#anyway off to contemplate the state of my life through the muse

[queer-ragnelle]

If nothing else getting treated poorly makes for writing fuel

[margowritesthings]

SOME COMPANY

pairing: Arthur Morgan x fem!reader

word count: 3155 words

warnings: 18+, nudity, language, smut, fingering (r receiving)

a/n: oh god. this man has ruined my goddamn life. i havent even played the game, just sat next to my boyfriend swooning while he did. anyway- arthur morgan is my new favourite muse and here is some shameless porn. <3 as always feedback is super appreciated

The campfire was dwindling, but the heat still managed to soak through your clothes and into your skin. You knew you only had about 10 more minutes of this flame, but it was only you still awake in the whole camp and it didn’t feel worth it to fetch more wood. It was fine, you could head back to your tent, or maybe even just fetch a blanket whenever it got too cold to be out. 

Another sleepless night. You had been in the camp for almost a month now (24 days, to be exact), but the nights were still plagued by memories of a life that felt both a lifetime ago and just yesterday all at the same time. Nightmares, on the lucky occasion you managed to close your eyes, or simply the agony of being left alone to your thoughts. 

Of those 24 days you had lived with the Van Der Linde gang, there were 8 nights you hadn’t spent alone. It started on your second night, sitting in the very spot you were now, when Arthur Morgan, right hand man and knight in shining hide, came back from a late night hunting trip. Since then, you had crossed paths 8 times under various circumstances, often talking until dawn. Those were your favourite nights. 

You often found yourself breaking your gaze from the mesmerising lick of the flames or the vast sea of stars above to check Arthur’s window up in the manor. Sometimes he’d be out on a job or hunting, other nights his lantern would flicker until the early hours, probably partaking in just as much worry as you were. Rarely, he’d turn out his light at a reasonable hour and sleep. It was strange, you felt somewhat relieved to know he was actually resting. 

Tonight was one of those nights, or so you thought. His light had been off for about 20 minutes, as had most of the camps, leaving you to bathe in the starlight alone, with the crackle of the fire and an occasional cricket for company. That was, until you heard the creaking of the door followed by footsteps. 

“Couldn’t sleep?” Arthur asked, sitting on the log beside you before you even had the chance to turn around to face him. You shook your head with an almost sad smile on your face. There was an understanding ingrained into the air between the two of you that meant you didn’t have to ask him the same question. For not the first time with Arthur, you found yourself slipping into the most natural, comfortable silence in the world as you held eye contact with each other. It was no surprise that you didn’t see the chopped wood in his arms, losing yourself in those tired eyes and sleepy smile.

“Thought you could use some company.” He admitted, throwing one of the logs into the fire, feeding its dying state, “And some wood.” 

If it wasn’t so peaceful, you would have snorted. Honestly, you weren’t sure how you stopped yourself, somehow managing the fit of laughter into a cheeky grin thrown Arthur’s way, so he knew that you definitely picked up on that accidental entendre. He didn’t mean it, you were sure. While it was true that some sort of strange, ethereal connection that you certainly didn’t have the capacity to contemplate was steadily growing between you, Arthur was always so respectful, never crude. You appreciated it, at least while there was all this trauma to wade through in your mind, though this was an opportunity that couldn’t be missed.

“That’s awfully kind of you, Mr. Morgan.” You replied, the remains of a suppressed laugh sneaking into your tone, “When a lady needs wood, it’s good to know there’s a big, strong cowboy to bring it for her.”

It was probably the boldest thing you’d ever said to him, but it was worth it as soon as his features lit up with the biggest grin and he chuckled. That was the exact moment you knew there wasn’t much you wouldn’t do to see that grin again. You decided not to analyse that. 

“Watch it, you.” He warned, briefly looking to the fire to poke it back into action. “Wouldn’t want to have to take my wood back off to bed.” 

Okay, so this was really happening. Full speed ahead on flirtatious banter with Arthur Morgan.

“How are you settlin’?” He quickly added, looking back to you as his expert hands grew the fire back to the point where he was bathed in a comforting glow and you forgot all about the blanket in your tent.

You smiled softly, detecting apprehension in the question. Every time you shared these secret, stolen moments together, he always made sure you were okay. Perhaps because he knew that the creature comforts the camp had to offer were few and far between, but you suspected it was something to do with the darkness in his eye that only a fellow sufferer could understand. 

“Just as I was two days ago when you last asked. I’m okay, Arthur. Really.” You reassured, subconsciously placing your hand on the wood between you and the outlaw now that you didn’t have to huddle into yourself for heat. The timing was awfully suggestive, but you didn’t even notice you’d done it. 

“Alright, well… You just let me know if you need anything, alright?” You nodded, eternally grateful for this man and all he had done for you, and all he promised he would do for you. No man had ever offered you the safety Arthur had, nor the respect, and you weren’t even together. You almost scoffed aloud. Typical that the one society has labelled a violent criminal is the only nice guy… well, ever, if your experience was anything to go by.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

“From whose pocket?” Your response was quick and witty, both yours and Arthur’s default when you definitely didn’t want to answer a question thrown at you. He understood, grinning once more at you and shaking his head.

“For a so-called Lady, you sure do have a cheek to you.” 

You smiled proudly, “It’s my best feature.”

“Absolutely it is not.” He mumbled under his breath, but you were too quick. You caught every drawled syllable and blushed profusely for the privilege. It was a good job you were sitting in front of a fire and could blame your reddened skin on the harshness of the heat. Not that you were going to bring attention to it, of course. 

This happened every so often, a compliment under the breath or off to the side or sometimes directly at you, knitted into layers of jokes and quips so much that they seemed to floor you even more than the offer of wood. Always respectful, never crude. You didn’t yet realise it, but your brain was storing those little moments under something special. You didn’t yet realise it, but they were pretty damned special. 

It was your turn to say something, you realised, when a particularly loud crackle of the fire pulled you back to your senses. Arthur was looking at you intently, as if studying you. Normally if someone was looking at you like that, you’d want to crawl into the ground, feeling like an entry in that little compendium Arthur carried with him everywhere. This time was… well, you certainly weren’t crawling into the ground, to say the least. Actually, you found your heart rate increased for all the right reasons, rather than the anxiety you usually seemed to feel settling in your chest. The revelation knocked you once more. 

Your lips were parted to speak, but everything seemed blocked in your throat. Nothing seemed like the right thing to say at that moment, so precious and fragile that a poorly timed joke or awkward comment might shatter it. So, you stayed silent, feeling a tension you’d never felt before ravelling up in the air hanging between you and Arthur.

“Alright, forget the penny. Name your price and I’ll pay it- I’d be willin’ to bet that those thoughts are worth a small fortune, darlin’.” He hadn’t taken his eyes off you, it was quite possibly the longest, most entrancing eye contact you'd shared with anybody. It took you a moment to register the term of endearment, rolling so naturally off his tongue as if the word was crafted just for you. You liked the sound of it on him. 

“Alright…  I was just wonderin’, if not my cheek, then what? What’s my best feature, cowboy?” 

“Well, you’re an excellent shot.” 

His quip earned a laugh and gentle hit to the arm before your hand landed back next to Arthur’s on the log.

Wait, when had Arthur put his hand on the log?

It was your turn to study him now and what you found was no less than a masterpiece that told the story of his life. Freckles splattered his nose and his eyes were framed with faint crows feet, from years of squinting in the sun. A couple of scars marked tanned skin, probably from one of his many fights or shootouts. His eyes, upon closer inspection were the brightest part about him, a blue you could spend centuries swimming in. 

Swimming in his eyes? You were getting poetic. You were getting distracted. That, and if you inched your pinky finger just so, you and Arthur would have closed the space between you. 

“Y/n?” Oh lord, you were staring. “Uh huh?” The response was practically a squeak.

“Can… Can I-”

It was inevitable, pressing your lips against Arthur’s in a breathless, stolen kiss. Somehow, you knew just what he was going to ask and you had to beat him to it. It was searing, but over before it had even begun. As you retreated, there was a single second, dragged out into a lifetime of choices leading to this very moment, before Arthur lurched forwards and took your face in his hands, devouring you. Lips crashed against lips and hands got everywhere as you finally kissed Arthur Morgan. You were responsive to him, of course you were, shuffling closer so that he could wrap his arms around you and pull you even closer. 

And then he stopped, pulling away with wide eyes scanning all over your expression, presumably taking it all in. Everything happened so damn quickly and now… well, somebody had to break the silence.

“I, uh…” “You know, I’ve never been in that big old manor of yours…”

An eyebrow was raised.

Arthur smirked.

═══════☆═══════

You heard the click of the door closing and had only a second to survey Arthur’s room before you once more felt warm hands cupping each cheek. He didn’t kiss you straight away, instead scanning every inch of your face, as if you were the last beautiful thing left in a godforsaken world. 

“Arthur…” the word was a whisper, a breath tickling his lip. Your lashes batted up at him while your gaze fell from his eyes to his mouth, just as it formed a silent ghost of your name. His thumb traced a circle on your cheek, the worked skin on his finger pads a stark contrast to your softness.

“Are… Are y’sure this is what you wan-” you didn’t allow him to continue, instead choosing to reassure him by lifting to your tiptoes and firmly pressing your lips against his and reaching to the back of his neck. You heard a shuddered breath as your nails scratched at Arthur’s skin before he walked you both forwards until your back was against the wall of his bedroom.

Arthur’s hands roamed down your neck and onto your waist, agonisingly briefly brushing over your breasts, the sensitivity of your nipples right now jolting down to your core as he did so. Fingers of one hand gripped your hip, pulling you even closer until your front was flushed against Arthur’s, your back arched and his hard chest pressing against your own supple one. The other hand splayed across your back, trailing up and down the stitching of your buttons. 

You felt a restraint in Arthur’s sweet, tender kisses, as if he didn’t want to break something so fragile. Not wanting to break away from the kiss, you let Arthur know you were okay by giving his lip the tiniest nip. He growled, low and deep in his chest, before the need in his kiss became that much more intense. Your lips parted, wide enough for Arthur to slip his tongue along the bottom one. He tasted like tobacco and whiskey, two flavours you weren’t normally awfully fond of, but on Arthur it was intoxicating. The feel of his slick tongue gently licking yours produced a moan you couldn’t have stopped if you wanted to. 

Your moan, a reassurance that you were definitely enjoying this, seemed to awaken something more in Arthur and he let go, fully devouring you now. He was overpowering, lifting you up into his passionate kiss before leading you over to his bed. It was much sturdier than your cot back in your own tent, but Arthur definitely worked hard enough for the camp to deserve it. You never broke away from each other, laying back into the mattress under Arthur’s guide. The length of him covered you completely and he propped himself up onto his elbows to stop himself from crushing you. You had never felt such a weight of somebody on you like this, a lifetime of hard work and dedication embedded in his muscles. It made you feel safe, as if those arms could and would protect you from anything and everything. It was a safety you had never in your life felt before, and in that moment you realised it was… right. Everything about this was so right.

Nimble fingers dragged down from the back of the outlaw’s neck and onto his face, feeling the scratch of his stubble as you both finally came up for air. You looked up, finding the candlelight just as perfect of a glow as the campfire against Arthur’s features.  Your lips were reddened and wet from his nips, licks and kisses and your cheeks were flushed from the pure emotion of it all. You didn’t know it, but Arthur had just logged this as his favourite sight in all the world. 

Ever since he’d sat down at that fire, a tension had been coiling tighter and tighter in you, one that you weren’t sure you could handle for much longer. “Arthur, I… I need you. Please.” You all but begged, squirming under his weight. That goddamn grin was back, gazing down at you for a final moment before Arthur plunged back into your lips, prodding them open with his tongue once more. His hands quickly found their way to your back as you arched for him, slipping the buttons away with an impressive ease. You sat up slightly, pushing Arthur’s jacket off his shoulders and shrugging off the top half of your dress. Arthur gathered up your skirts, pushing them over your head so that you were almost bare to him.

“You’re so beautiful, do you know that?” He asked, running a finger over the lining of your undergarments, leaving ripples of tingles scattered all over you. Never good at taking compliments, you decided to focus on getting Arthur’s clothes off, starting with his suspenders and shirt buttons. He pulled his own shirt off, and you reached to run your hands over his chest. He shuddered under your touch and growled once more as you kissed the newly bare skin. While you were occupied with his torso, Arthur lifted your hips, peeling off the rest of your undergarments.

“So beautiful…” He whispered, reaching a finger down to your naked slit. He hesitated, looking down at you with the question gleaming in his eye. A silent question earned a silent response as you needily bucked your hips up towards him. 

A loud gasp escaped you as Arthur slid a single finger in, instantly feeling just how wet you were for him.

“Goddamn… you’ll be the death of me, girl.” He mumbled, pausing only briefly to allow you to adjust to something inside you before he began to curl his finger, finding your sweet spot in a record time you didn’t even know possible. He smirked at the sight of you, squirming and dripping with just one little movement. 

“Fuck, Arthur…” You whined, bucking your hips again, his hand reaching to meet you in a sweet symphony of friction and pressure. His finger drives in and out, a second soon joining it as you mewl below him. Your eyes shut tight as you attempt to stay a little quieter, not exactly wanting to advertise your activities to the camp. All that quickly went out of the window as his thumb pressed against your bud and you all but screamed. 

Arthur chuckled, “Easy now… we don’t wanna go wakin’ everybody up now, do we?” 

His actions didn’t back up his words, though, unfairly circling the bundle of nerves so deliciously you had to bite down hard on your lip. Seeing your struggle, Arthur brought his free thumb to your bottom lip to give you something to do with that loud little mouth of yours. You sucked and bit in time with the wonderful artistry Arthur was drawing all over your cunt and he watched you, immensely enjoying each twitch and moan. You felt yourself climbing ever higher to heaven, the pleasure sending you dizzy while Arthur pulled his lip between his teeth. He felt you flutter around his fingers, the tightening a sign of how close you were to the edge. 

“Atta girl… you gonna cum for me, darlin’?” His thumb came out with a pop, replaced quickly with a burning hot kiss. The uniquely Arthur mix of tobacco and man dominated your senses and pushed you right where you needed to be. The first wave came quickly, sending a rush of blood into your ears and knocking the air out of your lungs. Arthur’s fingers pumped in and out of you, curling to that spot every single time. You moaned deeply into his mouth as he masterfully orchestrated your orgasm, stretching it out until your legs were shaking and tiny tears pooled in the creases of your eyes. 

Arthur brought you back to Earth, slowing his thrusts and easing the pressure on your clit gradually. Your body went limp for a moment, trying to recirculate the air you could finally get into your lungs.

The two of you spent a moment together, Arthur above you while your chest rose and fell. When you could finally string a sentence together, you whispered to him, “God, Arthur… That was…” You trailed off, noticing the smirk growing onto the cowboy’s face.

“You think I’m done with you yet, girl?”

Perhaps you wouldn’t mind one more sleepless night…

[hyperfashionist]

A Spoiltastic Journey

Through The Entire Space: 1999 Canon

Up To “Odysseus Wept”

Story 1: Eternity Unleashed

Chapter 12 of 12

It's time for some spoily commentary on Chapter 12 of Eternity Unleashed!

Spoilers under the cut. You have been warned.

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Forth to Story 2: The Touch of Venus

Chapter Twelve of Eternity Unleashed: A Spoiler-Filled Commentary

The final chapter of Balor's backstory novella is short, and consists of Balor’s musings about what happened to him. 

For the first time, we see a character reckoning with the "immortality" part of Balor's immortality treatment, rather than just the physical invulnerability which has dominated the story so far.

Balor tells himself he’s been set free, and that being caged in a randomly floating asteroid until further notice is actually a win for him. Yes, it’s mind palace time, folks.

He immerses himself in his mum’s paintings, which must be fantastic for his mental health.

He wonders why the women in his life always leave him, and why his friends betrayed him. He thinks he should have tried to be a father to his adopted siblings. He decides children are more malleable when raised by the state, so the family subculture can’t radicalize them.

He contemplates how terror is the ultimate emotion: it’s on, or it’s off.

He gets into bodybuilding.

He hopes maybe an advanced civilization will find him, so he can learn from them, like how to be a better dictator and stuff. If primitives find him, he’ll have to teach them. 

Whatever happens, he prepares for it: “I don’t choose to allow my fate to be decided by others.” He’s *so* close to getting it.

Anyway, there’s Balor, in the BSHCI, with his paintings, in his mind palace, for a super long time. According to the Powysverse Continuity, his incarceration takes place "centuries before" we next see him. Considering the known psychological effects of solitary confinement I'd say the events of Chapter 12 would cover a few years at most, even though Balor perceives the elapsed time to be much longer.

The Progrons' treatment of Balor is very difficult to admire. It seems they have either an extremely cruel, or an extremely improvisational and ignorant justice system to have done this to him. Since the head of the supreme court also seems to be world president, I'm guessing the latter. I don't know how Talian can justify such an action, if he really believes what he says about Balor's being just a man like any other.

Yes, Balor was fixing to do exactly this to everyone who opposed him, but isn't that why we're on Talian's side and not Balor's? What crimes would Balor have reasonably been charged with, since to all appearances anyone with enough power is allowed to do everything he did? And I'm not saying Balor should've been allowed to do all this, but that's exactly my point.

You could argue that the punishment is proportionate in an “eye for an eye” way, if you assume everyone sent into space would also have been in solitary confinement (and yeah I'm not arguing that having a cellmate makes the sentencing fairer, but it would be that bit less cruel).

But why expect Progron to have progressed beyond that concept of justice by now? They haven't even thought up representative democracy, so voting Balor out wasn't an option. You can criticize Talian's decisions, but he didn't make the world, and he's not used to thinking.

---

So anyway, here we are at the end of the first story in the Powysverse chronology. To recap, the first novel ever published in this series was the Balor-centric Resurrection, and Eternity Unleashed is the first part of a three-part book that was published a few years later in order to provide Balor with a backstory. Some flashbacks from the original edition of Resurrection were ported into Eternity Unleashed.

I guess this novella must contain some really important foundation for the worldbuilding of the series, and that will unfold as we go along.

The question is:

Is Eternity Unleashed Good?

The Amazon reviews suggest that some readers loved it. See here. It's highly rated on Goodreads as well.

I didn't really enjoy it myself. The first 88 pages were hard work. After that it became less like homework for me.

In Context

To be fair, the story isn’t meant to be read as slowly as I have done (10 pages a day, or to the end of a chapter, whichever comes first). Nor is the first part of the book meant to be read separately from the other two. And an unbroken tone of solemnity, combined with a slow pace, is something it has in common with Y1; and many readers want to be in that atmosphere again. 

So why didn't I enjoy it? What's wrong with me?

If you have a character we already know we don’t like and - crucially - aren’t rooting for, it’s a bold choice to dwell in his POV and never attempt to make him sympathetic, or have him charm us into forgetting what he’s capable of. I'm certainly not one of those readers that needs to like every major character. But you have to do *something* to make the character and/or the story enjoyable, and whatever that could have been, by page 88 I still didn't have it.

It's not enough to say I haven't read the whole volume. It shouldn't take 88 pages of work before the story started to engage my interest. It’s only my dedication to the series that got me to stick with it that long. 

We have two other backstories of major characters before Breakaway, and Balor's backstory is nearly three times as long as either of those, and I'm not sure it needed to be. There are several places where it gets repetitive.

What Eternity Unbound has going for it is that it's a pretty well-thought-out bit of worldbuilding. I can't say I ever got pulled into Progron, it was more like I was viewing it from a detached perspective. But the fridge logic works, and Balor is a psychologically plausible character on paper.

Gender Balance

NB running total = 28

F running total = 16

M running total = 29

Bechdel Score: 0. Only in Milsa's meeting with her counter-revolutionaries do any two female characters talk to each other, and even then they're talking about Balor.

Milsa does lead the movement to save her planet, though. So there's that.

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Forth to Story 2: The Touch of Venus

[army-author]

jungkook scenario | the alchemy of amor

❝ jungkook is the arrogant son of the duke. you’re a humble alchemist just trying to make a living. unfortunately for you, jungkook seems to have taken a strange interest in you. when a dangerous wager involving a love potion spirals out of control, you find yourself flung into the deep end of emotion, and it becomes difficult to decipher genuine attraction from magical aftereffect... ❞

➝ prompt: i’m a witch who’s been experimenting with love-potion formulas, but there’s been a bit of a mix-up, and now the love-potion has somehow ended up in your hands, and you’re drinking it, and - no, please stop!

➝ pairing: jungkook x female reader

➝ genre: fluff, fantasy au, enemies to lovers

➝ requested by anon | 15.5k words

➝ warnings: profanity, mild injury, implied smut, some characters express misogynist sentiments

➝ author’s note: i hope you enjoy it! i had a lot of fun writing it. as you can see from the word count, i got a bit carried away. i can’t help it, i love enemies to lovers!

Oh goddess above, please not this. Anything but this.

You are not wont to pray, but in circumstances such as this, with your life unravelling before you in tattered ribbons, your mind recalls the goddess you so often forget. Watching in horror, your supplications come thick and fast, as Jeon Jungkook downs the phial of rose-gold potion, and with it, swallows the hours of work you had invested into those shimmering contents.

Normally, you would not be so perturbed by the wasting of a potion, even one as rare as Impetus Amor. Ingredients can always be re-bought, potions can always be re-brewed. But something about Jungkook’s cocky expression as he sets down the vial, and raises a brow at you, overwhelms you with the heat of irrational fury.

“Mighty goddess above, what is wrong with you?” you spit venom more potent than your potions. “You know very well how long that took to brew!”

Jungkook shrugs his shoulders, “Tough.” He smacks his lips together, “Looks like the potion doesn’t work anyway. And on top of that, it tastes bad. Like dried roses and soap.”

How does he know what dried roses and soap taste like?

“It wasn’t intended for you,” you retort through gritted teeth.

You know that the potion does work. After all the work you invested - collecting rose-petals, gold shavings, and pegasus feathers, all to be brewed on a blue moon, and then carefully distilled – there was no way that the batch of Impetus Amor was unsuccessful. But every alchemist worth their gold knows that the finicky love potion takes a few minutes to take effect after ingestion.

Which means that in a few minutes Jeon Jungkook, the man you hate most, will involuntarily fall in love with you.

How could I let this happen? You cast your mind over the unfortunate events that had led you to this low point, while you stifle a scream.

✽ ✽ ✽

[Several days ago]

It starts when one of your customers steps into your potions shop, in the town of Sientha, with a peculiar order.

She wears a red hood that covers most of her face, and clutches a purse tightly in her gloved hand. Glancing furtively around the shop, she walks over to your counter, and slips a note between the demijohns and ampuls that crowd the area where you work.

Upon unfolding her note, your eyes widen. The note reads: ‘One vial of Impetus Amor’. You focus your eyes on the client, who keeps her head down. You can just make out shapely lips and a dainty chin below the lowered hood.

“I know it’s a difficult potion to make,” she says in a hushed tone, “But I’m willing to pay whatever you need for it.”

You study her intently. Below the cloak, you can see an expensive dress, and jewellery sparkling at her neck. It’s clear that she has the means to pay. In most circumstances, you would object to the use of Impetus Amor, but it is not your responsibility to tell your customers how to use your potions. You simply get on with brewing, and ask no questions. That’s how you make a living. This case wouldn’t be any different.

“Okay,” you say, “I must warn you that it will take quite a while to make, and most of the ingredients are quite rare, so the wait may be long.”

“I’m well aware of that.”

You nod, leaning against the counter, as you tally up how much the potion will cost in ingredients and labour. When you finally name your price, the woman is silent for a moment, contemplating, before she nods, and rummages in her purse. She takes out a small brown sack, heavy with coin, which she places in front of you. Counting up the money, you nod in satisfaction. “You’re in luck. There’s a blue moon soon, and the potion should be ready not long after. Roughly five weeks,” you advise, “Come by to collect it when you’re able.”

Satisfied, the woman leaves the shop, while you gape at the sack of coins on your counter top. You hadn’t had that much money to your name in a long time.

Impetus Amor – the potion is infamously difficult to create, but you’re ready for a challenge. Spinning around to the shelf of tomes behind you, you scour the tittles until you find the one you need. You pull the tome down from its shelf, holding your breath as a fog of dust descents around you. So it begins.

✽ ✽ ✽

The first mistake you make is accepting the request from the mysterious woman who came into your shop.

Your second mistake is letting Jungkook into your shop. Or letting Jungkook anywhere near you at all.

Jungkook is the only son of the duke of Braewyth, the duchy you reside in - a hobbyist alchemist and your tormentor in his spare time. When he had first barged into your potion shop, and declared that he wanted to learn the art of alchemy, you were led to the conclusion that he was a pretentious prick. This suspicion proved to be correct, as after a few lessons from you – out of the goodness of your heart, and the impossibility of saying ‘No’ to the heir of the duchy – Jungkook believed himself to be better than you with your fifteen years of experience. He was now convinced that the two of you were rivals, and you were convinced that he was a pain in the arse.

As you work on crushing down dried rose petals for your new project, Jungkook barges into your shop once more. He doesn’t seem to know of any other way to make an entrance into your tiny business. He leans over the counter, his eyes burning on your skin as you work.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

“Preparing ingredients for Impetus Amor.”

His nose wrinkles as he leans back on the counter, crossing his arms over his overcoat, embroidered with the emblem of the duchy, a snow white stag on a blue shield. “Ah, the potion of love,” he muses, “I’ve heard that one’s incredibly difficult to make.”

“I know,” you grimace, as you continue to grind rose petals to a fine red dust in your stone mortar. “What of it, Mr. Jeon?”

The duke’s son gives an impartial shrug. “I’m merely stating that it’s a laborious potion to perfect. I’m surprised you’re attempting it.”

You bite down on your cheek to stop yourself from speaking indecently to Braewyth’s heir. “My customers respect me, and know that I’ll carry out any requests with the utmost care,” you cut back with thinly veiled anger.

Jungkook leans back lazily, his elbow brushing dangerously close to a decanter filled with Verum Serum, a silver truth potion you’ve been working on. “Well then, my little apothecary, why don’t we make a wager?”

You raise an eyebrow, setting down your mortar, and waiting for him to continue.

“I’m willing to bet that you won’t be able to finish the potion,” Jungkook says, “In fact, if you finish it, and it works, I’ll pay you in gold.” He grins.

“And if I can’t?” you enquire. It’s an unlikely option, but you need to know what you are dealing with. You find it difficult to refuse the offer of money, especially if it’s a loss for Jungkook, but you’re wary of the consequences on the (very low) chance that you are unsuccessful.

“Don’t worry,” Jungkook raises a hand, “I know you can’t pay much gold.” Your cheeks heat up. “But if you lose, then I demand a kiss from you.”

Biting down a retort, you take a deep breath, and remind yourself that it is unacceptable to call the son of the duke a ‘Bastard’, no matter how much you want to. Instead, with your fists balling, you reply, “Very well, Mr. Jeon. But please be prepared to lose.”

His eyes glitter under your gaze, “Okay.”

You know that there is no way you can lose. Still, the very thought of admitting defeat and letting him kiss you has your blood boiling as it churns through your heart. You ought to show more respect to the son of the duke - to most a kiss from him would be an honour - but your find respect hard to muster when he does nothing but flirt with the ladies about the town of Sientha, strutting arrogantly down the streets with a different girl handing off his arm each night.

It’s Jungkook’s loss for certain. You’ll make sure of that.

✽ ✽ ✽

Despite your confidence, Jungkook does everything he can to get in your way.

The next morning you raise yourself early from your bed to head into the mountains in search of pegasus feathers. Jungkook catches you on your walk between your shop and the stables, with your satchel slung across your back, and a grenadine-coloured cloak covering your riding boots and trousers. He saunters across the cobbled street to greet you. “Look at you. Out and about. It’s not often I see you step out of the comforts of your shop.”

“Perhaps if you were up earlier, it wouldn’t be such an irregular occurrence for you,” you chide, as you make for the bridge to the east, leading out of Sientha, “I often go out in the morning to track down ingredients.”

“My apologies that I don’t know your schedule by heart, little alchemist,” Jungkook ripostes, keeping pace with you, short steps for his longer legs, “I’ll have you know that I have many duties that keep me in the Braewyth manor until later in the day.”

Uninterested, you reach the stables where your ebony mare waits, whickering in recognition when you reach her stall. You begin saddling up, annoyed by the presence of Jungkook behind you, which you try to ignore – but like a fly buzzing around an empty room, it gets too irritating too quickly. “Are you planning on following me around all day like a cur in heat?” you ask, and Jungkook smirks, clearly amused to have scratched at some deep seated vexation inside you.

“That’s no way to talk to me, little alchemist,” he reminds you, waggling a taunting finger.

You sigh, adjusting the bridle on your mare. “Please excuse me, my good sir,” you lace your voice with sarcasm, “It wan’t my intention to offend. I was simply surprised to see someone like you showing an interest in my humble activities.” You offer him a sickly sweet smile, before hoisting yourself up into your saddle.

Ignoring your mockery, Jungkook looks up at you from under your dark lashes, “Well, where are you headed today?”

You bite down on your instinctual reply, thinking better of telling him it’s none of his business. “I’m going to the mouth of the River Waye. It’s rumoured that a pegasus has nested there, and I need its feathers.”

“For the Impetus Amor?” Jungkook’s eyes gleam.

You bow your head in a nod.

“Excellent. I’d love to come with you,” Jungkook sates, “I’ve never seen a real pegasus.”

As you open your mouth, ready to deny him, he interrupts, “You offered to tutor me on alchemy after all. Ingredient collection is a vital part of the hobby.”

I never offered to tutor you, you simply thrust your cumbersome presence upon me. Before you can say any of this out loud, Jungkook is calling for one of the stable hands to saddle up one of their horses. “Mr. Jeon, need I remind you that this hobby is a source of income for some,” you’re left to respond, somewhat hopelessly, as Jungkook stares up at you in your saddle.

Your mare shifts restless, unsure why she’s still cooped in her stable.

“If it’s such a burden to earn a livelihood, then I’m sure you could find some kind husband who’d be more than happy to take care of you,” Jungkook responds, “With looks like yours, you’d never have to work another day in your life.”

Your blood boils in frustration. You bite down on your lip, watching in cold silence as the stable hand brings a chestnut stallion over to Jungkook, handing him the reins. Your horse senses your unease, and with a prick of your heels in her side, she’s all too happy to trot out of the stable and into the harsh sunshine of the winter morning.

Jungkook follows behind, his stallion’s horseshoes clacking on the cobblestones.

“I’ll have you know, Mr. Jeon,” you say, controlling your tone as best you can, “I’m perfectly content making a living for myself, and am in no need of a husband.”

“And what of it?” Jungkook spurs on his horse, overtaking you as you reach the bridge out of Sientha, where the town guards immediately part, recognising the duchy crest on Jungkook’s overcoat.

As you follow over the bridge, Jungkook casts a look over his shoulder at you, “You wish to spend your whole life brewing potions, and die an old maid?”

“I know of worse fates,” you say, “I would rather live as a lowly alchemist than the chattel of some rich cretin such as yourself.”

Jungkook falls into silence, face frosty, and you wonder if your pushed things too far.

As you continue down the road, the quality of the surface worsens, with more potholes appearing the further you travel from Sientha. Fallen mute, you and Jungkook pass fields, appearing empty after the harvests of autumn.

It’s a long way to the mouth of the River Waye, which lies in the valley between two mountains, Mount Cantre and Ayn Blanch. The two peaks rise above you in the distance. As you branch off the main road onto a dirt track, you allow your mare to break into a gallop, and Jungkook urges his horse on to keep up with yours. You cast a glance over to him as he keeps stride beside you, his jaw set and his brows furrowed over dark eyes. With your gaze fixed, you almost miss the shouting, until the ruckus is directly behind you. Snapping your neck around, you see a group of Braewyth soldiers approaching on horseback. You pull on your mare’s reigns, attempting to bring her to a halt, but the soldiers are already upon you, passing by on the narrow track. Your skittish mare rears as the soldiers rush past, and you find your view turned upside down. Thrown from the saddle, you land on your rear in a soft pile of moss. You’re lucky to have nothing but your pride bruised.

Jungkook brings his horse to a halt next to you, and leaps down from his saddle, catching your spooked mare’s reigns, before she makes to bolt. Soothing the black horse with hushed murmurs, Jungkook leads her to a nearby tree, where he ties the reigns to a low hanging branch. “Are you alright?” he turns his attention back to you.

You wince, and take his hand, allowing him to pull you up. “Yes, I’m okay. Just a little shaken.”

“Good.” His voice is gruff, “Those bloody soldiers. I wonder if they realise who they just overtook. I’ve a mind to report them to my father.”

“Don’t bother,” you dust down your cape, “Everyone knows the Braewyth soldiers are bloated with pride after the last success in war.”

Jungkook snorts. “That war was three years ago. Their only responsibility now is to protect the people of the duchy, and they can’t even do that!” He heaves a sigh, eyes cast to the sky, where the harsh sun shines down from an empty winter sky. “No matter, we’re wasting time here. If you’re sure you’re alright, then we should crack on.”

You walk over to untie your mare, who has now calmed down and is happily grazing on some grass by the side of the road. Hoisting yourself into your saddle, you edge her on with a soft nudge of your heels. Ahead of you, Jungkook has already mounted his ride, patting the neck of his stallion. You’re almost in a mind to apologise to Jungkook for calling him a “cretin” earlier, but you bite back the words, pride getting in the way.

You continue the journey in silence. The path is long, and as your altitude increases, the temperature plummets. Shivering, you pull your cloak closer around you. Your mare huffs out puffs of warm breath as she trots down the winding track, weaving between the smaller hills that spread towards the Braewyth mountains. Further ahead, Jungkook is hunched down in his saddle, looking cold, but staying stubbornly silent.

At last, you come to the edge of the valley, and begin to follow the track next to the shallow section of the River Waye. The banks are padded with moss, and you spot the sleek shining bodies of carp flickering in the crystalline water.

Slowing your mare, you slip off your mount, and tie her to a barren tree at the edge of the water. Ahead of you, Jungkook, having noticed you have stopped, dismounts as well. “Are we there?” he asks.

You nod, putting a finger to your lips. With a hushed voice, you respond: “Nearly. But we need to proceed on foot. Pegasus are incredibly skittish. We’ll be quieter without the horses.”

Passing Jungkook, you follow the winding path next to the Waye, stepping on the spongy moss to silence your footsteps. The two mountains rise up on either side of you – on the left, Ayn Blanche, its peak capped with snow, and on the right, Mount Cantre, sitting squat in Ayn Blanche’s shadow. The valley in between is adorned with scree; clumps of heather dot the otherwise drab landscape.

You slow to a stop when your sharp eyes catch sight of what you were hoping for – hoof prints and loose white hairs caught on a bramble. Leaning down, you pick up a strand of hair, running your fingers over it. Course and thick, there’s no denying it. The hair from a pegasus’ mane.

“There’s a pegasus somewhere around here,” you inform Jungkook in a hushed tone, pointing out the hoof prints to him.

Staying silent, oddly obedient, Jungkook nods, eyes scanning the area.

Carefully, you make your way along the trail of hoof prints. Ahead of you, you spot an opening on the steep flank of Ayn Blanche, a few meters from the base. It appears to be the perfect spot for a pegasus nest, tucked away from the wind that normally sweeps through the valley. Walking to the base, you search for a good foothold, and begin to hoist yourself up the craggy slope to the opening.

“Wait, what are you doing?” Jungkook breaks his unofficial vow of silence.

“Isn’t it obvious?” you huff, “I’m getting up to the pegasus’ nest.”

“Isn’t that dangerous work for… well...” Jungkook trails off. Probably for the best.

“I’ve climbed my fair share of rock faces,” you assure him, “Alchemy isn’t just about sitting daintily at a table stirring tiny beakers and keeping one’s hands soft and free of callouses.”

“But won’t the pegasus be angered if you enter its nest?” Jungkook worries from below.

As you stretch to reach for a rock that juts out above you, you grunt, “You know, Mr. Jeon, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were concerned for my wellbeing.”

You’re disappointed that you cannot look down to see the pout that is so evident in his voice as he retorts, “Well it wouldn’t look good if I were to go out with a young maiden, and return back with her maimed. People might talk.”

“People will always talk, regardless,” you say, pulling yourself up to the ledge at the front of the opening. “Don’t fear, Pegasus are only aggressive to those they deem to have a wicked soul. Which means I’ll be fine. But you might need to watch out.”

Before Jungkook can shoot back a reply, you turn your attention to the opening that houses the nest. The space is large, big enough for a pegasus. Peering in, you see that the nest is empty of any life, but the small cave is filled with exactly what you need – feathers caught on the rocky outcroppings. Pulling out a bottle from your satchel, you scoop up a few feathers, and preserved them in your glass. The feathers sparkle slightly in the sunshine that throws slanted rays into the cave. Satisfied with your find, you get ready to climb back down.

Just then, you hear a shout, and peer down to see Jungkook waving his hands at you from the bottom of the steep rock face. He gesticulates wildly, pointing downstream. You look in that direction, a spot the white shape of a pegasus, just before it plummets down with a splash into the Waye.

Quickly, you scramble down the rocks, and sprint to the river, where you see the water running red. An arrow is sticking from the flank of the pegasus, which raises its head above the water, straining to get up, before it flops down again. Horrified, you scan the area, trying to figure out where the arrow was fired from. It doesn’t take you long. Two poachers approach, a net swinging from their hands.

“Oi, get away from that creature,” one of them shouts upon spotting you.

“What are you going to do with it?” you ask, moving your body to block the pegasus.

“We’re going to make a fortune peddling off it’s body parts to alchemists,” the shorter of the two informs you, “Those occultists pay a hefty price for hair and feathers you know, not to mention a fresh heart, or a vial of blood.”

You grit your teeth, standing up straighter, “It’s a negative stereotype that alchemists use blood and hearts in their potions. And the hair and feathers are only useful if they’ve come from a living creature. You’re wasting your time if you think you’ll make money killing and harvesting this animal.”

The taller one laughs – an ugly sound that sends a shudder through you. “And what would you know about alchemy, wench? If I have questions about my cooking, or my laundry I’ll come to you.  So how about you keep your mouth shut on things you know nothing about?”

Stifling your rage, your bite back, “I’m not letting you near this creature. Not one step further.”

“Oh, well, aren’t you just a darling bloody saint. Protecting the innocent fauna of the land. I don’t remember asking for a sermon on the morality of killing dumb animals.” Your eye catches the movement of the taller man’s hand to the hilt of his sword. “Now, I would suggest you get out of the way, before I make you get out of the way.”

You size the two men up, and swallow. You have a small dagger on your hip, usually used for cutting plant shoots. Not much use against two swords. Still, you bring your hand to your hip in anticipation, unwilling to back down.

“I order you to stop!”

You glance towards the source of the voice. Jungkook is standing behind you with his rapier raised, his stance indicating years of training in fencing. With two calculated blows he could puncture the stomachs of both poachers. The two men blanche.

Nonetheless, the shorter of the two poachers blusters on, “Who the hell do you think you are?”

“I’m Jeon Jungkook, son of the duke of Braewyth. I’m sure I don’t need to remind you two gentlemen that pegasus are considered an endangered species, and it’s a criminal offence to poach them, punishable by a good flogging in Sientha square.”

The shorter poacher swallows, his hand wavering.

The taller of the two is only all the more incited. “I don’t give a fuck. You’re not a king. Not even a prince. Just some lesser noble with a silver spoon shoved up your arse. What are you going to do, report me? We’re out in the middle of fuck-knows where, and you’re outnumbered, two to one.” He raises his sword.

“Actually, it’s two against two,” you correct him, unsheathing your dagger.

“Well that seems fair then, doesn’t it,” Jungkook purrs, “Fine, I suppose I’ll just have to punish you myself, seeing as we’re in the middle of “fuck-knows where”, as you so eloquently put it.”

The shorter of the two gulps audibly, and then turns tail and begins running in the opposite direction, slipping over the mossy rocks by the Waye’s bank.

A wiser man would have retreated, but it appears that the taller poacher is somewhat lacking in cognitive ability. With a roar, he lunges at Jungkook, who easily pirouettes out of reach, leaving the lanky man to swipe at thin air. Growling, the man rights himself, and launches at Jungkook, but the duke’s son easily parries the blow with his blade, a metallic clang echoing in the valley. The poacher stumbles back, grimacing. Seeing that he has underestimated the “lesser noble”, the poacher makes a grab for you instead.

You attempt to duck out of the way, but slip on the wet rocks, and feel a clammy hand grab around your wrist, pulling you into the hard body of the poacher. Up close, he smells of onions and beer. You struggle against him, but upon feeling cold steel at your throat, you freeze.

“Not another move,” the poacher growls, “Or this wench gets it.”

You glance at Jungkook, who stands poised, with rapier raised. An expression of fear flashes across his face, like a fleeting cloud on a sunny day, passing so fast, you could convince yourself you imagined it.

The poacher’s plot could have worked out for him, had he not underestimated your strength.

As he leers at Jungkook, you grasp at the advantage of surprise. With a sudden twist, like a striking viper, your hand – still holding the dagger - snaps up, and strikes the man on the side of the head with the hard wooden hilt. The man crumples with a screech.

You leap away. At the exact same instant, Jungkook jumps forward. You turn to see the son of the duke standing over the poacher, his rapier raised to the tall man’s stubbly throat. The poacher whimpers, with one hand clutching his face where you struck him. A trickle of blood trails down the wrinkles of his face.

“Now listen carefully,” Jungkook says, his voice low and dangerous, “I could kill you right here. But I’m choosing to spare you. I would suggest you get off your sorry arse, get up, and run away. Take your possessions, your wife and children – if you have any – and flee this duchy. Because know that you are a wanted man while you remain in the borders of Braewyth. I know your face, and soon ever guard in our troops will know it too. The punishment for poaching endangered creatures is flogging. The punishment for an attempt on the heir of the duchy’s life is the gallows. There will not be mercy the second time. Do I make myself clear?”

The man nods, slowly and carefully, his throat strained below the point of Jungkook’s rapier.

Jungkook lifts the blade. “Go.”

The poacher does not need any more prodding. Scrambling to his feet, he flees, glancing behind him every so often, as if he is scared that Jungkook will change his mind and follow after him.

Jungkook breathes a sigh, sheathing his rapier. The sweat on his neck is the only indication that he was at all shaken by the encounter. Your return your dagger to the holster on your hip, and turn your attention to the pegasus which still lies in the shallow portion of the river, breathing heavily. You carefully walk over, and inspect the damage.

There’s one arrow lodged in its side, but from the other gashes on its white coat, it appears that several other arrows hit, but subsequently fell out, leaving the creature to bleed from multiple open wounds. The pegasus lets out a distressed whinny as you approach, and makes an attempt to get up. Its legs shake, and it collapses back with a splash, too weak to run away. It has already lost a lot of blood.

“Shh, it’s okay,” you murmur, “I’m not going to hurt you.” You know the creature can’t understand you, but you hope your tone is at least soothing. The pegasus thrashes in the shallow water, but realising it is too weak to move, it resolves itself to its fate, and lays its head down.

You crouch next to it, ignoring the cold water that soaks into your boots and riding trousers. Carefully, you pull a bottle from your satchel, and uncork it. You are thankful that you often carry first aid potions around. Wafting the bottle under the pegasus’ nose, you watch as it inhales the scent of your soothing potion and relaxes. With the creature sedated, you pull the arrow from the skin, and apply pressure to staunch the flow of blood that follows. Hunting in your satchel, you pull out a second potion, filled with healing balm. Pouring the thick green liquid onto your palms, you begin massaging it onto the pegasus’ open wounds. The smell of lavender and sage emanates from the balm, covering up the bitter metallic smell of blood.

Straightening up, you back away from the pegasus. The creature tentatively stands up, taking a few hesitant steps forward. Strengthened and emboldened, the pegasus canters forward with a whicker, its large wings ruffling as it takes flight.

“What did you give it?” Jungkook asks, watching the pegasus soar towards its nest.

“A simple Salutare Decoction,” you tell him, “Made to soothe and heal wounds, and-”

“And restore vitality. Yes, I know the one,” Jungkook interrupts, “I’ve never seen it used in practice.”

You flash him a cocky smile. “There’s no shame in admitting you’re impressed by my talents, Mr. Jeon.”

The heir of the duchy grimaces, “I’ll be impressed if you can actually make the Impetus Amor.”

“Oh, you of little faith. Are you allergic to admiring anyone who isn’t yourself?”

“Don’t get too arrogant, little alchemist.” Jungkook tramps back to his horse, his back a silhouette of irritation with shoulders hunched and head lowered. “Don’t forget who saved you from those poachers, you ungrateful wench.”

You snort,  walking back to your mare, “Some help you were when I had a blade held to my throat...”

“If you had been alone, you would have been slashed to ribbons,” Jungkook parries, hoisting himself into his saddle. With a dig of his heels, his stallion canters forward before you can get another word in.

By the time you’ve swung yourself into your saddle, Jungkook is far ahead, and you know there’s no way your mare can catch up with Jungkook’s brawny stallion.

Clucking at your ebony horse, you encourage her into a trot, muttering insults that Jungkook will never hear while you weave down the path back to Sientha.

✽ ✽ ✽

With the necessary ingredients, you’re finally able to start work on the Impetus Amor once you return to your shop. There’s no sign of Jungkook as you work throughout the rest of the day, and of that you are glad.

If you never see his cocky face again, it’ll be too soon for you. Yet, as you crush down thin sheets of gold into fine dust, his visage clouds your vision. Even as you watch the pegasus feathers steep in rose water, the shimmering sheen slowing leeching from the feather into the liquid, you cannot shake his sure smile and steadfast gaze from your clouded thoughts.

Dazed, you extract the feather from the liquid, leaving behind the opalescent rose water. The ingredients are ready. You simply have to wait. The next blue moon will be soon – a lucky coincidence.

Your luck is sure to run out eventually.

✽ ✽ ✽

On the night of the blue moon, once your shop is closed for the evening, you begin to prepare for the brewing of the potion. You start by getting your ingredients together, setting them up in a semicircle around your caldron. While you may have no control over your own life, you can easily command ingredients to do your bidding, controlling the brewing process and modifying as you go. The whole process is a soothing ritual for you.

At least it would be, if it weren’t for an irksome knocking coming from your door.

Sighing, you leave your ingredients by the caldron, and go to the door. You slide back the wooden latch, and outside you see -

“Jungkook?”

He stands, illuminated in a halo from the lanterns outside.

You wrinkle your nose. “What do you want?”

“Is that any way to greet the heir of the duchy?”

Rolling your eyes, you open the door to him, “Mr. Jeon, what an honour to see you at the threshold of my humble shop. Please make yourself at home. Is that any better?”

“A little,” Jungkook steps inside your shop.

You’re already seething, and he hasn’t even been in your presence for more than a minute. “What are you doing here at this hour?”

“I needed your expertise on something,” Jungkook says, sauntering over to your counter, and leaning against it.

You snort. “I find it hard to believe you think anyone besides yourself has any expertise.”

“Your words sting, little alchemist,” his eyes drag across the supplies lined on the shelves of your shop, before finally coming to rest on you. “I came here for some advice. Yes, yes, take time to gloat if it makes you feel better.” He waves a dismissive hand.

The gloating wouldn’t feel so good with his dark eyes piercing yours. You swallow, and stay silent.

“I need a potion to help me stay awake,” Jungkook admits.

You raise your brows. “It’s not healthy to stay awake for long periods of time, Mr. Jeon.”

“Well of course. It’s a one-off, naturally,” he shrugs at your concerns, “I’m just a little tied up you see. I promised a lovely lady that I’d take her dancing this evening, but I also have a commitment to the duchy, and that means being in attendance at an early morning meeting tomorrow. I was quite hoping to spend some quality time with the lady tonight, if you understand my meaning.”

“Are you sure it’s not an aphrodisiac you’re after instead?” you quip.

Jungkook raises his brows in feigned surprise. “What do you take me for? Some kind of cad?”

“Are you not a cad?” You examine him skeptically, “I see you around town with a different lady each day. What conclusions am I supposed to draw?”

“Well, perhaps you’re not so wrong,” Jungkook grins, “Just don’t tell the ladies that.”

“Don’t worry. They’re all too posh to speak to me, let alone believe my accusations that Jeon Jungkook is a good for nothing bounder who only cares about the delicacies that hide beneath their petticoats and pantaloons.”

“Can you help with the potion or not?” Jungkook has grown bored of your jokes.

Stepping behind your counter, you begin to rummage around the shelves. “Luckily for you, Vigil Concoction only takes a few minutes to brew.” You grab a jar of rhodiola rosea, along with a fine iron powder, and the scales of a mermaid. Crushing the aquamarine scales to a fine dust, you mix the ingredients together with a drop of lime juice. Jungkook watches, fascinated, as you pour the ingredients into a clean caldron, and bring the concoction to a boil. The smell of brine mixed with lime cuts through the air.

Jungkook's eyes wander over to the ingredients set aside for the Impetus Amor. “I see you’re finally going to be brewing it tonight,” he nods at the ingredients.

“Yes, I was about to before you interrupted,” you say, stirring the Vigil Concoction.

“So if it’s brewed tonight, it should be ready in a few days, correct?”

You sigh, and affirm, “Correct.”

“Well, I suppose we’ll just have to wait until then to see if you were actually successful.”

You wince. You had been hoping that Jungkook would forget your wager. Instead of continuing that train of thought, you change the subject. “If you don’t mind me asking, why not cancel your plans with this maiden, and attend the meeting. Any lady would be more than willing to change her plans for you.”

Jungkook sighs, “Actually, meeting with her was my father’s idea.”

You pause stirring the concoction to eye Jungkook with curiosity. “I didn’t take the duke to be the type to encourage copulation with fair damsels.”

“Wether I have sexual relations with the women does not matter,” Jungkook blushes, “My father is insistent that I find a wife.”

You splutter, and his dark eyes flash.

“Did I say something that amused you?”

“No, sorry,” you focus your attention on the potion, “It’s simply difficult to imagine you settling down with a woman.”

“What can I say. Most of the women I meet are a bore. Perfectly satisfactory in the bedroom, but useless outside of it. I struggle to hold a conversation with any of them. I need a lady with more substance if I am to wed her, not just bed her.”

“It must be such a chore being forced to spend time with all those beautiful women,” you tease, decanting the potion into a vial and corking it. Handing it across the counter to Jungkook, you warn, “Wait until it cools down before you consume it.” Your hand brushes against his as he takes the vial.

“Listen,” his voice is quieter, and despite yourself, you find you are trapped in his gaze, “I do not want you to think less of me for this conversation. When I find the right lady, I’ll settle down. I won’t be a cad. I..” he trails off, pocketing the vial. “I… well. Thank you for your help.”

You nod, unsure how to interpret his words. Taking on a professional tone, you say, “The concoction will work for about twelve hours, and will keep you alert and sleepless in that time. Once the twelve hours are up, you may find yourself dozing off quickly, so do be mindful of that.”

“Thank you.” With that, Jungkook leaves your shop. You stand in your empty store, thrown off by the unexpected distraction he caused.

Shaking your head from your hazy thoughts, you get back to the business of brewing Impetus Amor. You sit down in front of the cauldron, with enough ingredients to make several batches. You carefully measure each ingredient out, pouring them into the caldron’s black maw, while the light from the blue moon shines in through the shop window. You murmur a few words as smoke begins to rise from the caldron. The words come from an ancient civilisation, now long dead. The accent is strange and heavy on your tongue. It is the words that are the most demanding part. One wrong inflection, one stutter, and the potion’s strength will wane, or even fade completely. You’ve practiced each phrase thoroughly, just to be safe. As you stir, the liquid in the potion changes from pale translucent to an opaque pearlescent pink. A success. Working quickly, you pour the mixture into an alembic to distill.

Now all that’s left to do is wait.

✽ ✽ ✽

The days pass quicker than you expect, with nothing much to note, apart from the weekend, when a young lady wanders into your shop with a tear stained face, asking for a potion to mend a broken heart. You could have sworn you had seen the lady with her arm strung through Jungkook’s the previous day. You do not comment as you hand her a bottle of Cor Integro.

At last, the Impetus Amor is ready, and right on cue, so is Jungkook. He walks into the shop as you are bottling the love potion.

“Is that it?” His eyes flash over the contents of the glass bottle.

You nod.

“May I?” He holds out a hand, and you hesitate, before relinquishing the bottle to him.

And so concludes the list of bad decisions you made concerning Impetus Amor.

He holds it up to the light, inspecting intently. “Well, it certainly looks convincing. But I suppose we won’t actually know if it works unless we test it.”

The bad feeling forming in your stomach has arrived too late to warn you. Jungkook is already pulling out the cork, and downing the contents of the bottle.

This is how you end up with Jungkook, the one man you cannot stand, drinking your love potion. The first person he looks at will be the one he falls for. He’s looking at you.

Oh goddess above, please not this. Anything but this.

“Mighty gods above, what is wrong with you? You know very well how long that took to brew!” Your attempt to restrain your tone is unsuccessful. Anger pours freely from your words.

Jungkook shrugs his shoulders, “Tough. Looks like the potion doesn’t even work anyway. And on top of that, it tasted bad. Like dried roses and soap.”

“It wasn’t intended for you,” you remind him. “In one hour, it will begin to take effect, and you will be reduced to a fawning dolt, drooling over my every move.”

“That will only happen if the potion actually works. Which it may not.” Jungkook cocks an eyebrow at you, so sure of himself it makes you want to scream. “I cannot have you selling snake oil to the people of Braewyth.”

You are physically trembling with anger. “That potion is incredibly expensive. You’ll have to pay for it.”

“Fret not, you’ll get your money… if it works.” He swivels around, and is about to make for the door, but you dash in from of him, blocking off his means of escape. “I won’t allow you to leave,” you say, “You’ll make a complete fool of yourself if you’re free to roam the streets under the influence of a love potion.”

Jungkook blinks – innocent – and then laughs, “Come now. It won’t be that bad.”

“Yes. Yes, it will be that bad,” you insist, “I’m keeping you here until I can cure you. The last thing we want is for you to cause a scandal.”

Jungkook’s Adam’s apple bobs, finally realising that you’re being serious. “What will the potion do to me?”

“You should have asked before you drank the potion.”

“Perhaps,” he concedes, “It might not work. We still don’t know.” His eyes are wide, like a deer that’s spotted a hunter with an arrow aimed at its heart. “What will it do?”

“It will make you fall in love with me,” you say, “Of course. On top of that, it will cause you great physical pain any time you are not close to me. It will make you desperate for physical contact.”

Jungkook swallows thickly. “Well… let’s… uh… hope you got it wrong then, hmm?”

You frown. “I’ve half a mind to throw you out into the street to make a complete fool of yourself, screaming your love for all bystanders to hear.”

“Surely you’ve got a cure,” Jungkook pleads.

You grit your teeth. “You can’t expect me to simply fix every problem with a magical potion, Mr. Jeon. Alchemy doesn’t always work like that.”

“I’m sorry!” Jungkook blurts, “There, I said it. I’m sorry! I know I’ve cocked up. And I know I take your abilities for granted. I underestimate you all the time. I’m sorry, alright? But you have had it out for me from the moment you met me. You hated me before you even knew me. I don’t know why, but I’m sorry for that too. Now can you please stop piling on the blame and help me?” He holds up his hands, plaintive, “Please. I can’t do this by myself.”

Your shoulders slump. You want to be angry. All you feel is pity.

“Aright, Jungkook,” you concede, “I’ll help you.”

“Thank you,” his voice is soft.

You set the sign on your shop door to ‘Closed’, and bolt it. Then, you move across to your shelf of books. You know that one of these tomes must contain an antidote for a love potion. It’s not something you’ve made before, and you cannot remember which volume it is in, but you know it must be there. You scan the indexes, the pile of rejected tomes towering taller as you search through each book for any help it may provide.

Meanwhile, Jungkook sits on a stool by the counter, fidgeting awkwardly. 

At last, in your copy of Payne and Nash’s Antidotes for Advanced Alchemy, you find a potion called Aphrodite’s Cure – an antidote for love potions and aphrodisiacs.

Your finger mechanically runs down the list, checking off each one.

Extract from a siren’s tongue

Sap from a cherry tree

Crushed topaz

You have all those items in your shop. If you believed in the goddess, you would be praising her now. Your finger stops, hovering over the brewing time, spelled out in black ink. Two hours.

“Well, Jungkook...” The duke’s son looks up at the sound of your voice. “I’ve found a cure I can brew, but it will take two hours.”

Jungkook’s hopeful expression falls. “Well, I suppose I can bear being in love with a pain in the arse like you for two hours. Even if you are… the most… the most... beautiful maiden I’ve ever laid eyes on.” He leaps up from his stool.

Your heart pounds, animalistic instincts telling you to run far away.

Still you remain frozen to the spot, while Jungkook makes his way around the counter to grab at you, pulling you close. Your chest presses against his, while his hands grip your waist.

“You’re gorgeous,” Jungkook murmurs, “Forgive me for not telling you earlier.”

Your curse silently, caught in Jungkook’s ardent gaze. Your potion had worked wonders... unfortunately. “Does this drivel normally work on the maidens you woo?” you ask, pushing him away.

He winces as you part. “Please, my dear, it hurts when you force us apart.”

You remember the side effect of Impetus Amor embodies itself as physical pain when a couple is not  close to one another. Despite your disdain for Jungkook, you feel a pang of pity for him. “Okay,’ you say, “You may stay near my side. But you can’t get in my way while I work on an antidote for you.”

“But I don’t want to be cured,” Jungkook retorts, “I’m in love with you, and it feels wonderful. I never realised how good it would feel to experience true love. You truly wish to part me from this happiness?”

“Yes. You asked for this. Remember that.”

Jungkook shakes his head. “My past self did not know what he was talking about. I wish to stay by your side, forever..”

“No matter what I do,” you say, “The effects will wear off in a week. I’m merely expediting the process to save you the embarrassment that will follow.”

Firmly, you move away from Jungkook, fetching a bottle of siren’s tongue extract from the top shelf behind your counter, before you dig out your crushed topaz and cherry tree sap from a cupboard. You sit down in front of your caldron and let Jungkook take a seat beside you. His hand comes to rest on your knee. You startle at his touch.

“You said I could stay close to you,” he says, “Sorry, is this too much?”

You shrug. “Do what you need to. Just don’t get in my way.” As you pour the potions into the caldron and begin stirring over a low flame, you try to ignore the heat in your body, shooting up from the spot on your leg where Jungkook’s palm rests. The ingredients begin to bubble in the caldron. You watch carefully, smelling the steam that rises, hoping to discern clues on the quality of the brew. When the scent of caramel begins to waft from the caldron, you remove it from the heat, and allow it to sit for a few minutes before you transfer it to a flask where if will sit for two hours, allowing the ingredients to cool and fully incorporate into Aphrodite’s Cure.

“Well, Jungkook, now we wait.”

He huffs, “I already told you, I don’t want to be cured.”

“Tough,” you tell him. “Eventually you will be, whether you like it or not. Then you’ll be on your own to deal with the shame that follows. I’m not helping you with that.”

He bristles. “I don’t find being in love with you shameful. Not at all. After all, you’re strong-willed, and intelligent, not to mention beautiful! You have more wit and personality than most other women I have wooed. If I were to be embarrassed at the idea of loving you, I ought to cringe at the idea of having bedded the other women.”

“Well, you shan’t be ‘bedding’ me,” you say, “You can’t get between my legs just by flashing me a favourable look.”

Jungkook’s face falls, “You wound me, my dear. You truly believe I only have carnal pleasures on my mind. Do not worry. I know you need respect and commitment before you would allow a man to  crawl between the sheets with you.”

You feel your cheeks burning with a blush. “Let me guess – you wish to be the man who will show me that respect and commitment, and will crawl between the sheets with me?”

“Listen,” Jungkook diverges from your pointed question, “I know I need time to prove myself to you. I haven’t shown you my best side while I’ve been around you. I can only ask that you forgive me, and let me show you how much better I can be.”

“I’m used to the way you treat me.” You move away from Jungkook, but he grabs onto you, hands desperate.

“Please don’t leave.”

“I’m not leaving. I just need to get on with work. You may have forced me to close my shop, but that doesn’t mean I can sit and twiddle my thumbs for two hours until you’re cured.”

“But I want to sit here with you,” Jungkook whines. The potion doesn’t seem to have just struck him down with love, but also to have turned him into a pouty brat with the attitude of a spoiled toddler.

Give me strength. “Let me guess,” you say, “You want to hold me, and kiss me? Am I right?”

Jungkook’s face turns red. “You shame me my dear, for it seems you have been reading my thoughts. Forgive me, but how can I help but dream of such things, when you are so comely.”

You try not to roll your eyes. Men under the influence of Impetus Amor are intolerable.

You catch a hold of his hand, which is grabbing your right wrist, and wrench him off you. “Jungkook, I am refusing you for your own good.”

“I do not believe that to be true,” Jungkook says as you pry yourself from him, and begin to scour your shelves for any bottles that appear to be running low. The duke’s son follows you around like a lovesick puppy while you pull out a piece of parchment and begin walking along the shelves taking note of vials and containers that are running empty, so you can get fresh ingredients at the next opportunity. Your hands need to be busy. You feel hapless otherwise.

“I truly believe,” Jungkook pipes up behind you, “That even when this potion wears off, I will still be in love with you. I believe that I have been in love with you for a while.”

You snort a laugh, “You truly do amuse me, Jungkook.”

“Is it so hard to believe I could fall for you?”

You spin around to face Jungkook. He is much closer than you anticipated. A gasp breaks your lips.

“Listen, little alchemist,” his eyes bore into yours, as you step back, your spine pressing against the shelf behind you, “I’ve been trying to fight these feelings, for I know my father would not approve of a woman who is not noble-born, yet I still find myself drawn to you. I wander aimlessly to your shop, just to catch a glimpse of you, just to feel the warmth of your company. And you would scoff at this?”

Your mouth goes dry, tongue feeling heavy in your mouth. The words are difficult to get past your teeth. “You’re lying. It’s just the potion talking.”

“Why would I lie?” Jungkook’s eyes are troubled, “I’ve been falling slowly, ever since I met you. I tried to push off the feelings by treating you harshly. I tried to forget them in the arms of another lover. But still… I always find myself coming back to you.” He lifts a hand, fingers gentle against your cheek. You shiver at his touch. “It’s always you, little alchemist.”

Your lips curl in amusement. “You almost convinced me Jungkook. You speak so earnestly…” You take his hand in your own, pull it away from your face, and let it drop to his side.

His eyes cloud over. “Being unable to touch you, it hurts me physically, you know.”

“I know.” A shard of sympathy embeds in your chest. “It won’t last long though, I promise. I’ll cure you soon.”

“While we wait,” Jungkook’s eyes are dark, “Could you spare me one kiss? Just to ease the pain?”

“Jungkook,” your hand goes to his chest, rising up to rest on his shoulder, “The potion worked. You lost the wager. You were only to get a kiss if you won.”

“Please,” the word falls soft from his mouth.

You stand transfixed, stuck between your shelf of potions, and Jungkook’s body. His face is mere inches from your own. A dreadful curiosity sweeps over you, one that you know you should ignore. Yet, Jungkook is here before you, eyes urgent, and you are tired of fighting him.

“One kiss,” you murmur, “That’s all I’ll allow.”

His hands find purchase on your waist as he moves closer. Your eyelids flutter shut as his breath fans your cheeks, smelling of rose and gold dust. His lips are warm as they settle on your own, mapping out your mouth. You fall captive to the sensation, and suddenly, you understand the appeal that draws countless women to Jungkook’s side. He may be a pain in the arse, but he is wonderfully skilled when it comes to kissing.

Pressed against the shelf, you give in to the affections from a man you were sure you hated. You promise yourself, as his lips part from yours, that you will wipe this feeling from your memory. Yet, even as Jungkook draws back, the ghost of his warmth haunts you.

Lost for words, you blink in the dim light of your shop, suddenly too bright after the dark of closed eyelids. Jungkook leans back against the counter, eyes fixed on you. You struggle, unsure what to say. Instead of saying anything, you simply return to the chores you had assigned yourself, mechanically checking off ingredients on your piece of parchment.

At the counter, Jungkook is suspiciously silent. After a long pause, he finally asks, “What will happen to me when the effects of the potion are cured?”

You turn back to him. “You will forget most of this. It will all feel hazy, like a dream. And you’ll feel a little unwell. Headaches are normal after such strong potions take effect. Some people also suffer nausea, but that depends on one’s constitution. You’ll only suffer for an hour or so, then it should wear off.”

“That wasn’t what I meant,” Jungkook says gently.

You swallow, understanding, “Your feelings will depart. Whatever you are feeling for me now will be replaced with your genuine feelings, so you’ll go back to hating me I suspect.”

Jungkook’s face falls, “I don’t hate you.”

“Well then you’ll go back to mild indifference,” you say, turning back to your shelf to continue working, while Jungkook sits down at the counter, silent.

The hours drag on, with Jungkook’s eyes following your every move. Occasionally, he expresses a desire for physical contact to stop the pain. When he does so, you return to his side, and gently press your palm to his. The action seems to be enough for him.

At last, the hour glass has run through twice, and the potion is ready. You carefully decant it into a vial, and set it in front of Jungkook.

He catches your gaze, “I… I don’t want this.”

“Jungkook, please,” you press your hand to his one last time, “You need to. No matter what, the Impetus Amor will wear off. I’ll still be here when you’re cured.”

His face firms into an expression your don’t recognise, and with a resolute, swift motion, he tips the contents of the vial into his mouth in one go, swallowing with a groan. “You did not warn me that it would taste repulsive.”

“You were already reluctant to take it.”

Jungkook groans again, lowering his head so that his forehead rests on the wooden counter top, “By the goddess, I feel like death. Do you have a potion for a headache?”

“Not one caused by the after effects of Impetus Amor,” you say, “But I do have herbal tea.”

“Yes please.”

Glad to have a task to distract you, you busy yourself with boiling the water and fetching tea leaves.

From his spot at the counter, Jungkook moans, “I embarrassed myself greatly, didn’t I?”

Watching a pleasing golden red spread out from the tea leaves into the boiled water, you reply, “That depends on what you deem to be embarrassing.”

Jungkook grimaces as he lifts his head slightly, then, upon reconsideration, lowers his head again. The colour has drained from his face.

“I imagine you were acting the way you normally would around any fair lady you intended to woo. You were fine. Quite respectful, actually.”

“Please, I don’t wish to remember,” Jungkook moves his head so that his cheek now rests on the counter.

You pass a cup of fresh tea across to him, ‘That should make you feel a little better,” you say.

“I owe you a ‘thank you’,” Jungkook raises his head to blow on the steam rising from the tea cup, “And an apology as well, I fancy.”

You pause, not expecting to hear those words from him.

“I’ve been an arse,” Jungkook says.

“It’s not often you and I agree on something, Jungkook.”

He laughs wryly. “Well, I can’t deny it, can I? I wasted your time and energy today, and for that, I am sorry. From, Jeon Jungkook, son of the duke of Braewyth, to you, master alchemist and potions-brewer extraordinaire, as my equal, please accept my sincere apologies, and my humble gratitude.” He bows his head.

You are unsure how to react, throat tight. All you can muster is an insincere chuckle, and a feeble “No need to be so formal... If you really want to apologise you can give me the gold you promised since it would appear I won this wager.”

“Oh, right!” Jungkook digs in his pockets.

Suddenly, strangely, you feel unsure of yourself. “Listen, I was just joking. I don’t need the money. Really...”

“Nonsense,” Jungkook dumps a sack of coin on the table. “It’s yours, fair and square.” He grins at you and takes a sip of his tea. “This brew really seems to be helping.” As he downs the rest f the cup, you busy your hands with the bottles on your shelf, straightening them so they stand in a tidy row. Jungkook glances through the window of your shop, where the sky above the roofs of the town is turning gold with the setting of the sun. “I’d better head off,” he says, “My father arranged a ball for the eligible women of Braewyth to attend, and he’s hoping I’ll meet someone there. And by someone, I mean specifically Lady Antille from the province of Armestice.” He grimaces. “I’ve heard she’s a dreadful bore. Not to mention there’ll be lots of business men at the dance, hoping to make a good impression, and get funding from my father’s treasury. So overall, I have a very pleasant evening ahead of me.”

“Do you think you’ll ever find a woman you’re happy with?” you ask.

Jungkook wavers on the question, “I’m… not sure. I think I’m cursed by the fact that most noble women are not at all appealing to me.”

You shrug, “It’s all just a pantomime isn’t it? Performing the proper etiquette. Perhaps once the women have a chance to drop the pretence of politeness, you’ll get to know them for who they truly are, and you’ll realise they aren’t as bad as you think.”

“Perhaps,” he looks unconvinced, “But I doubt I’ll have the time for that. My father is hoping I’ll drop down to one knee and propose as soon as I lock eyes with the right woman.”

“Maybe Lady Antille will be the lucky one,” you say.

“The longer this goes on, the more I worry my father will simply pick a lady for me, and force me to marry.”

“I hope not.”

He nods, “Yes. So do I.” He turns for the door.

“Enjoy your evening, Jungkook.”

He pauses at the door, and turns back to look at you, with a gentle smile. “You’ve started calling me Jungkook instead of Mr. Jeon,” he notes.

“Oh, sorry,” your hand springs to your mouth, “Is it improper?”

“A little bit improper,” He smiles, “I like it.”

“Goodbye, Jungkook.”

“Goodbye...” He looks into your eyes, sunshine bathing him from the windows, and your name is soft on his lips. Not ‘little alchemist’. Not ‘wench’. Not ‘my dear’. Just your name. A warmth spreads from your stomach through the rest of your body.

You smile as he closes the door behind him, leaving you alone with the smell of herbal tea filling the shop.

✽ ✽ ✽

As darkness descends on your shop, the sun sinking lower, a lady enters. You recognise the red hood, lowered over her eyes and nose.

“Good evening,” you welcome her as you would all other customers.

Rather than greeting you, she simply asks, “Is the Impetus Amor ready?” Her tone is hushed, despite being the sole customer in your store.

Thankful that you had the foresight to create more than one batch of the potion, you fetch it from your cupboard and place the vial on the counter top in front of her. The potion shines, pearlescent in the fading sunshine.

The lady pushes back a blonde lock from her face, and her shapely lips smile below her hood. “Wonderful. Thank you.” She tales the vial, and places it into her purse. You notice her splendid gown beneath the folds of her red cloak. Only a rich lady could afford such a potion. And such expensive silk. You sigh, despite yourself.

The lady tosses another pouch of gold onto the counter top. “I trust that you will not tell anyone of this exchange.”

You pause, wondering what she means. “All my customer’s orders are confidential,” you assure her.

She nods, satisfied, and swivels on her heel, exiting the shop. As she leaves, she bumps into an older lady who is making her way into your shop. You recognise the older lady, Myrrh, who is one of your regulars. The younger lady’s red hood slips down as she passes Myrrh, revealing a head of golden curls.

“Oh, sorry dear,” Myrrh says.

The golden haired lady bows her head, quickly pulling up her hood again. “Think nothing of it.” With that, she slips into the darkening evening.

Myrrh approaches your counter, while you retrieve her order from the shelf behind you – Fons Iuventae, for aches and pains afflicting old joints. “Well, I never realised you got such fancy clientele in your store, dear,” Myrrh observes, as she counts out her silver coins for you.

You smile, “Her appearance here surprised me as much as it did you, Myrrh.”

The older lady chuckles, ‘Imagine! Lady Antille, in this shop! The store will be the talk of the town soon, I’m sure.”

“Lady Antille?”

Myrrh gives you a strange look as she hands her coins across to you. “You didn’t recognise the Lady of Armestice?”

You shake your head.

“Ah, well now you know,” Myrrh says, “Imagine, me bumping into her like that.” She takes her bottle of Fons Iuventae and heads for the door. You follow behind her, and flip over your store sign to ‘Closed’ once she leaves. The last dregs of sunlight seep through the window. With the shop shut for the night, you go and sit behind the counter, thoughts running at a thousand miles a minute. You know that you should not concern yourself with your customer’s potion usage. After all, you simply provide. You are not responsible for the actions that follow. Yet, you cannot help but have your suspicions.

Before you realise what you are doing, you pick up a vial of Aphrodite’s Cure from yoru counter. Your body leads you to the door, grabbing your satchel, and your cloak, pulling it around you before you step out onto the cobbled street. Your feet lead you to the stable, where you quickly saddle up your mare, and spur her into the dark of night.

The road that leads out of Sientha winds down towards the large mansion where the duke of Braewyth resides. Everyone in Braewyth is familiar with the sugar white house that stands tall, behind a maze of rose bushes. As you ride towards the mansion, rain begins to pelt down, stinging at your cheeks. You continue regardless, pressing your heels into your mare’s side, encouraging her on. You push her harder than you’ve pushed her before, hurtling down the road at a frantic gallop. The mare’s breathing is hard, foam flies from her mouth. Dirt flies from her hooves, kicking up the mud washed onto the road.

Ahead of you, past the sheets of rain, you spot the lights of the Braewyth mansion. Reigning in your mare, you stop her a few paces before the gate, and tie her by one of the trees. She’s breathing heavily, and you give her a reassuring pat before you make for the gates.

A guard, who was leaning lazily against the gate, stands to attention when you approach, raising his spear. “Halt.”

“Please,” you hold up your hands to him, showing that you are unarmed, “I wish to speak with Jeon Jungkook.”

The guard squints at you through the rain. “And who might you be?”

You hesitate. “I’m his alchemy tutor.” Technically not a lie.

“I wasn’t told you would be arriving,” the guard says, “Do you have an invitation to the ball that you can show me?” He sweeps a skeptical gaze over your trousers, flecked with mud, and your fur hood, soaked with rain.

“Please, it’s urgent,” you say.

In the gloom, you see the guard raise his eyebrows.

You wrack your brain, “I have a potion for Jeon Jungkook. He asked me to deliver it to him personally before the ball began.”

“He never told me of this plan.”

Just then, by the mercy of the universe – or perhaps the goddess – Jungkook appears at the other side of the gate.

“Ah, Mr. Jeon,” the guard smiles at you gleefully, hoping to have caught you in a lie, “Have you met this wench before?”

Jungkook walks up to the gate, “Of course. Let her in at once.”

The guard’s mouth hangs open for a slit second, before he quickly corrects his expression, and bows to the heir of Braewyth. “Yes. Right away!” He opens the gate, and scurries to get out of your way.

You hurry over the threshold, and begin walking with Jungkook towards the Braewyth mansion.

“What are you doing here?” Jungkook asks, once you are out of earshot of the guard.

“What about you?” you say, “Do you make it a habit to walk around the garden while it’s tipping it down with rain?”

“I needed some fresh air, and I heard a commotion from the gate,” Jungkook explains, “But I really think you’re the one who ought to be explaining yourself.”

“I...” you’re unsure where to begin, “Has Lady Antille arrived yet?”

“Not yet,” Jungkook says, “Now, will you please stop answering my question with more questions.”

“Sorry,” you swallow, suddenly realising how silly your reasoning will sound.

Jungkook waits, while you remain silent, walking down the path through the rose bushes.

You take a deep breath, “This may sound mad, but I have reason to believe that Lady Antille plans to use Impetus Amor on your tonight.”

Jungkook’s expression turns frosty. “You’re not jesting?”

You nod. “I could be wrong. But the lady who purchased Impetus Amor was Antille. I did not recognise her at first. I suppose it could merely be coincidence, and she is using it for someone else, but I wanted to warn you, just in case.”

Jungkook is grave. “I suppose it would make sense. After all, a marriage into the Braewyth duchy would be beneficial for the province of Armestice.  The province is too small to defend itself, so would be willing to seek the protection of a more powerful duchy.” He turns his eyes to you. “Will you be able to stay here with me tonight? I must be in attendance at the ball, and avoiding Lady Antille there is out of the question. If she does try anything, will you be ready to help me?”

You nod, “I have the cure in my satchel, just in case.”

Jungkook nods, taking your hand, and leading you up the marble steps to the mansion door. “Alright, if you’re staying, then you need to get changed.”

“Excuse me?”

“I do not mean to offend, but your trousers won’t be acceptable attire for the ball.”

You swallow as you step into the house. The hallways are greater – both wider and taller - than you had anticipated, with lush white carpets that your feet sink into. You wince at the mud trailed in by your boots.

“Whyn!” Jungkook calls, and a flushed looking maid appears on cue, bowing before him.

“Yes, Mr. Jeon?”

“Can you help my lady friend? She needs to be cleaned up, and needs more appropriate attire for the ball.”

“Of course, Mr. Jeon.”

Before you can even get a word in, you are being herded down the corridor by Whyn, who appears overly eager to do Jungkook’s bidding. You’re pushed into the bathroom, and the last you see of Jungkook is his smile as Whyn closes the door on him.

The bathroom is lavish, tiled with white marble. Ornate sculptures depicting gryphons stand at each corner of the room. Steps lead down to a pool of warm water, from which steam rises, smelling of lavendar. A statue of a stag stands proudly at the centre of the water, with a beautiful woman depicted standing beside him, naked. She holds an urn above the pool, and water pours from the urn into the large bath.

Without any warning, or any chance to protest, Whyn strips you down, and pushes you to the water’s edge. “Quickly, m’am,” she urges, “The ball will be starting soon.”

Grumbling, you step down into the water. However, it’s impossible to continue complaining as the warmth envelops you, easing all the aches in your body. You sink down with a sigh, dipping your head under, and letting your hair become fully soaked.

However relaxing the bathing experience is, you know you need to get back to Jungkook quickly, so after a quick once over with soap, you reluctantly leave the embrace of the sweet smelling water.

Whyn is ready and waiting with a warm towel. She starts drying you off, and you complain that you can dry yourself, but she shushes you stubbornly. “Please, ma’m, let me do my job!”

Once your hair and body are towelled dry, Whyn helps you into the ornate dress she has picked for you. You’ve never worn a dress this fancy before, and until this point, you never understood why ladies needed maids to help them get dressed. Now, as Whyn scurries around you, lacing up your corset, and adjusting your petticoat, you understand. The dress has so many buttons, clasps, and ribbons, that it would take an eternity to dress yourself.

The maid finally helps you pull back your hair, pinning it off your face, so it curls elegantly to frame your cheeks. She steps back to admire her handiwork, allowing you to take in your full reflection in the mirror beside the bath. It’s surprising what a maid’s touch can do. You barely recognise yourself. A regal lady stares back at you from the mirror in a shimmering sapphire-coloured dress, with golden stitching around the bodice, detailing embroidered roses.

“Is it alright, m’am?” Whyn asks, “If you don’t like it, I can find another dress.”

“No, thank you, Whyn,” you smile at her, “It’s perfect.”

The girl flushes and bows her head.

You find your original clothes folded neatly in the corner of the room. You rummage in your satchel, and find your vial of Aphrodite’s Cure, tucking it under your corset for safe-keeping. You turn back to Whyn. “I’m ready.”

The maid leads you out of the bathroom down a snaking maze of corridors, until you reach a set of grand mahogany doors. She pushes the doors open for you, and indicates that you should go in.

You whisper your thanks to her again, and then walk into the ballroom. Inside, the dancing has not yet started, and the room is filled with groups of people, conversing with one another. You spot Jungkook at the far corner, by a set of wide windows that look out onto the garden, which is illuminated by lanterns. You walk over, and a smile erupts on Jungkook’s face as soon as he spots you. He steps forward to greet you.

“Whyn has done a fine job,” he says, casting an admiring glance over you.

You feel you face heat up, unsure how to respond.

“If anyone asks,” Jungkook continues, in a low voice, linking his arm through yours and leading you along the ballroom floor, “You are my personal friend. You needn’t give any more information than that.”

You nod, glancing around nervously, “Has Antille arrived?”

“I haven’t seen her yet,” Jungkook says. “I truly hope your fears are unjustified. But if they’re true, I want you by my side, okay?”

“Don’t worry. I don’t plan on wandering off alone.” Looking around the room, you notice many of the people staring at you. “Why are they looking at us?”

“Well, you are walking arm in arm with the heir of Braewyth, who’s rumoured to be in the market for a wife. People are going to be gossiping about our betrothal as we speak.”

You blush at the thought, allowing Jungkook to lead you around the room, stopping every so often to speak with groups of important sounding people.

Every so often, the door will open and someone will announce the name of the eligible young lady who has entered. The lady will smile and curtsey, and then everyone will go on about their business.

You find yourself stuck in an arduous conversion with an old noble, named Lord Chaperlet, about the effects of increased wheat tax, when the doors to the ballroom open once more, and the announcer cries, “Presenting to you, the Lady of Armestice, the honourable Antille.”

You raise onto your tiptoes to catch a glance at the lady over the heads of the crowd that has gathered.

She’s wearing a gold dress that trails across the floor like spilled champagne , her hair curled perfectly around her face. Lord Chaperlet stops wittering on about wheat tax to stare at the young Lady. “Antille truly is a beauty, is she not?” He winks at Jungkook, who gives a diplomatic chuckle, and says, “Now, now, Lord Chaperlet, what would your wife say if she overheard you?”

The older man gives a hearty laugh. Jungkook’s arm remains interlocked with yours, and shows no sign of budging. You swallow your nerves as Lady Antille approaches.

The lady pauses momentarily upon seeing you by Jungkook’s side, and a flash of ice glazes her gaze before she corrects her expression to a polite smile, and makes her way forward.

“Jeon Jungkook,” she coos, “How are you? It’s a pleasure to meet you. You look as handsome as your portraits portray you.”

Jungkook gives a courteous smile, “I’m wonderful thank you.” He takes the hand she proffers him, kissing her fingers, as is the custom when greeting noble women. “And how are you?”

“Fantastic,” Antille smiles, “Although the coach journey here was frightful! The rain was atrocious. Hence my late arrival, you see.”

“Fashionably late, I would say,” Jungkook replies, and Antille giggles behind her white-gloved hand.

You are out of your depth, silently observing this display of courtly manners.

Antille finally glances your way, in the manner one might glance across at an old dog scratching its fleas in the corner. “And who is this?”

You swallow. You may look different in your gown, but you know she has recognised you from your potions store.

Jungkook answers in your silence. “This is my personal friend.” His arm is still slung through yours. His reassuring fingers squeeze you.

“Is that so?” Antille worries her crimson bottom lip with her teeth for a second, her gaze lingering on you, sizing you up.

It’s a relief when Whyn passes with a tray of glasses filled with champagne, moving between you and Antille. “Would you like a drink?” The maid keeps her head bowed.

Antille takes a glass, and hands it to Jungkook, before taking one for herself, “Might as well enjoy oneself.” She raises her glass to Jungkook.

Jungkook brings the glass to his lips. A flash of worry sparks in your head – the only reason you are here is to stop Jungkook from ingesting any potion. Yet, Antille seems happy to drink the champagne...

Instinctively, your fingers tighten around Jungkook’s arm.

A vague scent of rose water and crushed gold floats towards you.

Jungkook glances at you, confused, before understanding floods into his eyes.

Wracking your brain for a good excuse to leave, your hand springs to your neck, feigning surprise. “Oh, I’ve just noticed! My necklace is gone. I was wearing it when I arrived here, but now it’s gone.”

Jungkook picks up on your cue. “Perhaps it fell off in the hallway by the entrance when you took off your cloak. I’ll help you search.”

“I’m sure that won’t be necessary,” Antille chimes in. “Your friend can manage by herself. After all, everyone in this ballroom is here to speak with you personally, Jungkook. People might talk if you were to leave.”

Seeing Jungkook struggling, you begin sniffing, forcing your eyes to water. “The necklace belonged to my late mother. I can’t believe I was so careless...”

Jungkook hands you a handkerchief so you can dab at your fake tears, and before Antille can say anything else, he escorts you out of the room.

Once the doors of the the ballroom close behind you, you give up your act, following Jungkook down the twisting hallways.

“This is bad,” he mutters, “I should have been more careful. And after your warned me as well!” His hand is firm on your wrist, leading you up a set of stairs, before he slips into a room and quickly bolts the door shut behind him.

You find yourself in a lavish bathroom, this one different from the one you bathed in. Cherub angels are carved into the white frosting-coloured ceiling.

“You need to stay calm,” you tell Jungkook. “It’s going to be okay.”

Jungkook grimaces, “Don’t you understand? That glass came from Whyn’s tray. Antille must have specifically asked her to spike the glass that she would then give me.”

“Maybe Whyn didn’t know what it was,” you suggest.

“Even if she didn’t, a maid shouldn’t put anything into a drink they serve. She’ll loose her job. It’s a shame, I liked her.”

“That’s not the main issue right now,” you remind him, rummaging in the folds of your dress for the vial of Aphrodite’s Cure, “You need to take this.” You hold up the glass to him.

Jungkook smiles, “I’m glad you’re so reliable.”

“I do my best.”

Jungkook makes to take the vial from you, but you pull back, “Wait. You need to take the antidote after the potion actually kicks in.”

“How will  I know when that is?” Jungkook asks.

“Even if you don’t notice, I will,” you say, “You’ll start talking gibberish about how in love you are. And you’ll feel a sudden rush of emotion for the first person you looked at after you drank the potion… which was me, I think.”

“Right, of course. A rush of emotions.” He presses his lips together. “Perhaps, for the sake of clarity, I should confess something in that case...”

You furrow your brows. “What do you mean?”

“The trouble is,” Jungkook continues “I believe I have already developed feelings for you.”

When you open your mouth, he holds up a hand to stop you. “Before you say anything – no, the potion hasn’t kicked in yet. I’ve felt this way for a while. I just didn’t know how to deal with these feelings, so I’ve repressed them.”

Your heart rises in a flurry of childish giddiness. You don’t know where the feelings come from, but are surprised to find that you desperately hope he is telling the truth. “Perhaps we should wait until you take the antidote, and then we’ll talk about this...”

His eyes glaze over, strange and distant, “My dear, these feelings will remain unwavering, I promise.”

You press the potion into his hands. “Drink,” you command.

He nods, uncorking the vial, and tipping the contents into his mouth. “Goddess, that tastes vile,” he groans. He sucks a breath through his teeth. With his head lowered, he takes a few seconds to recover, before he murmurs, “Thank you.”

You remain silent, not sure what to say. Your mind is still racing over Jungkook’s earlier confession. He said it wasn’t the potion causing the words to fall from his mouth. Yet, you cannot be sure. A part of you is unexpectedly sad at the though that his profession of love was simply the potion speaking.

Somehow, despite your determination to hate him, you are surprised to find that you love him.

Jungkook raises his head, eyes fixed on yours, “Without you I would have made a complete fool of myself. Not to mention, I probably would have ended up betrothed to Antille, which...” he blows out a sigh. “Let’s not dwell on that. Thank you for all your help. I know I’ve treated you poorly in the past, but you’ve still helped me regardless. That’s the sign of a good person.”

You bite down on your cheek, “Jungkook?”

“Yes?”

“What you said...” Once you start, the words keep spilling, “Before the potion kicked in. About being in love with me. Did you mean that?”

“Sorry, it was improper of me to simply dump that upon you all of a sudden,” Jungkook says, “I suppose I should have kept that to myself. I’ve tried to ignore these feelings, since my father would not approve of someone who is not noble-born. I tried to push the feelings away by treating you brusquely, by distracting myself with other women, but none of it worked.”

“So you mean?”

His gaze is inescapable, “I love you.”

Your breath catches in your throat.

Jungkook chuckles, but his tone is earnest, “Sorry, you look like a startled deer. I know it’s improper to confess without suitable courtship first, but our relationship has always been a little unconventional. Spending my time with you, I was fascinated by you. And that fascination turned into something I’ve never felt before. I’ve never been so open or honest with anyone else. You’ve seen the worst parts of me, and you’ve stuck around despite all that.” His cheeks colour, “I truly am just rambling now, please feel free to tell me to shut up.”

You’re still waiting for the part where Jungkook suddenly says, “It’s merely a jape!” His face is serious.

“Jungkook, I… I don’t know what to say...”

“Then don’t say anything, you don’t have to.”

“No, I want to, I just… the words evade me...” you bite your lip, “Your confession certainly came as a surprise, although not an unwelcome one...”

Jungkook’s eyes shine. 

“I’m very happy,” you say, “I would be lying if I said I do not have similar feelings for you. I never thought it would be okay to fall in love with a noble, so I never allowed myself the liberty of even thinking...” You hesitate, “Is it really okay for me to love you?”

Jungkook nods, “Nothing would make me happier.”

“But your father?”

“It’s okay. We’ll make it work. The tradition of nobles courting nobles is ver old-fashioned anyway. I never liked it. Eventually, my father will accept whom I choose. And I choose you.”

He takes your hand, delicately bringing your fingers to his lips. The action is so simple, so gentle – a far cry from the kiss you had shared earlier – yet it feels so strangely intimate with his eyes drinking you in, while his warm mouth caresses your skin.

His lips work their way up to your wrist, then your forearm, then your shoulder, then your cheek, then grazing the side of your mouth. You let him kiss you properly, melting into his warmth, while the carved cherubs smile down at you from above.

Parting, Jungkook sighs, “I wish I could enjoy this without the after effects of Impetus Amor... My head’s killing me...”

You smile, “Don’t worry. There’ll be time for all of this later. I’m not planning on leaving your side.” You hold his hand tight in your own. “For now, let’s go to the kitchen, and see if we can find some herbal tea for you.”

✽ ✽ ✽

After a cup of strong tea, Jungkook has perked up, ready to return to the ballroom. He holds your hand in his own as you make your way down to the main hallway. You can hear string instruments harmonising to a waltz from the ballroom. The dancing seems to have started in your absence.

“I hope you’ll dance with me tonight,” Jungkook says.

“Won’t people talk if they see us together?” you ask.

“Let them,” Jungkook says. “I’ll announce our relationship when you feel ready, and not a second before.”

You smile, “In that case, I’d love to dance with you.”

As you enter the ballroom, Antille glances over at the two of you and blanches. Jungkook lets go of your hand, and walks over to her, asking if she is willing to speak with him.

Antille looks around, as if considering her escape routes, but agrees to go with Jungkook – with obvious reluctance. Jungkook draws her to the edge of the room, away from the dancing couples that glide around the ballroom floor. Where the two of them stand, you can hear their conversation well, although they are tucked away from the rest of the ball guests.

“Antille,” Jungkook says, “I know what you have attempted to do.”

Antille glowers, “Attempted to do? What are you talking about?”

Jungkook continues, “I have enough proof to have you publicly disgraced, but I am willing to let you leave with your dignity intact, so long as you never set foot in this house again.”

“Threaten me all you want,” Antille hisses, “But know that you have made an enemy of Armestice today.”

Jungkook’s face twists into a frown, “That’s not a game you want to play, Lady Antille, believe me. The duchy of Braewyth is not one to be messed with.”

Antille is pale. Her eyes fall to you, and anger flashes vividly in her irises. “I thought I made it clear that my purchase was to be kept a secret.”

Jungkook steps closer to you, “Don’t, Antille,” he warns, “Your quarrel isn’t with her.”

The lady, visibly flustered, turns on her heel towards the door. You watch as she leaves the room.

Jungkook turns his attention to you. “Please don’t worry about her. I know what Armestice is capable of, and it isn’t much. Her threats are simply to stir up fear, but she won’t act on them.”

You smile as he threads his fingers through yours, “Now, would you do me the honour of dancing with me?”

“It would be my pleasure.”

You are aware of the eyes boring into you from all sides as you step onto the dance floor with Jungkook, but in that instant, you don’t care. Jungkook is beside you, his eyes on your face, and a smile on his lips.

For now, that’s enough.

✽ ✽ ✽

It’s a cold morning, but the early spring sunshine is shining stubbornly despite the chill as you walk back to your shop. You have a basket of fresh herbs in your hand, picked from the mountain side.

As you turn the corner onto your street, a smile breaks across your face, recognising a familiar figure standing by your door.

You run over to Jungkook, setting down your basket of herbs, so you can freely fling both arms around him.

He grins, planting a kiss on your forehead. “Good morning.”

You unlock the shop door, and let him enter. It’s still an hour until your shop will open for business.

“How has your morning been so far?” you ask Jungkook, throwing off your cloak, and hanging it by the door.

“Good,” Jungkook says, “The new maid prepared a wonderful breakfast. Eggs and bacon and fresh bread.”

“Sounds much better than the oatmeal I had,” you say.

“Once our relationship is officially made public, you can move into the mansion with me,” Jungkook says, “Then you can have all the eggs and bacon and fresh bread you want.”

You begin sorting the freshly picked herbs into piles on the counter, while Jungkook runs an eye over the potions you have sitting out from brewing last night.

“That will be nice,” you say, “Although I will miss this old shop.”

“I’m sure we can set up a room in the mansion where you can have a workshop to continue brewing potions. People would pay well for potions brewed by the heir of Braewyth’s wife.”

You blush at the word ‘wife’, a thrill travelling through you. 

Jungkook eyes some of your older equipment, “We can even get you some new tools. Some of these seem a little… rusty.”

“They’ve served me well, I’ll have you know.”

“Just a suggestion.” He sticks his tongue out at you.

You grin at him, “So what did you want from me this morning? We could continue your alchemy lessons… or...”

Jungkook moves around the counter to be by your side. His hands find  your waist, pulling you closer. “Well I had a few plans of my own.”

Your fingers curl through his charcoal hair. “I’m listening.”

Jungkook ducks his head down, his breath ghosting against your ear as he whispers his plan with words that make you blush scarlet. Desire pools inside you as his lips trace a path down your neck to your collar bone, “Don’t think you’re getting out of your alchemy lesson later.”

“Yes, m’am,” he grins, taking your hand in his own.

You let him lead you from your shop up the creaky stairs to your living quarters. You are happy to forget all responsibilities for the next hour, completely lost in Jungkook. You never believed a love potion could lead to true love – yet here you are, completely enveloped in Jungkook, overwhelmed by feeling. You don’t believe in the goddess but you thank her now, thank her that she decided to ruin your life by thrusting Jungkook into it.

The man you hated more than anything in the world has now become the man you love more than anything, and you couldn’t be happier for it.

- THE END -

➝ author’s note: thank you so much for reading! i hope you enjoyed it. 

[redrobin-detective]

sleep like the dead

“And now, I, Technus, shall finally have my electronic vengeance on you, ghost child and conquer this puny human world!” Technus shrieked, exiting the portal in a suitably dramatic fashion. The various weapons around the lab shook and trembled from his power and static from his core crackled, raring for a fight with his favorite enemy. Only the Phantom didn’t appear.

“Hmm, maybe I wasn’t loud enough,” Technus mused before starting up again. “Pathetic Phantom! You can only hope your miniscule half human strength will be enough to take on my squiggling mess of the tangled wires of terror!” He threw back his head and cackled loudly, waiting for his nemesis to show and the battle to begin. His laughter petered out after a bit and the lab became silent once more.

“Well, now he’s just being rude,” Technus fumed, floating up through the ceiling. “Don’t ignore my threats, child. I know you’re here, I can feel your cold core.” He stopped once he reached the ghost boy’s human lair, hovering a few feet from the bed where his rival was sprawled out, sound asleep.

“Come ghost boy, it’s time for fisticuffs! I have some new moves and some great catchphrases I’m ready to try out on you!” The technology ghost exclaimed in excitement, miming some punches. Phantom didn’t answer, just kept laying there barely moving save for his soft, shallow breaths. Technus watched as his breath fogged with each exhale, his core’s ghost sense but it still didn’t awaken him. “Child? Have you expired?”

He leaned forward and gently poked the boy’s cheek. It was squishy but firm unlike a ghost’s exterior and he could feel the dense bone underneath. Phantom didn’t so much as twitch. Technus drew back his hand, unsure of what to do. He’d surprised the child while he was in bed before but he always woke up and they fell into the usual routine. But now he’d changed the script and if there was something ghosts didn’t like, it was change. He flew back down to the portal and sped into the Ghost Zone at top speed, searching for someone who would be able to help him understand. 

“Wow, baby pop whooped your butt that fast? Either he’s getting better or you’re getting more pathetic, my bet is the latter,” Ember teased as she strummed to herself from a floating rock near her lair.

“The ghost child won’t wake up and fight,” Technus said in a rush. “I went to the human world but no one answered my challenge. I went to his human lair and he was just lying on his bed thing and he wouldn’t move, even when I touched him.”

“That’s not like him, he’s usually more hopped up and ready to fight than a groupie on coke,” Ember frowned, setting aside her guitar. “Well come on, sparky, lets go check the kid out.” 

They developed something of an entourage making their way back to the human portal. A few of the locals had heard that the infamous half ghost child was behaving differently and well, curiosity didn’t stop when the cat was killed. Skulker chuckled menacingly under his breath, Youngblood bounced around the adults. Johnny and Kitty had been going to the real world anyway and decided to tag along. 

“Were his folks or Jazz home?" Johnny asked, riding his cycle slow enough to keep pace with the group. 

“Who?” Technus questioned, “er no, the annoying children always with him were not around for once.”

“Annoying yes but they don’t live- uh occupy the same lair as the brat,” Johnny explained. As a younger ghost who’d held onto his humanity more than some, he had a better grasp of human culture. “His parents, the crazy ghost hunters in the blue and orange jumpsuits. Or his sister, Jazz. She has red hair and is kind of a know it all. They’re his family, they live with him.”

“Oh those weirdos,” Youngblood said wrinkling his nose. “Always loud and shouting about ripping apart ghosts. They’re not even good hunters.”

“Obviously, they haven’t noticed they got a ghost living with ‘em,” Ember added with an eyeroll.

“It’s a very stressful situation, Danny was worried about what they’d do if they found out,” Kitty frowned before sticking her tongue out at Johnny. “Danny’s a good guy, at least he talked to me about things that mattered.”

“Good target practice, you mean,” Skulker declared as they entered through the portal. Instinctively they all looked up to where the ghost boy’s core was humming but sensed no movement. “Alright, I will admit that is weird. Let’s see what the whelp’s up to.”

It was a bit cramped, the five of them crammed into the small room especially when they were keeping their distance from the room’s only living occupant. He had not moved since Technus had last been in here. At their entrance, his breath fogged again and he shivered for a second before settling back down. 

“Well, he’s alive at least,” Johnny shrugged before leaning in close to examine him. “Kid looks wiped though.” He picked up the boy’s bony wrist which had been dangling off the bed, his fingers brushing the floor and held it up before dropping it. His knuckles rapped against the ground but he didn’t stir.

“Johnny, leave him alone, he’s trying to sleep,” Kitty hissed, yanking her boyfriend back by his ear. 

“Come on, I’m not doing anything bad,” Johnny defended. “But, come on, how often are we gonna get a chance like this?”

“Hmm is human sleep that interesting that the ghost child would ignore all of us?” Technus asked, floating over and laying himself down on the bed. He laid there on the bed next to the boy for a few moments. “I do not believe I’m doing this correctly.”

“Nah you gotta close your eyes and go off to dreamland,” Youngblood said, grabbing a sock off the floor and then some papers from the desk and began stacking them on the half ghost’s head. The boy still didn’t react in the slightest. 

“Is dreamland close? Another pocket dimension like the Zone?” Technus, ever the scientist, asked curiously.

“No, you idiot,” Ember sighed before tentatively reaching out and laying a hand on Phantom’s chest. “Yow, man that’s weird.”

“What?” Skulker asked, having been mostly content to watch until now. Youngblood had now piled several more items on the ghost boy’s head but he slept on, unawares.

“It’s just,” she scrunched up her face as she looked for the words, “I know what ghost cores feel like and I’ve been around enough humans to know the signs of life but he’s got both at once. His core flares and fades opposite his heart beat. It shouldn’t work but it does, somehow.”

“He is a most curious specimen, I rarely see Plasmius in his human skin so it’s hard to compare,” Skulker commented. “Of course Plasmius I can understand. He acts like a ghost, thinks like one. But the child, he’s certainly a ghost but he’s also decidingly... human.”

“That’s why we should be leaving him alone,” Kitty frowned, plucking Youngblood out of the air and moving him away from the sleeping teen. “If Danny isn’t waking up with all of us causing a racket then clearly he’s exhausted. We bother him enough, let him rest and fight him some other time.”

“But I wanted to fight now,” Technus whined, rolling over on the bed and resting one arm over the ghost boy’s body. “The Phantom surely wants to hear my latest monologue on how I’m the supreme ruler of everything electronic and beeping.”

“I know I don’t,” Youngblood shrugged.

“Me neither,” Johnny scoffed.

“Or me,” Ember muttered, putting her hands on her hips.

“Just let him rest,” Kitty said shooing the others back and gently brushing some of the kid’s hair out of his face revealing sallow features and dark marks under his eyes. “It’s hard enough being human much less a ghost on top of that; between fighting us and trying to have a normal life I bet he hardly gets any sleep. The least we can do is give him a break before he breaks.”

“I suppose it’s not sporting to kill a sleeping prey,” Skulker pouted. “And it’ll make his defeat more meaningful if he’s well rested and not uh,” he gestured to the Phantom’s general state of disarray. 

“Better appreciate it,” Ember sulked for a second, kicking away some pajama pants from the floor. “His stupid human life. I’d give anything to sleep again, just for a minute.” 

The ghosts sat in quiet contemplation for a moment, the dead looking enviously and curiously on the silent, sleeping boy, on a world they could only watch but not engage in. The moment was shattered by the front door slamming open.

“DANNO WE’RE HOME AND WE BROUGHT CHINESE!” Resonated through the house. Startled awake, the ghost child leapt out of the bed and hovered about a foot above it for a moment before sinking back down.

“Darn it Dad, I was napping,” Danny grumbled before he opened his eyes and saw several of his ghostly enemies standing awkwardly in his room. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Technus lounging on his bed. “What the-”

“Oh good, you’re awake!” Technus tittered happily, leaning into his personal space. “Ready to hear my spiel?” The temperature in the room dropped rapidly as his core ramped up and spilled over into his eyes which were no doubt glowing a fierce green.

“Get out of my room!” He shouted, reaching over to grab his emergency under the bed thermos but a sock falling from his hair into his face distracted him.

“Hey, just stopping by but we were just on our way out, sleep well, Danny sweetie!” Kitty said dragging the whole group through the floor. His core thrummed in agitation until he felt them cross the portal into the Ghost Zone. He sat there for a moment, shaking and panting from the adrenaline rush before he decided he really didn’t want to know. He flopped back onto the bed and reached over on his nightstand for the bottle Jazz had given him the other day.

“The heck is in this stupid sleep aid?”

[mongoosecroft-alt]

Song lyrics as writing prompts Wintersberg edition

Prompt: "I'm always tired, it's just a habit."

Song: I'm Always Tired by Weathers

Rules: meh, some lyrics maybe?

Theme: exhaustion

my response:

It's a quarter to three, Ethan is still rolling in bed. He's been staring at the digital clock on the nightstand on and off since he lay down. Rose is on the other bed, surrounded by pillows in a makeshift crib. Ethan would prefer to keep her within arms reach. But he knows she wouldn't be able to sleep next to him in this state, she’s barely out now, shifting and fussing every few minutes in her sleep. It may have something to do with the traumatic events of the past few days, but he knows it's at least partially because he's so tense. Kids are intuitive like that, and Rose has been ill at ease every since Miranda came into their lives masquerading as Mia. Ethan feels guilty that his inability to calm down and rest is keeping Rose from doing the same, and that's probably only making it worse.

Ethan sits up on the bed, he sets his booted feet down on the floor and leans forward on his knees. He still has his jacket and jeans on. The bed creaks but Rose doesn't seem to notice. He takes a moment to review his surroundings, the door is locked with a chair propped under the handle, a lot of good that will do if the bsaa shows up with a battering ram. He's positioned himself between Rose and the door, his gun is in the top drawer of the nightstand, safety's on. His knife is in it's holster tucked under his pillow. And now he's sitting in the dark, staring at the closed door, waiting for something to come crashing through. There's not much more he can do than that.

He rubs the back of his neck and takes as deep a breath as he can. Holds it for a few seconds, and lets it out in a heavy sigh. For a moment the room feels dead silent, all he can hear is Rose's shaking breaths, she's clearly having a bad dream. Ethan contemplates picking her up, but decides it would probably just upset her further. His body seems to grow heavier at the thought, he hangs his head listening closely to Roses breathing in the quiet of the motel room, until he hears a sound that nearly makes him jump out of his skin

It sounded like someone knocking on the door, but who could be looking for them at this time of night? or at all for that matter? Ethan instinctively pulls his knife from under the pillow and looks around the darkened room, breathing heavily, his heart pounding in his chest, until . . .

*knock knock knock*

The sound repeats, it's just a soft thudding, like it was barely meant to be heard. Ethan’s eyes land on the sliver of light coming from under the door and he realizes that the sound isn't coming from the front door, it's the door to the adjoining room. Ethan takes another deep breath and tries to settle his nerves, he had almost forgotten that the door was there. it hadn't even occurred to him to worry about it as he surveyed all the potential threats and points of entry a few moments ago. he stares at the sliver of light under the door, he can see the shadow of the man on the other side, he's not moving and he's already knocked twice, so it seems unlikely that he's just going to go away. But what could he possibly want at this hour?

Ethan stands up slowly in an attempt to minimize mattress creaking and pads quietly to the door, he considers for a moment before clicking on the lamp on the far side of the room, Rose has never had trouble sleeping with the lights on before. he gently unlatches the door and opens it slowly.

Karl Heisenberg stands on the opposite side leaning casually on the doorframe as he waits, like Ethan he only has the clothes he was wearing when he left the village, though he's looking far more put together now. The smell of overly scented hotel soaps and shampoo along with the errant air dried curls and waves of his hair give away the fact that he's freshly showered. Ethan was caught a little off guard by the sight, Heisenberg's hat and trenchcoat were conspicuously absent, his unkempt hair and relaxed stance seemed so humanizing, almost endearing.

Ethan was so taken aback by the sight that for a second he failed to notice that the Lord was looking at him over the rim of his glasses with a raised brow.

"Are you trying to outmaneuver a lycan or a small child? because I'm pretty sure her hearing isn't nearly as sensitive as mine"

Heisenberg spoke with an expressive yet soft voice.

If Ethan hadn't been paying attention, he wouldn't have even known he was being insulted. Still, he looked over to where Rose was to check on her, but she didn't seem bothered by the other mans voice at all. He sighed inwardly and decided not to press the issue.

"it's late Heisenberg, what do you want?"

Ethan's words lack venom and betray his exhaustion as he speaks.

"I'm here to offer some respite"

the Lord states matter of factly.

"what?"

"The past three nights you've been awake, either pacing the room or tossing back and forth on the bed, not to mention the kid starts screaming every few hours, so, I know you're exhausted. Because you're making be exhausted."

Ethan scoffed.

"Well, if my daughter and I are so disruptive them maybe you should ask for a different room so you won't have to listen to the lasting effects of an infants psychological trauma."

Ethan knew his response was overly harsh as soon as it came out of his mouth. Heisenberg was paying for their current lodgings with the small fortunes worth of crystals he'd had in his truck when they'd made their escape, and now Ethan was lashing out at him for pointing out that he wasn't sleeping. Ethan shook his head and opened his mouth to apologize but Heisenberg spoke before he got the chance.

"I didn't come here to complain, I came to offer my help, it's been over a week since the crash and the most you've slept since was when you passed out from bloodloss. You must be tired."

"I'm always tired, it's just a habit at this point."

Ethan’s shoulders hung heavy

"But, I can't sleep, not with everything I know now. Besides, who knows if I even need sleep to function anymore anyways."

"You do, I can tell by how bitchy you are without it."

Ethan looked back up from the ground to meet Heisenberg's eyes, he smiled and Ethan had to fight the urge to either laugh or cry, he didn't know which.

"This is your idea of 'helping'?"

"No, my idea was for you to let me watch the kid for a few hours while you get some shut eye, then hopefully you'll be in a better mood when you wake up."

Ethan shakes his head again, he's feeling more exhausted by the second since the start of this conversation

"I get that you want to help, but I can't just leave my daughter alone with someone I barely know."

Heisenberg mulls the fathers words over for a moment before he speaks.

"fine."

he shrugs and pushes past him into the room without another word.

Ethan is swung aside as easily as a door on its hinge and for a moment he isn't quite sure what just happened.

"What are you doing?"

Heisenberg walks past the beds and over to the table. He pulls out one of the chairs and spins it around.

"If you need to watch me while I watch her then fine"

He sits down backwards on the chair at the foot of Rose's bed with his arms folded on the backrest.

"I can keep an eye on her from right here."

Ethan stands in the middle of the room, he tries to find his words but nothing is coming out.

Heisenberg leans forward a little more

"Get some rest papa, who knows, tomorrow might be the day that everything goes to shit all over again, and when that happens you won't be much good to any of us in the state you're in now. So, just let me stand guard for a while."

Ethan can feel his fatigue gripping his bones now, yet there's still that screaming in his head that keeps telling him not to let his guard down. Words come toppling out of his mouth before he’s even stopped to think about them.

"Every time I close my eyes I see all the things that have already tried to come and take her from me, and just as may more that haven't tried yet."

"Do you even know how eyes lie?"

Ethan perked up immediately at the sound of the other mans voice, he hadn't been expecting a response to his musings.

"I spent my entire life surrounded by monsters that most sane people couldn't even fathom, and yet every night when I tried to sleep I'd be convinced that something far worse was coming for me."

Ethan’s not sure how long he stared at Heisenberg after he spoke, but it seemed to be long enough to make him regret sharing.

The Lord rolled his eyes and flicked his wrist with a dismissive showmanship

"Which is to say that you're not special, you just have the luxury of knowing you're not completely paranoid. Since people and creatures like that are in fact out to get you."

Ethan smiles and a soft laugh escapes him. As the sound reverberates through him he starts to realize just how deep this full body ache has sunk in. He takes a seat on the foot of his bed, too tired to stand anymore. He leans forward on his knees again weighing his options.

"Okay."

He finally speaks

"But no smoking around Rose, if you want to light up then go outside."

Heisenberg nods.

"Noted. But I'm not going anywhere"

Ethan falls back onto the bed as quietly as he can muster and doesn't bother trying to move from that spot.

"Night Heisenberg"

He mumbles as he quickly drifts off.

"Good night Winters"

Ethan wakes a few hours later to the sound of Rose fussing, it's still dark with the single dim lamp in the corner serving as the only light source. It's a slow process to dredge his consciousness out of the deep dreamless slumber he'd fallen into. He sees movement as he starts to crack his eyes open, for a man his size, Heisenberg can move in complete silence when he wants to.

Ethan watches through heavily lidded eyes, lying perfectly still as the man moves from his chair to Rosemary's bedside and sits down beside her.

He looks at her pensively and starts to reach with both hands like he's going to pick her up, but seems to think better of it. He sits and watches Rose as she starts to sniffle and wine louder. He starts to rub his hands together slowly, his gloves make a muffled scrubbing noise. They speed up as he leans down over Rose's fortress of pillows.

He reaches out again slowly and presses the palm of his gloved hand down gently on her chest. He waits a moment for her to react and then starts to rub slow circles on her chest. He begins to hum softly and Rose's fussing seems to taper off slowly back into silence

Ethan wonders to himself how Heisenberg could have known or guessed that this gesture would work. But as the soft rumble of Heisenberg's voice drifts into his thoughts he drifts off again.

Ethan doesn't wake again until a streak of sunlight from the crack between the curtains reaches his eyes. He stretches out on the bed and feels the soreness in his muscles, it's still there, but a little less now. He looks at the clock and sees its past noon. He can't remember the last time he slept this long, let alone without being woken by nightmares, either his or his daughters.

Wait, where's Rose then?

Ethan pushed himself up on the bed and looks around the room, he feels an unexpected rush of relief wash over him at the sight of the scruffy rough and tumble Lord stationed at his daughter's bedside.

Heisenberg was asleep, leaning back in his chair with his feet up on the bed, his glasses hung on the neck of his shirt. Apparently at some point in the night he'd moved his seat to position himself between where Rose slept and the door.

Ethan was surprised to see that Heisenberg was still here after at least nine and a half hours, it certainly wasn't the kind of timetable they'd agreed to last night, and who knows how much of that the Lord had actually stayed awake for. Ethan certainly wasn't expecting to sleep for this long, though it wasn't uncommon for Rose, in fact she might sleep another couple of hours if she can.

Which was also surprising, even before the events of their recent history, Rose normally only slept this soundly when someone was holding her. As Ethan turns to face them and his eyes adjust to the modicum of light in the room he realizes why.

Heisenberg's arm is rested on the mattress, one of his leather clad fingers gripped tightly in Rose's little hand.

Ethan feels the corner or his mouth twitch at the sight. The two seemed content the lie. He looks back at the clock, Heisenberg usually slept half the day away anyway. Ethan gets up and walks around to the far side of the bed, he pulls his gun out of the nightstand and checks one more time that its loaded and that the safety is still on. He walks back down to the foot of the bed and sits with himself between the two of them and the door.

He can keep watch until they're ready to get up, he can thank Heisenberg when he wakes. For now he'll wait, he'll make sure their both safe.

[ghostlywritten]

If Only I Had Stayed In The Shadows - Chapter Ten

James Potter x OC

Words: 4,8k

Prologue  Chapter One   Chapter Two  Chapter Three  Chapter Four  Chapter Five  Chapter Six  Chapter Seven  Chapter Eight  Chapter Nine

The break passed and life in Hogwarts continued in blissful peace for the next few months. At least for us students. Outside of the walls and grounds of Hogwarts, the situation was getting darker and darker each day. People went missing or were declared as dead, causing chills down our spines whenever the list grew longer with each newspaper.

I sighed, folding a piece of parchment that contained a letter from my parents about their well being. They were alright but had to take a lot of extra hours, giving how more and more muggleborn or halfblood wizards and witches were registered every day and night with the worst injuries at their hospital. Some - if not many - did not make it by the end of the next dawn. A hand snatched the letter from my hand and I glanced over at the messy-haired boy next to me as he unfolded it again. "Ever heard of privacy?" I asked and his eyes widenend in mock-astonishment, "No, what's that?"

His good mood evaporated slightly though after he skimmed the letter and an usually solemn expression graced his features instead. "Things are really getting worse everyday, aren't they?" he asked quietly, catching Sirius' attention from his other side.

"What's getting worse everyday?" he questioned, joining our conversation. Remus, Peter, Lily and Marlene looked up from their sheets as well. We were gathered together in the Common Room, sitting at one table to 'study'. Some would think it odd since we never usually mingled together, especially with Lily's open hatred towards James and everything the Marauders stood for. But ever since he and I got together, everyone consequently spent more time together as a group, surprisingly getting along...most of the time.

"A lot of people are dying or getting injured," James replied, handing me back my letter.

"Mom says, the hospital is being run down. They won't be able to carry so many patients for long," I added, feeling uneasy, "Apparently the healthcare system is close to collapsing."

"That's bad," Marlene commented, worry creasing her forehead, "What's going to happen if this goes on?" Everyone shrugged, glancing at each other helplessly as no one had an answer.

"The Ministry will figure it out eventually," Remus tried to reassure us all, straightening up in optimism.

"Right, they always do," Lily agreed, causing Sirius to scoff quietly. She gave him a challenging look, raising her eyebrow. "You've got anything to say, Black?"

"There is a lot I could say that would certainly not please you, Evans," Sirius quipped.

"Anyways," James cut in before a bicker session could begin between them, "We shouldn't turn our hair grey because of this. We are young! And still have more than a year left in the safest place in the country."

I nodded in agreement, leaning into him as he threw his arm around me. Lily silently flickered her deep green eyes between us.

"But what happens after we graduate?" Peter spoke up with an almost quivering voice as he still looked worried.

"Let our future selfs worry about that," Sirius dismissed.

"We should still have a plan though," Lily pointed out and I allowed a frown on my face after she finally ripped her intense gaze off. She had been doing that a lot lately, staring at our interactions longer than deemed normal. What was her issue? "You know, the teachers are planning to start sessions for career advice with each of us. Having no plan probably won't look good."

"Oh, I already know what I'm going to do," Sirius shot back immediately, smirking confidently, "Auror sounds pretty enticing, especially during this time, doesn't it?"

"Same," James said and I resisted the urge to raise my eyebrows at his confidence, "That or Quidditch," he added as an afterthought.

"I don't know," Marlene mused, "Auror does have a nice ring to it but I always thought I would do something with Potions...," Stunned silence and a collective jaw drop followed. The brown-haired beauty burst out in laughter at our disbelieved looks, shaking her head, "Just joking. You should see your faces."

I rolled my eyes at her. "You really got us there for a second, Marls," Remus chuckled.

The evening passed and even though I would have liked to say we did a lot of studying...we didn't. "Well, Remus and I gotta go," Lily sighed, getting up, "We're patrolling tonight."

"Uh, sounds fun," Marlene commented sarcastically and the red head shot her a look.

"Right, on it!" Remus got up as well, readying himself, "Boys, don't pull any pranks tonight. It will make me look bad."

"But Moony, now is the best time! With you on patrol, we won't get any punishment!" Sirius stated indignantly.

"That's exactly what I mean with making me look bad," Remus remarked with a sigh, "I'm a prefect, mate. Help me out by not doing anything."

The black-haired boy seemed to contemplate his options before giving in with a pout, "Fine, but you owe me."

"Good boy," Remus said, patting his head like a dog, "I'll see you guys later...ladies, have a good night."

"Night, Remus!"

"So, if no pranks are allowed...how about we get a midnight snack from the kitchen and head to the Astronomy Tower?" James suggested and I gave him an offended look even though my heart fluttered at his romantic suggestion. "I am second to your pranks? Really?"

"Of course you are!" Sirius snickered.

"Of course you are not!" James contradicted and it was his best mate's turn to give him an affronted look. "Really, Prongs? You're giving me up for a lass so easily?"

"...Pretty much, yes," James shrugged, causing me to snort.

Sirius pouted. "Can I at least tag along?"

"Me too?" Peter added himself.

"Sorry mates, this time is only for me and my love," James declined, pulling me closer as we got up and kissing my temple. I blushed slightly at his open affection. Ever since New Year's Eve we had become closer and practically glued to each other. I couldn't believe my luck at this point, wondering how I had managed to capture the attention of this charismatic and sweet boy when I was a rather boring girl with a boring life. Yet, here we were, officially together for about four months in and going strong.

After grabbing a few snacks from the kitchen, we headed up to the highest tower in the school. I sat down at the ledge, leaning against the barrier with my arms and resting my chin on them as I breathed in the fresh night air. James settled down next to me, quietly handing me a sandwich I bit into immediately whilst we enjoyed the peaceful atmosphere and presence of the other. The view was magnificent, moonlight reflecting from the slight waves of the black sea and I imagined the Giant Squid breaking the surface with its tentacles from time to time.

"What are you thinking about?" James eventually asked softly and I glanced over. His cheek rested on his crossed arms, eyes locked on my face. I blushed slightly at his gaze, looking back out at the landscape. A tinge of happiness rose in me as I thought how life was for me at the moment. Despite my parents throwing fits because of my career choices, I had a great boyfriend, who supported me in everything. And as cliché as it sounded, he made me feel safe during the dangerous times of war raging just outside of the Hogwarts grounds. Is that what love makes you feel-? My thoughts came to a screeching halt at the l-word before it started racing uncontrollably fast. Love? Did I love him?

"Cec?" James poked my arm, breaking me out of my reverie and I twitched slightly in surprise, "Are you spacing out on me?"

"N-no, I was just...," my eyes flickered around for an escape, "..daydreaming," I ended lamely, pressing my mouth against my underarm.

"Okay?" James raised an eyebrow, clearly not believing me, "Are you cold? You are twitching like a weirdo."

"Jeez, thanks," I said sarcastically, though immediately blushed when he scooted closer, throwing an arm around me. "It's alright, weirdo," he said with a grin, "I'll be your knight in shining amor once again and keep you warm."

"And once again, I gotta remind you of a little magic trick called Heating Charm," I replied with the same grin, warmth spreading through me at his cute gesture. James was full of cute gestures, it was a miracle no one knew that. Maybe, because he had never been able to show this side of him before. I bit my lip, shyly acknowledging the increase of my heartbeat at his proximity, the realisation of my feelings suddenly becoming clear.

I had fallen for that idiot.

Days had passed and I was mulling over how to tell James about my feelings. Should I tell him at all? Should I wait for him to say it first? Did he feel the same anyway?

There was only one person to ask for love advice. Someone, who had helped me before.

"Marlene, should I tell him?" I asked.

"Absolutely not," the beautiful Gryffindor answered immediately with her eyes wide.

"Why not?"

"The boy has to say it first. That's the rule."

I made a face. "Is that really? Or are you just making it up?"

Marlene sighed, grabbing my shoulders. "Dearest Cec. We girls easily fall in love. And we figure it out quite easily, too. A boy usually needs a while longer and if the girl were to approach him with her feelings, he would immediately feel swamped and make a beeline for the next exit. Until he is not sure of his own feelings, I wouldn't tell him."

I frowned slightly, "That's a bit biased, don't you think? I'm sure not all boys would try to run away."

"Oh believe me, they will," Marlene stated almost darkly. Something told me, she was talking from experience but I was not enough of a Gryffindor to dig deeper. She noticed my gaze though and immediately let go of my shoulders, leaning back in nonchalance. "I mean, you can risk it and tell him or you can wait. Personally, I believe waiting is the best. It doesn't hurt now, does it?"

I pondered over her words whilst wandering the halls in search of the one boy, who kept running through my mind. Sure, it wouldn't hurt to wait for him to say it first, but the question was how long would he need to realise it? Could I perhaps quicken it up by just telling him first, making him notice his own feelings faster? Or would it just pressure him to say it, too even if he doesn't mean it? That thought filled me with horror and I swiftly decided to keep my mouth shut.

Though, when I rounded the corner to the courtyard and saw him standing in all his bespectacled, nut brown messy haired glory I couldn't help but suddenly hear my heartbeat loud and clearly, drumming in my ears in a pace it would usually go after a sprint or a run up of blasted staircases. I couldn't help but stop short in my movements to savour the sight of his smile for a second, the same smile he would direct at his mates and me, all the people he loved (perhaps he did actually love me, too), his teeth shining in the sunlight that would occasionally peak through between the many clouds and I decided to tell him my feelings then and there, head slightly dizzy from the once again quick change of mind. But before I took a step forward, my eyes flickered away from him at the reflection of the sun on shiny red hair, rippled in perfect waves and slightly blinding. And then they flickered towards a pair of glistening, emerald green eyes that were smiling at the exact same boy I wanted to talk and spill my feelings to.

I swiftly stepped back in the shadows, wincing at my own behaviour. Why was I spying on them? They were doing nothing but talking, laughing at each other...something I had never seen Lily do with James before. Ever. Wishing I could hear what they were saying I looked back at James, feeling my chest warm at the sight of his smile but almost burn at the realisation who it was directed to. All the people he loved...

'No,' I shook my head, 'We've talked about this before we got together. He made it clear that he lost interest in her...after pining after her for years.' She clearly never reciprocated his feelings, so their not-lovestory was over when he moved on. But what if she did reciprocate his feelings? I thought back on all the times I caught her staring at us. Could it be that she had been feeling something for him all along and was just hiding it? Or didn't realise it until now?

Marlene's lessons on keeping a boy interested crossed my mind. Would trying hard to get work on girls, too? After all, James had been chasing her for years and suddenly stopped paying attention to her. He was even in a relationship. But would that spark an interest in Lily? Certainly not. She wasn't the type to chase after someone, who was taken, not to mention one, who had been annoying her for years. No, she was just befriending him now that he wasn't pining after her, seeing as they were in the same friendship circles. We were all spending more time together, the girls and the Marauders. And as Marlene, Alice and I were starting to get along more with the boys, so was Lily. It was bound to happen that we all grew closer. If anything, it was a good thing.

I relaxed a bit at that conclusion, smiling slightly as they laughed quite loudly at something James said. Back then, when I was obsessing more over other people's relationships (since I had none of my own), I always thought they would get along really well if James hadn't been chasing her in his boisterous and overly-done way. Him, with his wild and goofy nature that would dare her to many adventures, and her, who would be able to tame him and not take it too far, keeping him on the ground. 

+A perfect friendship. 

A perfect relationship.

My smile faded and I turned around. Despite myself, I didn't dare to reveal my feelings to the boy on that day.

Neither did I on the following days that turned to weeks until we reached the end of the spring and the world slowly turned warmer in the first days of the summer with a turn from April to May. Everything was as normal as it could get when you were friends with the Marauders. Classes were the same, Quidditch practices were the same, we had won the last game against Ravenclaw and were now on first place to win the Cup as long as Slytherin lost against Hufflepuff (which was quite unlikely, but nobody tell James). The Marauders pulled their usual pranks, although they were more tamed than in their previous years and less directed at us girls. James and I were still going to strong...yet none of us had said the l-word even though we had been together for almost eight months by now. And although Marlene kept reassuring me that it was normal for boys to take longer in their admittance for love, all the romantic books that I'd read throughout my teenage years stated otherwise. We should have long since reached that stage to proclaim our love for each other, shouldn't we? Hell, James proclaimed his love for Lily everyday for years ever since he saw her and they weren't even together. It shouldn't be hard for him to realise whether he loved me or not.

This fueled my insecurities more each day that passed without a confession, which caused me to keep my mouth shut about my own feelings, too. Instead I found myself frequently catching James and Lily alone, deep in conversation, whenever I was looking for him after he went missing on all of us. Either at the library, where I had never seen him go as often as now and on his own will, too, or outside at the courtyard or on the Hogwarts grounds with her sitting in the shade of a tree and him dangling from a branch above her, grinning down at her as she laughed whenever his glasses slipped askew from his upside down position. It was practically a picture ripped from the pages of a romance novel. And the burning feeling in my chest would continue.

"Lily and James are getting along pretty well, aren't they?" I commented off-handedly one day. Marlene, Alice and I were sat in the library together, studying for the upcoming exams with Lily having gone to fetch more books. Alice tensed up slightly, her eyes flashing from me to her book whilst Marlene looked up, shrugging nonchalantly. "Guess so. Now that he is not annoying her anymore."

"Right. Good thing," I said, nodding along to her words. Needless to say it was relieving to see that she had the same thoughts as me about this. An expert like her would have caught on if there was something more to their sudden closeness, right? Nonetheless I looked over at Alice, who suddenly seemed very busy with scribbling something down on her parchment. Alice, who out of the three of us was the closest to Lily and who would likely know exactly what was going on. "What do you think, Alice?" I asked her bluntly as she didn't seem to want to join the conversation on her own.

Startled, she looked up and I gave her a tight-lipped smile as I awaited her answer. "Eh, yes. They seem to get along better than before. At least, Lily is not yelling her head off anymore every time she sees him," she replied, laughing albeit nervously. Just then, the aforementioned girl headed back towards our table with four books stacked in her arms. I gnawed on my lip, wondering how to ease the constriction in my chest that had been my constant companion for a while now with the ongoing uncertainty.

"Hey Lily, are you dating someone?" I asked her as she sat down. Her books promptly landed on the table with a bang as she had slackened her grip on them in surprise. I cringed slightly at the glare thrown at us from Madam Pince and Lily mouthed a silent 'sorry' at her.

"What? Why do you ask?" she coughed slightly, glancing at the other girls, who had looked up in interest now.

I shrugged. "Just wondering. You are pretty and someone ought to have to courage to ask you out, now that James is not holding anyone back from it," I laughed slightly at the end, hoping to dissolve the suddenly awkward atmosphere that appeared at my statement.

"She's right, Lils," Marlene thankfully butted in, blissfully unaware, "You are the only single among us and you've been for a while. It's time to get some!" Lily went beet red, reaching over to smack her on the arm as we all snickered slightly. "Jesus, Marlene. That's so inappropiate!"

"What? It's true! You are the only single among us. And someone is bound to have asked you out lately! Right?" the brown-haired beauty pressed on and I had never been more grateful for her noisiness than now.

Lily grumbled under her breath, hesitating slightly before she gave in, "Maybe. Some Ravenclaw perhaps." Our eyes widened and Marlene squealed as quietly as she could. "I'm not interested though!" she quickly added at our excited looks, deflating my relief, "Now drop it. We are here to study." And with that, she successfully ended the topic.

Later at night I met up with James at the Astronomy Tower, our usual spot when we wanted to hang out after curfew. "Hey, how was your day?" he greeted me warmly as I sat down next to him at the edge of the tower, resting my arms against the railing. A cool breezed rushed throughout the tower and James quickly scooted closer to wrap his arms around me before I even started to shiver and I smiled at his sweet gesture.

"Quite well. Studied a lot. And you?"

"Quite well. Pranked a lot," he mimicked, grinning when I laughed slightly. "Which poor soul did you harrass this time?" I asked, resting the side of my head against my arms as I listened attentively to him recounting each prank with great detail, his arm leaving me once in a while to emphasize something but never failing to come back around me. "Sounds like you had a lot of fun today...," I remarked when he ended and he nodded with a beaming grin, "...and when did you study?" His beam deflated into a pout, causing my shoulders to shake in silent laughter.

"I don't need to study," he grumbled nudging me. "Sure, you don't." I nudged him back, slipping to the side and almost under the railing when he nudged me slightly harder. He quickly grabbed me by the arm and pulled me back towards him. "Sorry about that," he apologised embarrassed and I giggled slightly, resting against him. "Don't worry, I don't mind this at all," I replied, snuggling my head against his chest. He wrapped his arms around me, pulling me tightly towards him. "Mhmm, I'm sure you don't," he chuckled into my hair, his lips grazing slightly against my earlobe and causing me to shiver. I could feel his smile as he deliberatly brushed against my ear again and I squirmed slightly, burying my red face in his chest. "Why so shy all of a sudden?" he teased and I stifled a gasp as he playfully nibbed at my ear. "I'm not shy," I protested, voice muffled. "Is that so?" He tried to back away but I tightened my arms around his waist, firmly keeping my face planted against his chest. "Yes!"

He laughed lightly, promptly dropping on his back and pulling me on top of him. I adjusted my position, placing a leg on each side of his hips and resting my ear on his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. "I could stay like this for a long while," James commented with a blissful sigh as he wrapped his robes around me for warmth. I raised my head to shoot him a smile and he grinned back at me softly. Craning my neck I placed a kiss against his jaw, unable to resist the urge. He quickly pulled me further up, rising up slightly to capture my mouth with his and my eyes fluttered shut as he held the back of my head, his fingers grasping my hair. I fisted his shirt, a swarm of butterflies causing a wreckage in my stomach as he molded his lips against mine, his tongue peeking out to run across my lower lip when a sudden noise erupted somewhere close.

I pulled away quickly. "Did you hear that?" I asked breathlessly as I looked up.

"Hear you moan for me?" James tugged me back down by the neck. "Not yet," he whispered huskily against my mouth. My eyes widened in surprise, heart pounding against my ribcage at his words. He nipped at my lip with his teeth playfully before fully placing his lips against mine again until I almost forgot what had interrupted us in the first place. But the fear of getting caught outside of curfew broke me out of my daze once more. "Seriously, James," I whispered breathlessly, looking up to squint at the doorway, "I think someone's down there. They might come up." James groaned, tugging at my shirt. "No ones down there."

"And what was that noise? What if we get caught?" I asked, sitting up.

"Probably gonna get detenti- uff," he hissed and I glanced down at him to see him holding his breath. "What's wrong...?" I questioned when I realised I had sat up directly on his groin. 

Oh. 

"Oh, Cec," he breathed out as his eyes darkened, "You really shouldn't have done that." He shot up, crashing his lips against mine before I could get another word out, his hand coming up to entangle in my hair as his other arm wound tightly around my waist, pulling me flush against him. A small moan escaped me when his sudden movement caused his hips to grind against mine as I sat securely between his torso and his slightly raised knees. "There is my moan," he smirked against my lips and I could have sworn my heart stopped at this devilish sight. Breathing out shakily, I took his face between my hands, seeing his eyes soften slightly before I tilted my head to deepen the kiss, unable to restrain myself in any way. He reciprocated eagerly, his hand fisting in my hair as our tongues clashed together. I moved slightly against him, a flash of excitement coursing through me when I heard his breath hitch. "Fuck, Cec," he groaned in my mouth and my eyes almost rolled back in pleasure at the mere sound. He reached down to grasp my thigh tightly, pulling me closer and I gasped against his mouth. His thumb stroke softly over my skin, smiling at the goosebumps erupting everywhere. He let his hand travel up until he reached the end of my skirt. "Can I?" he asked without detaching his lips once and I nodded, resisting the urge to moan when he dug his fingers in the exposed flesh under my skirt. "James," I breathed out as I broke away for air, feeling him shiver. His mouth trailed down to my neck, nibbling on it as I tangled my hand in his hair, his own letting go of my waist and reaching up to undo the buttons of my shirt-

"James and Cec sitting in a tree," an all to familiar voice reached our ears and my eyes snapped open. "K-I-S-S-I-N-G!" James halted his movements, burying his face in my neck with a groan.

"First comes love!" Sirius sang joyfully as he appeared by the doorway, a piece of parchment in one hand and his wind lit up at the tip in the other. "Then comes marr-holy shit!" His eyes widened slightly at our disheveled figures but his smirk came back as soon as it had disappeared. "My my, first come the babies it seems with you two!"

"Fucking hell, Sirius!" James cursed, turning around to glare at his best mate.

"Hi Prongs!" Sirius greeted innocently, waving his parchment.

"Worst timing ever, mate!" I buried my face in my hand in embarrassment, wondering if our compromising position would go unnoticed if I pretended that it wasn't compromising.

"Sorry Prongsie, your babymaking has to wait. We've got a little something going on tonight," Sirius said, not sounding sorry at all as he nodded outside. I peeked a glance between my fingers to see James' eyes widen under his slightly askew glasses. Glancing over my shoulder I caught sight of the full moon, partially obscured by a few clouds.

"Right, give us a minute please," James requested and Sirius disappeared down the stairs again. His hazel eyes appeared startingly lighter under the shine of the full moon as he grasped my hips softly with both hands. "I've got to go," he said quietly and the atmosphere seemed suddenly serene in contrast to a minute ago.

"That's okay," I replied as quietly, adjusting his glasses once again and he smiled that sweet smile, that one damn sweet smile only reserved for his loved ones and my mouth opened before I could stop myself, "James, I l-"

"Prongs! Hurry up already!" Sirius cut me off from down the stairs. James huffed, rolling his eyes at his mate.

"I'm sorry. I really gotta go," he said and I nodded quickly, scrambling to get up and off him. He adjusted his clothes before stepping closer, giving me a sweet kiss. "Good night, love," he said softly as he fastened up the buttons he had undone on my shirt, "I will see you tomorrow?"

"Definitely. Good night."

Unbeknownst to him, to Sirius and to me, Sirius had just saved me from committing the biggest mistake tonight. Twice.

Chapter Eleven

[elriell]

The Seer of Shadows

Chapter One—  A Fateful Return

It came once more, cold and forceful as it so often did, ripping open her thoughts and bleeding through her unconscious mind. It surged like a powerful river, the running rapids numbed her hearing completely, the soft dreamworld fading to a dark loveless expanse. The terror would only continue to grow inside her, though asleep her whole body seizing with dread, spilling over into reality and it would end how it inevitably always did.

Feyre had thought to comfort her throughout many months, speaking of how the nightmares would get easier and with time the dark clouds that settled over her during sleep would slowly grow weaker and would eventually go away all together. However what she had not told her sister, nor anyone for that matter was that the opposite was true. For her nightmares where only growing stronger, and her sleep shorter each day.

Elain’s scream clawed itself out her throat violently, weaved its way through the night settling in the air, chilling her own blood.  

As she attempted to calm her racing heart which could be heard pounding in her ear like war drums, she knew she could not go on like this for much longer the short bursts of sleep scarcely got her through the day and she grew paler and frailer by the day. It was infinitely frustrating feeling powerless, the backpeddling of her recovery since that terrifying day at the Cauldron, but try as she might she was wilting away like one of her favorite flowers during the winter season.

Disturbing her from her musings a sharp crisp knock sounded at the door. It was during these moments she became most afraid, because the truth was, she never quite knew whether she was dreaming whilst asleep or drifting whilst awake, her visions felt so real, so true, it confused even her own mind. As dread heighten once again, she tugged at the sheets, submerging herself beneath them willing the horrible images that flickered in front of her eyes though her lids remained closed.  

Gentle but firm, the voice called out, “Elain?” At first it was dulled by the ringing in her ears until it came again, louder, clearer, finally breaching her murky thoughts.  

At that her heart felt like it came to a stop momentarily, though it made her feel better to hear his comforting voice, the male on the other side of the door did little to slow the rhythm of her heart.

Taking a deep breath, once then twice more, she vocalized her internal thoughts. “Azriel, what are you doing awake so late?” Or early she supposed, depending on how you looked at it. She hadn’t been aware he had returned after so many weeks away; the shadow-singer had been gone on an important task with the Illyrians, alongside her sister and Cassian. Rhysand had casually informed her over dinner one night after she couldn’t bear to wonder any longer and perked up the nerve to ask, she had not realized quite how accustomed she had become to his quiet strength and companionship. Ordinarily she might not have noticed his absence quite so much, however with Nesta ‘s departure to the mountains as well it had left quite the notable hole in her life.  

“I was returning from the mountains when I thought I heard a scream from the other end of the house, I thought I would seek out the source of the sound. Are you alright?” Azriel paused, he seemed apprehensious to continue but his voice picked back up again, just as clear as before. “May I come in if it is not an imposition.”

Casting a glance down herself she was relieved to see she appeared relatively decent, though sweat lined her temple and her hair was a tangled mess from thrashing about, she supposed he had seen her in far worse states throughout the years. Smoothing her hand through the tendrils in a half-hearted attempt to separate the sweat plastered hair lining her face, and righting the nightwear from off her shoulder.

“Of course.” She replied with a confidence she did not truly feel though the quiver in her voice almost certainly betrayed her.

The door released gently and as it unlocked the candlelight from the hall trickled in slowly, the glow framed his shape casting the rest of him in shadows but there was no doubt who the tall figure with broad wings belonged too, sapphire syphons glimmering across his torso, they seemed to thump steadily almost in unison with her own heart.

There was a stillness in him that set her on edge, though it had only been a few weeks it seemed like a lifetime ago as he stood quietly in the doorframe, whatever calm understanding had grown between them over months prior seemed to be absent. Tonight, he was tenser than usual she could read it in the creases of his forehead, in the tension of his torso, his whole being was screaming out for release. Not to mention his shadows rippled around him, very unusual for him to allow them such free range around her.

"I apologize for disturbing you, I did not realize I was quite so loud.”  

He remained far from her by the now shut door, keeping his eyes downcast probably in some chivalrous attempt to allow her to maintain some modicum of privacy. He was always like that Azriel, gentlemanly to the core.

“You have nothing to apologize for.” His siphons glowing vividly in the dim room.

She knew he was only being kind to her as he always was, nonetheless she appreciated the gesture, did not have the energy to sustain any sort of façade she had been prolonging for Feyre. She had so much to worry over already, what with being pregnant. It certainly wasn't the time for her to fret about her again, so she kept her rising demons to yourself.

“How often has this been happening?” He queried gently, it was so low she had barely heard him, almost as if he had been speaking to himself.

“Not frequently.” Only constantly.

He searched her face for any trace of a lie and she knew with his experience, and intelligence he was likely to see the lie for what it was, if he did, he made no comment on the deception, allowing her this secret. And for that she was infinitely grateful.

He did not speak for a while the silence between them louder than the usual tranquility she was accustomed to when it came to the shadow-singer. Tonight, was different. Perhaps whatever happened in Illyria had put him on edge, at the verge of his control, because the silence between them was anything but serene.

“There are many who don't wish to sleep for fear of nightmares. Sadly, there are many who don't wish to wake for the same fear. I suppose we should count ourselves lucky ours are the former.”  

“You get night-terrors too?” She guessed.

No hesitation. “Of course.”

It was hard to imagine such a strong and stoic man being capable of being rendered powerless by a mere dream, more likely he was trying to make her feel better about her weaknesses, for the fragility of her mind some days. She wondered if going mad might be easier, if she simply let it pull her under, perhaps she could finally get some much needed rest.  

Elain implored genuinely, “And how do you cope with them?” He took his time to ponder her words, carefully picking the ones he would use.

“I want to keep my dreams, even bad ones, because without them, I might have nothing all night long.”    

“That seems inordinately sad.”

A soft chuckle, and then, “Never.” Pause. “Have you spoken to Feyre about your nightmares? From the look of your eyes, I am guessing she knows...”

“No, no... I do not wish to worry her, what with everything going on and all, it would be unfair. Anyway, it is all under control so there will be no need to lose sleep over it.” The god of Irony was looking down upon her she was sure. However, it was her best bet at making sure he did not seek Feyre out and tell her, so she would reason with him, certain he was aware of her sister's delicate condition.

"Mhm.” He fiddled with his rings. “Would you like me to do anything? I could bring you a sweat tea...” Azriel was looking around the room as if it would divulge all the answers to him, or mayhap to avoid looking at her. As the thought manifested, she considered how improper this was, how intimate this room was to her and even further still as she lay in short silk underthings with only a thin sheet covering her lean form.  

“I can wait for you to fall asleep before leaving, if you'd like?” Damn— She had not realized how long her musings had gone on for, taking her silence as a refusal he had persevered on.  

“Oh no, that's quite alright. I am sure I have a tonic around here Madja gifted me.” She refused to tell anyone she had ran out quite some weeks ago, believing she could regain control of her nightmares, perhaps that was ill-advised on her part. Continuing on, “Truly, I was not expecting such a rough sleep or I would have had some before laying to rest.”

A lie, regrettably. Elain felt a heap of shame envelop her but it was no more than she would feel at the look of pity she was sure to receive if anyone knew the truth of it.

Shifting his weight from one foot to the other, Azriel was anything but at ease tonight himself, so at odds with his usually calm steady demeanor. He appeared to be contemplating his next words carefully but settled—

“Well should you need me at any point I'm in the West Wing. Day or Night.”

She offered him a appreciate smile, again it was out of kindness he offered, but it was no matter why as she knew with absolute certainty that she would never take him up on that offer. She watched him take his leave and some part of her rebelled and she murmured, “Oh, Azriel... I am glad you are back home.” A blush rose to the surface quick and hot.

He paused abruptly; his hand was paused wrapped around the doorknob and stayed so as if glued to it, though frustratingly, she could not make out his face with his back towards her, the air within the room seemed to vibrate over her skin, raising goosebumps along the length of her arms. The tension that he had been holding in since he arrived seemed to reach its crescendo, his shadows growing and rising higher up his body swiftly covering him as if safely tucking away whatever was eating away at him.  

She could not be certain as the shadows pooled around them and pulled the room deeper in to darkness but she caught the slight movement as he ducked his head in a nod, a poor attempt to acknowledge that he heard her.

Elain wasn't even sure if that was just her imagination playing tricks because as quickly as she could think it, he regained himself and pulled the door open wide and fast, causing a rush of air to flow over her cheeks, Azriel was through the doorway and a mere shadow before she could even blink.  

All that remained was the fading light from the halls as her door gradually closed on its own accord.

She would lay there for many hours to come, eventually falling back in to dreamland, though this time when she returned her thoughts were filled less of a frigid baren land and replaced by visions of dark mountains scattered with wild-flowers, gentle wind chimes sounding through the trees and a small but beautiful cabin lay ahead.  

Although the inky sky should have filled her with fear there was no such unease here, the shadows seemed blanket her, appeared to comfort her in this foreign land, welcoming her home, even though she was certain she had never visited such a place before.

Elain was not able to identify anything familiar but its presence loomed over her in a intimate embrace and the soft smell of roses soothed her soul and coxed her in to a deep sleep.

The respite would not remain so for long, as the cold abyss would return on her next sleep as the sun set beyond the hills, summoning her to the icy void where reality was far from her reach.

As usual if you wish to be added or removed just let me know 🖤

@theshadowsinger-and-thefawn @verifiefangirl @stars-falling @abraxos-is-toothless @tswaney17 @elrielllll @empress-ofbloodshed @b00kworm @sleeping-and-books​ @julemmaes​ @thefangirlofhp

[feraldabi]

Press SEND For Love

ERASERMIGHT (Aizawa Shouta/Yagi Toshinori)

Summary:  Shouta’s finger hesitates over the send button; he knows once he presses SEND it’ll cause chaos, and he’s not sure if he wants to endure that.

ao3

Shouta’s finger hesitates over the send button; he knows once he presses SEND it’ll cause chaos, and he’s not sure if he wants to endure that.

Yet.

He looks at a certain ex-number one hero, sitting across from him and doing his best to write up next week’s lesson plans. There’s a crease between his brows from how focused the blond is, and he wants nothing more than to reach over and smooth it.

And, maybe pull a long, blond bang just because he could.

Okay, yeah, he’ll send it.

He takes a deep breath and hits SEND. His text stares back at him as if mocking him for wanting—

A loud screech permeates throughout the building.

Soon enough, there’s a scuffle at the entrance of the teacher’s lounge before the door is slammed open revealing two huffing pro heroes.

Enter: Present Mic and Midnight.

God, maybe he has the tiniest bit of regret. But, only a tiny bit.

The duo waves off the voiced concerns from others and zero in on him, regretfully.

Shouta gives them a look. He knows them, and he can’t have them making a scene here. Granted, he knows sending them that text would set them off into a tizzy but oh well. They’re adults and professional heroes, so they can wait until it’s just them in the safety of his room.

He doesn’t even deign them with a response. Shouta simply raises his pointer finger to his lips in a shushing motion. He can tell that the lack of response is grating at them.

But, he refuses to cooperate with their wants. They’ll give him hell for it later, anyway.

“Shouta,” Hizashi whisper-yells in his left ear.

He closes his eyes and breathes. When he opens his eyes he sees Nemuri claim his right side.

“You can’t just text that and expect us not to ask,” Nemuri adds in her own irritated yet warm tone. “Shouta!”

“I expect you to do your job,” he says, shrugging them off. “Leave me alone.”

Twin yells of, “Shouta,” echoes through the room.

“Ah, is everything alright,” a small, hesitant voice asks. (Shouta knows that voice all too well.)

“No,” Shouta says, a bit too sharp even for him, but he knows he has to put a stop to whatever this will be before it happens.

“Actually,” he hears Nemuri utter. “Your expertise would be very helpful.” She finishes that by batting her lashes at him.

Yagi, bless his soul, blushes a pretty pink that makes him wonder how far down it goes because he can see it reach the tips of his ears.

“Please, ignore them, Yagi-san,” he manages to get out once his brain unfreezes itself after the reboot it had from seeing Yagi blush. “They’re being idiots.”

“Now that’s just hurtful, Sho,” Hizashi declares as he places both hands over his heart. “This is an important question!”

“It’s fine, Aizawa-kun. If I can be of help then, please, ask away.” Yagi’s closes his eyes as he smiles this soft and open smile and ugh Shouta can’t take this.

He has a limit, okay.

And, he’s at the brink of it.

“Wah, thank you, All Might!” Both Nemuri and Hizashi say.

Hizashi rounds the desks and places an arm around Yagi’s shoulders. “Now, big guy,—“ Yagi turns to face him with a serious face “—what do you think a person should do for a first date?”

The question surprises him because he can’t fucking believe his ex-friends are really doing this. Right here, right now.

“Yes! You must have some experience, right?!” Nemuri says, leaning onto Shouta as she looks at Yagi, who’s taking on a redder hue.

“Yagi-san, this is highly inappropriate, please , ignore them,” Shouta states, “I do.” He makes sure to hold eye contact with both ex-friends hoping they’ll feel his ire.

(They do, but it’s fine they’re used to it.)

“No no no, it’s fine—“

“It’s always fine for you, though, isn’t it,” Shouta snips. Can’t he just keep his damn mouth shut for one second. He feels like the bastard he is in this very moment.

His mouth seems to glitch and no words come out. Shouta knows what he wants to say and usually he’ll damn the consequences, but he doesn’t want to fuck this up even more.

But, Yagi beats him to it.

“Apologies, Aizawa-kun, I’m used to a certain mindset that I’m doing my best to revert.” The man awkwardly rubs at his neck, and Yagi looks so sheepish that Shouta can’t help but feel even worse.

“No, I’m sorry. That was shitty of me to say when I know your trying to do better.” A memory of them sitting upon a bench on a cold night comes to Shouta’s mind, and Yagi’s, ‘I’ve decided to live’ haunts him. “Please,” he rushes out, “don’t apologize.”

He can feel his his heart racing, but that could be because he’s holding his breath and totally not because it’s Yagi.

Yagi’s face goes through a series of emotions and settles on this endearing look that has Shouta feeling woozy.

“Thank you, Aizawa-kun.”

He doesn’t deserve Yagi’s forgiveness, but he’ll take it. Shouta offers a nod back l before burying his face into his scarf.

For a moment there’s an awkward silence, and it’s Yagi who breaks it.

“To answer your question, Yamada-san, apologies, but I won’t be much help—“ Yagi pulls a bang and laughs “—I’ve never been on a date before.”

Hizashi and Nemuri do the most dramatic gasp Shouta’s ever heard in his life, but he can’t blame them because what? The number one hero, All Might, has never been on a date?! This seems…fake…

“Excuse me?” Wait, did he say that?

Fuck.

Yagi boisterously laughs causing his bangs to flutter around his face, “I’m aware that it seems far-fetched, but, yes, dating isn’t something I had time for.” He shrugs in a What-Can-You-Do way.

No time? Well, that does make sense, Shouta muses. All Might didn’t become the number one by taking time for himself; this man had dedicated both his time and his health to protecting the innocent.

He feels a sharp elbow introduce itself to his ribs.

“What would you want a first date to be then,” Nemuri asks as her fingers dug into the meat of his arm, forcing him to pay attention to whatever Yagi would say.

(As if he isn’t going to mentally write down what Yagi says.)

Hizashi laughs, “Yeah, what’s a good first date for All Might?”

Yagi contemplates the question and brings a hand to rub at his pointy chin, “I suppose a picnic would be nice.” He nods his head and then looks at all them with a small smile. “Surrounded by trees! It would be intimate yet comfortable.”

The little Shouta in his head is frothing at the mouth because come on! The date that Yagi described sounds perfect. It’s both private yet out in the world; open yet  intimate .

Shouta can feel his pulse quicken as an idea hits him. He could ask. He could ask Yagi right here, right now on a date. The timing is perfect, and the text he’s sent to the group chat is burning: How do I ask Yagi out?

This! This is how he could and his mouth opens and words flow out before his brain even catches up: “I’m free this Saturday if you want to go on a picnic date.”

The question catches them all off guard, but he can’t take them back because it’s out there now.

Yagi’s face takes on this reddish hue again, and he nervously twirls a bang around his finger. “Coincidentally, I’m free this Saturday, so I would love to go on a d-date, Aizawa-san.”

“Shouta,” he says, feeling his face warm. “Call me Shouta, please, since we’re going on a date.”

“O-Of course, Sh-Shouta! Toshininori! I mean—My first name, please, call me Toshinori.”

Now, they’re just two fools with red faces looking at each other with smiles on there faces. (Shouta wouldn’t have it any other way.)

Yet, their moment is ruined by twin screams.

“OH MY GOD!”

“SHOUTAAAAAA!”

His quirk activates and he turns it on Hizashi first and then Nemuri.

The room seems to explode in congratulations and applause and fuck, he forget where they were. Goddammit.

He huffs before looking toward a sheepish Yagi—no, Toshinori—who looks so happy that he can’t help but smile, too.

Wait, what time is it. Well fuck, sucks for them.

Shouta can feel a grin spread across his face as he looks at both Hizashi and Nemuri. “Better start running,” he says, causing his two non-ex friends to pause in their jovial celebration. “Your 20 minutes late for your classes and you know how Nezu is about punctuality.”

He can see the brain cell jumping back and forth between them and then—

Off they go. They’re running for their lives.

“Heh.”

That’ll teach them for being nosy.

“Toshinori, what food do you want to bring for the picnic?”

“Oh! We can bring egg sandwiches, fruit, and I found this new brand of teas we can try together. Also—“

Shouta let’s Toshinori’s words flow through him and settle in his heart. He’s so glad he worked up the courage to ask.

(He’s grateful for his nosy ass friends.)

“That sounds wonderful, Toshinori.”

[pearl-blue-musings]

Perchance to Meet  Aizawa Shouta x fem!Reader

Hi again! So this idea has been flowing and living in my head rent free for awhile so I thought I’d write out what I’ve been mulling over! This may possibly be a series cause I’ve got lots of the story played out in my mind

A/n: if my timeline is correct, this occurs a bit before the main story so like whole class 1-A is still in middle schoolish; it’s not 18+ now but it will be muahahahaha

Warnings: mentions of alcohol

Part 2

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He wasn’t sure what compelled him to join his coworkers for night out but here is. It might have been the constant pestering he got from his long time friend Hizashi and newer friend Nemuri. However he can’t complain now because he, Aizawa Shouta, was out at lesser known club wondering just what the hell he was getting himself into.

To say that this wasn’t his scene is an understatement. Did he really want to be spending his night off around a bunch of sweaty and drunk people? Of course not; he’s immediately regretting not bringing his sleeping bag to at least make himself more comfortable. The loud and banging bass of the music rumbles throughout his body as his two companions return to their booth after a bit of dancing.

“Aw come on Shouta! We’re here to have fun! Let loose, and vibe with the music ya dig?”

Aizawa gives the blond a glare that would scare children into submission. Hizashi doesn’t give up at getting his friend to lighten up and enjoy himself and smiling broadly. He continues to poke Aizawa’s shoulder to get him up on the dance floor.

“Not on your life.”

“At least get a drink! There’s a real cute and groovy listener that’s serving drinks and she’s amazing at what she does,” he yells over the music. “Trust me!” He drawls out that last word to let him know that his inebriated state had hit him hard. Aizawa rolls his eyes and succumbs to his friends wishes as he slowly makes his way out of the booth to head over to the main bar. He’s thankful for deciding to put his hair in a low ponytail as he feels the humidity of the club around him while he weaves his way thorugh the crowd. As he approaches the bar, he spots Nemuri. Her sapphire eyes dance under the flashing and changing lights as she takes a stranger toward some stairs near the back. She’s always up to something, he muses to himself. 

Once at the bar, he manages to find an empty stool in a corner and props himself up onto it. Now that he’s here, he didn’t think to ask Hizashi what this person looked like. Oh well, at least he’ll get another drink to make this night more bearable. His eyes glance over the liquors and sprits on the shelves behind the bartenders as he contemplates what he wants to order.

“You know, staring at the shelves won’t make your decision any easier.”

Aizawa is brought out of his thoughts as he follows the voice to its owner. He blinks a couple of times to make sure he’s seeing what he’s seeing. (E/c) irises bore into his and the smile that dances on her lips almost made him lose his composure.

Almost.

“Well then,” he responds, “what would you recommend?”

The bartender scans his being and lightly places her hand on his. Black eyebrows furrow in confusion but she calmly tells him it’ll be okay and to give her a second. Her eyes slightly change color as she holds his hand and stares into his with an intensity he’s never gotten from any random stranger. As soon as she lets go he’s missing her touch already. Weird.

“You’re here for your friends and you just want to be able to relax or even better go home and snuggle in, I’m assuming your bed or sleeping bag, am I right?”

She giggles softly at his taken aback face. She takes his silence as a means to continue. “Judging from that, you’re not too particular about liquors but you don’t want anything too sweet. So I’ll make you a whiskey on the rocks and an Old Fashioned. How does that sound?” 

The slender built man feels like he has to physically shut his jaw at this bartenders analysis of him. Just how the hell did she do that? And how did she know that’s exactly what he goes to when he’s undecided? 

At the sound of glassware being placed in front of him, Aizawa moves to get his wallet to pay. He meets her gaze and she shakes her head. “On the house, but I have one condition.” His eyebrow lifts in surprise.

“Oh? And what is that?”

“That you stay here and keep me company.”

It was strange. Hizashi hadn’t come to check on him since he left their booth almost 30 minutes ago and he hadn’t realized how long time had passed talking with the bartender. It was also strange how the atmosphere of the club blurred into the background the more he chatted with this person. Aizawa found out that her name is (Y/n) (L/n) and she has a mind quirk. She’s able to understand and know what people, or in her case customers, are feeling and how to make them feel better whether it be a drink, a book, the right words to say... She noted to him that she always had a need to help people feel better but didn’t want to be a hero, saying she wanted to help in more simple ways.

“I think that’s very heroic in its own way,” he states after taking a sip from his second whiskey on the rocks. “It’s admirable that you want to help others no matter what.”

(Y/n) laughs at that sadly as she makes another patrons drink. It’s incredible how the 20 something is able to hold a conversation with him and serve others at the same time. However, Aizawa picked up on something the more he saw her hands work. When she returns her (e/c) eyes look downcast. “Yeah I guess,” she sighs, “I mean don’t get me wrong I love working here but my real love is books.”

Aizawa gulps down the rest of his drink, “Books?”

The hero doesn’t miss the way her eyes light up at the mention of books, almost like he had been talking to the shell that was (Y/n) this whole time. “I own my own bookstore. It’s small but I’m hoping to expand; that’s why I picked up hours here at the club. Aizawa-san, the rush I get when someone wants to discover more about themselves through books and being able to provide that to someone,” she breathes to catch her breath, “is a feeling I can never get tired of.” 

Her (h/c) hair whisks away as another customer comes up and asks for a drink and again he notices it. She didn’t grab their hand or stare into their souls. Why only him?

She returns and proceeds to take his empty glasses and cleans them. As she’s drying them he promptly asks, “Why didn’t you use your quirk on those other customers? Why only me?”

Aizawa doesn’t miss the way her eyebrows raise and her shoulders drop. She deeply sighs and finishes drying the drink-ware. “I don’t like to use it all the time. It’s gotten me in trouble and it can be tiring so I only save it for my bookstore and particular occasions.” 

“So what’s so special about me?”

“You looked like you could use a pick me up.”

He snickered at her observant ways as she presses on. “I’ve gotten really good and understanding people, even without my quirk. Many people know what they want to drink at a bar or even a bookstore. But sometimes you can tell that people want something more or something different and that’s where I come in to help.”

At this point, he can’t help but openly stare at the gorgeous woman in front of him. There was something about her presence, something about her aura that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Maybe it was the alcohol in his system, maybe it was the music, maybe it was him still reeling from the news of All Might joining his school, or maybe...

Maybe it was just her.

Everything about her was shrouded in mystery but also familiarity and calmness. He didn’t know how long he was staring at her until she was staring back asking if he was okay. He caught himself and quickly apologized as she searched for his phone.  A grunt left his lips as he saw the frantic texts from Hizashi and one from Nemuri telling them both that she had her own ride home. As soon as he was about to respond he felt two strong hands on his shuolder.

“Shouta! I’ve been looking for ya buddy! I thought you left, which wouldn’t have surprised me but here you are!”

The calmer friend had removed his fingers from his ears to compensate for the vocal hero’s yelling. A small, yet brief, smile adorns his face as Aizawa is reunited with his friend. 

“Anyways, I was thinking that it’s about time to head out since it’s nearing 1:30 in the morning!”

“Ah, sounds good.” Aizawa hums to him and turns his attention to the bar, only to see her being bombarded with customers as last call is nearing in the club. Their eyes meet briefly and he points his head toward the door indicating that he plans to head out. Somehow she understands and quickly wraps up her remaining customers to return to their corner. He feels Hizashi pull on his shirt and he tells him to wait a few minutes which garners an exasperated sigh from thie blond man.

However as the bartender returns, the blond understands and smiles wickedly. He tries to keep his excitement to himself but he wants to let it flow and tell everyone in the club that his dear friend, Aizawa Shouta, was having a very long conversation with a woman! At a club! That he didn’t want to go to! So he does what any good best friend does and eavesdrops while keeping a safe distance.

(Y/n) props her elbow on the bar and gives her attention to he black haired male who’s had it the whole night. She doesn’t want to come off as weird but she had noticed him when he first entered. Of course she would recognize the underground pro-hero Eraserhead and his friends from U.A. Present Mic and Midnight. She’d be an idiot to not know who they were. She had a hunch that they didn’t want their hero status exposed tonight she she had asked the staff to keep themselves neutral as they saw them throughout the club. She can understand the need to get away and let loose, but she didn’t peg Aizawa as the type to go out to places like this. If she’s being honest, she’s incredibly happy he came here because it was the first time in a long time she felt truly comfortable around someone. It made her elated, but also scared at the same time.

“I’m guessing you’re heading out?”

Aizawa simply nods and pulls out his wallet again. “I told you it’s on the house-”

“At least let me pay for half, Kitty, I had a few while I was here.”

Both parties freeze at the use of the pet name. (S/c) cheeks start to heat up and change color as she felt her heartbeat start to race. The man in front of her had a slight pink tint to his ears but was able to recover quickly. “Ah, y-yeah sure. I’ll ring you up.”

He doesn’t miss the way a bolt of electricity flowed through them as their fingers grazed each other as he handed her his card. When she returned with his receipt he noticed an extra card underneath his. It was a business card for what seems to be a bookstore with an address, hours, and phone number on it. His eyes meet hers in an almost homely way.

“I really liked talking to you Aizawa-san. I’d, uh, really like it if you visited me in the daylight.”

He takes the card and places it securely in his wallet and gives her the most heartfelt smile she’s ever seen.

“I’d like that very much, (L/n).”

BONUS

“I told you she was super cute!”

“Shut it”

“So that’s where you went for almost two hours! I mean I’m glad you and Nemuri had a great night while I was being bombarded with fans! By the way thanks for saving me regardless of how much I texted you but you were busy getting some,” he pauses and wiggles his eyebrows suggestively, “you know a phone number.”

“It’s not too late to end our friendship.”

“Zawa!! So mean!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

@whats-her-quirk @kiribaku-queen @ghoularaki @cupidcreates @cupcake-rogue @myherowritings @prk-pyo

[ofmythsandmadness]

laughing like there’s any good reason to smile.

SUMMARY: diego did not think he’d be spending his night driving home a drunk weirdo like he ran a taxi company. and he really should have just not answered the phone, or said he was busy....but he was already out, he might as well do one more good deed for a NOT-friend who will not stop laughing.

WARNINGS: some language (not much, but i do like the word pisspot), romantic ideations, mentions of being drunk/alcohol. a little bit of oblivious mutual pining, too.

WORD COUNT: 3737 Diego Hargreeves x female insert.

A/N: I...I don’t know how I just wrote this. I legit just sat down and wanted to write a small drabble, and so I started this...and an hour later, after writing without stop I have this. It’s not edited, I have barely read through it at all. But it’s cute and messy and honestly, I don’t know what it is but I really like it. Which is surprising because I rarely enjoy a single word that leaves my mind and sticks on a page but I like this. it’s cute.

There are no TUA S2 spoilers in this, it takes place in a vague pre-s1, au bullshit that I like to base most of my work in (mostly because I’m quite lazy). 

“HEY...YOU’RE NOT LIKE...BUSY, ARE YOU?”

Of all the ways to start a phone call, that might be the worst.

Diego drove probably too quickly down the quiet streets, one hand off the wheel, fidgeting in his lap. It was too late to be out like this, out and about like any other schmuck with no life to care about, and yet there he was.

Like any other schmuck.

“I know you’re probably too-tally busy...you know...stopping crime - I whispered so nobody knows, don’t worry…”

The phone call might as well had been with the entire bar, for all Diego knew because of how loud the voice on the other end was. Loud, raspy and dipping in and out of strength. There was a slur to every other word, and long pauses that almost made him think she had hung up. Every single time, until he just got used to saying ‘you there’, waiting for the sentence to end.

“See...awwww, I fucked up. I did, I really….rea-aally did.”

He laughed at that. Couldn’t help it. Despite how hard he had tried to compose himself, be angry (because he really was, he had things to do, dammit!) he had to chuckle there. Imagining the scene on the other end; standing there, leaning up against the wall, too drunk to even stand but too wired to take a seat. He wasn’t sure how much had been drunk, but it would have had to be a lot. Of all the calls Diego got, so rarely was it of that sort.

And never from normally well-composed, generally serious people he mostly considered assholes that did everything in their power to piss him off every single day of his miserable existence.

“But I need a favour...dearest, darling Diego…”

He pulled the car up, hitting the brakes but leaving it running. Absent-mindedly, he contemplated the risk of that - money was tight, he had to be careful about everything - but shrugged it off and stepped out. He wouldn’t be that long, anyways.

The culprit stood, or slouched, outside of the shitty dive bar he had been called from. Diego took note of the disheveled clothes and especially, the state of appearance - he had become so used to one certain way, he had no clue that a person like Y/N could ever, ever, look so bad in their life.

In the back of his mind, he mused that even despite the messy clothes (and mismatched, really atrocious look if he had to call it anything) and hair, someone like Y/N could never look bad.

He tried not to acknowledge that thought.

“Hey, asshole.”

“Hey!” Y/N cried, as though she had not seen him pull up. Though, maybe she hadn’t - which would suck. Diego didn’t really want to deal with someone that drunk that night. “Hey-y, Diego!”

He rolled his eyes. “You look a mess.”

“And you look ab-so-lute-ly adorable,” she slurred. She leant off the wall and promptly fell on her face.

Or, she would have, had Diego not moved in and grabbed her waist, yanking her back up to him. Which turned out to be a stupid mistake on his end, because then she was just right there, in his arms, staring up at him and barely standing up. Her breath smelled like bad whiskey and her eyes rang red, less-so from the drinking and moreso, he assumed, from whatever drove her out here in the first place.

But all that hardly crossed his mind as they stood so entwined in front of the shitty bar in the middle of the open street.

“Well, well,” she cooed, allowing her grip to relax on his biceps. “This...is...this is ni-ice.”

“Nope. Nope, not doing this.”

He said that more to himself.

“C’mon,” he groaned, switching his grip so she stood beside him and not so close to his face. “Let’s get you out of here.”

She sighed but followed suit, though he felt more like he was dragging her than walking alongside her. Her head nestled against his arm, hair tickling against the skin as the wind wafted through the night air.

It was the closest the two had ever been. And more than closest then Diego had ever thought them getting.

He was not sure how to feel about that.

“My knight in black leather,” she sighed beside him, clinging tighter. “You’re a diamond in the dirt, you know?”

“Don’t think that’s the saying.”

“Mm...no. But you’re always...covered in dirt, you know?”

He grumbled something non-sequential under his breath. “C’mon. Sit down, si’down.”

Begrudgingly she obliged, though she struggled throughout the entire thing. It felt more like he was dealing with a criminal from way-back-when then a...well, a Y/N. Whoever she was.

“Does your car have seatbelts, dear knight?”

“Does my-” Diego cursed and slid the seatbelt into her fingers, practically guiding them down. “You’re a real asshole, you know that?”

She tried to gasp but laughed towards the end, so it was more of a huffy giggle than anything. “Why...Diego, is that how you treat a lady?”

“No,” he mumbled, “that’s how I deal with you.” He slammed the door.

Faintly, he made out her yell of ‘pisspot’, and smiled to himself.

He sank into his seat and sighed, pulling out and into the road. Twenty minutes, he mused to himself, just twenty minutes and she’d be gone. If Diego could do anything, he could easily handle a super drunk Y/N in his car, yammering for twenty minutes about nothing at all. 

He just had to focus.

“You kno-ow, you’re a grumpy grump, you kno...w?”

Diego said nothing.

“Do you need help with your seatbelt?”

He ignored her.

“Do you want me to drive?”

He answered that without hesitation: “no.”

She laughed.

He realised, sitting there, that he had never heard her laugh before - not really, unless faked chuckles thrown bitterly his way in one of their many disagreements counted, but he didn’t count them. Surprisingly, she had a nice laugh. Not one of those faux ones that he couldn’t stand, it wasn’t pretty, but it was real and loud and rang through the car like a Whitney Houston note; echoing everywhere.

“So grumpy, grumpy.”

He swallowed back his thoughts and just grimaced. “Shut up.”

Diego wished she would stop laughing.

They drove off and out of the miserable nightlife, with her giggling her ass off and him just trying not to lose his mind. He dared not look at her, though he knew her eyes hadn’t left his face. He wasn’t sure why she looked, and he really didn’t know why he couldn’t even just spare a glance, but he just...something about how human she was, real and raw and laughing in the passenger seat of his car like this was more than just a -

-he growled a curse to himself and turned the corner angrily.

A few moments later she had stopped laughing so much and had stuck with only a few giggles here and there. Y/N had taken up staring out the window, watching the people and houses and cars pass as though they were the most fascinating things in the world.

He looked at her then. Watched as she traced her fingers down the glass, staring with her mouth agape, eyes lidded and sad despite however much booze ran through her right then. She was more than drunk - she was tired. More than that, vulnerable in a way the two of them had never been.

That scared him more than the jokes and the laughter.

“Diego?”

His eyes shot back to the road. “Hm?”

“Why don’t you like me?”

“Hu-what?”

“Why do you hate me so-o much?” she asked again, that time with her voice smaller and a little higher. “I...I’m curious, what about me boils your bones...so.”

“I don’t hate you.”

“Yes you do!”

“No I don’t!”

“Yes you do!” She wagged an accusatory finger towards his face, so close if he turned she’d surely jab his nose. “Yes...yes you do, you little...y’lil...muffin man. You hate my guts, and I think I have the right to know why!”

Diego rolled his eyes. “I’m not doing this.”

“Why? Are you afraid of hurting my feelings, grumpy grump? Cause,” she sang, rolling the syllables like this was a goddamn musical, “I’m afraid they’re already to-oo hurt, for you to do that. You’re in luck, muffin boy!”

“What does - stop calling me dumb shit,” he hissed.

She stuck her tongue out at him and poked his cheek with her hand.

He swatted it away angrily. “Shut up and let me take you home, okay?”

“No!”

“Well - yeah. Shut up.”

“Or what?”

“Or-” Diego didn’t know what to say to that. There was not much he could do, considering the circumstances - throwing her out of a moving car seemed much too cruel of a thought for anyone, especially a drunk Y/N who could barely figure out seatbelts for herself. Same with leaving her, or taking her anywhere else, or threatening a match or any other thing they’d normally do to one another. Not that he’d hurt her, anyways.

Not intentionally at least.

“You better tell me, or I’m….m...out!”

“You’re - out, what?”

Y/N’s hand found the car lock and with a grin, switched it off. “I’ll go right now!”

“You - you can’t do that!”

“Why not?”

“You’re - you’re strapped into the damn car, you’re just gonna get hurt.”

“Why would you care?”

“I don’t!”

“So you do hate me?”

“No! I - jeez, Y/N!” Diego slammed his hands down on the wheel, spitting out curses he didn’t bother to hide. “Do NOT open the car door, okay? Don’t do that! Just sit down, and let me take you home!”

Somehow his speech worked. Her eyes widened and her mouth opened to speak, but no words came out. Instead, she sank back into her seat. Her hands returned to her lap.

“Great. Thank you, so much. Amazing.”

She didn’t say a word.

He spared a glance her way, only to see her gaze had turned to the road. “Y/N? You good?”

Nothing.

“Y/N?”

Nothing.

“Oh, c’mon, I-” he sighed and slapped the steering wheel again. He hated how his heartstrings pulled at the silence, at how her words had stung - stupidly, irrevocably, no matter what he told himself, it hurt to think she truly thought he hated her. Cause stupid, irrevocably, somehow -

“-I don’t hate you, Y/N, at all. I just - don’t get mad at me, okay? I mean I’m taking you home, I would take you home if I hated your ass, right? I mean - what do you want from me here!?”

Diego took another glance, worried when she still said nothing, and promptly grew a thousand times more worried when he saw her shoulders heave and shake. Without even thinking, he swerved to the side of the road and braked hard before reaching out to her. “Y/N?”

And then she turned, and he saw instead of tears, it was laughter slipping from her lips, rolling out like great ripples of waves, silent and shaking through her body. Her eyes were tearing up, but not from sadness, instead the drunken giddiness she found herself lost within. But they were alight, and warm, and tipsy on the power that must have fuelled her fit of laughter in the first place.

 With a scowl, Diego sat back. “You’re such an asshole.”

“Wait, no! I - I just-” she heaved, and let out another peal of laughter - that time loud and echoing through the tiny car again. “Don’t be ma-aad at me!”

“I wish I hadn’t come, you know that? I should’a left you there, you...you asshole.” Despite himself, Diego felt himself grow flushed and embarrassed, struggling to even play this all off as anger. “You are the worst.”

She kept laughing. “I know you don’t mean that now, though! Ha - ha - you like me, darling, admit it!”

“Screw off.”

“You li-i-i-ke me!”

“Nope.”

“C’mon, you can’t lie to lil’ ol’ me, muffin man!”

“Don’t call me - stop it!”

“Stop what?”

“Doing that!”

“Doing wha-at?”

“That! All’a that!”

Y/N’s lips pouted down, though he knew for a fact she wasn’t really upset. “So rude. One might even think you mean it.”

Diego started the car back up again, grumbling all the way through it. He shrugged off her touch. “I do mean that.”

“You know, I think I finally understand you.”

This car ride was beginning to feel like forever. It had only been maybe ten minutes of driving, and yet he felt like he had been trapped in some special sort of hell for a horrific eternity of embarrassment and...her.

“I get you, Diego...fuck! I don’t remember your last name, that’s really ruining this speech!” Her fist came down hard on the car door panel; he flinched. “Darling, what’s your last name again? I - I can’t do this power speech without it.”

He said nothing, indigent and grumpy.

“Whatever, I’ll make do. Um…” she was quiet for a second, then with a triumphant ‘a-ha!’, spoke again. “Okay. So I get you, Diego, I see you for who you are.”

Was his whole entire life leading up to this car ride straight to hell? Because if so, Diego could only wish time travel actually worked. Maybe then he could go back to 1989 and stop himself, somehow, maybe just-

“-you try so hard to make other people think you’re this grumpy lil’ pisspot of hatred and anger and ‘I work alone, move or be moved’ mantra. So, so hard, it makes everyone mad and hate you back, and you’re alone all over again.” She sucked in a heaving breath, sighed loudly and kept going. “But the real Diego, he doesn’t want that!”

He tightened his grip on the steering wheel. “You don’t know what you’re goin’ on about, I suggest you stop before this gets stupid.”

She laughed, even louder than before. How was that even possible. “It already is! It’s all so stupid, Diego, because people could like you! I mean, you’re a lovely, soft little man underneath the knives and spandex and,” she dropped her voice low and grisly, “‘I hate everything and everyone and also...I’m Batman...woo...Gotham City...I stop crime…”

“Stop it-”

“-but you don’t have to be lonely, darling muffin man,” she cried, throwing her hands up and out in a triumphant cry. “You don’t have to! People like you, or they can like you - I might have to give this speech again, but that’s okay, do you have a pen and paper I can use to write it down?”

He ignored her, trying to force down the pounding in his heart. Trying not to think about a thing she was saying and how badly he wanted to respond to it, no matter how much bullshit and how she slurred her words and spoke in stupid rambles that made not much sense at all. But trying to convince a brain to not think about the very thing they can’t stop thinking about almost all the time, is a very difficult task and an impossible one for Diego, at that moment.

But he really, really did not want to think about how much he wanted to respond to her words.

“I like you, you know that?”

His eyes widened; barely a sign of weakness, and one she didn’t catch. But still there.

“I think you’re rude, and annoying, and dumb sometimes because you almost always get yourself hurt, and I don’t like that,” she rambled, swinging her hands about, conducting an invisible orchestra only she could hear. “But underneath all that stupid shit, you’re quite adorable, you know? And likeable. I feel so bad you feel the need to be so, so hard all the time.”

A beat, and then she laughed again,

“Ah! That’s what she said - ha, I said ‘hard….all the time…’ - tha’s what she said!”

Diego swerved the car to the side street and carried down, slowing until they were in the front of her apartment building. For a moment, he struggled to say a thing, finding the words lost in the chasm of his thoughts. But finally, he managed to speak again, forcing the anxiety down again.

“We’re here.”

“Wh-oh! You’re right.” Her eyes moved from his face to the window, pressing her nose against the glass. “Wow. That was so, so fast.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Thank you, so much, dear...darling...dear...Diego.” With a happy sigh, she unbuckled her seatbelt - he was surprised she was able to do so so easily - and climbed out of his car. “Thank you, and have an -oof!”

In the spirit of dumb drunk decisions, Y/N had taken too big a step backwards and promptly fell, right down on her face. And then laid there groaning and mumbling to herself, while Diego stared at her from his side unsure what the hell to do.

“Dammit,” he muttered, and unbuckled his own seatbelt. He hurried out of the car and over to her side. “How much have you had to drink?!”

“Not that much! I mean, a little much, but not thaaaaat much!” Her lips pouted, staring up at him above her. “Why, how much have you had?”

“N-none. Nothing. Stop it.”

Y/N giggled and sat herself up in the grass. Her gaze moved from his to the sky, mapping the stars through a foggy gaze.

Diego just watched her, unsure what to do or say, as she smiled and watched and mumbled to herself something he could not even try to make out. He swallowed, hard, trying to free his mind or how strangely beautiful she looked, sitting with grass in her hair and tears of laughter staining her cheeks.

It was so strange to see someone who he had forced himself to avoid at all costs, someone who he had grown to see in only one specific light so open and free like that. Uncaring, smiling, drunk off her ass but clearly doing at least a bit better than he was. 

His mind went back to what she had said in the car, the small comment about hurt. Why had she been drinking? What had led her, someone of such strict schedule, out alone to a shitty bar in the middle of the night, alone, then to call him? Surely she had more people she’d rather talk to - at least people who’d be nicer about helping her home. Why was it him she turned to?

“Diego?”

He looked back down. “Yeah?”

“Gonna help me up, or are you gonna just stand over me and wait for me to take you down? Cause, you know, I will-”

“-yeah, yeah.” Taking her outstretched hands, he tugged her up, that time more gentle in case of injury. As well, careful not to pull her too close. “You...you need help up?”

“Hm? Oh, no, I should be fine. I’ll call my roommate down, she’s great at helping people.” She smiled cheerily. “You’d hate her.”

Diego did not take the bait, though. He simply held her gently and guided her forward, to the apartment complex doors. He paused, ready to let her go, and then, 

“Why wouldn’t you just call her to get you, then?”

Y/N gasped and covered her mouth with her hands, dropping them down immediately after. “And miss out on this terrific bonding experience between the two of us, dear-ling?”

“Well - I-I just mean-”

“-sorry, Diego,” she said, that time a little softer. “I just wanted to see you, is that so wrong?”

“W-w-”

“-don’t answer that, I’m too tired for more of your sharp wit tonight.” Her words bled sarcasm, but her eyes remained bright and happy despite. Y/N then moved close to him, stepping shakily forward so she stood just in front before lifting up to her tallest height. Awkwardly, her hands finding his biceps, she pressed a kiss to the area between his mouth and cheek, into day-old stubble he had almost forgotten about.

Diego shivered.

She pulled back, scrutinizing his skin with furrowed brows. “Hm...I think I mis...nevermind. You be safe, muffin….okay?”

Diego found he could not say a word to that all, struggling to even nod back a response. Luckily, Y/n didn’t seem to need one. She nodded happily and swayed away, into her apartment complex. He watched her lean against the wall and call her roommate, lips moving animatedly in what seemed a more interesting conversation that he thought such a thing would have been.

Then she pulled away, and their eyes met again. Hers alive and his frozen, struggling still to comprehend what the hell had happened in that twenty-minute drive.

She smiled at him.

He couldn’t bring himself to do a thing. Just waited, making sure someone came down to get her before turning back to his car.

Diego moved through the actions of getting in, forcing his body to keep going even when his mind was barely moving at all. Mechanically he fastened his seatbelt, long fingers slipping away without even a thought, moving to start the car up again.

But then fell from the wheel, and up to his face. A hand traced the skin her lips had just touched. The skin was dry, but he could still feel somehow the imprint of her mark, pressing into his skin and stubble and being.

And then the hand fell away. Went back to the car, peeling out of the lot and off back to his own place. It dared not touch the skin again, for fear of being burned.

Diego tried to forget about it. Tried to sleep, work out, push through the thoughts radiating through his mind as though it was frozen on just one screen and didn’t know how to exit unto another. He stayed up all night, trying to rid himself of the memory and the thoughts and feelings and the way her eyes looked so stupidly bright in the street lights.

When he finally was able to sleep, it was restless and filled with torments of memories he did his best not to think about. And yet every time, the dreams cycled back to her, the her crying out stupid monologues in the passenger seat of his car, animated and loud and laughing like he had never heard someone laugh before. Drunk and in pain and clearly holding back something and yet alive, in a way he had not seen another human be in a long time.

Her gaze on him, every single time, just before he would wake up, smiling from ear to ear.

“I just wanted to see you, is that so-”

-and then he woke up.

Every time, smiling like a stupid idiot.

PART TWO - here.

[miserable-pile-of-lies]

The Sleeping Prince of Wallachia Ch. 2 (Full)

Here's the entirety of chapter two in all of its glory, I hope you guys enjoy the small lore that I created regarding Greta!

Summary: Wallachia is in great peril at the behest of Death himself; all those who have attempted to battle the creature have swiftly been executed and made an example of. The key to defeating the beast lies in Dracula's castle, located twenty odd miles out from a small village by the name of Danesti. In this village, the headwoman Greta must act quickly to save her people from the onslaught of attacks by night creatures and other ungodly minions who have sworn their loyalty to Death. Will she alone be able to stop Death or will she require additional aid to save her people and those in Wallachia?

Roasted walnuts indecorously bestrewed the forest floor, being tossed from a perch high above that stretched into the sky. Humming a cheerful tune that foretold the story of Queen Dido, a thirteen-year-old Greta smacked her lips obnoxiously as Marius attempted to scamper away from the branch they sat upon. The young girl hurled an emptied shell of a walnut into the air, given to her by the portly baker Grigore, a Wallachian native that had recently settled in Danesti to toil his goods.

“That isn’t how the founding story of Carthage goes, Queen Dido was bewitched by Cupid’s arrow,” a twelve-year-old Marius moaned wearily at his older friend who crossed her lanky arms unimpressed by the explanation. The Roman boy dug into the pouch that sat between him and his companion, uttering a cry when he felt a pinch twist the doughy skin of his love handles. Offering his finest glare, the adolescent lobbed a walnut at the lass who only ducked backwards in response to the sneak attack with a snigger.

“That cannot be, Prince Aeneas deceptively seduced our founding mother with sweet words only to leave her high and dry in the pursuit of his journey, ultimately courting Princess Lavinia of Italy,” Greta bit out with a scowl as she described the cowardly philanderer that covertly escaped into the night when leaving Carthage at the command of Jupiter. Prince Aeneas went on to become the founding father of Rome, previously recognized as the city of Lavinium when the metropolis was founded by his followers to honor their queen.

Marius merely shrugged at the latter details relayed by Greta, knowing how the rest of the myth went. Queen Dido, in a fitful rage, committed suicide out of spite at the abandonment of Aeneas and sparked the Punic Wars that led to the annexation of Carthage. Presently, both civilizations were relics of the past and the descendants of Aeneas and Dido had long forgotten about the dissension that divided the two to begin with.

“Who cares about any of that, it’s all ancient history anyway; more importantly we should talk about Faiza,” Marius clucked out with a cheeky grin as Greta’s face promptly flushed at the mention of the girl who currently held her affections.

Nimble fingers tapped bashfully against the coarse bark of the tree as she thought of the remarkable Moroccan beauty, two years her senior with an unmatched intellect that could not be found elsewhere in the village. Clearing her throat with a thunderous cough that echoed amongst the thicket of trees, thick chestnut brows quirked up to implore Marius to continue his line of questioning.

Sighing heavily in exasperation, the young man reached across to tug at his closest playmate’s cheek, earning an appalled yelp in reply.

“You vexing little runt, what was that for,” Greta demanded with a scoff, lightly slapping the terracotta toned hand away as Marius held his rib from chuckling harshly at Greta’s indignation. Thoroughly riled by the taunts, the daughter of the headman gracefully descended from the tree, stirring up the emerald leaves that laid in the low grass below. Lips curved upward at the sound of an astonished choke, knowing that Marius would take much longer to get down than Greta.

Leaves crunched in protest, alarming the teenager, who speedily pulled out her short sword to defend both herself and Marius from a potential assailant. Pale green eyes squinted in concentration, rising from the thick branch he sat upon. Marius tactically retrieved his elm bow and arrow to target the source of the commotion hidden by the overgrown shrubbery. Palms were presented in a mock defense manner and soon both sword and bow were lowered without further inquiry; the newcomer was a fellow inhabitant of Danesti who went by the name of Felix. The scrawny queer man looked affright when he saw their weapons drawn, shaking like a white flag in the wind signaling a surrender from a defeated camp of soldiers.

“Greta and Marius, I’ve come to retrieve you both on behalf of Tobias, he says that your mother is nearing the end of labor,” Felix squawked out nervously forcing his hands to his sides while tipping the crooked point of his jaw in the air, an attempt to reinforce his position as an elder among the children who innocently snickered at the poor fellow.

Tobias was the current headman of Danesti, father of Greta and husband of Iman, patiently awaiting the arrival of his second child with the rest of the men in the village. As per custom, Iman was currently being attended by several midwives and parish priests recruited from the capital of Târgoviște; a far journey that took the travelers weeks to make it to the settlement in time for the birth.

The leader of the village had forfeited several family heirlooms to afford the care needed for Iman and adequately compensated those assisting in the birth. Childbirth was an unforgiving ordeal; one could never be too safe to preserve the life of both mother and child even with the aid of experts.

Honeyed eyes crinkled in joy; the youth absolutely thrilled that she would finally meet her younger sibling. The young girl had been praying that it would be a boy so that her father could be at peace and have a successor that would eventually inherit the role of headman. If that occurred, her father would stop stifling her fun with Marius and the other village children, forcing her to sit through tedious meetings with the village council about the daily state of affairs in their community.

Regardless of the gender of the newborn, Greta promised her mother that she would look out for her younger sibling and her mother beamed from ear to ear while affectionately carding her rich brown hands through her daughter’s silken hair. Often wrapped in colorful linens covering her form and adorned with intricately knotted scarves, her mother dressed in the traditional garb that was expected of women hailing from Somalia, a resource rich country found in East Africa. Though it was rare to see out in the open, Greta adored seeing her mother braid her kinky curly hair into the fine thin rows of braids decorated by glassy beads and golden hair cuffs imported from North African traders passing through the area to sell their finery.

The relationship between Tobias and Iman was an anomaly to all onlookers based on the traits of the two; Tobias was a brash man who had no filter and the shortest temper that could set off at a moment’s notice while Iman was quiet spoken yet assertive in her demands, effortlessly carrying herself like a member of royalty. Additionally, Tobias carried the wide frame of a brutish bull, but he was slightly below average in stature while Iman towered over her husband with long slim legs and a slender frame hidden by her garments.

“We need to hurry, I don’t want to miss the birth of my baby brother,” Greta complained impatiently while Marius climbed his way down the birch tree with cautious steps, ensuring that his footing was secured along the way.

“You keep saying that you will have a brother, but how can you be so confident,” the boy queried warily with a suspicious glance, unconvinced that intuition alone could predict such a momentous event. Landing upon the ground, the youngster hollered upon Greta roughly grabbing and shaking him by the shoulders in frustration. Hoping that Felix would lend a helping hand against the rambunctious girl, Marius silently implored the middle-aged man to intervene and separate the two.

“You sound so skeptical my dear Marius, you should know that I’m quite clever when it comes to these matters,” Greta pledged eagerly, forcibly disconnected from the lad by an already fatigued Felix. The old man wished to return to the village before the three lost daylight and encountered the mischievous spirits of the forest.

“Enough out of you two, come along now,” the farmer churned out with difficulty, feeling hoarse at the thought of the journey back to the township.

Nose scrunched with a harrumph, Greta filed behind Felix with a small pout and Marius walked beside her feeling a small pang of jealousy. His friend had spent a great deal of time boasting about the new arrival of her sibling that he could not help the thorns of envy that pierced the entirety of his being. Thick as thieves, just about everyone in the colony had known how close the two were, rarely seen without one another. With the arrival of a newborn, Greta’s responsibilities and chores would increase tremendously as her mother recovered over the span of the next two months.

What if we grow apart Marius mused gloomily, instantly prickled with guilt at the selfishness of his thoughts but was shaken out of his stupor when he felt a hand roughly the same size as his own. Jade orbs welled up with teardrops as a thumb brush against his palm and he gripped the hand back in silence.

“What are you thinking about,” Greta murmured with great care; a tone rarely used in their conversations due to the spitfire personality that defined the young maiden.

Brushing away the tears in his eyes with his available hand, Marius contemplated how much he would be able to disclose without feeling entirely embarrassed by the pettiness of his emotions. Initially shrugging his shoulders in deference, his ample cheeks burned in shame as he slowly treaded along the path hand in hand with Greta.

“Promise not to laugh,” the boy pleaded with a defeated look, not being able to make eye contact with Greta who openly stared at him with such unease. Taking a deep breath in, the young girl released her hand from Marius and grabbed her friend’s knobby shoulders with an intense hawk-like gaze.

“I swear upon our friendship that I will not laugh, nor will I reveal the contents of this discussion to any soul,” she assured with a heavy sense of conviction, unconditional love filling her freesia eyes. Lips parted in mirth from the sheer honesty of his friend, a chuckle threatening to bubble up from his throat at his own foolishness.

“Can you promise that we’ll always remain friends,” Marius entreated faintly, inspecting the approaching dusk of the sky that precariously peeked through the treetops.

Although dumbfounded at the soft plea, Greta did not dither in responding to the vulnerable request, “Even if we were friends for an eternity, it still wouldn’t be enough time together.”

A wave of warmth washed over Marius at the declaration, assuaged by Greta’s consideration of his intrusive thoughts. Playfully knocking his shoulder into her own, the childhood friends smiled at one another, before redirecting their attention to the approaching sight of their settlement.

The trio slowly came to a stop at the barricade that was currently bolted shut from potential new arrivals in the village; Felix hesitantly craned his willowy neck upwards to see who stood guard at the top of its walls. Sure enough, a stout man roughly in his late thirties beamed at the sight of the three, quickly retrieving the bast rope to lower the door of the enormous, antiquated gatehouse. Squeaking in protest, the barricade slowly opened to the three, dust settling in the air upon impact. Without further notice, Marius and Greta speedily dashed across the oak wood of the gate while Felix’s knees trembled from exertion as he slowly limped into the community.

“Didn’t think the three of you would make it in time,” Luigi snorted cheekily, teetering towards the post to relatch the gate on the headman’s orders. Shortly after, the hefty man climbed down the shifty ladder that squeaked every step of the way before reaching the ground to properly greet the triad.

“If these two hadn’t been gallivanting about in the forest, we could have been back much sooner,” Felix complained rubbing his sore shoulders. Holding his rounded stomach while unleashing a booming guffaw, Luigi playfully shook his balding head at the mention of Marius and Greta’s predictable antics. The adolescents wordlessly exchanged a sour look before politely excusing themselves from the drawn-out discussion between the two chatty adults.

Heading towards her family’s residence, Greta and Marius spotted almost every villager crowded outside of the gate of her ancestral home. The gate was carved with several strokes belonging to the Punic alphabet and astrological formations that foretold the perilous journey of her forefathers.

Standing at the forefront of the assemblage, Tobias paced back and forth worriedly awaiting the nursing aides who instructed him to stay outside until the birthing ritual was completed. The sound of a woman wailing reverberated within the family home and Tobias wished for nothing more than to be by his wife’s side. A sizeable number of villagers swaddled their leader in support, all holding celebratory gifts to offer protection against any harm that may come to Iman or the arriving infant.

Lengthy, partially braided chestnut tresses fell past sun kissed broad shoulders; the headman possessed a striking profile that was disrupted by the prestigious wide hook of a nose displaying his Carthaginian roots. The warrior’s features were that of a handsome hero residing in an epic poem, his Herculean body cladded in his finest olive tunic befitting the occasion. Despite Greta clearly resembling her mother far more, both father and daughter shared the same honeyed gaze that resembled the jewel tones of amber.

The entire village of Danesti recognized the headman and his wife as the most handsome couple in the village, both easy on the eyes and charming in their own way. However, the couple had eyes for no one else; the village leader was completely smitten and dedicated his every waking moment to Iman while Iman could not see another man loving her the way Tobias did. Tobias claimed that he fell for Iman from the moment that he had laid his eyes on her, formally the daughter of a Somali livestock peddler who regularly passed through Danesti on route to the numerous towns in Wallachia.

Whenever Greta asked about the tryst, the older villagers professed that no one had silenced Tobias in quite the same manner that Iman did upon their initial meeting, the headman completely bewitched by her stunning beauty and graceful manner. Falling to his knees shamelessly, the newly appointed leader of Danesti begged for Iman to allow him to worship her for the rest of his days and Iman accepted the shocking proposal with a shy smile. Despite the two reciprocating feelings for one another, her father Assad was completely against the courtship as he had plans to marry Iman off to a thriving merchant who lusted after his eldest daughter.

In the end, Tobias challenged Assad in a physical brawl for the hand of Iman and the rest was history. The two wasted no time in conceiving a child within the first year of their engagement, naming Greta after the precious gem that adorned the ring Tobias gave to his wife, formerly worn by his late mother who died in the aftermath of his own birth.

Bushy brows seemed to cement into a permanent pinch, clearly distressed until he heard a familiar voice.

“Father, how is mother doing,” Greta questioned tensely, pushing through the crowd while Marius was herded in by his folks despite the boy’s protests.

Exhaling with a frightful glower, Tobias channeled his anxiety into outrage at the late arrival of his daughter, “Have you had your fill of prancing off with Marius?” Ears ablaze in mortification at the scrutiny of the villagers who went silent at the confrontation, the young girl stopped a few feet shy of her father.

“I needed to go somewhere quiet to complete my gift for mother,” Greta confessed weakly, digging into the goatskin satchel slung across the finely threaded olive tunic that mirrored the one that her father donned. Carefully, her uncertain fingers produced a small carved sculpture of a woman holding an infant while shameful tears muddled her vision. The craftsmanship of the small carving was remarkable, the creation a labor of love worked on by Greta and Marius over the period of a fortnight.

Rumpled brows sheepishly slackened at the admission, knowing that if Iman had been present, she would be livid with her husband’s arbitrary treatment of their daughter. Hesitantly, the headman closed the distance between himself and Greta who stubbornly withheld her tears as he approached.

Lifting the corner of his mouth minutely, the gruff man reached out and gingerly carded his chunky fingers through the beautiful chestnut hair of his daughter, not one for sentimentality or overt displays of affection in front of others. Peeking from beneath the reach of her father’s labor-thickened hands, Greta gathered the courage to blow a raspberry in retaliation. The sound of laughter erupted amongst the crowd of villagers, thankful that the situation had not escalated any further. The tense line of Tobias’ mouth relaxed for the first time all day; a small smile coaxed from the outrageousness of his adorable daughter.

Seemingly out of nowhere, the door of the cruck home belonging to Tobias and Iman flung open. In the doorway of the home stood the principal midwife, looking to Tobias with a weighted gaze that forebode tragedy. All went quiet in shock, the exultant air of the villagers immediately vanishing in fear of what would come next.

Face crumbling in misery at what lied ahead, Tobias sucked in his plump lower lip, approaching the doorway of his home with solemn steps. Before fully making it over the threshold, the headman threw a backwards glance at his daughter whose eyes carried a sorrow that was beyond her years.

“Restrain your grief,” Tobias uttered cautiously, directing a grim expression to Greta before entering his home. Marching past the chaste kitchen of his abode, the man followed closely behind the midwife who remained quiet as a mouse before arriving at the door of the room that had been prepared for the birth. Closing his freesia eyes with a silent prayer, he opened the door and his husky body crumbled to the ground.

His beautiful wife had never been so pale, the rich brownness of her skin ashen from the exertion of labor and her mouth ajar as she wheezed harshly. Her lithe form sagged uncomfortably on the birthing stool that she sat upon. The maternity gown cloaking her frail form was drenched in excess blood from the pelvis down, the essence of life puttering silently onto the floorboards of the room. The secondary midwives turned their remorseful glances upon the speechless headman who saw the swaddled form of his stillborn son, laying in the woven basket of his crib perpetually silent, never to awaken from his eternal slumber.

“Where is our boy Tobias, they refuse to let me hold him,” Iman churned out deliriously, blearily making out her husband who still sat in the doorway. With great difficulty, the thirty-five-year-old rose to his feet, ambling towards his wife who reached out her hand in search of her beloved. Arriving at her side, he pressed his lips to the clammy forehead of his wife who shook like a leaf in his embrace. Shushing his wife with a gentleness that only she inspired, Tobias softly asked Iman to rest despite her repeated question. Eventually, she dozed off from the sheer pain of her loss and the weakness of her body while Tobias held her fragile hand to his cheek.

“There is something I must tell you,” the central midwife addressed miserably, knowing that what she was about to disclose would break the man before her beyond repair. Heartbroken from the loss of his ill-fated son, Tobias shook his head refusing to part from his spouse.

“No more, not now,” the warrior beseeched quietly, incessant tears drenching his face, looking down at his doomed wife; the village leader had spent enough time entrenched in death to know the telltale signs. Even in her sleep, Iman breathed with difficulty and her body was soaked with cold sweat from the feverish trot of impending death.

Nodding with a heavy heart, the midwife stepped out of the room with her aides, giving the couple their much-needed privacy with the promise of addressing the village in place of the grief-stricken man.

Setting foot into the dusk of the evening, the middle-aged woman was immediately met by the mob of villagers who had not breathed a word since the departure of their leader. Hands were gravely clasped in prayer with heads bowed, hoping that at least one of the poor souls had survived the traumatic birth. The daughter of the village leader looked at the midwife with lifeless eyes, slowly stepping forward with clenched fists, nails digging violently into the skin of her palms.

“Where are my parents,” the minor queried weakly; she looked nothing like the spirited girl that danced gleefully at the arrival of the midwife with her aides. Lip trembling, the adolescent brushed past the midwife with an anguished cry, marching into her household completely distraught. Marius observed his friend from afar, feeling the pit of his stomach drop into the deepest depths, wishing that he could provide an iota of comfort. Nothing he said would erase the sorrow that would forever mark this day; he could only hope that Greta would find the courage to smile again one day as tears ran down his face.

Spiraling into complete panic, Greta made her way through the simple structure of her home, wiping her tears with the sleeve of the cotton blouse her mother had just laundered a few days ago. Arriving at the door where her parents were surely behind, her face flittered between dread and hysteria. Intaking a deep breath, she pushed the door open silently and an ear-shattering scream reached the villagers who all mournfully turned to embrace their own families. The village men removed their hats out of respect while the women held their children close to their breast, some too young to understand what was going on.

Tobias abruptly removed himself from his wife who was still barely holding on at the sound of his daughter’s screech, silently standing up with his back facing Greta. Nose flaring irritably, ire scathed his irises when he looked at his daughter who was amid a panic attack. Chest heaving up and down in apprehension, the child convulsed as an ugly cry cut through the silence of the room, not knowing whether to stare at her condemned mother or brother.

Tears still lingering in his eyes, Tobias savagely stomped across the room, standing before his firstborn without penitence.

“Straighten up now daughter of mine, you need to grow up,” he shouted venomously, grabbing the girl roughly by her slightly too large tunic to ground himself. Blunt teeth bared wickedly for all to see, the chieftain burrowed his daughter against his strong chest with silent tears, words at odds with his current actions.

Nothing reached Greta who continued to wail, the strength in her knees disappearing entirely as she slid to the floor, her father silently sinking with her. Thick snot and tears ran amuck, her breathing clearly affected by her frenzied state while a hand gently rubbed her back. The edges of her vision blackened as she fainted; Greta vaguely recalled her father raving like a mad man in his native tongue, sobbing harshly as he brought his beloved child firmly into the embrace of his burly arms. It would be the first and last time the future head woman would see the resilient man brought to tears, the love of his life stealing them away permanently with her unexpected departure.

_____________________________________________________________________________

I have lost my other brother Greta thought ardently, turning the statement over and over in her head a million times, wondering when the immediate grief of Marius passing would slither away. Presently, her muddied sleeves were rolled up to her elbows as she gathered the remains of the corpses strewn about her village. Dismembered bodies were carefully laid on thick tarps customarily used to protect the produce cultivated by the farmers of Danesti. One thing was certain after last night’s invasion; the village of Danesti had fallen and it had occurred under Greta’s charge.

Invisible unrelenting fingers pointed at her in a silent accusation, calling for her execution and demanding that the head woman be replaced by a more capable hand. Loading up a wooden cart with rows of bundled corpses, amber eyes sorrowfully looked onto the Earth that bled her people dry in this latest attack. Less than forty percent of the inhabitants of Danesti and those belonging to other nearby villages survived, many children becoming orphans while the women were widowed in the aftermath of their closest victory against the night hordes.

Humiliated by the string of her latest failures, the village leader could not bring herself to thoroughly engage with anyone. If a villager approached her for further instructions regarding their task, she cowardly evaded eye contact, automatically generating an appropriate response. Despite the fatigue eating away at her strength, Greta refused to stop busying herself with the innumerous number of tasks before her. Very few members of the village council had survived, leaving her with an excessive workload to keep her out of her thoughts for a decent stretch of time.

If the previous headman could see her now, he would probably double over in shame from beyond the grave, wondering why his daughter failed the colony given all that he had taught her. In his last days, Tobias constantly reassured Greta of her position as next in line for the leadership of the village, silencing anyone who stood in opposition of her inheriting the role.

“Only you have the abilities to lead Danesti beyond its current splendor,” Tobias affirmed maniacally before he passed from a broken heart, his health steadily declining over the years, leaving a depressed and scared eighteen-year-old Greta to pick up the pieces of his ambitions.

Watching her once indestructible father devolve into a mass of sinewy muscles on his deathbed emotionally ravaged Greta. However, she could not afford to mourn for months like she did with her mother and baby brother, for the sake of the villagers now depending on her counsel. Burying her emotions deep in her breast, Greta only divested her authentic emotional state to Marius in moments of deep insecurity. The young woman feigned abundant confidence in the presence of her people, strategically dispatching a witty remark here and there at anyone who dared to challenge her position of power.

With the hammer of Tobias, Greta led a new age of prosperity in Danesti over the next four years; encouraging the expansion of the village as well as carefully managing the resources to supply the newcomers settling in the community. Branches of commerce grew as well, the wardress carefully researching the highly sought goods of Wallachians nearby to encourage her people to communicate with others from their native countries for trading purposes, utilizing the diversity of her community.

Slowly beginning to recover from her past traumas, a cruel God deemed that it was time to awaken Greta from her dreams of a brighter future, Wallachians region wide receiving a wave of brutal attacks by the night hordes. Death was an inevitable foe that she knew she would never be able to completely curb, stealing her villagers every now and then due to tragic accidents or old age. What she was facing now was entirely different; mass graves were being dug due to the surplus of carcasses that cluttered the lands, because there were not enough hands available to dig individual graves.

Snapping out of her thoughts, she looked to her bounded shoulder to find a tanned hand planted there, meeting the eyes of the Speaker who saved her life the previous night. Once again, finding heavy worriment in those cerulean-blue orbs, the young heroine found herself almost cursing the woman for rescuing her and Marius in that instance. At least if she died then, it would have been at the side of her dearest friend whom she considered to be the last member of her long-gone family.

“We need to talk,” the ginger-haired woman whispered gently, seeing the vacancy and pain that traversed the head woman. Stopping her task at the bidding of an invisible force from the ether, Greta allowed herself to be led away from her people who stared at their leader sympathetically.

What the fuck am I doing the hammer-wielding warrior questioned, chewing her lower lip aggressively while darting her eyes to the back of the Speaker’s fiery strands that bounced at the beating of the morning wind. Finally, the two ceased further movement upon arriving at a patch of undisturbed land that had not been scorched. The unknown woman turned to Greta with the irritated twitch of her nose, the stench of smoke still filling the air long after the Speakers had put out the flames.

“My name is Sypha Belnades, I’m the granddaughter of the Elder Speaker that leads this particular caravan,” Sypha extended politely, introducing herself with a small bow out of respect for the chief ruler of the village. The young mage happened upon Greta shortly after the night hordes fled from the assault on Danesti, feeling an unconscious link form between the two at the vulnerability that the young leader displayed for her people. Tears of empathy sprouted at the sight of Greta sprawled over the newly deceased Marius, knowing the importance of bonds and how easily a community could translate into the bonds of family.

Nodding in acknowledgment, Greta bowed as well with a forced smile, “I’m Greta of Danesti, daughter of the deceased Tobias and Iman,” responded punctually before allowing the sorcerer to continue her train of thought.

Clearing her throat in discomfort, Sypha attempted to regain her footing in the exchange, finding it difficult to formulate her thoughts amid the tragedy that she had witnessed firsthand.

“Our chapter of Speakers have spent the last couple of weeks traveling throughout the region of Wallachia, striving to put an end to the massacres that have swallowed up these lands,” Sypha started with an explanation, recounting the horrors that she had seen in her travels with a dire countenance, clearly bothered by the amount of death she had seen in the last two months. Unspeakable calamities had been dealt out without reasoning, leaving the group of Speakers at a loss in how they should advance and lend aid.

Unsubstantiated rumors circulated around the fabled entity known as Death personally commanding the army of night creatures; however, accounts from the commonfolk reported several different descriptors identifying the mystic general behind the current campaign of genocide. Some said that the commander of the army was a cloaked young woman with dark skin possessing unsettling hues that glowed, while others detailed an older male vampire who lacked the expected regalia of his kind.

“Currently we are at a disadvantage, my caravan alone cannot provide the support desperately needed across Wallachia,” Sypha confessed uneasily, rubbing her chilly fingers together to ward off the unforgiving chill that the morning air brought.

Pinched by the unyielding sense of compassion instilled by her late mother, Greta straightened her undignified form with a newfound purpose. No matter how lost she may have felt, the headwoman could not idly stand by while innocent people were slaughtered without just cause. Brown slim fingers extended out and clasped Sypha’s shoulder with certainty at what would come next, her amber eyes lighting up reinvigorated at the unspoken pledge of defending her remaining charges.

“What can I do to help,” the young warrior inquired with haste, not realizing that this exact moment would turn the tides in saving Wallachia and spark the ensuing chronicles that celebrated the legendary heroine and her fellow comrades made along the way.

[daydream-believin]

The Never-Ending Roadtrip (new beginnings)

Summary: Reader joins Douxie in the quest for Nari’s safety. He’ll need company won’t he? - Also, a talk about Merlin and grief. It’s big feelings time. (part two)

Warnings: Swearing, theres like three bad puns and at least one meme im sorry

Word Count: 2713

A/N: inspired by the fact that i recently moved states and it was the most tedious trip ever. It took the entire day. i was bored out of my mind. So i decided to write about going on a long boring roadtrip with Douxie instead. also, i have a black cat myself and i can attest that they are little domesticated demons. she didn’t like the long trip either.

“And what do you think you’re doing?” Douxie deadpanned when he saw (Name) run up to join him on the ship, perching on the edge. “Well I’m coming with you, obviously.” Douxie had known the young woman long enough to know that there would not be a point in arguing. They would just go round and round for hours before she ultimately won. She fought dirty, puppy dog eyes and all. He didn’t have time for this.

After making sure that Archie and Nari were secure, Doux turned back to (Name), “You’re absolutely sure about this decision, love? Once we take off there’s no going back. We could even be running for the rest of our lives. You really should stay with the others,” he warned.

She looked annoyed. “Yes, Doux. I am absolutely sure. I wouldn’t want you to do this alone. And besides, you’ll need me.”

He blushed for a second before realizing she meant he would need her as in extra backup and not that he needed her needed her. Trying not to show the slight disappointment that was written on his face, he chuckled and covered his cheek with his palm, “Of course.”

They set off into the early morning sky. After waving goodbye to the rest of the gang, (Name) clung to the golden railing, looking out over California in amazement. It was like she was in a movie. This was her life changing magic carpet ride. Of course, a lot about her life had seemed to be out of a movie lately. Ever since she discovered her gift for sorcery. Ever since she got mixed up in all this Arcadian mess. Ever since she met Douxie.

Surprisingly, Douxie was really talkative for the first few hours of the trip. (Name) had expected him to be a bit more closed off, considering the week they had just gone through. He was really gushy too, with his heart on his sleeve even more so than usual, and that’s saying something for Douxie. Maybe momentary death was good for unclogging heart pipes.  (Name) was loving it. Not the momentary death thing. That had almost stopped her heart. No, it was so nice to be having such lighthearted conversation with her friends. Kept her from dwelling on things. Once night got closer, though, she couldn’t help it. What could she say, the pink splattered purple sunset made her sentimental. She and Douxie had slipped into a little talk about Arcadia, about the kids, about what had happened, and about what was next for them. Despite her gushing about how happy she was to be here with him, Douxie still felt really guilty that he put her through all this. She made the mistake of telling him how much it scared her, everything that happened earlier. She made a bigger mistake telling him how she cried over his body, refusing to accept that he was gone. He wasn’t of course, but she didn’t know that.

He suddenly got quiet after that. The conversation lulled. Even Nari and Archie seemed to sense that something was off and kept quiet. After watching the stars roll by in silence for a few hours, (Name) started to feel the tug of sleep. She tried to find a cozy spot, but failed, because she was on a ship. A pretty basic little vessel. There were no seats or anything even kind of cushiony. She contemplated using Archie as a pillow, but that probably wouldn’t fly well with him. Pun intended.

Douxie was still as statue, staring out straight ahead into the clouds. Like a grizzled old sea captain. The bags under his eyes were getting worse than usual, but (Name) decided to not to say anything to him and let it be. He looked like he was enjoying the silence. She didn’t think he’d sleep tonight. How could he? She mused. (Name) herself hadn’t even begun to truly process all that had happened. She wished she knew what to say. Anything to comfort him, to let him know she’s be there. But (Name) was no use now, in her sleepy state. She might make it worse. She’d try talking to him in the morning. If he even wanted to talk.

In the end, (Name) wound up leaning against the corner, using her balled up over-shirt as a pillow. It was a bit colder now, but with Nari snuggled up in her lap and Archie stretched out over her legs, she’d be just fine. They might as well had been heaters. Doux wouldn’t join them, insisting that they needed to fly through the entire night to put as much distance between them and Arcadia as possible. He assured them that he’d wake them up if something was the matter. Of course, they were sleeping on an open deck floor. Any sort of trouble would wake them up immediately anyway, but it was a nice thought. (Name) snuggled into her makeshift pillow. She took one last look at Douxie, brooding at the helm, before slipping off to dreamland. It was a mediocre dream.

The morning sun came sooner than (Name) wanted. The cheeky bugger. There was no use trying to go back to sleep. The sun was too big and bright. so, so bright. Nari also stirred when the sun beam hit her face. She blinked blearily and let out a cute yawn. Or at least it would have been cute, had it not been directly into (Name)’s face. (Name) had to give it to Nari though, her morning breath actually didn’t smell bad. It was earthy, floral even. Damn nature spirits. Despite (Name) and Nari being awake, the sun’s rays seemed to have little to no effect on Archie. He could sleep through anything, on anything, at any time. Damn cats.

Douxie looked like the dead. His raven hair was a mess, lips chapped from the wind. Those eyebags had somehow gotten even worse. Douxie gave Tim Burton characters a run for their money. (Name) decided it might be better to wait until she was a bit more awake and articulate to try and talk to him more about… the, ah, events from yesterday. Yet, she was fully aware that if she kept procrastinating, the conversation was just going to get worse and worse. But the timing’s not right. Yes, the timing’s just not right. The stars, they’re not in position. In fact it might be easier if she got him to take a nap first. Yeah, no need to cause sleep deprived Douxie to have an unnecessary breakdown.

It took some convincing, but (Name) finally got him to agree to let her take the helm and get that well deserved rest. Not that Douxie thought he deserved it. He wasn’t too happy about leaving (Name) and Nari alone, figuratively, while he was unconscious and unable to protect them. He wasn’t too happy about a lot of things, really. He especially didn’t care to be alone with his subconscious. But with the worried look (Name) gave him, he couldn’t help but comply with her demands. Her and her bloody puppy dog eyes.

He woke up to the sound of (Name)’s singing. She probably hadn’t meant to wake him up, with her soft voice hushed, but nonetheless he was awake. Douxie was a light sleeper. He had to be, after all his troublesome years. She was singing a sweet little love song. He felt a drumming in his chest as he listened. Speaking of his chest, there seemed to be a bit of pressure on it. A familiar pressure. It started to purr, sending the comforting vibrations through his ribcage. He gave Arch a good scritch behind the ears before sitting up.

“Your voice is so lovely, you know. I cannot imagine why you’re always hiding it.”

Name startled. “Did I wake you?” she asked, concerned since he hadn’t been out but for a few hours.

“Yes, you had,” He began gently, “But, I’m glad.”

“You’re glad?”

“Of course, I got to hear that beautiful singing voice of yours. Quite the rarity, innit?”

(Name) flushed. She wasn’t sure if she was flattered by his compliments or embarrassed that he had caught her singing once again. Still, she tried to refute his words but all that came out was a flustered sputter. Thankfully, Nari came to the rescue. Unintentionally, but a rescue all the same.

“Hisirdoux, now that you are awake, may I ask where it is that we are going?” the small goddess asked.

“Oh, uh, about that,” Doux wrapped his arms behind his back and sucked some air through his teeth, “I actually didn’t have a set place in mind. I think we’ll just wing it. On our winged boat.”

(Name) whipped her head towards him so fast she’d get whiplash. She didn’t even acknowledge the terrible joke. “I’m terribly sorry, but you what.”

“I just thought we’d head northeast for now. Once we run out of land, we’ll pick a new direction. It’s not like we’d be able to stay too long in a place, after all. It’s safer to be constantly moving.” He tried not to sound to unsure in this rambling. He did have a plan, just not one that looked too solid on a piece of paper. It’ll be fine. They’ll be fine.

“I- okay.” She didn’t sound too panicked, which Douxie counted as a win. Still, he didn’t want her to be too stressed about the uncertainties. He figured he might as well just pick a place to ease her fears a bit. She couldn’t worry herself raw, that was his job.

“How about New York City? That can be our first official destination on the Never-Ending Roadtrip.”

“Yeah, yeah okay. New York City, that sounds nice.” Victory.

***

“Ugh, we’ve been flying over basically the same damn thing forever! Can’t this thing go any faster?” (Name) whined as she leaned over the edge like a wilted flower. Her wind-mussed hair hung over her face. It took everything in Douxie not to flinch whenever she got to close to where she might fall out. Sure, she would most likely be able to break her fall with magic, not coming out with too many scratches, but it still scared him just the same. (Name) was gonna give him a heart attack one of these days.

“It’s a fucking magical flying boat, (Name). It goes eighty miles per hour tops. Do you know how advanced that was in the twelfth century? It was a fucking miracle of technology, (Name). It’s not the boat’s fault we’re currently travelling through Kansas.” Doux huffed. He quickly felt guilty for snapping at her and apologized. He felt a bit on edge lately. Their conversation last night kind of freaked him out. He wanted to be a little more protective of her now since she told him about how scared she was, but snapping at her would just accomplish the opposite of getting across how much he cared.

Name sighed. Looking around the ship, she noticed that Nari and Archie were just napping in the sun, completely unbothered by her and Douxie’s loud outbursts. She looked back out into the seemingly infinite grass field again.

“Well, I guess now is a pretty good time,” She said cryptically, “Hisirdoux, we need to talk.”

It was like she just injected ice water into his veins. He didn’t like her tone, plus, those words were never proceeded by something good. Never. “To talk?” he asked with a nervous tinge in his voice, hoping if she elaborated it wouldn’t be as bad as the conclusions he was jumping to.

“Yeah. Talk. About your feelings.” Well now he was panicking. She said that so solemnly. How did she know? Fuzzbuckets, she was about to reject him, on this boat they were stuck on, in the middle of Kansas. Rip out his heart and throw it into the grassy void.

“To talk, about my feelings?” he repeated her again, incredulously. He put on his best fake smile.

“Yes, Doux.” She sat down on the railing near him and crossed her legs. “I just- I think it’s time we had a proper conversation about stuff. Like say, I don’t know, how you’re handling your grief over a certain mentor.”

Douxie quickly let go of the breath, he wasn’t sure when he started holding, in a loud sigh of relief. Oh thank Merlin, he thought this was going to be bad. That’s what she wanted to talk about? Okay, not the problem he was expecting, but one he could deal with. He’s already had a couple of good cries. He spent most of last night mulling over not just Merlin but the whole concept of death. He could talk about the weight of grief hanging over his heart, no big deal.

“I believe I am handling it well, thank you for your concern, Love.” He tried to sound nonchalant.

“Hisirdoux Casperan, you stared out into the distance with unblinking glassy eyes for hours last night and barely spoke to any of us. Hell, you fucking died yesterday, Doux. Don’t think I’ve forgotten about that. You’re not fine. And you’re not weaseling your way out of this conversation either.” She said sternly. They entered an unspoken staring contest.

“Alright, Love, fine. I am fine. Okay?” She quirked her brow. “I am, truly. I’m at peace. He lived a good life and I’ll continue his legacy with honour. Of course I’m still sad about it, but I’ve got other things to focus on right now. Sure, my chest is still heavy, but it’s not crushing like it was when the wound was fresh,” he rubbed the back of his neck, “And I did get my last goodbye talk with him when I was dead,” He chuckled to try and lighten that last bit up, but name still winced at his words.

“Douxie, I just- I know what it’s like, ya know. To suddenly no longer have that father figure in your life. Someone you looked up to for so long. It’s hard Doux, I get that.” She sympathized. She tipped her head down towards the deck floor.

“Well, in a way, he’s already been gone for about, say, nine centuries. I’ve had my time away from him, so I know that I can do it. It’s the knowing that now he’s gone gone that’s the real kicker.” He glanced across the boat over to the sleeping pile of fur and greenery. Nari was curled up into a ball while Archie mirrored the same, but on top of her. They were like a couple of stacked buns. Douxie smiled at the sight. “And yet, do you know what makes it all feel better?” Name looked back up at him and furrowed her brows.

“You. And Archie. And Zoe. And Claire. And my bandmates and my coworkers and the rest of the Arcadia gang. I’ve got plenty of people in the world now. I know I’ve got all kinds of love.”  He hung his arm over her shoulders. He had made up his mind, he was going to open his heart to her soon. Almost dying really puts one’s priorities in view. “Recently, a great man, well, a great dragon, told me that family is not just who you have, it’s also who you’re with. If one thing I’ve learned in this nightmare week, it’s that you’ve got to enjoy people while you can. Because once they’re gone, they’re gone. You can’t dwell on past love, you’ve got to soak in the love you’ve got now, or you’ll miss it.”

“I guess I understand that.” (Name) said softly. She took in his words. Focus on the now love, huh. She could use to do that too. She felt his hand move from her shoulder to the small of her back.

“Oh hey look at that, we’re coming up on Missouri. How about we stop for brunch, Love?”

“Oh I’m starving,” Archie butt into the conversation and flew over to rest on (Name)’s shoulder. He did one of those black cat yawns where they turn their entire faces inside out and they become nothing more than a black hole with teeth, “I could really go for a bagel with extra lox right now.”

[marril96]

Out of the Woods

Chapter 4: A Witch Scorned

Characters: reader, Sam, Dean, Rowena

Pairing: Rowena x reader

Summary: An explosive argument leads to you running away and puts Rowena in danger.

Editor: @miss-moon-guardian​

*****

Rowena's hands were bound by heavy chains that hung from the ceiling. Her blouse and dress pants were torn, ripped in places, fabric and thread hanging loose.

Injuries marred every exposed piece of her flesh. A cut stretched across her cheek, another one across her chest. Blood drenched her blouse, staining the white fabric the color of rust. Her face was red and purple with bruises. Eyes framed by dark crescents. Lower lip swollen, blood dripping down its split corner.

She was exhausted. Week. The chains were the only thing keeping her on her shaky feet.

It's okay, baby, you thought, as if she could hear you, fighting back the tears that threatened to spill free. It's gonna be okay. You were here now, and you weren't going to let anything happen to her.

The worst had passed.

Whatever happened from here on, she wouldn't be hurt. You'd walked away from her once; you weren't going to make the same mistake again.

The man beside Rowena, the monster, glared at you, Sam, and Dean with hatred more intense than anything you'd ever seen before. He was older, around Bobby's age, but appeared fit, strong. His right hand cradled a knife, the left one balled into a tight, angry fist.

Useless for you were angrier. And hell hath no fury like a witch on a vengeance mission.

"Hunters," the man said appreciatively, his intense expression softening into one of friendship. "It was only a matter of time before you tracked me down."

Sam and Dean, yeah. But you… "Guess again," you spat, eyes flashing purple. An open threat. A promise that he wasn't going to get away with what he'd done. That you didn't forgive — not when it came to the woman you loved.

He stiffened at your display of power, but quickly regained his composure. Was that disgust on his face? Contempt? "And a witch." He looked at Sam and Dean like a grandfather disappointed in his grandchildren's life choices. "Is that what hunters today are doing? Partnering up with witches?"

"Sometimes we sleep with them," Dean said cheekily, prompting everyone in the cabin (even Rowena, in her weakened state) to glare at him.

"Well," the man mused, "one must have their fun, I suppose. We're all human, after all."

You begged to differ that he belonged in that category.

"That witch is with us," Sam said, gesturing to Rowena. "So let her go."

"Is that so?"

"She's an ally."

The man spat, disgusted. "So you're the friends she threatened me with." Rowena smirked, a wordless I-told-you-so. "Here I was, expecting a Coven."

"Oh, there is a Coven," you said.

Rowena coughed. Gathering the last remnants of her strength, she uttered, "It takes three for a Coven, love."

You grit your teeth. Typical. She'd been tortured for hours, had god knows what done to her, and that was the first thing she decided to say to you?

You cleared your throat. "There's a dyad."

"Scary," the man deadpanned.

"You should be scared."

He really should. You didn't look like much — couldn't do much — but you were a capable witch. You could hurt him. You could kill him, and you wouldn't have to lift a finger. The perks of having a pro as your mentor.

"You witches and your empty threats. And here I thought you were formidable."

You were, when people didn't sneak up on you from behind. Like he surely must have done to Rowena and those witches he'd murdered.

"At least we're not cowards," you retorted because what did it matter, anyway? He was surrounded. A dead man walking.

"You mean, like when you killed my son?" His eyes bore into yours, pierced right through to your soul. "When you spewed out that Latin shit and ordered my wife to cut her own throat? When you ripped my grandson's heart out and used it as an ingredient for a potion?"

The words sent chills down your spine. A horrid story it was. Utterly tragic.

But you hadn't done anything like that; you never had, and never would. And neither had Rowena.

"That wasn't us."

"It was a witch."

"Still not us."

You'd suffered at the hands of humans. Had shed numerous tears. Not once had you wanted to exterminate the entire species.

The man was sick. Deranged. A rabid animal too far gone, that needed to be put down.

"Your kind is evil."

You had to scoff. "Yours is worse."

He ignored your remark. Held his knife up, the blood-coated blade glinting under the fluorescent light. "You are abominations of nature."

"Put down the knife!" Sam barked.

The man just chuckled.

"Put it down!" Dean yelled.

"Here I thought my fellow humans would agree." The hunter's shoulders sagged. Face fell. "Guess not."

"Stay away from her or—"

"Or what?!" he snarled, red in the face. "You can't do anything to me! You've already taken everything!"

He pulled at Rowena's hair, eliciting a yelp from her dry lips. Bared her neck for you to see. Brushed his blade against the soft, bruised flesh.

They said there was nothing more dangerous than a man with nothing to lose.

They were wrong.

"Impetus bestiarum!" you screamed, stopping him in his tracks. He turned to you, red-rimmed eyes dripping blood. Veins popping over his cheeks. "Cut your own throat—" and say hello to your wife, you thought bitterly "—you son of a bitch!"

He stared at you as if in contemplation, though you knew it was a done deal. There was nothing for him to think about. Nothing for him to consider. He was under your command; your servant, your slave. Your fucing belonging. And he was going to do what you told him to.

And he did.

The knife glided across his skin, the sharp blade digging in, burrowing itself deep. Blood gushed, thick and fast as a downpour. The man gurgled. Struggled for breath. The knife slipped from his fingers, landing with a clank that echoed in the silence of the cabin.

He made a step towards you; a single, desperate step before collapsing at Rowena's feet. Motionless. Dead.

A breath you'd been holding finally seeped out. Relief flooded your veins, tension dissipating from your shoulders.

It was over.

The monster had been defeated.

Your girl was safe.

"Remind me not to piss you off," Dean commented.

You responded with a small, proud chuckle.

Rowena's eyes, wounded, broken, met yours. She smiled, flinching as the gesture pulled at her split lip. "That's my girl."

Your heart bloomed with joy. You were at her side in an instant, fingers brushing against hers. A silent promise of safety, of protection. You were here, her tormentor was dead, and she was okay. She was going to be okay.

"I was wrong earlier," you said, pressing your forehead to hers, gently as to not agitate her wounds. Tears you'd been holding back spilled down your face. "You're not a shitty girlfriend. You're the best. You'll always be the best."

No matter how difficult she was. No matter how hard you fought, how loudly you screamed in each other's face. She was one of a kind. Special. Perfect. You wouldn't trade her for the world.

"As will you," Rowena said softly. "I knew you would come for me."

"I don't like people taking what's mine."

"My wee savage."

"I learned from the best."

She pulled at the chains weakly. "Would you be so kind as to undo these? I could use a wee rest."

"Of course."

You would take her home. Take care of her. Love her in actions as well as words.

And everything would be right in the world again.

*****

Tags: @werewolfbarbie​ @oswinthestrange​ @songofthecagedmoose​ @apurdyfulmind​ @getthesalt-sam​ @metallihca​ @salembitchtrials​ @jay-eris​ @hellsmother​ @elizabeth-effie​ @shadowgirl-vsb​ @rowenaswife​ @wonderifshelikesroses​ @xfireandsin​ @liddell-alien​ @hotdiggitydammit​ @lae-lae​ @darkhumorsblog​ @angel7376​ @cherrypierowena​ @evil-regal-vampiress​​ @hellbentredhead​​ @angel-e-v-a​​ @a-queen-and-her-throne​​ @carryon-doctor-lock​​ @fangirlxwritesx67​​ @mintymarshmellows​​ @midnight-lestrange​​ @osterhagen​​ @impala-1979​​ @gracib16​​ @feelsandotps​

[sebastianshaw]

@sammysdewysensitiveeyes So, you asked me not long ago, how I’d feel about Haven as a mutant on Krakoa. As it happens, I’m on an RP Discord where I write her as such, since they allow characters there to be mutants who aren’t mutants in canon, in order to join the RP, since it’s set on Krakoa. I made her a healer, able to heal herself and others. Super on the nose, but it’s what she would want, and it also fulfills *my* desire for her not to be hurt anymore (I mean, she still can be, she’ll just recover) Anyway, in March I wrote this for her in that setting. Featuring Shaw as usual since he’s one of my other muses there and, well, you know I love writing my faves together and their conversations because self-indulgence. No obligation to read, just I remembered I had written it and was like “Oh that’s like what Sammy asked about”

Shaw’s latest job was to spread the Krakoan medicine throughout the country of India. A considerable task; India was made up of no less than 28 states and 8 union territories, with an immense and diverse population. There were the dilapidated slums and rural villages that Westerners most often imagined, but there were also bustling cosmopolitan cities, centers of business and technology and commerce to rival New York, and it was in the biggest of these that Shaw was starting---

Mumbai.

Accompanying him on the recommendation of Charles Xavier was Radha Dastoor---Haven of the healing gardens, whom he had previously met when she had helped with his back. At first Shaw had thought this was a bit racist of Charles, but it turned out not only was Haven from Mumbai specifically herself, she had wonderful connections for the tasks. Her philanthropy had connected her with doctors, hospitals, shelters, and its hidden communities of those suffering afflictions such as the oft-claimed-eradicated leprosy. But, Shaw could have done most of that himself, aside from the hidden colonies. No, where Haven came in most handy was, shockingly, her knowledge of Mumbai’s criminal underworld. Not because she had ever been involved with it, but because she had done so much work getting people out of it---the women and children she had worked to get out of human trafficking rings, the survival sex workers rescued from abusive pimps, the children enticed away from little “found families” of criminals who used them for their dirty work.  . .the list went on. And of course she hadn’t been able to do all that alone, she had been funding an entire network of people to get this done, to keep the rescued parties safe and help them in getting to a new life, to block off or arrest those who tried to take them back or attack the rescuers themselves (Haven had been a target MANY times, but those had been in the days when she’d been kept safe by The Adversary’s powers. . . ) and thus she had an abundance of detectives and double agents on the inside. And because they were on the inside, they could bring in the medicine. . . and bring out the mutants being sold, enslaved, and Heaven wept at what else. Mutants that, for the moment, were staying with them in The Rajmani. Haven’s wealth was originally inherited, but she’d kept it coming---so that she could keep giving it away---through The Rajmani, a luxury heritage hotel on par with the likes of New York’s Ritz or Plaza. In income, anyway. In beauty, it surpassed them both. Well, perhaps that was subjective, but it was built within a restored Mughal Palace, and Shaw had to admit he was impressed with the great domes and slender minarets, the  massive vaulted gateways and delicate ornamentation, the elegant water gardens and charbagh walkways through the carefully cultivated yet lush tropical greenery. Most of all, though, he liked learning the fact that the woman earned at least a little of her own money in some kind of sense, even if by her own admission she only owned it, not managed it. Shaw looked down on those who only inherited wealth, just as they had often looked down on him for earning his. Haven, though, did not seem to look down on him. She didn’t seem to have the proverbial stones to look down on anybody, and she certainly was around people who actually deserved it. She seemed to love being around that type, in fact, went out of her way to benefit them, centered her entire life around it. Some people, Shaw had found, were just mad like that. He suspected that it had something to do with growing up with money, taking it front granted and thus not comprehending its worse. But at least she didn’t dare think she was better than him, so she was that sensible at least. Although it was the last word he’d describe her with. No, if he were to describe Radha “Haven” Dastoor, he’d probably start with insipid, senseless, and downright delusional. But she was also. .  .not an unengaging conversationalist. The reverse, actually. “The Mughals were constantly trying to invade Mumbai,” Haven explained, while Shaw nodded along. He was interested in architecture, and in martial history. “But as much of India as they had conquered, the native Marathis were just as constantly pushing them back. It was touch and go for decades. It surprises me that a Mughal structure remained without being torn down, though it was taken over.” “The native Marathis, you say---are Mughals not native? Or merely from another part of India?” “Well, that’s a complicated question, and the answer is a controversial one, so I till try to explain it as neutrally as I can,” Haven replied, and she indeed sounded neutral. They were standing together on the jharoka, an elaborately carved balcony with a roof, each with a glass of nimbu pani, though Shaw would have preferred a good Scotch. “The Mughal Empire in South Asia was begun by Babur, who came from Central Asia, specifically what is today Uzbekistan. His tribe was of Mongol origin, and the word Mughal is itself derived from “Mongol”. He actually came to South Asia to escape his fellow Uzbeks---it’s a very long story--but instead of being a refugee, he became a conqueror, starting by burning Lahore for two days and killing the last Sultan of the Lodi dynasty in Delhi, and the Lodi dynasty itself was not Indian, but Afghan. India was colonized by the Middle East long before Europe decided to try its hand. But to answer your question. . .they did not begin as Indian, no, but they were a part of our country for two hundred years and left a deep mark in our culture---clothing, food, language, art, and, of course, the buildings. But, the same could also be said of the British, and you would be hard-pressed to find anyone, including myself, who considers the British Raj to have been “Indian” simply because they were there for a long time and forced their ways upon us. At the same time, my mother is a Parsi, a people who originate from Iran, thousands of years ago---Parsi comes from “Persian”. And how can one tell me my mother, who was born and raised here, whose mother’s mothers and father’s fathers were born and raised here, that she was not Indian? And though Babur came from elsewhere, his sons and successors were born and raised here, and often to Indian mothers, and their descendants dwell here still, with no other homeland, so are they not Indian? Because if they were not, then perhaps I am not either, at least by half. Ultimately. . . it depends which Mughals, at what time period, and whom you ask, I suppose.” “And I suppose there’s also a difference between ethnicity and nationality to be considered,” Shaw said, though Haven was now losing his interest with this topic. He’d been more interest in the invasions and warring. “Ethnically, one can be anything, and still nationally be American if you were born there or otherwise have citizenship. But, I suppose you need not contemplate such matters anymore--” He cracked a wry smile as she, with a questioning look, awaited the rest of his sentence. “---after all, we are all Krakoan now, are we not? We’re all mutants, and that’s the only thing that matters.” Haven smiled back, not wryly but sincerely, “Oh, I am now, yes. But I am also still everything I was before. I have been balancing multiple identities my entire life Mr. Shaw, I believe I shall be able to continue to do so. But I must confess--” A moment of hesitation. “--I do not truly think of myself as a mutant yet.” She was not sure what reaction that she had expected to this confession, but it was not what Shaw said next. “I don’t either, Ms. Dastoor.” She looked at him in surprise. “Or rather,” he elaborated, “I do not consider myself a mutant in any sense other than in the way I consider myself to have black hair. It’s a physical fact, but nothing else. It is not a “culture” or “identity” to me, and in truth I find such attitudes to be foolish and even dangerous, not to mention a sign that an individual lacks their own personality and convictions and thus must merely default to group identity politics. Being a mutant tells you nothing about me, Ms. Dastoor, and so if I were to talk about who I am, that’s not something I’d include any more than my eye color.” “That’s an especially interesting perspective from someone on Krakoa’s Council,” said Haven, sounding very curious, “Could I ask you---” But her voice was cut off by the unmistakable sound of gunshots---and from INSIDE the building. “The children!” Haven exclaimed. It was not just her and Shaw that were lodged at The Rajmani tonight; it was where the mutants they had rescued were staying before the journey to the nearest portal tomorrow. And most were, indeed, children. As quickly as she spoke, she was moving back inside from the jharoka, but Shaw grabbed her by the elbow, easily holding her back despite her not being a small or weak woman despite her gentle demeanor. Haven was large, and could carry a grown man. But Shaw didn’t even need to be rough to halt her. “You stay put,” he said sternly, “The guards will handle this.” “Mr. Shaw---” “They are better equipped than you, Ms. Dastoor, you will only interfere--” Shaw and Haven had, of course, not come alone. Shaw had brought several trained mutants on his own payroll---not everyone needed to be one of the X-Men to be capable of handling a few humans and their toys--and they had been tasked with keeping watch over, as Shaw had earlier referred to them as, the latest flock of Krakoa’s little sheep. A statement Haven had also wondered about, though it was far from her mind now. Haven might have been about to argue with him. She might have been about to admit he was right, and she should hang back. But as with her question, she was cut off by a gunshot as she turned her face back to him and started to speak. A gunshot, and bullet through the back of her head. It exited through her right eye, and bounced off Shaw’s face and fell to the floor. She would have as well, had he not caught her as she crumpled. When her healing factor had repaired her enough that she regained consciousness, she was on Krakoa again, as were all the refugees, safe and sound. And so was Shaw. “Well, Ms. Dastoor,” he said, “You’ve been murdered---or rather, nearly so--by perfect strangers for a quirk of your genetics. Nothing can make you more of a mutant than that, wouldn’t you agree?” Haven smiled slightly, “I feel as much a mutant as perhaps a Mughal might feel Indian, Mr. Shaw. Take that as you will.” He took it ambiguously. Which was indeed how she had meant it. == END==

[readerinsertfanfiction]

hey Nemo! gonna drop a request~ okay so can i get an hc from ikesen(suitors of your choice) where the reader/mc is kinda shocked to see the warlord's paintings look so different from their actual(in game) looks? what are the suitor's reaction- what would they say?

This is a super hilarious idea, Tani. 😂😂😂

Fandom: Ikemen Sengoku

Characters: All suitors, with the exception of Sasuke. 

At first you tried to peek. Your eyes covertly glancing over to the warlord in front of you, averting your eyes just as quickly as soon as he shifted. Staring was rude, you knew that, and your reasons for staring would only serve to upset them. You couldn’t help yourself, however. And the more you glanced the more shameless you got, until you just stared at them, your eyes squinting as you started to observe him from every angle.

Nobunaga Oda

“What is it?” he commands from you, his eyes staring you down from his own position. “Do you need a painting?” he grins, giving you a suggestive look before you shook your head.

“Nope, they don’t look like you anyway,” you deadpanned, earning Nobunaga’s interest. “Yeah, unless you recently shaved,” you continued to muse, eyes squinting as you turned your head to the side.

“Do you want me to maintain a moustache?” Nobunaga tries, another suggestive glint catching into his eyes. “Is that what you like?”

To this you shook your head again, your tongue clicking in disappointment.

“No, but it would make your portraits more accurate.”

Hideyoshi Toyotomi

“Uhm, is there something on my face?” Hideyoshi calls for your attention, confusion settling on his face as he blinks at you, eyes following you moving around as you examine him from every angle, a contemplative look on your face.

“Nope, can’t see a monkey in it,” you mused, earning an offended scoff from the male as Hideyoshi straightened his back, ready to speak up as you hummed once more. “Nor a naked mole rat. Geez, the painter must have been in a bad mood, or something,” you continued, a disappointed click of your tongue sounding through the room.

“Care to tell me why I’m being insulted?” Hideyoshi sighed instead, suddenly finding himself exhausted by your behaviour.

Ieyasu Tokugawa

“What do you need,” his tone was sharper than he had intended it to be, but the way you had been staring at him, eyes widening and lips pursing as if something didn’t quite line up was getting on his nerves.

“Your portraits aren’t half as fluffy-looking,” you mused out loud, earning a glare from the blond who clicked his tongue at you.

“Do you want to get on my list?” he warned you sharply, to which you responded by curling into yourself with a pout.

Masamune Date

“Like what you see, lass?” Masamune was amused at your antics, not minding the way you circled around him.

“Much better than your portraits, that is for sure,” you bluntly told the man, not minding the way you had complimented him. This earned a mirthful laugh from the man whose eye followed you, a hand reaching out as he pulled you in closer.

“Do you want to take a closer look?” he suggested, earning a choked sound from you as you struggled not to fall right into his chest.

Mitsunari Ishida

“What are you looking at?” Mitsunari’s question sounded innocently, a gentle smile crossing his lips. Ever the patient man the warlord didn’t seem to mind your staring, even seeming to enjoy it as he joined you into the ogling.

“You have a lot more hair than your portrait suggests,” you suddenly spoke, earning a wide-eyed look from the man as he reached for the top of his head.

“What, really? I don’t think I have lost any hair recently,” he mused to himself, his expression darkening a bit. “Are you sure it was my portrait?” Mitsunari asked, still not quite understanding why he would be drawn with less hair than he actually has.

Mitsuhide Akechi

“Is the little mouse studying my countenance, or are you admiring my profile?” Mitsuhide’s voice tilted into a teasing lilt, earning a flushed expression from you, shame crawling up from your neck as you turned your eyes off him.

“You just look so different,” you mumbled to the man, a pout set on your lips that he couldn’t help but find adorable.

Quirking a brow Mitsuhide’s smile widened, a low rumble escaping his throat. “Different, how so?” he questions, “I can assure you that I’ve had this face my whole life,” he teases, light mockery sounding through his voice.

He knew, alright. After all, it was he who made sure that there was no accurate depiction of his mien recorded.

Ranmaru Mori 

“Why are you staring at me?” Ranmaru’s expression grew sullen, a pout protruding from his lips as he blinked at you. He had seen that look on many faces, it was an expression to which he was no stranger, but it upset him to receive it from you.

“You don’t look like your portraits,” you stated, expression turning contemplative as you nodded to yourself. “Still beautiful, though. Just different,” you casually remarked.

“Are you sure you aren’t looking for the word: handsome?” Ranmaru tried, but you didn’t dare to tell him the truth and thus ignored the question.

Kenshin Uesugi

“What?” Kenshin questioned you, his eyes narrowed at your constantly moving figure.

Pausing for a bit you gave the man a wide-eyed look, hands rising in defense as you shook your head. “Nothing, nothing, I’m just…” you fell quiet, searching for the right words, “you’re prettier in person,” you finally settled with, earning a frown from the man.

“Pretty?” his voice was low as he stepped closer to you, a sharp smile drifting over his features as he cornered you.

“Try handsome.”

Shingen Takeda

“Admiring me?” the male quipped at your staring, a wink following after as he leaned over you. Figure towering over you Shingen felt little shame in lowering you down to the floor, enveloping you with his figure.

“Yes,” you exclaimed, before correcting yourself, “I mean, no,” you shook your head, cursing yourself for letting yourself be so easily distracted by the man.

“It is just…” you tried, looking for the right words before finally letting go of a sigh.

“I’m glad that you shave,” you decided to say instead, earning an owlish blink for a moment before his usual smirk reappeared, his face closing in on you.

Yukimura Sanada

“You’re staring,” Yukimura observed, eyes staring right back at you. “Stop that,” he ordered you, a blush spreading across his face.

To this you only giggled at his embarrassment, skipping over as you sat down in front of him, eyes intently trained upon the young man.

“I can’t help it, you’re so handsome compared to your portraits,” you jested, earning another flush from the male who hid his face from you.

“I don’t know what nonsense you’re say--- wait, what do you mean by my portraits?” the male shot, his eyes pulled into a frown as you continued to smile up at him.

Yoshimoto Imagawa

“Why are you staring?” Yoshimoto smiled down at you gently, not seeming to mind the attention you were suddenly lavishing him in.

Feeling yourself flush you quickly turned your eyes away, remembering how impossible it was to stare at the man in front of you.

“Sorry,” you squeaked, though the man bided you a signal, his smile telling you that he didn’t mind it and that there was nothing to apologise for. Relaxing you felt encouraged to continue.

“It is just that you look a lot fiercer in your portraits,” you explained, earning a look from the male, his gentle smile falling for a second before it returned, though with a vengeance in them.

“And is that a bad thing?” he mused to you, his eyes darkening as he leaned into you.

Kennyo

“Ugiy, is it not?” Kennyo told you, thinking that you were staring at his scar. Many did, he did not blame you. The scar that ran across his face, the reminder of the life he had lost and the path he had chosen.

When you shook your head the monk’s face fell, surprise crossing past his expression as you spoke;

“I didn’t expect you to have so much hair.”

To this Kennyo could only grimace. Another reminder of the life he had left behind, but could not abandon entirely.

Motonari Mouri 

“Spit it out, what do you want?” Motonari aggressively addressed your staring, earning a flinch from you, an offended look thrown into his direction.

“Nothing, just checking,” you threw back at the man, averting your eyes. It didn’t take long for you to return your gaze at him, once more checking the man out.

“Checking what?” the male smirked, his chin thrown up into the air as he caught you once more.

This time you couldn’t deny it, a sigh escaping you as you shrugged.

“Your portraits are gentler. Ten ten, would not recognise you.”

Motonari would be lying if he had any understanding of what you said, though he could relate.