, open page-down as if the reader had to leave it there without a bookmark to keep their spot. Hoseok skirts past it, wiggling their feet briefly on a worn mat before stepping inside.

Feeling so out of her depth, Jungkook doesn’t protest, but instead pauses just inside the door, unsure if she should take off her boots.

Hoseok notices and winces. “We don’t, uh, we don’t have any spare house slippers. If you wanna keep them on, you can.”

Jungkook bends down to toggle the zips down anyway, letting her socked feet enjoy the respite of the cool hardwood floor. “You have a really nice place,” she offers up, though it’s quite the understatement.

To the right is a narrow set of stairs leading up to a mezzanine. There’s only one closed door up there that Jungkook can see, no doubt leading to the second-floor window she’d seen earlier.

The other side is a short hallway lined with what looks like homemade artworks and photographs. Down at the far end, the sun shines into a kitchen, but Jungkook doesn’t get a good look before she’s ferried up the stairs, the third step creaking under her socked foot.

“Knock knock,” Hoseok sings out instead of actually rapping on the closed door, squishing their cheek against the frame. A murmur comes from inside, and they open the door immediately, flocking inside. “A new friend, Joon-ah!”

When Jungkook slips inside shyly, her breath is immediately taken away by the beauty of the person inside. Not just their looks, though she’s never seen hair as glossy and graceful as theirs, and eyes as bright. But being near them feels like standing on the bank of a still, clear lake. Deep with wisdom but still teeming with life and curiosity. With a set of tortoiseshell reading glasses almost tipping off their nose, the person seated at the chair feels like the heart of the house, the heart of the whole region.

“Does this new friend of ours have a name? Preferred pronouns?”

Jungkook can’t do much more than blink. She’s dreamt about this, obsessed over this for years, but it may just be the first time anyone’s ever actually asked her in real life. “Sh- uh- Jungkook, she/her. Th-thank you for asking.”

The beauty in front of her smiles, and Jungkook’s knees threaten to give out at the serene warmth and endearing dimple. “It’s a pleasure. I’m Joon, by the way. I use she/her too. I’m sure Hoseok forgot entirely, but they use they/them. Always best to check, don’t you agree?”

Jungkook’s nodding immediately in response before she even processes it. “Yeah, I- that’s helpful, thank you.” Her mind feels hazy. People in the city never felt this vibrant, mixed with the blissful hum on the soles of her feet from the plantlife outside. She fights to wrangle her mind back into something coherent “Um… Hoseok said you had a gift too?”

Joon’s brows furrow delicately, swiveling her chair back to face them fully. She’d been seated at a busy-looking desk when they entered, writing notes into the margin of a yellowed textbook. Now, Jungkook can appreciate her simple choice of outfit: just a loose t-shirt and some thin fabric sweats, she nevertheless exudes pure grace, even as she quirks a brow towards Hoseok.

The latter coughs lightly, scratching their bare shoulder under one of the overall straps. “I mean… I would call you gifted, love,” they state in an imploring tone.

Joon just lets out a breathy chuckle and turns back to their newcomer. “I’m fully human, actually. My history is academic rather than magical.”

“I am curious, though,” Hoseok chirps, hooking one of their legs on the arm of Joon’s chair and draping themself half onto her, “what’s your gift, Jungkook? You’ve seen mine. Elemental,” Hoseok states, patting their bronzed palms on Joon’s thighs.

If Jungkook pauses to process the public display of queer affection in front of her - as well as the unfurling of mutual fondness emanating off the couple - she might just pass out, so she clears her throat and directs her gaze a few inches above their heads. “Sensory,” she explains. “I feel moods from other beings. I think the trees and stuff outside brought me here, actually.”

Hoseok blinks, eyes wide. One of their overall straps has slipped down, exposing one side of their chest, making Joon tut and tuck it back up again, but the gifted one takes no note. “The trees? You can feel the trees?”

Jungkook shrugs, but her insides glow at the impressed tone to their voice. “Yeah, I, uh, I can’t really do much with it, so I studied house magic at university. I rented out house witch services for some extra money, so that helps.”

Joon’s smile warms even further at the mention of study, her eyes crinkled with some bemusing inside joke. “We might just have to keep you, then,” she quirks, “as amazing as Hoseok is, their skills don’t really extend to the indoors. Mind you, I’m even worse myself.”

Hoseok hums, unflapped by the comment. “I never had a knack for fiddly stuff. I much prefer getting my clothes dirty than cleaning them.” Seeing how worn and discoloured the knees of Hoseok’s overalls are, Jungkook doesn’t doubt that for a second.

But her mind can’t really focus on that. Her own nerves rattle through her body, metallic on the insides of her cheeks. “I, um… I could help? If you wanted?”

The tentative flicker of interest reaches Jungkook from both parties, allowing her to get her hopes up. Nevertheless, she bites her tongue and braces herself for rejection. Did she even have enough money on her card for the train ride home? Stupid, she was-

Joon beams warmly, though with a touch of hesitation. “We’d love that, really we would. We just… We don’t have much human currency, Jungkook.”

Jungkook blinks, chest flipping as she rushes to shake her head. “I don’t need it, honest! Do you- If you had a place for me to crash, or…”

Hoseok sucks in a breath through their teeth and jostles Joon playfully on the shoulder. “Come on, love, we could move some of those old boxes up here and she could have the spare room. Don’t you want to keep her?”

Even faced with Hoseok’s all-but-bare back, Jungkook can sense their pleading eyes with the way that Joon melts in her chair. She pats Hoseok on the shoulder. “Up you get, then, sunshine. It’ll need some dusting too.” The curled brunette heaves themself up, peppering a kiss on Joon’s cheek before slinking out the room.

Jungkook isn’t quite sure if the rising ecstasy in her chest is all her or a shared blend of the people around her, but she knows she’s never felt so bright. “Thank you so much, Joon! What jobs do you need help with?” She turns when she feels the tingling, menthol-esque blossom of hope directed at her back. Near the top of the stairs, Hoseok still remains, their cheek squashed against the banister and eyes glistening. “I could always clear out the room for you?”

Hoseok begins to perk up but Joon just tuts. “Don’t be silly, sweetheart, you just put your feet up. We aren’t going to put you to work straight away.”

“We aren’t?” Hoseok murmurs in unbidden disappointment.

Joon tries to hide her smile, but her lips quirk up fondly at her partner nonetheless. “The cleaning spray and broom are in the hallway cupboard downstairs,” she divulges, receiving a dramatic whine in return. “Suffering builds character, dear.”

A sulky, “yeah, yeah… love you,” is heard from the foot of the stairs.

Joon lets out a breathy chuckle and returns the affection, before standing up from her desk and nodding warmly at Jungkook. “Perfect weather for a lunch picnic, don’t you think? I might go down and see what I can prepare. Why don’t you explore a bit, or go rest? The couch in the living room is divine for taking naps.” With that, she departs, leaving Jungkook alone in the attic to process the absurdity of the past hour.

Feeling less like an intruder than before, Jungkook welcomes the opportunity to fully roam the outside of the property, admiring the lush wildlife and vegetation. The open plains go far beyond the opposite side of the house, leading to a sharper cliff face going up. Jungkook even thinks she can spot the thin vein of a waterfall if she squints, but there’s plenty of beauty at her feet for her to discover first.

While the grove of trees flanks the house on one side, the far side boasts rows and rows of garden beds, the dirt a richer brown than the rest. Fat strawberries weigh down their stalks in some plots, leafy greens spill over the sides in others. The vast range of produce is almost unbelievable, with the side of the house itself displaying a maze of herb pots. Most of them were cooking-based, but Jungkook doesn’t miss the orange spots of brewer’s mint, the sharp, wicked-looking leaves of murkroot and even a small terracotta pot of Jupiter sage. She was well-versed in magical ingredients, but had never seen them fresh outside of her university’s greenhouse. She could only imagine there were many more in the tall glass structure behind Joon and Hoseok’s house. Her fingers itch to test them, to wow her new landlords with a pain-reliever salve or the perfect dream-infused tea. It can wait, she tells herself. If they were growing them, perhaps they used them for something else.

A wet huff interrupts her musing, and she jumps when she feels something moving against her leg. Glancing down, she’s relieved to find the new presence is a tubby, short-haired dog with sleepy eyes, back arched as it stretches first its front legs, then its back, before collapsing onto its back, wriggling against Jungkook’s boot.

She lets out a disbelieving laugh, reaching down to gingerly rub the creature’s belly. The dog all but purrs, legs kicking in the air and tail thumping rhythmically against the sun-bleached wooden veranda.

“Where did you come from, huh?” Jungkook crouches, feeling her calf muscles ache but grinning at the way the dog seeks out her attention shamelessly, not hesitant at all about the presence of a stranger.

“Ah, I see you met Cho,” a warm voice comes from above her. Jungkook cranes her neck up, admiring Joon’s tall form. “She’s a rescue.”

A rescue? Paired with the close view of the gorgeous botanist, Jungkook has to bite down hard on the inside of her cheek to push her feelings down. She’d fall in love if she wasn’t careful. “Is that so?” she asks, willing her voice to be steady.

Joon nods, kneeling down to gently run her knuckles behind the dog’s ears, tan fur paling to white on the very tips. “I had to go to a nearby town for supplies, and found this wee girl in an alleyway digging in some bins. My heart broke for her, I just couldn’t leave her there.” She lets out a light laugh. “She was so skinny that Hob-ah called her chopstick. Now, though, she’s built like a barrel, so we just call her Cho.”

Cho wiggles her butt against the veranda, paw hooking on Jungkook’s wrist the moment the petting pauses. Continuing to pat the canine, Jungkook sighs. “That’s really sweet of you. She looks really healthy.”

A spontaneous laugh erupts from Joon’s nose. “She just about eats more than us, she better be. Anyways; I better get back to work. I just came out here to grab some mint for the lemonade.”

Jungkook stays hunched on the floor with Cho - whose nose is burrowed wetly into her furled palm - while Joon approaches the trellis of herb pots, gently plucking some soft green leaves off a plant that’s low enough to make her bend at the waist. Biting her lip harshly, Jungkook averts her gaze from the way her pale sweatpants pull taut around her hips with the movement.

Before long, the botanist returns inside, causing Cho to let out an indignant sneeze and scramble up to join her.

Jungkook exhales until her lungs feel concave. Back in a moment of quiet, she runs her fingertips over the texture of the wooden veranda. The energy from Joon’s unhurried focus feels like the echo of strong hands on Jungkook’s shoulders, but past it is the playful jab of Hoseok’s mock frustration. She grins, picturing the warlock fiddling with an old broom or trying to line up the corners of a fitted sheet. The tang of surprise has long since faded from Jungkook’s mouth, and it’s nice to sit in the warmth of both the sun and their welcome.

She breathes deeply, inhaling the fresh smell of clean air and fresh earth, and smiles.

For such a small house, there really is no shortage of work for Jungkook. Some things are easy fixes, like a permanent polish salve for the heavy mahogany bookcase in the main room or the several anti-dust spells she casts around the house. Others take days at a time to chip away at - she’d forgotten just how long it takes to fully steep a digestion aid tea to cure Hoseok’s raging lactose intolerance - but her two new housemates never nag or criticise. In fact, she’s found a warm foundation of purpose inside her that she hadn’t had since she graduated.

Each evening, when her hands begin to ache or the recipes on her phone look fuzzy, she packs up and joins the two lovebirds for dinner. It’s become a domestic ritual to help them cook, chat for a few hours on the porch as the sun slips below the hills, and then turn in for a restful night of sleep. It’s meant to be a full moon tonight - the fourth one since Jungkook arrived - and their routine is no different, gathered on the edge of the porch facing the open fields behind the house. It’s peaceful, Jungkook thinks. She’s more content now than she’s been in a long time.

There’s something...worrying bubbling within her with every shared moment, though. It’s in the way her pulse leaps when Hoseok beams at her, or the stuttered heartbeat in her chest with Joon’s casual touch. She knows they’re together, can feel the resonance of their affections inside her, yet she can’t help pretending those vibrations are directed at her. Lets herself accept the fond shoulder squeezes, blush at Hoseok’s playful winks.

It’s a dangerous fantasy to indulge in, but…

“Jung-ah, did you change your hair? It’s gorgeous.”

She flushes at the compliment, the genuine tone of Joon’s voice. Joon’s own hair is still a sunkissed brown, so long now that she often ties it off with a ribbon into a lazy ponytail. For a while, Jungkook burned with gender envy, knowing it would take years and years for her hair to grow that long. But a quick text to a friend from uni and an obscure millennial cosmetics spell site helped speed that process up. It wasn’t nearly as long as Joon’s, but the feeling of it tickling her bare shoulders each night made something deep inside of her positively glow. “Thank you,” she murmurs shyly. Hearing Joon notice it and respond well to it ignites that euphoric spark again. “Wanted something different.”

Hoseok reaches a hand up to ruffle their own hair; loose coils springing back around their brow. “Don’t you get hot, ladies? I’m tempted to take a razor to mine and it’s not even past my ears!”

Jungkook can’t manage to suppress a snicker in time. “I’d pay to see that.”

Hoseok grins, but sends a wink Joon’s way. “Hmm... wifey doesn’t seem so convinced, huh? Don’t you think I’d suit the skinhead look?”

Joon tilts her head back to catch the last few rays of orange sun, shadows cast below her jaw. “It wouldn’t be my first choice. But confidence looks better on you than any hairstyle, sunshine.”

Hoseok beams at that, letting the conversation drop as if they never were that interested in shaving anyway. “I think I’m making progress with the vanilla, love.”

That gets a strong reaction from Joon, her dark brows arching gracefully. Jungkook’s interest is peaked, leaning forward so that she’s sitting right on the edge of the porch. “The vanilla?”

Like a proud mother, Joon puffs her chest. “It’s mostly grown in Madagascar these days, and it’s a notoriously fickle plant. The flower only blooms one day a year, and is fertile for only 12 hours. And often, they require human intervention to actually pollinate. Seok-ah here thinks they can get it blooming more often. Have you gotten it, sunshine?”

Hoseok shrugs away the attention humbly, though their eyes glitter with barely-restrained excitement, turning to them both. “For a while I thought my sunhands were my only gift, but I think I must have some type of connection with plants too. I’m really not sure, but I’ve gotten my vanilla crop to bloom three times this month alone! Only two of them produced decent pods, but it’s definitely progress.” Their eyes drop, mouth twisting in thought. “I wonder if I could speed up the fermentation process as well. It usually takes months, but I’ve grown whole trees faster than that. Who knows?”

Joon’s reply is interrupted by a low vibration rattling against the porch. Her smile slips in confusion, and drops entirely when she flips the phone and reads the screen. “It’s Tae.”

Hoseok sobers up too, worry and anxiety emanating off them like a cold tide. “Is something wrong?”

Joon doesn’t reply, brows furrowed as she types something back. Barely a moment later - though it feels much longer as Jungkook awkwardly sits, completely out of the loop - a text buzzes through again, and a surprised laugh comes from the back of Joon’s throat, her lips stretched in a smile. “He’s… he got the job in Osaka.”

Hoseok gasps and claps their hands together once, wiggling in their spot. “That’s incredible!” they begin, but before Joon has even replied to the text, a third is coming through. Hoseok basically jumps in the air, demanding for their wife to read the message aloud.

“Oh my goodness, Tae has a boyfriend, Seok-ah! Says he’s a chef at a Korean restaurant in the city centre.” Joon smiles fondly. “He’s doing well, sunshine.”

Hoseok mulls this over with a slightly put-out look. “Dammit, I didn’t even think of dating a chef.”

“Hey! I’ll have you know that I made that dipping sauce from scratch yesterday.”

Jungkook feels the banter whip back and forth on either side of her, impenetrable without the important context. “Who’s, um, who’s Tae?” she asks hesitantly, bracing for them to scold her prying.

Joon just smiles placidly, reaching back to lazily re-tye the peach ribbon that’s threatening to slip off. “He’s our ex.”

“Ah, ah, ah,” Hoseok chides, “you know he doesn’t like to be called that.”

A sigh. “Tae’s our husband once-removed. Happy?”

“You… had a husband? Both of you, or?”

“What’s mine is hers, Jung-ah,” Hoseok coos happily, “we like to share. Tae was my… boyfriend, back in the day. We actually got hitched before I even met Joon. Young marriage, we were pretty dumb kids.” They shrug, the soothing cotton-soft acceptance filling the air around them, not a spike of negativity to be held. “He actually introduced us shortly after our honeymoon, and I fell for Joon straight away. I admitted my feelings to him, but he just started laughing. The two of them had briefly dated in high school. Small world, huh? We sort of fell into a trio after that.”

“It was unspoken, really,” Joon mumbles, her eyes in the far distance as blue twilight dims the sky. “It felt as natural as flowing water to us.”

“And then-” Hoseok breaks off roughly, and the air tightens. “Tae went through some personal changes. Identity changes. We all tried making it work, we loved being three, being together, but it wasn’t right for him anymore. He ended up winning a scholarship to a very prestigious photography school in Tokyo, and we all knew that was what was best for him.” They fall silent for such a long time that Jungkook would almost think they were finished talking. But then, only just audible, they whisper. “I’m glad he’s doing well.”

Joon leans over to Jungkook, her sweet scent filling the narrow space between them. “Some of the art in the hallway is his if you want to look.”

Before Jungkook can reply - though her head is swimming with joonjoonjoon that she probably has no coherent comments anyway - Hoseok makes a strange strangled noise and gets up. “I’m so sorry,” they announce stiffly, “I think I left a light on in the glasshouse.”

Jungkook watches in confused silence as the warlock, still barefoot even in the cooling night air, marches swiftly across the field to the pitch-black glasshouse. Joon lets out a gentle sigh.

“Did I do something wrong?” Jungkook asks, voice almost cracking on the final word. “I shouldn’t have asked-”

“It’s okay,” Joon interrupts kindly, a warm hand placed on Jungkook’s knee. “It’s just… This is the first time we’ve had a third person in the house since Tae. I think Hoseok missed it.”

Jungkook bites on the inside of her cheek, feeling a chill run through her. “I can’t replace him, though. He sounds like a good guy.”

A considering hum resonates from Joon’s throat. “He is a good guy. But neither of us,” she gestures first at herself and then the shadowed silhouette of a head poking above some plants in the greenhouse, “are looking to replace him. In fact,” she admits with a rueful laugh, voice dropping to a low murmur, “I think the two of us are quite enamoured with you, Jung-ah.”

Joon’s hand on her knee burns through the thin cotton of her sundress, the tips just grazing bare skin. Jungkook swallows, feeling every beat of her heart thud at her ribs. “I like-” her voice rasps like sandpaper, throat dry. She clears it, swallowing thickly again. “I like when you say my name like that.”

She isn’t looking directly at Joon, but she still feels the broad smile. “It sounds pretty, don’t you think? It suits you.” Jungkook’s lips twitch; she ducks her head even as Joon leans closer. “You know, my parents wanted a son,” Joon explains softly. “They called me Namjoon. I always hated it. Felt like such a tomboy, the Nam was too mascule to me. So I dropped it. Still me, just… better. I know plenty of people change their names entirely, but you don’t have to. I think Hoseok would love to chat with you about stuff like that. I know I wouldn’t understand those feelings as much as they would.” Joon furrows her brows, looking embarrassed at her monologue. “I just want you to feel comfortable here.”

“I appreciate it,” Jungko- Jung-ah says immediately, glancing up to see Joon’s face light up. “I- I’m, um, enamoured with- with you too. With you two, too.” Coughing lightly to clear the awkward phrase hanging in the air, she drops her gaze again, but a single finger pauses her, hooked gently under her chin.

Slowly, Joon lifts Jung-ah’s jaw until their eyes meet. They’re somehow closer now, their breaths mingling hotly together between them. Jung-ah’s lips part, but no words come out.

This close, she can see the way a sheen of chapstick glints in the moonlight when Joon smiles. “Sweetheart, can I kiss you?”

Her stomach flips. She nods, not trusting her voice, and barely has a chance to flutter her eyes shut before a pressure lays across her lips. Joon kisses her slowly, so softly, like she might shatter in her hold.

The air has a chill to it now, but every point of contact feels hot like a furnace, and the keening, pleased energy that blooms from Joon keeps her warm. She lets it sink into her, wrap around her just as Joon’s soft palm encases her cheek, fingers playing with her hairline.

Joon’s lips taste like strawberry, but the real sweetness is her delicate movements, chaste but sensual, passionate but patient. Her thumb rubs slowly over Jung-ah’s cheekbone, giving her the strange feeling of swaying in the sea, entirely unmoored. She leans into it, diving deeper, feeling their noses bump.

Joon pulls away too soon, leaving Jung-ah with tingling lips and a dizzy mind. Her chapstick has all but rubbed off, but her lips are plumper and pinker than ever, pupils blown wide.

It takes a moment for the cloud to dissipate, but when it does, Jung-ah gasps weakly. “Oh my god, you’re married, what am I-”

“Ah, yes,” Joon remarks with a wry smile, “you’ll have to go and even the score now or I’m afraid Hoseok will be terribly disappointed.”

Jung-ah pauses, caught off-guard. “They won’t be...angry?”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Joon coos, “Seok-ah quizzed me for hours last night on the meanings of flowers so that they could grow you some. We’re poly, Jung-ah, you don’t have to stress. Besides,” she quips, inclining her head out towards the field, “it looks like they want to speak with you.”

Glancing in that direction, Jung-ah blinks when she sees the glasshouse, still in darkness, but with a warm yellow glow cast inside, the main door cracked open intentionally.

A fond energy smooths the air between them as Joon stands up off the porch and ruffles Jung-ah’s hair, mumbling a soft goodnight.

After listening to the door squeak open and closed again (she’d have to fix that tomorrow) Jung-ah has nothing left to do but make her way across the grassy plain toward the glasshouse.

The warm glow from inside had dimmed as the moonlight cast her surroundings in silver. Still, Jung-ah could see Hoseok’s silhouette clear as day as they paced back and forth amongst the various shadows of the plant life inside.

It doesn’t take long before her hands are brushing on the metal doorway, glancing inside. “Hoseok? Did you- are you-?”

“Come on in,” the warlock replies easily. There’s a pleased glint in their eyes even as their curls hang heavy over their brow. Overdue for a haircut, though Jung-ah couldn’t deny it made them look even more endearing. “Come here often?” they quip.

With a strange pang, Jung-ah realises this is the first time she’s stepping into the enclosed jungle. Hoseok spent time outside, Joon spent her days glued to her computer or a book upstairs, and Jung-ah wandered around the house with an ever-changing list of ‘Ideas’: to-do jobs that the homeowners were too polite to frame as compulsory. She never really ventured beyond the garden beds for the occasional herb to use. “First time,” she admits with an uneven tone.

Hoseok’s eyes wander, widening. “It is too,” they agree easily, unruffled. “Well, I’m very glad you came. I don’t blame you for sticking indoors. Joon’s far more interesting than me and my leaves.” They reach out and flick at a plant lazily, though Jung-ah doesn’t miss the gentle care in the touch.

“I think you’re fascinating,” she rebuts instead, “I just never wanted to bother you. But it’s… These plants, Hoseok, they’re beautiful.”

A proud beam highlights a smear of dirt on Hoseok’s chin, and Jung-ah resists the urge to reach up and dust it off. Instead, she follows riveted as Hoseok leads her around the deceptively large greenhouse.

“This is where I keep the rarer things. Or, I suppose, the more fickle ones,” they begin, trailing a path along a metal-framed shelf to their left with a single fingertip. “The tahina spectabilis here normally only lives until 50 in Madagascar,” Hoseok explains, and Jung-ah cranes her neck to glance up a trunk, looking much like a simple palm tree. Hoseok’s voice is soft, like they’re in a library, or a place to pay respects. “The tree will flower at fifty years old, and the process is so taxing that it actually dies. This one was passed down through my family’s ancestors, all elementals. It’s over two hundred.”

“Oh, wow,” Jung-ah murmurs without thinking, though she can’t help but view the sturdy trunk and flax-like leaves with a new admiration. “Your ancestors were all interested in nature like you?”

“Absolutely,” Hoseok remarks with a mysterious humour clouding their tone. “I bet yours were, too. Magical folk descend from gatherers and healers right back in the prehistoric age. I bet you would’ve been the healer to my gatherer, Jungkook.”

She swallows, watching the lines of Hoseok’s back move gracefully with every careful step through the lush, almost overgrown glasshouse. “Jung-ah,” she corrects lightly. “It’s, um, it’s Jung-ah now.”

When Hoseok turns, it’s like their fantastical surroundings are cast to grey. All Jung-ah can see is their bright eyes, bold heart-shaped smile and puffed cheeks. She wills her heart to stop thudding in her chest so hard, letting the pleased hum of the plants around them settle her internal rhythms.

“Jung-ah,” Hoseok repeats, and the name sounds even lighter on their tongue. “I like that.”

“I like you,” Jung-ah states and immediately curses her loose lips, wincing harshly at the rich dirt beneath her feet.

A surprised chuckle tinkles the air. “How scandalous, when my wife is just next door!” Before Jung-ah can dissolve into a blabbering, apologetic panic, Hoseok’s hand is reaching into her line of vision, a playful tug on the collar of her shirt. “Good thing she feels the same way as I do,” they continue softly, not lowering their hand.

Jung-ah sucks in a breath, feeling their knuckles bump against her collarbone as her chest lifts. “What way?” she asks carefully, daring herself to look up only for Hoseok to be far closer than she remembered, hand warm and glowing slightly between the two of them.

Behind the earnest smile is a slight hesitation that Jung-ah feels more than sees. Hoseok’s voice is barely a whisper, but no other sound penetrates their green paradise. “I want you to be the first thing I see when I wake up,” they confess, “and the last thing I see before I go to sleep. I want you to stay with us. I want to be yours, and you mine. That way.”

“Do you want to…” Jung-ah pauses, tongue wetting her lips unconsciously. “Do you want to kiss me?”

Hoseok’s smile grows, and the prodding hesitation disappears. “I’ve been waiting a long time to hear you ask that, hon.”

Their lips connect with no time for a reply. Jung-ah doesn’t mind though, letting herself melt into the kiss like there’s nothing else in the world. She feels Hoseok’s hands like twin suns, warmth running over her upper arms, her shoulders, catching gently on her jaw. And further, on a level so deep only she can feel it, those bright rays envelop her, Hoseok’s energy like pure joy. Jung-ah feels them smile into the kiss, lips slanting against hers and teeth bumping as they fail to suppress a grin.

When she finally has to pull away to suck in a breath, chest heaving, Hoseok is still beaming, their eyes dazed and hair rumpled. A strange light illuminates their chin and tip of their nose from below, and Jung-ah blinks in surprise as she sees Hoseok’s hands, completely alight up to their wrists with sunlight.

Catching Jung-ah’s gaze, Hoseok flushes, burying them in their overall pockets even as the light penetrates the heavy jean. “I know it’s bright, it’ll… it’ll settle down soon,” they promise, a sheepish smile puffing their cheeks. “I’m just really happy, Jung-ah.”

Jung-ah can’t help but return the smile. “Me too.”

~

Hoseok exhales dreamily as the sweet smell of strawberries fill the air. Not one for alcohol, they’d gotten Jung-ah to help make them some pink lemonade just the night before. Their wife hovers over the coffee table with the glass carafe, gripping it tight like it might wriggle out of her fingers at any moment.

One arm cradling several packets of snacks and the other holding a plate of slightly misshapen gimbap, Jung-ah makes her way between the two, settling the goods on the coffee table before slipping under Hoseok’s outstretched arm. The two curl up on the couch, Joon’s attempt at pouring the bubbly drink keeping them both amused.

“So nobody is going to help me?” she questions incredulously, grimacing as some of the lemonade doesn’t make it into the mugs she’s attempting to pour it into.

Hoseok’s fingers slip unconsciously under the hem of Jung-ah’s shirt sleeve, rubbing lightly at the skin there. “You’re doing splendid, love,” they assure earnestly. “The table was looking a little dehydrated.”

Joon lifts her jaw with a hard stare, but her lip quirks before she can help it. “I can’t believe this is my celebration party and I’m still the one doing this. I’ll remember this for your birthdays; just you wait.”

“Don’t worry,” Hoseok murmurs into Jung-ah’s ear with a lilting tone, “she always says that but I get breakfast in bed on my birthday every year. I love you, Joonie,” they call out in a singsong voice, reaching out to grab an outstretched mug with the hand not wrapped around Jung-ah’s shoulders.

Taking the other mug and watching the bubbles pop on the surface of the rosy liquid, Jung-ah sends Joon a warm smile. “I’m really proud of you, Joon,” she praises softly. “You worked hard, and the book is amazing.”

Joon raises a brow, taking a swig from the final mug and squeezing up on Jung-ah’s free side, neglecting the second empty couch in exchange for some closeness. “Have you read it?”

Jung-ah pauses, avoiding her gaze. “Seokie and I looked at all the pictures.”

Joon nods somberly, even as her eyes glint in bemusement. “The one thing I didn’t do.”

Hoseok’s hand reaches far enough past Jung-ah to just slightly brush at Joon’s cheek, the human pressing into the contact. “You’re far smarter than us, love. There were lots of very big words that we couldn’t quite understand but we’re proud of you nonetheless.”

Joon lets herself smile then, a warm one that crinkles her eyes and deepens her dimple. “I love you both too.”

Jung-ah flushes, feeling her toes curl at the sentiment, professing her own love for the two on either side of her before dipping her chin to sip at the lemonade. The sparkling water tickles the roof of her mouth, the lemon giving a bright tang, even as the strawberry infusion leaves a sweetness on her tongue long after she’s swallowed. It’s familiar to her, somehow.

As Joon leans onto Jung-ah’s side, beginning to explain to them the elaborate process of getting her third book published, Jung-ah takes another sip, swilling it in her mouth a little longer this time. It’s not until Hoseok’s getting up to pour them all a second glass, making the other two cackle as their hand is even shakier than Joon’s, that Jung-ah finally realises where she remembers that taste from.

It’s not a taste at all, but a feeling, an energy. Most of the senses her gift gave her were from other people, from plants, from wildlife. Very rarely were her own emotions strong enough to come back to her like mic feedback. But she recognised this one. Jung-ah was content.

A lie taken to the grave

Pairing: Willow Rosenberg x vamp!reader

Request: could you maybe do “Wait, why does this grave have your name on it?” with Willow and a vampire reader?

Requested by: Anonymous

A/N: Sorry the ending isn’t resolved, maybe if you like it I could write a second part 🖤🦇

You were waiting by the entrance of the graveyard, hearing her heart quicken as she saw you. You smiled wide as she skipped towards you, enveloping you in the sweetest hug.

“Willow! My love!” You whispered, a wry smile on your lips. This woman was the one. You could feel it. After centuries of afterlife both with and without a soul, she made you feel alive.

You had agreed to an evening walk. On Halloween night. You couldn’t resist her, couldn’t even begin to deny her. She had been excitedly telling you of her day and the various monsters that she had to face up against. She never introduced you to her friends, which you had been grateful for, knowing the company she kept. She had wanted to keep you separate. Away from the danger she thought you would be in had you come across a vampire.

You apologised to the powers that be with every step you took, knowing you shouldn’t be out here. It’s demon lore: only an idiot would leave the lair after dark on All Hallows eve. And you were an idiot. A love-sick fool. For her. You slipped your hand into hers and she beamed at you, her smile almost making your dead heart flutter in time with hers.

You offered for her to come back to your place, sooner rather than later, so you could relax together for the evening. You adored her love of Halloween despite everything she had seen and her compassion for the other known vampires in her life which gave you some hope she may accept you. One day. When you worked up the courage to reveal yourself properly.

“Could there be kisses? And maybe snuggles?” She asked as you laughed along with her sweetness. She really was the one.

“Of course! As many as you wish, sweet Willow!” You replied happily as she began to swing your arm in excitement from where her hand was still clasped to yours. You had tried to speak more modern, but Willow didn’t seem to mind your way of speaking and so eventually you stopped trying.

As Willow spoke, recounting a story about a very cute little witch she had seen all dressed up at one of the places her friends use to meet up and discuss ways to save the world. You were so proud to be hers. The way she saved the world almost every week. The way she was so modest about it. How you knew from what she described that she was pivotal to the saving. You smiled, giving your attention to Willow and chipping in where you could. You kissed her forehead as she spoke.

You had been once to that store, it was a quaint little magic shop. You had seen her friends, they had been very pleasant even if you had looked a but unusual with your shades and your thick, sun protection clothing. You bought a crystal and some holy water in a thick enough vial that you could touch it to throw them off the scent. Just in case.

You stared ahead, hoping that the short walk would end but her love never would. You loved her, but you were still wary of Halloween. You recalled your previous Halloweens and how lonely they had been and how lucky you felt to be by her side. However, while you were doing this, you hadn’t noticed your sweetheart had stopped happily recounting her day.

She had paused, staring at a gravestone. It looked much like the others in this section, you hadn’t realised that you were walking past, too caught up in your love. Willow had though. Her eyes were wide and she had just stopped still, which was what signalled something wasn’t right.

A chill whipped around you, a terrible feeling in your gut. As if you were the prey being targeted on Halloween night. The hapless victim knowing your reason for living was about to be cut down, which you found worse than any wound inflicted on the flesh.

You turned to look in her line of vision. Wincing visibly as you saw it. It was decayed, crumbling at the edges. The thick stone almost covered with ivy and undergrowth. Something drew her to it. She slid her hand from yours to uncover the writing.

“Wait, why does this grave have your name on it?”

“It, uh, may be a coincidence…” You try, lamely. She frowned, your girlfriend was incredibly smart and powerful. So you decided to change tac and come clean, “Uh, because it is mine…”

“Died… 1901” She whispered, her eyes like saucers, “You died in 1901? And you never… said?”

“Uh, you were not there at the time…” You attempt to brush it off with humour that she did not appreciate. You hung your head, you knew this day would come. But you really had hoped for more years with her.

You decided to just explain everything. Your siring, your longing for something that always felt incomplete until she walked into your life. You even detailed to her your ensoulment. When you finished, she still appeared to be in shock. A stony silence stretched before you, your sorrow starting to fill you up. You felt it before it happened and yet you still reached for her. You tried to comfort her but she flinched away from you. This devastated you. You would never do anything to hurt her. 

“Y-you lied! You’re a liar! A-and a thief! A liar-thief!” she raised her voice, explaining. Her voice echoing around the graveyard and bouncing off the stone that had once signalled your resting place.

“I never stole… I just could not find a way to-” You try to explain once more, but she spoke louder.

“You stole my heart, y/n! You just came in all fancy with your- you and you stole my heart and now it’s all a lie!”

“But I would never lie! My feelings, they’re true. I have never loved like this before” You insist, taking her hands as you pleaded, “I just couldn’t tell you” you whisper, looking down at your clasped hands. At what had been so perfect only moments before now held a level of bittersweet sadness you had pleaded with every known deity never to feel.

It stung more when she slid her hands from yours, shaking her head and wiping a stray tear.

You really should have known better than to risk leaving your home on Halloween night. You cursed yourself. Wishing you had said something sooner. Wishing you hadn’t hurt her this way.

“Please, Willow… I risked Halloween night to be by your side. On a trip around a cemetery I was trapped in for too long” You pleaded, willing her to understand. Willing her not to leave you. It may break you if she left. Your skin already feeling as if it were crumbling to dust. 

Your heart breaking without the use of any stake. In fact, it may have been kinder for her to just stake you rather than go through this. The sorrow of a lost love. Of a woman that was too good for you, too 

“You were trapped here?” she said softly, stepping cautiously towards you as she listened. Her caring nature wouldn’t be switched off, especially not for you. She could never stop caring, but she was hurt.

“Stuck in a coffin… pulled myself out. Somehow I must have known it was worth it… that one day I would have found someone worth staying around for…” you whisper and her eyes filled with emotion at your words. She moved to cup your cheek sadly, rubbing her thumb along the side of your cheek in a comfort you moved into, your eyes closing. A touch you never thought you would feel again. Then she nodded slowly, moving away from you and walking away into the night. You watched her go, an acute melancholia settling in your chest. It would haunt you like a spectre until she was able to forgive you. If she ever was.

Maybe by next Halloween, had you not been staked by Willow’s slayer friend, you may be back in her favour. 

You could only hope.

And my scars remind me that the past is real

TITLE: And my scars remind me that the past is real

SHIP (if applicable): Emhyr x Geralt / Can be read as GEN

PROMPT DAY: 5 (Loneliness)

MEDIUM (Netflix, Books, Games, Hexer):  Witcher3

WARNINGS:  Graphic Depictions Of Violence

SUMMARY: Asked about one of his scars, Geralt recalls a time when he was still very young and realized for the first time what life - and especially what end - was in store for him.

WORD COUNT: 4182

AUTHOR’S NOTES: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25083352

For @geraltwhumpweek

Every single lover has asked about his scars, even the whores. Most of them were interested in particular ones, although there were times when one wanted to know the story of each one. Emhyr never asked, not once, although he always takes the time to look at them - at him - very closely. But that night he does ask.The oddly shaped, thin scar in Geralt's armpit is easy to overlook - there are more impressive marks on this skin, which is why they are always so interesting for his counterparts. Larger, worse-healed scars tell of adventures, of interesting stories. Of monsters, of pain, perhaps of a mysterious cure - they are the stuff of dreams. He has stopped wondering about that a long time ago. So that night Emhyr asks about a scar for the first time, and it is one of the smallest, most inconspicuous scars, in a spot where it is hard to imagine that much damage has been done. Maybe he only asks because he wants to know if Geralt can actually remember each of these injuries - the thought seems really strange to him. He runs his finger over it, gently, almost carefully, as if this particular scratch was brand new. For him, it is. It's a strange spot, and the mark has a strange angle. "Is it impolite to ask where this comes from?" he says. Geralt's quiet laughter pierces through both their entwined bodies. "What's so funny?" "No one has ever wondered if they may ask," Geralt returns. "Really?" Emhyr watches him closely. He's still not sure exactly when the witcher is trying to be funny - at least he has a strange sense of humour. Geralt, on the other hand, finds it amusing that someone who could demand any information from any person cares to ask. This is new, and besides, he's never had a problem telling the stories before. In fact, he does remember each one. "It looks unremarkable, doesn't it? It is a good story. But it has no morals, nor does it end well." "Why doesn't it end well?" Emhyr demands to know. "Are you the sort of person who reads the end of a book first? You have to be patient. So, watch out: Once upon a time, there was a witcher …“

Once upon a time, there was a witcher named Geralt of Rivia, and let's just say he was pretty young and pretty stupid. No, let's say he was pretty inexperienced, because it was his fourth year on the Path, so he was still a bit like a baby learning to walk. There was a lot of wastage in those first years: most of them were happy if they survived the first year. It was autumn, and with a bit of luck the witcher would return to Kaer Morhen this year, and with even more luck most of his brothers would be there. But it was likely that not all of them would return. There would be no mourning, no farewell celebrations, and certainly no funerals. But nobody likes to think about that when the autumn sun is still warm and its light makes even the darkest areas like Velen seem cosy. In those years almost every small village had a monster problem. A good time to gain experience: Lots of drowners, tons of ghouls and even the odd alghul, nasty chorts, endregas, disgusting kikimores, water hags - just name a monster, he has seen it.At least that's what he thinks, he is confident and maybe a bit too full of himself. These are the years before Skellige, for him a siren is just a mythical figure; it will be decades until Touissant, before he sees a giant centipede for the first time …

„What happens then?" Geralt raises his eyebrows. "Don't interrupt the narrator. But anyway …" He lifts the light blanket, exposing one thigh. Then he points to one of the larger scars on the inside, thin and faint against his pale skin. There are a few here, most by nekkers actually, but this one is a little special. "The first reminder that these beasts are significantly longer than what is sticking out of the holes they dig in the ground above. Now, do you want to hear about this or shall I go on?" "No, go on. I particularly liked the part about the witcher being young and stupid.“ "I bet you did. Now listen.“

So the young and still somewhat inexperienced witcher believed that he already knew a lot of monsters, which he was wrong about, of course. He came through a village whose name he will not remember decades later, but in those years the names are not important either. There were enough villages, there was enough work. There was almost never enough coin, but he rarely went hungry. He directed his faithful horse - which was called Roach, of course - through the village, looked for the village headman and asked for work.The usual banter began, most of it stupid and redundant: "Whatcha got white hair, with a gob like that, you must have just learned to jerk off" and similar jokes. Four years weren't nearly enough time to get used to it, but he was making progress. No need to pity him anyway, for it was common knowledge that as a witcher he had no feelings - in every respect, so it didn't matter if someone threw rotten fruit at his head or insulted him. He remained polite, as he had been taught to be. So he asked for work, and they said, no, they don't need a witcher, it's a decent village. Actually. If it weren't for the old elven ruins, deep in the forest: a deserted, eerie place; a place for tests of courage for the young and for horror stories from the old. It was not a contract, because basically they seemed to have no problem and no real reason to be afraid, or at least they chose not to tell him. They told this story only because for some reason they thought that superstition, folklore and fairy tales would interest him. Or maybe just to get rid of him. And he was not yet so jaded - or so clever - that he would have missed the opportunity to explore a perhaps enchanted place. He was still very young. And he still believed that, if he should run into a problem - and the forests of those days had enough monsters - there would be someone who would pay him to take care of it. That was a mistake, it would take him quite a while to understand this. So the villagers saw him leave, watched as he turned towards the forest, and the whispering did not stop there. Some actually seemed surprised that he went there, but some called him an idiot to do so, and that might have told him something. However, he was an idiot in a way, so maybe not.

"He's still an idiot today," Emhyr says sleepily against Geralt's shoulder. "Is this story going anywhere?" "Not if you keep insulting me." "Is that so? My apologies, master witcher. But there better be a really nasty monster coming before I fall asleep." "Not to worry. The monster will come. Stay awake, or you'll miss it.“

The witcher rode into the forest, but soon had to dismount and leave his horse behind, because the forest was very dense and the ruins lay off the road. They were completely overgrown, it was easy to overlook them, unless you knew the area - or were a witcher. Now it was not very warm anymore, so deep in the forest, where the sun hardly shone through the dense treetops. But to the witcher the cold seemed almost unnatural - which was the first hint that something may be wrong. He penetrated further into the undergrowth, until the evidence of the elven culture became clearer and more visible: ancient, moss-covered stone slabs, perhaps benches; the remains of something similar to a bird bath. Perhaps this had once been a garden, but now, at any rate, there was nothing but green and dust and the somehow creepy feeling that he felt like an intruder. But since he was not allowed to have feelings, he was not afraid. A little adventurous, perhaps, but nothing more. Of course, that was quite stupid, and he would realize later that it can be very valuable and important to be afraid. But he roamed fearlessly through the legacies of the elves, and since there was nothing else here - neither monsters nor treasures nor adventure - he soon regretted he had set out here, for nothing. As in every good story, he saw a shadow out of the corner of his eye just at the moment he had already decided to leave. Quickly he turned around, and he felt as if he had heard a sound - not the sound of footsteps, nor of any animals in the undergrowth, more like a distant, unearthly laugh. Now his attention was caught, and he got down on his knees and searched the ground for traces; for anything that might indicate that there was or might have been someone else here. But these kind of tracks were easy to miss, at least if you didn't know what to look for, and he didn't know it yet. He kept moving in the approximate direction the sound came from. And then he saw her. Only a few steps away from him a woman was sitting on something that once might have been masonry, but now there were only meaningless stones, overgrown with ivy. She was a beautiful, young woman with long, scarlet hair, dressed in a simple robe. He wondered, of course, what she was doing in the middle of the forest, so he addressed her.

"Is this turning into some kind of weird sex story now?“ "What, why?" "If not, I wonder why it matters what color of hair she had," Emhyr countered. The remark could not be entirely dismissed, considering Geralt's past. "Of course it matters, you'll see why. And furthermore: The witcher is much too young, such experiences are still ahead of him." "For heaven's sake, how young is he?" "Maybe he's a late bloomer? In any case, nobody ever had scruples about sending very young men into battle, did they?" All he gets is a snort. "Stop interrupting me. So, he spoke to her …“

He spoke to her, asked her what she was doing in the forest, and she looked at him thoughtfully. "People say this place is haunted," she eventually said. "All the more reason not to roam here," he replied. She stood up, moved towards him, and his witcher's medallion vibrated. That was the moment he put two and two together. Because he was young and inexperienced, but in the end not quite so stupid after all. The lessons were all still fresh, he could quote from the bestiary at any time. And he was a quick thinker - and far too bold in the face of danger. He put two fingers in his mouth and whistled, and the woman was surprised and stopped. She hadn't expected this noise, nor the horse that suddenly came trotting out of the bushes with some effort. The woman - only that she was not a woman, of course - looked at the horse curiously. It seemed as if she was trying to understand what it all meant, and that gave the witcher enough time to search the saddlebags for the one vial he needed, for the one potion he had never used yet before. Perhaps she too was still inexperienced, though certainly not young in the true sense of the word, but she did not stop him; she only watched curiously as he drank the potion. She continued to watch him as he hesitated briefly and reached for another vial that was in the bag strapped around his chest, to drink this too. Obviously she didn't understand what purpose this served - which was perhaps the only reason why he got the opportunity to do it at all. If she found it strange that he looked completely different after that, she didn't let it show. And why should she care - she was clearly not human, and although he hardly reminded of a human being now, that would not stop her. It was strange that she didn't say anything besides the few words she had uttered earlier. In later years he would meet others of her kind who were very talkative, loquacious almost. But she said nothing, just looked at him. Then she brushed her hair back behind one ear, and he saw that it was pointed. It was fitting that she had chosen the ancient ruins as her habitat. It was easy to mistake her for an elf - a mistake that would be fatal for anyone who dared to pass by here. A second later she suddenly stood very close to him. That was when he realized for the first time how fast these creatures were, and he was just glad she was not a bruxa. This encounter was yet to come, but that's another scar and another story. She was now so close that he could smell her, and whoever got that close had to notice that behind the beautiful facade hid horror. For she was an alp, of which her red hair and pointed ears were a testimony. The witcher knew as little about her as about all other vampires, at least in practice. In theory he knew enough of course, at least everything he had been taught. So he drew the sword, the silver sword of course, because she was susceptible to that. Her gaze was still just curious, but it was clear that she understood what he was holding in his hand and what purpose it served. Surprisingly she retreated, and a blink of an eye later she disappeared from his field of vision. He knew that these creatures were fast, but that they were so fast, he could not have known. She suddenly stood behind him, and it was only thanks to his excellent reflexes that her first blow came to nothing. The alp seemed to have instinctively understood that danger was coming from the witcher, so she used the moment of surprise. But he could still dodge. Her appearance had changed: she was now naked, but her pale, almost translucent body was not meant to look attractive. Her face was a grotesque grimace, the long, pointed teeth a clear warning; and her fingers were now horrifying claws. The alp attacked, and the witcher jumped back, rolled off, came back to his feet, and raised the sword just in time to fend off her claws, which struck the blade with a horrible noise. The horse got nervous and took off, and the fight went on. The witcher hit the alp a few times, but she hit him too, and her claws were as sharp as his blade. In the past four years some monsters had wounded him, and he already had one or two scars, and it always hurt. People might like to think that he had no emotions, but that didn't mean that he didn't feel anything. On the contrary: he felt every cut she made on him, felt every time her sharp claws tore his skin open, how the steel-hard tips pierced through his flesh. He could only hope that she felt his blows as well. In any case, they were both soon covered in blood, which looked strangely vulgar on her bare skin and only made her even more incited. She was fast, much faster than he could have imagined, and yet she was so unnaturally quiet. All the monsters the witcher had met before had made sounds: they hissed, shrieked or roared when they were hurt. But she made no sound. Her red hair had become disheveled, her face terribly distorted, no longer human, no longer beautiful. And then she jumped at him, in such a hasty movement that he neither saw her coming nor could have avoided her. He lost the sword, it slipped from his hand as she forced him onto his back with a tremendous force. Now he lay under her, she sat on his chest, took his breath. Her mouth was wide open, so that he could see her long teeth, the pointed teeth with the tips of which the paralytic poison dripped like some obscene precum. His arms were free, and he reached for her with one hand - to push her away, or to beat her; to do anything. She just knocked the hand away and then she bent over; she stank horribly of death and dying, and she sank her teeth into his neck. She drank his blood, and this feeling was almost worse than the pain of his ripped neck. It was pointless to try to tear her away from him, but at least he wouldn't give up without a fight. So the witcher desperately groped for the dagger he always carried with him on his hip. Though he imagined he could feel the poison entering his veins - and he had no idea what effect it would have on him - he eventually had the dagger in his hand, and he thrust it into her back. The alp hissed softly now - her first sound of misery - and finally let go of him. He used this moment to smack her in her face. It was of course a useless move, but it had the desired effect: She was confused for a second. He reared up and shook her off. Then he jumped to his feet, and although she was confused and hurt, she was actually still faster than him. He reached his sword at the same moment she caught him: his fingers closed around the handle, she leapt at him and threw him to the ground again. He held the sword, this time he held it tight, but she pulled his arm up, pinned him down. Then she thrust with her other hand. She took only her index finger, which now didn't even look like a finger anymore, which was now just a long, sharp weapon: a blade as sharp as a sword, only much thinner. She pushed this claw through his chest at the side of his armpit. It was a long claw, and it tore tissue and muscles and tendons along the way, stabbing at his ribs. The claw was as hard as iron, and it was so sharp that it pierced right through one, and it broke, which he felt very clearly. It felt like she had pierced his lungs, because for a moment he just could not breathe; and that pain was new, one he would never get used to. She was now half sitting on him again, pushing further and further, bending over him, drilling. But before she reached his heart, he managed to free his hand with the sword. He pushed, but because he couldn't aim, he hit her hand, he pushed in the sword so deeply that the wrist was only hanging on single tendons when he pulled the sword back. She hissed, much louder now, and yanked her hand back, but the claw got stuck, got stuck in him. And then, eventually, the alp started twitching uncontrollably. She put a hand to her throat and stared at him in disbelief. Because finally, the potion worked, and she staggered back a little; thick, dark liquid coming out of her mouth. He raised his sword once more, reared up, and he hit her neck with pinpoint accuracy. It is a rumor that severed heads fly for miles: in fact, it didn't get far, it landed not far from his own head, which had now sunk to the ground again in exhaustion. Her dull eyes stared into the sky. It took the body a second longer to realize that it was over - she fell down, twitching, killed by a good pinch of black blood. The one potion he had never had to take before. His strength was just enough to push the lifeless body away from him. The witcher thought that he would have something to tell when he returned to Kaer Morhen that winter. If he did return. For now, as the adrenaline left his system, he realized that he had won, and yet he felt defeated. He lay on his back in that godforsaken forest, among elven ruins, cursed ruins that could only serve as a test of courage at best, and he could barely move. He lay there, staring at the sky, wondering because there were no stars. The clouds were thick and there were no stars, and he found it cruel that he had to die without seeing stars. For now he was firmly convinced that he would die: The poison of the alp set in, and he was sure it would be fatal. Perhaps it had its good points, because little by little the pain would disappear. He bled from numerous wounds into the moss and grass beneath him, and he was bleeding inside, he felt that as well as every single cut. The rib she had broken hurt him the most; his breath escaped him whistling, and he tried to breathe shallowly. It still hurt. Most wounds were superficial, which did not mean that they did not hurt, but if he would have survived, most of these wounds would close and heal without any problems. But this one, that stitch on the side, that would scar, and what kind of ridiculous scar would that be? When they met in winter, they still proudly showed each other every single scar, at least the younger ones among them. Those experiences were still new, and every scar meant an adventure and a monster killed. But a funny little scar under the armpit was hardly suitable for showing off. However, that probably didn't matter anymore, because while the poison was flowing through his veins, her paralytic poison - her last, damned gift - he felt that he couldn't move his hands anymore to get to his potions. He could die from this poison or the toxicity itself, it did not matter. If he had ever thought about what it would be like to die - and after four years he usually didn't think about it - it wasn't like that: Not on the forest floor in a godforsaken place, while he felt his blood soaking the earth, beginning to stick to him. Not with all the pain that tore him apart. Not so young. And especially not so alone. He thought of all his brothers, he thought of the damned Vesemir - would anybody miss him? It was only logical that a witcher should die alone. No witcher would die in his bed, they said, but he certainly would die alone. That his only company would be the corpse of an alp was somehow ironic, the stuff of nightmares. This was the first time he really understood his fate. Those were the years where he still thought he was doing good to the world. But now he finally realized, that to this world, he did not matter. He stared up, the sky was still cloudy, still no stars. A fitting demise for a witcher: no company, no stars, no happy ending. He would die alone.

Geralt remains silent after this, and after a few heartbeats Emhyr looks at him in surprise. "That was it? That was the end? That's a pretty gruesome story, I must say." "I told you, it didn’t end well.“ "But you survived.“ Geralt shrugs. "None of it was fatal. The blood loss was considerable, of course, but the paralytic poison was actually helpful: The bleeding stopped. And because I could no longer move, there was no danger of moving the claw somehow, so that it would have punctured an organ after all. Eventually it was clear that I would not die, not even from the poison, but that poison worked all night." "So you lay in those ruins all night? All alone?" "It was pretty lonely," Geralt admits. “But there were many nights like that.“ He is silent for a moment, lost in thought, until he feels Emhyr's lips on his shoulder. "But not anymore," he says."What happened then?" "Not much. Morning came, I very carefully pulled the claw from my armpit, I got up, I took care of the injuries, and rode with the head of the alp to the nearest duchy to claim money for it. There wasn't any, so I threw the head at the treasurer’s feet and went to the nearest tavern to get drunk." "Mmm," Emhyr ponders. "I still wonder if all this isn't a gross exaggeration. Maybe you made the story up just to impress me." Geralt laughs softly. "Why would I want to impress you?" "I have no idea. But you better not lie to your emperor." "You're not my emperor,“ Geralt replies automatically. "And I would never lie to you." But that is a lie, and they both know it.

Yours - Part 2

Words: 1365

Paring: Captain Pike x Reader

A/N: Actually loved writing this one, a lot of the stuff I’ve been writing recently has been a bit dark

Summary: A continuation of Chris and the Readers magical shore leave in their new home.

Part 1 Here

____________________

You woke up at the crack of dawn, the sun rays beaming through the window. Clearly, the two of you had forgotten to close the curtains last night. You felt the man move underneath you and you looked up at him, your hair a mess on his chest. “Mornin’” you lazily spoke before getting a response from the man.

He laughed “I was wondering how long it would take for you to wake up.” 

“I guess I was exhausted” you lazily traced patterns on the man's side with your thumb. You both fell into a comfortable silence before sat up, hair a mess and light hitting your eyes in just the right way to make them sparkle. The man sat up and looked at you. “Y/N your eyes are so pretty in the light”  you blushed as he brought his hand to your jaw and gently stroked your cheek with his thumb before leaning in and pressing a kiss to your forehead.

The two of you had soon got dressed and moved downstairs. Chris insisted that he cooked the both of you breakfast, you sat at the dining table and admired the man from afar, he plated the pancakes up before bringing them over and placing them on the table for you both.

The two of you sat for hours talking about seemingly nothing, laughing at each other’s jokes and talking about the future. You were sat on the sofa and you shivered slightly the air conditioning on a bit too high, noticing your shiver Chris leant over you and grabbed one corner of the blanket on the back of the sofa before pulling it around you and grabbing the other end and playfully wrapping you up you giggled at the man as he got up and adjusted the thermostat. He sat down next to you again putting his arm around you and pulling you into his side, you snaked your hand out of the blanket and placed it on top of his other hand rested on his leg. “I love you, Chris.”

The man looked down at you “I love you too Y/N.” he said before turning on a movie for the both of you to watch.

"Want to go for a walk?" The man asked unwrapping his arm for you as you sat up.

"Yeah, that'd be nice."

"Put some shoes on," the man said before disappearing upstairs.

You sat on the bottom step and put your shoes of choice on before opening the door and standing just outside waiting for the man to return, what was taking him so long?

When he emerged from the house he shut the door and locked it before turning to you. He had put on a jacket and had a hand in his pocket, taking your hand in his free one you both began walking down one of the gravel paths into the woodland area just behind the house.

This all seemed like a fairytale, the two of you walking hand in hand in this beautiful area, the trees were spectacular and looked as if they'd been standing for hundreds of years. The different colours that littered the forest floor just off of the paths were mesmerising.

The two of you stopped in a small clearing which had a well I'm the centre, ivy wrapping around the base, you walked up to it and looked down, placing your hands on the edge.

Chris looked at you from afar, you were beautiful, at this moment he was sure that he wanted to be with you forever. He slowly walked up behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist. Pressing a kiss to your neck and resting his chin on your shoulder. After a second you turned around and pulled him into a long passionate kiss.

You were both torn from the moment when you heard a rustle in the undergrowth. You jumped back and Chris stepped in front of you. He took a cautious step towards the place the noise originated from. Everything was silent for a second before a small rabbit hopped out of the grass and ran past the two of you. You jumped at the sudden movement and Chris took a step backwards before laughing.

"Ok this is romantic and all but I'm a bit spooked out, can we go."

The man looked at you sympathetically before taking your hand and gently pulling you into his side, wrapping his arms around you as he led you back to the house.

Upon arrival to the house, the sun was setting, as you reached the door and placed the key in the keyhole Chris spoke from behind you. "How about we watch the sunset?"

You turned and walked towards the man, giving him a quick peck on the cheek "that sounds perfect"

The two of you sat down on the small bench outside, Chris placed his arms around you and you rested your head on his shoulder. The golden Rays from the sun surrounding you both. You watched the bird flying over and listened to the sounds of nature around you, it was tranquil and peaceful.

Your throat became dry you went to stand up before Chris stopped you, “Y/N what’s wrong?”

“I just wanted to get some water,” you said cocking an eyebrow in confusion, the man was acting weird, he was nervous and on edge.

“I’ll get it” he quickly disappeared into the house and returned a couple of minutes later with a glass of water, he handed it to you and you gladly accepted it. He hovered in front of you awkwardly, as if he didn’t know what to do. You hadn’t seen this side of him with you in a while, he was normally the more confident and sure one of the two of you.

You pat the empty space on the bench next to you and he looked up at you, his blue eyes looking into yours before nodding and taking a seat next to you. You cuddled up to the man much like you had before speaking. “Chris, what’s up?”

“What do you mean? Nothing’s wrong.”  the man shifted beneath you, his hand going to his jacket pocket again.

“You’re acting weird is all.”

The man kissed you on the top of your head “Nothing’s wrong, trust me.”

You nodded against his chest “That’s all I’ve ever done.”

The two of you sat there is silence, the sunset in front of you breathtaking. “I want to stay like this forever. This is perfect” you whispered, “Wow, I don’t think I could have been more cheesy if I tried” you laughed to yourself.

“You know what would make this even more perfect?” you looked up at the man before he rummaged in his pocket and brought something out, looking down you saw the small black box in his hand, he unwrapped his arm from around you and opened the box as you sat up and looked at the beautiful ring before you. It was simple and elegant, yet extremely beautiful.

“Y/N I’ve loved you for years, I can’t imagine life without you. Would you marry me?” the man asked.

Tears came to your eyes, the ring and his eyes sparkling in the light. “Of course I will.” you kissed the man and pulled him into a tight embrace. When you pulled away he took your hand and placed the ring on your finger before pressing a kiss to your hand.

After phoning your parents and making out with your new fiance a couple of times you eventually got into bed, you lay on your side and switched the lamp off next to you before Chris slid into the bed behind you, wrapping his arm around your waist he leant over you and placed a kiss just behind your ear. “I love you Y/N”

“I love you, Chris.” You spoke, lazily turning your head and giving him a kiss. He pulled you impossibly close and you took his hand and held it close to your chest.  It didn’t take you long to fall asleep, feeling safe and warm in your fiance's arms in your home. 

Tag List: (open)

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Burning Up

Prescribed fire at CERA.  Photo courtesy of Elizabeth Hill.

Have you ever been driving in your car and saw smoke rising up from the fields?  The thin streaks of smoke that stretch out in long lines along the edges?  You are most likely noticing a common method of prescribed fire, which is a historical tool used to avoid uncontrolled wildfires and to increase species diversity.  Interested in how?

Fire cannot travel over land that is already burned because of the lack of “fuel”, so by burning forest or grassland in a controlled manner, you are ensuring that, should a fire break out, it will not be able to surpass the land that has already been burned.  Prescribed fire is the most important tool for fire management according to the National Parks Service.  Scientists must understand how and why the experiment is being done and also how to keep it in control and put it out once it is complete.  Furthermore, prescribed fire increases species diversity.  Many studies have looked at the effect of fires on tree species, especially in cases where a fire is necessary for growth, but it is also important to observe how fire affects the vast understory of forests.  There are several conflicting studies about the exact effect on understory plants, however.  Many report higher species richness after a burn, which is the number of species present in an ecological community.  Others specify that diversity, the number of species and the spacing, or evenness, of them within a given community, increases with fire.  But there are still several studies that found no effect on diversity, richness,  or either.  There was also the possibilities of small effects at the micro level, but not significant throughout the community. 

Grinnell College has made extensive use of prescribed fire as a management tool and experimental treatment in its Conard Environmental Research Area (CERA) oak-hickory forest.  In 1997, experimental burn plots were established in both the prairie and the oak forest in order to restore the degraded spaces and do research on understory growth.  A series of 25 m x 25 m plots were set up in the forest with alternating burned (10 total) and unburned (9 total) plots. Since 1998, the appropriate plots were burned annually, with the remaining plots serving as a comparative control (as seen below).  This is where my research begins.  

Graphic showing the plots. Shaded boxes represent burned plots.

Burned plot example at CERA (Grinnell College).

The study involved choosing 16 random points within each burned or unburned plot and then placing a 1m2 quadrat frame at each of these points.  We then recorded the identity of each plant species rooted within the frame.  From this data, I was able to estimate species richness and diversity on a quadrat and plot level.  I used the Shannon-Weiner index to estimate diversity and I used Minitab to statistically compare the species to each other.

Lily photo courtesy of Justin Haworth.

Here are some of the fascinating results we found.

An Analysis of Variance (ANOVA) is used to estimate differences in means among groups.  Here we used it to explore the relationship between richness and fire frequency, and between diversity and fire frequency.  But we did not see a significant difference between the burned and unburned plots for either variable.  

Therefore, we also decided to see how specific species compared to each other.  Though there were many species in the undergrowth that were accounted for, we wanted to focus on just the ones that were most affected by fire frequency.  There were five such species: Cryptotaenia (Honewort), Sanicula (Black Snakeroot), Galium (Bedstraw), Ribes (Missouri Gooseberry), and Toxicodendron (Poison Ivy).  The first two showed an increase in frequency on the burned plots while the rest showed a decrease in the burned plots. 

 This makes sense when we look at some of the features of each of these.  For example, woody plants like Poison Ivy and Missouri Gooseberry are slow growing and will reestablish themselves later than the other herbaceous species.  Bedstraw also suffered in burned plots probably due to its reliance on rhizomes to help it sprout, which may have been damaged by the frequent fire.  The other two herbaceous species may have deeper root systems that allow them to resprout after the disturbance.  

So, what does this all mean? 

We found that both species richness and species diversity, when tested against fire frequency, was not significant, meaning that the presence of fire did not have a large effect on either.  But we did see an effect on two species that had an increase on burned plots, and three species that decreased.  Could this be due to too high a fire frequency or is there something else at work here?  One study found that lower frequencies of prescribed burning increased species richness and cover and also allowed native forbs and grasses to dominate.  Mostly graminoid species with a C4 synthetic pathway are found on these plots, too.  Majority of the plants found at CERA are native to Iowa so it can be assumed that the yearly fires are aiding in keeping invasive species at bay.  But on the other hand, if C4 species are better adapted to growing in burned plots, then CERA is going to start losing species richness which will lead to decreased species diversity.  Preservation of our forest understories is very important for not only the dynamic of the plant species but also for the organisms that rely on such diversity to prosper. Therefore, if we wanted to restore CERA to a more diverse community, ending yearly burnings and starting periodic fires might be the way to go.