#what's up with you you mysterious yellow bird with eyebrows...... what's your story

[iwillsearchtheuniverse4u]

See You In My Dreams, Stranger

Sik-k smut | khh smut

Warnings: SMUT! ORAL! (f and m receiving) PUBLIC? (not really tho)

Preview: Meeting a stranger on my night walk down the river turns out to be one of the best nights of my life.

It was one of those restless nights that I’ve been dreading ever since I started attending university. I couldn’t sleep, the thought of not knowing where my life is headed keeping me awake every single night. I couldn’t concentrate, I couldn’t brush my teeth or remember to drink water, I just felt like existence was so utterly useless when all my dreams have been swept under a rug somewhere because I was too afraid to act upon them. I’d been dreaming of becoming a translator but all the odds of the world were against me so I chose some apparently more ‘useful’ business degree that I hated with all that I had in me. Because of my perfectionism I had been attending all of my online classes and excelling at them but I felt empty, I felt like I had been contributing to everything I hated the most in this society. At the same time I was just too afraid to change my major because I felt like I had to do something impressive to the outside world, something that would make people respect me.

Just another night of endless tossing and turning, tears streaming down my face, wondering if life does ever get better than this. I couldn’t take it anymore. I got up, took a few steps towards the light switch in the corner of my one room apartment and pressed it. The cheap yellow light bulb lit up the room. The floor next to my mattress was covered in books I was trying to study from and my notes covered in smudged ink. I had a bad habit of crying while studying, sleeping, listening to music and showering, every activity that demanded me to be alone in my little space that had never really felt like home at all. Not much else was in that room apart from a small refrigerator, a microwave oven, my mattress, a closet and a wooden bookshelf. I also had a tiny bathroom that always smelled a bit moldy if I forgot to spray the air freshener three times a day.

I decided to go for a walk along the river as it became clear I wasn’t getting a second of sleep in that night. I hastily put on my black leggings and a hoodie with my high school’s logo on it. I desperately needed to get away from my own thoughts so I grabbed my phone and my earphones that were tied into little knots as always. I couldn’t afford the wireless ones because my scholarship was kept safe in my bank account where I was saving every last cent just in case I decided to drop out and go move to...run away to a foreign country where my name sounds like a whisper of the distant wind. As I was locking my door I heard one of the neighbors flush their toilets. Most of them were students like me or people living on part-time jobs, I never really met any of them, they were just familiar faces I would probably forget in a year after moving out.

The streets were quiet, only the sounds of air conditioners and an occasional motorbike or a car passing by me. I checked my phone to see the time, the picture of my favourite singer’s face lighting up my screen: 3.30am. Of course other parts of the city were probably very much alive at this time of the night but my area was populated only by grocery stores, cafes and libraries, not a single club in sight. The only lights I could see where streetlights and some LED signs. I headed towards the river trying to untie my headphones. I put them in my ears and decided to lose myself in the beats of one of those hyped-up rap songs. I put the volume up just so it was a bit uncomfortable and let my ears adjust to the blasting music.

I finally reached the riverside and started walking along the flow of the water. I couldn’t hear it but it still resonated with my mind better than the rustling sound of the city. There was a road along the river that ended somewhere within the green forest because the are was populated with some important bird species that I could never remember the name of. I sat on the bench at the beginning of that forest, my mind still dissolved in the loud beats coming out of my earphones. Even though my ears were covered with a thick layer of my long brown hair I was sure the music could be heard by anyone standing within a 1 meter ratio. I didn't mind, it was 4 am, people were either asleep or sloppily making out in a club somewhere far away. Thinking about the things I was missing out on started to become louder than the music and I let my tears fall. I was overworked, overwhelmed and empty, I couldn't keep it in. Not that I ever tried. I had never been good at hiding my emotions.

Looking at the night view of the city on the other side reflecting on the surface of the river, getting lost in my thoughts, I felt the bench move ever so slightly under my body. I looked to the side and almost fainted at the sight of a dark shadow sitting beside me. My heart started beating and I stood up to leave in case it was a stranger trying to talk to me in the middle of the night. As I took my first step away from the bench the person lightly touched the fabric of my sleeve. I looked back at him. I was certain it was a man judging by his broad shoulders and a black cap on his head. I removed my headphones, my heart still beating as if I had been running for the last 3 hours. "Excuse me. I wasn't trying to bother you or anything. I just like to look at the city at night when my head gets all crowded and I can't think straight. Don't go just because of me." His voice was deep and raspy but had an elegant tone to it, it felt  calm but distant as if he had been lost in thought. He was looking at me and the lights of the city were playfully jumping around in his eyes but his expression was the complete opposite. He seemed broken. I couldn’t let myself leave him, partly because he seemed significantly depressed and partly because he was astonishingly beautiful. My feet were unable to move, I stood there for a moment contemplating my options but my gut feeling sat me down next to him.

As we were sitting, each on one side of the bench, looking at the sparkly surface of the river my heart calmed down and minutes passed, none of us speaking, just the sound of the river mixed with my music flowing through the night air. "You were crying." He stated with a regretful tone, almost whispering. My cheeks flushed with warmth, I looked at his profile, him still staring at the waves. "I just thought I was alo-" "Don't. Feelings aren't something to be ashamed of. They're just as much a part of you as your legs and arms are. If people feel burdened it's usually their problem because they've never been faced by their own emotions. They just don't know how to act and feel uncomfortable." He talked slowly and didn't bother looking at me. It felt like his words were directed at the universe or at himself just at the general direction he was speaking, he looked so lost. I didn't notice I was staring until he looked at my eyes and smiled. It was one of those crooked smiles, filled with a certain type of worry I couldn't identify. "You can tell me why you were crying. I probably won't remember tomorrow anyway. I can lend you my ears for tonight, maybe I'll forget all about my own problems." His gaze moved back to the view as he sat back and crossed his arms on his chest. At that moment I felt like telling him every little thing about my life. It had been so long since I had anyone who would just listen without the constant urge to solve my problems but just LISTEN. I stopped myself. "I won't let you get off the hook that easy. I have a feeling that you're the one not facing your own problems. Why don't you lean on someone for a change?" I said, determined to make him speak. He looked at me from the side and his head slowly followed his gaze, his eyebrows furrowing just so much I could notice. The anticipation of hearing his raspy voice that felt so familiar and kind made me turn off my music. This man that sat next to me just a moment ago suddenly awakened my curiosity. It took a while for him to speak as we were maintaining a really intense eye contact for what felt as hours. I was able to inspect every milimeter of his dark cat-like eyes. "You're good at reading people, I'll give you that." He smiled and turned back to face the view. "I'm just under a lot of pressure. People expect a lot from me, that's all...and sometimes it can get really frustrating when I can't really reach those expectations. Sometimes it feels like there are so many people doing my thing better than me, it scares me." He put his hands in the pockets of his black sweater still staring at something in the distance. I wasn't sure what to say but he also didn't expect me to say anything. He needed someone to listen and I was there to supply. I asked: "And what would your 'thing' be exactly?" in an effort to get to know more about this mysterious creature in front of me. "Music. I make music for a living." His eyes now focused on his shoes while he bit his lips in an effort not to smile. I finally realized why his voice sounded so familiar, it was freaking Kwon Minsik, Sik-k, Korea's best rapper, sitting next to me staring at the Han river. My hand automatically covered my mouth as I inhaled. I was trying to calm myself down. He probably heard my playlist which was full of his songs and it made me feel so embarrassed, my cheeks flushing with heat again. He tried really hard to hide his cocky smile as he turned his face away from me, looking into the woods on the other side. After a few minutes he asked: "So now are you going to tell me why you were crying?" He was facing me, looking at my eyes attentively like a little boy waiting for instructions from his teacher. I was still to shy to maintain eye contact so I looked at my hands on my lap. I told him my story about how lost and useless I felt in life. I told him about feeling lonely and scared about my future. I told him everything.

Before I knew it tears started to emerge from my eyes again and I tried really hard not to look at Minsik who was still facing me, one of his arms resting on the back of the bench. I cracked. I cracked in front of a man I respected the most. It was embarrassing but also liberating, I was done trying to impress the world. I dropped my head, defeated. Next thing I felt was his warm hand on my cheek, gently wiping the trail of my tears. I froze for a bit, my eyes widening at the sudden proximity of his body. I didn't even notice him getting closer before he put his hand on my face. He was sitting right next to me, the sides of our thighs touching ever so slightly. I could hear my heart rate getting faster and louder. As much as I wanted to, I couldn’t control it. I looked at him and he removed his hand, still looking at me with his furrowed eyebrows, a concerned expression drawing on his face. "I'm sorry. You probably think I'm just being childish, crying at something as trivial as my major." I said with a shaky voice. "Don't ever say sorry for your feelings ever again, you hear me? And besides, I don't think it's stupid, I think it's just very important to you. You want to set goals for yourself but you're too afraid that you're not going to reach them so you just let them go. I would obviously tell you to go for what feels right and figure it out but that won't make you feel secure and I bet a lot of other people in your life told you this before." He replied with his deep raspy voice that I loved so much. He was so close. I could feel every breath on the surface of my cheek, his left arm was lying behind me on the back of the bench, it was almost like a hug. I couldn’t think straight anymore, my thoughts were intertwined with the smell of his cologne and the heat of his body so close to mine. He didn't feel like a stranger, he felt like someone who'd known me for years. I buried my face into my hands so I wouldn't make any thoughtless mistakes. Suddenly, he moved away from me, I couldn’t feel the proximity of his body anymore, the cold night air embracing my whole being. I peeked up from my palms. He was still looking at me with concern in his eyes, saying: "Sorry, I probably got too close for comfort, I'm not used to this kind of emotional thing, you know?" I felt a desperate need for physical touch, maybe it was the cold air, the anxiety or his perfect stature or maybe it was a mix of both but I straightened my back and looked directly into his eyes. It was so unlike me to be this bold but my body automatically moved closer to his.

He didn't move even when my face was only ten centimeters away from his. His expression changed, his forehead relaxing, his eyelids closing halfway when I suddenly felt his hand on my thigh. He grabbed onto it like he was holding on for his dear life and it made me want him more. I stopped, looking down at his lips when he pulled himself closer. His smooth lips crashing into mine made me lean back but he was only getting closer until he pinned me to the wooden bench beneath us. It was a passionate kiss, his hands didn't limit themselves to my thighs but discovered the hot surface of my skin under my hoodie. I felt a certain kind of euphoria, the kind you only get to experience when you do something completely out of character for you but turns out to be the best thing you could have possibly done.

As our kiss was getting more heated and his hands were groping my breasts for a couple of minutes the heat between my legs was getting unbearable. I could feel one of his hands roam down to my thigh and up to my ass where he got the grip to grind against me. Our lips and tounges still inseparable, I played along and grinded my heat against his growing buldge until I heard his raspy growls which sent shivers down my spine. As our tempo aligned we started breathing heavily and his lips left mine but relocated to my neck, definitely leaving more than just the incredibly pleasing pain. There was only a couple of pieces of clothing seperating us but the longing was excruciating. I started tugging on the collar of his black hoodie, trying to stop him as his lips attacked my collarbone. "Stop...I can'...I can't take it." I said with a soft voice in between my moans. His hips stopped moving immediately and he pushed himself above me so we were looking face to face, his body still on top of me. The loss of friction left me feeling needy. "Are you okay? I didn't mean to be this fast, I just thought-" I got up and laid a small kiss on his lips mid-sentence. "Come to my place." I whispered in his ear. I hadn't gotten to know this part of me before but that night felt different. Maybe it was the stream of emotions I had just shared with this stranger on top of me or the tone of his voice or the feeling of the cold night breeze but I didn't want to spend this morning alone.

When we finally arrived at my door he was standing so close to me I almost held my breath trying to get myself to collect my thoughts. I swear I could hear his heartbeat like it was my own, his lips suddenly tracing the curve of my neck as I was trying to insert the right passcode. I couldn’t even focus in my own hands as his were holding me around the waist so it took me a few moments to find the right digits. When the holy sound of the door lock unlocking echoed in the hallway he already pressed the knob in a hurry and pushed me inside. Because my one room apartment was so small it only took our intertwined bodies a solid 30 seconds to hit the mattress. He was planting sloppy kisses down my collar bone as I was tugging at his hoodie, trying to set him free of it. He stopped for a moment only to get up and remove it. The moonlight from outside my small window caressing his elegant body, lighting him up from the back like he was some beastly creature of the night taking advantage of my sadness. I couldn’t move, he was sitting on top of me, his face was covered in darkness but I knew he was watching me. "Do you have any idea how freaking beautiful you look in this light?" His raspy whisper made me quiver. I smiled and looked away while my body was hungry for his touch. I wasn't ready to show it.

He slowly got up with his hands trailing the shape of my thighs until he was holding me behind the knees, still looking at me. I felt his hands pull my leggings of as if it was the easiest thing in the whole entire world. He then proceeded to playfully pull at my panties, rubbed my knot and lowered his face to blow at my growing heat, my legs almost immediately trying to close at the sudden pleasure. He held them open while licking my folds twice, trying to see my reaction. I couldn’t hold in my moans and my spine curved in-synch with my breathing. It was something I haven't felt in forever, not like this, not this strong. I grabbed onto his hair and he seemed to read the ques as he got rid of the piece of fabric. His tounge was doing circles around my clit making me see fireworks and probably tugging at his hair with both hands so much that his scalp was in pain. He got me shaking in a matter of minutes and it was the best high I've ever experienced, sending all kinds of shivers down my skin, leaving me panting. He was far from done though.

"You taste so good, baby girl," he said unknowing of the affect it had on me. I got up to unzip his pants (which he more than willingly helped me with). I traced my fingers down his perfect abs to the hem of his boxers and lower, tracing his hard member while inspecting his face. As soon as I grabbed it through the fabric with my whole hand his eyelids shut closed and his head fell back in pleasure. I pulled him to the mattress and got on top of him trying to grind at his boxers, making them soaking wet. Then I got up to remove the rest of his clothing. I proceeded to trace my tounge along his shaft and sucking on his member, enjoying his growls. His hands were grabbing the sheets and the veins on his forearms and neck were starting to protrude. Every now and then a soft "fuck~" escaped his mouth, motivating me to keep going. Then he suddenly stopped me, saying: "I need to come inside of you, grab my wallet." Instead, I got up to open one of my drawers where I was saving a pack of condoms, praying they would fit him. I handed one to him and he was so quick about it, it got me thinking just how many girls he gets to play around with like this every night. The thought escaped my mind when he stood up to hold me around the waist, slowly pulling me back to bed with him. He undressed me, pulling my hoodie over my head only to discover I wasn't wearing a bra underneath. His dark eyes glowed with passion as he greabbed one of my nipples, tugging at it while kissing me sloppily. He threw me on the mattress and got on top of me. My body was heated up completely, I couldn’t even feel the night breeze coming from the opened window. He licked my sensitive nipples a few more times before aligning himself with my entrance and pushing inside of me. The fireworks from before were nothing compared to the utter pleasure I felt at that exact moment, Sik-k filling me up perfectly. My head fell back in moans and my back curved up again. I could have sworn I saw stars playing in the darkness of my eyelids. All I heard him say was: "Fuck..." He took his time waiting for me to adjust and started to quicken his pace while adjusting the angle. One of his hands was stroking my stomach and the other was holding onto my ass. I tried to mimic his movements, increasing the fraction of our bodies. The moans escaping our mouths felt so unholy they made it even more passionate. "I'm going to- I'm close!" I squealed throught the moans which made him go even harder and faster. My whole body tensed up and I grabbed onto the bedsheets pulling them off. His dick was starting to twitch inside of me, hitting all the right spots and I knew he was trying his best to make me come first which was a rare experience. I opened my eyes seeing him focused on me with his furrowed eyebrows, sweat dripping down the side of his jawline. My body was caught up in a wave of shivers, the walls of my pussy tightening so much it got him shaking as well. We were both just trying to ride out our highs with the last strenght we had. It was sweaty and suffocating but liberating at the same time, all of our thoughts disappearing for these unthinkable moments of pleasure. His hot body collapsed on top of me, both of us trying to catch our breaths again. "This was amazing." I told him in between breaths. He rolled over me to remove the condom and, to my surprise, came right back to lie beside me, his arms hugging me from behind. He kissed my neck and whispered in my ear: "See you in my dreams, stranger."

[thrillridesz]

black magic ▫ sangyeon

➳ pairing: best friend!sangyeon x fem!reader ➳ genre: fluff, magic!au ➳ warnings/rating: PG ➳ word count: 2.7k ➳ requested?: no

a/n: this is written as a birthday special for tbz’s best leader sangyeon! happy sangyeon day everyone ^^ this story is also inspired by little mix’s ‘black magic’. This is unedited as of now and I finished this real quick so I’m sorry if it isn’t up to standard!

“Thanks for the surprise, I really appreciated it.”

The night was young as the luminous moon hung high in the dark sky, casting a soft, white glow on the earth below. A cool, night breeze whipped gently against your cheeks while you strolled the quiet streets with Sangyeon, a tranquil silence in the air safe for the soft scraping sounds of the fallen autumn leaves against the gravel ground as it got caught in the wind. Wrapped up tightly in your coat, you felt a sense of warmth spread across your chest, a warmth more cosy than anything else.

“It’s no problem! It’s your birthday, it had to be perfect.” You replied, shooting him a bright smile as you stuffed your hands into your coat pockets.

Sangyeon grinned, his eyes crinkling into crescents.

“It was, don’t worry. Not gonna lie though, I didn’t think it was Eric in that bear costume even for a second. You guys really scared me right there.”

Your laugh rang through the night as his smile grew wider.

“Well, it was a pretty impromptu idea! It was literally on sale for like 10 bucks, we just had to get it,” you threw your hands up in defense as Sangyeon chuckled softly, his breath coming out in white puffs from the cold.

“Always on the hunt for good deals, y/n. Always.”

“Of course! Though since you’re my best friend, I’m usually willing to pay just a little bit more.” You replied thoughtfully, tapping your chin as if deep in thought.

The two of you have been friends ever since you could walk. For the longest time, it was just the two of you against the rest of the world. When you got bullied by the other kids in the courtyard in second grade, it had been Sangyeon who stuck by you and defended you from them even if it meant he was to take some of the punches in your place. Likewise when Sangyeon had been dangerously close to repeating a year in eleventh grade, you had persisted in staying by his side to make sure he studied and understood everything the teachers’ had to teach. All through middle school and high school, the both of you have been thick as thieves. Whatever you did, he did as well and whatever he did, you did too. Things like spending Halloween and coordinating outfits, going to school and studying for exams… The two of you were each others’ constants and if anyone was to ever look up the term ‘best friends’ in the dictionary, they would no doubt find both your names in there.

What sort of ‘best friend’ would you be not to at least fork out a few extra dollars for the sake of an amazing birthday for the one and only Lee Sangyeon?

You didn’t notice the slight frown that crossed Sangyeon’s face which he quickly replaced with a soft smile but the look in his eyes were hardened and detached.

“Right.”

“Wait, what’s that?”

You stopped dead in your track, squinting as you pointed into a distance. Before Sangyeon could reply, you grabbed onto his hand, pulling him behind you while you made your way over. The colour in his cheeks darkened as he scratched at the back of his neck awkwardly, peering at you shyly. You were too engrossed in staring at the display in front of you to notice him, your nose practically touching the glass panel.

“Black Occult?” You mumbled under your breath, your eyebrows furrowing together.

“What’s going on?”

You turned to Sangyeon, a look of confusion etched in your face.

“You don’t find this weird?”

“What about it?”

“This was never here.”

At that, Sangyeon narrowed his eyes as he surveyed the store’s exterior. Wrinkling his nose, you saw the belated realisation dawn upon him.

“Oh, right. Didn’t this used to be an arcade?”

You rolled your eyes.

“You’re so dense sometimes, it’s unbelievable.”

“Can I help you guys?”

The two of you whipped around to see a certain pink haired boy standing with his arms akimbo at the entrance, staring at the both of you. His eyes were blue, almost unnaturally so, and he was clad in just about the most colourful suit you’ve ever seen anyone don on.  It felt like an assault to your sights, with all the neon colours yet somehow there was such a mysterious aura to him. In a way, it felt like there was an almost mystical vibe that you got from him that made you inclined to think that he wasn’t in any way human.

“W-We… Oh, we’re sorry. We didn’t know you were open.” Sangyeon replied and you could hear a slight tremble in his voice. He definitely felt the same.

“Are you guys looking to purchase anything?” The scowl on the boy’s face disappeared as his eyes widened.

“Um…”

“Excellent! Please, come on in. I was wondering why you guys were standing outside acting all weird but I didn’t realise you guys wanted to come in. It’s this goddamn black glass, isn’t it? I’ve told Haknyeon so many times we should change it. Makes it so hard to look in, I swear.” He rambled on, holding the door open with a wide grin on his face.

“Come on in! Feel free to look around. If you need anything, I’ll be here. Just call my name, Chanhee.”

You and Sangyeon exchanged a look as if hesitating to enter but one look at Chanhee’s enthusiastic expression prompted you to see foot into the store. Seeing that you were going in, Sangyeon shrugged as he followed suit.

The moment you entered the store, the overwhelming scent of lilies and peaches hit you with a pang while the dim lighting made it difficult to navigate even within the store. Yet once your eyes adjusted to the dimness in the room, you couldn’t help but marvel at the oddities that surrounded you.

On the wooden shelves attached to the wall, were rows and rows of oddly coloured liquid, too bright or too unnaturally coloured to have come from a source of nature. Several sprigs of unknown herbs hung on the walls, tied into bundles by string while on another side, candles of all shapes, sizes and scents lined the table. Well-polished crystals were arranged meticulously on an old mahogany coffee table near the counter and a particularly interesting looking bird flitted around in a wrought Victorian-style iron birdcage. It was small with a white beak and purple and yellow feathers with its wings flapping so fast, you could barely see it moving. You have never seen a bird like that before and although you started towards it, something else caught your eye entirely.

Picking up a small bottle, you inspected the glowing golden liquid in it, Tilting it in your hand, the viscosity of the mixture and the velvety look it had was almost mesmerising to stare at. As you turned it over, you leaned in to read the faded label on it.

“Love potion.” You said aloud, causing Sangyeon who had been looking at a bunch of tarot cards to look up at you.

“Ah, yes! One of our bestsellers that is!” Chanhee exclaimed, his eyes shining with joy and excitement. “Guaranteed to work! It’s only 15 dollars.”

“Why would you need anything like that?” Sangyeon scoffed, folding his arms across his chest as his biceps bulged ever so slightly.

“You never know… I just thought it looked pretty.”

Somehow, you couldn’t stop staring at it. It was as if it was whispering your name to ‘just buy it’. Then again, it could really just be the impulsive shopper in you but there was something so alluring and magnetic about it that you just felt like you had to have it in your possession. It was like letting a child go lose in a candy shop and finally seeing that one lollipop with the most beautiful swirls and crazy colours that just screamed flavour. You didn’t exactly care even if it wasn’t an actual potion, it just looked so aesthetic that you had to buy it.

“I’ll have it!”

Sangyeon looked at you as if you had just sprouted horns on your head as you handed over a dollar bill over to Chanhee who accepted it readily.

“Surely, you don’t actually believe that it’s a love potion.” He blurted out much to the disgruntlement of Chanhee who shot a deathly glare at him.

“It is! It’s been tried and tested. It works, okay?” He said with an air of haughtiness which Sangyeon grumbled at and instantly, Chanhee knew. He should have known earlier in all honesty, from the way he had seen the man stare at you. A slow smile began to spread across his face.

Interesting.

As Chanhee watched the two of you leave the store with Sangyeon still rambling on about how you ‘just wasted 15 bucks for nothing’, he leaned into his chair contentedly. With a snap of his fingers, a cosy glass of grape wine materialised in his hands and with a sip, he sighed.

“Darling didn’t even need a love potion.”

“I can’t believe you actually bought it.” Sangyeon said, his voice still carrying a tone of disbelief.

“Look at it though, isn’t it pretty? I mean even if it isn’t actually a love potion, it’s nice to look at.” You said, still looking at the glowing liquid in the tiny bottle. Slotting in the key and entering the shared apartment the two of you shared with Younghoon, a childhood friend to the both of you and Hyunjae, a mutual friend from university. Since Younghoon was away in Spain with his girlfriend, Bea, it was really only Hyunjae in the house who you found clad in a dinosaur onesie as he lounged in front of the television with a big bowl of buttered popcorn in his lap.

“Oh, you guys are back. I was wondering where you guys went after the party.”

“We were… A little caught up.” Sangyeon said slowly, casting you a knowing glance which you avoided.

“Figures. You guys left earlier than I did.”

“Because you were busy fraternising with anyone you can possibly bring home, which I can see you’ve failed.” You joked and Hyunjae tossed a pillow at you, with a scowl on his face.

“Ugh, get out of my way.”

You laughed out loud as you set the bottle on the kitchen tabletop, causing him to turn to look. When he did, his eyes widened almost comically large as he leapt to his feet.

“What’s that?” He shuffled over quickly with a look of awe.

“Some stupid love potion thing,” Sangyeon replied curtly before you could even open your mouth to say anything. You turned to him with a frown at which he merely shrugged off carelessly as he preoccupied himself in rummaging through the refrigerator for a late night snack.

Taking the bottle from you, Hyunjae held it up against the light, his dark eyes shining with overflowing curiosity and doubt. The light reflected off the smooth,clear glass, making the gold liquid inside it look even more luminous and even wispy with the liquid swirling almost in slow motion no matter how you look at it. You have never seen anything like it and judging from Hyunjae’s expression, neither has he.

“Looks interesting.” He declared after a moment of inspection as Sangyeon turned to him in disbelief.

“Not you too. That guy definitely ripped y/n off. Seriously, y/n.” He tsked, sauntering over and snatching the bottle from Hyunjae.

“Doesn’t seem like anything special. A love potion? In this day and age? I don’t buy it for a second.” There was disdain in his eyes as he pursed his lips in disgust. Popping open the bottle, a sweet scent of tangerines and pineapples rapidly permeated the small apartment and maybe it was just you but you thought you felt your heart flutter just a little. A smile made its way onto your lips quite unconsciously and a tiny jolt of electricity shook you in the most delightful way possible.

Could it be…?

You lifted your gaze to see Sangyeon stare at the bottle in his hand with a startled look on his face, his mouth slightly ajar and you knew that he had felt the exact same thing. Though that look of surprise disappeared just as quickly as it came and his expression hardened.

“That’s a lot of artificial flavouring for one bottle.” He clenched his jaw as his grip on the glass bottle tightened and you could see the veins protruding ever so slightly from his forearm.

You narrowed your eyes.

“If you’re just going to whine, then give it back to me. Just don’t look at it.”

As you leaned forward, Sangyeon took a step back.

“Why? Are you going to try giving that to someone?”

Raising an eyebrow, you regarded him with suspicion.

“Sure, why not? There’s a really cute guy in my statistics class, even if it doesn’t work - which I’m pretty sure it doesn’t so don’t worry - it’s still worth a shot.”

You barely noticed the flash of disappointment in Sangyeon’s eyes and how his shoulders sagged ever so slightly as you ripped it from his hands. Yet before you could cap it back, he grabbed it back so hastily that you didn’t even have time to react. Throwing his head back, you and Hyunjae could only watch in shocked silence as you gulped down almost half the bottle.

Wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his shirt, he shot Hyunjae a piercing glare as the latter let out a wolf whistle, his eyes filled with mirth and genuine adoration.

“Damn. That was... Ironic.”

You didn't say anything except stare at Sangyeon and a moment passed without anything out of the ordinary happening. There was no burst of sparkles or anything growing out from anyone’s body, nothing crazy at all. 

Huh. So maybe it was actually a hoax.

“That should be enough proof,” he said in an ‘I told you so’ tone which you rolled your eyes at. “That's some nice potion though or whatever you wanna call it.”

“Really? Let me have a taste.” 

Reaching over, Hyunjae took a sip and hummed merrily. 

“Oh dang, this is amazing. It’s like an orange smoothie except a million times better.”

Lifting his head, he turned to look at you and what you saw made you almost stumble back in shock. The colour of his eyes held a faint flash of pink before they returned to normal but when they did, they no longer held the playfulness and casual air that Hyunjae always wore but rather, they were filled with such intense passion and affection. It was like looking into the eyes of someone who was extremely, completely, slap me silly and deeply...

In love.

“Have I ever told you how pretty you look? I know I’ve never said this but... I think I love you,” Hyunjae said in a low, soft voice as he reached out to hold your hands in his.

“I...I...” You spluttered at a complete loss of words, wringing your hands frantically. 

At that, Sangyeon swivelled around to stare at the two of you. 

He could only watch as Hyunjae lifted his hand to gently brush your hair away from your face as his other hand reached up to cup your face. 

“How could I not have notice- Hey!”

Grabbing him by the collar from behind, Hyunjae practically flew back as Sangyeon pulled him away with a disapproving frown on his face. There was a deep frown etched onto his face, his eyes crinkling as he looked at the latter with an almost irritated expression. Though somehow, you could detect a faint hint of fear in his demeanour. In a way, the uneven and volatile energy radiated so strongly off him that it was hard not to see it in any other way.

Was Sangyeon perhaps jealous?

No. It couldn’t be, he was your best friend. Furthermore, how did the potion work on Hyunjae but not Sangyeon? Unless...

You let out a soft gasp as the realisation dawns upon you. It seemed as if Sangyeon may have come to the same realisation almost as soon as you did because he turned to you with such an expression of sheer panic, the sound of his heart pounding so loudly you could hear it. 

The potion didn’t work because he was already in love with you.

[calpops]

red ruins | c.h.

Under every full moon Calum would get lost. Pain would set in and the world would fade. He would change, shift, and phase with the moon. He became something less than human and something more than any ordinary animal. He was content to wander from place to place in an attempt to escape himself and the ruins he thought he left behind. All until he met her and felt the influence of her words and the gravity in her eyes keeping him grounded in himself—even when all of his instincts tried to make him lose himself to the night. 

6.6k words

Copyright © 2020 calpops. All rights reserved. This original work is not allowed to be reposted on any platform in any format (translations included). 

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Fog floated through the town, crept along cobblestone streets from the depths of the forest surrounding small homes. The sky was deep purple, tinted with red as the sun dipped below the horizon. The village was quiet save for the cry of circling birds overhead and the rustle of leaves falling from the trees. The moon was nearly full by the time it made its appearance, the last of purple and red tinged light fading. Wind picked up and started blowing through trees, howling around the town and rattling closed shutters. Fire crackled, red and orange casted haunting shadows against the dark of the cottage lonely on a hill. Calum looked over to the corner where a bed claimed the north wall of the one room holding. She was buried beneath the sheets, hair splayed across the pillow and a smile taunting and teasing and begging him to join her.

They had met under a moonless sky. The dark was foreboding but his touch was light and his voice was easy. He told her his name was Calum but she couldn’t be sure of that; he was a wanderer, a traveler moving from place to place with secrets following him. She couldn’t fault him, she had not offered her true name to him; instead she told him to call her Honey so as to keep secrets sweet. She invited him to her home and into her bed and he stayed as the moon phased from nothing to glowing. She saw the scar on his back when his shirt came off, four jagged lines running parallel to each other. He regaled her with a tale about a boy traveling with a caravan, left to sleep under silver stars—he spoke of howls in the night and eyes that followed through the foggy tree line. She shivered when his hands cupped her jaw and his breath hit her neck, lips following soon after. He never usually stayed so long but she was enchanting, something in her eyes bringing him in and keeping him there.

She sat up when he stayed still, the sheet pooled around her waist. She gathered it around her and made her way over to him. He stood by the window where the wooden shutters stayed closed, just a sliver of moonlight shining through the crooked cracks. He felt her behind him, heard the faint thump of her heart and the small, even breaths that escaped her.

“Will you stay the night?” Her question was simply asked and her tone held nothing but wonder.

Calum turned, as tempted as he was to open the shutters and feel the bite of wind and see the glare of the moon he suppressed the urge, and took her in his arms instead.

“Only one more,” he said and ran a thumb over her bottom lip when she pouted. She shivered though it was not from the cold nipping through the thin blanket shrouding her. “Then I will be gone.”

“You could stay,” she said, longing lingering in her voice but words of want staying trapped within her. “You don’t have to go.”

“I do,” he responded without hesitation, thumb running from her lip to her cheek and jaw and down her neck where his hand settled on her shoulder. His other hand claimed the curve of her waist. “And you know why.”

She shook her head, hair falling in her face and a sarcastic laugh pouring from petaled lips. “That’s just a fool’s tale. Trying to scare me for a laugh, that’s all,” she said. The blanket dipped and her hand came up to catch it as Calum caught view of the marks his own lips left on her exposed skin.

“I told you my truth,” Calum whispered, even though he knew the truth he offered was just a sliver, and some was told as a story. “In so many words.”

“When the moon is at its brightest and glows yellow so will my eyes. The scar on my back glints silver and that’s what can kill me. When I leave it won’t be on two legs.”

He had whispered those words to her the second night after they met. Usually he was gone before the sun could rise but she kept him entangled in the sheets, enchanted by her eyes and voice and the songs she sang of lust and pleasure. He found refuge in the one room cottage warmed by a continuous fire. He sought solace in her arms and bliss in the way they moved together. He couldn’t bring himself to leave after the first night, not when he had never known a calm and storm so bright and unwavering before. He stayed a second night and felt a tug of guilt in his chest when her eyes held hope. He told her the words that had been emblazoned in his mind for years. They ran along the lines of the scar on his back, told the story of the wound and the war that lived inside of him.

“So many words and none that I believed,” she said with another shake of her head. Her free hand trailed up his chest, her index finger light and ticklish against his skin. She followed the curves of his collarbones and circled around marks she made with her lips and teeth during their nights together. “Just stay. For me.”

“It’s for you that I leave,” Calum promised, knowing the truth in his words and reasons. The shutters knocked against the cottage, pounding out an erratic rhythm that echoed around them and the silence they fell into. She didn’t believe his words and even if she did Calum feared she wouldn’t understand.

“Then go now,” she said and took a small step back, the sheet around her swaying at her feet and dragging on the wooden floor. “Why waste another night?”

“If that’s what you want,” he heard himself say, voice resigned and wandering to wherever he would end up next. He made for the door but he heard the small intake of breath and the creak in the floor as her weight lurched forward.

“No,” she said, the word sudden and loud. “You don’t have to go,” she repeated her earlier words verbatim and while the meaning was the same there was an added layer and desperation to the plea. “Not until tomorrow,” she added on, finally relenting to his words and plan. “Stay one more night. Tell me that story again? Maybe this time I’ll believe it.”

Calum stopped before his hand could even reach for the door. He turned back to her, felt a pull in his chest and a drag in his feet as he moved back to her. They found their ways to the straw stuffed bed and sat back down, her pull on him bringing his back to the sheets and back into her. A strike of lightning lit up through the shutters and a rumble of thunder quickly followed, making work to shake the cottage and Calum’s resolve. Rain joined, the sound of it pelting against roofs and the earth ricocheting around them. He had told her the tale twice before. The first time to warn her, the second to remind her when she laughed at stories of the village she perceived as myths.

He would tell her one more time in the hopes that it wouldn’t be just a story or a notion to scare her. He wanted her to understand it was his past and it tied heavily into his present. It was the reason he must leave. She was quiet beside him, affording him time with his thoughts. Her silence was strong and effective. She was able to sway him without words or thought or trying. Calum swallowed past a lump in his throat and turned to face her, tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and focused on the pattern in her irises. Her eyes were hypnotizing, a force she didn’t know she had. Calum’s skin prickled and he looked away, up to the roof that leaked under heavy rain. If he were able to stay longer he would have fixed that for her.

“I was only a boy,” Calum began, his words a stark contrast to the way he had told the story before. The two times previous it was a boy, any boy, this time, it was him and it was honest. “I had just turned ten and was traveling with a caravan of people searching for refuge amid the war. My parents and sister were missing—presumed dead—and I had nowhere to go and nowhere to stay but the torched remnants of our home. So I left, as soon as I saw the people marching I followed.”

She made a noise of interest and sympathy, the sound as sweet as the name he called her. Honey simmered and sweetness followed, her nose pressed into his neck and her lips placed a small kiss to his skin. He didn’t want to continue but her influence was enough to bring the words out of him.

“The first week was fine. We scrounged up money to sleep in the stables of inns that were still standing. Once the coins ran out we slept under the stars, hoping the number of our people would scare off any outlaws.  It worked. But numbers meant nothing to the animals that lurked in the woods. Simple blades and bullets weren’t enough to stop them. The attack was swift, the screams still haunt me.”

“Animals?” She asked, eyebrows furrowing as she laid beside him. Her hand came up to trace four lines down his chest, four lines just like the ones on his back. “Your scar?”

Calum nodded, let her eyes calm him and swallowed harshly. “Animals,” he confirmed. He would tell her what kind but there was still an air of mystery in the sheer size of them, in the footprints and bloodstains left in soft earth. He knew what they were but they were even more than that. “Wolf like,” he added on, wanting to paint a picture in her mind so she might grasp some semblance of understanding. “Bigger than ordinary wolves. Two or three times the size. I could see their eyes through the tree line. They were eerily quiet as they watched. I woke everyone but as soon as the panic set in a howl sliced through the night and”—Calum sucked in a breath, let his fingers curl into his palm—“they descended on us.”

Honey came closer, settled into his arms and rested her head against his chest. He wondered if she could hear his heart beating the way he could hear hers from yards away. She was cool against him but that was nothing new, he ran much hotter than her, his blood ran faster and his body strengthened as the full moon came closer.

“I tried to fight back but I was too weak and the blade I carried was made of steel—it did little to wound and could not kill the beasts among us. I don’t remember what made me lose consciousness but everything went dark for a time. I woke under a willow tree, my shirt was crusted with blood and my shoulder seared a pain I’d never felt before. I could tell I was running a fever just from the feel of my forehead, I was drenched in sweat, blood, fears and tears. The wound on my shoulder blade was deep and it took many nights to nurse it. Almost two fortnights went by before the true symptoms began.”

“You already had a fever,” she said, mistrusting his recount of his life. He knew his words were tangled and double meanings left wonder hanging in the air. “What more could have afflicted you?”

“Pain. More pain than the first day I woke with the claw marks sunken into my skin,” he explained, and held his breath, knowing the next part of the story would take a lot of convincing to believe. His words didn’t hold the same sway and influence as hers did. He couldn’t make someone believe just with a certain look or tone of voice. “The pain was bone deep. It felt as if I was being crushed and reformed. Every muscle held an ache, every bone hurt. My heart rate quickened. My temperature spiked. The world spun. I started to change.”

She shifted, eyes shooting to the ceiling as the tale of old prowled through Calum’s life. When he was a kid, before the caravan and the night of terror came to life, before his family was missing, his mother would tell him stories. Stories of half wolves, half men who lurked in the woods and stalked prey under the full moon. He had been enthralled by the tales, the stories scary enough to keep him awake at night. Her words took on a life of their own.

“Change,” she repeated, knowing the rest of the story from his words telling it of someone else. “You really want me to believe that?”

“I want you to listen,” Calum pleaded, voice near to trembling as the rest of his story simmered between them. She nodded beside him, eyes softening as she took in his honesty and the desperation he exuded for her to understand. For her belief. “The last thing I saw was the full moon, how bright and yellow it looked. That was before the pain was overwhelming and my senses shifted. I could only feel. I couldn’t think. I had no control. I lost an entire night to residual darkness and unknowing wander. I woke by a river but I don’t remember how I got there but there were prints in the mud, four clawed feet tracking right up to where I laid.”

She bit her lip and contemplated the rest of his story, took in the new details that he had omitted and the power of his truth. She blinked slowly, eyes once more enchanting Calum. Shadows from her eyelashes danced along her cheekbones, her breaths came shallow and short, a scattered symphony against the downfall of rain and cracks of thunder. Calum reached for her when she didn’t say anything. He hoped she was processing the new information and understanding.

“. I’d wake in the morning miles from where I once was. I’d wake with blood on my skin and fear creeping through the towns I could manage to find. Village people shunned me when they set sights on the scar on my back, they burned mixtures said to ward off evil and curses. It’s not a curse,” Calum explained.

“Then what is it?” She finally asked, her curiosity getting the better of her, whether she believed it or not.

“An affliction. A disease. Something past skin deep that sank into my bloodstream when claws raked my skin. I’m not the only one plagued by it. I roam alone but some wander in packs. Some resent the skin they’re bound to live in and fight against it tooth and nail. Some like the power and give themselves to it completely. Burning mixtures won’t cure it; I’m near sure there’s no cure. The only way to get rid of it is to kill it.”

“And how would that be done?”

“Silver,” he said, voice and mind long lost to the stories his mother would tell him.

People would try to rise up against the monsters that stalked the night but steel and bullets did little with their efforts. Only silver was enough to cut through and sizzle, it’s properties burned from the inside out. It ate away the afflictions and stopped the bloodstream. It killed. It killed the disease and it killed the person.  Lucky it was hard for the common folk to come by a weapon forged of something so expensive. Unlucky as well.

“Or another of my kind,” Calum added on, a shiver descending down his spine.

It could be another to strike with claws and teeth to meet a demise. Or something different but as equally as afflicted—a different type of poison settling into their body.

“Let’s say I believe you,” she started around a breath that spoke the opposite. “Why leave? And if you must, why not come back?”

Calum had already considered those questions through the nights he spent with her. Honey was tempting, enthralling and a craving he wasn’t sure he could kick. But his mind tumbled through scenarios more powerful than that. They put a pit in his stomach and coursed fear through his veins. He didn’t know what he would do during the night, he didn’t know where he would go or what he would walk into come morning if he were to come back. He had to leave. He voiced those thoughts to her and felt himself ease when she ran soft fingertips along his jaw.

“Then if it’s truly our last night together let’s not waste it,” she said, voice breathy and speaking a silent need as she pressed closer to him.

Calum received her and let the night slip by in beautiful bliss. She was still sleeping when he woke to the first sliver of sunlight creeping through the shutters. The air was thick after the night of rain and storm. He distentangled himself from her and the sweetness of their time together. It was the first time he would be leaving with regret and want following him. Her hair was a tangle across the pillow, skin smooth but interrupted by the press of his lips. She didn’t stir when he stood but she shifted when his lips brushed her forehead in a silent goodbye. Before he could step out of the door he stopped at the hearth where the fire had turned to nothing but embers clinging to life. He kneeled down, hand fishing into his trouser pockets to pull out a folded piece of cloth. He left it on the floor beside the logs and hoped if she needed it, she would find it.

He left her behind and made his way through the still sleeping village. He memorized the curves of the roads and the identifiable structures. The woods curved around the village, trees thickening the town line. With nothing to his name but the clothes on his back, a spare change in a small pack and the memories with a woman as sweet as honey he descended into the forest, wanting to put as much time and distance between him and the common people who shrouded the town. The farther away he was when the sun began to set, the better. His footprints lingered in the soft earth, a trail following him with every step he took. He couldn’t help but think they were also a path back to her. He shoved the thought away, knowing he couldn’t but not knowing if he wouldn’t. The day passed him; he knew the air and wind was cold but his body was heated and he could feel the change start to ache inside his bones as the sun began to set.

Calum found himself in the thick of the forest when his heart began to race and the ache in his bones made him stop. He kneeled beneath a tree, it’s foliage falling to the ground around him as the wind swept through the woods. Leaves stirred up and floated through the air. Calum sucked in a sharp breath, eyes wandering his surroundings dipped in a golden haze as the last of the sun graced the grounds. It reminded him of her; of honey and golden glows during mornings they woke together. He didn’t want her to be his last thought before the inevitable took away his mind, his body and rationale. But images of her drifted through his mind and made his heart ache with a yearning he had never known before. His knees pressed into the soft earth below him, leaving indents in the dirt he was sure he would leave behind. His back arched, neck craned so his head looked up. The sun was leaving, the sky darkening from gold to a blue silver that could have been calming for anyone else.

He ran hot, sweat beading on his forehead, fingers curling into his palms and his chest rattled as a guttural noise escaped him at the first of the intense pain to ripple through him from head to toe. The scar on his back burned to the point he felt it was sizzling. He was still semi aware, clinging to thoughts of honey and sweetness and all that she was when clothes ripped, breath left him and fingers unfurled from his palm, claw marks claiming the ground. His last thought was of the moon and the way she might look under it’s full and shining beams. His eyes caught slivers of moonlight through the trees, conjured up her image glowing around him and then the world faded with the last of his human form.

***

The village was quiet as Honey spent her day around the town, wandering and lost among the people. She wasn’t in search of Calum but if her eyes spotted him in the fray it wouldn’t be a bad thing. His story echoed around her thoughts, and would barrel through her mind under the sunlight. She shivered at the haunting words and the pain in Calum’s voice when he relived his past. She wasn’t sure she believed him, she wasn’t sure she believed in anything. She had grown up around superstition and curses, of stories told through her village that had no evidence to back them. Her mind was skeptical but her heart yearned to believe in something more. To believe in Calum—though she still wasn’t sure that was his true name or why she had grown so fond of the stranger who stumbled onto her property two fortnights ago.

She left town, made the trek back up to her cottage where it stood on a grassy hill away from the rest of the people that plagued the town. The cottage was quiet save for the creaks in the floorboards as she paced the small room and the drip from the ceiling as rain from the previous night leaked through the roof. Sunset loomed on the horizon, her lookout from the window atop the hill showing the entire horizon. Everything was yellow and golden and it reminded her of eyes that would glow like the moon. She trembled as she walked away from the window and resigned herself to her bed that was too cold for one. She let her eyes close and wished for sleep, knowing the first night alone was always the most difficult.

“When the moon is at its brightest and glows yellow so will his eyes,” she whispered into the night as the sun bid a temporary goodbye to the world. “The scar on his back glints silver and that’s what can kill him,” she continued, the warning burning on her tongue. Words of an affliction having no cure but silver through bloodstreams making her dip under the covers. “When he leaves it won’t be on two legs.”

The cottage darkened as the sun left and the sky turned deep blue and eventually black with streamlines of silver from the full moon working its way through the open window. She tossed and turned, body and mind restless, heart breaking from the feel of cold sheets beside her. Minutes or hours may have passed, time was bleeding away unbeknownst though it felt drawn out like many lifetimes. When she couldn’t lay there any longer she stood, walked to the hearth and prodded at the fire. Worn cloth beside the pile of logs caught her attention. She reached for it, knowing it wasn’t hers but curiosity needing to be satiated. Something hard laid within the bundle. It took one unfold to reveal what was inside.

A bullet glared and glinted back at her under moonlight. The feel was smooth and as her throat burned she realized the cost of the solitary bullet. Silver was expensive; worth a life and then some. She dropped the cloth and bullet and heard it roll along the hardwood floor. She lurched away from it and ran to the window. Palms hit the wooden sill and gripped with a strength she didn’t know she had. Eyes roamed the hills and the village below her. She bit her lip and sucked in air when a howl echoed around the open air. She didn’t know she was shaking until her body swayed and her shoulder hit the frame of the window with a bruising force. She heard rustling in the distance, her first instinct to push away ridiculous notions being drowned out by childish fears coming alive inside of her.

Eyes lurked in the dark, yellow and glowing and brooding it’s sights on the small cottage. She heaved a breath and let fear freeze her. Wind whistled and a howl followed, a beat of pause where her heart stammered out an erratic rhythm ensued. She swallowed down a tight lump in her throat harshly, grip on the sill tightening as she fought against her limbs content to stay still. It was as if her mind was convinced if she didn’t move she wouldn’t be seen. But she knew the tales, the stories and the myths come to life. Eyes that glowed in the dark could see leagues further than those that could not. She shivered and the eyes stalked closer, her body finally catching up to her mind, hand gliding slowly up the sill to find the where the shutter was closed and latched.

Before she could so much as get a proper grip on the wooden panel the animal afflicted was prowling forward and taken down. A guttural rip of a snarl cutting through the night. Another appeared, larger than the first. A broken cry left her lips, dry and cracked and breathy as she finally found purchase on the shutter and slammed it closed. She turned abruptly, back to the wall and eyes slipping shut as her chest heaved with staggered breaths. All she could do was listen. Remember that Calum had asked her to do so and now it fell upon her in howls and whimpers and bodies double the weight of an ordinary animal crashing to the ground. The noises neared and she thumped to the ground, knees hitting the splintering wood with a resounding thud. Her eyes sprang open and she forced herself to crawl back to her bed, pulled herself to the sheets and surrounded herself in the comfort they offered. She almost covered her ears but felt vulnerable with another lost sense.

She could only see flashes through the crooked shutters. She could hear the movement and the fight. She felt fear clawing through her, burning her eyes and heart and shoulder blade as the flashes and noises and myths came even more alive in front of her. A bang ricocheted against the cottage, bodies hitting the wood as a startled scream left her lips. She clapped a hand over her mouth, body trembling as she shook her head, trying to maintain disbelief. Another hit to the cottage rattled her, the shutters splintering and breaking under the force of the combined weights. She tried to get up, to run for the door to make an escape. But another slice of fear trembled through her. The noises died but her fear stayed alive. Wood fell to her floor along with a wash of blood much darker than she’d ever seen before. Wolf-like was the only thing she could think of when one beast rose amid the other, a giant paw slamming with finality into the other presumed dead beast.

The fire lit a glow of orange around yellow eyes. Dark fur was raised along the creature’s back, standing up on edge as if struck by lightning. Honey was still and stricken. The living beast neared, slow steps carrying its sheer size towards her with thumping paws hitting the ruined floor. She sucked in a breath, eyes unblinking until the beast whimpered and backed off, headed for its kill, the other beast being taken by the dark one’s teeth, dragged out the ruined wall and into the night.

***

Morning came in a rush. Calum woke within the woods, on much higher ground than he last remembered. The sky was pink through dying leaves and muted brown trunks. He was still hot, skin simmering and bones still aching. Blood was on his skin and a metallic taste lingered in the back of his throat. Paw prints in the earth wound a path away from the woods. His sights became set on them and then beyond, to where the tree line broke and the familiar air that carried through the breeze. He managed to bring his change of clothes with him, the ones he started the day in tattered and abandoned somewhere in the woods. He quickly dressed though the pain in his body lingered and he wanted nothing more than to sleep. But the woods were filled with dangers. If not creatures of his own kind then things that were worse, other stories come to life beneath the moon and stars.

A feeling of dread consumed Calum as his feet dragged through the dirt and out into open air. The hill was calm but the destruction spoke volumes. Honey and home were in red ruins. One wall of the cottage was dilapidated, the window now a hole in the wall. Red ran over wood and though Calum’s body protested he started running too. Anxieties took over, made his heart race and his deepest fears flickered through his mind. Honey.

She was nowhere to be seen within the cottage and it’s ruined remains. The fire was dying in the hearth yet Calum felt a wash of heat against his face. He knew he lost control the night before, he knew his memory never held but a flash of something familiar hit him full force. He could almost recall added warmth in the night. The damages cried something akin to him, something he could almost recall, something that sat on the tip of his tongue and the back of his mind.

“Honey?” Calum called out, hoping his attempt wasn’t futile. Hoping that he hadn’t destroyed sweetness in the night.

A beat of silence had his heart falling, throat burning and eyes watering against the few tendrils of smoke claiming the air. HIs lip jutted out and trembled. A wave of nausea hit him but broke a faint heartbeat prickled his senses and had him turning. She stood outside the cabin, dress stirred up in the breeze, hair in disarray and influential eyes carrying a haunted glow.

“Wolf-like,” she said, voice unwavering and shoulders squared as she took a step forward. “I guess I should have believed you.”

Calum nodded and kept his eyes on her, let his gaze flicker down when her hand outstretched and her fingers opened from her palm to reveal what he left her. He remembered the previous morning, leaving the silver bullet by her fire, hoping she wouldn’t need it. His gaze flickered back up and he shook his head while she pursed her lips and tried to offer the silver back to him.

“Keep it,” he insisted.

“Seems I won’t need it if you’re leaving again,” she said, voice dropping and eyes narrowing. “You came back, though. Twice now. Saved my life.”

“I should leave,” Calum murmured, the latter half of her words seemingly lost upon him as a tangle of thoughts entered his mind. “There’s more than me out there, keep it,” he insisted again, took a few steps forward to close the distance between them and let his fingers brush hers and close them over the bullet. He felt a sizzle in her touch, it wasn’t for the silver in her hand but for the fiery cold of her hand and the way she made him feel.

“I know there is,” she mused, hair blowing in the breeze. “Now, anyway. You killed one right before my eyes.”

“I did?” Calum wondered, suddenly caught in the destruction around him, his mind trying to catch up to the animalistic instincts that swiped his rationale and tore away his memories and thoughts. “I did…”

It came back in a rush with just one look into her eyes, the pattern of her irises enrapturing and filling in the gaps the night left him. The warmth of the fire on his face as blood dripped down his jaw, his feet approaching her, his eyes seeing her—truly seeing her—the push and pull of her influence having him turning and taking the last of the danger from her home. He couldn’t remember how he ended up back at her cottage on the hill but he was sure it was due to her pull on him, that she was something more than what she knew.

“There’s more to the world than I know,” she admitted and dropped her hand holding the silver bullet to her side.

“And there’s more to you than you realize,” Calum said, grasping for an explanation and a way to tell her what he could only assume as true. She neared him, the press of her body delicate but sure against his.

“What might that be?”

Her hand came up, fingertips trailing along his jaw, her breath warm against his skin. “You’re enchanting.”

She smiled, the curve of her lips begging him to kiss her. “You’ve told me that before,” she said and he heard her heartbeat pick up.

Calum’s hand came up to stall hers from its path along his jaw. He held her hand and played with her fingers as their hands dropped and swayed. “More than that. I should’ve known it from the first time I looked into your eyes. I should have realized it when it felt like you could sway me and the earth underneath me. I should have told you sooner.”

She was confused, eyebrows furrowing and nose twitching as she tried to process his ominous words. She was quiet, waiting for him to further explain. He was caught in a whirlwind of her, chasing down words and moments to help her understand.

“You’re not just enchanting. You’re an enchantress.”

Her breath caught in her throat and Calum saw a war within her. He knew she knew what that meant, she had laughed at stories of the like. Stories of mystic people with persuasion in their eyes and words and spells that could be spoken and never broken. Tales of old that followed centuries of life lived before them. She didn’t believe in the far fetched. But the far fetched had broken through her home, broken through her resolve and created belief in her heart. She nodded, seemingly accepting the explanation but took a breath and pressed on anyway.

“How do you know?”

“You kept me calm. One look in your eyes and I felt like myself again,” Calum explained, a sudden rush of memory from the night previous invading him. He remembered the gaze they shared and the sense of himself that came crashing back into him. He knew the moment he first looked into her eyes, the pattern in her irises one he was familiar with. He’d only seen it once before, just before the moon phased him. “I met someone like you before,” he said though that wasn’t entirely true. He was nearly positive he hadn’t met anyone quite like her, only someone with a similar ability. “He tried to use me but the full moon took away my senses.��

“He didn’t keep you calm?”

“I guess some people have a stronger pull. Maybe it’s less to do with what you are but more who you are,” Calum explained, almost certain that whether she was born with the power of persuasion he could find himself within her grasp in any case.

“Stay?” The question was simple but the emotions evoked from looking into her eyes was stronger, more complicated and a battle in and of itself. “I won’t ask again,” she warned with glossy eyes.

Calum shook his head no. He couldn’t. He couldn’t stay and now he was convinced neither could she. He didn’t want to imagine what might happen if she stayed and anyone else were to find out about the power within her.

“Come with me?” Calum asked, the three words escaping him before he could think them through. But he knew deep down they were the right ones.

“Where would we go?”

“Anywhere,” he said with a far off look in his eyes. “We can follow the river or the sea,” he added and took a deep breath, knowing he needed to convince her, knowing he lacked the power of persuasion the way she did. “We can keep each other safe.”

She took a look around the remnants of her home and guilt tore at Calum for a moment until he realized all he did was to keep her alive and well. He could keep her safe. She could keep him as himself even when the moon phased and tried to tear away his humanity.

“Okay,” she agreed with a small smile, surprisingly needing no other convincing. “I’ll go with you.”

***

Water rushed past rocks, jagged edges meeting the smooth flow of the stream. Wind blew softly through the forest, a day of calm following the harrowing night of the full moon. The sun shone a little bit brighter than usual, the clouds were nonexistent and the town Calum and Honey left behind stayed unaware to the altercations and revelations the night brought. Flashes of fire and silver in Calum’s mind left them running at first, but ignorance swayed them to a slower pace. The village knew of stories and superstition but their reclusive stay at the cottage on the lonely hill bid them time to make their escape. His hand held hers and he realized the lifelines on their palms aligned and ran parallel to each other. She was cool though the sun beat down. She was calm though her world had shifted overnight.

They walked on, leaving footprints in the earth and the past behind them. Calum wasn’t sure where they were going, he never really was when he left after the moon changed him. He figured they might follow the stream, wander out of the woods and find the sea. With her at his side he was certain it didn’t matter where they ended up. She swayed their hands, caught gazes with him and didn’t so much as falter when a howl carried through the breeze. Calum stiffened but kept walking, his senses heightened at the call—though he was certain it was a regular wolf in the woods there was still a bite of apprehension flowing through his bloodstream, making the scar on his back burn with curiosity. The world was filled with more than met the eye. Calum knew there was more than him and her, more than wolves and persuasions, there was sharpened teeth and blood, beautiful songs of the ocean that turned to watery graves, fire and death, the natural turning to something more and something less. He led them away from the howl.

“You still have it?” Calum asked.

Honey nodded, hand reaching into the pocket on her dress, the bullet shining under the glare of the sun. He nodded his approval and kept them walking. He wondered where they would end up, what would happen at the next turn of the moon. He hoped they could stay together in spite of the silver scars and red ruins that brought them together. 

<< >>

To be continued...?

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[solitaria-fantasma]

Um for the Super Ghost AU I am just imagining that The Question managed to figure out basically everything about Gawain and the Mystery Skulls, but instead of it being his paranoia getting to him it's because he accidentally learned Gawain was a ghost, wanted to learn why he's a ghost and then he was going down the rabbit hole and by the time he climbed out of it he's just wondering what is Gawain's life, unlife, whatever and the life of his brother. Just, this came to me and refused to leave.

((*cracks knuckles*))

Question hadn't seen sunlight for nearly six days, and it had finally paid off.

He leaned over his hands on the edge of the desk, staring at the pin board before him. It was crisscrossed with color coded strands of yarn, and little push pins that held up photographs, newspaper and magazine clippings, and printed Internet screenshots. It wasn't the most complicated web he'd ever built, but it tied up neatly, and that was enough. Not every mystery had a a million twists to unwind.

The trail started in London, England, and stretched all the way across the Atlantic to a tiny town in Texas, USA, barely large enough to be a speck on a map. He had birth records, school enrollment records, science fair awards, promotions, Visa applications, mortgages, home appliance purchases, swing dance trophies, company picnic photos, a missing person's report, and an obituary, all leading to a giant question mark scribbled over a photo of a young blond man, with the word 'whereabouts?' written beneath it.

This photo connected to the next item in the chain with a quick arrow of blue, and another long, arching arrow connected a birth record from earlier in this leg to the same thing - a newspaper article from that small Texas town, talking about the mysterious case of a young boy with amnesia being found on the steps of a local restaurant. There was an article about the boy's adoption just a few months later, and then another article congratulating three local kids and their dog for solving a small time mystery.

The chain ran through several articles like this one, and the kids grew older as their mysteries evolved from misplaced mail and lost pets to package theft, poltergeist activity, and cryptid sightings. More and more, the articles talked about ghosts, creatures of urban legend, and even sightings of demons and occult activity. Around 2008, the newspaper articles became printed blog posts, and seemed to be written by the kids themselves.

Question laughed quietly to himself. Kids after his own paranoid heart, all three.

The articles came to an abrupt halt in 2014, with a missing persons report for the amnesiac boy (now an adult), and a series of articles about a groundbreaking prosthetic limb, developed by a genius young man who tested his prototype on himself after tragically loosing his own arm. There were a few more articles about the prosthetic, and a few photos to go along with them that showed the blond man from previous articles, and then there were a few clippings of local tabloids from a truck driver who swore he'd been carjacked by 'a flaming skeleton with great fashion sense'.

There was silence for a month or two, and then concurrent newspaper articles and blog posts about the miraculous return of one Lewis Pepper, thought to be dead from the same tragic caving accident that cost his best friend his arm. The blog posts about the supernatural returned, and the prosthesis research seemed to slow down. Coincidentally, a young man named 'Merlin Knight' with an eerily familiar face was hired at the local auto shop.

Question wondered if the entire town was playing dumb, or just stupid. The only real change was the clothing, and that long blond hair being braided.

This employment record connected all the way back to the obituary from the first leg of the chain, and proceeded on to connect with screenshots from a social media account of a robotic body, and the building of what would be, within a few month's time, the town's own local hero.

Question breathed out through his nose. A local hero who would go on to help save the world, and found the Justice League itself. Had that been part of the plan?

The web wrapped itself up quickly from there. Supernatural skills and abilities not possible by modern science, knowledge of other realms and creatures only known to mythology, and the tiny little clues he'd been hoarding and observing for a full year all pointed to the same conclusion. It wasn't as fantastical as it sounded, in all honesty, though Green Arrow had looked at him stranger than usual when he'd first said his conclusion out loud.

There were legitimate aliens, sorcerers, and demons in this reality - why not ghosts, too?

There was one final piece missing from the web, however, and he was out of clues to tie in. There was a near twenty year gap between the last known sighting of Gawain Kingsmen, and the appearance of 'Merlin Knight'. What had the man been doing for all that time? There had been no sightings of anyone even remotely matching the appearance of Gawain or 'Merlin' anywhere in that time, and without even the slightest whisper of a rumor on an Internet forum or library archive, there wasn't much more he could do to find out.

Question straightened up from the desk, and rolled his shoulders to try and stretch them out. There was no way around it.

He was going to have to get more...direct from here on out.

.......

"What does a dead man do for twenty years?" Gawain froze with a potato wedge half-raised to his shoulder at the question, and Bran - unwilling to wait for her snack - leaned her head down to snatch it up anyway. Gawain turned his yellow LED eyes over to Question, who had planted himself in the chair across the table without so much of a 'hello', and tilted his head.

"...I'm sorry," He apologized. "But I'm not sure I know what you mean."

"I know you do." Question leaned one elbow on the table. Bran nudged Gawain's still-raised hand, hoping for more potatoes, and the hero absently picked up another wedge to feed to her. "I know most people believe the 'advanced AI' cover story, but I'm not most people. I know you're a ghost possessing an armored suit like that old anime." The potato wedge vanished, and Question wondered if the little ghost was actually eating it, or just storing it for later.

That was a mystery for another time, regardless.

Gawain had turned to face him fully, now, and his two other ghostly companions were now peeking out of hiding from behind his shoulders. They weren't hostile, but their stares were, nonetheless, intense, and Question smiled behind his mask. He knew he had their full attention, now.

"How did you find out?" Gawain asked, keeping his voice low.

"I saw you from the ground in that fight with Mr. Sorcerer Superior, Magnus Creed." Question replied. "You ran into that warding slip like a bird into a clean window. A robot wouldn't have been stopped by mere paper and superstition." Gawain tilted his head slightly to one side.

"Some superstitions hurt." He argued, just the slightest bit defensive. "...what was your question, again?"

"What does a dead man do for twenty years?" Question asked. "There's a two decade gap between your presumed death and your reappearance. You could stand to work on that secret identity, by the way." He advised. "Someone's going to notice your resemblance to a dead guy from twenty years ago, if you ever let down your hair." Gawain's LED eyes narrowed, and one of the spirits - Chopper, the one with the upright spines - hissed in response.

Vixen walked by with John Stewart at her side, and both Chopper and Gawain made a visible effort to drop any outward signs of irritation. Question remained where he was. People were used to seeing him tense and suspicious, by now. It wouldn't raise a single eyebrow.

"...I was lost." Gawain spoke up quietly once Vixen and John had passed out of earshot. "I woke up in the middle of an unfamiliar forest, and I just couldn't get out. Not for a while."

"You were lost in a forest for twenty years?" Even Question sounded skeptical. "I've seen what you're capable of. You should have been able to handle a little thing like being lost."

"It was ten years," Gawain retorted sharply. Bran raided his plate for the remaining potato wedges. "And I wasn't just...born being able to do that stuff. I had to grow into it. I had to learn." A strange gust of air blew past the table, scattering someone's forgotten paper plate and napkin to the floor, before Gawain unclenched his fists, and visibly calmed down. Question still didn't move.

"Death...does things to you." Gawain lowered his voice again. "To your mind. You can't think straight for...a long time - and that's if you're lucky." He lowered his hands to the table, and Bran automatically wound herself around one arm with a pleased sound. "I found my way out of the forest after ten yes, and then I went...home. To Tempo."

"Your parents had moved away by then." Question knew. He knew how the story of the living family had played out, from there. "Your brother was living with your uncle, and your friends were off at college." Gawain's shoulders drooped, and the third spirit - Griflet, if he remembered right - patted at the side of his helmet sympathetically. Chopper was still glaring at him.

"They had." Gawain made no effort to hide the disappointment in his voice. "I guess I couldn't fault them for not wanting to stay in town after all they went through, but back then, I didn't know it had been ten years. It only felt like a few days, to me."

"That must have been difficult." Question said, and he meant it. Sympathy wasn't really his thing, but Gawain was being cooperative, so it was the least he could do. "And the other ten?"

"I was hiding." Gawain laughed humorlessly. "I somehow convinced myself that my family-...that my brother, and my uncle, would be afraid of me, if they saw me like that, and I just...never came forward." He shrugged. "I just sort of watched, and listened, and followed them for another ten years, and I thought that was pretty good, you know?

"I couldn't interact with them, sure, but at least I could still see them. It was...better than nothing." The hero fell silent, for a few moments, and then looked Question in the eye. Or...as close as he could get. The featureless mask tended to throw off people's frame of reference for facial features. "What are you going to do now?"

"Absolutely nothing." Question casually leaned back in his own chair. "I've already put the pieces together. This was just the last piece I needed to finish the story." He stood up, and pushed the chair in under the table. "This time, I just wanted to satisfy my own curiosity." Gawain seemed surprised, and remained sitting as Question walked out of the cafeteria.

He could feel four pairs of eyes burning into his back, but for once, being watched didn't bother him. Curiosity killed the cat, they said, but satisfaction brought it back, and Question was very much satisfied with this answer.

Now, he could focus on more important matters...like the long-ignored connection between Girl Scout cookie sales and the appearance of crop circles in Midwest America.

[justablobfish]

An unusual snowman

Day 12 of my Advent Calender. A new drabble or oneshot everyday until Christmas, following the Continent’s favourite found family and what they’re up to in the winter season. Based on this prompt list

No witchers were harmed in the making of this fic. Everyone’s fine! :3

Read on AO3

Day 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11

______

This is bad. Very bad. They should never have stopped in this goddamn village. 

When they arrived, it was the middle of the night and - with everyone and their grandmother trying to sell Ciri out to Nilfgaard - they decided to get a room at the inn and smuggle the princess in through the back door unseen. 

Which turned out to be a mistake. Because that way no one could tell them. 

The next morning they woke up and Ciri had vanished without a trace.

When they asked around the village they soon found out that she hadn't been the first child to disappear. A few weeks ago children suddenly started disappearing overnight. No one had seen where they had gone to; no amount of locked doors and safety measures could keep them from being taken. 

Jaskier paces up and down in their room, uncertain what to do. 

It's been three days since Geralt set out to find the missing kids, since Geralt ordered him to stay here in case Ciri comes back. 

When Geralt took off, he only said he'd be back 'soon', unspecific and unhelpful as ever. Surely three days were no longer encompassed by the term 'soon'. Something must have gone wrong. 

And the more time passes, the less likely it becomes that Ciri and the other children will return unharmed. 

Jaskier stops in his tracks and gives a short, determined nod. There's only one thing to do. He has to go after them as well! 

While the children have disappeared without leaving any kind of clue to mortal humans, Geralt must have found some sort of trace, because once Jaskier reaches the edge of the village he can see a clear and straight trail of Geralt's footprints leading into the nearby woods. 

"Dark, gloomy forest. Always a good sign!" Jaskier tries to encourage himself and sets out to get his little family back from the clutches of whatever monster stole them. 

The tracks lead deep into the forest. While at first there are some felled trees, bird houses or the occasional discarded apple core, eventually the signs of nearby civilization become rarer and then disappear altogether. And still Geralt's tracks lead further. 

Jaskier soon falls into a sort of trance, placing one step in front of the other and with his eyes fixed on the ground in front of him. 

He almost doesn't notice when Geralt's trail ends. 

Jaskier blinks and Geralt's heavy boot prints are gone, replaced by a variety of far smaller imprints, that criss-cross all over the place. Surprised, he looks up. 

The first thing he registers is a small, crooked hut several feet away. The way it's decorated with pieces of candy and pastry (most of it clearly chewed on) practically screams evil magic trap. 

In front of the hut stands Geralt. 

Actually, no, at more than a glance it turns out it's not Geralt. It has Geralt's pauldrons and it holds Geralt's swords but other than that, it's a snowman. 

Dread spreads in Jaskier’s guts and he quickly jogs around the figure to get a closer look. On the other side, yellow eyes and furrowed eyebrows glare back at him. 

Except the yellow eyes are slices of carrots and the eyebrows are made of twigs. 

"Oh Geralt! What did they do to you?" Jaskier gasps. His knees suddenly feel very weak and he begins to think that following Geralt all by himself might not have been the smartest idea. 

The child of legend, whisked away right from under the nose of a Witcher, said Witcher turned into a snowman and only a humble bard left to save the day. What chance does he stand? What was he thinking? 

Then again, maybe there's something he can do. It always works in the old stories told to children and the weird hut with its candy decor definitely gives off the same kind of vibe as those tales. 

"Here goes nothing," Jaskier mumbles and places his lips on the snowman's mouth. Or, well, on the coals arranged in a frown on the snowman's face. 

And then he waits. 

For a moment. 

For a minute. 

For ten. 

Nothing happens. Seems true love's kiss only works in the stories, after all. 

Which begs the question of what he's supposed to do now. 

What chance does he stand where even a Witcher failed? And yet, what choice does he have? Whoever did this has taken his daughter, his family. He can't exactly just walk away. 

He'd never be able to look Yennefer in the eyes again. 

Hell, he'd never be able to look himself in the eyes again. And he so loves mirrors! 

So Jaskier reaches forward and grabs the steel sword from where it's sticking out of the large ball that makes up the snowman's torso. 

As his fingers close around the grip of the sword his hand brushes against the snow. 

And like a - well, like a snowman left in the sun for too long - it crumbles. 

"No, no, no!" Jaskier screams. "Stop! Don't do that! Please!" 

Before his eyes, the snowman that is his lover falls apart. He can only watch helplessly as the fractured part falls in on itself and slips off the bottom part. The head rolls to the side in an almost human-looking manner, until it falls to the ground as well. Before his eyes, Geralt turns into nothing but a pile of snow. 

The fact that his kiss didn't work he could live with but this? Even if there was a way to undo the spell that turned Geralt into a child's plaything, there's no coming back from this. Geralt is gone, his body destroyed. Jaskier’s best friend, the love of his life, has died. 

"I'm so sorry, Geralt," Jaskier whispers as he sinks to his knees. A dislodged slice of carrot glares at him accusingly. 

Jaskier absentmindedly places the sword he acquired at such a high cost on the ground beside him and wraps his arms around himself. 

"I shall write you the most glorious ballad ever written," he mumbles. "The whole Continent will know of your bravery." 

The words sound hollow, even to his own ears. A song won't bring Geralt back. What he really wants to do is curl up on the snow-covered ground and never get up again. 

But he can't do that. There's still Ciri. And he will get his daughter back, if it's the last thing he does. 

So Jaskier slowly gets up, grabs the sword again and turns towards the hut. The fear that had settled into his bones earlier at the idea that even Geralt couldn't best this sorcerer is gone. Now there's only fury and rage burning inside of him. This villainous toad-spotted miscreant of a mage has taken his family from him. They're going to pay! 

He opens the door and steps inside. 

The hut is bigger on the inside. Of course it is. Jaskier doesn't know why he expected anything different. The foyer itself is wide enough that the hut's exterior would fit into it twice. 

He also shouldn't be so surprised that the inside of the hut is entirely made of ice. Everything from the floor to the windowless walls to the twin set of stairs leading up to a second floor, which the hut definitely wasn't high enough for, looking at it from the outside. The mage is really going heavy on the whole fairy-tale villain aesthetic. 

Flickering candlelight from the huge chandelier overhead reflects off of every surface and makes the whole room seem to move and shift constantly. Jaskier starts feeling nauseous. 

It's hard to tell how many doors there are and which ones are only reflections, so he simply walks towards the large double door underneath the stairwells and heads through it. 

Unlike what he expected, the ice isn't cold to the touch and feels more like normal wood under his fingers. Maybe the ice is just an illusion. 

The room he finds himself in next is an even larger hall, equally made of ice and very clearly once intended as a ballroom. Various sconces illuminate an intricate pattern carved into the wide floor, while once colorful paintings of fancily dressed dancers on the walls are glossed over with the ever-present ice. 

Now, the room seems to serve a different purpose though. The floor is littered with various toys, dolls and plush animals. Chalk drawings cover not only several stacks of paper, but also the long banquet table at the far end of the room. It appears Jaskier is getting closer to the mystery of the missing children. They must have been playing here recently. 

While Jaskier looks around and tries to find any proof that Ciri was here as well, a side door opens and a curious voice asks "Hello?" His presence has been noticed, then. 

He turns around slowly, sword at the ready. 

In the door stands Ciri. 

"Jaskier!" she yells, relief and happiness swinging in her voice. Then she takes off running in his direction, followed by a group of other children. 

Ciri throws herself into his arms and clings to him like a curious kid's tongue to an icicle. Not that Jaskier has any experience with that particular situation. 

"I tried to get back to you but every time I tried to run away I always just ended up in front of the hut again," she whimpers. "It's enchanted or something!" 

"Well isn't that just adorable," comes a sneering voice from the other end of the room, where an elegantly dressed woman has appeared, seemingly out of nowhere. 

Her flawless skin and almost unnaturally symmetrical face mark her as a mage from Aretuza. 

Jaskier wraps his free hand around Ciri and pushes her behind him, while eyeing the sorceress warily. 

Ciri pays him little mind and steps back to his side. 

"Look, Gretel, you got it all wrong!" she tells the woman. "Parents do care about their children. This proves it." 

 "Nonsense!" the sorceress huffs. "My parents abandoned me as soon as money got a little tight. If Aretuza hadn't taken me in, I would have ended up just like my brother and died a horrible death at the hands of the awful witch that built this house!" 

"Then why is Jaskier here, risking his life to get me back?" Ciri counters "And Geralt, too?" 

"That proves nothing!" the mage all but shrieks. "The Witcher came to do his job. He came for the money he was promised. And this one? I bet he doesn't even know you well enough to keep you apart from the other children!" 

With that she raises her hands menacingly and suddenly, instead of Ciri and a dozen or so other kids, Jaskier is surrounded by several perfect copies of the Cintran princess. 

It's his worst nightmare. As if one Child Surprise wasn't already more than enough to handle. 

The Ciris stare at each other in surprise for a moment, before one of them breaks the silence by yelling "I'm the real one!" 

A split-second later Jaskier is surrounded by the gaggle of Ciris, yelling and giggling and trying to convince him that they're the right Ciri. It all seems to be a funny game to them. Jaskier’s head starts to spin from trying to get a good look at even one of them. 

"Stop!" he screams at the top of his lungs. "How am I supposed to pick someone if you keep running around me?" 

The children come to a halt and arrange themselves in a loose circle around him, quiet except for the occasional giggle still breaking through. 

However, only one of them rolls her eyes at Jaskier’s demanding tone. 

Jaskier places his hand on top of the real Ciri's head and glares at the sorceress. 

"See? I told you he couldn't do it! Parents are useless!" she gloats and waves her hand dismissively. The Ciris turn back into the children they were before. 

Only the one Jaskier chose remains the same. 

"Impossible!" Gretel shouts as the smug grin falls from her face. "But that doesn't prove anything! We need another test! How about-" 

With few short strides Jaskier crosses the room, grabs the sorceress by the front of her dress and shoves her against the wall. 

"Enough," he presses out between clenched teeth as he places the sword across her bare throat. "I am done with your games! Undo the spell that keeps the children trapped!" 

"Cute," the witch muses without any sign of fear or worry. "But you do know that I can turn you into a pile of dust with a snap of my fingers, right?" 

"Do I look like I give a damn?" Jaskier growls. "You took my daughter away from me! I don't care what you do to me, I will tear you to pieces if you don't let her go!" 

"Hmm," she replies solemnly. "Interesting. Perhaps I was mistaken in my judgment. There do seem to be some parents who love and protect their children." 

Before Jaskier can further comment on that, the witch is gone. Vanished into thin air, just like how she appeared. He stares at his empty hand in surprise, where he had clutched the fabric of her dress a moment ago. 

There goes his chance to avenge Geralt. The fury that was gnawing at his guts starts to settle. Jaskier holds onto it desperately. He knows that once the anger is gone, only grief will remain. 

At least Ciri is unharmed. Jaskier turns around slowly and faces the group of children, who stare back at him expectantly. 

"She wasn't malicious, you know?" Ciri explains. "Just misguided and lonely. Although she did curse Geralt with a spell that turned him into an inanimate object." 

"I know," Jaskier whispers, barely audible with the lump that has formed in his throat. How can he possibly tell Ciri what happened to Geralt? That her guardian is gone and won't come back? She's lost so many people already in her short life. 

"He's in the room over there," Ciri adds chipperly and takes off. 

"... wait, what?" Jaskier stutters as he scrambles after her, followed by the rest of the children who chatter with one another excitedly. 

Ciri leads him to an adjacent room. It's not nearly as big as the ballroom, but still large enough that it couldn't possibly fit into the little hut he saw from the outside. An enormous feather bed occupies most of the opposite wall, big enough for at least three or four grown people to sleep on, or a dozen or so kidnapped children. 

The rest of the room is taken up by various shelf boards mounted to the walls, filled with dozens upon dozens of porcelain dolls. Their empty eyes seem to stare at him as Ciri leads him further into the room 

"Over there," Ciri declares and points at one particular doll. It doesn't look much different from the other ones, safe for its face. Its mouth is sculpted in the shape of a frown instead of the cheerful smiles of the other ones and its yellow eyes, despite being made of lifeless glass beads, seem to glare back at Jaskier angrily. 

"That's… That's Geralt?" Jaskier asks carefully, not quite ready to allow himself to hope. 

"Of course," Ciri chides. "Who else would it be? Look at the face! I tried to sneak around Gretel's laboratory and look for a way to turn him back, but I couldn't find anything."

"We had lots of fun playing with him while Ciri was away!" a little boy announces happily. Some other children giggle affirmatively. 

"Anyway," Ciri sighs as she gently pats the boy's head and ruffles his hair. She seems to be the oldest kid around. The others appear to be looking up to her. 

"I'm sure if you just kiss him that'll break the spell!" Ciri continues. "And then we can finally get out of here and return these little monsters to their parents." 

"So uhm…," Jaskier mumbles. "Entirely unrelated, totally random and unimportant question, but, uh, what's with that snowman outside the door?" 

"The children built it earlier today," Ciri shrugs. "I told them not to use Geralt's armor, that he'd want it back once he gets uncursed, but I don't think they listened. Why are you asking?"

"No reason!" Jaskier huffs and quickly grabs the doll before Ciri can notice how he's turning bright red. 

She narrows her eyes at him, but he turns his back to her and presses a kiss to the doll's…well, face. It's not exactly big enough for more precision. 

A bright light emits from it and Jaskier has to close his eyes firmly. 

Suddenly, his hands are no longer holding on to the doll but instead are wrapped around a very firm and familiar waist. 

The light slowly dims and flickers out. Jaskier opens his eyes carefully. In front of him stands Geralt of Rivia, unharmed and scowling even more than usual. 

"Well, aren't you a sight for sore eyes, my fair lady," Jaskier teases. 

"What?" Geralt grumbles and looks down at himself, taking in the bright pink dress made up of an abundance of ruffles, as well as the intricately woven braid that rests on his shoulder. 

"The fuck?" he concludes. "When the witch cursed me my clothes stayed the same size. Why did the dress grow with me then?" 

"Well, there are children around," Ciri huffs with an annoyed click of her tongue. "Now can we finally get out of here?" 

"I need some pants," Geralt growls. "This is far too impractical. I can't fight the witch like that." 

"Well, the witch is gone," Jaskier shrugs. "And I don't think she'll be coming back." 

"Then what about the enchantment that kept the kids trapped here?" Geralt huffs. 

"Lifted," Ciri explains. "At least she said she would." 

"Oh," Geralt remarks. "Any… other monsters in the area? Some rabid dogs? Anything else?" 

"No, dear," Jaskier answers. "I think all the work is already taken care of. You can relax for once." 

"Riiiight," Geralt mumbles slowly. Then he nods to himself. "Then I guess I'll just keep wearing this for now." 

"Absolutely, love!" Jaskier encourages. "It suits you tremendously." 

"Gross," Ciri comments as Jaskier leans in for a proper kiss with his rescued lover. "Now can we please get out of here, already?" 

[pidayforpi]

“Flickering Flames”

Two waterfowls stood in front of a castle. A duck and a goose, to be exact.

Though it was already spring, the highlands of Scotland beckoned cold wind from all directions.

The green duck stood unfazed, but his yellow goose companion was shaking from the chilly wind, despite the goose wearing twice the amount of clothing of the duck.

Seeing his friend trembling in the cold, the duck reached out for the goose’s tiny palm. Although, their hands were equally cold.

He might not be able to warm his body, but he could at least warm his heart.

——————————————————————

Duckula put down the heavy bag of golf equipments, and knocked on the castle gate. He tapped his feet impatiently, hoping to quickly get this chore done. He believed Heinrich would like the same, as he was visibly very, very cold.

How Duckula wished he could understand his feeling right now. Vampires were permanently cold. No matter it was in the scalding summer, or the snowy winter, Duckula could only feel...nothing at all.

Perhaps there really was a difference. Duckula had been trying to be empathetic, but there were still a lot to learn.

Through the air current, he could hear grunting, wheezing, mumbles and footsteps. The resident was awake. Or, woken up. At least he knew he didn’t have to knock again. The least he wanted was to annoy the already grumpy old duck inside.

The huffing and puffing got closer and closer to the entrance, while the footsteps got louder and louder. Eventually, the wooden gate creaked open, and the master of the castle inquired after a cough.

“Where are ye frae? Where are ye fr- Oh, it’s ye lads...” Rory spoke from behind the door of his home, with only his crimson eyes visible to both guests outside.

Heinrich slightly tightened his grasp on Duckula’s hand in the presence of another vampire, while the older duck greeted his relative playfully.

“Good mornin’ Unca Rory! We are here to return these golf-“

“Get in!” Rory shouted from inside the building, interrupting his nephew.

“Huh?” Duckula was a bit confused, but continued nonetheless. “We will be dropping these golf equipments you-“

“Get in and we’ll talk!”

“R-really! We are just going to return these thingies you lent us for preparing the Highland Games. Won’t take you a min-“

“GET IN THE BLOODY CASTLE! YE TRYIN’ TO KILL ME, LAD?!”

Rory screamed at the top of his lungs, jumping up and down the stone floor grumpily. The shouting caused him to cough afterwards, and the two younger birds to stand still in shock.

Duckula felt wronged. He was just trying to give his uncle back his golf tools, and now he was overreacting hysterically, as if Duckula had placed a bomb in the bag. He believed none of the people present would want to prolong this meeting: Duckula was bored, Heinrich was freezing, and Uncle Rory was...well, stingy, even with time. He just wanted to say hi, drop the bag, and go home. How was this killing his uncle?

Just when Duckula was still processing and feeling bad for himself, Heinrich tugged his sleeves to gain his attention. The shorter gosling pointed up, signalling the green duck to look up. He did so, shielding his eyes from the morning sunlight-

Oh. Sunlight.

Duckula suddenly remembered not all vampires were immune to sunlight.

In fact, he’s the only one.

Duckula sheepishly grinned, sticking the tip of his tongue out. “S-sorry, Unca Rory...” Heinrich, despite innocent, also bowed his head in apology.

Rory grumbled lowly, controlling his temper with a deep breath. “It’s alright, nephew. And don’t call me that.”

——————————————————————

The two youngsters followed Rory into the castle. He lit the candles on the dining table, the torches on the wall, and the fireplace opposite of the gate.

“Take a seat.” Rory signalled his two guests to sit down at the long dinning table situated in the living room, even pulling out two chairs himself. The two felt a bit uneasy, but sat down with a nod of gratitude nevertheless.

After they had settled, Rory proceeded to what they assumed to be the kitchen or the pantry. Duckula and Heinrich looked at each other in confusion as sounds of running water, clanking utensils and liquid boiling echoed from wherever the host was. Their questions were soon answered, however, when Rory returned to the living room with a tea pot and three cups on a tray. The smell of camomile tea filled the area, giving the spacious room a homely feeling.

Both the mallard duck and the gosling were surprised. They were just here to return some stuff, and now they were treated like  old friends from afar.

“W-woah! Unca...I mean, Uncle Rory, that’s...very kind of you...!” Duckula exclaimed. Even his butler wouldn’t serve him (pure) tea without him asking in the first place. Not to mention Rory was his senior.

“I have to live up me name as the ‘Scourge of the Glens’!” Rory proudly said as he put down the tray. He poured some tea into two of the three cups, and put them on top of two circular plates, before serving them to the two guests.

“S-s-so...y-you are g-going to p-p-poison us...?” Heinrich whispered, looking at the yellowish-green liquid suspiciously.

Seeing his good intentions were not well-received, Rory again hopped up and down, throwing his hands, along with his wooden cane, in the air.

“Then don’t drink it, I dare ye!”

And the two guests really did not touch the two cups for half a minute.

Not wanting his freshly brewed tea to go to waste, Rory eventually gave in.

“It’s not poisoned, I promise.”

Seeing that both cups were filled from the same tea pot, Duckula took the initiative and drank his cup first. Hopefully whatever poison (if present) worked for both vampires and mortals, so that he could be a viable test for toxin.

Of course it wasn’t toxic.

After witnessing his friend drinking his cup without appearing sick afterwards, Heinrich slowly picked up his and took a sip. Still hot. Perfect for his freezing body.

“S-sorry for doubting y-you, Mister McDuckula...” Heinrich looked at Rory shyly, regretful for mistaking his hospitality for hostility.

Rory’s expression softened when he heard the gosling’s apology. “It...it’s fine, laddie.”

“Heh. You should have seen Heinrich’s reaction when I handed him a Bockwurst sandwich!” Duckula beamed, recalling his first encounter with his little goose friend.

Heinrich blushed with embarrassment. “D-D-D-Duckula! I h-haff s-said I vas s-s-sorry!”

“Oh? What was it about, nephew?” Rory leant onto the table with a curious grin.

“Same as what happened just now, only it took him waaaaaaaay longer to get used to.”

Rory chuckled, crooking his already crooked back. Duckula scooted closer to his friend. “Sorry, Heinrich. It just reminded me of that day.”

Heinrich was still pouting a bit, but his cheek had returned from pink to yellow.

“Don’t blame yerself, kiddo. Ye’re a vampire hunter, after all. It is a foolish act to accept food or drink from a vampire. Ye never know if that meal will be yer last, before ye become one yerself!” Rory reassured Heinrich with a pat on his head, who smiled nervously in response.

“So, err, what are ye two here for today?” Rory finally questioned his two uninvited guests about their intentions, while pouring himself a cup of home-brewed tea.

Duckula remembered why they were here, and quickly put down his cup. “Oh! We are here to return these.”

Duckula picked up the heavy bag from the floor, jogging to the other side of the table, while Heinrich followed.

“Thank you for lending us your precious golf equipments! We won’t disappoint you in the coming Highland Games!” Duckula handed the bag with a smile.

“Lemme see...Three flags, five golf clubs, seven golf balls...Yes. Exact amount. Learnt yer lesson from the last time, hm?” Rory glared at Duckula, who let out an anxious chuckle.

He then turned his focus onto Heinrich, before smirking mischievously.

“Say, nephew. Ye do know how to please an elderly. So nice of ye to bring me...breakfast.” Rory stared at the gosling straight in his eyes, causing the latter to cling closer to his friend.

Duckula understood his uncle’s “joke”, and sighed. “He’s not your breakfast, lunch, dinner or midnight snack.”

“Then why are ye bringing him to me lair? Ye do realise...I am...a vampire!” Rory hid his face behind his cloak mysteriously, before revealing himself, showing his sharp, white fangs with an evil smile. Heinrich gasped, rushing to hide behind Duckula.

On the other hand, Duckula was visibly unamused. “So am I, uncle. He’s just accompanying me. And his name is Heinrich. You know that.”

Rory laughed to himself, before questioning his nephew again. “I think he is with the doctor?”

Duckula rubbed his forehead. “That’s a long story. Goosewing got to attend an inventors’ conference today, and Vanna also got lessons at the university. So I am taking care of Heinrich for the day.”

“And before you ask, no. I won’t leave him behind at the castle. I can’t guarantee I can return his assistant alive to Goosewing. He would definitely be killed, intentionally by Igor, unintentionally by Nanny.”

“Then why didn’t ye send yer dear butler Igor to do the chore? Ye’re a count, for heaven’s sake!”

“This is a small task. I can handle it myself.”

Rory raised an eyebrow at Duckula’s response, obviously not buying his explanation. Duckula saw the suspicion in his uncle’s red eyes, and let out a big sigh.

“Okay, you got me. Igor is on strike.” Duckula confessed.

“For?”

“For...him.” The count moved to the side, gesturing the young vampire hunter behind him.

“Even for a year, he still can’t accept Heinrich and his family. That stubborn old vulture...How can I possibly entrust Heinrich to him? I can’t even let Heinrich out of my sight at the castle! Might as well take him with me...”

“...Even someone else’s castle is safer than mine...”

Duckula sulked, looking down at his webbed feet. Heinrich also lowered his head with a frown, feeling sorry for Duckula, and even more guilty for worsening the relationship between the count and the butler.

After ten seconds of hanging his head down, Duckula snapped out of his thought. He realised the awkward situation he had made. He just vented out his family conflict all of a sudden, making Heinrich extremely guilty and Rory rather uncomfortable.

“I...I am sorry...” Duckula’s eyes darted between his friend and uncle, desperately trying to reverse the situation. But he didn’t know what to say other than apologies. “I am sorry...I am sorry...”

Rory took a deep breath, and sighed quietly. He also didn’t expect the just-warmed-up room to freeze again in a mere minute. But if the atmosphere had turned serious, he might as well go along.

“C’mere, kids.”

He placed all the tea utensils onto the large rectangular tray, and picked it up. He turned around, inviting the two to join him.

The elderly walked towards the fireplace, while the two youngsters followed in silence. He placed the tray onto the coffee table next to the fire pit, and sat down on one of the two sofa chairs facing the fire. He gestured his hand to the other chair, asking the duo to sit.

“Y’know, ye aren’t the first Duckula-Von Goosewing friend duo I know.” Rory looked at the cracking flames, seeing memories of the past emerging from the burning firewood.

“I may be a hermit, but news comes and goes. And this bag o’ feathers has been around for who knows how long.”

“I have even met one pair in person - more than one pair, actually. Usually, the drake count would be introducing his new gander friend to this  relative of his, perhaps a symbol of genuine friendship.”

“Sometimes the goose would be angry. Sometimes he would be scared. Sometimes he would be rather easy-going. Whatever their first impression, we would always have fun while we could. I always served them camomile tea on their first visit. They say camomile tea can calm ones’ nerves, whether it is fear or agitation.”

“They might visit once, thrice, five times, ten times...”

The old vampire stared at the flickering flames: Sometimes roaring, sometimes dying. His pleasant smile changed to a melancholy frown, his pupils dilating from sorrowful reminiscence.

“But they all stopped coming, eventually.”

“Perhaps they were tired of me, or they never intended to visit me regularly. But no. They stopped visiting anyone. Not together. Not anymore.”

“And before long, I would hear from the newspapers, that a member of the Von Goosewing family managed to vanquish another reincarnation of the foul Count Duckula, granting peace to the people of Transylvania for a century.”

“Or maybe, during family reunions, I would hear from the current Count Duckula himself, that he managed to trick a Von Goosewing into having his neck bitten, making a meal out of him and a humiliation out of his family.”

Rory turned his face away from the two and towards the fireplace. He sniffed gently as he looked into the flames of destiny. Life really was as fickle as fire, wasn’t it?

“And then a pair of duck and goose would visit me again. And another, and another, and another...”

“I would always welcome them with a smile and a pot of camomile tea. But I knew: There could only be two endings, both of which were tragedies.”

“I should had warned them. I should had told them the cautionary tales of their ancestors. But I was such a coward. But I was such a selfish person. Who am I to intervene with the relationships between Counts of Duckula and the Von Goosewing?”

“I didn’t want trouble. I didn’t want responsibility. I kept me beak shut. I witnessed tragedies after tragedies. I faced this punishment again and again.”

Rory took off his red tam o’ shanter, holding it in front of his chest. He closed his eyes, praying quietly.

Duckula and Heinrich looked at the elderly in awe. Surprised that they weren’t the first, sad that they weren’t the first as well. They could only imagine what tales of woe had happened in the past, and the feelings of regret the old vampire had been experiencing.

After a minute of silence, Rory put his cap back on, turning to face the two friends.

“Pray, I beg of ye. Pray don’t let this relationship end with a stake through the heart. Don’t let this friendship end with a bitten neck. Let it end with a genuine smile. No...”

Rory leant closer to the two, his crimson eyes filled with sorrow, his hands held tightly together.

“Pray, never let this friendship end...”

He freed his right hand, extending its pinkie.

“Promise me...Promise me...”

Rory looked at Duckula and Heinrich with utmost sincerity. It must be a request like no other, when the “Scourge of the Glens” practically begged and resorted to such childish promise-keeping ritual. Neither the mallard duck nor the young goose would understand how Rory felt, but they knew it must had been truly devastating for him.

This time, Heinrich took the lead, and stretched out his pinkie to hold onto the old duck’s. Duckula was a bit surprised at his normally cowardly friend’s initiative, but he understood once he saw the empathy in the gosling’s yellow eyes.

Duckula looked at his uncle with determination, and extended his pinkie.

A pinkie promise, but a promise stronger than any other.

“Thank you, lads...”

Rory hugged the duck and the gosling, tears flowing out of his crimson eyes.

For once, the flames in the fireplace did not die out.

——————————————————————

“Sorry, boys. Must had been embarrassing seeing this old duck weep.”

Rory settled back in his seat, wiping away traces of tears with his sleeves.

“It’s o-okay, Mister McDuckula. I c-cry all ze time.” Heinrich beamed, his smile spreading onto Rory’s face.

“Ye really are a kind child, Heinrich. The doctor is blessed to have ye as his assistant.”

“T-t-thank you so much, Mister McDuckula!”

“And ye too, nephew.” Rory smiled at Duckula. “A thoughtful and responsible young man. I am honoured to have ye as me guest at ‘Glen Sparrows Hotel’.”

Duckula blushed at his uncle’s compliment. “Aw, shucks...”

With another deep breath, Rory got up from his seat.

“Thank you for hearing this geezer’s mumbling. Shall I see ye out?”

Duckula exchanged gazes with Heinrich, who affirmed with a nod.

“Actually, if you don’t mind...” Duckula stood up, holding the tray in his hands and a smile on his face. “We would like another cup of camomile tea.”

Rory blinked a few times, feeling his heart getting sour again. He held back his tears, forcing a grin.

“Then ye better have some interesting stories up yer sleeves! This tea ain’t free! And I have told ye so much, ye better have something equivalent!” Rory took the tray to the kitchen, teasing his nephew and his friend.

“You bet I do, Uncle Rory!”

And so, a blood-sucking vampire, a vegetarian vampire and a vampire hunter’s assistant spent a day at the castle on the highlands of Scotland.

Windy the mountains might be, the stone wall kept the castle a homely abode. Quiet the wilderness might be, the laughter of its occupants kept the castle a joyful place.

The flames in the fireplace were still burning, forever sincere and pure.

(28-12-2020 ~ 31-12-2020)

———————————————————————

- The “Bockwurst Sandwich” incident is a part of Duckula’s first encounter with Heinrich (and vice versa). This will be included in my coming long story detailing the start of their friendship. Bockwurst sandwich is the favourite food of (my) Heinrich, by the way.

- I had thought for some time about where to end this story. I usually end my stories with a conversation, so I was thinking with the “We would like another cup of camomile tea” or “You bet I do” sentences. Eventually, I decided to end this with the fireplace, with “fire” symbolising “friendship”, and also use it as the story title.

[duhragonball]

[FIC] Luffa: The Legendary Super Saiyan (153/?)

Disclaimer: This story features characters and concepts based on Dragon Ball, which is a trademark of Bird Studio/Shueisha and Toei Animation.   This is an unauthorized work, and no profit is being made on this work by me. This story is copyright of me. Download if you like, but please don’t archive it without my permission. Don’t be shy.

Continuity Note: This story takes place about 1000 years before 66 years after the events of Dragon Ball Z.

And then there’s these jerks...

[24 December, Age 762.  Planet Namek.]

A stiff breeze blew over the azure plains of Namek.   The Time Patrol had recruited Luffa from the distant past to hunt down a mysterious enemy who was altering history.    She had found them.  

They were humanoids with pointy ears, snow-white hair, and ice blue skin.    They wore matching costumes of black and red.   Towa carried a long spear in her slender hands, while Mira appeared to be the warrior of the pair.    With a voice devoid of emotion he threatened to destroy Luffa for daring to oppose them.    

Luffa had already taken a beating.   Undoing the changes to history had led her to several pitched battles with the Ginyu Force.    Her pants were reduced to strips of yellow rags that hung from her waist and boots.   Fortunately, her black compression shirt and shorts were much more durable.   Since arriving in this strange era, Luffa had found her powers to be a pale shadow of her former glory.   Once, she had been the Legendary Super Saiyan, and she would have destroyed the Ginyu Force with a swipe of her golden tail.    Now, it had taken everything she had to defeat them one at a time.

She raised her outstretched hand towards Mira, and curled her fingers toward herself, beckoning him to do his worst.  

"You acted a bit rashly a moment ago, Mira," Towa said.   Usually you ask my permission to attack before you power up.    Not that I mind, of course.   This Saiyan will make a good test run for you, but I am rather fascinated by how eager you are to fight her."

"He's just smart, that's all," Luffa said.    "He knows that I came here to fight, and you two are next on my list."

Mira charged at Luffa and the battle was on.    She avoided what she expected was a right punch, only for Mira to grab her by the face with his left hand and drive her into the nearby hillside.   She attempted to reverse the grab into an armbar, but he was quick enough to release her before she could lock in a grip.   She settled instead for a barrage of punches and kicks.   Mira deflected all of these with ease, but Luffa was only testing him at this point.    So far, she liked what she was seeing.  

"Towa," Mira called out.    His voice was louder, but showed no more emotion than before.    He spoke like a man reciting passages out of a phone directory, and now he simply raised his voice to be heard.    "This is the one who has been interfering with us all along."

"I'd say you're right, Mira," Towa replied from a safe distance.    If she was concerned at all about getting hurt during this battle, she didn't show it.    It irked Luffa enough that she was tempted to fire a ki blast at her just to make a point, but she didn't want to give Mira any openings.   She would deal with Towa in due time, or so she told herself.  

"It's a shame, really," Towa said.   "We made history a lot more interesting, and then you came along and put everything back to normal again, didn't you?    How disappointing.    You struck me as somewhat impressive, but all you care to do is maintain the status quo.    That's not very adventurous of you, now is it?"

"Is that why you came here?" Luffa asked.   "No big plan, just tampering with history for a few laughs?"

Asking that question nearly cost Luffa her head, as Mira fired a large ki blast from his hands that she almost didn't dodge in time.    It was like her Galick Gun, but not quite.   There was a hint of Saiyan style in Mira's fighting moves, but Luffa wasn't entirely certain what that could mean.  

"Oh, I'm here for more than a good time, if that's what you're asking," Towa said.    "But speaking of laughs, I did enjoy that part where you switched bodies with Ginyu.    Very amusing.    You had no idea he could do that, did you?"

"You two were watching us fight the entire time?" Luffa asked.   "But none of us sensed your energy.     I'm kind of surprised Kakarot and Vegeta aren't rushing over here now to see what I'm up to."

"Your friends will not save you," Mira said in his gloomy monotone.   "They have no idea that you're here."

Luffa went low and attempted a kick to sweep Mira off his feet.   He avoided her foot, but he failed to account for her tail, which hooked his ankle and flung him over her shoulder.    He recovered quickly, but not quickly enough to take back the initiative.    Luffa pressed on, hammering away at his defenses with rapid strikes.    Mira showed no sign of despair or frustration, but Luffa smiled anyway.  

"I've been generating a cloaking field around us ever since we came to this time," Towa explained.   "It doesn’t obstruct line-of-sight, but it does prevent outsiders from sensing our energy, so that way we can operate and observe without attracting any unwanted attention.   That's why you didn't notice us earlier, or on Earth, when we were conducting experiments before."

"Experiments?" Luffa sneered.   "That's what you call it?   That purple crap you used on Raditz, and then Vegeta and the others?"

"I have to give you some credit," Towa said.   "Because of how well you performed against the Ginyu Force, I decided to try the same spell on Frieza's entire crew.   I wouldn't have considered trying it otherwise, not that I expected them to beat you, but it certainly made things more amusing.    And it seems like you've gotten a little stronger since then.   There's something odd about you.   I like that."

Mira suddenly set his jaw and tensed his arms, and a bright green field of energy surrounded him, deflecting Luffa's attacks and forcing her away.   As the field subsided, he pushed back on Luffa, fighting harder than he had before.    

"Getting serious, Mira?" Luffa asked.    "Took you long enough.   I thought maybe you two were waiting for Frieza or some other goon to show up and bail you out."

"Hmph," Towa said from the sidelines.   "I guess you thought I was bluffing before.   You're from Earth, aren't you?   What do they call it on Earth?   A duck blind?   Something hunters use to avoid being noticed by their prey.    This whole area has been camouflaged, so they won't sense any of us, no matter how hard you and Mira fight.    And we're too far away for them to see or hear us.   Well, maybe Namekian frogs could pick us up.   They have an uncanny power to sense humidity.   Did you know that?"

Luffa hadn’t known this, but it explained how she found them.   Captain Ginyu had trapped himself in the body of a frog, and somehow he had noticed Towa and Mira from a great distance away.    Perhaps his new amphibian senses had picked up the moisture from their breath.   If Luffa hadn’t been watching Ginyu, she might not have discovered them.    But she had no intention of admitting that.  

"So there won't be anyone else joining us?" Luffa asked.    

"No one," Mira said.

"Excellent," Luffa replied.

She ducked Mira's next ki blast and then drove an uppercut into his abdomen.     Despite his cold, stoic demeanor, Mira's eyes went wide as the breath was driven out of him.

Luffa used the lull in the action to turn her head and spit on the ground.    "Don't get me wrong," she said.   "I wasn't waiting for someone to help me, and I wasn't worried about someone else showing up to help you.    I just wanted to make sure I could fight freely without causing anymore time anomalies.   And if no one sensed that little love tap, Mira, then I guess they won't notice this either..."

She balled up her fists and began to scream.   Mira recovered from her punch, but he wasn't in any hurry to renew his offensive.   He stood his ground and winced as Luffa's ki aura grew stronger.    Towa raised an eyebrow, but nothing more.  

"You were so excited to fight me, Mira," Luffa said when she finished.    "Let's see how you like me now."   With a cheerful growl, she raised her left hand over her chest and flung a ball of green energy at him.   Unable to dodge in time, Mira tried to block it, only to be stunned as the ki made contact with his body, like his hands had gripped a live wire.    The damage was minor, but it gave Luffa an opening to slip behind him and drive her knuckles into the small of his back.   To add insult to injury, she grabbed the length of cloth that hung from his waist and swung him around a few times before tossing him into the ground.  

"Mira...!" Towa said under her breath.  

"You said you watched everyone," Luffa snarled.    "Observed all of the fighting.    Didn't you pay attention to how those fights ended?"

She pounced on Mira's chest and knocked him over before he could get up.   Then she began punching his head as hard as she could.    Her hands glowed a furious crimson as she charged them with enough ki to make every blow as painful as possible.    

"They ended with my enemies whimpering with fear!" Luffa shouted.    "With me slaughtering them like livestock!    And you call yourselves the hunters?    Not anymore, Mira.   Now you're just another victim."

At last, she hit him hard enough to draw blood.   It was purple.    

"Enough!" Towa gasped as she raised her spear.    Luffa caught this motion out of the corner of her eye, and leaped clear of Mira to defend herself.    

"So, you finally got bored with watching, Towa?" Luffa asked with a grin.    "You're welcome to join us whenever you like.    Mira could use a hand, couldn't you, Mira?"  

With a horrid look in her eyes, Luffa glared at Towa as she licked Mira's blood off her knuckles.    

"You have no idea who it is you're dealing with," Towa insisted.   She was almost beginning to look worried.   "Mira has defeated far greater warriors than you, little girl.    Let me show you..."

The spear began to glow, and Luffa expected an attack, but instead it was Mira who was affected, as he suddenly glowed with a dark red aura, much like the one he had displayed before the fight began.   He rose to his feet, and stared at Luffa with a renewed sense of purpose.  

"Your fate is sealed," he said, his gloomy voice cutting through the rushing pulse of his ki aura.    

"You can make him stronger?" Luffa asked Towa.   "Hah!  You should have done that in the first place!    Do I have to kill him before you'll take me seriously?"

"I had been conserving that energy for other applications," Towa said.   Now that Mira was back in the game, Towa had regained her former composure.    "But I won't just stand by and let you damage my masterpiece."

Mira wasted no time.   As he rushed towards Luffa, she noticed that his wounds had even been healed.  Curious, she backed away, retreating into the sky and keeping her distance.  

"You two make a hell of team," Luffa taunted.    "Mira does the fighting and Towa handles support.   Does she fight at all?    I was looking forward to seeing what she could do after I kill you, Mira, but I'm starting to think she might not last very long."  

Mira didn't answer.    Instead, he increased his speed, and suddenly appeared less than a meter away from Luffa, then caught her with a roundhouse kick to her ribs.    Before she could fall, he caught hold of her wrist, then wrapped his arms around her and dove head-first to the ground.   Just as they reached the surface, Mira released Luffa and jumped clear, leaving her to suffer the impact alone.    

"N-not bad..." Luffa muttered as she slowly rose up from the ground.   But before she could get to her feet, Mira fired a wide ki blast over the crater she had made.   For several long seconds, there was no sign of Luffa from within the intense purple light of Mira's attack.    When he ceased fire, she was still alive, but had dropped to one knee, her head tucked behind her forearms in a desperate attempt to defend herself.   The burns and scrapes on her skin proved that she had only barely managed to survive.    

Mira attacked again, zipping around Luffa with blinding speed, and finally stopping to deliver an elbow strike to the back of her neck.    She collapsed, only for Mira to grab her by the collar of her compression shirt and toss her high into the air.   He crouched and widened his stance, then held his hands together on his right flank.   As he charged his energy again, he spoke.  

"Ka...! Me...!  Ha...!  Me...!"

"Wonderful, Mira," Towa said with a chuckle.    "You really do know how to put on a show."

"...Ha!" Mira finished, and he extended his hands, wrist-to-wrist, and fired a burst of blue light directly towards the falling Luffa.    The beam caught her in mid-air, breaking her fall and shoving her further into the sky.  And further...

And then she stopped.    

"What--?" was Mira's only reaction.    And then he began to feel something pushing back.

"That... that can't be right," Towa said.   "She couldn't be strong enough to handle that attack, especially not after the beating she just took...!"

And then the Namekian skies echoed with raucous laughter.

"Mira!   Finish it now!" Towa said.    "This is no time to be playing around."

"I'm not 'playing'," Mira said.   His expression was as blank as ever, but the strain in his voice was unmistakable.    He was doing everything in his power to kill Luffa.    It just wasn't enough.    And then, finally, his Kamehama Wave deflected at a near right angle.    The beam continued on into the sky, leaving only the one who had deflected it.    

Luffa dropped to the ground and smiled triumphantly.   The yellow rags had all been burned away, and even her black shorts and shirt were beginning to show signs of wear.    Her hands were trembling, and her eyes were wide with wild, desperate emotions.   But she was still alive, and eager to continue fighting.  

"Come on!" she shouted, pointing at her face.  

"You've gone mad with terror, then," Mira said.    "Very well."

He rushed Luffa again and struck her in the jawline.    Luffa absorbed the blow, and responded with a punch of her own.    Mira stayed on his feet, but the impact staggered him.    

"That's not all you've got, you bastard!" Luffa snarled.    "Again!"

"Mira, watch out--" Towa warned, but Mira took the bait.   He tried a kick this time, and Luffa winced and gritted her teeth when his boot hit her ribs, but she recovered and fired back with a kick of her own, which landed squarely on Mira's right thigh.    He shuddered as his quadricep began to spasm from the impact.    

"You used to be a lot stronger than this," Luffa said.   "I can read it in your fighting style.    You're accustomed to fighting on a higher level than where we are now.    But you can't attain that level anymore.    You might get back there eventually, but you've got a long way to go."

"I have all the power I require to destroy you," Mira insisted.  

Luffa laughed and held her hands behind her back.    "You don't have anything," she said as she held up her chin, daring him to take another free shot.   Her wide eyes glared at him as she waited for him to answer.   "You've got skill, Mira, and you know how to handle all that power, but you've got no spirit, and that's why you'll never win against me."

"You're bluffing," Mira said evenly.    "If you think your feeble threats can intimidate me, then you are a fool.   I will end this here and now."

"Maybe you're right, Mira," Luffa said.  "I honestly don't know myself, and that's what makes it so exciting.   But I feel very sure of myself right now.   Like the next punch you land is going to push me over the edge.    So how about it?   What do you feel?"

She held her ground, waiting for Mira to make the next move.    For a moment, he hesitated, but only for a moment.    "It's over," he said.   "Don't worry.   I'll use your energy well."  

Then he drew back his right arm and prepared to strike, until--

"Hold on, Mira!" Towa called out.    He stopped immediately, and waited for her next command.  

"Looks like someone's not ready to find out if I was bluffing," Luffa said.   "Too bad."

"Oh, don't flatter yourself," Towa said.   "I only wanted to ask you a few questions before Mira kills you."  

She approached the two of them and stood beside Mira, who seemed mildly annoyed at being ordered to stand down.    Towa looked very calm, but Luffa couldn't help but notice how she held the spear in her hands, rolling it anxiously in her slender fingers.

"Who's supporting you?" Towa asked.   "Who's backing you up?   It's not as if you could have done this on your own."  

"Why not?" Luffa said with a grin.  

"Don't play dumb with me," Towa said.   "You traveled through time, came to this planet, just to fight us?    It doesn't make any sense.   Someone put you up to this.    I'd like to know who."  

Luffa's only reply was the sadistic grin on her face.    

"I see... So it's the silent treatment, huh?   No matter."   She gestured to Mira.   "Let's leave her for now, Mira."

Mira crossed his arms indignantly, though his blank expression remained unchanged.    

"You don't mind, do you?" Towa asked him.   "As she is, she's nothing right now.   I could extract her energy, but it wouldn't amount to much.   But maybe things will be different... later."

Mira harrumphed in reply.  

"Well, let's move on to the next era," Towa said.  

"What makes you think you can just walk away?" Luffa asked.

The two of them turned their backs to Luffa, and Towa glanced over her shoulder and laughed quietly.   "I'll let you live for now... little girl.   But if you decide to get in our way again... I'll have you erased."

"Why wait?" Luffa asked, but before she could do anything, Towa and Mira vanished.   She couldn't sense them anywhere.    For a moment, Luffa considered that they might be hiding again, using the "duck blind" that Towa had spoken of.   How long would it take to search the planet?   Were they even still on the planet to be found?    

Before she could weigh her options, the world around her began to fade into a swirl of colorful light.   Luffa had experienced this before.    The Time Patrol was bringing her back from the past.    For now, her mission was over.  

NEXT: The Time Breakers.

[selne]

     ◜  *  hi  hello  everybody!!!  i'm  billie  (  she/her,  21  )  &  i'm  here  to  introduce  everybody  to  miss  selene  ishii,  your  resident  mystery  novelist  &  overall  cutie.  if  you'd  like  to  plot  please  don't  hesitate  to  take  a  gander  at  my  connections  page  &  feel  free  to  drop  a  like  for  a  dm  ♡.

𓏲  ՞  ˖  🍀    𓂃    ogawa  mizuki  (  léa  ),  cis  woman,  she/her.          have  you  seen  selene  ishii  around  town?  she  can  often  be  found  at  the  brew  commune,  &  you’ll  be  able  to  recognize  them  by  her  seemingly  permanently  ink  stained  fingers.  the  24  year  old  is  a  mystery  novelist  and  has  been  residing  in  solaris  for  seven  months.  the  aquarius  often  reminds  the  residents  of  frayed  edges  on  a  well  worn  sweater,  crinkled  eyes  hidden  behind  round  glasses,  and  the  mischief  an  empty  street  at  night  invites.

𝙺𝙾𝚃𝙾𝚁𝙸 𝙸𝚂𝙷𝙸𝙸.

born  to  two  middle  class  high  school  teachers,  kotori  ishii  was  brought  to  this  world  wrapped  in  love  and  care  and  laughter.

with  a  mother  that  was  loud  and  vivacious  and  passionate,  and  a  father  that  was  quiet  and  reserved  and  kind,  kotori  took  after  the  best  of  both  of  them  and  quickly  became  the  apple  of  their  eyes.

kotori  grew  up  with  a  warmth  that  charmed  most  of  the  people  she  met,  and  a  clumsiness  that  endeared  her  to  them,  but  little  miss  sunshine  (  as  her  father  liked  to  call  her  )  always  had  a  nose  for  trouble.  she  was  constantly  looking  for  adventure,  straying  off  the  yellow  brick  road  to  chase  down  the  interesting  looking  bird  flying  over  head,  or  climbing  over  a  locked  fence  to  see  what  was  hidden  behind.

seeing  this  behaviour,  her  parents  sought  to  correct  it  by  encouraging  her  to  read  books  with  adventure  in  them  rather  than  seek  her  own,  and  to  their  delight,  kotori  took  to  the  stories  with  ease.

it  was  when  she  was  old  enough  to  finally  begin  reading  agatha  christie  that  kotori  felt  something  click  in  place.  all  the  mysteries  she'd  read  that  were  written  for  kids  were  good,  yes,  but  nothing  beyond  that.  the  world  of  agatha  christie,  however?  it  was  magnificent,  and  kotori  couldn't  get  enough.

she  doesn't  start  writing  her  own  mysteries  until  she's  in  high  school,  even  under  the  watchful  eye  of  her  mother  as  she  taught  english,  and  her  father  as  he  spouted  off  about  math.  she  was  never  quite  careful  enough  to  completely  hide  it  from  her  parents,  but  they  were  both  simply  happy  that  she  found  a  passion  of  her  own.

after  that  it  was  writing  competitions  and  posting  anonymously  on  different  websites.  it  was  winning  and  impressing  the  people  around  her  but  it  wasn't  enough,  not  really.  kotori  wanted  her  own  book.  hard  back.  she  wanted  her  name  on  the  cover  and  she  wanted  to  see  it  sitting  on  a  shelf  in  a  bookstore.

her  parents  had  said:  don't  be  disappointed  if  you  don't  get  results.  her  agent  had  said:  what  if  you  went  by  selene  instead?

𝚂𝙴𝙻𝙴𝙽𝙴.

selene  leaves  kotori  behind  when  her  first  book  gets  published.  mononyms  are  in,  her  agent  had  said,  and  she'd  said,  okay  then.  her  first  book  becomes  something  of  a  sensation.  people  whispering  about  how  someone  so  young  could  write  a  book  like  that,  how  someone  completely  unknown  could  write  a  book  like  that.

she  is  twenty  and  she  makes  headlines  and  does  interviews  and  answers  calls  from  her  parents  crying  about  how  proud  they  are  on  the  other  end  of  the  line.  and  it's  a  lot.  it's  too  much.  selene  wanted  her  book  on  the  shelf,  she  wanted  her  book  to  be  read,  but  the  rest  of  it?  the  rest  of  it  she  could  live  without.

when  she  was  fifteen  and  writing  the  first  draft  of  her  first  novel  she  had  never  thought  about  the  fame.  even  when  she  was  twenty  and  looking  at  her  own  display  in  the  bookstore  she  had  never  thought  about  the  fame.  she  was  not  a  celebrity,  not  in  any  way  she  thought  counted,  so  then  why?

eventually,  someone,  somehow,  someway,  found  the  address  to  the  apartment  complex  she  was  living  in,  and  on  her  twenty  first  birthday  she  got  an  anonymous  present  dropped  off  in  front  of  her  door.  it  was  an  innocent  little  thing,  a  snow  globe  and  a  little  thank  you  note,  but  it  was  enough.  it  was  enough  to  make  selene  wary,  and  a  paranoid,  and  think  about  people  less  kind  also  knowing  where  she  lived.

she  moves.  and  that  solved  the  issue,  for  a  while.  but  then  she  dropped  her  second  book,  aged  twenty  three  and  a  half,  and  the  next  week  there  was  an  abundance  of  gifts  waiting  for  her.  she  stays  this  time,  but  doesn't  open  the  presents,  and  her  parents,  seeing  her  uncomfortable  shifting  and  wide  eyes,  they  tell  her  about  solaris.

and  so  she  picks  up  everything  and  disappears.  only  her  parents  and  her  agent  know  she  is  now  residing  in  solaris,  and  selene  would  very  much  like  to  keep  it  that  way.  meanwhile,  her  fans,  her  critics,  her  friends,  they  wonder,  where  is  selene?

𝙱𝚁𝙴𝙰𝙺���𝙾𝚆𝙽.

selene  came  to  solaris  to  run  from  everything,  basically.  and  now  she's  here,  finally  relaxed,  to  work  on  her  third  book  in  peace.

in  terms  of  personality,  she's  very  friendly.  very  warm  and  inviting,  always  wearing  a  big  smile  and  saying  hello  with  a  friendly  wave.  she  babbles  a  lot,  though,  especially  if  she  isn't  fully  comfortable  with  you  yet.  she'll  fill  the  awkward  silences  with  unending  chatter.

she's  also  very  passionate,  especially  about  writing  but  that  translates  to  anything  she  likes.  you  can  tell  when  she's  talking  about  something  she  likes  because  her  smile  gets  wider  and  her  eyes  go  brighter  and  her  gestures  become  bigger  and  more  exaggerated.

even  though  she's  grown  now,  she  still  yearns  for  adventure  as  much  as  she  did  when  she  was  a  child.  in  fact,  sometimes  she  thinks  about  writing  adventure  novels  instead  of  mysteries,  but  she's  afraid  to  branch  out  incase  it  won't  work  and  people  hate  it.

can  get  kind  of  stubborn.  if  you  argue  with  her  she  will  get  huffy  and  put  one  hand  on  her  hip  and  furrow  her  eyebrows  and  use  her  other  hand  to  poke  a  finger  at  your  chest.  mostly  refuses  to  compromise  or  bend  her  opinion  on  something,  unless  you're  Very  very  convincing.

if  you  tell  her  you  don't  like  her  work,  she  Will  cry.  she'll  say  it's  okay  and  she  gets  that  not  everyone  will  like  what  she  writes,  but  she  will  definitely  be  emo  about  it.

𝙱𝙾𝙾𝙺𝚂.

first  novel  :  dancing  shoes  by  SELENE. blurb  :  a  ballet  academy  is  the  perfect  place  for  secrets,  and  zola  academy  of  dance  is  no  exception.  however,  when  on  the  eve  of  zola's  annual  production  of  giselle,  nothing  is  found  of  principal  dancer  maia  chang  but  her  dancing  shoes,  those  secrets  might  be  in  danger  of  coming  to  light. rating  :  4.07/5  stars  on  g**dreads.

second  novel  :  the  fifth  floor  by  SELENE. description  :  sitting  in  the  middle  of  an  ordinary  town,  lies  an  ordinary  office  building,  filled  with  ordinary  people.  there  is  nothing  ordinary,  however,  about  how  every  year,  without  fail,  at  8pm  on  march  23rd,  somebody  will  jump  to  their  death  from  the  fifth  window  on  the  fifth  floor. rating  :  4.29/5  stars  on  g**dreads.

third  novel  :  n/a  (  first  draft  in  progress  ). description  :  n/a. rating  :  n/a.

𝙿.𝚂.

thats  all  folks!!!  thanks  for  getting  through  all  that  <333  again,  i’d  love  to  plot  so  feel  free  to  like  this  for  an  im,  or  hit  me  up  on  discord  at  :  !!!#2428.

[exodusmc]

Fairy tale

Genre: Fantasy au, slight soulmate au, fluff, angst(if you squint from a mile away)

Words: 3595

Paring: King Junmyeon/neighbour Junmyeon x  reader

Warning!: -

a/n: I really like his new drama! It’s so cute! :)

Gif is not mine

A huff escaped through your lips, hands carrying a heavy box. The elevator had be broken since forever according to the old lady on the first floor, which meant you had to move your stuff using the stairs. 

“Shit..”a book fell out from the box, opening to a page with an illustration of  what looked to be a man, eyes golden and hair of bronze.

Picking up the book, your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. You had never seen it before, it wasn't yours, but you were alone in the hallway, on one else could have thrown it at you. Studying the image closer, you saw some symbols you didn't understand in the bottom of the page. The man smiled and you couldn't help but to think he looked like a prince from a fairy tale, wondering more about his story. It didn't matter that you were standing in the middle of a hallway, you decided to read anyways. You were met with words you understood as you turned to the next page, words that promised another land.

“The sun shone bright in the sky, the last stars leaving for the time. Butterflies sailed the wind, twirled around. He stood to watch the world he knew, as another pair of eyes gazed from the outside…”

The text suddenly started to glow in a yellow tone, igniting the whole page until more words appeared, uncovered for your eyes to read.

“...But two worlds collided, hearts soared, and a new world opened for the spectator.”

Your sight blurred, the book burning in your hands as you felt every bone break in your trembling body. There was black and nothing else, until white sparked and colored the whole world, not your own, but a different world so bright, you had to squint. 

Your breath was taken away, eyes staring at the wide open land of greens and blues. You were standing under the same sky as the man had been, gazing at the same butterflies. Trees swayed to your right, spaced with enough distance to see through the forest. Your mouth felt dry and your head hurt, everything being too much. How did this happen? What even is this place? It was first when you tried taking a step when you realized that your clothes were different. The blue jeans and shirt you had been wearing was now a light blue dress, simple but with a beauty of spring. You grabbed at the fabric, lifting it as your eyes widened. Were you dead? Was this the after life? So many questions turned in your head, fast and crushing against your skull in a pounding feeling. Your knees hit the soft grass, pupils blown wide at the headache forming, fingers threading through your hair. It was getting so bad, you never heard the soft steppes of another human, before a hand formed in your field of view. Glancing up, your mouth fell open. Ther the man was standing, perfect eyebrows pinched together in worry at you state.

“Young lady..How are you and why are you here, by the moon's home?” his voice was smooth in your ears, hair shining in the sun.”Young lady?”

Your lips pressed together, brain fighting to get an answer out, only to be met with a harsher pounding at your skull. His gloved hands found purchase on your shoulders as your body sagged. 

“How are you, young lady?! Please tell me!”he felt further away, like he wasn't touching you, words sounding like you were under water. The blackness came back, drew stars for your closing eyes, until sleep held you close but not as close as him.”Young lady!”

-

“Call for the healer!”every head was turned in his direction, servants scrambling away, listening to their king.”Fast!”

Junmyeon ran with you in his arms, glancing down every now and then to make sure you were still  breathing. His steps echoed through light teal and green walls, ivy cling through the windows and bring pink flower buds.

“My king, what’s the matter? What’s the rush?”Yixing, his healer, had a worried look on his face, dark orbs staring down into Junmyeon’s embrace.”Who is this lady sleeping in your arms?”

“I do not know, my healer, but her health is declining. We need to save her!”your body was placed in Yixing’s working room, bottles and books coloring the high walls, mixing with warm sunlight. 

“Do not worry, my king, I’ll heal her back to health”there was an uneasiness in Junmyeon’s eyes, orbs following Yixing as he prepared different herbs.”I promise my king, come back when she is merely sleeping..”

The king left, glancing back one last time to see your sleeping face and soft eyelashes. He wondered who you were but was scared that your wouldn't open your eyes once again. His healer was skilled but death was a trickster. A sigh escaped his lips, Yixing’s heavy door finally closing, leaving Junmyeon standing in a quiet hallway. His kingdom was wide and deep but you still held more mystery than it. He was intrigued by you and wanted nothing more than to hear your speak. 

-

Warmth held your body close, made your stir from your sleep. There was still a dull beating at your temple but it was far from the ache you felt before...Before you fainted in his arms. Your eyes flew open, resulting in a blur to your view, but the room cleared, showing stacks of paper and books, potions and what nots. No technology could be seen anywhere and outside the window was thriving natur instead of high grey buildings. You were gaping at it all, slowly feeling like screaming, when the door opened. Another man, taller than the one who held you, gazed right back at you. His face held angles, his eyes were darker than the night, but he seemed warm, the light tanning his skin. 

“Oh, the young lady has woken from her slumber”the way he spoke made your shoulders relax slightly.”How is she?”

“I-I’m fine..”he nodded, smiling wide, and proceed to step into the room. 

“Well that is good young lady. My name is Yixing and I’m the healer under this roof. It’s nice to meet you.”you stared at his dimple, forgetting to answer until his eyes found your again, slightly confused.”Young lady?”

“I’m Y/n..it’s nice to meet you too..”there was unsureness in your words, eyes flickering around, and it made Yixing smile. Your name didn't sound like anything he had heard before and there was something foreign about you, he just couldn't put a finger on what.

“Y/n..well I want to make sure you’re okay…” you knew what he  hinted at, so you nodded in a timid way, blushing. It made him chuckle, moving as if you were a bird, close to flying away.” Fear not young lady I mean no harm.”

Yixing check you, deciding that you seemed fine but that he wanted you to rest and drink one of his brews. You, however, was a little suspicious at the greenish liquid, like you should be, because the healer was a stranger to you, this whole place was strange to you.

“It’s a potion I made for pain and the soul. It’s only herbs grown by the land, nothing dangerous, I promise young lady..”it tasted like matcha and something sweet, something close to raspberries.”See, nothing dangerous.”

“I guess...Thanks Yixing..”he smiled, leaning back to watch you for a moment. The orbs in his eyes were dark, following you, searching through you.

“Lady Y/n..You're not from this land, are you?”once again were you nodding, stress slipping up your spine. You couldn't tell him where you were from, it would make you sound crazy.”Well in our land, the land of the seas and moons, everyone is welcomed!”

Yixing bowed, brown hair staying in place as he stood up. His head was held high and you couldn't help but marvel at his handsomeness. He smiled one last time before he left you alone in the room filled with books, grander than your own little library at home...Home, it felt weird to think about home and your world, like it wasn't real but where you were now was not real, you just didn't know what it was.

-

“My king, let her rest some more now that her health is stable..”Junmyeon’s eyes were wide, his breathing coming out as pants. He had ran to the healer’s room when he got the news of the young lady’s rising but straightened his back.

“If you suggest it to be the best, I’ll listen.” Yixing smiled, walking by the king’s side. Their goal was the garden where many herbs grew, where flowers bloomed. It was a magical place, sprinkled with butterflies.”How is she, my dear friend?”

“The young lady is fine, her body steady..”Yixing turned to look at Junmyeon, standing on grass filled with blue flowers.”But she isn’t from our land..Maybe her birth place is far from us or close but she wasn't born here..”

“I know..”Junmyeon glanced to the side, staring at the window which hid your sleeping body.”The moons told me about someone which I should hold dear to my heart..”

“Oh my king, don't get your heart crushed by the aging moons..”the healer placed a hand on Junmyeon’s shoulder, staring at him with saddening  eyes.”She is a fair one but her life may be on a different path.”

“I know, I know, but why would I feel my heart’s place is in her soft hands?”

-

Your fingers slipped through the soft grass, knees bent as you sat feeling the calm wind. Yixing was to your right, working and scribbling down words, creating a nice sound. You wanted to ask him about the other man but felt embarrassed about it. 

“The young lady is thinking hard..What’s on her mind?”the healer smiled, his question making your cheeks burn. You had been awake for a couple hours now but had been outside for just a short while, watching the brown haired one work. 

“I-I..it’s nothing..”he opened his mouth to answer, eyes warm as the sun over your head, but his words were cut of by a melody. 

Your hair rose at the beauty of the voice singing about souls. He sounded like a rolling river, tones held nicely and perfect. Yixing could see the wonder in your gaze, which was searching for the source of the song. His hand grabbed yours, lead you through the lively garden. 

“Where are you taking me?”you heard him chuckle, turning the corner of a rose wall, just to stop before a towering part of the light castle, where the man was standing. He sang so loud and his words almost had tears slipping from your bottom lashes.

“That’s the lands king, my king, a young lad by the name Junmyeon..”Yixing sat down, urging you to do the same. 

“Junmyeon..”it wasn't a question but the healer still nodded to you, hair bouncing.”..But why is he sing of such sad things?”

“Oh my king has a sorrow song, a melody begging for a hand to his heart and his mouth to kiss lips..A hopeless romantic he is..”Yixing smiled down at you, who couldn't stop staring up at the sining Junmyeon. His voice was clean, flying in the sky on wings of longing.”Maybe a young lady will come and fall in his embrace?”

-

Time went on, the days growing a little more warm. Yixing had been teaching you different things about the land and potion making. He smiled every time your eyes would wided at his statements, but you wondered about the king, where he was or how he was. It seemed like this Junmyeon had disappeared but Yixing knew what was really happening. The healer walked through the arched doorway to the private library of his king, soft daylight falling in through the many windows. 

“Good afternoon my king..”Yixing greated Junmyeon with a smile, eyes following the writing hand.”The young lady has been asking and wondering about your whereabouts..”

A sigh escaped Junmyeon’s lips, pen landing softly on dark wood. He felt his heart jump at the thought of you thinking of him but he was unsure what he should do. The moons had told him about the one he was a part of, about the rightness that was her, but he didn't know what to do, what they wanted him to do. His lands prayed to the moons and the sun, he believed in their words, so he had to ask once more for advice.  

“I’m delighted to hear that but I’m afraid that I can't met her just yet..I need to consult the moons one last time..”Yixing nodded, knowing the reason for his king’s hiding. The moons would be full this night, like they had before the night your soul walked through pages. 

“I see but if I may lay out my opinion, please be careful about lady Y/n away. We don't know how long she stays in our land..”

The healer walked out, leaving Junmyeon to stare out at the scenery which was his kingdom. He had been the ruler for over 20 years but his age had been forgotten and the number was no more than 23, the number when he had been on the throne for ten passing years, and never had something like this happened. The moons had glown yellow, something they never did, and as his eyes stared at them as they formed one sphere. The sun had soon walked over the sky and at the top of the hill had you been, falling into his arms with the moons heart behind your eyes. 

“I’m sorry for my hiding young lady but what can I do when the moons seems to be you?”

   He stared up at the night sky which was blessed with blue hues of the full moons. They shone bright on the hill where he had watched butterflies, where he found you. Junmyeon had questions on his tongue and he would ask them all. 

“Dear moons, you told me once about the young lady and how she would appear under your touch but what am I supposed to do, when my heart speeds with the mere sight of her?”the wind started to sing around him, spoke about how you were from far away but was his just like he was yours. They became louder and louder, until they grabbed at his hair as they told him about his ending sorrow. 

And just like that, in the span of one second, had they stilled. The winds were soft, so soft he could hear the grass being pushed down. Junmyeon glanced over his shoulder, seeing your make your way through the field to where he was standing, the whole time bathing in the moons light. 

“Yixing told me I could find you here…”there was shyness in your voice, there was warmth on your cheeks.”..he said I should come see you.”

Junmyeon smiled, feeling his own body heat up. Of course his healer would do something like that, having wanted his friend to be happy for years. You stared at his eyes, watching them become gold. Soulmates was a thing in stories and fiction, they weren't real, but gazing at him was making you unsure because he felt like he belonged to you and you to him. 

“I see young lady…”you hadn't heard him ever since he caught you but as he spoke now, your realized that you loved his voice and Junmyeon was happy to hear you speak, the tones of your words.”..i must apologies for not welcoming you like I should. I’m sorry my lady.”

“It’s okay..I don't blame you”a star fell over your head, mirrored in your orbs, and it was like the final puzzle piece falling into place in Junmyeon’s world.

“Oh, but I do insist on making it up to you, young lady. Will you follow me to the dazzling tops?”his hand felt smooth as he took it, leading your through knee high grass with the two moons over your heads. 

Your gaze found their way up to the dark sky and unlike your world, did it have two blue moons in its hands. You marveled at them but ultimately forgot when Junmyeon threaded his fingers with yours. The world became a blur and all you could focus on was his bouncing hair.

“Here we are lady Y/n, where the sky meets the ground..”he sounded breathless and you understood because before you laid hills with flowers or something which shimmered like the stars. 

You stood to his right, just staring at everything, the differences from your grey and dead world. Junmyeon, however, was watching your face shine with happiness, making his lips point upwards. You were so beautiful in his eyes and he wondered how he managed to keep away from your soft touch. He suddenly took both your hands and twirled you to the sound of a world from fairy tales, swept you around with his gaze lock on yours. Your heart soared and flew with his across the breaking point of the sky, let you dance on the ground with lightness. 

“If you agree, I would like to know you and your soul. I would like to hold your fingers until the end brings us home…”he stopped with one hand in your and the other on your waist, orbs searching through your.”...Can I ask all that of you my lady?”

“..Yes..”it didn't matter that this was just a dream in your head, that this wasn't real, because it felt right with his hand on you and the promise of time.”I would like that..”

-

“Junmyeon!”your shriek made Yixing run down from the upper garden, eyes wide and a puff leaving him when he finally got to you. But you were giggling on Junmyeon’s lap, his fingers tickling your sides as his lips smiled. You were in no danger, you were happy. 

After the night you danced with Junmyeon hadn't he been able to keep away from you, always holding you with his hands or eyes. It was like you were in your own little fairytale, love and a vibrant world surrounding you, but an end would come. 

The time went fast and soon had you been by Junmyeon’s side for over a year, dressed with flowers and a ring of silver. He would hold your hand under the moons and the sun, he would kiss you every time he could, he made you breathless. Shortly were you walking down an aisle of white, meeting him at the end. He kissed you once again after your promises had left your tongues, dragged you away from the castle and into the forest. Junmyeon took you dancing again but this time as his wife with his heart. In a blink of an eye were you no longer a young twenty year old living in a small apartment but a forty year old running through halls dripping in light, your hand either holding Junmyeon’s or your child’s soft one. You had a family now, blessed with their laughs. Your husband smiled down at your sleeping face, stroking over your cheek when he saw the moons glow yellow, like they had all those years ago, but now was he scared. He felt dread fill his whole being, eyes glossing over. His soul knew, so he kissed your cheek one last time, whispering a heartbreaking I love you and let his tears run free. In the morning would you no longer be in his arms but where you came from. Junmyeon would love you for eternity, just like you would, even when your universe called you back, away from his warm embrace.

-

You fell against the wall, a wall which was greyish yellow, old. There was a buzz from a world you hadn't been in so long but as your gaze became clear and you glanced around, did you realize you were back and not a day over 20, like no time had passed. The book felt heavy as you held it, your story with Junmyeon written on all the pages, the story which weren't real. Tears slipped down your cheeks, a feeling of emptiness filling your broken soul. You were happy there but was ripped away, forced from him and your little child. Low sobbs echoed through the hallway, your fingers shaking. This was not how it was supposed to end, you were supposed to be with him until you died, not thrown back to this dull life. Just when you were sure of a ripped page in your fairy tale was the door of apartment 5 opened by none other than Junmyeon. Your orbs found his, those golden worlds, but his hair was black now. 

“Are you okay?”he didn't speak like your Junmyeon but he sounded the same, his fingers felt the same as he dried your tears.

“Y-yes..T-thank you..”the lie burnt your mouth and made him smile exactly like your king from the pages.

“I don't believe you..”he sat by you and smelled like Junmyeon, he was Junmyeon but not the fairy tale one, no, he was the real life one, your Junmyeon.”..So I’ll stay because two moons shine brighter, right?”

[thecleverdame]

Sleepy Hollow - Chapter Eight

Series Master List

Pairings: Sam x Reader, mentions of Dean x Jo

Summary: In 1799, specialized police constables Sam and Dean Winchester are sent from New York City to a small town called Sleepy Hollow to investigate a series of murders. Approached by the town’s council, the Winchesters discover the local residents believe that the murders are the work of a deadly Hessian horseman whose head has been mysteriously chopped off. With help from the beautiful Y/N Van Tassel, Sam Winchester’s investigation takes him further through the dark wood where more murders have been occurring. What Sam does not realize is that the mysterious Horseman is being controlled by someone in a sinister plot to kill the most suitable men in the village.

Warnings: Canon-level violence, murder, smut, horror, gore and a little fluff for good measure.

Words: 40k

Beta:  ilikaicalie

This series is completed. You can read it on my Patreon for a monthly pledge of 2.50. This pledge includes early access to all my stories and Patreon exclusive content.  >> CLICK HERE <<

-

Western Woods

No one, indeed. Sam, Dean and Young Masbath ride alone, their horses loaded up for the expedition. The three ride through the dark and gnarled woods keeping a watchful eye.

“The Van Garretts, the Widow Winship, Jonathan Masbath, and now Magistrate Philipse...something must connect them. Can you think of anything Young Masbath?” Sam asks.

“We had no dealings with the magistrate that I know of.” The boy shrugs. “And the widow?” Dean pulls his horse beside him. “Your father knew her?”

“Everyone knew Widow Winship,” he confirms.   “In a manner of speaking I trust.” Sam glances to Dean.

“She would bring old Mr. Van Garrett a basket of eggs every week.” A crow screeches in the distance and all three riders nearly jump in their saddle.

“Did your father have dealings with the Van Garretts?” Sam inquires.

Young Masbath look between the brothers. “He worked for them, we lived in the coach house.”

“You didn’t think to mention this?” Dean presses. “It’s nothing, there were many servants. All dismissed now, of course...But there was something that happened one night, a week before the murder. An argument upstairs between father and son, and my father was later sent for by Mr. Van Garrett.” Sam nods, “An argument between father and son?” “After which, the elder Van Garrett summoned his servant, my father.”

“Stop.” Dean snaps, putting his hand up. “Listen.” “I hear nothing.” Young Masbath looks around.

“Nor do I, no birds, no crickets.” Sam keeps his eyes on the horizon, fingers grazing over the grip of his pistol.

“Everything has gone quiet,” Dean notes. “We need to keep moving.”

“This way,” Sam nods. They reach a hill crest, stopping to take stock of the surroundings. Below there is a cave with a rock archway over two ill-fitting doors that look to be coming off the hinges. Above is a chimney, smoke pouring out into the gray sky. “This is a bad idea.” Young Masbath pulls his horse back several steps.

“Bad ideas are what we do best.” Sam grins, dismounting his horse. “He’s right. Don’t be scared, boy. You’re safe with us.” Dean jumps to the ground, helping Young Masbath down.

They tie their horses to a tree and head toward the cave, stalking carefully on the approach.

“Do we...knock?” Sam whispers, looking at his brother.

Dean shrugs, hand on the butt of his pistol. “Sure.” Sam taps on the door twice, and it flops to and fro, clearly ajar.

Looking back at his two companions, Sam raises his eyebrows and ducks down to prowl inside. The walls are covered with skins and skeletons. Sam freezes when he spots her, across the cave is an old crone, facing away from them, motionless. Everything about her is gray, from her hair to her rotting skin. They all share a look as Sam clears his throat lightly. “Pardon our intrusion…”

There’s no response, so Sam edges forward.

“Are you from the Hollow?” Her voice is broken, fractured sounds only held together by the rasping of her throat. “In a way,” Dean affirms, leaving Young Masbath behind him to join Sam. Dean taps his brother’s arm, bringing his attention to the table beside them. It’s littered with gourd bowls of dead insects, dried leaves, acorns, knives, scissors, and yellowed bones. “I would like to say,” Sam inches closer. “We make no assumptions about your occupation, rather, your ways witch-which are nothing new to us. To each their own.” The Crone places something on a table beside her, a dead bird, a bright red cardinal. Sam begins to back away, but Dean stops him. “Do you know of the Horseman, ma'am? The Hessian?” Dean finds his voice.

The Crone draws her finger across her neck. “That'll be him, miss.” The elder Winchester snickers.

Around her neck is a cord on which is threaded a carved stone, a mystic bauble, they both notice. The Crone stands tall and faces them, pointing to Sam.

“You, follow me.” She curls her finger. “Get out, child,” she instructs Young Masbath. “Keep away. No matter what you hear, keep away.” Sam looks back to Dean who’s standing his ground. “She wants you, not me.” The crone takes a candle and heads deeper into the cave and Sam follows her through the passage,terrified and bent under the low ceiling. “Um, what might he hear that he must keep away from?” “Sit here,” she instructs. Sam sits on a crooked stool. The Crone kneels with her back to him, grasping two metal cuffs with chains attached, sliding them onto her wrists, testing them. “He rides to the Hollow and back. I hear him. I smell the blood on him,” she grits.

“Do you,” he stops trying to find the right question. “We’re here to find him, to make him stop.”

“You want to see into the netherworld? I can show you.”

She gathers straw in a pile on the floor, then bowls, putting grass and powder on the pile, fussing over it. Then takes a jar from a table. “What are you doing?” Sam watches intently, he’s scared but even more entranced. This is old magic he didn’t believe existed in these modern times.

The Crone shakes one jar, pulling the lid off and upends it. A baby bat squirms, dazed. The Crone grips the bat using a knife to cut off its head, soaking the straw with blood. “Do not move or speak. When the other comes, I will hold him.” She explains calmly and Sam bows his head in confirmation. Using her candle, the Crone lights the straw pile. “The Other?” He asks softly.

“Silence,” she hisses, bending over to inhale the smoke. “He comes now.” The Crone slumps forward to the floor, suddenly immobile with her back to Sam. Wind howls through a hole somewhere in the wall of the cave. Sam looks around, uncertain. “Excuse me...ma'am?” The Crone remains motionless. The wind intensifies, candles blow out. Sam inches closer... “Do you hear me?” he asks again, a bit louder this time.

The Crone jumps erect, spinning - a half-human, half-demon creature, black clawed hands reaching out to Sam. He cries out, leaping backward. The chain on the restraining cuffs around its hands goes taut, yanking the creature back. Sam knocks over a table of bones, hits the floor. The creature is chained, but still wants Sam. It shrieks. Its face still seethes from transformation. “You seek the warrior bathed in blood, the Headless Horseman.” Sam scrambles to his feet as the creature claws the rock floor, yearning. “Follow the Indian trail to where the sun dies. Follow to the Tree of the Dead.”  The creature yanks, testing the chains. Behind, the bolt holding the chains slips, the wall cracking. “Climb down to the Horseman's resting place. Do you hear?” Sam nods, quaking, aghast. He glances back, wishing Dean were here to witness this horrific display. The chain bolt gives more,  it’s coming loose. Sam flees toward the door. The creature howls, leaping when the chain bolt breaks. Sam shouts as he's tackled to the floor. But when he looks up it’s only the crone lying on him. She’s returned to her human form, semi-conscious as Sam shoves her off him and to the floor. Sam sprints out from the cave, past Dean and Young Masbath. “We are leaving.”

“What happened?” Dean asks, watching Sam mount his horse.

“We are leaving, now.” Sam offers no room for dissent.

“Stop and talk to me, brother.” Dean claps a hand on Sam’s saddle horn.

“I cannot pretend to understand what’s happening in this place. But a spirit spoke to me.” Sam’s face is ashen. Dean stares at him a moment longer, then wordlessly mounts his own horse.

Sam, Dean, and Young Masbath ride side by side. "Take the Indian trail...to the Tree of the Dead.” Sam repeats, scanning the trees around him. “How will we recognize it?” Young Masbath asks. “Without difficulty, I rather fear,” Dean snorts.

“And climb down to the Horseman's resting place, she said.” Sam recites for the tenth time, as the repetition will hold the words in his memory.

“His camp?” Dean wonders out loud. “His grave.” Sam’s sure of it.

Somewhere in the woods is a snapping branch that breaks the silence. The three look back.

“There’s someone out there.” Dean listens, eyes fluttering closed as he tilts his head toward the sound.

“We need a better vantage point.” Sam searches their surrounds. “Up there.”

They charge up the hill, halting the horses, the constables dismounting. Sam and Dean hand off the reins to Young Masbath and draw their guns.

“Ride on,” Dean whispers to the boy, who obeys immediately. The Winchesters wade into forest growth, backtracking the route they just took. Moving through the underbrush, keeping low. There’s the snort of a horse and they look to each in unspoken communication. They come up behind a figure in a gray cloak on horseback. Dean nods at Sam, both men raising their pistols, cocking the hammers. “Halt and turn! There are pistols aimed.” Sam’s voice booms through the forest.

The figure stops, pushes off the cloak hood. “It is me.” You can feel your heart thumping in your chest, looking at the two men who have their weapons trained on you.

“Y/N,” Sam lowers his gun. “We might have killed you. Why are you here?”

“Because no one else would go with you,” you answer honestly, watching the wonderful, faint smile that tugs at the corners of his mouth. He’s heartened by your presence.

“I am now twice the man.” Sam reaches out, taking your hand, helping you off your steed. The feel of his hand on yours makes your cheeks flush.

Dean sighs averting his gaze, looking toward the tree line. “It is your white magic.” Sam grins, one hand curling around your waist.

Your eyes meet and he leans closer, unphased by his brother who stands only feet away.

“Pardon my intrusion…” Young Masbath steps out of the woods.

“Oh please,” Dean smiles, patting the boy's shoulder. “No one has ever had more perfect timing my young man.”

“I think you'd better come and look at this, constables.” You follow the boy, Sam reaching behind to take your hand, a gesture that doesn’t go unnoticed by his brother. Your fingers thread between his, a thrilling reminder of how large every part of him seems to be. The four of you come into a clearing, slowing your pace to look up at the monstrously huge Tree of the Dead at the center of the clearing. Its branches reach far and wide, knotted and gross, like agony captured in wood sculpture. “The Tree of the Dead,” Dean mutters, awestruck. “It does announce itself,” you whisper in confirmation, transfixed by the arboreal terror before you.

Without looking back Sam gives your hand a squeeze, before relinquishing his hold. He crosses a line beyond which grass and weeds will not grow. The three of you follow. Sam stares up into the endless, dead canopy of branches. There's a vertical wound in the bark, like a terrible suture, now healed and scarred. Sam reaches out, finger sinking into the mushy scar, picking at its scabs till sap begins to run. Red sap. Sam coats his fingers and brings them to his nose, sniffing. “Blood.” He looks to Dean.

“The tree bleeds? How can it be?” you ask, stepping forward to look at the evidence.

Dean turns back to the horses, pulling two hand axes from the saddlebags. “What is it?” Young Masbath looks on, shaking in fright.

“Move back.” Sam locks eyes with you, sending a thrill of excitement down your spine, despite this perilous situation. At the trunk, Dean hands Sam an ax, thumping the flat end of it against the suture. It sounds hollow. They look to each other, and in accord they begin to chop. Dean sinks in first, pulling away loose bark. The tree drips more blood and a sickening goo. Sam uses both hands on the ax to hack at the festering suture. “What are you doing?” You stand on your toes, trying to look around the men.

“Just...keep where you are.” Sam instructs, fixated on the task at hand.

Young Masbath moves closer as the men keep chopping. Dean grips a large, loose flap, trying to pull it away. It's not easy. Sam joins him and they both struggle. You follow Young Masbath's slow advance. Both men give a menacing heave and the flap suddenly gives, revealing a blood-soaked, wide-eyed, gape-mouthed human head. Sam recoils, Dean covers his mouth. Behind them, you stifle a scream, clasping both hands over your mouth. Sam cocks his head, getting a closer look. It is Philipse’s head, hanging off the trunk flap, held by roots grown around and into the flesh. Four other severed, decaying heads are held by ingrown roots within the dewy innards. One of the heads is Jonathan Masbath's. Before Young Masbath sees it, you hide his face, drawing him to you as he buries his head in your arms.

“My God,” you stammer, fear and confusion twisting in your belly. “He tries to take the heads back with him, but they will not pass,” Sam thinks out loud.

“We must leave this place,” you call out, gaining the attention of both men.

Sam looks to the branches towering above. ”This is a gateway, between two worlds.” Dean studies the ground, circling the trunk, around the other side he gets to his knees. There he’s found the Horseman’s sword, a grave marker, jutting up from the ground, rusted twenty years' worth, gripped by the tree trunk and vines. Sam joins his brother, touching the ground with blood-stained fingers. “Climb down to the Horseman’s resting place.”

“Bring the shovels,” Dean calls out. Both men look up to the sight of you holding the boy, looking on in horror. “Forgive me.” Dean backtracks. Young Masbath courageously recovers himself, wiping his eyes and nose on the back of his sleeve. “Yes, sir, the shovels. Two shovels and the rifle, I suggest.” The sun is setting as you watch them dig by lantern light. Young Masbath is crouched, rifle across his knees. He watches the tree, looking up at the swarm of bats in the high branches. Sam and Dean both stand in a shallow grave. “This ground has been disturbed, the soil is loose.” Sam looks from his brother to you, throwing down his shovel. You and Young Masbath come to the edge of the grave. Sam pulls at thick burlap cloth covered heavy with dirt, straining as it comes away. Sam drops the burlap, looking down, disbelieving. “Dean, look!” The roots have gripped the Horseman’s bones and tattered uniform. The skeleton is all there, except the skull. “The skull is gone. What does it mean?” You scowl, looking away from the putrid sight. Sam jumps out from the grave. “It means, my dear Miss Van Tassel, it means...yes! What exactly does it mean? It definitely means something, only time will tell! But I sense that we are very close to the answer here.” Both Winchesters are both so caught up in the bones in front of them that they seem oblivious to the ground undulating beneath their feet. “Sam!” you shriek as he turns to look you. You grab Young Masbath, backing away as the roots in the grave come alive, entwining around the remains.

“Something is happening,” Dean draws Sam’s attention to the twisted tree behind them. The vertical suture seethes, pulling inward, sucking Philipse’s head back in and closing, bubbling at the edges. “Run!” Sam bounds over the grave, with Dean at his heels. He grabs you without slowing. Two big hands curl around your waist, plucking you off the ground as he heads for cover on the other side of the clearing.

Your legs wrapped around his waist, you can look behind him, the tree swelling and pulsing, the leaking scar moments from bursting open. Once Sam passes the bucking horses, he slips into the tree line, setting you down and moving to the forefront, putting himself between you and impending terror. There’s a rumbling coming from the tree as you peek around Sam to watch the spectacle. The wound bursts wide open, spitting smoldering cinders into the air.

From the open portal a glow brightens, and without warning, The Headless Horseman on his mighty steed, Daredevil, explodes into existence. The horse’s hooves hit the ground running, the ground shaking as horse and rider ride away, bolts of lightning striking the earth behind them. “Did you see that!” Sam shouts to Dean, both men look strangely excited for having just witnessed such a horrifying event.

“We have to go!” Dean responds, both of them already running toward their horses.

“Go straight home!” Sam calls back to you and Young Masbath. “Don’t stop for anything!” You call after him but there’s no stopping the Winchesters as they give chase, horses rearing up on two legs before speeding away in hot pursuit. Trees are silhouetted against the sky.

As the horseman’s hoofbeats grow faster, branches bending like arms and fingers yearning to touch. As the horseman roars past, and in turn, the trees relax. The Horseman rides fast with Sam and Dean behind him. There’s no keeping up and they slow, trying to decide what route he’s taken. “There!” Dean points to the distance, the sky is lit up. There’s a fire. The old crone’s cave is vomiting flames when they arrive. Embers swirling in the night air, the men dismount, heading closer to the cave as Dean slips on a blood covered rock, landing very close to the crone’s headless body. Dean recoils, crawling away, looking at the carnage in disbelief.

The corpse lies near the cave entrance. The jagged skin of the neck wound still bleeds. The ground and dead leaves around the corpse are thick with blood.  Sam walks back to the crone,  her headless neck has been cut and the carved Bauble is missing. They hear a Horse neighing in the trees, and the sound of the horse crashing through the undergrowth. They can hear him departing but can see nothing.

[hungryflowers]

Let Me Fall in Love With You

Title: Let Me Fall in Love with You

Rating: Teen

Relationship(s): RadioHusk

Continuity/Fandom: Hazbin Hotel

Characters: Alastor, Husk

Warnings: Swearing, Gore and Maiming 

RadioHusk Week Prompt: Falling In Love

Alastor walked down the path through the woods at the right moment. Toothy, alligator chesire of a smile flitting in the low light. His outfit made it easy for him to blend in to the surroundings, the foliage of dead, decaying leaves masked him in deep shadows of orange and red. The woods would be barren. Without fail, nothing grew here for long. The territory was the only stretch of flourishing wildlands that kept up sparse flora. A perfect place to stage and stash a murder. These woods kept the Radio Demon spellbound by the way the Sinners would yowl and scream inside and around the woods. Tonight was no different... Well, he had been wrong before. 

Sprang from the woods was indeed a squawking sinner. Literally. It was a bird on a genus origin Alastor knew nothing of, but it was running. And it was running to him. Beside himself, Alastor did not move, did not beat the sinner away or show interest in the abandoned pleas. All he did was tilt his head to the side, his smile subduing as more closed, eyebrow arched in what could be confusion as he tried to make sure they did not touch him.

“You gotta help me! Please man! PLEASE!,” He wailed, feathers going everywhere as he tried to get Alastor to respond, “He’s gonna kill me! He already ripped off my feathers! You gotta save me!”

Alastor looked the poor gent over, seeing red intermingling in sea of blue and yellow. The green eyed bird was trying to get closer to the deer demon, to grab at him for leverage as its legs went underneath him. 

Alastor looked at the male bird, cleared his throat unhurried like and said, “My poor fellow sinner...”, Vindictive and snide were not the terms to be used as he poshly straightened his clothes and tempered his voice, “Whom is trying to kill you? After all, why would you go out into these woods and not expect to be attacked while on a stroll?” Alastor’s chest inflated as he swatted away the sinner’s grabby hands. He had no patience for this. The buffoon had ruined his quiet, he wanted it back.

“You don’t understand! He--”

A hissed snarl came from behind the two of them. Alastor’s ears came to attention of the sudden sound, as well as the rustle of under brush. There was stillness for all of four seconds when without warning a massive flurry of red and grey came thrashing out of the leaves and branches. 

Alastor suspected the creature be a lycanthrope of a kind. Such creatures were hellspawns and not uncommon when walking through the hollows, yet on second glance he noticed the form of the beast was not of canine, but of a felidae visage. It was slender but toned. Furry yet feathery at the same time. Paws larger than Alastor’s whole hands were decorated with deadly, serrated knives at each tip. It hissed, spat, snarled, growled wildly as it sped towards them. 

Alastor shoved the imbecile off his path at the same time the beast pounced on the sinner, who had been screaming the whole time. He continued to do as the feline began to rip the sinner into pieces; ivory claws going decorated with blood the color of red wine, teeth plunged into the poor beast’s flabby skin, tearing it in excess as the muscles and tendon came free with a wet squelch. 

“Help! Help me please! Oh God, why is this happening to me?!!” He brayed reaching out a claw to Alastor, him hoping he would reach with his own to save him. The large cat bit down on the arm, a hard crackling could be heard as the deer demon was certain he heard bones breaking. The screams confirmed as the limb went limp while it began to bite in and chew the limb right off his body. A weak sob came from the poor creature as it was wrenched from its socket, down the gullet of the cat. 

Alastor’s smile, he found, began to widen as he took part -visually- in the blood splatter and dismemeberment of the poor soul. He even giggled when the cat demon’s claws went right into the gut to slit gashes into the meat there. The cries became fainter and fainter as the creature began pulling out intestines and eating them right out of the warm body. 

The soil around them began to grow foul with the assailed brutal wounds, the life liquid spilling out as more organs; a fatty stomach, lower intestines and a kidney was ripped out and swallowed without a care for finesse. The white face of the cat demon was deeply red, the flavor of the color making Alastor want to walk up to the creature and lick it off his cheeks. The thought left as soon the cat’s golden teeth plunged into the sinner’s neck to rip out the trachea, ending the struggle completely. 

It was all over in a blink, the sinner was dead. Silent, save the droplets falling into the grass. 

In the quiet, the cat demon looked over to Alastor, who just now got a view of the feline’s incredibly intelligent looking, orange round eyes. The gleamed like firelight on a cadaverous winter tundra, filled with the malice of an angry spirit. 

Looking at him as he remained still, Alastor could see to him fully; his grey coat was like year old soot, chest -that was covered in deep red at the moment- was stagnantly white. On his neck appeared to be a bowtie that was dirtied by the crimson...or maybe it was crimson. The deer demon couldn’t tell from a distance. The beast’s ears were set wide apart and held high atop his head. His face held a permanent scowl of a snarl. 

“You’re gonna be next if you don’t get the fuck out of here.” A grizzled snarl of a voice was not what Alastor expected. It set the Radio Demon’s chest alight with something he can’t process. He huffed, wagged his cane and took one deliberate step to the feline.

“My, my quite the vulgarity you hold. I will be taking off on my merry way... for a boon, dear fellow.” His gaze stayed, eyes honing on the cat’s snarl. 

“The fuck’s that gotta mean?! Piss off or I’ll rip your stinkin’ guts out!” A louder growl as he skulked closer his tail, that was not seen before now, thrashing from side to side.

“Tut, tut. A boon is merely a gift. An exchange. All I ask of you is your name.” Another deliberate step forward. His voice still audible yet dipped a slight.

“My...name? How about yours, motherfucker!”

“Certainly! My name, dear fellow, is Alastor. The Radio Demon and most possibly the most dangerous sinner in Hell,” He boasted proudly as he laughed loudly, “Now may it get yours?”

The cat’s long eyebrows shot up, tail starting to stand as he examined the sinner. Pupils constricted a touch as he looked this ‘Alastor’ over. 

“Never heard of you. And that’s a pretty ballsy statement coming from a wacko looking son-of-a-bitch like you. Got yourself thinkin’ your hot shit, huh? You even own turf? You ain’t that dangerous if you can’t even take down no Overlords!” The male cat laughed, and laughed hard. So hard he put his paw over his face forgetting about the blood coating it. 

“You must be new... I’ve established enough territory that even these woods could be considered mine. Unless, you want to battle me for them.” A nonsensical bluff he blustered. Alastor knew better than to meddle with this sinner. His skin didn’t look to appetizing for his room tastes. 

“That right? Well, color me impressed. Tell you what, we ever cross paths again I might give that little ‘boon’ of yours. Till then, fuck off or I’ll eat you next.” The cat spat as magnificent wings spread out; the feathers a deeper red than the blood of his body and longer than the cat demon’s body. They took him off the ground with such grace as he disappeared into the blood red sky, leaving the deer demon in open-mouthed awe.

‘What a joyous encounter that had been! Not one for first impressions though.’ Alastor chuckled to himself as he walked away from the most spectacular scene of madness and murder ever displayed. They would cross paths sooner than the mysterious beauty thought. He’d make sure of it.

                                            ____________________

After months of wearing the feline sinner down, the moment of a lifetime had come to Alastor. The cat ran his giant paw over his face as he spoke into his bottle of booze. 

“What was that? I speak three languages but gargle isn’t one.”

Smartass. 

The cat swallowed his cheap swill slowly before looking Alastor right in his eyes.

“Husk.” Tone flat and deadpanned. 

Falling in love wasn’t something he planned on doing, but now no one was permitted to have Husk the way Alastor did.

A/N: Hello! I am late to RadioHusk week! A whole, freakin’ week late. Long story short, my computer’s charger broke and slowly my laptop just sat and died on me. I just a new one today and am now ready to begin my version of day one. Enjoy!!

[suffering-and-happy-about-it]

An Oddly Familiar Face (Geralt x high elf reader, Part 1.)

Description: Seeing a face in dreams was a foreseeing of the incoming future, as many told you. But when the man finally comes, you don't know if it is right or wrong. 

Warnings: Nothing really. Geralt and reader mostly speak in this part and also, Cirilla is here too!

Dedicated to @onlyhopebensolo since this honey bee asked me to write for them! 🖤 Also, if this isn't what you've expected, I'm so, so, so sorry my love!

A/N: I was supposed to have one part... Well... Didn't quite work out, did it? Also, I know that Thranduil is from LOTR and that he is a Sindarin elf, but I just love that bitch, okay? Let me live my dream. Also, in the end, it is heavily inspired by Young and Beautiful by Lana Del Rey. 

Word count: 8.4 K 

Tagging: @nemodoren​

Another beautiful day in the Garden was just begging, one of many to come. Flowers were blossoming all year long, so your people were almost always provided with food and alcohol for a good mood. You had endless fields full of various animals, like the sacred deers with white fur, tamed wolves, whatever caught your eye, really. The Garden was piece heaven located on the Continent - a normal human being couldn't stumble there without a proper map or coordinates since it was protected by many spells of the ancient mages.

The high elves were living in the Garden since the dawn of the Continent -  before the chaos started to rule over and before the first Witcher schools were created or even before humans arrived. The founders came alongside other elder races - dwarves and gnomes. The Garden was home to an old elvish family who were never referred to with the name of their dynasty. The other elves only called these ones Hain, which meant Them when translated to a general language of the Continent.

Hain provided for the Garden since it was built around the sacred tree which was giving life - Hain were making contact with the outside world, sometimes exchanging items like meteorite steel, leather, diamonds or clothing. Sometimes humans asked for their fruits or alcohol, sometimes they sought answers or help from the Hain and the other elves.

Even if you did have a good name among the human race, you never got into their wars, fights or conflicts. You were always only the watchers standing in the shadows.

One sacred yet cruel rule applied to all the elves who decided to leave the Garden - all of them were forbidden to ever come back. The elves outside were your distant family, yes, but no Hain supported a relationship between elves and the other races. So, you distanced from the descendants of such relationships as much as you could.

There was an ancient purity kept in your relationships - a Hain could only marry a member of another Hain dynasty, and all of the elves living in the Garden were established families with the purest blood they could possibly have, letting their children marry in such way that there was no room for anything unpure. It was a weird thing, but elves were obsessed with pure blood since the dawn of ages.

Of course, if there was an elf in need, you provided food, clothes, whatever the person needed - but you never let them inside Garden. That was the holy rule and nobody was brave enough to go against it. For those who lived there, it was a sacred home and to lose a place in this society meant utter shame for every of those who left.

Hain had their people all over the continent, monitoring the situation - mostly it were spies hiding in the big cities of the Continent, bringing information twice or once a year before setting off to the world again. Your people were known for the wisdom and reserved attitude they were born with.

Also, Hain were known for possessing ancient powers inherited from the elder elves - powers of foreseeing their future, the powers of reading minds and an unbelievable portion of chaos running inside their veins. All of them were great sorcerers.

But you came across differently than the others - you were able to perform difficult spells, yes, but your gift was unlike anyone else's. One day, you started to see visions in your dreams, yet you weren't predicting the future.

You were seeing a man, a tall one with hair of white and silver, carrying a sword on his back and a heavy armor on his body. You first saw him when he has woken up from a slumber in deep woods, but he clearly didn't know what, who or where he was. You saw this man lost himself in the woods and he felt... Empty. Like an amphora - without memories, without feelings... There was nothing inside.

You never learned his name from your dreams, nor where he was living or how old was he. You only knew that he had a medallion around his neck and that although he bore a recognizable similarity to the human race, he wasn’t one of them. You've heard a few stories about the man - never mentioned by name, he was a shadow called the White Wolf.

When you saw him slaying monsters from the conjunction for the first time, it made your heart race with an unknown feeling. When you have woken up that night, you felt that you're... Afraid. You looked at your hands and wondered since you never felt so alive throughout the eons you've lived for. Adrenaline was rushing through your veins, your hands were shaking and breathing was getting heavy.

That was the first time you lightened up the lamp in your room, took an old sketching book and drawn him as he pierced his sword through the beast's chest. You could see everything vividly in your head - the yellow blood dripping out of its body, its opened mouth full of sharp teeth and claws reaching out for the White Wolf.

After that, you sketched him after every dream, killing your time with it. You had details of his face and body, of his equipment, of the monsters he slew, of his pendant. You had soon sketched three whole books just with the remnants of your dreams. You knew him, or so you felt, even if you never heard his name or voice.

Hain naturally inclined to believe in destiny as well as humans did - they only had their own names, legends, and explanations. Naturally, when you told your maid and sister that you see a man in your dreams, both of them agreed that it's the destiny manifesting in its own way.

"Maybe he's going to come for you and save you from here." - Elion, your sister, said with a mysterious giggle as she sat on your bed. That was the first time you ever showed them Wolf's sketches. You both were very similar to each other by the looks since you were born out of the light as twins. She was more provocative and confident than you were, that was how your mother always knew who is who.

Elion always dreamt of falling in love and leaving the Garden to live a life as a mortal elf, she dreamt of true love, adventures and crazy things that were just not possible for a Hain. She hated living in the Gardens for eons, she hated living the same day again and again. - "He is very handsome by the looks of it." - Elion admitted quietly, watching each of your drawings with her eyebrows knitted together.

On the other hand, your main maid Gael, one of the nobles, wasn't exactly over the heels for you seeing the Wolf in your dreams. She was worried that it might mean a catastrophe approaching you and your family.

But when the day destiny planned to reveal itself to you through Geralt, it all started as a normal morning. You have woken up to singing birds and beautifully smelling flowers, sun and the tree of life shining through your balcony.

There was no need for windows in the Garden. It was well protected with the ancient magic, so the weather never got too bad, it only rained a bit from time to time, so you could smell the flowers as if it was blossoming just in front of your nose.

The dream you had was a different one - yes, you saw the Wolf with other beings, such as whores, other Wolves or sorceresses before, but you never saw him with a child by his side. It was a girl dressed in a blue cape. She was pretty, truly pretty with her green, big eyes and long, ashen hair. By the time you were done with your drawing, you have breakfast served and robe prepared, so you could put it on and start your day.

Since your father always thought you're the more reasonable child, he was always pleased to see you at the gathering when new intel was delivered to the Garden. That day, nothing important happened - the spy from Cintra still wasn't back, Nilfgaardians were still trying to take Temeria out of the play and Skellige... Well... They were the mighty islanders who never got into the wars happening on the Continent.

Also, there was a slowly fading need for supplies in Novigrad since most of the elves living in the city joined Scoia'tael, the resistance of non-human beings.

Just when you were in the middle of a debate about the Novigrad situation, one of your maids rushed into the room, catching everyone’s attention.

"I don't know how did it happen, but a man with a girl in his arms just crossed the gate to the Garden." - She said with a tone full of wonder. A man with a girl? That sure sounded familiar to you. - "He said that he means no harm to us, but the girl is very sick."

"How do they look like?" - You asked, playing with the jewelry around your neck, letting the discussion to be completely forgotten. There was something way more... Arousing going on.

"Both of ashen hair, fair-skinned. Neither of them is human." - The maid said and your breath got stuck in your throat. A man with a girl, both white-haired. White Wolf and his small girl you saw in your dream. You needed to see them, to talk with them, to determine yourself that they're real.

"And they found themselves way in? On their own? That's impossible." - Your father, one of the elders, stood up with confusion on his face. You couldn't contain your excitement for a while as you tried to catch your breath. - "Well, give them food and water to drink, bring them blankets and let them rest in the hall of Rovan, help the girl. We can't just send them away now when they're in."

Your father was a wise man. He wasn't too over the heels that these two were there. But then they already got on, elves were inclined to show the guests hospitality. If the girl wasn't all right, nobody would just send them away.

But you were excited. Maybe overexcited to say the least. The Wolf was there. Your destiny had to be linked and you felt the need to see him. You immediately asked your father to have an audience with him or the other way around.

"Are you interested in the foreigner, my child?" - Your father asked when you slowly walked through the gardens together. This stroll was a common thing happening every midday. You didn't answer but you gave him a smile. - "Do you think that foreigners are something special? I tell you, they are not. They are dirty from the sin and outside world, their minds were corrupted with chaos and anarchy. Why would you like to speak to them?"

"That's a difficult question to answer, my dear father." - You answered quietly and looked at the colorful spectrum of orchids by your side.

"We have eternity to explain and eons to understand." - The voice of your father could be heard again. You only wished to be as wise as he was, to be completely clear with your thoughts and to always look away from your personal struggles and opinions to be a fair judge. Your father had that ability - understandingly, it took eons to master, but he could be pure with opinions and words.

"I am sure that the man's destiny is somehow linked with mine. I don't know-how is that possible when we never met before, but I saw him in my dreams. Every night of last five human years, I saw him." - You explained the fastest way around, simply, yet complex enough not to see everything immediately.

"It is possible, yes. It happens rarely, but it isn't the first time I hear about this. Maybe, you were just foreseeing that he and his daughter will come, that is the better option." - Your father stopped and smoothed a big, blue rose, smelling it gently. - "If it's the other way around, there is a possibility that you're meant to do great things by his side. That's destiny. It always shows Hain their path, but never explains what does lead to that situation or what consequences will it bring."

"So you're telling me that it's possible that I'm drawn to him because of what does destiny has in the plan, yet it can bring fatal consequences." - You repeated after your father in with thoughts present in your voice. Honestly, it wasn't easy to determine if it excited you if it brought you a fair amount of terror. Obviously, you were drawn to the man because of destiny. But destiny could have practically any plans for you.

"It wouldn't be wise to denying you from seeing the man. I will tell others to separate him so you could talk in private. See him when you'll be ready, my child. And prepare for whatever your dialogue can bring." - Your father said calmly, yet you could tell that it doesn't make him happy. What if destiny planned you to separate from your family? What if it takes one of his daughters away? How should a father react to news like those?

It was almost midnight when someone finally decided to talk to the Witcher. He was nervously sitting in the hall they brought him to the whole time, not being sure about what to think. The elves just told him to wait and that everything will be revealed when the time's right and left him with food and blanket. Geralt knew that it wouldn't be wise to go against the elder's decision. So he sat there and waited just as he was told - some maids served him even more plates of delicious food and alcohol, scrolls with legends to read and an overlook onto the whole Garden where he could watch the nearby celebration.

When he heard first footsteps, he immediately turned his head in the direction of the source. Geralt's head turned on a figure which was ascending the stairs made out of perfectly white stone with railing from the purest crystal he had ever seen. It also felt like an eternity since he saw Ciri for the last time. He didn't know what the elves were doing to her or where she was - he was only hoping that Cirilla is alive and well.

Hain were something who Geralt knew he can put his trust into. They were joyful, delighted, intelligent a most of the time very reserved. But they were creatures that could be trusted.

This one was somehow different, Geralt could tell that straight away. Her hair was neatly brushed with lots of jewelry braided in it, yes, but that was where the similarity to other Hain was ending. Not so say that she was wearing a piece of clothing that could be barely taken as underwear - her silhouette was covered with many layers of a see-through material, only her bra and shorts made of heavy, dark blue cloth, making them almost impossible not to be seen.

There was no doubt that she truly belonged to the celestial beings class. She could've been hundreds, thousands of years old, but she still looked like a fresh nineteen-year-old. And a huge wolf was walking beside her. That wasn't just some big and scary dog, she had a real wolf.

"My sincerest apologies to you, dear mister, for taking too long to have at least someone speaking to you." - You smiled at him, making a quick, sharp noise with your lips only. The beast beside you ran next to Geralt and laid down on a big piece of a mattress covered in thick, very expansive cloth. You laughed when you saw Geralt looking at the wolf listening to you like an obedient lamb.

"What? Don't tell me that you're scared of a little wolf." - Your amused laughter filled the room once again before you poured your guest some wine, giving him the cup.

You were interested in the Witcher because he came to your house from the outside world. For the sake of everything, you didn't know much about him - you only heard some stories and legends about the White Wolf. You had no idea what his name was, how old could he be, if he was in love or not... You just knew that he was the one and only White Wolf.

"I'm more shocked that you're not afraid to stay in one room with something like me." - Geralt smiled and accepted the cup of wine you were giving him. Then you swayed away to a big sofa with crystal details, sitting at the edge of it.

"Something? You forgot that I'm a non-human too. I'm that something you're implying as well." - Your gaze was directed at him before you started to play with the rings on your hands. - "And you don't seem to be utterly stupid - you know that if you try to harm me, the wolf will attack you immediately. It will tear you apart and you're aware of that."

You were truly smart and Geralt was amazed by all of it. He was mesmerized since he never imagined the elder race to... Act and look like that. Geralt heard stories about Hain and the Garden hidden on the Continent, but he never imagined that it will look like that. It was truly a beautiful, sacred place built around an ancient tree that was rumored to give life, the flowers there were ones Geralt has never seen before. You were able to mutate and enhance animals, their abilities and their lifespan. Every elf he had seen was a descendant of the elder race and that could be easily spotted - from the way you behaved to the way you were speaking, acting, dressing up... He had figured out that almost immediately - the descendants of the elder race. Some of Hain were even the ones were who came there at the dawn of the Continent. They were thousands of years old and looked as a normal forty-year-old would.

"So that's the legend going around the Continent, is it? Witchers are utterly stupid creatures." - The White Wolf laughed ironically and sat down with the cup of sweet wine you gave him. He was facing you and you couldn't but wonder with your eyes around his face. Geralt couldn't look away from you as well - smiling lips, beautiful hair and long, elegant ears full of jewelry. If every Hain was as beautiful as you were, this was heaven.

"I have never said that. Only a few stories are going around the Garden about the Witchers." - You shook your head and laughed. - "Just as there are only a few stories about the elder race and the Hain. There are already more similarities between us that I would ever suspect. Interesting."

"I wouldn't say that something like me can be similar to you." - Geralt smiled and took another sip of the wine. It was a good one - your people truly knew how to brew some good alcohol.

"I'm very interested in you, Witcher. But first, tell me this. A little riddle, if you will." - You slowly stood up and walked around the room, pouring yourself some nectar. Then you turned to the White Wolf again, standing in the moonlight. - "How comes that a monster slayer graces the Continent along with a small girl, who also happens to be a Source? How did you come across this girl, White Wolf?"

"Do you have some suspicion? Come on, just tell me. I'm interested in your theories. And don't hold back, I've already heard everything." - The man chuckled at you and you watched as he leaned back on his elbow, looking like million Orens. That man was unbelievable. But very amusing.

"I heard that Witcher abduct little children and take them to their schools to create a new generation. Are you really doing that?" - You wondered and still stood in the moonlight. There, you really looked like an elder. Beautiful skin, endless legs and see-through materials around your body were messed with a wind.

"In fact, all of that was supported by the law of surprise. No Witcher ever raided a village and abducted a child. The Witchers always saved lives from the monsters and for payment, they always asked for a thing the people already had, yet you didn’t know about it." - Geralt implied and sipped the wine again.

"The prize was a child. But tell me, Wolf. Is it better to take a child out of their mother’s loving embrace, letting the women and men live with the feeling that it was all their fault... Or is it better to abduct the children, so at least, the people can spend their life hating the Witchers, but not blaming themselves?" - You asked with a sincere curiousness and moved to the balcony to stand in the warm breeze.

"There was always a life saved and a payment that needed to be paid." - Geralt shrugged his shoulders and smiled, looking into the distance. That smile was not happy at all - it was more embarrassed than amused. - "But that's the past. There's no need for the Witchers and that means that nobody has to train another generation, which results in happy families."

"So, you haven't abducted this girl? Don't tell me that she is your daughter. If so, ashen hair clearly runs in family." - You smiled at him, looking at a few of the noble elves dancing under the moonlight, playing lutes and drinking. There was nothing that could harm them and their passion for life... You loved that place so much.

"She's running from Nilfgaardians, as a lot of other people do these days. She was born in Cintra," - Geralt said, but you snapped at him, silencing him in an instant. For a moment, there was silence before you let out a short breath.

"Are we talking about the daughter of princess Pavetta of Cintra, who was also the daughter of Calanthé of Cintra? Born under the house of Raven?" - You looked at Geralt, slowly approaching the sofa. You surely didn't look like it, but you did in fact panicked.

"Yes. Cintra fell down in flames, but not without a fight. Nilfgaard is controlling the area at the moment." - Wolf stated as a fact, like if you should know about it. - "You elves really sleep on the hottest news, let me tell you."

"Our spy didn't come back from Cintra. We thought that maybe he fell in love or some other nonsense and decided to leave us. I will have to inform my father when we're done." - Your head nodded and slowly, you sat next to the Wolf again.

"When we're done? Is this an interrogation?".- Wolf chuckled. The wine was stronger than it appeared to be from the start.

"Sort of. When I told you that I'm interested in you, I was speaking the truth. You're a long time mystery to me." - You curled your knees under you, leaning down next to almost laid down Geralt.

"We met literally fifteen minutes ago. What's your name? I don't want to call you Miss Elf." - The Wolf chuckled and looked at you, finishing the cup of wine with one long swing.

"Y/N of Hain. And yours, Wolf?" - You smiled at the man, watching the contours of his face you grew to know by heart. Ashen hair of white and silver, golden eyes that sometimes appeared like a cat's eye, sharp lips and a round chin. Just as in your dreams. But... Better. He was a beautiful human being.

"Geralt of Rivia. A pleasure to meet you." - The Witcher took your palm gently and kissed the knuckles as you noticed the swift curling of his nose. Did Geralt of Rivia just smell you? That almost made you giggle.

"We have much to talk about, Geralt of Rivia. But take a rest now, lay down and sleep. I'll find you again when the time's right. And don't worry about Cirilla. Now, when we know who she is, we will do our best to help her." - You gently took the palm our of his, smiling at the man once again. Your wine was really strong after all. Before you left him alone, you called your beast to accompany you once again.

Geralt was left there to wander alone for what seemed to be a few days, but it was really hard to say how long he was in the Garden actually. The people were nice to him, kindly offered him food and drinks, fresh clothes and baths, they talked with him when he wanted to be entertained, but there were no signs of Cirilla the whole time. And even if the people were nice, they still were reserved. And the Garden also didn't have a whorehouse where would Geralt spent the night with the most pleasant relaxation of all.

You found him again that evening when he was watching the sunset, you walked to him dressed in a long robe resembling a negligee.

"And we meet again, Y/N." - Geralt bowed and gave you an amused smile. You chuckled at his acting. He sure seemed healthier and relaxed than when he and Cirilla arrived. Maybe the fact that he had fresh clothes made by your best seamstresses. It sure looked good on him. Again, he took your palm and kissed, more as a form of poking fun at the gentleman-ish behavior than actually meaning it.

But you noticed that he smelled your scent yet again, as he closed his eyes for a second.

"We do. Come now, Witcher, we'll talk." - You waved at him, leading him to one of the bathhouses. When you entered, all of the elves gave you an elegant bow before they helped you with taking the robe off of your body, tugging it down to your ankles. You remained dressed in a one-piece looking like a swimsuit. Then, you ascended into the hot water full of white orchids, humming even you felt your muscles slowly relax.

"So. As I told you, Geralt, so I meant. I'm interested in you." - He earned a smile as he sat on a bench from white stone, watching you in the water. - "You are the pinpoint of my interest at the moment, dear Witcher."

"What makes me so special of all the creatures you can talk to?" - Geralt gave you a smirk, leaning his elbows to his knees. He leaned much closer to you, watching you moving in water, small drops traveling on your shoulders.

"The fact that I'm seeing you in my dreams every night, slaying monsters, drinking alone in inns... Making love to women. All of that is what makes me so drawn to you. I know a lot about you, Geralt of Rivia, more than you'd suspect." - You said and disappeared under the water for a moment to clean your ears and hair. And it was a pleasurable look, when you straightened again, giving Witcher another look.

"Should I be scared or amused? Are you purposely watching me?" - The Witcher smiled at you, watching you put soap on your skin, gently massaging it in. You were pretty. Truly pretty. You wore every small drop like a diamond or a pearl, like one of your best pieces of jewelry. And the wet hair was framing your face and ears just right.

"Neither of those. I think that our minds work in the same radius or something like that. I haven't seen you in my dreams until a night before... Five human years. Something must've clicked inside of you, something had to change." - You said simply, cleaning yourself from the soap as you walked to one of the maids, letting them braid your hair.

"So, you've seen the worst and the best of me, I suppose." - Geralt said jokingly and that was the first time it made you laugh as well. And you were gorgeous. Truly, Geralt couldn't bring himself to look away for a small second.

"Depends on what you think is your worst and what is the best, Geralt. I won't lie, there are things I would like to see with my own eyes." - You answered and your tone sounded darker for a moment. Could that be a sign of affection? Or lust in the better option? When you saw the man flicking tongue over his lower lip, you needed to make the things clearer. - "Like slaying a Kikimora or play those funny cards."

Geralt nodded understandingly, being sure that there was something more in your demand. But you pretended like that haven’t happened at all. 

“How did you become a Witcher, Geralt of Rivia, might I ask?” - You stepped out of the water and let the other elves to gently dry your skin with a silk towel. 

“Simply. My mother took me to a fortress named Kaer Morhen located in Keadwen. I suspect she has done it since she was tied with Vesemir, that's my mister, by the law of surprise. I've met Vienna since here and there, but we are really nothing more than strangers.” - Geralt answered honestly and you nodded. 

“I heard from father’s friend that you are called Gwynbleidd, meaning the White Wolf. Is that true? Also, how can you be a Geralt of Rivia when you were raised in Kaedwen? And turn around, please.” - You asked so many questions and you truly were interested. You wanted to get to know Geralt. You were curious and eager to learn more. 

Geralt truly got up and turned around to look outside, his eyes still sneaking to look behind the towel with the mirror on the wall. You weren't exactly stupid, so you moved your lips and snapped. - “You better leave those eyes looking directly in front of you and start answering the questing, Gwynbleidd. Or you know what happens.” - You warned him and the great wolf accompanying you entered the bathroom, looking more like a spa. 

“Alright, alright.” - Geralt truly turned away and looked outside once more, letting you have your space, while the wolf sat onto the bench in front of him. - “To answer your first question, yes, that is in fact true. Although I don't hear it that often, some call me Gwynbleidd. And why am I Geralt of Rivia and not Geralt of Keadwen? Well, that is a long story.”

“As my father says, we have eternity to explain and eons to understand. Start talking, Witcher. Don't leave me hanging.” - You turned your head to him briefly, taking a long robe on, covering your whole body with a few layers of clothing. 

“Vesemir told us to choose a name when we were in training. The clientele is more likely to believe someone with a surname than someone without it. They believe that we are really hailing to a certain part of the world, which made us seem more... Human. I wished to be Geralt Roger Eric du Haute-Bellegarde, but that didn't exactly make it to the final cut. I chose Rivia, learned how to mimic their accent and I happen to save queen Meve’s army before Nilfgaardians. Geralt of Rivia, the mighty knight, at your service.” - He jokingly bowed to the wolf and for a moment, the animal seemed to be amused with the Witcher. 

“That makes a lot of things clearer.” - You walked from behind the towel, the train of your robe was a good few feet behind you. - “Thank you for sharing and being honest with me, Geralt. I appreciate it. Now, excuse me once again, since I have my duties as a Hain and I have to check on Zireael.” 

At that moment, Geralt ignored the animal in front of him, turning at you with anticipation. You knew what he is about to ask. You just looked at him and spoke way before he could ask. - “Worry not, Wolf, she is alive and well. I know that it is maybe harsh for you to be without your small girl so long, but she needs space to rest and to regain the containment to posses the elder powers. I swear to you on my life that we mean no harm to the girl and we take care of her as one of our own. Just as we take care of you.”

“I trust you. You are elves descending from the elder blood, after all. When can I see her?” - Geralt asked quietly, leaving the spa by your side. You exhaled slowly. 

“Today, actually. There will be a celebration because Hain dynasties take elder blood very, very seriously. There are not a lot of beings who possess the power, not even elvish. Zireael is special.” - You bowed a bit and Geralt did as well, smiling at you lightly before kissing your hand once again - and sniffing it as well. You got a brief feeling that maybe, the Witcher could be somehow attracted to you, or whatever. You want sure since the elves rarely mingled or court shipped each other before they got married. 

You looked him in the eyes, leaning your head to your shoulder with a smile. You didn't even realize that you were blushing at that moment, even if you noticed that your heart rate was higher than usual.

“I will find you if you want to accompany me in the evening. Actually, I insist that you will be my company.” - You walked past him, being followed by the Wolf, walking towards one of the buildings, looking like grace itself.

You knew where Cirilla was - you have visited her many times before, just talking to her, learning more about her - that she was an orphan raised by her grandmother, that Geralt of Rivia accidentally called the law of surprise, not knowing that Pavetta is pregnant and why exactly she is escaping the Nilfgaardians. But at the end of the day, she was still only a thirteen-year-old, no matter if she was a princess or a descendant of the elders. You kept her in a spacious room full of various animals she could play with, you kept your eye on her, making her eat, bathe and drink something. 

Cirilla, or as you called her, Zireael, didn't exactly adore you, but she developed some kind of relationship towards you. She trusted you since you were a face she seemed often. She kept asking about Geralt, but you succeeded to calm her down, telling her that her dear Witcher is still inside the walls of the Garden, waiting for her to take her time.

You found her petting one of wolf cubs, playing with it. She immediately acknowledged your presence and smiled at you, having the cub laid down on her lap. 

“How are you feeling today? Are you better?” - You sat on the sofa, watching Zireael sitting on the ground. She nodded and exhaled. - “Less tired for sure. But I'm starting to get bored, being locked all day in here. No offense to your hospitality, but I don't find funny doing the same things over and over again.”

At least, she was honest. You chuckled and nodded at her. For some, it was boring - but since you lived for eons, you already have found your system and things to spend the endless life with. Elves were just different than humans. 

“And no offense taken. You will be fine in no time at all, that’s what I can promise, Zireael. But I want to talk with you today. It is important.” - You patted on the seat beside. As you usually did, Ciri turned her back at you so you could braid her ashen hair with complex elvish hairstyles, braiding in jewelry. - “Tell me now, what do you know about your powers?”

“That I can't contain them. That chaos... It is too strong for me. I don't know how to control it, I don't know when the powers show themselves again. They are too much for me and I can do multiple things. Like, I can scream funny.” - She answered and you giggled at that. You liked the way she talked to you - you could feel how young she actually is. 

“You, my dear Shallow, are a Source. Before you ask, let me explain.” - You calmed her down, feeling the incoming questions in the air. Cirilla nodded and you put another strand of hair on its place. 

“A Source is someone who was born with strong magical abilities, not like the ones sorceresses have. Our chaos, mine and yours, is different than theirs. It comes from the power of the elder ones and their blood. Your powers can be contained only with will and training, but it is possible. Remember that understanding comes with time and that you can't rush it. Try to use the powers with your will and just concentrate on that. Give it the time. Neither I learned everything about my abilities, not just yet.” - You calmed her down, smoothing a trail over the back of her neck. - “Remember that you the more you will be in stress, the more powerful the chaos inside of you gets. It is yet to be determined how many abilities you will possess, but I am very curious about that. Also, I have a question. Have you found the Garden?” - You asked silently, finishing the braid with a gentle, yet masterful knot. 

Ciri got quiet for a while before she shook her head. You thaught all the time that Ciri found the Garden since she was of elder blood. But this obviously wasn't the case. - “Then how did you got in?” 

“Geralt led the way since I passed out at the moment we entered a small village. I don't know how he did it, he just told me that he... He had a feeling. Something inside was leading him until he passed the magical barrier. That was the moment I woke up and saw about twenty elves in a beautiful dress standing in front of us alongside two soldiers. They were clearly surprised.” - Ciri told you and to you, it sounded like she was telling the truth. 

So it wasn't her and her elder abilities. Your suspicion clearly failed. Was there a possibility that the connection could be present on both sides? Could Geralt feel that you are somewhere out there as well? Was your connection made by destiny supposed to save Ciri? 

“All right. That makes sense.” - You patted her shoulder and tried to look cool looking her in the face. - “You look very pretty, princess of Cintra. Now, you will come with me and together, we will prepare for a celebration.” 

As you told Ciri, you took her to your chambers where she had her dress prepared as well - your robe was rather extravagant, made in light blue with sparkly stones holding on your breast, worn with an elegant robe in the color of lilacs. Cirilla was dressed in the color of gold made precisely on her tiny figure.

“You look like an angel.” - She whispered when you came from the bedroom with new jewelry around your neck, fingers, and ears. You chuckled and shook your head, nodding at Ciri to get to your side. - “Is the gentleman ready?” - You asked your maid who was supposed to monitor Geralt while he had to clean up and dress up for the occasion as well. 

“Yes, Hain, the gentleman is ready and awaiting you.” - The elf bowed to you and you did as well, Ciri repeating your actions as well. You lend her a few pieces of your jewelry and she truly looked like she has something in common with the elves. 

When she saw Geralt, it felt like a heavyweight was lifted off her shoulders. She almost started to cry when she ran down the rest of the stairs down to hug him tightly, burying her face in his chest. You didn't smile at the sight, neither you actually looked at them, you just felt happy inside. Geralt exhaled loudly and his eyes closed with the sudden calmness that washed all over him and his soul. Cirilla looked alive and well, just as you promised.

And you looked just like a masterpiece. When Geralt finally let the girl out of his arms and his look landed you, he actually stopped thinking for a moment. Your scent got into his nose again and occupied his mind, just as it always did. Usually, when he kissed your hand, he tried to get the most essence directly from your skin, but you just smelled wonderful. 

He also thought about the same thing as you did - if he found the Garden on his own, could you be the beacon that led him there? Were you sending signals that begged for salvation and deliverance? Was it even possible? It could be since destiny proved you that you and Geralt will meet and cross paths one day. But you were slowly possessing his mind. Only one woman could do that, but she was far gone and forsaken the Witcher, probably for good that time. 

As always, he slowly bowed before he approached you, this time, he was very cautious with the bow, looking you in the eyes the whole time. Then his palm caught yours and kissed your knuckles full of jewelry, just as his lips always did. Ciri was looking at you with interest in her eyes, watching both you and Geralt. 

She heard him talking about some sorceress named Yennefer who fought in the battle of Sodden and when Cirilla and Geralt visited Sodden, there was a stone obelisk including two big names - Yennefer of Vengenberg and Triss Merigold. Ciri understood that Yennefer is the one who Geralt was searching for - seeing him eyeing someone else was gross, but it made her smile. 

You looked at Geralt when he offered his elbow to entwine with, and you were completely confused. Of course, you were a high elf - you didn't walk around like normal beings did. You raised your hand to the air, in the middle of you and Geralt, waiting for his palm to support yours. It looked awfully similar to a wedding march, but Geralt shut his mouth and lead you to the greatest hall in the Gardens, just in the middle of a great elvish feast. 

Elvish feasts, unlike any others, were pretty calm and always light-hearted events full of the best food, lutes playing, socially acceptable dancing and never anything going wrong - any fistfights, any arguments. You led both Geralt and Ciri to the head of a long table, to sit alongside the Hain as guests of honor. 

And to be honest, the celebration was enjoyable for both Cirilla and Geralt. They were mesmerized with old elvish tales sang in the old language of elves. And the food was just out of the world - there were salads, sweet treats, meat served in a style that Geralt has never seen ever before, various fruits and uncommon vegetables. The light was slowly going out and you couldn't but notice that the Witcher disappeared, since he was no longer sitting next to you. You formally excused yourself and went to search for the lost guest. 

You found him after a while - he was alone, sitting on a bench in the gardens on the east, watching the sun slowly setting down behind the horizon, making the sky around it pink. It was a beautiful sight and sometimes, you watched it as well. 

“Are you not amused by the feast, Wolf?” - You asked and sat beside him, watching the sunset as well. 

“it’s not like that. I know you don't want us here, but you showed us a warm embrace and that is something I can appreciate.” - Geralt told you and turned his look you. You smiled, playing with your jewelry again. 

“We would never eject guests who found the way into the Garden on their own. Even more fascinating is that you overcame the magic on your own. All respect to you for that.” - You answered honestly and Geralt smirked as well. 

“Sunsets are just a sight, aren't they?” - Geralt asked simply, silenced for a moment and then spoke again. - “For many people, it is the sign that the day has ended and another one is coming, but not for Witchers. For me, it means a small moment of complete peace with the world, where monsters don't exist and can't attack me or anyone else. I guess that I am a sunset lover.”

You tried your best to understand, but you weren't a witcher and you never met any beast. You never left the Garden. It was like a utopian city hidden in the world of chaos - perfect, yet stereotypical. You never tasted the thrill of adventure, the feeling of fear when you would be fighting for your life. 

“I know you cant understand. That's fine. Don't worry about it. Soon, we’ll disappear and everything will be all right again.” - Geralt brushed off with a hurting tone. You took a small breath in and didn't know what to answer to that man. So you shut up and let him talk.  

“I have lived enough to taste every feeling - loss, happiness, something like love and physical lust, sadness, fear. But I never felt anything like this. Destiny knew that we’ll meet and bonded us together.” - Geralt furrowed and looked away from you. - “But I think that was just a joke that was told one time and it's not funny anymore.” 

“What kind of joke?” - You whispered back, feeling new feelings and emotions awakening inside of you. You felt many things throughout the eons you’ve lived for - you’ve felt delighted, happy, sad, nostalgic, melancholic, but you never felt the thing you were feeling at that moment.

“Destiny bonded me with a woman who is beautiful, mysterious and charming. I never talk this much with anyone, but when you’re around, I can't bring myself to shut up. Somehow, you confuse me and interest me without doing absolutely nothing more than asking questions.” - Geralt looked away and exhaled loudly. There was a prolonged silence as you tried to contain the emotions and brought yourself back together - but your cheeks were almost burning, your heart rate was off the charts, making you deaf for long seconds and your eyes hung on every single word he said. 

“The beauty is just a mask I’m wearing, Geralt of Rivia. Everyone here is just as beautiful as I am, but what are we inside? Have you thought of that? We just live from one day to another, we do the same things every day since we grow up and we insert ourselves into the politics of men, which shouldn’t our concern at all. One day, even I will get old and die, but that is eons, eons away. You have a real life. I just exist. It was a cruel move from destiny to bring such an interesting man my way and I’m not sure if I will ever get back to my normal life or if I will be anticipating every night just to see you in my dreams.” - You answered with a shaky tone, then you stood up and walked onto a terrace above the sea to take a few breaths in, just watching the sunset. 

“Is everything alright?” - Geralt asked quietly after a while, following you onto the terrace. 

“I'm just confused. I feel my heart pounding and I'm short with the breath, my head is spinning... I never felt that before. What does it mean?” - You asked back without looking at him.

“That means you're alive. For the first time in your life.” - Geralt stood up next to you, moving his left palm so close that your fingers almost brushed. - “Nothing is better than that.” 

And then he slipped his hand to cover yours and your gaze just stuck at the place where your bodies were touching. He felt warm. His palms were completely dry. And his touch was gentle, so much, that you had goosebumps just as you normally did when you were cold, which didn't happen often.  

“Can you show me more of what it means to be alive?” - You whispered to him, taking another shaky breath in when his hand moved onto your shoulder, as it made its way to the back of your neck. 

You got very nervous when he moved his body closer, pressing you onto him, holding the back of your neck. You felt like fainting and you barely stood on your legs. It was a warm touch, the gentlest one which felt like tightest. But you didn't want him to let you go. For some reason, his eyes were flickering between your wide opened eyes and lips. 

When your lips finally touched, it felt like electricity going through your veins and your whole body, making you stiff from your head to your toes. It felt like heaven. And you would never say that someone else can have a taste - and Geralt tasted sweet with small remains of chocolate. 

You didn't even know that you stood there until the moon rose into the sky, stars shining down. First, you were scared to even move. After a while, you tried some things and in the end, you knew perfectly what you were doing. You hand roamed Wolf’s body on its own as you instinctively tried to feel more of your body. 

Gael was right when she predicted that the man in your dreams will mean a catastrophe for you. You have sinned, maybe even unaware. But you finally felt alive. 

And nothing felt better than that.

[mochasandwords]

When Stars Collide

Here’s the outline of the story: Greater Beings AU

Summary: The ‘emotionless’ god of logic and space meets a craftsman and falls in love almost instantly.

Word Count: 3,381

Ships: Analogical and Dissia (explained in the outline)

Warnings: Mentions of transphobia, but mostly just fluff and Logan being lovestruck

A loud crash echoed through heaven, startling Logan out of his concentration. He growled in frustration as his pencil made a line through a few stars. He had just finished mapping out the night sky and had been trying to make new constellations. Logan stood up angrily and stormed out of his room.  

“What was that?” He shouted, walking to the commons area.  

“Hey Logan!” Waved Roman.  

“What the heck was that sound?” Logan repeated.  

“Sounded like it came from Remus’ room.” Remy said. Logan sighed in frustration.  

“Roman, you and Remus splitting rooms was a horrible idea.” He growled, heading towards Remus’ room.

“I don’t want to deal with him 24/7!” Roman called after the retreating logic and space god.  

“So you pawn him off on me?” Logan yelled back.

“You handle him well!” Came the faint reply. Logan rolled his eyes. He got to Remus’ door and, despite his anger, knocked lightly. There was another crash from inside Remus’ room before the door opened slightly.  

“Hey Lolo! What seems to be the issue?” Remus asked, grinning.  

“What are you doing that’s making all that noise? You made me mess up while mapping out stars.” Logan said, voice strained.  

“There are already so many. No one’s going to notice a few weird stars.” Remus rolled his eyes. Logan felt one of his eyes twitch.  

“No one’s-?” Logan took a deep breath, “Don’t divert the conversation! What are you doing in there?”

“Nothing you’d be interested in.” Remus retorted, suddenly defensive.

“I’m interested if it gets in the way of my work.” Logan replied, “Why are you so defensive? You can come into our rooms uninvited, but we can’t see yours?” Remus tensed up.

“If I let you look in will you leave me be?” He snapped. Logan nodded.

“That would be satisfactory.” Logan said. Remus mimicked Logan arrogantly but opened his door. Logan peered in, surprised to find Remus’ room pretty clean. Of course there were still piles of clothes scattered around, as were drawings of creepy ocean creatures. But there were very pretty things all around the room. Each seemed to be in a specific place. Logan raised an eyebrow.

“Where’d you get all this stuff?”, Logan asked, his curiosity emerging. Not thinking, he walked into Remus’ room despite Remus’ squeaks of protest. He walked over to one of the silver goblets on a shelf and picked it up delicately. He was enraptured by the intricate designs of the constellations on it. Whoever had made it seemed to be going for a water aesthetic. An engravement of the constellation Aquarius was on the top half, the water from his jug made the bottom half of the goblet. Waves were etched around the middle of the goblet, making it appear as if Aquarius was making the waves and everything beneath them. Turning the goblet, Logan found the constellations Volans and Pisces jumping out of the waves. Below the waves were the constellations of Cancer, Capricorn, Cetus, Delphinus, Dorado, Hydra, and Hydrus. Grus and Cygnus flew above the waves. Each constellation was outlined with what it represented. Grus and Cygnus had the outlines of birds around them, Volans and Pisces had the outlines of fish, Cancer was a crab, and so on.

The cup itself was smooth and had the shape of a wide tulip. The stem had no bumps but was comfortable and helped a person hold onto the cup part of the goblet. The base was the same diameter as the goblet’s rim. Sapphire and opal gems were used as the stars that formed the constellations. Opal was used above the waves and blue was used under them.

Logan held the goblet up to the sliver of sun that peeked through Remus’ sea-green curtains. It sparkled and sent colors flying across the room. Logan turned the goblet every way to try and find a signature. He hummed in surprise as he couldn’t find one.  

“Hey who made this? And how did you find this?” Logan asked. Remus growled and snatched away the goblet from Logan’s hands and put it back on its shelf with surprising delicacy.

“It was a sacrifice.” Remus said quietly, “I have no idea who it’s from.”

“Didn’t you see the person who gave it up?” Logan asked. Remus froze.  

“Nope. Wasn't focusing on that.” Remus said curtly. Logan raised an eyebrow. He knew that was probably not true. Remus loved and appreciated all of the people who sacrificed or prayed to him, even if he acted like he didn’t. Logan had walked in on Remus writing down names in a book after a city had a night of sacrificing to all the gods. It had been an actual book that someone had published. When Logan had asked Remus what he was doing, Remus had said that he was writing down names of people to be less harsh on in thanks for sacrificing to him.

“Stop your thinking and get out!” Remus growled, starting to push Logan out of his room. As Logan rolled his eyes, he swore he saw the tiniest piece of yellow fabric poking out from under Remus’ bed. Before he could ask what it was, Logan was shoved out of Remus’ room and the door slammed behind him. It was only then that Logan realized that he hadn’t found out what had made the big noise.

Logan had been searching for the mysterious craftsperson for three days. He had asked his friends, searched each town nearby, and had asked Remy for help of searching through forests and jungles. Finally, he found the place. Or he hoped he had. This was his biggest lead.

He was in a some-what little village. Everyone around him seemed to emanate happiness. The biggest buildings were only two stories high with low stone walls around them. Logan assumed the higher class lived in them. The other houses were little wooden ones. Flowers were scattered around the town. The biggest buildings were huge stone temples with big pillars. Each had a symbol of a god. Logan smiled as he saw one with a star on the doors. He liked the simplicity of this place. It matched his disguise. He was wearing a brown tunic with comfortable sandals and a blue belt around his waist.

Logan looked around and noticed a shop with the name ‘Fornax’ hanging over the door. Over the name was the Fornax constellation. Logan couldn’t help but smile a bit wider. This has to be the place. He checked the sign that hung on the door, and seeing that it said ‘open’, he walked in.

The room inside was nice and warm. Wooden trinkets were placed on very nice shelves that ran along the walls. Candles were encased in glass balls. Some sent different colors of light dancing across the room, while others just lit it up. Every place Logan looked; he saw his constellations. On wood, metal, armor, cloth, glass, furniture, and even some pieces of the floor and ceiling.  

“Hello, sir!” Chirped a voice. Logan jumped and looked to where two people were sitting at a finely made dark oak table with silver lining the edges of it. The constellations Orion, Canes Venatici, and Lupis ran across the table’s edge, all seeming to try and catch the Monoceros constellation. The stars were made out of ruby and onyx. The beings hunting Monoceros had the rubies and the Monoceros wielded the onyx gems.

Logan felt his admiration increase. This was definitely the place.

The two men sitting at the table were both staring at Logan, smiles on both of their faces. Both wore brown tunics, but the one who had greeted Logan had a more flowy tunic with the constellation of Lyra over where his heart was. Logan noticed that flower designs were sown into the bottom of the tunic. He also had a flower crown on.  

Both men had little capes around their shoulders, the one with flowers was wearing a gray one, while the other wore a tan one. Both had the constellation Columba on the golden buttons. The man with the flower crown had big, bright blue eyes behind a pair of glasses and light brown hair that framed his lightly freckled face. Logan thought he saw some freckles on his arms as well, but couldn’t be sure. The other man had brown hair with some pink on his bangs. His hazel eyes were warm and, like his companion, behind glasses. He looked oddly familiar.

“I hate to say this, especially after seeing which side of the sign is facing out, but my brother’s shop is closed right now.” The flowery man said shyly. Logan froze.

“I apologize! I didn’t know.” He said with a small bow.

“It’s alright!” replied the man with pink in his hair, “That was our fault. We forgot to turn the sign.”

“You must not be from around here! My brother’s shop normally closes early every four days. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind if you looked around though. It was our fault after all.” The flowery man said with a smile.  

“Thank you very much, but I hate to be a bother-.” Logan started.

“You’re not a bother! I insist you look around!” Logan dipped his head and began to look at some of the sculptures. The two men returned to their conversation, and Logan, not wanting to intrude any more than he already had, tuned them out.

After a few minutes, someone called out to him, making him jump.

“Sir?” Logan turned to see that a third man had appeared and was standing next to where the other two were sitting. Only one thought ran through Logan’s mind as he saw him.  

Oh dear stars I’m so gay.

The man was tall, yet every part of him seemed to have muscles. He wore a dirty white shirt with brown trousers and a leather apron that was stained with grease, tar, oil, dust, and wood chippings. His boots were black leather. Sweat made the shirt stick to the man’s skin, and as he took off his apron, Logan could see his strong abs through the fabric. As the man took out his ponytail, Logan was drawn to his face.

The man’s hair was a beautiful chocolate brown with purple in his bangs and a bit in the main part of his hair. The hair color brought out the man’s dark blue eyes. They looked like parts of the night sky had fallen into the man’s eyes, and Logan was tempted to get lost in them. His cheeks were flushed red, Logan guessed from working on whatever he had been working on. Logan looked back to his hair, noticing that it was curly and stopped at the man’s shoulders.  

The man was tan. Logan again guessed from working near a fire for so long. His face was currently smeared with tar, but Logan could see hints of freckles. The man’s lips were full and had a slight brown tint to them-.

Logan turned his head away with a blush. Stop that. He scolded himself. He needed to keep his dignity. He was a god after all.

“Hello sir, I apologize for being here after hours,” Logan said. The man shrugged.

“My brother let you stay, and I'm not going to argue with him. Virgil.” The man, Virgil, stuck out his hand. Logan accepted it, noting Virgil’s strong grip and calloused hands.  

“Logay- GAN. Logan” Logan replied, stuttering. Virgil raised a dark eyebrow and smirked.  

“Logan? You must come from a high up family to have that name. Being a god’s name and all.” Virgil noted, pulling back to stand behind the flowery man. Logan assumed it was his brother, with their similar eye shape, faint accents, and freckles. Virgil ruffled the smaller man’s hair, making him squeak and pull away, readjusting his flower crown.

“You could say that,” Logan replied, smiling. He felt eyes boring into his face and looked to the side to see the pink-haired man looking at him intently.

“What brings you to my lowly shop?” Virgil asked, walking over to a hook and hanging up his apron.

“A friend of mine had a beautiful goblet with no signature, and I just had to find the owner.” Logan replied.

“If it was all constellations, then that was my brother’s creation!” The flowery man said happily.

“Patton, you don’t know that.” Virgil sighed, leaning against the table.

“Who else only does constellations and no signature?”

“He didn’t even say if it was all constellations.”  

“It was.” Logan interrupted, “And from seeing all of your other work, you are the guy I was looking for. Your work is... absolutely stunning. I honestly don’t have the right words to describe them. If I could, I would buy everything.” Logan started to rant, “The constellations are perfect, and the gems represent the stars amazingly. The drawings on the outside are perfect. Simple, yet it complements the constellations quite well. In all my years I have never seen anything so close to my - Logan's stars!” Logan forcefully closed his mouth after the slip-up. Thankfully, Virgil and Patton didn’t seem to notice, Virgil blushing madly while Patton was bouncing in his seat.  

“It-it’s not worth that high of pr-praise.” Virgil stuttered as his air of cockiness vanished. Logan guessed that the cockiness and confidence was just a facade.

“Are you kidding? Of course, it is! Obviously, this man knows his stuff just like you! Sir, Virgil has been studying the stars since I can remember! He is fascinated by the god Logan and all he creates! He tries to honor the god through his work and won’t settle for anything less than perfect! It’s no wonder why people from everywhere buy his creations and commission him! They're beautiful and they work as objects should! He’s too hard on himself.” Patton cheered, hugging his brother.

“Pat. Stop. Please.” Virgil begged, hiding his face in his hands. Logan’s smile widened. This man was beyond adorable. Despite his tough outside, he was really a shy man on the inside. Logan felt himself falling in love. He wanted to curse at Thomas, who had told him repeatedly that he wasn’t emotionless. I’m supposed to be the god of knowledge, Thomas! Well, ok, logic, but still. Why do you always have to be right? Logan sighed, a slight blush coming to his face.  

“I can relate. I will spend hours looking at the sky. It calms me. Don’t feel embarrassed about doing something you love.” Logan agreed. Virgil removed his hands from his face and smiled.  

“Thank you. For not making it....” Virgil drifted off.

“Awkward?” Logan asked. Virgil chuckled and nodded.

“That.”

“I have a friend, two actually, who are just as enthusiastic as your brother.” Logan smiled wider, thinking of Roman and Remus.  

“You two should hang out sometime. Your personalities and interests mix very well.” Said the other man. He had been watching with a happy smile the entire time, mischief glittering in his eyes.

“Emile!” Virgil coughed.

“You do need to get away from your work.” Patton said, joining in.

“I’m sure Logan is busy.” Virgil said, blushing, “And we just met.”

“If I may say, I'm not normally that busy. I can also make time. I’d love to get to know you three better. If you would be alright with that. You all seem like amazing people. And the people I live with can be a bit... extra at times. Just spending a few minutes here has calmed me so much.” Logan said, eye’s lingering on Virgil. Their eyes met. Logan smiled the smallest bit and Virgil returned it.

“I understand if you find this odd.” Logan laughed nervously, turning his head away.

“I think I would love to get to know you better.” Virgil said softly.

“Think?”

“Virgil worries to much about what he’s feeling.” Emile said. Virgil glared at him.

“He means that he would love to spend time with you. As would we. You can never have too many friends!” Patton cheered.  

“How should we get ahold of you?” Emile asked.  

“I just moved about a few miles to the south. A smoke signal should work.” Logan said.

“Smoke signal?” Patton asked.

“Using smoke to communicate.” Virgil stated, eyes going into deep thought, “I think I remember a few signals. I’ll ask my old mentor to make sure. Though, why not a letter?”

“I don’t want my friends intercepting it. The teasing would go on to no end.” Logan sighed. Virgil smiled.

“I get that. Do you want to meet in two days? Sunset?” He asked. Logan nodded.

“That sounds perfect.”

“It’s a date!” Patton cheered. Virgil and Logan turned to him, flustered. Patton smiled with a hint of mischief.

“I mean what day it is. That kind of date.” Patton said innocently.  

“Crap. We have to go!” Virgil suddenly shouted after rolling his eyes. He rushed to the back of the shop and disappeared through a door.

“Oh yeah! Emile, are you ready to go?” Asked Patton, standing up. Emile nodded and stood up as well.

“May I ask where you are going to?” Logan asked.  

“We’re going to visit my and Virgil’s mother. It’s the most time we get to spend with her. She hasn’t been feeling the best lately.” Patton said, his voice growing quiet. Emile caught Logan’s eye. Logan’s heart suddenly felt sad. He remembered where he knew this man from. He was a doctor that worshiped every god. Everyone in heaven knew and loved his courage and attitude. He was one of, if not the best doctor in his area. If the fear in his eyes meant anything... Logan was going to talk to Thomas about Virgil and Patton’s mother.

Virgil ran back into the shop, hopping as he pulled on his shoes. Logan noticed they were the same ones he wore earlier. He was now in a gray tunic with a black robe over it. The hood of the robe was up, and Logan noticed that the constellations Fornax and Columba stitched into the robe’s hood with purple string. Fornax on the left side and Columba on the other.

“If I may ask before we part,” Logan asked as they exited the shop and Virgil turned the sign to 'closed’ after locking up, “Why do you all wear the dove constellation?”

“Our mother’s last name, and ours, is Columba. Her first name is Cassia.” Virgil smiled with genuine happiness, “She’s the best mother in the world and this is our way of honoring her.”

“I’m sure she is as amazing as you say and more,” Logan said. Virgil turned his smile at him and blushed the smallest bit.

“Anyway, this symbol is our crest. We’re not actually lords and ladies, but it’s fun to have something.” He continued, “With the money I get from my work, I could pay into becoming a lord, but my family and I are ok with being middle-class. We actually enjoy it. Emile wears our ‘crest'  because he’s one of our closest friends.” Virgil explained, fiddling with his hood.

“That’s very noble of you,” Logan said. Virgil blushed a bit.

“I doubt we’d be really accepted as lords anyway. My mom is divorced and remarried to a person who doesn’t want to use ‘she’, ‘her’, ‘he’, ‘him’ and other words like that to describe them. We call them Dice. They’re Patton’s other biological parent. Not mine.” Virgil shrugged, “They’re alright. Very dramatic but don’t mind not being a lord and not having much money. They gave up that life to be with our mom.”

“Virgil! Come on!” Came Patton’s call. Logan and Virgil turned to see Patton and Emile a few houses away, waving.

“I apologize for taking your time. Have fun with your family.” Logan said, bowing. Virgil scoffed.

“You can stop bowing and apologizing. Though I do admit I can fall victim to that sometimes. And don’t worry about it. I’m sure Dice and my mom will want to hear about you and me meeting. Patton’s probably going to exaggerate everything. Have a good day, Logan.” Virgil said with a wave as he walked away.

“And you, Virgil.” Logan watched the three guys run to the village’s stable, then emerge on three horses before galloping out of sight.

[scribomaniac]

What about an Elide/Lorcan zombie!AU fic?? I'm thinking like Lorcan + the court are set up in an abandoned prison or something and Lorcan is off on a long mission where he encounters Elide who's survived due to her wits. He tracks her, saves her, and eventually brings her back to the rest of the group. I love a good fear to love story, if you're open to it :)

Thank you for your patience! I got halfway through writing this when COVID-19 hit the fan and my job went berserk. Anyway, I hope you enjoy!

Lorcan crashed through the trees of the forest without hesitation or caution. In one hand he held a double barrel shotgun, and in the other a bone knife. His long dark hair was greasy and knotted from days of hard work and pursuit. If he had only come back sooner, if he hadn’t left her alone, maybe she’d be washing his hair for him right now. Her nimble fingers would be running through the strands, gently working her own brand of magic on his horrible excuse for a head of hair. 

“Seven days?” She had asked, her teeth worrying her bottom lip. 

He’d nodded, dipping down to kiss her forehead, then her cheek, “Seven days.” Then he kissed her lips.

Seven days--seven goddamned days. That’s all it was supposed to be, all it was supposed to take for him and his Cadre to make it from their fortress to the supply train and back again. Dammit, he swore to himself. How did this happen?

The snapping of a twig was the only warning he got--thrusting his bone knife up and to his right with preternatural accuracy, Lorcan stabbed the crazed zombie through it’s open mouth, the blade cutting through decomposed flesh and straight to the brain stem. Quick as lightning, he snatched his hand back and continued on. 

How did this happen?  He wondered again. Aelin suspected a traitor. The burning behind her eyes was so fierce Lorcan had felt their heat as she cursed whoever was responsible. 

He, Aelin, Rowan, and a few others had ventured out from their haven in an abandoned jail house to replenish their supplies. The train sent by the government only came by four times a year and they needed the medicine it brought. The Cadre always knew the risk they took when venturing out into the forest. Zombies ran rampant in these parts. The government kept claiming they’d fix the mess they’d started, and every few years the army would come out to purge the forest, but the problem never really went away. 

“Who are you?” He asked, his dark eyes warily watching the limping girl before him. His heart beat rapidly in his chest and his leg throbbed with pain. He’d escaped the last zombie horde without a bite, but not without injury. Still, he turned his body side face, not wanting this girl--this enemy--to see his weakness.  She may look as innocent as a deer, but if he learned anything from Lysandra, it was that appearances could be deceiving.

“Put that thing down,” the girl hissed, glaring at his gun. “Do you want to draw them closer?”

Lorcan sneered, “How do I know you’re not one of them?” Zombies, freshly minted ones, at least, kept their wits about them for days--weeks, even--before the hunger consumed them.

Eyebrow twitching, the girl said, “You’re either an idiot,” she paused to take a deep breath, “or a dick.”

Lorcan blinked, “What?”

The girl’s eyes widened, “Duck!” She screamed, and Lorcan acted on instinct. Ducking, just barely, he saw the glint of a knife fly over where his head had just been and straight into the eye of a zombie.

The knife plunged deep into the eye socket, and the zombie crashed down next to Lorcan’s kneeling form in a dead heap. Mouth agape, he looked back to the woman before him. Nostrils flared and lips pursued, she said, “I’m Elide, and I’d like my knife back, thanks very much.”

Lorcan had fallen for her instantly. He’d brought her back to the haven with him, introduced her to the cadre. Elide was sharper than any blade, kinder than a saint, and although that one throw to the eye had been a bit of a lucky shot--”I’d been aiming for it’s mouth,” she’d confessed as she helped him walk home--she was a fighter through and through.

So when he arrived back from their supply run to find the jail house empty of human life and overrun with stumbling zombies, he hadn’t wasted time searching the place. Elide was too smart to stay and try to defend it, especially without the might of the cadre. No, no, Elide would have taken the survivors and gotten out. She had to be out here still. If he could just find her--

Another zombie. This time he’s not able to get his knife up quickly enough. It pins him to the ground, it’s yellow teeth snapping at his throat like a damned piranha. 

It was quiet. Most people had gone to bed long ago, but not them. Elide sat by the window, looking up at the night sky. Lorcan sat nearby at the table, a book opened in his lap, it’s pages left unturned. 

Dark eyes flickering over to him, she asked, “Is there something on my face?” Her nose scrunched up, and Lorcan’s heart stuttered.

“No--no,” he coughed to cover up his stumbled words. “I just had a question,” he said it slowly, because he didn’t really have a question. He just liked looking at her, for some reason. But he couldn’t just tell her that.

Cocking her head to the side, Elide’s brows furrowed as she waited for him to continue. Ears burning red beneath his dark hair, he asked, “How did you survive? On your own?” 

It had been a mystery to him. Not a burning one, but a mystery nevertheless. Most people wouldn’t last a day out in the forest alone. Not when the zombies were drawn to the smell of blood like a shark.

“Zombies, they’re not,” she paused, her lips thinning in thought. “I don’t know for sure, but I don’t think they can smell. I don’t think that’s how they hunt. I mean,” she worried her bottom lip with her teeth, “I’d have died a long time ago, if they could,” she laughed. “I think though,” her dark eyes flitted around the room and then landed back on him, “I think they hunt by sound.”

The crack of a gunshot echoed through the forest. Disrupted birds took their leave of the branches, and the air was knocked from Lorcan’s lungs as he stared up into the eyes of Vaughan. “They’ll have heard that,” Lorcan grimaced, pushing the completely dead corpse off him. Vaughan nodded, then extended a hand to help his friend up.

The two quickly vacated the area, keeping their eyes and ears peeled for any movement or sound that indicated a possible threat. 

“The slower you move,” Elide was telling the Cadre her theory as she sat atop a broken and decrepit dryer, “the less sound you make.” Locking eyes with Lorcan first, she then gestured to her ankle, “I’m pretty slow by nature,” she tried to laugh it off, but Lorcan could hear the frustration behind it. “And quiet, which is how I was able to survive outside my uncle’s fortress and make it all the way here.”

“What happened to your uncle’s?” Rowan asked. It was a good question, Lorcan had thought while nodding his head. Perhaps the man had died, or perhaps he’d fallen prey to one of the creatures, or--

“I ran away,” Elide confessed, her chin raised high and her nostrils flared, almost daring anyone to tell her how stupid she’d been. “I’d rather be eaten by a zombie than live one more day under his roof.”

Aelin purred, “Well someone’s got the fighting spirit.”

Elide locked eyes once more with Lorcan, and he knew instantly: he was in love.

They couldn’t take Elide’s advice now, though. The slower they went, the more careful they stepped, meant the longer she was in danger. And that was something Lorcan could not tolerate, not while there was still breath in his lungs and a beat in his heart.

“Here,” Vaughan hissed, coming to an abrupt stop. 

Lorcan bared his teeth, preparing for another wave of zombies, but there was nothing. “Vaughan, we don’t have time--” but his friend merely raised a brow and pointed towards a tree. It was small and glinted in the sunlight, and at once Lorcan knew what it was. Lunging forward, he snatched the small ring from the tree’s skinny twig. “Aelin’s ring.” It had been a gift, a small token of friendship and loyalty between Aelin and Elide. Elide never took it off.

“And more,” Vaughan gestured with his chin. Looking off to the distance, there was another item of jewelry, carefully hanging from a tall branch. 

Lorcan followed the trail, picking up items along the way. First Lysandra’s locket, then one of Dorian’s handkerchiefs, even one of Darrow’s cufflinks; each item led him deeper and deeper into the forest until he and Vaughan finally came to an overgrown and shabby barn.

Breathing hard, Lorcan and Vaughan shared a glance. Behind the barn’s giant door could be their people--could be Elide--but it could also be a massacre. Pulling out his bone knife and taking a deep, settling breath, Lorcan took the final few steps and opened the door.

Warm, strong arms quickly wrapped themselves around his neck. Lorcan raised his knife, preparing to launch a counter attack, when he heard a whispered, “Thank god!”

Dropping his weapon, Lorcan tightly wound his arms around Elide’s waist, bringing her even closer than before. “Elide,” he sighed, burying his face into her neck.

There were some hushed murmurs, a small creak as the door opened further, and Lorcan peeked out from Elide’s dark hair just enough to see the rest of the community coming out from hiding. 

Placing Elide down, Lorcan took her face into his hands and brought their foreheads together. “What happened?” He asked quietly, needing to know. If Aelin was right, if they had been betrayed, there’d be blood to pay.

Covering his hands with her own, Elide shook her head and placed a kiss on the base of his palm, “I’ll explain later.”

Kissing her forehead, he brought her closer, tucking her head against his collar bone. Now he could see properly, how many people were in the barn, how many people Elide had saved with her quick wit and ingenuity. 

“You’re okay,” he pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “I’m so--I can’t--” he started then abruptly stopped himself several times until again he said, “You’re okay.”

Elide’s nails dug into his back and even though he could feel the small tremors coursing through her frame, her voice was steady and wry as she asked, “Did you ever doubt me?”

Choking on a laugh, Lorcan stepped back and lifted her chin. Bending down, his lips tenderly kissed hers. There was a great deal of love in the small kiss, as well as a great deal of restraint and promise. Elide smiled, knowing that the kiss was only a precursor to what was to come once they were somewhere safe. 

Pulling away, he swore, “Never again.”

[modestlyabsurd]

Wallflower's Diner (Loki x Reader)

The old familiar ding-a-ling of the entrance bell. You hear it every morning when you clock in for work, and all day long during your double shifts; it sings its welcome for hungry people as they come into the diner.

Wallflower's was a little twenty-four hour hole-in-the-wall greasy spoon with a nice, artfully modern atmosphere. Regulars among newcomers come in every day, greeted by a happy person and the smell of food cooking, but what really reeled them in was the tasteful, down to earth decor and style. Natural light shines through wall to wall windows. 

Happy green succulents and wildflowers sit on tables in abstract pots and vases. Bright murals of inspiring quotes swirling above skyscrapers color the walls, inside and outside. The tables were covered in reusable cloths with uncolored pictures of birds and cityscapes, and each table gets a box of washable markers to color with while they wait for their food. Even the to-go boxes are decorated with intricate designs. 

Landing a job at this gem was something to be appreciated - and you did. 

Even though you had to work double shifts five or six days a week to support yourself - the cost of living for a young person in New York was far more than you expected - you loved working at Wallflower's. It was such a happy place. 

Some days you worked the kitchen, some days you worked the front house. Today you worked the kitchen. And since it was one of those mornings where frankly you didn't feel like waking up at five o'clock, at least you wouldn't have to deal with the public. 

The morning breezed by smoothly as you sliced bread, cut fruit and vegetables and mixed pancake batter. Breakfast tickets started piling in at six o'clock. Soon, the kitchen smelled of coffee, omelettes, sweet pastries and fruity smoothies. You and the rest of the staff were popping out orders and washing dirty dishes like clockwork. A few people even dropped coins and bills into the tip jar on the order counter. 

You recognized some of the regular orders and thought of the faces belonging to them while you cooked. One came in that made you smile upon reading it; breakfast burrito with scrambled eggs, peppers, cheese, sour cream and avocado (extra crispy, smushed down flat). 

And before your mind can put it together, here comes a flash of blue as Peter Parker runs in the kitchen, peeking into the ticket window. "Hey Y/N!" he pants, resting his chin on his propped up elbows on the window. He resembles a puppy in the most ridiculous way. 

"Hey Pete! What on earth are you doing here this early?" Peter usually came in after school hours to pick up a snack - a strawberry mango smoothie on most days - so seeing him before school even began was unusual. 

"We were outta milk, so I couldn't have any cereal." 

"Really? I'd die." 

He laughs, "I know right? And plus I haven't had a breakfast burrito in a while so it works." 

"How's Aunt May?" you ask while pouring eggs onto the griddle, thinking fondly of how much she cares about Peter and how much she really deserves a vacation. 

"She's good. She's been worried a lot, though. About the internship." 

The internship for Tony fuckin' Stark. Man, that kid got blessed. 

"I'm sure she is - I mean, she's probably not ready to let go of you yet, dude. And you have been a little more stressed out lately," you fold the pastel yellow eggs on top of each other in a roll and add a dash of seasonings - onion, cayenne, parsley - just 'cause he's special. 

"Yeah, but I'm fine. She literally has nothing to worry about, I grab coffee and sweat towels for a team of superheroes. How is that dangerous?" 

You cock your eyebrow. He thinks he's slick. He has no clue that you know he's Spiderman on the weekends, and that's what he does for Tony Stark. 

But it's fun to watch him stammer and stutter sometimes when you're onto him. 

"It depends on the superheroes, I guess. What are they like, anyway? The Avengers, that is," you ask inquisitively. 

"Oh man, Captain America is so cool. He talks about his life back in the forties all the time, about the radio stations, the sports, and sometimes he talks about his time in the war and it helps me with history tests - b-but don't tell anyone that! That's cheating!" 

"You're such a goody two-shoes." Of course, so were you. It's a part of why you and Peter became friends. "Don't worry, I won't tell. What about anyone else?" you say, generously sprinkling the cheese onto his unrolled burrito. 

"Uh, oh! I - ah," a waitress places another ticket above his head. After watching to make sure she left back into the dining area, he leans even closer into the ticket window. "I'm not supposed to tell anyone this." 

"Spill the tea, Parker." 

He stares as you carefully roll his burrito up with gloved hands, fighting with himself. He promised Happy he wouldn't tell, but he wants to tell someone so bad! And he trusts you. You've been there for him; you've talked to him for your entire hour-long break of your twelve hour shift when he failed his driving test. You've helped him study at the library before. You've even given him food on the house, which he knows is on you. You're a few years older than him, but he really considers you a friend. 

As his face becomes sweaty from steam and his stomach growls at the sight of his breakfast crisping up, he gives. 

"I met Thor the other day." 

"You what?!" 

"Shh!" he smiles hugely, "be quiet! Yes, they came from Asgard two days ago." Both yours and Peter's eyes have grown wider by at least two centimeters. 

"Thor?!" 

"Yes Thor! The real Thor! And Loki." 

Your heart sank a mile. 

That can't be right. 

"Wait, his brother? The one who tried to take over Earth? Loki? He's here too? Why is he here?!" you hiss, flipping the burrito violently, the questions tumbling out before Peter has time to answer them. 

"Hold on, hold on! Wait! He's good now! He's different! He doesn't want to kill anybody!" 

"You talked to him?!" 

"Yes! Well, I didn't really talk to him much, but he did say hi to me when Mr. Stark introduced us. Then he disappeared for the rest of the day." 

"Not suspicious at all!" 

He chuckles at the whisper-yelling you're both doing. Thankfully, he'd expected such a reaction. "C'mon, I know it sounds crazy, but Thor says he's had a change of heart. Maybe he's worth a chance, y'know? I mean, he hasn't hurt anyone yet. Well, actually he did - " 

"I don't even wanna know," you close your eyes and wave your hands, dismissing the thought of whatever it was. 

"It was just a prank! It was actually pretty funny." 

"I'll take your word for it, loser." You wrap his extra crispy, smushed down flat food in some recycled paper, then drop it into a bag with whimsical designs all over it. You write on it with a sharpie, You're really not a loser. "Actually, y'know what? I wanna know all about this later. It sounds too good to be true." 

"Believe it, babe. Keep the change!" He throws five dollars at you and it lands on the hot griddle and before you have time to berate the little rat for contaminating and for calling you babe, he's running away. The door ding-a-ling's as he bolts through it. 

You're left, picking up the bill off the stove before it catches fire. The burrito only cost a dollar and some change, so that was a fat tip; especially for a cook. 

You pocket the money, shaking your head and smiling to yourself. "Have a good day, loser." 

~

Aside from the usual lively, tiring high you get from working, talking with Peter was the highlight of your day. It left you eager to know more about the Avengers and their stories, about history, about Asgard, about space, about everything. 

You kept having to stifle a nagging emotion - anxiety? fear? maybe just nerves - when your mind pulled to the fact that Thor's brother Loki is on earth at this very moment. Only by grace were you not affected by the attack on the planet years ago, but the damage was done regardless. You were merely lucky. 

The disgust and disdain wanted to take over and sour your outlook, but pure curiosity overpowered that. Peter claims that Thor vouches for Loki now. He's biased, you think to yourself, before the angel on your shoulder pipes up, So are you. 

By the time you realize you're having a mental conversation with yourself, the countertops are wiped sparkling clean and ready for the five o'clock turn of shifts. The natural light had moved, casting longer dramatic shadows in different patterns across the checkered floor and painted walls. 

Part of you was a little bummed that Peter hadn't returned after school to pick up his usual smoothie. You'd really wanted to learn more of the Avengers and the mysterious Loki. If only you could ask May, but Peter said he wasn't supposed to tell anyone and by the sounds of it, he hadn't. You clock out at five-fifteen. Alas, you'll just have to wait.

~

Thank heavens the next day wasn't a double shift, since you were waiting tables. Although you still had to wake up at five in the morning. 

The sun shined through the diner windows in warm yellow rays, a nice contrast to the brisk morning chill. The week had ended, taking some of the initial hustle and bustle with it. Rush hour didn't start until afternoon hours on weekends which gave you and your co-workers a bit of down time to relax.

But to your surprise, a hostess flags you down in the kitchen as you're pinning an order to the ticket window. She pulls you by the arm out of earshot and says, "There's a party out there and they asked for you to be their server. By the way, it's the Avengers."

You stare at her, but you don't see her.

"Huh?"

"The Avengers are here."

Breaking yourself out of your anxious stupor, you roll your eyes incredulously. "Quit lying. It's the Delgado's, isn't it? With their prim and proper etiquette and - holy hell."

You peek over the bar.

It's the Avengers.

Habitually you begin counting heads. So, it's not all of them; there are six heroes and you only count five heads - is that Peter? - sitting along the makeshift party table toward the shadowed back of the dining area. That's definitely Peter, with Thor, Tony Stark, Steve Rogers and Jesus gremenies Loki is out there too?!

Only when a sharp pain shoots from your bottom lip do you realize you're chewing it, thinking of all the ways to curse Peter later. 

In a rush you thank the hostess and pat down your waist apron to make sure everything's there, then you're standing at the front of the table overlooking the civilian-dressed Avengers.

Your usual, partially rehearsed introduction goes exceptionally smooth. "Hey guys! Welcome to Wallflower's! My name is Y/N and I will be your server this morning. Is this your first time here?" 

Tony Stark who sits at the end like a throne speaks up, "It is, thanks to the kid, here," he mumbles, elbowing Peter in the arm. "He says he knows you." 

"Yes, unfortunately, I do know Mr. Parker - " 

"Hey!" Peter suddenly stops petting the succulent centerpiece at your fake cringing, making the whole table laugh and smile. All but one. Beside Peter. 

One of the two sitting closest to you. 

"Well, I dunno what all he briefed you on, but as you can see your table is a giant washable coloring book," they look down, suddenly noticing all the little swirls and blank spaces empty of color. You pull out small boxes of assorted washable markers from your apron and while you pass them around, realize you don't have enough for everyone. 

"That might be the niftiest thing I've ever seen," says Steve Rogers. Captain fucking America! He's already drawing on his space. 

You beam at them, "Yeah! It's one of my favorite things, getting to see the way people draw and color on their tablecloths. But it looks like I'm one box short for you guys, so I'll bring one more with your drinks. Everyone know what they're having?"

The first three, Tony, Peter and Steve, order their fountain drinks without a problem. The last two, however, haven't the first idea what a Coca-Cola or a Sprite is. Peter takes it upon himself to try and explain the concept of carbonated drinks, but fails miserably. Leaving Thor and Loki with even more confusion.

"Do you serve alcohol?" Thor asks innocently, making you nearly bubble over laughing.

"I'm afraid not. But we have coffee, sweet iced tea, orange juice or just plain water if that'd be better," you look between them, and you can't hold Loki's gaze for too long. It's intense, almost invasive; unlike the blond brother's lighthearted aura. 

Immediately Thor answers, "I'll have black coffee. Very hot, please."

You take a mental note of that request, a stupid smile covering your face. Then you look to Loki, who is now choosing to stare intently at his menu. "And for you, sir?"

He contemplates his answer as if he's being interrogated.

"Plain water will be fine."

As soon as you're out of their view, you scramble away to the kitchen with a rush of unreleased adrenaline coursing through you. Your mind's racing, your heart's beating and you're pouring the heros' drinks like a mad person. Hell, you almost spilled hot coffee on your hands from shaking so much. 

The worst part was it came from you fanning over the Avengers.

You reminded yourself to focus. It was a rather slow afternoon - especially considering the circumstance that would presumably bring people to see - but there were still three other tables you had to tend to.

On your way back to the dining room you almost forget to grab another box of markers before your hands are full with the drink tray. Weaving through a couple customers and other waitresses you make it to the long table.

You circle the table to sit everyone's drinks in front of them. Everyone's locked in a childlike trance as they color and doodle on the tablecloth; you glance around and notice the one who isn't. No one gave Loki any of the markers.

"Here's your markers as well," you lean over and extend your hand with the box to Loki. He averts momentarily from staring at your face to the markers. His mouth opened and closed, not sure of what to say. So he extends a frighteningly pale hand and takes them. 

He accidentally brushes his fingertips to yours.

You both jerk away.

Damn, his hand is freezing, you thought, hiding your hand behind your back and flexing a fist; it lingered like a static shock.

He's gotten wide-eyed now, nearly apologizing. You can't help but feel bad for snatching your hand away like that.

"Cold hands means a warm heart. A-at least, that's what they say," you stutter. Loki retorts, looking down at his markers.

"You must be quite cold-hearted then."

"Loki!" Thor scolds. Although the others were now giving him dirty looks, you sensed not a bit of malice in his comment. In fact, your cheeks were heating up a great deal. 

"Please, Y/N, don't mind the asshole," Tony says waving his hand in Loki's direction.

"Oh believe me, I've dealt with far worse just this week. Being called cold-hearted is a nothing," you assure them. The genuine grin on your face is helping a lot. "Are we ready to order?"

With that, you scribble each of their orders down onto your notepad before gathering the menus and making way back to the kitchen. The steamy heat hits your face like a splash of cold water. Exactly what you need.

You almost want to giggle out loud at the fact that you're semi-nailing being the Avengers' waitress. They're happy, they're comfortable, they're talking with each other. Coloring the table, still. You glance their way as you cover your other tables' refills and cheques and notice that every time you do, Loki looks up at you. Piercing enough to make you quickly avert.

The clock ticked away, closer to your thirty minute break. As much fun as you were having, the anxiety level was up there. Your mind went back to how you'd seek revenge at Peter. Maybe you'll add a big splash of lemon juice to his smoothie on Monday. Or cayenne pepper. That would be entertaining.

Once you get out of the groove, the nerves crawl up. So you occupy yourself by clearing off a couple of finished tables, balancing them on your arms to the kitchen to be washed. When you get there, the cook is placing the last plate of the team's order on the counter. Perfect timing, you think to yourself.

Defying all odds that have previously proven you a clumsy mess, you singlehandedly bring out all five plates into the dining room and make it to their table. Instantly, the markers are forgotten and the smell of toasted bread, sweet tomatoes and fresh herbs arouse the guys from their drawing. Tony, Steve and Thor are practically drooling from hunger, Peter makes grabby hands for his food.

Loki's food is served last, following the order in which it was taken. You set his plate in front of him, covering whatever he'd been diligently drawing.

He looks up at you again, meeting your eyes, and holds them there for a second longer. 

"Thank you."

That feeling in your hand earlier? It's back, but now it's spreading through your sternum.

"You're welcome."

You find yourself still staring even after he's dropped his grateful gaze to his plate. 

Air shoves its way into your chest.

"Alright! Please enjoy, and you guys just let me know if you need anything." A round of muffled appreciation sounds come from the team as they've already began shoveling.

What am I feeling? Pre-heart attack symptoms?

People are clearing out, leaving only the team and two others dining. This gives you a chance to do some cleaning up before you take your break. And a chance to sort your thoughts.

Is he mind-controlling you? No way, that couldn't be. There's no way he'd be going places like normal people with them if that were the case. But that sure is how it feels. Like you can't get rid of the thought. The coldness. The way he holds your gaze.

Who knew that simple eye contact could arouse so many feelings?

It also feels completely and morally wrong. Love at first sight is a farce, let alone with someone of Loki's caliber. He likely looks at everyone like that. A manipulation tactic. It's not even the first time a customer has tried sweet-talking a waitress. Of course, calling someone cold hearted is certainly a unique way of sweet-talking.

But it was the way he said it!

You're no fool. You know when you're being flirted with. Or are you? Who said that one innocent comment is flirting? You very well might be a fool at this rate.

Beads of sweat have bubbled on your forehead. You wipe them on your forearm. 

Before you know it, your section of the dining area is clean. Spotless, even. You take the rag to the back to be washed with the dishes. Glancing at the clock, a sigh falls from your lips; you let another waitress know you'll be taking your break.

Being on your feet for four hours straight left them aching. Sitting on the curb was a great opportunity to stretch your legs out and pop the muscles in your back as well. You revelled in the breeze fanning your flushed face, watching the city bustle by. People on their phones, texting or talking, bums smoking cigarettes.

You stared at the scuff marks and worn spots on your boots. Distracting. From the fluttering in your chest. What an strange feeling. Warm, exciting. Queasy. Longing. All somehow from a single touch - a mere meeting of the eyes. I must be insane.

The shrill ding-a-ling of the door brings you back to reality.

Thumps hit the door behind you. Footfalls rumble the concrete and before you process it, men come barreling out and run down the sidewalk. One takes off in flight in a wisp of blond hair. It's then you realize that was Thor, and the rest of them following in their inferiority.

Tony Stark then leisurely exits Wallflower's, hands in his pockets. As if none of that happened.

Dumbfounded. That's the word.

You raise your head to look up, since he's blocking the sun from your back. "Uh, shouldn't you be with them?" you ask with a nervous chuckle.

"Probably. But I had to make sure you got this." He hands you a small white envelope with the Stark Industries logo on it. Without another word he begins strolling away toward the others, now a few blocks down.

Huh. You already miss them. Him especially. Dammit.

You open the envelope and inside is a flat stack of green. Twenties? You count them, trembling.

A three hundred dollar tip?!

~

Upon further investigation, you found their plates cleaned and strewn about the table from the dramatic exit. As you took them, you looked at everyone's drawings and colorings. Peter had nearly colored a paisley print in reds and purples, Steve had began a detailed doodle of Wallflower's Diner from the outside (he never finished the sign), Thor and Tony had the absolute messiest pictures ever, and Loki.

Goodness gracious, Loki.

He'd written admiring adjectives beginning in letters that spelled your name in loopy, beautiful handwriting. He'd began drawing intricate filigree around it, but didn't get a chance to finish. You traced the designs, engulfed by the artistic quality. Overwhelmed with sudden emotion. Breathless. No one's ever done anything like that for you...

So you're not insane!

Maybe you'll reconsider taking revenge on Peter...

[cowgirlontheloose]

Searching for God

In the beginning

     One late winter day when a melting sun spread like butter across the snowy field behind our house, my Mum, my little brother and I had a picnic lunch on the back veranda.  Our cat, Queenie, came too, twitching her plume of a tail, her eyes ablaze with stirrings of spring.

     We sat on a tartan blanket spread on the wooden deck. Dad had shovelled the veranda all winter and the green canvas awning would not be put up till May, so on that early March day, it was a sunny haven. 

     Mum lay back on her elbows and tilted her movie star sunglasses to the sky and sighed and said “I feel like a new woman!”  Although I was only six I knew what she meant.  It had been a long winter of dark days, of Dad away in Montreal or Chicago or Vancouver, of flu, colds and chicken pox and frequent visits from Dr. Church — Mum hovering in the background — with his stethoscope and big belly.

     I still remember a bath infused with something to soothe my painful pox, and how tenderly Mum wrapped me in a towel afterwards. Years later when I saw an image of Botticelli’s The Birth of Venus, I felt again the sensation of rising naked, streaming and itch-free from the water as my mother’s towelled arms reached for me. I don’t know why Botticelli took me back to that bath, or which one of us was Venus.  It wasn’t till I had decades more of life under my belt that I understood we both were. 

     But on that sunny winter day we nibbled ham sandwiches on white Wonder Bread and drank hot cocoa from a thermos. Icicles dripped and splatted from the eaves. We unbuttoned our wooly coats and listened to the happiness of chickadees and crows.

     Suddenly and with great conviction, I took my little brother’s face in my hands and said “Why Doodle-bug, you look just like God!”  From my mother’s reaction I knew I had said something noteworthy, but I didn’t know what and could not explain myself further. My small freckled brother only squinted into the sun with half a sandwich drooping from his mitt. 

In the middle

     For most of my 40s I volunteered for three, four-hour shifts a month at the Ottawa City Distress Centre.  People called for all sorts of reasons beyond depression or suicide.  I loved waiting for the phone to ring while I sipped tea and peered from the centre’s fifth story window at the beings striding or shuffling along below.  Perhaps I had talked on this very phone with one of them.  Or so I liked to think.

     I was good on the phones. For the first time ever, I found I could truly connect with people.  For one thing, I had to sincerely listen instead of, in my usual manner, wait for a chance to cut in and flap my gums.  There were no visual cues to cloud my judgement.  No clothes, accessories, hairdos or mannerisms to make me jump to unhelpful conclusions.  All I had to go on was a voice and a mysterious conduit that ran between us through wires, various switches, terminals and space.

     A woman named Alice called several times a week.  Her warm voice gurgled like brook water into my ear. In our many talks I never discovered much about her situation. I imagined she was in care somewhere, either with relatives or in a home.

     When Alice called, I could relax.  Sometimes I put my feet up on the desk and tilted back the chair, settling in for something sweet.  Depending on the day and who knows what else in Alice’s rich life, she claimed she was either pregnant with, or had recently given birth to, the baby Jesus.  Although this was 100 per cent unlikely, I rejoiced with her at this thrilling news.  She certainly never sounded distressed which made me happy for her.  Perhaps she called because her family or caregivers were tired of hearing about Baby Jesus. 

     My most unforgettable call was not from Alice, however, but from a manic depressive man who planned to kill himself.  He was not suicidal at the time, so there was no point in tracking his call and keeping him talking until police banged at his door.  Nonetheless, he had a plan and was committed to it.  His voice was reasoned, intelligent and also conveyed what I can only describe as certainty. 

     His family had stood by him through years of hell.  When he wasn’t weeping, he was on spending sprees:  once a race horse named Galveston Gal, although he knew nothing about the racing world; another time a stone mansion on 20 acres with tennis courts, a pool and three car garage.

         “I know they love me,” he said.  “I know they will cry a lot.  But time will take care of all that.  My wife will remarry and my kids will grow up in a sane home.” By then I was listening so hard that my forehead was on the desk and my eyes shut so nothing could get in the way.

     I said very little.  I think he was grateful for that.  I hope I said I love you, but I can’t be sure I did.  It was a long time ago.

Belonging

     On a Buddhist retreat a few years ago, our teacher told us to spend as much time outdoors as possible.  Each of us carried a magnifying glass and, besides being silent for the two week duration, we were instructed to examine everything. 

     “Feel your deep belongingness with all life,” he said.  “We are family.  We are woven on the looms of each other’s lives.”  So out we all went, dispersing into the 300 acres of leafy woods, eager to be at one with the universe.  Mostly I was relieved I didn’t have to endure endless sits in the meditation hall, waiting for the gong to sound and feeling like a failed Buddhist.  Roaming forests, fields and waters, especially on my own, was my favourite thing to do.

     I peered at moss, sand, fungi, petals, pine cones, webs, galls and gelatinous bird poops. The underside of leaves often held specks of mystery — possibly eggs or some minute creature perhaps waiting for an insect’s version of Godot. 

     Our teacher had set up an old Nikon microscope at the back of the hall. It was impressively heavy, and sat under a plastic cape, within a wooden box.  This we could use for “deeper looks” as he put it, waggling his eyebrows encouragingly.

     I had never used a microscope and my first zoom in on the carcass of a house fly caused me to holler “Holy Fuck!” which alarmed several steadfast meditators.  The fly was on its back and had a hole in its desiccated stomach.  I felt I was gazing into an echoing cavern beyond space and time.  Where the hell was I exactly?  Then I realized that a weensie spider — certainly invisible to the naked eye — was living in that cavern. There it lurked with minuscule glittering eyes in its dead fly home, doing whatever it had to do to keep itself alive and the world turning. I sat back with one hand clamped over my mouth.  This was too much. 

     For the rest of the retreat, I was glued to that Nikon. I continued to see worlds within worlds within universes. In my one-on-one sessions with our teacher I babbled on about my discoveries. The way he listened, looked at me, made me want to weep and sometimes I did. I knew he was used to it. One day I was raving about looking at the yellow centre of some daisy-like wildflower and discovering it was made up of tubes. Then I saw that tiny white creatures lived inside the tubes. They bustled in and out from tube to tube obviously with much on their tiny minds. My teacher’s smiled and said “…and if we could look even deeper, no doubt we’d find smaller creatures living in or on those creatures — and so on and so on.”

     For years as a journalist, I had been writing about the importance of biodiversity and how everything is interconnected. But really, what the hell did I know? It took a microscope and a dead fly for me to begin to understand what our teacher kept patiently pointing us towards. In his words:  “Looking deeply into our current situation, we can see that this place and this time are actually vast mysteries of creative collaboration that ultimately involve all places and times.”